The Flailer

The Flailer. Drawn by Muhrri, used with permission.A cold wind blew as Shaelin watched over the landscape.

The flail she held in her hand was growing heavy, heavier than it had felt in the whole of the battle before. The blood of the men she had slain was still splattered on her armor, the memory of their dying cries burning her soul. It had been her choice, her decision to take this castle. Her decision to lead the troops into battle.

Her choice to risk her unborn child in combat. Assault this place now, breaking the peace treaty and slaying all the people within. Just to prevent the risk that the people here would one day do the same, attack her people and her child when she was unprepared. She could never risk that; she’d rather sentenced the people here to die, even if it meant spilling some innocent blood.

“You have seen”, she whispered to the starry sky above the battlements. The stars saw all that happened below them – right or wrong, they’d be the ones to cast judgment. “Sentence me into an eternity of hell and brimstone, I do not care,” she said softly.

“For my child is safe now.”

The picture of the flailer is drawn by Muhrri. Used with permission; it is not covered by the usual Creative Commons license on this site.

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