[Durelin]

The screams surrounded Raken, and the roars of his men. Blood sprayed him, he slashed without thought, only with pleasure. He chose to use his axe, most likely his favorite weapon because of the large gashes it made. He slashed and hacked at the blonde peasants, all the while laughing with uncontrollable mirth. In almost every cut he went for the stomach. He loved slicing it open, found so much joy in the blood and innards flowing out, covering him. He also would go for the head, not decapitation - that was too clean and quick - but causing a gash across the fash, perhaps popping the eyeball or gouging it out. Then a bold peasant came up behind him with a woodcutting axe, a cheap thing, weak, and so was the man holding it. Raken whirled around with his axe, bending his head down at the same time to dodge the peasant's wild swing, then swung with his own axe, slicing through the man's legs. A quick cut along the neck and the man of Rohan fell to the ground, a heap of bloody, mangled flesh.

A glimpse of movement to the right of him, and Raken lashed out with his axe, cutting a deep gash across a woman's chest. In the same movement he drew his knife, driving it through her eye. He was deaf to the screams. Then he noticed a small child she had carried, now dropped on the ground. Drawing out his knife from the woman's head he threw it sharply, right through the chest of the child. Another whirl, this time to his left, brought Raken face to face with a man. He swung his axe. But there was no blonde hair, it was dark hair. He stopped in mid swing, only just scraping his fellow Dunlending in the side. "Sorry Gunif," he said, laughing. "How's the killing going? Any resistance?" Gunif grunted, Raken took it as a 'no'.

"You got flint?" Raken asked, "I know I gave some of you beefheads some." Gunif grunted again, this time a 'yes'.

"Good, give it here. I'd like to do this myself. Oh, and find Mara. She'll want to burn some too." Gunif grunted, giving Raken the flint and jogging off to find the girl. Raken strode over to the nearest pile of straw, taking his time, walking arrogantly as if he were a prince in his domain, laughing at the little commoners who bowed before him. He was sure that they should be bowing before him. Well, some of them were sprawled before him, if not of their own will. Grinning, Raken bent down before a pile of straw and began striking the flint until he got sparks. The dry hay immediately created a small blaze. It would spread quickly enough on its own, but Raken picked up a handful of burning straw, not caring of the flames licking his skin, and threw it on top of the nearest house. The fire spread.

Raken looked around him, admiring the handiwork. Mangled corpses scattered all over the ground, lying in pools of blood and the sickly mush of entrails. He smiled, licking his lips, and saw another fire starting farther down the dirt street running through the town. Mara, most likely. He put his axe over his shoulder and strolled down the street, cutting down any peasants still trying to flee, and those few who were foolish enough to fight back.