Me and the boys tagged along with a group of 13 Chaos town burners–we had lots to learn, and so it sounded right. We founded ourselves walking day and night to reach the target: Ichville. The town had already been sacked hard by a previous legion, so we would catch it on the rebound to show lightening does strike twice in the same place. But where the sackers only took possessions and horses, we had come to burn the town into oblivion.
“Begin with torches,” our leader, a minion named Xos, pointed out several abandoned buildings. Xos had nails driven into his head, most likely directed by his visiting demon. Others in his army mimicked similar looks. One burned his face horribly sometime in the past, leering at us through the crust of crispy skin. Another had actual horns, and I could not tell if they were real, or something picked up on the long march. My favorite was the women who purportedly peeled her face from the forehead down to her chin, giving her foe a chill, something deep and psychological.
Me and me boys began burning, sticking close together, which got us a look from Xos who detected a rival command under his roof. It really wasn’t Xos who thought that, but the demon lord who possessed him and a few others. Chaos could not stand union, but varying degrees of “Me, me, me” to drive the host body.
“You,” he said to us in a guttural growl,” lead us in the burn. Leave no place untouched by fire. Kiss even the holiest of temples with your torches.”
I nodded, and my fellows followed. Burnhurst had oddly solidified us, perhaps because we weren’t possessed yet. Without a doubt in our heads, we gathered up infamy, burning every structure we came to with decision. Looking back, we glimpsed our deeds with pride, noting how Xos’ men had back off to rally as we worked. So much the better, so much more the infamy. We would have our demon lord sponsor yet.
We heard a noise minutes later, and turning, we say Xos’ army rally again, but this time against a small force of men with long pikes and axes. Was this the last stand of Ichville? It took mere moments for Xos’ bloodthirsty stalwarts to decapacitate, burn, destroy their adversaries. Indeed, it was a last contingent, and they won their memorial honor with the blood that pumped in their unflinching hearts. But to go so wasted. So unsung. Twas the truest irony of life: To go unsung, unremembered, unhoused.
Ichville by night was a glorious display decorated by yours truly and her boys. We sat sipping water at long last in the ring of Xos’ men, who were alive with laughter as the flames indulged themselves on the timber. The inferno was reflected in our eyes as though we were already possessed. But weren’t we? Weren’t we under the influence of Chaos much like how a sick patient is under the purgatives of the town doctor?
Now that is the question of the evening.
