Writing I intend to finish

[doubledealer]

...He remembered his work like it was yesterday. He had stopped the three, his hands resting on his belt. One had stepped to either side, flanking him. He remembered no apprehension or fear. The orders to step back, ignored. A hand had drawn a dagger.
His fist had snapped up, a gasp, a broken windpipe. An elbow lashing out. Connecting to a temple, a falling weight. The metallic hiss of a drawn sword, a hissing swing.
Finishing the unconcious man.

Then the young girls. Two of them, and their father. What he and his two deputies had done to them. They had screamed and pleaded. Then his men had silenced them after finishing up. Their father had watched, horrified. He had threatened and pleaded and struggled. They had sliced the tendons in his feet, maiming him irreperably.

The family who refused to pay taxes. He had thrown the first torch onto the thatch house. It burned quickly. They had screamed as well.

The two bandits. First on the rack, then being burned with hot irons. Finally, one was flayed alive, and the other was placed in the Iron Maiden. They hadn't talked, but the rest of the bandits were eventually found. The torture had just been for fun.

As the executioner raised the huge axe, he asked a simple question. "Any regrets, heathen?" The burly, black-clad man said in his deep, throaty voice.
A long pause. "Yes," He replied. "All of them."

[doubledealer]

A demonstration of the Death Penalty in Medieval Ages.

[longstevo]

Damn. That sounds pretty harsh.

[doubledealer]

Um... Yeah, just a little.

[doubledealer]

The Commander in Chief of the Grand Centurion Army of Redhaven stepped out of the lead transport ship, already issuing orders to his front line. He bellowed them out, pointing and gesturing frantically.
"Alpha, Delta squads, perimeter positions!"
"2nd division, Fifth Battalion, echelon formations!"
The commands continued. He turned every so often, urging the men behind with waves and cajolery. He pushed men of the squads forward as they passed. He dispatched runners to transports far down the line.
An arrow zipped out from a hillside and poked into his shoulder through a gap in the armor. He fell to one knee for a moment, then stood, furious. "Epsilon squad, to that hill, NOW!" The CinC started randomly twisting and stepping as he ordered the men. His brilliant red cloak swirled around him like a thick mist. Another arrow zipped out, and he dropped under it.
"EPSILON, GET TO THAT HILL NOW!" The twelve armored men and three archers climbed the hill rapidly. A single assassin stood and drew a longsword. Two of Epsilon rushed him, to be cut down.
The Commander growled, and started toward the hill as another three men got eviscerated. One more, and the Commander was on the hill. He pushed through the nine remaining men of Epsilon squad, and pulled his wonderfully crafted Dragon Blade of Redhaven. It started hissing in his mind as soon as it cleared the sheathe.
The brown and green clad Ranger Assassin struck an 'Aggressive Back' stance. Then the Redhaven Commander brutely slammed his sword across.
The ensuing battle is remembered as one of the greatest duels in recent memory.
Redhaven's Grand Centurion Commander and a Ranger Assassin named Arilan crossed blades on an unnamed hill in Eilirat. Ultimately the Commander was fatally struck, but not before he beheaded the Ranger.
His last words, which were immortalized on his monument in Redhaven, were, "Forward the line, and watch your flanks."

[doubledealer]

The Sentient Sword

In the Far North, there is a tribe of barbarian warriors dedicated to battle and war. Two hundred years ago, a magnificent sword was forged by the leader of the tribe, one Hlaf von Strommgaard. This sword was sent to the Shaman of the tribe for enchantment.
The Shaman tried an enchantment so powerful that the sword consumed his essence. It assimilated him, and changed him. Now, his eternal soul and insane mind reside with the hilt stone of the blade. It has become one of a very select group of swords.
It is a Sentient blade. Strommgaard used this blade until his death fifty years later. For one hundred and fifty years, the blade was lost.

Until a pair of warriors entered an ancient tomb of the Tribe of Strommgaard. At the apex of the Tomb lay a fresh corpse, dressed in fine furs and masterful steel armor. The body of Hlaf had not decayed. One of the pair grabbed the hilt of the sword laying on Strommgaard's chest, and lifted it from the body.
The body turned to dust in an instant. As did the warrior. The second pulled on a pair of gauntlets and picked up the blade. He was unaffected through the tough steel.
His name is Ba'Jek...

[doubledealer]

Ba'Jek is going to be in the Bandits of Fyra Forest, as a little bonus spoiler.