"Of Death and Heroes Ch´s IV & V" by Michael ´No Alias´ Homer

One sole survivor hauled himself to his feet, deep wounds etched into his flesh. Every last orc and Ogre had been crushed, annihilated, wiped out. Moving around the battlefield the figure stopped every so often, hauled a body from the mounds of corpses, and dragged it back to a sizable hill, where he proceeded to bury it. Once nine corpses had been buried, he went to a nearby watchtower, and ripped the door off. Planting it firmly atop the hill, the figure began carving words into the blackened wood. Once this had been completed to his apparent satisfaction, the figure walked off into the morning glow

A hidden creature detached itself from the nearby cliff face and ambled over to the board. It paused for a moment, noted the inscription, and smiled. It jotted down the names, before it, too, wandered off, heading for nearby Barahk.

* * * * *

The tavern rocked with applause as the bard sang of how the nine brave heroes had stemmed the tide of orcs, at the cost of the heroes’ lives. Boris Krastriv, Piedro Hourst, Balgus D’Archan and Corsair Diélé the warriors, Violet Triéne and Garret DéMann the thieves, Tarquin and Tamara the demon wind-dancers, now buried side-by-side, and the legendary Harthar Günthersson, Paladin Lord of the sun god Taris, captain of Harthar’s fighting company, and the greatest warrior the world would ever see. The world would not forget them; their ultimate sacrifice had not been in vain. They were legends, heck, they were practically myths! The bard sang of their many deeds, and their final, heroic battle against the massed forces of evil. The audience went wild, applauding the bard as he entered the final verse of his saga. Unseen, at the back of the tavern, a hooded figure watched from the gloom. Finally the saga concluded and the applause nearly deafened the watcher as he left. He pushed open the door, and as he did so he grinned, his teeth glinted, and he muttered under his breath ‘Lucky bastards.’ As he stepped outside the words came back to him, from thirty years of memory, as they always did at times like this, and he said, so quietly that even he barely heard it: ‘They lived as warriors, died as heroes’

Kristov the Forgotten wandered into the night, the sole surviving member of the world renowned Harthar’s fighting company, the most famous group of mercenaries ever.

From a book as yet unwritten, by Michael Senier