It’s occurred to me that I’ve been rather terrible at posting these little prompts. My apologies :/ To be honest, I completely forgot to do the poll for this one two weeks ago, and then I almost forgot to do the poll again last week. There’s been so much going on recently that writing short prompts just hasn’t been a priority.
But I’m here now, so let’s get on with it! 🙂
Here are the results from the last (and very late) poll:
Let me do the next #writingprompt vote before I forget again 😅 My interpretation will be on my blog on Monday 🙂
— Sarina Langer (@sarinalanger) November 10, 2017
I blame the low numbers on me not doing it sooner -.-
As always, if you want to use the prompt go ahead! If you publish it please let me know so I can be nosy ^-^
Loyalty was everything. Loyalty was the only honour that mattered. Verrill had grown up believing it, and he’d sat by his Da’s death bed swearing it.
But loyalty was difficult when your king told you to slaughter a village of women and children.
“Your orders, captain?”
His men stood behind him, awaiting orders. Thirty women and five children knelt before him, heads lowered in fear and whimpering, awaiting his judgement.
He had come so far. Just one more step.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to take it.
His men had never seen him falter. He’d been raised to the rank of captain because he acted quickly and always–always–for the benefit of his king.
He had been against the creation of these villages in the first place. They were breeding grounds, a means for his king to control the population, and they were wrong. He hadn’t voiced his concerns. It wasn’t his place. His king would have Verrill hunted and executed if he sensed any sign of disobedience.
But to kill 25 innocent people because they hadn’t birthed enough children?
Every good man had his limits.
Verrill stood straight. “These people are traitors to our glorious king. I will kill them myself.” He swallowed. He’d never been a good liar, and his men knew him too well. “Go watch the camp. I will return when I’m done.”
“Go back, and leave me to it. Now.”
He didn’t miss the glances his men shared, but they did as they were told. Loyalty was the only honour that mattered, after all.
He waited until his men were out of earshot, and sheathed his sword.
“Leave this place. Never come back here.”
The women didn’t get up. Bloody Mercy, they were too scared to even try to run for their lives.
He sighed. Dropped his sword as a sign of goodwill.
Finally, they looked up.
“Get out of here. Now. If you leave the country, the king can’t touch you.”
They stumbled to their feet, and, still whimpering, ran with their children in their arms.
Verrill knew he’d done the right thing. If it saved lives, it had to be right.
He just hoped none of his men would question the lack of blood on the soil.
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All writing belongs to the author, Sarina Langer
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