The Breed had been hunted, killed, captured, and tortured, by Westland’s King, his Northern Lord’s. Like animals, they had been herded out onto the island of Coldfrost and imprisoned there. Until then, the Breed hadn’t understood the idea of borders and property lines. The beast in them, the instinct that drove them, was to feed, to claim territory by way of scent marking, and to mate. There had been no evil intent to their raiding and marauding. There were no greed driven designs of conquest involved. They were just creatures migrating and feeding.
Now all that had changed. Now, they were driven by hatred and vengeance. Now, they knew what it was like to be caged and forced to eat each other to keep from starving. The imprisonment had only lasted a few years, but what, to a half wild animal, is time? Especially in a place that is bitter cold and icy white year round; a place where the changing of seasons is a barely conceivable notion.
The Breed giants were loose now and they were having their way. To the people of Northern Westland, this was a most terrible thing. There was no one left to protect them. Almost all of their capable men had gone off to war. The rampaging groups of huge wild creatures left a trail of blood and death in their wake. As for the more intelligent group, led by Bzorch, who had a specific mission to accomplish, the savaging was no less horrible. In fact, it was worse.
After gathering his chosen, and leaving the Isle of Coldfrost, Bzorch led his band eastward, through the town of Riverbend. They stopped, only to feed on a few of the townsfolk there. No women were raped, no children pulled apart piece by piece, but only because Bzorch had more meaningful victims in mind.
The group of chosen consisted of thirteen of the most brutal of their kind. Bzorch had chosen them, not only because they were strong and vicious, but because they weren’t bright enough to plan and think on their own. They were the most primal of the Breed beasts, and the most obedient to his role as alpha male.
Bzorch himself was fairly intelligent. He had negotiated himself something more valuable than land or gold from the Dragon Queen. He had gained two of the most important things one could have among the humans. He had gained a position of authority, and he had garnered respect. Once he completed his end of the bargain, the city of Locar would be his to rule. Lord Bzorch, the Lord of Locar. He relished the sound of it, on his thick, wide tongue as he led his chosen on a south-easterly course, for the town of Greenside.
Bzorch had some unfinished personal business there, and his pack needed rest and food. Three days of nonstop travel had taken its toll on them. A night of pillaging and feasting, followed by a day of rest, would do them all some good. Greenside was the perfect place for it. The man that had earned the nickname “The Coldfrost Butcher” resided in that town. It was the home of the heartless torturer, Duke Fairchild.
Queen Shaella had explained to Bzorch, that the Duke was most likely off on the new Westland King’s fool’s quest, but Bzorch didn’t care. His father, and two siblings, had been captured, and taken to North Watch back before the imprisonment. They had been tortured, and then displayed, like some macabre artwork, to serve as a sort of warning to the Breed. They had been laid out in the bloody snow, in so many pieces, among giant loops of their own entrails.
Bzorch remembered looking on that scene all too clearly, and for all of the winter months. He had an inclination to display the Coldfrost Butcher’s many women in a similar fashion. The warmer climate this much further south, wouldn’t preserve his exhibition, like the frigid north had preserved his family’s remains. Not being able to see such a sight, for weeks and weeks on end wouldn’t have the same effect on the humans, as seeing his family had had on him. He couldn’t waste that much time anyway. He had a city to take, a bridge to destroy, and a title to claim.
A night and a day of rape and torture would have to quench his thirst for vengeance. Maybe Duke Fairchild’s wife would bear him a child. He would try his best to plant his seed inside her, and maybe eat one of the many sisters she was rumored to have, right there in front of her. He could make her eat some of the meat too. The idea caused him to let out a low, guttural growl as he loped along.
The stronghold at Greenside wasn’t hard to find. The half dozen armored men guarding the place fell like frightened penguins before the Breed assault. While most of them tore through the village, Bzorch and two others brought the wrath of the Breed into the Duke’s stone-walled home.
The Duke’s wife, and her gaggle of sisters, screamed, pleaded, and begged for mercy, but none was given. The plumpest of the women had her face bitten off by one of Bzorch’s companions, who then raped her body, while her feet sputtered and thumped on the floor.