The man in green and black robes looked out at the many, many trees that stood as black, angry sentinels within the forest. His eyes traced their charred remains, his eyes lined in pain as he put a hand to the blackened bodies. They still retained the warmth of the fire that had ripped through them from the battle.
"Well? Do you think this is something you can use?" Armander asked, the commander dressed in furs and leathers as befitting his status. "Can you help us against the ones who did this? They know the gods draw power and strength from the trees..."
Not entirely true of course - but the trees were a sacred species, a race benevolent and full of fruitfulness for those willing to work with them. That someone would deliberately set ablaze a whole forest for pettiness' sake made the man's gut churn. He cracked his knuckles and looked back at Armander with his typical, blase expression.
"It's dead, isn't it?" he responded in kind. "So long as you pay, I'll raise."
Armander looked at the forest with a quivering lip before motioning before him with the haft of his spear in a gesture of goodwill, warding himself from the spirits unleashed. He climbed atop his ram, Ardnor, and he stated, "I will meet you at Dorvit's pass. The coward's imperials are there."
"Consider me right behind you," the man intoned with something like annoyance.
With that, the commander rode off, and the man was left alone. He knelt down and picked up a twig, half-burnt. He held it to his lips for a moment, eyes closed, and he muttered, "Forgive me, but I assure you I can give the vengeance you want this way."
He stood up and placed the twig between his hands, eyes closed as he stood before the blackened wood.
And then, the felled trees began to rise before him.
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