She was standing on the field of battle, her spear a blur of steel and gore, her armour was painted black in the blood of her enemies. She was free, untouchable and beautiful. The women envied her beauty and the men were shamed by her strength. She was an angel of death on the battlefield and a queen outside of it.

She was standing tall on one such battlefield together with those that flocked to her banner and there were many who did so. For by her side was a place of both glory and gold.

Before her stood a truly massive horde of filthy orcs, their beady little eyes filled with madness. Their lust for blood and carnage was palpable, and she sneered. Such filthy creatures had no right to stand in her way, so insignificant that their only strength was their large bodies and great numbers.

She raised her spear wordlessly and a wordless cry rose behind her as the horde surged forward. She lowered her spear and she led her army into the enemy, and thus the slaughter began once more. She struck deep into the enemy horde, her movements flowed like a beautiful dance. It was a dance of death, her spear her only partner as it reaped life like the god of death himself.

She was deep within enemy lines, if the unruly mob could even be called that. She was overextended but she always was. But her spear carried her trough like it always did, and the god of war smiled down on her as it should be. But on this day, lady luck did not smile at her. No, lady luck had turned her back on the angel of death and just like that her house, a house made of cards, began tumbling down.

An oversized orc had jumped her from behind aiming to cleave her in half with his massive axe. Quick as a swallow in the wind she spun and stabbed the beast through the skull and was about to turn to her next foe when her lead leg was hit by the still moving axe.

She had refused heavier armour as her speed was her weapon as well as her defence. So it was hardened leather armour of some beast she had once slain that met with the heavy jagged blade of the axe. The armour lost and in a single moment her lead leg was gone. It was only due to her many years on the field of battle that she managed to avoid being trampled and managed to fight on.

When the day became night and the cries of battle turned to wails of pain she rose up with her trusted spear as a support. What she saw around her was an unfamiliar sight. Countless enemies lay scattered around the butchered remains of her soldiers.

Straight through the middle of the field she saw what little remained of her veterans. They had cut a path, a straight path towards her. Men and women who had stood by her side countless times lay dead before her killed in their attempt at joining her. She stood there, motionless, spear in one hand and blood dripping from the poorly bandaged remains of her leg.

She just stood there for a time listening to sounds of the wounded and watching the blood soak into the muddy ground. Then she began to hobble towards her tent. As she moved she saw but a few handfuls of survivors. Most were motionless staring at their lost comrades or simply looking into the darkening sky, sobbing. None paid her any attention.

When she reached her tent, the command tent, there was but a single officer remaining. He was the quartermaster, a man she tolerated because he made her life easier.

“General.” The man said looking up from his papers with a haggard look.

“Quartermaster.” She responded. “Has anyone found my leg?” She asked. The quartermaster looked up and blinked.

“W-what?” He asked, utterly confused.

“My leg.” She pointed at the stump that had once been her leg. “Has anyone found my leg?”

“…” The quartermaster just looked at her in silence. “Who would have found it?” He asked coolly. His fury was unnoticed by the general.

“The healers or the camp staff.” The general said a bit annoyed. “They are supposed to go through the battlefield, yes?”

“What healers? What camp staff?” The quartermaster asked without emotion. When the general just tilted her head in confusion, he spoke once more. “When the main line broke, the camp was overrun. Almost everyone was slain, what few remain are trying to save the few they can.” His voice burned with a cold fury and only now did the general notice the blood on the quartermaster’s normally pristine clothes.

“I see.” She said, not understanding how the lines had broken. “Then help me look. I am unable to use a potion if I do not find my leg first.” The general was about to hobble away when the quartermaster spoke coldly to her.

“I cannot.” She turned to him surprised, no one had ever countermanded her orders before. “I must tally the numbers and organize the payment of reparation.” He ground his teeth.

“Just use the army's gold supply.” The general said with an indifferent wave of the hand.

“There is not enough.” He said simply.

“What?” She asked, confused.

“There. Is. Not. Enough.” The quartermaster growled. He got a confused look from the general and he spoke coldly. “How much does the reparations for the death of a single soldier cost?” He asked in a low voice.

“I don’t believe that has been a problem before?” She answered with a frown.

“No, no it has not. But that is because the contractor pays that cost.” The general just looked confused so the quartermaster continued. “However, despite my warning you marched over here without a contract and lost your entire army.” He growled. “That means that YOU personally are the contractor this time and that means that you owe 20 silver for every soldier and 2 gold for every officer that died today.” He took a deep breath and glared daggers at his general. “That means that your measly savings of 362gold are not even remotely enough to even break even. Thus I am tallying.” He sat back down. “So if you want to find your leg go do so yourself or try and find some soldier that is not dead or otherwise broken, to help you. I for one refuse to become a debt slave due to your incompetence.” She looked at the officer that just ignored her and shrugged. “You can always make more money.”

However when the few remaining soldiers had saved what they could and were ready to leave, she had not yet found her leg. The entire field was littered with corpses and gore and she could barely even move due to the thick bloody mud. So it was with gritted teeth that she drank a low grade potion and rode back to the city without one leg.

The welcome she got at the city was nothing she had ever experienced before, there were countless accusing eyes glaring at her as she rode towards the inn she had booked a room at. Then suddenly it started.

“Give me back my husband!” A woman cried with grief and anger in her voice. The general ignored her and the next person shouted, then the next and the next. In a moment it devolved into pained and enraged wail about husbands, sons, daughters, wives and siblings.

It was true that a lot of people had flocked to her banner from this city but they had chosen to do so. She had not ordered them, she had not even encouraged them. “Why are they so angry with me? It is not my fault that all those people followed me and were unable to survive.” She glared back at the crowd and wherever the eyes landed the crowd became cowed. But there were always more cries and by the time she hobbled into her decadent inn room she was thoroughly exhausted. She cleaned herself off and went to bed just wanting this infernal day to be over.

She was combing her heir when there was a loud knock on the door.

“Who is it?” She asked annoyedly, no one ever bothered her in the mornings.

“My name is Rondar.” An unknown muffled voice said through the door. “I am with the Mercenary guild.”

“I’m not interested in joining The Guild.” She almost snarled. Those damn sycophants never stopped bothering her.

“I’m afraid that is not why I am here.” The voice said and the door unlocked. The general stopped combing her pitch black hair and looked at the man in shock, they had unlocked her door! “I’m afraid you will have to come with us.” the man said and two burly guards entered the room. The general was already standing, spear in hand.

“Why?” She asked menacingly and the guards took a step back involuntarily.

“Because you have failed to pay the required reparations.” The man stated flatly. He had not moved even as the general had glared at him. “Thus we must take stock of how much additional assets you have to see if you can cover the deficit.” He explained calmly.

“And why is it that you are doing this?” The general asked with fury in her eyes.

“That’s because the Mercenary guild is responsible for ensuring that reparations are paid, surely this is not the first time you lost soldiers?” The man from The Guild said with furrowed brows. Then it looked like a thought struck him. “Ahha. I see you are one of those `lead from the frontʼ types.” He nodded knowingly. “That explains it.” He smiled. “Now if you would come with me.” He moved aside and gestured for her to leave the room.

After following the insufferable Guild lackey, the general arrived in an integration room and was left there with a glass of water which she had forced herself not to throw into the wall. She sat there for a good while until The Guild lackey showed up again.

“We are done counting up your assets.” He said and frowned. The general did not respond and so the man cleared his throat. “Firstly.” He looked down at his notes and read. “After selling your extra supplies, weaponry and wagons you are short 217 gold.” The man put down the paper and looked up. The general did not move. And the man sighed. “We have been told that you are in possession of some items of magical nature and an enchanter armour.” He looked her over and she sneered.

“You want me to strip and give you my clothes? Maybe add my body to top it all off?” She spat on the floor.

“If our math is correct you won’t be forced into debt slavery.” The man said with a smile. The general’s face stiffened and for a moment the man thought she had lunged at him and he almost fell off his chair. When he looked at her again, with sweat on his brow he cussed himself for being frightened in his own building by a one legged woman. “As I stated, you will avoid enslavement.”

“How nice.” She spat.

“Indeed.” The man nodded. “The only thing you need to do is hand over all of your possessions, The Guild will cover the difference.” The general grit her teeth, removed her jewellery and stripped out of her armour. The man just gathered everything up in a pile and estimated its value. Then the general turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” The man asked wide-eyed. The general narrowed her eyes at him.

“I have given you everything so I am leaving, is that not what you said?” She said in a hiss.

“But you haven’t given up everything.” The man looked at the spear held firmly in the general's hand. “Besides the clothes on your body you owe The Guild EVERYTHING. That includes you spear, that is if you really want to avoid debt slavery. The general ground her teeth loudly enough that the man could hear her and he spoke as calmly as he could.

“You may want to kill me, but am already paying over 50 gold out of my own purse to keep you out of slavery.” The general looked at the man with suspicion. “You see I would very much not have you associated with The Guild right now and I doubt that I could sell you as a slave for enough money that’d be worth the cost.” It was with this the man’s mask broke. “I know that you probably think highly of yourself but I can assure you that no one in this city would be willing to pay your debt to have you as a slave.” He sneered. “You may have been a warrior once but now.” He gestured at her leg. “Now the only kind of slave you would be good as would be a se…” He did not get to finish his sentence.

The spear flew through the air with enough speed that man only saw a blur and when the guards entered the door he just barely managed to raise his hand to halt their advance. He looked at the spear embedded almost an arm’s length into the wall right next to his head and shuddered.

“Then take it.” The general growled and jumped out of the room. A soldier handed her a training spear and she reluctantly took it.

When the general reached the inn she was informed that her belongings and deposit had been claimed so she was no longer a guest and was asked to leave. She stood outside in the sun for a few moments cursing and screaming in her mind before she calmed down. “I can always get a new spear.” Her eyes glowed with determination. “I did hear that there is no ailment that they cannot fix in the holy city.” She looked down at her missing leg and hobbled towards the merchant district from where the caravans left. She would find a caravan and she would get her leg back.

However, the local merchants refused to even talk to her and when she finally found a merchant caravan from another city what she heard made her want to kill the man.

“Why would I take another mouth to feed with me?” He asked, mystified. “Can you cook? Can you mend wagons?” The answer was obviously no on both counts. “You can’t guard.” That had been a statement, not a question and it infuriated her. The man’s next words however, were what made her want to kill him. “So, are you coming with me as a companion for my men?” The glare she shot the man was enough to send him scurrying.

With that man gone, she just stood there in the merchant square as the rain started pouring down. She tried again and again but none would take her and three days later, three days without food and water she got the same offer once more. She ground her teeth with enough force that she thought they might shatter, but in the end she agreed. She let the men ‘use’ her and she was taken with them and fed as a ‘thanks’.

As time went on and they travelled from city to city, the Holy city only a remote destination in the future, she became weaker and weaker. And as she became weaker, her attitude became worse and less men ‘used’ her. Thus she received even less food and in the end, she was thrown off the wagon she had been using and into some alley of an unknown city. She landed hard on the ground, unable to move as the caravan rolled away from her.

“Sister, you have got to be kidding me!” The angry voice of a boy brought her back to consciousness. Her eyes barely worked and she could only see two blurred figures.

“We cannot leave her! She will die!” A girl’s voice, a very beautiful voice.

“So what?” the boy erupted. “We can’t even feed ourselves! How are we going to feed a grown woman?!” He pleaded. The general had lost consciousness then, and when she woke up she had found herself not in heaven or hell which she had been expecting but in an old church.

“Drink.” The voice of the boy again. Something was pressed against her lips and she greedily drank the warm stagnant water. “Hey! Slow down!” the boy said as he pulled away the cracked pitcher. “You will just get worse if you drink too fast!”

“If I got worse I’d be dead.” The woman thought with a twisted grin that never reached her broken lips. She opened her eyes and saw a boy in his teens standing next to her with ragged clothes.

“Here, have some bread.” The boy handed over a fist sized piece of bread with a wistful look. “It is all we got so eat slowly.” The boy warned. She did as told and ate the bread slowly, it was a bit mouldy and a bit too hard for her weak teeth and jaw, but the boy poured some water on the bread and let her drink when she had finished chewing.

The boy and the girl from the day she had been saved repeated this process for days until the former general was able to get out of bed. The children found some clothing of the old nun and helped the former general dress. Then they found her two sticks she could use to walk with and for the first time in a very long while the former general walked out into the sun under her own power.

Outside in the garden, if the overgrown and dried out patch of ‘greenery’ could even be called that. The former general found a whole bunch of children that crowded around the girl, the girl that had decided to save her. The children were thin and dressed in rags. They had as little as she did, some were even missing limbs as her.

“June?” the frightened voice of a young girl dragged June, the orphanage nun, out of her dream. June was crying and with tears in her eyes, the little girl looked just like Mary. The beautiful, brave and kind to a fault orphan that had once saved her life. June wiped her tears, Mary was gone and the hole she left would never heal, but Lilly and the others were still here.

“Yes, Lilly?” She asked gently, stroking the girl’s dirty and unkempt hair.

“Are you alright? You were crying.” Lilly said frightfully with tears in her own eyes.

“Yes dear, I was just having a bad dream. I am all better now.” She only now noticed that her arm was far less thin than it had been and her entire body didn’t hurt. “How long has it been since I was not in pain?” She wondered as she gently stroked Lilly’s hair.

“Y-you look much better now June.” Lilly said with a shy smile, tears gone like a bad dream.

“I feel much better.” June said only to frown. She remembered why she felt better and was more than a little upset. She kept it off her face however.

“Would you like some stew?” The girl asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Stew?” June asked, confused.

“Kev and Daniel bought some stew from grannies place!” The girl had already started dragging June out of her chair and was forcing her canes into her hands. “There is enough for everyone!” Lilly yelled excitedly. “I have never seen so much food.” Lilly ran off yelling ‘come on’ ‘come on’ as she went.

“Hahaha…” June laughed and tears rolled down her cheeks. She was alive, she would live. She cried and laughed. “I guess I won’t see you for a while yet Mary.”