The Village of Taiyan
The Horde had kept fine order on their long ride. Most such bodies of man and horse fractured and wandered as they rode, wild, like flocks of starlings. Under most nomad chieftains, such would have been to be expected, but not under Kutuk Zhao. Years in the Imperial Commanery had taught him better than most the importance of good order in marching. He had read the four classics of war, had studied the battles of Darker ages and had talked with many of the Sun Dynasty's best standing generals, or at least corresponded with them. He was not a wild savage, not a wolf or a wild dog, but a Dragon, and he governed his force as such. As they had drawn close to the vilage of Taiyan, the horde had been instructed to keep absolutely silent.
Scouts had been sent out and the village had been looked over. The palisade would be an impediment. Kutuk Zhao would not allow himself to be bogged down in sieging a village; it was not worth the trouble. All the same, he could hardly just ride on past without sating the lust of his men for loot. Even if it was only a poor village they would have valuables. Livestock, trinkets, cloth and coin enough to tempt his men to fight further. Most important, of course, were the men and women to be taken. However poor a farmer was he was still worth plenty in a flesh-market. His captains had talked eagerly of this to him, of taking hundreds prisoner to sell off in the markets of the clans along the walls. First, though, they would have to take them.
Horsemen were not built for sieges. But perhaps they could gain entry to the little village another way. Just out of sight of Taiyan, the horde came to an orderly stop, and split into four. The scouts were sent off to gather stakes of wood, as the four wings rode in different directions, swinging round to come at the village from all sides, surrounding it in a sea of Beixia horsemen. Still, all kept silent, until all were in place, and the village was entirely encapsulated. Then, Zhao's herald, a beast of a man named Kharash, rode out before the gate of the village, bearing the Dragon's Banner. In the booming, cacophonous voice that had won him his place, the herald bellowed up to the villagers.
"You face the Black Dragon of the Beixian. You are surrounded. No messengers will reach help to save you. Send an emissary to negotiate your surrender. If you refuse, you shall face all the fury of the Dragon. Do not imagine you will be spared if you fail to surrender yourselves. As a token of my Master's sincerity, we will show you what fate awaits those who stand against him"
Without awaiting a reply, the herald rode back into the ranks, and men began to drag out the imprisoned farmhands, along with the stakes gathered by the scouts. Just out of throwing range but well within sight and hearing, the stakes were hammered into the ground and nailed together into crosses. There were perhaps only a dozen prisoners, but they would be enough. Once the prisoners stood prepared by the crosses, weeping and begging in fear, The Black Dragon rode forward, and selected the one who seemed most desperate in his pleading to be dragged up to the gate and told to call out to his friends, his family, and to convince them to submit, or else face the cross.
To illustrate his point, the other farmhands were cruxified, before the eyes of their townsfolk. Most would last days, begging day and night for an end to the torment, especially once they were told they'd be spared if the village gave in. The horde remained silent. The screaming would not be obscured. With any luck, the deaths of these would save their fellows, and indeed save the Dragon the men he'd waste on an assault. The spared prisoner would be given an hour to have his fellows open the gate, or he too would be strung up. While they waited, the army would make camp, keeping shifts to surround the village. Two days would be given, if the first attempt failed, before the assault would begin.
The Black Dragon had not won his legend without ruthlessness. The southrons had spurned him, and now they would face his vengeance. The villagers hated him, he thought. Let them hate. So long as they feared.
Action: Encircle the village, attempt to convince them to surrender, first by demand, then by the pleading of the freed prisoner, and then by the threat of the coming assault and the begging of the prisoners.
