This is a remote village, Makarii thought to himself.
This is definitely a remote village hidden deep in the Northern forests.
So how… how did it come to THIS? In a dazed state, he stares at the mayhem going on all around him. Ringing in the air are the sounds of battle cries, the clashing of blades, the sound of sword meeting flesh - and the inevitable screams of agony from both sides. All around, uncontrolled fires - the results of lamps and lanterns abandoned in war - consume the local flora in unpredictable patterns. Even the well-trained soldiers struggle to maintain formation and order in the chaos.
“…Makarii!” He hears his name being bellowed in the near distance. At that, he attempts to steady his composer, for he knew what his next orders would be. “Makarii, pick up the nearest weapon you see and get your scrawny ass over here and help us!”
He knew it. He knew he will be ordered to jump into battle with absolutely no prior training, so why was he so surprised? He wore only a blank expression of shock as he sprinted to the nearest body - One of ours, he thought, Only we have horns.
“Please, Azreal almighty,” Makarii silently prays, “Spare my soul, and I shall grant you plenty more.” With that, he takes a deep breath and charges into the fray.
Seven Days Prior to Humans’ Wrath
“Argh, dammit Makarii,” A soldier growls, “This shit again?” as he discontentedly picks up a plate of chicken, whey, and rice. Admittedly, this is the same food served as dinner for the third day in a row, but with the restricted access to their food storages brought on by the recent human attacks - which could be avoided, if the soldiers did their damned job defending.
“Working with what I have… sir.” Makarii drones out, struggling to say the last word with a non-hostile tone. Alas, that wasn’t enough - indicated the soldier wrapping his hands around Makarii’s throat.
“You listen here, you cowardly son of a bitch,” the soldier growls at the bottom of his breath, “You see these horns on my head? Those are 13 inches of honor. I risk my life every time I go into battle.” Barely able to breathe, Makarii attempts to pry the soldier’s hands off his neck, to no avail. The soldier, however, seems content to continue his dramatic speech. “You do not risk anything - you hide in the village while we fight. Hell, you never went through a single battle. Instead of serving, your cowardly ass tries to run home. Somebody died protecting your sorry ass, you know that?” Makarii knows. He knows that he is a hopeless coward, he knows that he is lower than even a civilian. He knows that he tried running home, and he knows that a Ficsean died fighting a human mage targeting Makarii. He knows all too well - after all, Makarii was made to choose between 16 years of slavery - twice the mandatory service contract - or rightful execution. However, this soldier doesn’t know the guilt Makarii feels every day he lives, how even if he doesn’t have any horns - slaves do not get to keep their horns - he still has his struggles. This piece of shit is saying all this why - because he is tired of eating some staple meal that wouldn’t even be served if he were to just do his job protecting the village’s food storages?
“And…” the soldier continues, “Your cooking is absolute shit.”
Now he has done it. Mention Makarii’s dark past, mention him deserting - causing the death of a brother in arms? Dick move. Boast about your horns, knowing that Makarii has eternal guilt having lost his? Dick move. Hell, even choking him because you are tired of being served chicken? Dick move. However, one simply cannot insult Makarii’s ability to cook.
In a simple move, Makarii thrusts his longest finger - which also happens to have his longest, sharpest claw - into the soldier’s left eye. With that simple move, Makarii is released, finally able to properly breath.
“GRRAAUGHH..!” the soldier roars, his hands clutching his left eye socket. “You son of a bitch, I will flay you!” He screams, heaving a breath with every word. He moves one arm to his sword, but by then all the other soldiers have arrived - finally deciding to interfere upon watching the slave attack someone. Makarii, unable to effectively protect himself against 30 pissed off soldiers, is nearly instantly brought down in a flurry of punches and kicks.
Three Days Prior to Humans’ Wrath
Makarii wakes up in sweaty, despite the chill of the night. In the darkest hours before the dawn, one could only see around a meter ahead of them, Makarii was no different. Relying mostly on muscle memory, he makes his way to the roughly carved stone table, undoubtedly being the half-assed creation of a mason’s apprentice. However, that was all he needed. He feels around the ridges of the stone, his fingers stopping on a particularly loose slate. He pulls it up - and a sheet of old parchment nearly flies out with the wind. Luckily, Makarii deftly catches it, and move to the window, relying on what little moonlight makes it inside his prison’s windows.
On the parchment, barely visible in the darkness, is a series of small symbols - a language, if Makarii recalls correctly. These symbols are spaced differently, having less distance than the width of a noodle between some symbols, but with a slightly bigger distance between clusters of symbols - words!
Makarii spends the next couple of hours engrossed in this strange document, so absorbed in it that he doesn’t anybody approaching until his cell opens. Shit, it isn’t even dawn yet! He panics as he tries to find a place for the parchment. The guard, however, as already seen it. He calmly walks over and takes the paper.
“Humanese,” He says, disappointment evident on his face. “Not only are you attacking our men, but you were also a spy?” He folds up the paper and puts it under the hem of his coat. “Eh, doesn’t matter. Your executor is ready. Let’s go.” With that, Makarii is grabbed and lead out of his cell. Well, I have fucked up, was all he thought to himself as he was lead through the cold, dark halls of the prison.
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Well, the first excerpt is out and ready. Having created this cursed piece, I might as well transfer it into storygame form. Who knows, at the rate I am getting helled, maybe I will have a complete game ready in time for Mizal's contest!
