One fateful day in the magical land Before Cities, a mysterious man falls from the sky. He awakens with no knowledge of his past, and quickly learns that he is far from ordinary. Granted otherworldly powers and seemingly cursed by The Brand that ado...
The Forgotten Grove is laid out before me, a peculiar name for a place. Has it honestly been forgotten, or is it that the people have been trying to forget what happened here?
The ground is scorched and littered with ash; the air feels like it carries a burden—the armor-clad bones of those fallen in a battle lie here with their broken weapons by their sides. The castles and keeps were taken over and ravaged to the very last brick. Villages that housed happy and simple folk burned to the ground and raided with their tenants murdered and defiled at night. The dismembered corpses of men, women, and children thrown together in mass graves were left to rot like the rest.
I can only imagine the horrors here that had set themselves in history. Nowhere was safe; there was no hope that you could feed yourself or your family, no hope that the gods you prayed to would show mercy, and no hope for even living until tomorrow.
I examine one of the corpses, trying to find clues about what had happened. The armor has rust eating through it, and the clothes are in tatters, but the body itself is surprisingly well-preserved. It looks like this person has been through many battles in their lifetime. There are countless scars on their body, some old and some new. There are also what look to be large teeth marks on their lower body. I can only assume that this person was bitten by something, or someone, in the heat of battle and eventually succumbed to their injuries.
The more I look around, the more I realize it would be hard to forget what happened here. The people have been trying to push those memories away, but they don't go away so quickly. The memories are within the bones of the dead, in the scorched earth, and in the air. This place is a reminder of the atrocities of man and a reminder of B.C's capacity for evil. Sparing no one from the hatred and carnage, it seems, as I am beginning to learn, is a common occurrence in B.C.
I hear a rustling sound coming from beyond some bushes and pull my sword off my back, silently sneaking up and hiding behind one of them. I contemplate what I should say to surprise the possible threat, but nothing comes to mind. Ultimately, I jump out from the cover, yelling the first thing that pops into my head. "Hey, you there! Come out with your hands up!" I yell impulsively. The Greedy Satyr
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A short, tubby man with bipedal goat legs and curved horns stares back at me; he is holding various pieces of broken armor in his arms. The armor seems to have come from the bodies of the surrounding dead soldiers.
"Oh? Hello, stranger". He says. "You ... are a goat". I say, baffled. "Wander too far from Minceville? "No, I'm a Satyr." He corrects me. "Not to be confused with those 'fauns,' those guys are just a little too merry. I am a half goat. Let me reassure you, though, I'm ALL man". The Satyr gloats. "You just said you were a half-goat. How can you be 'all man'?" I ask him, confused. "It's a figure of speech, kid." The Satyr replies. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just looking for some loot, same as you. Let's pretend we never saw each other, okay?"
