Rage envelops you when you lose something. Family or friends, dignity or honor. It is something that most regret but to those beaten on the streets, to those whose hearts were carved out of their chests, to those served injustice and poisoned by the hand of the law, it is something to relish.
***
The crowing of a rooster heralded the break of dawn, and rays of sunshine peeked out from behind the dreary, drab clouds. And within a dingy pub of a small town sat three men who seemed to have drastically differing wardrobes.
"Them clans are getting gutsy I tell you. Just one teensy-weensy little bad day and we'd have a war on our hands", one man dressed in black robes said wiping his beard before proceeding to guzzle more cheap beer. "We'd all be dead if them savages weren't so keen on tearing each other's throats! Ptui!", he spat demonstrating his already visible distaste.
"Aw shut up Serail! The Tremaorin Empire would've slaughtered those bastards if they are as you say. There's a reason they still exist you know. And they aren't the devils you paint them out to be", his friend, who wore a black top hat and a green tunic objected, his eyebrows turning inwards into a frown.
"Hah!", Serail snorted, beer spraying everywhere. "I'll listen to you when you stuff that godawful hat from whence it came, Jack!"
"You're one to talk with that ugly old beard of yours. I can still smell your meals from yesteryear, you twat! And these hats are all the rage these days. The ladies just come running! Its style, get it? STYLE!", Jack gesticulated while jabbing at Serail with his stubby finger.
Serail snorted once again, beer dripping down his long beard. "Sure they do, you old scoundrel. But you must agree that the Harald clan deserves to have their heads on a good ol' spike, eh?"
Immediately, Jack's face turned a tad bit grimmer. "Yes. Devils, they are indeed. To think they were once celebrated as the Gods themselves! Ironic."
"Yup! Yup! I know that story. Twas horrible! Was it a few centuries ago when those golden-haired, superhuman bastards showed up and were treated as kings? No, Emperors! The 'Djinn' they called themselves. Pompous fools" Serail shouted, taking another gulp of beer with gusto.
"I know this already Serail. Why don't you shut your cakehole for once!", Jack griped, a vein in his forehead throbbing.
"Can't blame the people though, can you? Even I would submit to people who could pulverize steel with their fists. Not to mention, they looked like perfection too! I'm jealous...", Serail continued, oblivious to Jack's complaints. "They were the kings of the world! Everyone would kneel at their very name. What a life! But on that one Godforsaken day, it all changed, didn't it? They finally showed their true colo- "
*Slam*
A large empty wooden mug smashed into Serail's face.
"I'd always wanted to do that, ya bugger. I said that I DON'T wanna hear it. I've already heard that cursed story enough to make my ears bleed.", Jack hollered, his eyes betraying a sense of satisfaction at getting to throw a mug at his old friend's face.
"But I didn't even get to the good part yet...", Serail grumbled, rubbing his aching nose, before a chuckle interrupted their endless banter.
Both Serail and Jack turned toward the third man who sat across them at the same table. He wore brownish-black armor that didn't seem to have withstood the test of time all that well. His calloused hands and the worn handle of the sword on his hip showed the many fights he must have experienced. A fierce scar ran across his face accentuating his stern appearance, while a mercenary insignia rested on his broad chest.
"You both are amusing", the mercenary said, his voice monotone and his visage as dark as the clouds.
"Thanks...I guess", Jack muttered tilting his head, confused as to why the mercenary decided to speak now.
The mercenary continued, "You are right. The Haralds are demons. I've seen one punch through a fully armored knight, drag out his intestines and stuff it down his throat. All because he was having a bad day. The knight died a painful and excruciating death. I can still hear the screams, or rather the mournful gurgles as he choked on his very stomach."
Jack raised an eyebrow at the gory description and Serail stopped rubbing his nose. It was not nice to think about it at all.
"Poor guy", Jack mumbled, shuddering at the thought of getting his intestines scrambled.
"That poor guy.... he was my brother", the mercenary said, his eyes glinting with barely suppressed rage. A long silence preceded that statement, only broken by Serail offering a toast for the mercenary's brother. The mercenary, Hatir, and his brother, Skole were once soldiers under the Haralds, but after Skole was brutally murdered in front of his very eyes, he turned to mercenary work while trying his best to get revenge.
"Any luck getting back at those monsters?", Serail asked concerned, after hearing the full story.
Hatir snorted, "Hah! Me? I don't even come up to their toenails. What can I even do? One second, and I am a spot of blood on the floor"
"True that.", Jack sighed. "They are gods among men. Vengeance bows to only those who are strong enough to grasp it, others are consumed and crushed in its vice-like grip. Best to let go of your anger now, lest it refuses to let go of you."
Hatir clutched his fists in fury before bowing his head in resignation. "Is there really nothing that can rid the world of their taint?", he bemoaned.
Serail stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Don't be one to give up so easily, Hatir. The cogs of fate are turning. I can feel it. Maybe the world shall give us something we can look up to. Someone with the power to stand up to them."
Hatir looked up and mumbled, his eyes still festering the flames of rage, "A man that the Gods fear. Wouldn't that be a sight to see...."
Just then, unbeknownst to the three men, Hatir's sword trembled ever so slightly.
***