As Valarian strode out of the village hall, the destruction behind him a grim testament to his ruthlessness, he addressed his followers with a tone of cold dismissal. "You won't be needed at the gate as I will handle the guardian myself. Do whatever you want here, just don't get too drunk." His voice carried the implicit threat that accompanied all his commands.
His followers, accustomed to his harsh leadership, quickly responded with a deferential, "Yes, master." Their acknowledgment was tinged with a mixture of fear and anticipation—fear of their leader's wrath and anticipation of the lawlessness that had just been sanctioned.
Mounting the resurrected dragon, Valarian took to the skies, his silhouette cutting a dark figure against the smoke-filled sky. The flight back to the excavation site was swift; with the precise location marked on his stolen map, he wasted no time. Upon arrival, he dismounted with a sense of purpose and began to dig at the designated spot. The dirt flew beneath his fervent digging, and within minutes, his efforts were rewarded with the sight of a small chest.
With his heart pounding in anticipation of victory, Valarian lifted the chest from its earthen hiding place. It was surprisingly light, unlocked, inviting him to look inside. His hands, steady despite his excitement, opened the chest to reveal its contents—a single piece of paper.
The message on the paper was a mocking taunt: "Not this time you piece of shit."
The words struck Valarian like a physical blow. His face contorted into an expression of pure fury. In a reflex of anger, he crumpled the paper in his fist, the parchment crunching under the pressure of his grip. He then tossed the chest into the air and unleashed a jet of flame from his palm, incinerating it in a fiery explosion that sent ashes fluttering down like black snow.
Breathing heavily, his rage uncontainable, Valarian stormed back to the village, his pace quick and deadly. Upon his return, he saw the remnants of his followers' debauchery—houses still smoldering, stores of food and drink pilfered. He clapped his hands sharply, the sound cutting through the noise, commanding immediate attention.
"The stone was not there," he bellowed, his voice echoing ominously through the devastated village. "These catfolks must have hidden it somewhere else. Gather every catfolk that stayed alive. NOW! You better keep some alive, because if not, you won't make it out alive either," he threatened, his eyes scanning his followers, daring them to defy him.
His minions, spurred into action by his threatening demeanor, scurried through the village, forcing their way into every nook and cranny. Their search was frantic but thorough, driven by fear of their leader's wrath. Eventually, they herded about two hundred frightened and bewildered catfolks into the village square. These survivors, young and old, huddled together, their faces a tapestry of fear and despair.
Valarian surveyed the huddled mass of catfolks in the village square, his gaze cold and calculating. His followers, sensing their leader's impatience, inquired about pursuing those who had fled into the forest. Valarian dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. "This is enough for now," he declared. His focus was on those before him, particularly as the group consisted largely of women and children, the men having either been slain in defense of their homes or fled to lead the invaders away from their families.
Standing before the subdued villagers, Valarian attempted to coerce them into compliance. "Tell me where the stone is, and no one more will be hurt anymore," he proclaimed, his voice steady and menacing. The villagers remained silent, their eyes downcast yet defiant.
From the crowd, one man dared to speak, his voice filled with contempt and defiance. "You can go fuck yourself you, and your cult. We are not telling you anything."
Valarian's response was chilling in its calmness. "In that case, I will have to use force." He signaled to his followers, who promptly moved ten catfolks no matter if they were children, women, elderly, and the few remaining men to stand against the village wall.
With the villagers lined up against the wall, Valarian issued another ultimatum, his voice echoing ominously through the square. "If you don't tell now, I will kill them. And if no one speaks, we will destroy every catfolk village and your kind will go extinct. Do you think that I don't know how small your population is?"
The same man who had spoken before replied with equal firmness, "We'd rather die than let you come closer to destroying this world."
Valarian, his patience exhausted, gave the grim command. "In that case..." His voice trailed off as he nodded to his followers. They unleashed a torrent of fire upon the villagers lined against the wall.
The air filled with the brief, harrowing sounds of screams which swiftly died down as the flames engulfed those standing by the wall. The fire roared, a gruesome spectacle of Valarian's wrath until nothing remained but silence and ashes where once stood members of the catfolk community.
The horrific act served as a brutal demonstration of Valarian's willingness to annihilate any who opposed him. The remaining villagers watched in horror, the reality of their situation settling in with dreadful clarity. Valarian's actions were not just a threat but a promise of further destruction, a clear message of the lengths he was willing to go to achieve his ends.
As the fire died down and the smoke cleared, Valarian turned back to the crowd, his expression unreadable. The air was heavy with the acrid smell of burnt wood and lost lives, a solemn reminder of the deadly serious nature of their plight. His followers stood by, their faces a mix of stoicism and discomfort, aware that the day's events would weigh heavily on their consciences.