A Village Of Beastkin (1)

Beastkin. They were the newest race to be introduced to the world during my time. They were a hardy bunch. Born on a wild continent to the south of the world, their early years were rough, torturous even. The gods justified this by saying that they were a people who were meant to overcome the worst adversities.

I believed them. The things I did against them could not be forgiven. Neither the beastkin nor I will ever forgive myself.

Now, after thousands of years, I was in front of them again. We were inside a hut, the largest in the village. A thatched roof, wooden walls, and a dirt floor gave us shelter. I sat with the adventurers across a long table, facing a few of the village elders.

The village chief sat in the middle. His stature was the smallest, probably the weakest amongst his people. But he wasn't followed for his strength, that I could sense. He had a confident air around him, subdued yet projecting. The mane around his neck was similar to that of a lion's but thinner and graying. He wore a simple tunic, ragged and dirty, but not for a lack of trying. It was covered in stitches.

In fact, all of them were ragged and dirty. It was... a pitiful sight. To think that even after so many years, the beastkin were still robbed of a better life for their kind.

Many of them watched from the open windows and by the open door. The hut was surrounded by the entire village.

And here we were, bearing them news both good and bad.

"I apologize for meeting you in... even lesser ideal circumstances." The village chief started, gesturing for the other villagers standing nearby to start serving drinks. Cups of water to be exact.

"It can't be helped, dear elder. We're grateful for your village welcoming us still." Gred replied with a smile.

The elder chuckled, "Well, we did hire you from the guild. So..." The old beastkin trailed off. There was a slight slump to his shoulders.

"How many?" He asked.

"Sorry?" Gred leaned forward.

"How many did you kill?" The elder finished.

"We killed... many. It was the largest infestation we've encountered this far east." Gred explained.

The beastkin nodded, "I see... I'm assuming they've been dealt with?"

"Yes. We cleared them from the caves, with help from Mr. Viduri here." Gred said before looking in my direction. The village elders took this news with surprise, looking at each other with skeptical faces.

They finally took notice of my presence after I was mentioned. Just a few seconds ago they were content to ignore me. None of them even bothered to look in my direction as if I was some eye sore.

Did they recognize me by any chance?

"You speak the truth?" The village chief asked.

"Yes, Mr. Viduri can attest to that. We have our nameplates as proof if you wish to see for yourself."

The mention of the nameplate silenced any further doubt. An adventurer's nameplate was a magic instrument, you'd be a fool not to believe it.

Yet, just like any instrument, it can be manipulated. It was just that, despite my power, I didn't know how to do that.

The adventurers taking the credit for what was, for the most part, my doing, didn't offend me in the slightest. In fact, I gave them my blessing. Saving them coincided with eliminating the goblins from my fence. Two birds, one stone, or so the saying went.

But there were more important, less exciting news to tell.

"How about survivors?" The chief finally asked the dreaded question. Eager eyes gazed in our direction, anticipation in their breaths. Murmurs filled the air, worsening the already tense atmosphere.

"We... couldn't save any. We were too late. I'm sorry." Gred said with his head down.

The entire room went silent. Tears fell down the cheeks of those most eager to hear the news. They were the ones who lost family and friends.

"Do you at least have their remains? So that they may be buried." The old beastkin lifted his brow, expecting a positive answer. Gred could only shake his head.

"I see..." The chief frowned. There wasn't anything Gred or the adventurers could do. My spell was thorough in its purpose. If there were any corpses to be found, they would be indistinguishable from the thousands of others left charred and smoldering. Frank and a force of Sentinels spent days cleaning up the corpses. Most crumbled to touch. There was no recovering anything.

If I had just been a bit more careful... no. I had no way of knowing.

It was a mistake. Or was it? My mind couldn't agree on what was correct.

One thing was for certain. They were gone, forever.

"It's... a tragedy that some of my people are no longer with us," The chief continued, "However, your party has done us a great favor by cleaning up the goblins from those mountains. As the chief of this village and the speaker of my people, you have our thanks."

"You're welcome, dear elder." Gred said with a smile.

The chief stood from his chair, helped by the other elders beside him. He looked at Gred, then at the rest of the adventurers.

He didn't bother to look at me.

"We will celebrate your return, and your success, with a humble feast," The chief announced, looking around, "We may have fallen into hard times, but hard times don't mean we cannot celebrate! Triumph begets reward!"

There was resounding agreement among the beastkin. The adults agreed. The children cheered. A feast was a feast, no matter how humble. Though I couldn't help but wonder how they were going to have this feast.

From what I had observed, most of the village had taken damage from the storm. Some huts didn't even have their roofs. But if the beastkin in my time could survive on a continent designed to kill, then this was as easy as things could get.