Lore, Sagas, Short story

Between.

They would go among their foes and with seduction use what they could. The promise of gold or love or anything more, no lie too great or small.

And when they weaseled their way to power, in the pockets and ears of lords, they made themselves a protected class, beyond the questioning any other would face.

And when the wind would change and tide would turn, their plans moved to effect. The deepest darkest secrets of the higher houses held as knives against their throats, those lords and kings would turn against their own for image and extra coin.

And oh how they would strike with cruelty reserved for the most vile of villains. The blood of young and old would spill to slake the thirst of the parasites within their homes.

When seen the people did confront their lords, their barons and kings, and dismissed out of hand they were by those bound to protect.

The rage and fire of ancestral blood swelled within that folk, and they would purge their very homes and those who cared not for the honor of old.

With swift determination, a strike would come as thunder, and all at once those who had come would flee or be destroyed, for they had killed and used the toil of all those that they could, and once again that folk were free, as foes were scattered to the wind.

But their foes did not soon rest, instead they ran to friends of theirs. Friends who had still done the same in kingdoms near and far. An army raised by blood soaked coin came to strike back at that folk. For daring to seek their own rule and path they would be subject to other thrones.

Blood would pay for greed as the example would be made, the stories of great evil turned to be that of that folk. The parasites returned to rule and lord above both blood and ash, and the folk who threw them off that once would be as strangers in their home.

For parasites among men are plentiful and vile, with underhanded grins they work, and with their words conspire. For all the evils of the world are made up of their foes, the parasites the innocent, the victim’s blood thirst thus exposed.

For the world of mortals is not of truth but of who decides what truth is to be. The victor will always be the right, the just, the good, the fair. The vanquished at all times offering nothing but excuses against such obvious truths, the words which must never once be uttered.

It matters not the truth of things, for that is the realm of Sages and the last of Gods alone. All others are held captive by the largest armies, and the kings who would serve themselves. And among the worst of all such things are parasites of men, those who would belittle honour and see a folk put to an end.

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