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The Farmers

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The enemy envoy approached the border-lands of Amoria. The land was as bountiful as it was beautiful. Lush vegetation grew along the rolling hills, springing forward in full bloom. Calm lakes with their surfaces like mirrors reflected the mountain tops on the horizon.

As the envoy marched further into the land, they were pleased to see there was no resistance. No guard posts, or legions were manning the borders. Having the desire to show their might, the envoy was substantial. One hundred of their best troops, along with a handful of upper-level leaders escorted the diplomat on their mission.

They laughed at the folly of such a simple people. Who would be so careless to leave themselves so open to attack?

After about a half days travel, the envoy made their first contact with the people of the land. As the road opened up to reveal a large clearing, farmers could be seen working the fields carrying on with their tasks as if the envoy was not even there.

The envoy leader Galtha shouted out to the closest farmer to the road, yet the farmer kept about his task. Galtha felt a twinge inside him. Pride welled up as he was put off by this clear lack of respect. He moved toward the farmer and raised his voice even louder; this time, the farmer stopped what he was doing and stood to acknowledge him.

“You there,” Galtha spoke, “What is your name?”

“Serra.” the worker replied.

Galtha was starting to get very irritated by the clear lack of respect from a peasant farm-hand. Did these simple farmers not understand, he thought to himself?

“We have come on behalf of our mighty king to offer peace, and to avoid bloodshed in the war to come,” Galtha exclaimed as if it was already determined. “Where will we find your king so we might offer Him this courtesy?”

Serra stared at Galtha, and after a brief pause, he said. “There would be no need for your courtesy, if you turn around and fuck right off, back to where you came from.”

Taken back briefly by this clear hostility, anger welled inside Galtha. This was more then Galtha could take! Who did this welp think he was! Signaling for three soldiers, they dismounted and advanced on Serra. When they drew within ten feet of his position as if from the air itself, a sword appeared in Serra's hand and with three swift steps, each soldier had sustained a strike to the throat. Bleeding and clutching their throats, they fell to their knees and onto their faces as the life left their bodies.

Shocked and taken back, Galtha urged his horse backwards while calling for his commanders to advance with full force to protect him. Serra stared intently into Galtha’s eyes the entire time. Stricken with fear Galtha called again for the advance. Hearing no movement or reply, panic set in and he could feel his heart racing. Galtha broke eye contact with Serra to look behind him. Horses without riders fled the field. Farmers with swords in their hands stood over dying soldiers, watching them as they took their last breaths. The soldiers that had fled on foot or horseback were picked off by farmers with bows.

Terrified, Galtha turned back forward to where Serra had been standing, but Serra was not there. Abruptly Galtha was pulled down from his horse and landed on his back, Serra pinned his shoulder to the ground with his blade at his throat.

Galtha babbled for a moment and found his composure. “But how? You’re just farmers. How is this possible?”

Serra spoke softly and clearly, staring Galtha in the eyes, “You see, here in Amoria, we are all farmers, even our Kings prepare their own way. We are one people, and the lowest of us is the highest of us. It is true we each have our roles and so some of us spend more time in the fields, while others spend more time in barracks, but we all fight to the death. Fear not though; we let a few of your soldiers escape to carry this tale back to your kingdom. You are not necessary in telling the story though, so your time will end here, but know this. Our people will crash upon your legions like the waves of the ocean against a ship stuck in the current, tattered and beat down. We will be relentless and cunning, fierce and absolute. For peace is only truly attained when pride is washed away.”

Bearing down on Galtha’s shoulder, Serra slid his blade into Galtha’s throat and said, “Go in peace.”

 

 

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