Tales of Sajantia
Tale I: The Sajantians
Chapter I: the thief
A man crept alone in the darkness of the forests of Balorn. The crescent sun set sadly below the hills, its last rays shining dimly upon the newly anointed Land of Balornia. Once Sajantia, it was homed by a myth of Sajantians, magical creatures who started civilization. However, this land was now owned by the hated Lord Balor, his army of the barbarians from the south bullying the land into his rule. Only in this wood was there any hint of respect for the old ways. Legends spoke of towns of Sajantians in the wood, but Lord Balor had never dared look. The more barbarians he sent in, the less returned.
The man was a common thief; he had stolen lord Balor's most prized possession, the very sword he used to kill the old king, Vesuvus. He laughed as he ran deeper, the foolish barbarians were afraid of the wood, they wouldn't follow him. The tales of magic in this wood he laughed upon as he ran deeper. He sat in a small patch of strange flowers to catch his breath. His Scimitar hung at his waist limply, shining dimly in the last light of the sun. A twig snapped behind him. That was the last he heard. A sea blue flash made him turn around, all he saw was red. He was bleeding from his wrist. He let out a short cry, and then fell to the floor. A cat sat beside him, licking blood from its gleaming claws, its blue fur glowing faintly.
Silence plagued the wood for a moment, until a slim, tall man approached the corpse. He wore dark green camouflage with a blue crest on his arm. It was in a strange S shape, each end of the S ending sharply, like an enchanted blue dagger.