We submit gifts of gems, gold, and steel, but the king is unmoved. He wants blood.
Aimless villagers bore him. He wants what it most precious to us, our young. So we give them theirs, the smallfolk, and say that they are ours. Easy enough to procure, we tell them we’re taking them to the capital to serve a greater purpose.
But it doesn’t take long for his mood to sour. He can tell. Question is, who will fold first to placate him?
Paddy Dobson
1st July 2023