My name is Tarbus, and I hate the Greeks. They came into my village a moon ago, a band of Greek raiders. We tried to hold them off, but their numbers were too many for our tiny village, and we were soon overwhelmed. But we stood and fought, defending our homes from these heathens who call themselves men. I stood at the entrance to my home, protecting my wife and two sons. I killed two Greek whores before one of them stabbed me with a spear. I fell, and I watched my sons murdered in front of my eyes and my wife dragged away into slavery. I fell into darkness, awaking to the sight of my friends, the twins Varga and Charnabon, tending to my wounds. Varga told me that most of the village was murdered or carried off into slavery. They managed to fight off a few of the Greeks and hide in their cellar until the raiders left. They were a cunning pair, but now all three of us were utterly lost.
So we picked up whatever what was left of our lives and joined the warband of our tribe’s war cheif, Dadas.
We headed to the capital, Malva, where Dadas was assembling an army. We signed up as humble spearmen, the arrow fodder for our great tribe.
That is me in the middle, looking all regal. And that’s Varga and Charnabon beside me.
We do not know where we are headed; we do not know what will become of us, but as long as I can kill some Greeks I will be happy. And should I die in battle, I am sure that I will join Zalmoxis in the afterlife, and until then, he will help me bring pain upon those who have caused me, my village, and my tribe so much suffering.
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