The Shrakn called fourteen names. Fourteen names belonging to fourteen men who might as well already be dead. Not one of them struggled, none of them fought for their lives; not a single man called out for aid. They all knew. Every man of Harrstead knew. Each day they lived was nothing more than borrowed time, and death was coming for each of them. No one dared break the deafening silence as they waited for the final name. The Baron took fifteen men every third month. No more, and no less. No one knew what became of them once the Shrakn loaded them into the wagons, but none of the chosen ever returned to Harrstead. Being selected for donation was, to those who remained, the same as being chosen to die.
The seconds were beginning to suffocate Allastr as he waited, *Is this the day they finally call my name?* he thought. He stood side by side with every other man in Harrstead, lined up like cattle to the slaughter. He had told himself a thousand times that he was ready; he had prepared for this. Death was inevitable, so he would be prepared to die, but was he? Was he prepared to die? Standing there in line, surrounded by the damned, and waiting for the last name to come, he couldn’t help but doubt his resolve. He didn’t even know what would happen if he was chosen. Would he even be killed? *Damn it,* he thought as sweat began to drip from his brow, *What if it’s worse than just death, what if they experiment on us, or torture us, or what if they…*. “Timmith of Harrsssstead '' came the Shraken’s slithering gravelly voice.
Allastr released a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. *It wasn’t my name.* He looked to his left and met Timmith’s eye for a moment. Timmith was the closest thing Allastr had to a friend. They had grown up together, their parents had been close, and they had shared breakfast almost every day for the last ten years. Allastr knew he should feel something. He would never see Timmith again after all, but right now, all he knew, all he could think, was that the Shrakn hadn’t called his name; Allastr was going to live. Like the others, Timmith did not scream, and he didn’t even seem to breathe. Stepping forward without a sound, he was grabbed and led to the wagons by a large Shrakn wielding a wicked-looking spear.
The Shrakn all towered above the tallest men and had twice the muscle. They were covered from head to toe in dull dark colored scales; Most were brown or green, but Allastr had seen one or two that were a muted red or blue. Their heads were shaped like lizards with eyes slitted like a cat’s. They served as the bulk of the Baron’s military and as overseers for the human populations. Shrakn were cruel, ruthless, and vicious if provoked. The Shrakn leading Timmith pushed him forward when they arrived at the wagons and barked an order for him to climb in. Timmith did so without question, and just like that, Allastr would never see him again. The Shrakn began leading the wagons away, and the men began to disperse for work. Allastr stood there for just a moment longer. He felt nothing, and that bothered him. The man he considered his best friend was gone, and he felt nothing but relief.
His feet finally began to move on, and Allastr forced his mind to do the same. He made his way to the tavern, which in truth was little more than a lean-to structure held together by rope and tarp, but it was where all the workers went in the mornings to have a meal before heading to the fields. He didn’t have far to go; Harrstead was only a few ramshackle huts surrounded by a small wooden wall intended to keep the workers from escaping at night. It was a Farming Hamlet home to around 100 workers, their families, and a garrison of Shrakn overseers. They mainly grew grains harvested yearly to be sent off to feed the Baron’s soldiers. They also were responsible for producing enough food to maintain and feed themselves. If they did not meet their quotas for the Baron, or their crops failed, they would starve.
Upon arriving at the Inn, Allastr steps up to the counter and hands a single iron ring to Gethree, the cook and barmaid for the village. As he hands her the coin, she smiles shyly at him, and he does his best to return the smile. Gethree was a sweet girl; at 19, she was only a year younger than Allastr, and he was beginning to notice that she had, at some point, become a beautiful woman. If Allastr survived a few more years, he might even consider courting her. Gethree brings him a waterskin, a loaf of bread, and some dried meat, a worker’s daily meal, and as he begins to eat, other workers start to filter into the Inn as well.
Quiet conversations sprung up around the tavern, and Allastr couldn’t help but notice Timmith’s absence. He would typically be cracking jokes about Allastr and Gethree or gossiping about the other workers. Allastr couldn’t help but feel guilt at not trying to do something to help Timmith, but what could he have done? Try to stop the donation? What would that accomplish other than getting himself killed? His thoughts were interrupted when a group of Shrakn burst into the tent. The room went silent, and the men inside seemed to shrink as the Shrakn moved to a large table. Gethree quickly rushed to the Shrakn, dropping large plates full of steaming meat and tankards of ale on the table, then hurriedly attempted to flee back to her kitchen. Still, the largest of the three Shrakn, A muscled dull green brute, called out to her before she could make it, “Hey Girl, come back here and sit with us for a while; we could use some company.”
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Allastr stood up and walked to the door to leave. The Shrakn did this more often lately, and he didn’t want to be in the Tavern while they harassed Gethree. Everyone in Harrstead knew the Baron had laws about the Shrakn mingling with humans, and harming the Baron’s workers without good reason was equivalent to damaging his property. Allastr knew that sometimes the Shrakn were known to get too drunk and go a little too far with their “treatment” of the humans. Still, the Shrakn would never knowingly go against the Baron’s laws and hurt one of them without reason.
Allastr made it to the village gate and approached a bald woman wearing all white sitting at a table. She was holding a leather-bound book and looked at him expectantly as he stepped up to her table. Aschora could not speak; they were trained in reading and writing and educated by the Dragons. In trade for this education, they had their tongues cut out to guarantee they could never spread what they learned to other humans. Allastr gave her his name, designation, and position, “Allastr, Farm Worker 73, Second Field”. She marked this all down in her book and nodded to him, motioning to the gate. The workers were required to check in and out with the Aschora before and after their shifts. They were responsible for ensuring the workers received payment and that any who left the village returned when they completed their work. Few men ever tried to escape as it was, as everyone in town knew what the Shrakn did to the families of runaways.
Allastr began to plow the fields and allowed himself to get lost in labor. His back was aching, his hands were raw and covered in blisters, and his skin was scarred from sunburn. The Baron did not grant his field workers days off, so they worked every day. The labor was physically demanding, but those who did not work did not eat. Allastr found himself enjoying the work because it allowed him to forget his futile life, if only for a few hours. Shrakn periodically patrolled the fields and would break up any groups of workers that gathered to talk. Allastr generally avoided anything that would draw the wrath of the Skrakn. He had suffered his own share of beatings at the hands of the angry draconic overseers, so he kept to himself as he worked as a rule of thumb.
Hours later, the sun began to drift beneath the horizon, and the Shrakn started to call for the workers to return to Harrstead. Allastr gathered up his tool belt and made his way down the road. Just ahead of him, a patrol of Shrakn had a small group of workers pulled to the side of the road. Allastr couldn’t hear what the Shrakn was yelling at them about, but he did see when the lead Shrakn began beating one of the workers. Allastr sighed and slowly backed away from the scene. *They should know better by now,* He thinks angrily, *Half of those men are twice my age. How many beatings do they have to take to learn not to be caught in large groups after dark.* Allastr turned and began to backtrack until he reached another longer, less used way back to town. He reasoned that it would be best to avoid the patrol entirely so he wouldn’t be associated with the other men. The longer route to town would take him out of the way past some old burned-out barns, but he would still arrive back in Harrstead before curfew with time to spare. As he rounded the first barn, he started to relax for the first time that day. Then, just as he began to let his guard down, he stopped cold as a muffled scream came from inside the building. Before he could even think to move to hide or run, a Shrakn stumbled out of the barn. The draconic soldier almost knocked Allastr to the ground, stopping so close to him that he could smell the alcohol on the creature's rancid breath. Surprisingly the Shrakn jumped back at Allastr’s presence.
“Human,” the Shrakn hissed slowly, glaring at Allastr with a cold, hateful look,” What are you doing this far out from your den this late hmmm?” Allastr quickly steps back, bowing his head to the overseer, “I… Uhm… I was heading back to town. The work was hard on me today, so I thought to get more time in the fresh air on my return by a longer route home” The Shrakn’s eyes narrowed at the odd excuse; he turned his head to look behind him quickly and then turned back. Allastr was sure that the Shrakn was acting strange now. It appeared… Nervous? It spoke quietly this time, “You waste my time with this nonsense idiot human. Return to your home before I change my mind, slit your throat, and tell the Baron you were attempting to escape.” Allastr would have laughed at that if he wasn’t so terrified; no one could lie to a Dragon, most certainly not the Baron himself. Even knowing this, Allastr took his chance to escape while he saw it and went to return to the road. He attempted to make himself as small as possible and began to walk away from the barn. Then he heard a barely audible whimper coming from the barn behind the Shrakn. Before he could stop himself, he turned to look into the barn. His breath caught in his throat. Through the open door, he could see Gethree lying on the floor. Her clothes were ripped and stained with blood, and her arms and face were covered in bruises. She was lying face down and seemed to barely be able to breathe. Allastr looked back to the Shrakn, and the beast was staring at him with a cold, predatory look now. Then Allastr recognized the Brute. He was the same dull green Shrakn guard who harassed Gethree earlier at the tavern. With his teeth on full display, the Shrakn spoke in a low, threatening growl, “You had to be nosy, didn’t you human. You couldn’t leave well enough alone” Allastr felt anger swell in his chest.
What did Gethree do to deserve… this? What law did she break? This Shrakn wasn’t enforcing the baron’s rules; he was actually breaking them himself; he was a killer, and he needed to pay for this. Allastr met the Shrakn’s gaze defiantly; for the first time in his life, he stood tall in the face of a Shrakn and refused to back down. “How dare you,” he said, his voice shaking from the anger, “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done this night” He pointed to Gethree,” What crime did she commit to deserve this?” The Shrakn just laughed at him, snarling, “And what are you going to do, Ignorant Human, besides joining the dying bitch on the floor?” Allastr couldn’t take the Shrakn’s taunts any longer, and he drew back his fist. He threw a punch aimed straight at the Shrakn’s scaled snout. To his shock, the blow flew uselessly past the soldier’s head as the Shrakn moved faster than Allastr could possibly react. As the Green lizard landed a punch of his own to Allastr’s chest, the wind was knocked out of him, and he felt some of his ribs crack under the heavy scaled fist. Allastr fell to the ground, struggling to breathe, and the Shrakn leaned over him, pressing a clawed foot hard into his chest and looking into his eyes. “You should’ve just walked away, human,” he said before he proceeded to beat Allastr until he passed out from the pain.