It is known and has been passed down through the ages in stories, there exists an endless sea of realms in the Cosmos: a multiverse of endless universes, each with their own set of rules and physics. Some of said realms are similar to yours, some are very different indeed, but the one we shall focus on for this story is only slightly like the one you know and call home. Here in the realm of Omni, on Terra Primius, majik is real. Technology is similar to yours, but it does not progress as does the technology you are familiar with, if it was the sixth to thirteenth century of your realm, instead it stays the same through eons untold.
Sometime in the ancient, distant past, majik was more plentiful, it is said, but those days are gone, and now it is a rarity. It was used too liberally, and too irresponsibly and the world paid a high price; it was scarred and drained of much of its majikal essence.
Terra Primius has five continents covered with a multitude of mountain ranges. Titans, the largest continent, has one such mountain range, that is particularly rugged and volcanic, known by outsiders as; ‘The Helfire Mountains,’ but the locals call it by the old name, ‘Kazar,’ and it’s where the wildest of people call home. They are of the Kazarian people, a scattered, tribal people that are a xenophobic subspecies of humans. Yes, there are humans here; I did say this realm is similar to yours, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end. Kazarians do not like technology very much, even though there isn't much technology within the realm of Omni already. These wandering tribes are too difficult to rule over and the mountains are too rugged for a proper military campaign and supply logistics, so the kingdoms and empires leave them be.
Kazarians are a semi-nomadic, hunter-gatherer people, and live a simple life; they almost never leave the Helfire Mountains unless they are forced to, usually from being taken by slavers. The Southern Helfire Kazarian people are a little bigger, tougher and stronger than normal humans, they have darkish skin with a slight blue tint, pale silver irises, hair that looks like spun silver strings and they are more resistant to the cold mountain air and high altitude. Their tribe is called the Thunderfel of Kazar.
One particular Kazarian is far from his village on a hunt, tracking his prey the furthest he’s ever gone: right to the very edge of his people’s hunting territory, down into the foothills of the Helfire Mountain range. His name is Koronos Thunderfel of Kazar, and although he’s not fond of bragging, he’s one of the best trackers and hunters of his tribe and he trained very hard to proclaim such a title. Even as the Kazarian people are concerned, he’s stronger than most but still moves with the grace of a dancer; powerful, deadly and dangerous. He wears traditional attire of his people; animal furs, beads, feathers and traditional tattoos adorn his large frame. His hair in long braids that reach his waist. A face hard as stone but not displeasing to behold, perhaps some might call him beautiful.
This season has been a difficult one for his people, the game did not come like it always has for generations, so the hunts have been long, and the distances are dangerously far. It is known, one should never leave Kazar, only danger awaits in the world of kings, laws and the rules of men. From the rise he climbs on to see where his quarry went, he sees a village of men, far off in the morning mist; this is too close. “I’ve come too far…” he says quietly to himself as he grips his spear a little tighter. His hunting companion, Black Bane; a big black wolf catches the scent of something on the wind, “what is it Black Bane? We should go back.” But it’s too late, an arrow hits Black Bane in the neck and he yips and falls over, “noooo!” Being distracted by his wolf companion being killed, he doesn’t notice the bowman firing at him and an arrow hits Koronos in the thigh as he hears yelling in a strange tongue. It sounds almost like his language, but different and peculiar and very difficult to understand, because the language of the Kazarian is the old tongue, a variation about 1000 years older than the language of the Omegaland people.
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He sees the first rider approaching fast on a horse, with a leg injured, he cannot outrun a horse or even a man now, so he takes aim with his spear and with a massive force he hurls it with speed and accuracy into the man’s heart, knocking him clean off his mount.
A moment later, an arrow flying from a nearby bush grazes Koronos’s head, slicing it and making him see stars from the impact. The other riders are upon him now, being dizzy and disoriented, they take him down with a hit in the back from a club. They proceed to kick him and hit him with clubs, making it easy to tie his arms together at the wrists.
They have a great prize, capturing a Kazarian alive is very difficult indeed and rarely achieved. The men wrap his head and leg in bandages while he looks at them with burning hatred, they want him alive because he is a valuable product. They try to give him a drink of their waterskins, but he spits it back in their face and gets backhanded in the mouth for the insolence.
He is hauled to the nearby village where they toss him into the back of a wagon, four men with swords are guarding him, to make sure nobody tries to steal their prize and to ensure he doesn’t escape. Koronos images killing them a hundred times in a hundred different ways by the time they reach the closest city with a river port. It’s a city of men, a real city, like nothing he ever imagined, with so many people in one place; he wonders how men could build such things. The ladies of the town look at him with great interest because he’s a near perfect specimen of man or Kazarian and built like a stone wall with such exotic looks. The men guarding him ensure nobody can approach him. He’s taken down to the docks where he is put on a fairly large river boat to head down-stream, still in chains, naturally.
Men shouting, lines hauled in, and the boat goes underway, down river. Each city is even bigger and grander than the last one, peppered with villages and towns; each bigger than anything he’s ever seen or imagined, people beyond count. What Koronos notices is that there are no other men in chains, what he’s unaware of is that it’s illegal for another Omegaland citizen to own another Omegaland citizen; however, he’s not a citizen.
At first, he thinks they are approaching another village, but it goes on for leagues and only gets bigger and more grand; this is all one city, it’s one of the largest cities on Terra Primius and seat of the Omegaland Octavian Empire; Octavia. Up until now, Koronos has managed to mask his awe but now he loses all composure, for what he is seeing defies all of his frames of reference; temples and public buildings as large as small mountains, palaces and mansions larger than the biggest village he’s ever seen up until a few days ago. Thousands and thousands of people, how can they hunt here, he wonders?
He thought the vessel he was on was huge, but now he sees gigantic barges and naval warships that make it look like a raft, as they dock. The older man that seems to be the leader of the four men that have been guarding him, departs for an hour and returns with a handful of new men; one is fat and soft and seems to be robed in fancy clothing and opulence. This opulent man seems to be called ‘His Lordship,’ and is excited at seeing Koronos and shakes the old man’s hand as his men place a chest of coins on the ground before him. The men that have been guarding Koronos step back and allow the new men, who are bigger, better armed and armored, to take possession of the prize.
Although the men are bigger, Koronos is still half of a head taller than the biggest of them, but the four of them easily manage to drag him up the dock and toss him in an iron cage mounted on a large wagon. By now, a crowd has gathered around to gaze at this rarity. even here in a city such as this; an adult Kazarian man in his prime, big, powerful and deadly. The children try to touch his silver hair through the bars of the cage and are either pulled back by their mothers or warned away by the guards. He’s feeling fear from the uncertainty of his future for the lack of agency, but refuses to show it externally, so he closes his eyes and thinks of home.