Fallout:Blood and the Bull

honest reviews would be greatly appreciated

Any opinion and comments are welcome

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"LARS... the damn harpies took Adrian!" shouted one of my neighbors as he ran toward me, his face full of desperation.

"What... what the hell? How long ago?" I responded, quickly grabbing the pitchfork nearby.

"Only God knows..." he said, trying to catch his breath, terror filling his eyes. "We only found pieces of his clothing and one of his shoes. Most of the livestock is gone too, and what little was left had claw marks. Those damned beasts dragged him into the mountains like he was just another lamb!"

I felt my stomach sink. Adrian was one of the strongest men in the village, a pillar for his family. Harpies weren't mere scavengers; they were ruthless hunters, capable of snatching livestock and men alike. The idea of facing them was terrifying, but doing nothing wasn't an option either.

"There's nothing we can do then... If the lookouts didn't see them, they must already be in their damned nest, doing who knows what with Adrian," I said through clenched teeth, feeling a mix of helplessness and burning rage in my chest.

My neighbor simply shook his head, his face a mask of resignation. He was right, but accepting it didn't make it any less painful.

The news that Adrian had been taken by the harpies spread like wildfire in our small village, bringing with it fear and outrage. Adrian wasn't the first, and if things continued as they were, he wouldn't be the last. He left behind a wife and six young children, now without a man to protect or provide for them. It was a devastating blow, not just for his family but for the entire village, because here, every hand mattered.

The worst part was that this wasn't an isolated tragedy. Harpy attacks had become more frequent with each passing month. They took men, livestock, and tore apart what little we had. And all of this was happening because our lord had stopped doing his duty: burning the nests in the nearby hills and mountains. Those burns were necessary to keep the beasts under control, but he was too busy with his disputes against other nobles to care about us.

"How many more will have to die before he does something?" asked one of the men, pounding the ground in frustration.

"He'll never do anything," another replied bitterly. "It's easier for him to keep collecting taxes and let us fend for ourselves."

We looked at each other, sharing a silent understanding. We couldn't keep living like this. Harpies, minotaurs—these lands were no longer a place where a family could survive. Something had to change.

"You know..." began the village messenger, his voice trembling as he glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. He lowered his tone, but we could still hear him clearly. "There's a rumor... about a noble, in the east... He calls himself the Mighty Caesar. Yes, he literally puts 'Mighty' before his title."

Some of the men let out brief, mocking laughs, but the messenger continued, undeterred.

"It's not about what he calls himself. What matters is that, they say, he stopped a beast-men invasion in the east. He reclaimed Castra Caesarea—you know which one? That ancient fortress that controls the only pass to the east. They say he's brought peace to his lands from there. No wars between nobles, no monsters terrorizing the fields. Many are already afraid of him, or so I've heard. His lands are peaceful, and he's looking for people to colonize more fertile territories."

The group fell silent. The messenger swallowed hard before adding, lowering his voice even further.

"Well, that's what I know... but if anyone here decides to try it, don't say you heard it from me. I don't want to end up at the baron's whipping post."

We looked at each other. No one needed to say anything; we were all thinking the same thing. The west offered us nothing but death and despair. But the east... the east seemed like a dream, a refuge far from the misery consuming us.

"If this Caesar is as powerful as they say," one man said, "maybe we can start over. Far from harpies, minotaurs, and these damned nobles..."

"And the whippings," someone else added quietly, prompting a few tense laughs.

It was a risky decision. Leaving meant abandoning the little we had, but staying only promised more suffering. That night, under a blanket of stars, our village made a decision. We would head east. And though we didn't know what we would find, we were willing to risk everything for a future not stained with blood and despair.

It didn't take long for us to set out, but we weren't the only ones. Harpy attacks had increased across the frontier, a direct consequence of the local nobles' negligence. In the past, troops were sent annually to burn the nests in the nearby mountains and hills, keeping the creatures at bay. Now, those expeditions happened every five years, if at all, leaving the frontier villages to fend for themselves. The harpies always returned, and when they did, they attacked with greater ferocity, taking men, livestock, and destroying everything in their path.

As we traveled, we noticed something curious: we weren't the only ones who had decided to leave everything behind. Other frontier villages were doing the same. Makeshift caravans, composed of entire families, were slowly moving east. The rumor of the Mighty Caesar had spread like wildfire. They said the message had come from the emperor himself, an invitation to colonize lands under the protection of this noble who had achieved the impossible. But, honestly, I think no one heard it directly from the emperor. It was the rumors driving people, and those rumors were more convincing than any imperial decree.

Our journey began cautiously. We avoided the main roads used by the local lord's garrisons and the patrols of other feudal lords. If they found us, they could act with extreme aggression. To them, we were serfs, their property, and escaping our servitude was a direct challenge to their authority. There were stories of entire villages being punished for trying to flee—men and women whipped to death, and children sold into slavery.

We walked along secondary paths and through forests, carrying only the essentials. The days were long, and the nights even longer. Fear constantly accompanied us: fear of harpies descending from the skies, fear of bandit gangs lurking along the roads, fear of being discovered and dragged back.

On the way, we encountered other evils just as despairing as those we had left behind. We nearly got caught in a skirmish between two of the many free cities scattered across the region. You'd think that after traveling several days east, leaving behind the feudal lords' lands and reaching the free cities—places that boasted of rejecting nobility and servitude—things would be more peaceful. But the reality was far from it.

Here, in the free cities, there was no peace, only endless battles. The ground was stained with blood, and burned villages were a common sight on the horizon. Every city seemed to be at war with its neighbors, fighting over territories, trade routes, or simply the ambitions of their leaders. What set them apart from the feudal nobles was that here, there were no lineages or titles—just rich men ruling with the same cruelty and greed, but without the veneer of tradition.

One of the darkest days of our journey was when we came across the remains of a razed village. Its houses had been burned to the ground, and the bodies of its inhabitants lay scattered in the streets, some still bearing the marks of chains on their wrists and ankles. Mercenaries had done their work with a brutality that chilled the soul. Their faces showed no remorse, only the cold indifference of men who sell their swords to the highest bidder.

The territory we were now crossing was once again under the control of feudal lords. Every step was a risk. Any of these lords could declare us their serfs and claim our group as property. With no clear routes, we relied on secondary paths that often led us back to the fortresses we were trying to avoid.

On one of these paths, an imperial courier rode past us, his horse seemingly as swift as the wind. He glanced at us for only a second before disappearing into the distance. Our stomachs clenched at the sight. Nothing would stop that information from reaching the local authorities: a large group of peasants on the move was enough to raise suspicion or, worse, provoke retaliation.

We decided to hasten our pace, trying to get as far away as possible from the nobles' power zones, but the terrain was difficult to navigate. Without a map or guide, we wandered down paths that repeatedly brought us back to the very castles we sought to avoid. Desperation began to creep into the group, and hunger and exhaustion made us even more vulnerable.

One afternoon, as we once again adjusted our route, a group of men appeared on a nearby hill. Clad in wolf pelts and iron armor, they descended toward us with a confidence that chilled our blood. They didn't look like common bandits; their movements were disciplined, calculated. We all froze in place, fear gripping us.

The leader of the group stepped forward, observing us with a firm gaze. Finally, he raised his fist and spoke in a voice that thundered like a storm:

"AVE, TRUE TO CAESAR!"

The tension that gripped us transformed into a mix of confusion and relief. We had heard those words before, in the rumors about the eastern lands. They were Caesar's men, the guardians of his peace. I looked around and saw the faces of my companions begin to relax, though not entirely. We still didn't know if we were safe.

"Who are you?" the man asked, his tone allowing no hesitation.

"We are peasants," I said, stepping forward. "We come from the west, fleeing misery and violence. We've heard that in the lands of the Mighty Caesar, there is peace. We seek only a place where we can work and live without fear."

The leader of the group nodded slowly, looking us up and down. His men remained silent, but I could feel their eyes analyzing us closely. After a moment that felt eternal, the leader spoke again.

"If you are honest and seek refuge, we will escort you east, to Caesar's borderlands. There you will find the peace you seek."

At last, we had guides. Caesar's men knew the way as if they had traveled it their entire lives. Our progress was swift and without incident. Under their protection, the constant fears that had accompanied us began to dissipate, though only slightly.

It didn't take long for us to reach Caesar's territories. But the sight that greeted us was not the idyllic refuge we had imagined. On both sides of the road stretched long rows of crosses. On them, men and women were nailed, many still alive, struggling for breath, their faces twisted in agony. Their groans and pleas filled the air, mingling with the wind that swept across the plain.

Our group stopped abruptly, horrified by the scene. Some children began to cry, clutching their parents for comfort. The adults exchanged looks filled with questions, but before anyone could speak, the leader of Caesar's men, riding at the front, turned to face our confused and terrified gazes.

"This is what happens to those who disturb Caesar's Pax," he said in a dry, firm tone that left no room for argument. "Thieves, murderers, rapists... and the profligates. Those who reject order, who defy Caesar's peace. This is their fate."

After this grim display, we continued our journey in silence. No one dared to speak of the forest of crosses we had left behind, but the images lingered in our minds. Every step we took seemed to carry us deeper into Caesar's domain, and with each mile, the landscape changed.

A few days later, we arrived at what appeared to be a city under construction. The scene was both awe-inspiring and chaotic. Thousands of slaves worked tirelessly, digging tunnels, raising walls, and hauling materials. Their bodies glistened under the sun, covered in sweat and dust. But what caught our attention most was the presence of magicians.

Magicians. Real magic users, moving massive amounts of bricks and timber with simple gestures, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

When Caesar's men escorted us to an area near the city under construction, one of them spoke, breaking the silence.

"These are your lands. Caesar grants you servitude here, under his protection. You will work these plots for the good of the Legion." His tone allowed no debate, yet it wasn't cruel. There was a strange formality in his words.

We began working immediately. There was no time to waste, as we had to build homes and prepare the fields if we wanted to survive the harsh winter without shelter or enough food. Despite the exhaustion from our long journey, our survival depended on what we did now.

As we were organizing, another group of Caesar's men arrived along the path, led by an officer who radiated authority. His presence was imposing, and we all stopped what we were doing to listen.

"Ave, servants of the Legion!" he began, his firm voice resounding like a war drum. "Lord Caesar has learned of your arrival, and in a display of his magnanimity, he sends you this tool of his will."

At his signal, his men began unloading what they had brought: crates of tools, piles of wood, and sacks of provisions. The officer continued speaking, his tone ceremonial yet efficient.

"By order of Lord Caesar, we present you with the following resources: materials and tools for constructing your homes, fifty sacks of wheat for your immediate sustenance, and ten sacks of seeds to work the land and prepare for the next harvest. Additionally, the Legion will soon send some of its men to assist you in building your homes and ensuring you are prepared before winter arrives."

A silence filled with astonishment enveloped the group as we observed this unexpected generosity. This was not what we had experienced under the feudal lords of the west. There, servitude meant following orders and fending for yourself, if there was anything to fend for at all. But here, under Caesar's Pax, there was a level of care and order we had never imagined.

Some began murmuring prayers of thanks, while others simply nodded in silence, processing the enormity of what this meant.

The officer looked around, observing our expressions before delivering his final command.

"Work well, and remember always: every act you perform here is in the name of Caesar's will. The Legion is with you. Ave, True to Caesar!"

"Ave, True to Caesar!" some of our men responded, though timidly. The phrase was still new to us, but we were beginning to understand its meaning.

Days passed, and the Legionaries finally arrived to help with construction. They brought with them a precision and discipline we had never seen. They didn't just build walls and roofs; they organized everything with military efficiency, transforming our lives in a matter of days. Even magicians were among them, moving heavy materials and using a strange liquid that, when poured, solidified into something like rock. It was something we had never imagined: magic in the service of peasants.

The houses went up quickly, and before we knew it, the fields were ready to be worked. Other officers arrived to oversee this new phase, teaching us how Caesar ordered the land to be worked. Everything had a purpose; every task was meticulously planned. They provided animals for plowing, new tools, and clear instructions on how to make the most of our plots.

There was a system to all of this, a relentless yet effective logic. Caesar left nothing to chance. As we worked, we began to understand that his power wasn't just based on military strength but on his ability to organize and build.

However, what truly defined those days was something none of us expected: absolute peace.

There were no monsters lurking in the shadows, no thieves waiting to ambush us on the roads. No bandits, no harpies carrying off our men, no nobles fighting over every inch of land. Everything was calm. The only sounds were those of work and the conversations of others who, like us, had come here to start anew.

Each day, more people arrived. Peasants like us, merchants seeking new opportunities, even craftsmen with tools and materials—all drawn by the tales of this land. No one spoke of power struggles or internal conflicts. There was only talk of work, rebuilding, and a leader who guaranteed it all with an iron will.

Here, there was no chaos. Here, there was no fear. Here was Caesar's Pax—a rigid order that, while demanding, gave us something we had never known: stability.

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honest reviews would be greatly appreciated

Any opinion and comments are welcome