"To rule by fear and oppression is an effective, if not efficient, way to rule, yet one must always keep in mind the inherent dangers of it. People can only be trodden down on for so long and so much. Tread on them too hard, or too much, and they might just decide that death is a better alternative than further acquiescence.

When it reached that boiling point, you have at best a localized riot, and at worst, a full blown rebellion in your hands all of a sudden. And what better time would there be for your enemies to exploit your weakness?

It is often the small things that set off a chain of events that eventually had larger ramifications too, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings causing a storm in a different part of the world. I see this as the case for what caused the end of Junora as a nation.

Reliable records from our spies indicated that the rebellion that eventually became the Theocracy of Vitalica, originated partly due to the fault of an overeager tax and census collector, whose predecessor had slacked on his job, leading to a confluence of factors that allowed a family lineage of light mages to go on, of which the death of the youngest child, became the spark that formented the rebellion.

Had the rebellion not happened, the subsequent events would not have happened as well. The Bone Lord would not have allied with Vitalica and sent one of his precious disciples to their capital. Had the Bone Lord's disciple not been in the Vitalican capital, she would not have gotten hurt when a Junoran Assassin struck, and thus the Bone Lord's wrath wouldn't have been triggered to such an extent.

But men only plans, and fate decides the outcomes." - Emir ibn Khalif Elam El-Ehr, crown prince of the Assadun Emirate, circa 40 VA.

Fiachnalis village, south-western Junora, fourth day of the fourth week of the fourth month, year 0 VA.

On that early summer day, the villagers of Fiachnalis gathered together by the town square, with sorrowful looks cast down. With pity in their eyes, many of them eyed the small group of young women, who all had turned fifteen that year, gathered in the middle of the village square. Their expressions are a mixture of nervousness, and dread put together in one.

In Junora, villagers like them were but objects, items of possessions that belong to their necromancer lords. Should they be particularly fit of body, they might be inducted into thralldom, which was considered an honor - though most anyone who had family members inducted into thralldom would say otherwise - by their lieges.

Each small area was the responsibility of an overseer, usually a senior necromancer, who in turn would employ junior necromancers to collect their dues and keep villages in line for them. It was this collection of dues, that kept the villagers on their toes on the fine early summer day.

Last year their village had quite a bad harvest, and they worried that the dues to be paid might not leave them enough to survive until the harvest this year. Not only that, due to Junora's policy of forcing every adult eighteen years or older to have at least three children, the village had many, many mouths to feed.

It was for those exact children that Theodin, the nominal village head, worried about. His twin sons Caelleach and Ciarran turned eighteen just last month, and he had no doubt the overseer would soon force him into a marriage to meet the quota of children imposed on them.

And yet he worried more for his third child, his only daughter Aideen, who turned fifteen this year. The current overseer had demanded that every village were to offer him a girl of fifteen once every year, and they had never had any news of any of those girls returning home. The junior necromancer who would arrive to collect the tax, would simultaneously be choosing a girl to bring along.

And Aideen was among the group of girls from which one would be chosen.

The girl reminded him so much of his late wife, who passed away giving birth to her, but with fiery red hair much like his own, and had always been the child he doted on the most. He was unwilling to even risk her departure to who knows what the overseer might have in mind, but he was powerless.

He was but a possession, who happens to be in charge of other possessions, and had not dared to risk the master's wrath. He could only pray, that his daughter would not end up being the one chosen.

Past noon, the collector entered the village, a skinny young man in black robes, mounted atop a skeletal deer. He had his chin held high, as he arrogantly viewed the gathered villagers as beneath him, but a task is a task, and he would do as his senior had bidden.

"The taxes," said the collector with a flat tone, clearly just there to do his task and be done with it.

"Milord, we had a bad harvest last year, we beseech-"

"I said, taxes, peasant! Bring them now or suffer the wrath of your betters!" Yelled the collector as he cut Theodin's words off. The middle aged village head sighed in defeat, and gestured for some men to go and get the dues they had saved up.

What they will be eating until the next harvest, he did not know.

"These are the wenches for this year then? Bloody villagers, always all so scrawny. Women are best with some meat on the bones," said the collector as he went down from atop his mount and then stored it inside his storage. His eyes had now darted towards the gathered village girls as the rest of the villagers prostrated themselves before him.

Most of the village girls, Aideen included, looked at the junior necromancer with fear and trepidation, though a few looked almost eager instead.

"Oh well, whatever," said the collector as he raised a hand and held the wrist of a girl. The girl seemed to be in pain from whatever he did, and rubbed her wrist as soon as he released it from his hand. Theodin was familiar with the sight, as the collectors, both the old one and the current one, always did that before they chose.

The collector had gone through one girl after another, each one giving a hiss of pain from whatever he did, and just looked bored, if not outright disgusted, as if he was being made to shovel dung.

When it happened, it took place so quickly nobody managed to react to the incident.

From where he prostrated on the ground, Theodin heard the collector curse, and then he heard Aideen, screaming in pain. That made him reflexively raise his head, and the sight he saw froze his blood, as he saw his beloved daughter struggle to get away from the collector, her right arm where the collector had held her turned black with death and decay.

Which spread further into her body, and before Theodin could even shout in protest, or beg for mercy, her cries were silenced, as the veins of black spread through her chest and neck, and she collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

In a daze, the middle aged village head heard the collector ramble about the accursed light affinity, and that his predecessor must have been blind to have missed an infestation like this.

He saw his two sons rush ahead and cradle their sister in their hands, which seemed to just infuriate the collector more, as he raised his hand and sent a cloud of black mist at the brothers, who were enveloped by it.

When he heard his sons scream out in pain from within the mist, Theodin of Fiachnalis village saw red. His hands grasped a large stone from the ground, and he walked behind the collector, quietly, yet with deadly purpose. The man was focused on his sons, and had not seen him coming at all

Then he hefted up the heavy stone and brought it down with all strength on the junior necromancer's head. The blow staggered the collector, as his magic cut off and he fell forward, but Theodin did not stop.

He went down on the man's body and raised the stone, slamming it against the back of the collector's head, again and again, as more and more red blood stained the stone.

The villagers gawked at the sight of their enraged village head raining down blows in rage on the necromancer they had thought of as inviolate. His two sons gawked at the fury of their father, the painful blisters and tears on their bodies forgotten, and they all just watched slack jawed as the stone went down again, and again.

Until it finally went down for the last time with a horrifying wet squelch as the necromancer's skull gave way entirely and his brain splattered all over the ground.

"Theodin," asked Orwen, the village blacksmith, and one of Theodin's closest friends since young. "What have you just done?"