The Chaos of War
My name is Hasamari Sujamarca, and I have been sentenced to death.
Not for any crime I, myself, have committed; no, it is for the sins of my forefathers that I stand condemned. A charge of that kind would even be preferable – for most any crime, death pays all debts. Not mine. Though a murderer's name may be cleansed with an honorable death, my blood is forever tainted – only for being born in Sujamarca. Life's idiosyncrasies never shall cease to astound me.
Sujamarca has been at war with Crissia for many generations. Before the war, the Crissians lived in their city Crissia, ruled by house Naer. They grew their own potatoes and kept to themselves.
This system was pleasing to both Sujamarca and Crissia beyond living memory. It was nearing its end when a man was born to house Naer with the name Gerald. As Gerald Naer grew older, it became apparent to all who knew him that he had a love for power. When he came of age, he stood before the Crissians and spoke.
He told first of Crissia, of its people and its houses, of its palaces and hovels, and he said: This is not right. We are surely the chosen of the world, we who have striven to build a place for ourselves and against all odds succeeded. Yet we deserve more. We deserve not only freedom, but power.
Then impassioned he spoke of Sujamarca, of the citadel we built – with our own hands and the sweat of our people, even as Crissia had been made. Our task was no less daunting than theirs; our product no less spectacular. Yet he told of our weakness, our infidelity, and said that we had been given the citadel by spirits of the night, in return for a nameless service.
If we were truly demon-callers, it would be the height of folly to assault us, yet such was the reason behind his plan. Nevertheless, the Crissians followed him into conquest against us, and where they defeated us, we were enslaved.
The new leader named the ruling house Gerald after himself, and altered his name to Naer Gerald. None of the members of house Gerald still live. Sujamarca may be weak, but we are not yet idiots, or wholly inept.
Dagra is the new ruling family, and while the Crissians are still at war with us, there are none in Dagra as charismatic as Gerald.
No one alive may honestly claim that I somehow caused the hatred of the subjugated to their masters. My deeds could not have caused the death of house Gerald; in attempting to control the Sujamarca people, they damned themselves.
Which of these spoilt brats, fighting amongst themselves for scraps of power even as dogs may fight for a bit of bread or meat – which of these chosen could create what we have created; could dream as we have dreamed; could sacrifice what we have sacrificed for our children – then kill us and look us in the eye when they are done?
None. Not one, and it sickens me that no one here can be called a man. If any one of these pathetic people were to grow a spine, they would be worshiped – as Gerald was – as a god.
If any be weak and infidel, it is they, but still they kill us. There are so many of them, not even our citadel will stand for long. One day we will all be gone, and on that day there will be no one left to weep for the children we could have had – not even I.
For my name is Hasamari Sujamarca, and I have been sentenced to death.