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28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, at The Village of Azbug, located in the northern lands
Reclined as he was, Senken sat on several straw filled pillows laid upon the ground as his cushion in front of a truly massive fire. In front of him, what bottles of mead that hadn't been drunk by the brigands.
Senken had taken a few mouthfuls but had offered it to the others around this grand celebration. It had been a day since he had made it to the village of Azbug and freed it of its oppressors. In that time, the ones exiled from it had returned, towing the dead he had found on the road behind them, and been welcomed back with open arms and grievance for the lost.
The village was mostly habitable still, the great battle between him and the mages only made three of the homes here not safe to sleep in, Platzre focusing on hitting him and not the residences she and her hired hands needed to shelter their workforce and themselves. It was only her last spell that claimed two buildings, adding to Senken's own initial assault.
Now, they insisted he join in their celebration and accept their gestures of gratitude. The corpses of their transgressors were piled into the center of the village, the spare tinder of the destroyed homes sorted into usable and not, and all that was not usable was added to the fire. The bodies of their oppressors burned, along with the body of Platzre strung onto a pole that they built the fire up around, reminiscent of a witch trial.
The initial smell of burning flesh brought back a wash of memories for Senken, the countless times he had partook of the long pork, back when he was the king of curses. It brought with it a nostalgia that Senken hadn't entirely expected.
He remedied that feeling, crushing it down into his stomach, by retrieving from his shadow a wild beast he had slain days ago.
Thumping to the ground, the corpse of an adult boar that must have weighed no less than 500 pounds was laid before the village. Senken wasted no time preparing the feast, Schrein portioning the beast into its cuts at a speed no butcher could replicate.
He handed off the softer cuts, letting the people roast or cook them as they wished, putting cast iron pans in the coals of the bonfire or skewering the meat and roasting it above the flames. The tougher meats, he watched over himself as they cooked, low and slow just at the edge of the flames' heat.
As he did this, the sun's setting light cast a shadow over his barbeque, and he turned to regard the one who had come to him. The villagers had been working up their nerve all day, in various ways and in varying groups, all to thank him and gift him with what meager possessions they had left. He denied all gifts that were not insisted he take, and he felt this would be no different.
In silhouette, she was like a post, standing straight in a prose that spoke of her gathered courage. Her bare feet dug into the dirt of the road, her tanned skin blending with the dust around her ankles, leading into a once white sundress, now yellowed with time and labor. It hung from her shoulders, hidden partly by straw blonde hair.
Her face was set in a determined look that bordered on anger. Lips drawn together thin, brows furrowed, her hazel eyes looked down at him along her nose. As he rose to address her, her visage lifted and shifted, taking in his bulk and letting her brows relax, mouth opening gently and causing her lips to fill back in. She looked to be about two feet shorter than Senken.
He quietly waited, watching as she mentally lost and found her resolve. Her voice was raspy, he could imagine it being used often to shout across the fields.
"Th-thanks for saving our village, Good Sir." She started, and he could see her gaze shift lower, likely trying to figure out which of his pairs of eyes to look at. "I wanted to…, to offer you something…"
Hearing her trail off, Senken lifted a hand. "No need."
However, whether she had been paying attention to those who came before, or truly felt this way, she knew exactly what to say.
"I insist."
Senken let out a sigh through his nose, and nodded. "Very well. What is it?"
She turned and pointed down the road to a house. "It's in there."
Senken pondered what exactly it could be that she could not bring to him, but he didn't dwell too much on the small details.
As he began making his way to the building, the girl scampered ahead of him, rushing into the home and closing the door. She looked around his age, maybe a bit younger, so he figured it was some hormone thing he shouldn't care about. The pitiful thing was probably embarrassed at having to thank him for something that never should have happened.
In the short walk to the front door, Senken let his thumb drift across the tips of his fingers. Three were flesh, and one was the rough texture of stone. Sparing a glance down, he looked at his middle finger, where the curse from the last demon he faced had hit him in the moment before he had killed it.
The stone had moved, growing further down in the weeks since. It now was half way down his nail, making it unable for him to trim it anymore. Not like it grew anymore. Seemingly even in death, that curse was still affecting him. At the current rate, it wouldn't even impede his dexterity for a few months. Years before the arm was useless. Maybe a couple decades or so before his vitals were in any danger of petrification.
Cutting it off was an option, if he thought it would work. Just a week ago—once he had noticed that the petrification was spreading—he had used Cleave to sever the end of his finger, only to see at the stump of his finger the faintest glimmer of the same light wielded by that demon, at which point Senken had cleaved his finger back to the stump. Amputation, it appeared, would offer no solution. He would have to find the means to undo the curse itself.
Stepping into the home he was directed to, Senken took in the modest, almost spartan entryway. It was a small hall, meant to keep the snow and dirt from the main, and probably only, room in this small house. He had known he was privileged to have his own room growing up, and this only reinforced that statement.
Turning into the main room, the first thing he noticed were her ribs. She hadn't been eating enough, probably due to the brigands. The skin of her chest clung to them, accenting the gap between each one.
Her breasts were small, budding things capped with dark peaks, an arm under them as if to hoist them higher, despite not needing the support. Her figure dipped, narrowing at the waist and flaring at the hips, which jutted from the skin in the same way as her ribs did, the fat sucked from her body and left bone to show unfettered, besides the gauze of skin across it.
She was nude, the yellowed sundress discarded against one of the walls. Her arm, the one not across her abdomen, was against her side, hand splayed over her thigh that was so narrow that Senken could have wrapped his whole hand around it.
She was looking down, tanned cheeks flush with a rose blush. She cocked a knee, lifting one of her feet onto its toes and grinding them into the woven floor, a nervous statement as she struggled for her words.
"Your r-reward, Good Sir." She said, her heart trying to pound out of her chest. "My honeyed cunt. Yours to do w-with as you please."
Senken couldn't help his eyes drifting to said organ, but it was hidden by a tangle of brighter, curled hair.
The silence stretched on for a moment longer than was comfortable, and the village girl lifted her gaze from the floor to look at the giant who had saved her village.
She felt her stomach drop as he was turning away, a look of disgust on his face. She placed the facial shape immediately, how his upper lip lifted slightly but didn't stop touching the lower lip, the slight scrunch of his nose and the narrowing of eyes.
Senken left the building without a word, having conveyed in a single gaze what he thought of her gratitude.
It was about as wanted as stepping in dog shit.