Maral wasn’t ready for this. He had spent weeks preparing himself and the other villagers for today, but now it was all falling apart, right before his eyes. Of corse he knew there would be some talking involved with the confrontation, but he really didn’t think it would matter. Maral had been jailed by these people for over a year, and they had planned to burn him alive, just for the fun of it! To tell the truth Maral had not really cared at all what they would have to say. What ever it was he had only been thinking about how good it would be to work off some of his anger on there heads with his large medal bar.
However when the Priests entered the village, they had not come to fight, as Maral had imagined in his mind, instead they wonted to talk. And talk they did. The Priests used big words, many of witch Maral had never heard. They all sounded good too, they had all the right answers. They painted Maral as a bandit, and a thief, saying nothing of how there cult had planned to use him as a sacrifice.
Maral wasn’t slow, (except physically that is) but he did tend to be rather simple. It was hard to develop much complexity in the waste lands. To tell the truth, if he had not himself spent so long in there dungeon, Maral would have believed the Priests too! This was a duel of words and in it Maral found himself completely un-armed.
He could see now, the silver tongued words starting to sink into the heads of the village people. Suddenly there opinion of Maral was shifting, and he didn’t know what to do. Maral panicked, and he did what he always dose when he panics, he swung his arms as hard and as fast as he could…