Succeed! (4-6 in the dice)

You catch a faint sound in the distance. Could it be…? Oh, spirits, yes—it sounds like human voices. With a surge of curiosity and caution, you make your way towards the grove, slipping through the underbrush as silently as you can, determined not to be seen. With each careful step, the voices grow louder, clearer, until at last you find a good vantage point. Two trees, growing so close together, form a perfect hiding spot from which you can watch and listen unnoticed.

There, in the heart of a clearing, sits a small group huddled around a dying bonfire, its embers glowing faintly. They seem to be cooking something—a bird, perhaps, judging by the remnants of feathers and bone. There are three of them. Two men, one quite tall and fit, his hair cropped short, speaks animatedly. The second man is shorter, with a round, heavy frame, and he seems less interested in conversation, preoccupied instead with gnawing at what little remains of an earlier meal.

And then there is the third figure—a woman. The first young woman you have laid eyes on in your adult life. Everything about her captivates you. Her innocent expression, framed by soft, round features, a straight nose, and lips shaped like a bow. Her dark, wavy hair cascades down her back in loose, shimmering waves. She is tall, nearly as tall as the first man, perhaps even slightly taller than you, but her beauty is undeniable. There is a grace to her slim, alluring figure that stirs something deep within you, filling you with a desire so fierce it almost overwhelms you.

Yet your longing is tempered by frustration, for she wears a poncho of animal hides and plant fibers, draped modestly over her chest, and a long skirt of woven fibers, shielding both her chest and lower body from your view. You can’t help but feel the pangs of lust, but there is a sadness in it too—this vision of beauty, tantalizingly close, yet still so distant, so unattainable.

The two men, clad only in loincloths of animal skin, seem at ease around the fire. You strain to listen, focusing intently on their words.

"I'm being serious, Pram," the woman says to the tall man, her voice light yet earnest as she checks on the roasting bird. "I'm so, so grateful you offered to come with us. It's a long journey, and I feel much safer with you by my side."

"Don’t mention it, Shreya," replies the tall man, Pram, in a friendly tone. "I’m glad to help."

At that moment, the shorter man, who had been engrossed in tearing apart the remnants of his meal, lifts his head and speaks. "Hey, Shreya, what about me? Don’t I deserve some thanks, too? Your big brother’s here, after all."

"Rikam, you had to come with me to the village anyway!" she retorts playfully, a smile breaking across her face. All three laugh softly, the sound carrying through the grove in quiet harmony.

But then you notice something—something small, yet unmistakable. Around each of their necks hangs the same necklace. From each cord dangles a twisted root, its end carved into the shape of a snake’s head, painted in a sickly green hue.

Your heart clenches in your chest. The symbol of the Greensnakes.

A chill runs through your spine as the truth sinks in. These are part of them—the very people who slaughtered your tribe, who tore your family from you in a night of blood and fire. The ones responsible for your father’s ****, your mother’s cries, the loss of your siblings. The ones who **** you and Grandma into the harsh wilderness, to eke out an existence in desolation.

Monsters. Murderers. The scum who have haunted your nightmares for as long as you can remember.

A white-hot fury surges through you, blinding and all-consuming. It courses through your veins, burning away the caution, the restraint. You grip the stone spear in your hand, feeling its weight, its cold, sharp point—the only tool left for vengeance. Rage has overtaken you, and with it comes a single, overpowering thought:

They shall pay.