Editing Machina Dei/Writefaggotry (section)

=Marcus=
Marcus hated living at the edge of the Empire, and had quickly come to regret moving to Armenia. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. As a retired soldier, he'd be given a rather large tract of land he could live on and pass down to his children.

But Marcus had no children as all the local women were too ugly to even consider the act. The land, while spacious, was difficult to work, and, worst of all, being at the edge of the empire meant he was last in line for the benefits of being Roman. This was especially salient now that there were reports of nomads from the steppes coming down from across the Caucuses.

Nomads that ate the flesh of the conquered, and performed strange blood rites. Evil men whose hearts burned black with disease and death. They were subhuman scum not fit to see the splendor of the Empire.

But they were ferocious fighters, and the legionaries were no where to be seen. Marcus considered packing his things and heading back to the Inner Empire. Maybe signing back on with the military as a mercenary. But, for better or worse, Marcus couldn't bring himself to abandoned his hard won land, as damnable as it may be.

Early one morning, when Marcus looked out over the terrain as he did every morning, he saw them. Or, more accurately, he saw the smoke. The local township was burning, and the stench of death filled the air, carried to him by the wind.

Hurriedly, Marcus went inside to fetch his sword and armor. If he were to die this day, he'd die with a fight - with Roman honor and a Roman flame burning in his heart, but something was off. His home felt oddly alien. Everything looked the same, and everything was in the right place, but he couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness. Ignoring the sensation, he quickly put on his armor, tying the clasps tightly before reaching for his sword.

Then he felt it. Something latched onto his wrist. He saw it as well, but his mind refused to register the things appearance, so he wondered mutely why his hand had stopped short of the hilt. Outside he could hear the frenzied yells and blood curdling screams of things that should not exist on this world.

"Yessss..." he heard someone speak. Their voice was painful to listen to. "I shall take you, but do not worry, human, I shall not devour your flesh like I did the others. You are more interesting than that. I shall make you mine." Marcus could feel it moving across his body, under the armor he had put on - armor that quickly proved useless against this assailant.

He wasn't sure if it was fear, or something else that prevented him from moving, but Marcus was sure of one thing. He was not going to die this day, and, for the first time in years, Marcus began to cry.