A group of crows flew in circles around the fortress. They had already eaten all that remained after the battle, but still hoped to find more food. By now the area in front of the castle resembled a refugee camp much more than a site of recent siege. Broken weapons and dented armor was everywhere, catapults and trebuchets already started to rot, and became nests for small animals. The fortress itself did not look any better, and anyone unfamiliar with the history of Ogriy would have come to the conclusion that it was abandoned: the walls were covered with dark stains from the numerous times in the past that oil was poured down them during a siege, and had more cracks in them than a dry sponge. The only animate thing in the entire citadel was the flag that fluttered atop the tallest tower. However, to the eyes of the old man, the fortress was dead. Whoever lived there must have left long ago, and the place looked safe enough to spend the night. Although the walls were cracked, they still gave some degree of protection from the wind and wild animals, than anything else in sight, and the man really did not want to spend yet another night in the cold, afraid for his life.

Putting all superstitions aside, the man walked across the moat into the gates, expecting to see the same degree of destruction and abandonment. To his surprise, however, inside the gloomy gates was a whole another world, where life was everywhere: Massive endagars and shankaras grazed on the lawn, and smaller ones were running one after another, as if playing catch. Suddenly, the man felt that someone was staring at him. He quickly looked around to see, what it was, until he finally did: a massive purple head was looking at him, as if in curiosity from behind one of the doors. Afraid to make the wrong move and provoke it, the man stood as still as he could, even trying not to breathe. And it seemed to work - the head disappeared. But just as the man was about to exhale a sigh of relief, it came back, with four more like the first, attached to a massive body covered with spikes, unlike nothing he had ever seen before. The beast slowly approached him, and sniffed. It wrapped his heads around the mans body, as if trying to see him from all angles. The stench was horrendous. The man closed his eyes and began to pray for his death to be quick and painless, but nothing was happening.

Growing impatient, the man frightfully opened one eye - the beast was now peacefully sitting on the grass three paces away, but next to it was a huge man with double-handed axe tied behind his back. He looked like one of the huge warriors the man heard of in childs tales, that he dismissed as being fictious. The warrior pointed at one of the doors across the courtyard. The man nodded and obeyed. His heart was slowing down and no longer trying to jump out of his chest. A glimmer of hope that he might survive the encounter and live another day was the only thought keeping him from falling into hysteria. After all, if the man had wanted to kill him, he would have done so already, and let his magical pet feast on his bare bones. "Perhaps he has something worse in mind for me? A sacrifice?" - a horrific thought started to form in the mans head, but before he could turn around to beg for his life, he realized that they were not alone. He could distinctly hear voices of at least 20 other people coming from the door to which he was directed. The man looked back at the warrior with a questioning expression on his face, clearly understanding less and less of the situation with every minute. The man with the axe nodded. Once again, the old man had no other option but to submit to his will, and entered the dark hall. As he suspected, there were quite a few people already inside, sitting at a long table feasting. The tables were overfilled with so much food and wine, that one could mistake the gathering for a royal reception dinner. "Burglars. Must have hit a caravan recently", - thought the man, twitching his lips disgust. The motion didn't go unnoticed by his neighbors, but they chose to ignore. Although the old wanderer at first decided not to fall for the rich offerings of the citadel, he eventually gave in to the smell of charred kodrag meat and shiz beer. He ate and drank, and suddenly noticed that the people around him started to get ready to leave. All, but one - the person sitting at the head of the table slowly rose and walked directly to the man.

"How do you like the meat?" - he said, of all things.
"It is great, sir", answered the man, baffled by the banality of the question.
"And what about the beer?" - the questions continued.
"It also is great, sir, but I don't understand..." - started the traveler, but stopped when he saw that the warrior in charge raised his hand, asking for silence.
"Where do you think you are?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Do you know who we are?"
"You look like a wealthy band of robbers to me, sir", - said the man, amazed at his own courage.
"You are a brave man. I might not kill you after all, it's a rare quality to find these days. You are not wrong, we are robbers. We rob magmars of their lives" - the big man chuckled - "Most people think of us and our castle to be characters from fables and childrens tales. But we are real, We are Mafio, and this is our fortress, the mighty Wind Rose. This is where we live, sleep, camp, plan attacks, and so on. We rarely have visitors lately. It's been years since anyone tried to conquer the castle, and some believe that it isn't even real. Needless to say, I can't let you go after you saw what you did. The only question now is, what do I do with you?'

The man stood motionless, as if paralyzed, trying to digest what he just witnessed - a childhood hero coming to life. Of course, he had heard of the Mafio and of their mighty citadel, but he could never imagine them to be real. The fact that his own fate was being decided right there did not seem to matter.

"...as I was saying, you have 2 options: die here and now, or join us and somehow be useful. What do you say?"
"I would love to join, sir. But I am old, my bones are thin, and arms no longer able to hold a sword, nor swing it. I don't think I could be of use."
"Not everyone was born to be a warrior. What was your craft before?"
"A scribe, sire. I wrote fables for children"
"Perfect. I tell you what, you will not only live, you will live under my protection and work for me."
"Work for you? Sire, I don't mean to offend, but what use does a man of your stature have for fairy tales?"
"You will not be writing for me. You will write for the world about me, and my clan. Here's parchment and enough ink to get you started" - he pointed at the desk behind him, filled with papers and bottles of ink. Having said this, the warrior picked up his shield and left.

The scribe picked up the plume and started his story: "A group of crows flew in circles around the fortress. They had already eaten all that remained after the battle, but still hoped to find more food..."