They say that upon the top of the hill over to the east, there used to live a warrior of great renown who acquired a reputation for being ruthless when angered, especially unjustly. No one within his domain attempted to cross him, but that is not to say there were outside forces willing to do so. At some point, even outsiders took heed when a neighboring lord, who was once an ally, captured his elder brother and forced him to drink poison before dumping his body into a pile of horse manure. Three days later, the warrior found his brother’s much-decomposed corpse after a local farmer notified him. He gave him a proper burial shortly thereafter.

 

Then, a person arrived in his court, claiming that they knew who did the dastardly deed. When it was discovered that it was an ally, the warrior waged an all-out war upon him, slaughtering his people and razing the land. The only ones the warrior spared were the youngest and these he adopted, creating a separate district for them within his domain. As for the land, there was a decree that it should be salted as a reminder to future generations, both his citizens and outsiders. To this day there are still patches of land which remain infertile and that the very same warrior keeps a close watch of all that occurs within his former domain, targeting those who commit injustice and warning passersby to tread with exquisite care.

 

You wanted me to tell a story. Now, back to the business at hand—Wait, who took my roast rabbit from the fire?