Long ago, this planet was a savage land. The first royals have yet to establish themselves...as do the first cities.
Here and now, everything's rather sepia. At night, it's black and white. The horse has been domesticated...but only by the bold. The house and the village have been built...but only by the committed.
The Great Flood has ended. The Ark, with all of its memory, still sits on the summit of Mt. Ararat.
Long ago, a great man named Japheth disembarked from it, along with a small myriad of zoo animals, after a long and hard forty-day and forty-night voyage. It still remains unclear as to how the Ark wasn't swept out into the Atlantic...IF it wasn't...
Either way, for Japheth, the Ark was just a temporary refuge. Now, he's got a job to do. He's the will-be sire of the white race. He will begin that ministry with seven sons.
Since then, the seven sons have bred. Here and there, their legacies struggle to survive, across Kronan Rus'. They're hardly as united as they were, back when all seven sons lived in the same home. But that's just time, and what it does to humanity's memory...if not Mnemosyne's.
The Ark's zoo animals have bred, too. They're huge. The Japhetites are like rodents, to the many eagles, wolves, snakes, lizards, and flying insects that stalk these lands. The gazelles, boars, and game fowl are giants too...as are the marmots and mole rats. The wildlife has probably bred more than the Japhetites have. And for the time being, that bodes ill for humanity.
The sun sets over Kronan Rus'. They prey animals of this wide and monotonous world will soon rise from their holes, and stalk about...
The gazelles are out, too. In this day and age, they're physiologically more like hares...with horns, in lieu of ears. As they wander about, their front hooves stamp the ground, like rubber stamps. Their tracks, of course, do NOT aid them in their flights from predators...or Japhetite hunters.
In the growing dark, a boy named Madai follows their tracks. They're very deep. He sticks his finger into one, just for amusement. He needs to put his fist into the track, just to touch its bottom.
With him, he's brought some rope. As much as he'd love to believe in the bow and arrow, he just doesn't.
Instead, he builds a trap. And he baits it, with greens...as much as he hates their stench.
He lies in wait, with a bow and arrow...for backup. With luck, one of those spring-loaded-legged gazelles will be his, by morning...or earlier.
A few of them come along. They creep into the canyon, smelling the rare diesel fumes of the Great Green Valley...if there is such a place. One would expect them to know better. This land doesn't usually yield so much greenery.
One's in the lead. Madai smiles. For once, he gets to humiliate the head of a phalanx.
The gazelle sniffs the bait, and takes it. Good thing Madai washed his hands, before handing it...and brought it in a bag.
The trap is unleashed, and the rabbit is bound. Madai rises from his cover, and aims an arrow. At this, the other gazelles flee. Madai shoots the gazelle in the chest, as he rears.
He falls over, curls up, and dies...like John Hurt's character in Watership Down...if that character ever looked like a gazelle, or had longer hind legs...
Dragging it by a rope, he drags his trophy home, bound in a net. In moments like these, he wishes home were closer...
He's about to wish that even more. From the east, Mongols come, via horseback. It's not enough for them, somehow, to do all their work the old-fashioned way. For them, it's somehow fun to steal, and cheat, and enslave...
Soon, they've got Madai surrounded. They've got crossbows, and broadswords. They don't look like they're messing around. They never do.
Madai would play dead...except that would only encourage them to steal his trophy. But then, as long as it's better to compromise than it is to lose one's life, Madai supposes he doesn't have a choice. He must play dead, and pray against prayer that these bandits have some respect for warriors who play dead as their main defensive tactic.
He doubts they do. But then, every once in a blue moon, the gonads of Mongolia produce a merciful specimen...
From behind the trophy, a tall, gorgeous beauty stands atop it, in bare feet. And that's not the only thing about her that's bare. In fact, her only clothing is a metal bikini, made entirely of scale armor. Her hair is long, red, and flowing...like Magog's wife was, in life.
All around, some of the bandits' horses become nervous. Some of the bandits run away.
This wonderful mystery of a shieldmaiden smiles, swings a pair of bolas, and throws them. They bind one of the bandits, as he's aiming his crossbow at her.
Another takes a shot at her. With her foot, she kicks the bolt out of the way. She draws her swords, and uses them to deflect more blows.
And all the time, Madai stands, and watches his new crush protect him. It's women like her that put him to shame.
It's hard to believe he and she both hail from Japheth's gonads. Or rather, he presumes she does. It's not like most other races, after all, to produce redheaded offspring...
She leaps off the trophy, wraps her bare legs around one of their heads, does a flip, and decapitates him. With her swords, she swings around and decapitates another. She kicks them in the ass, and thrusts their own daggers into their bellies. She sweeps her bare leg, knocks them down, and stakes them down, in their centers, with her sword...
Soon, if they haven't fallen, they're riding hard for the east. She raids their spoils, and wolfs their rations.
Slowly, Madai approaches the militarist beauty. Her ass looks great, in that scale armor... She must sense him.
She whirls, tackles him, and pins him to the ground. Her scale armor-clad boobs are in his face. She's pointing a knife at one of his vitals.
With wide grey eyes, she looks into his. He gapes, breathes, and doesn't react.
"Run," she sneers. She hits him in the nose with the palm of her bare hand, flips him over, stands, and walks off.
She rips a leg off the gazelle, and drags it away with her. She acknowledges Madai's violated look.
"A protection fee," she says, patting the part of it that she lies over her bare shoulder. "Consider us even."
With that, she storms off, dragging the giant leg as she goes along. With luck, the wolves won't get to that leg before she can. She sure looks like she needs it. Madai's both surprised and thankful that she didn't take his whole trophy...which is surely what those Mongolian bandits would've done...
Shaken, and transformed, Madai takes back up the rope, and hauls his trophy the rest of the way home. As of now, he's in love. That hot redheaded heroine will never let him sleep. It's also possible that she'll never let him breed...once any girl he ever charms realizes that he owes his urge to impregnate them to a gorgeous heroine who makes the lot of them look like little old ladies.