[center]”The Elders say the scream shook the earth. That it made the land silent for many days. Then the Raving came… and they took and took and took.“[/center]

[right]-A Tribesman’s Memory[/right]

Calak grumbled, the large man stood guard over a trio of men, who were all bound to three posts in the ground at the edge of the small village. His stone spear in hand, Calak wore light deerskin, adorned with a few bone pieces which had seen much better days. His long brown hair was tied in tribal custom, but his beard was unkempt. He had a very annoyed expression on his face. One of the Raving, Ditar, was lashing out again, which in turn was causing the other two to act out. All three were filthy, with dried blood staining what little of deerskin covered their own skin. Cuts and bruises also littered their bodies, their very flesh was hot to the touch. They had a sickness that knew no cure.

It had been two days since they were finally caught, Calak had been in the hunting party. The Elder, Rantuki, told him what must be done. Calak was to watch them while the tribe decided punishment. The man had agreed, but after the first day he had strong doubts.
 
Such men were dead inside, but Calak was told to pity them, but only Calak had to watch them. Calak did not pity them, he hated them. They were Raving, they lost themselves, no longer human. Crimes against tribe, against brothers! It was wrong! His mind filled with rage at the thought of guarding them till night, under constant berating. Something snapped inside Calak, the large man had had enough.

With a snarl, Calak hit Ditar with the butt of his spear across his head, sending the man into unconsciousness. A small trickle of blood flowed from the wound. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the other two would still not calm. As Ditar passed out, Cirit began to bite the rope holding his hands, while Molu laughed viciously.

“STOP!” He screamed, readying to hit them both.

“Cirit! Molu! Remember yourselves! No more madness!” he pleaded, but they would not stop. It was a silent confirmation in his mind.

And then the rage came again. Like a fire coming to life, Calak thrust his spear into Cirit, right through his heart. The man flayed before stilling. No more deciding, that was punishment! Molu laughed even harder, his voice beginning to break. Calak silenced him through the throat, the smile of Molu now reflecting upon his own face. His heart was racing, pumping an intense euphoria throughout his body. He then fell upon Ditar, laughing as he punched his face into a bloody mess. 

The Curse had won.