Lakheil, the Thief-Eater
Along time ago, when the Sathiid drank Bloodwine atop the starving poor, there lived a farmer.
There were many farmers, of course, but this one was special. He was one of the greatest farmers of all the land, one of the few who held the secret to growing corn as large as your arm and beets as big as your head!
This farmer, Lakheil, gave his food to the poor for their labor, and sold it to the wealthy to support himself. They protected his field, but even they could not stop local farmers conspiring against him and burning his fields in the night.
Lakheil’s farms were set ablaze, his workers murdered and his livestock slain. The farmers, aware of the rumors that Lakheil might be an undead, locked him in his chest and dropped the chest in a lake.
Clever Lakheil knew of this practice, and kept a key hidden in all his chests for such an opportunity. He dragged his corpse to shore and stormed off into the ever dark, fuming so vehemently the water steamed right off of him!
Lakheil followed the road to the next village and, as he walked, he found his ire turning to wit, and his wit hatching a devious plan. He went to village after village, pitching his plan to each and every. Every and each turned him down. He left, and over his shoulder saw the glow of their farms burning—his rivals had decided to not tstop with him.
One night a lone farmer followed him from the village that had just turned him down.
"And what would your price be?"
Lakheil’s grin was like a crescent moon turned on its spine.
"Just but one handful of gourd-seeds, ten to regrow my farm, four for the bait and one to be my home."
The farmer thought him mad, but turned out the seeds on the spot.
At the next full moon, when it was bright enough to see by, the farmers came by with their torches already lit and their greed pumping in their veins. They looked and saw a field with four superb gourds, each as large around as a cart is tall, and instantly turned to destroy it.
And so all converged on the gourd.
But the burners no sooner had their torches at ready than a scarecrow, clever Lakheil in disguise leapt from his post and slew them all! For each of them who died he gained another follower, a walking dead who cut the others down where they stood, risen from the dead by the magics they feared.
And so Lakheil, the Thief Eater, slew all of the brigands. After that he disappeared into the ever dark. They say that, on nights where the moon looks like his smile, the lucky can follow the fate-fires into the woods and find a grove of gourds carved into homes and turnips as big as wheels.
To this day, we protect our fields with the undead.
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