The sun had just begun to set on the kingdom of Brindlemark, casting a warm orange glow over the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of burning incense and the soft chanting of the village elder. Val Ragnar stood at the edge of the ritual circle, his eyes fixed on his younger brother, Arin, who lay on the stone altar.
One of the village elder, a wise and aged man named Thorne, raised his hands to the sky. "Great gods, we offer you our humble sacrifice. Accept this gift, and grant us your blessings and protection."
As the elder spoke, the villagers began to chant louder, their voices rising in unison. Val felt a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. Something didn't feel right.
Suddenly, Arin's body began to convulse, and a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Val's heart sank as he rushed to his brother's side.
"Arin, no! Brother, please!" Val cried out, but it was too late. Arin's body went limp, and the villagers' chanting ceased.
The village elder's eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened. "The gods... they did not accept our sacrifice. They took Arin's life instead."
Val's world came crashing down around him. He cradled Arin's lifeless body in his arms, feeling a rage and grief he had never known before.