Role

Chapter 3

Years had passed and Doban had grown into an adolescent minotaur. He had grown to
hate the clumsy mass of flesh that kept him prisoner and he had grown to hate the magic
the man used on him. The fat mage had told him often that he was born out of magic and
eventually, he would die from it as well. Constantly, he had been told that his life was
nothing and that the magic would one day serve its purpose in him and destroy him.
Doban had been told this so often that he had come to believe it in his heart. He was not
scared to die, in fact, sometimes he wished it would happen, so that he no longer would
suffer at the hands of the fat man. One could say that it was only his desire for revenge on
the fat bastard that kept him living. How he hated that man and the cursed magic that kept
him enslaved. Doban often fantasized about destroying him, about ripping him limb from
limb, but, that opportunity never presented itself. That is, until one day when an idea
occurred to Doban.

Doban wasn't the sharpest sword on the rack, but, he did remember much and he was
able to use that knowledge for his benefit. Some might even call that clever. It was one
such piece of information that gave Doban an idea that might help him have his revenge
on the continent sized monstrosity. Plus, Doban reasoned. If it didn't work, he might die
and then be free of his misery.

Doban knew that in order to have his revenge he would have to get the mage distracted
enough to not be able to use his magic and he thought he knew how to do this. Patiently,
he waited for the time to present itself and finally it did. Doban had been brought into the
mage's laboratory to be a test subject for some new spell. The fat man was making
preparations and went into a storage closet to gather some ingredients to use in his
spelling. When the man waddled into the closet Doban slid a stool in front of the door.
The fat mage with his hands full of random items from the closet never saw the stool as
he came back out of the closet and tripped over it, crashing to the ground with the effect
of a small earthquake. Seizing the moment, Doban pounced on the fat man angrily
pounding the lump of flesh with his fists and goring him with his horns! Rage filled
Doban and he felt more alive than he ever had during the moments he beat on the
helpless mage. Doban continued to pound well after the man died, reveling in the sloppy,
sloshing sounds of his fists and horns mashing the flesh.

Doban rose, bloody. He was free. Purpose suddenly filled his heart as he had never
known it before. It had felt so good to destroy this man and his magic. He already
believed he was a dead man walking, and with nothing to lose, that made him dangerous.
Death was on his coming for him. He accepted that. He decided would be that soldier
marching dutifully to certain death knowing the only thing he could do was to take as
many of his enemies with him.