A test of the pen, which, I hope, will result in a game I created in the future

A little introduction.
I immediately apologize for the wall of text. There are no illustrations, because everything written below is taken from my head. A little about what’s to come. I have plans to create a game. At least something simple, trivial.
At one time I studied the SI language in my first years, but I forgot it a long time ago. Now in my free time I am learning in Blender. So you need to remember Sishka for Unity scripts, but I’m terribly lazy. Got around to writing the lore. I decided not to do all this in the form of some kind of encyclopedias. And for a change, put it all in the form of some stories. Maybe one big adventure
In general, in order not to delay the introduction, I present the first sketches to the judgment of my beloved SG

Prologue
A huge hairy paw landed on a tavern table. The table tilted noticeably and the mug with dark burgundy wine noticeably shook, almost spilling half of the contents.
“Oh, Mold, the venerable Kut is sitting here resting!"- Croesus grunted to his fellow tribesman. One of his fangs was broken off crookedly. The second had a roughly made copper ring sticking out. Four more similar rings hung in his ear. His snout jumped happily. — “What are you doing so far from Khasgarad, and without security??"
“I hope the venerable Kut of Khasgarad will not be too greedy to treat two simple guards of the caravan with wine? Otherwise we might be a little late for the caravan. “Yes, and take a walk with you over the nearest hill,” the Croesus, whom his comrade called Mold, turned with a huge smile to the peacefully sitting Hasg.
“Yeah, simple guards. Fucking robbers. They are hired by all sorts of smugglers. Moreover, wealthy merchants. They take a lot, rob everyone. Moreover, unlike other races, they do not hesitate to use the intelligent as the unconscious. How many times have these wicked tribes gutted their prey?. Skin for craft and sale. And they could have eaten the meat – Arksot’ Kes hissed to himself – Glory to Ksatu, they mistook me for Kut. They didn’t understand that I had lost my status.”.
Arxot defiantly opened his cloak and reached for the bag of coppers hanging in his bosom. The Croesus grunted joyfully. With his long claw, the hasg cut off the strap on which the wallet hung. “Even more glory to Xatu that this is not my last bag of coins,” thought Arxot. He grabbed the falling wallet and placed it in front of him. Then he stuck his claw into it and looked up at the Croesus.
"I am the wandering Kut. On a mission from Khasat’Kutreg himself. And if I don’t send a dragonet to him with a letter this evening, the Blackscale phalanx will arrive here. I saw that your caravan has just arrived and is stopping for the night. So Black Scales will have time. Fill your crappy stomachs with wine at my expense. And so that my eye no longer sees you next to my table” – the rune on Arxot’s hand lit up with a violet flame. – “Everything is clear?»
“Okay, venerable Kut. We won’t bother you anymore. We are interested in your money and wine,” Croesus, closing his eyes slightly, reached out with two fingers for his wallet. Taking it by the edge, he pulled it towards himself. Arxoth pulled his hand towards himself, tearing the fabric of the wallet and leaving a furrow on the inn table. The coins jingled and bounced around the table. Croesus staggered back for a second, then with a sharp movement he collected the coins and quickly jumped away. Then he turned towards his comrade. – “That’s it, Rakt, call the innkeeper, bring the wine.”!»
"Fucking barbarians. Whatever the tavern, it’s just another bastards. If I spend runes on everyone, I will most likely provoke a moult. But there won’t be enough Violet Water for new ones. I don’t want to spend money on any rabble."Arksoth hissed under his breath. Indeed, after his hasty flight from Khasgarad due to a failed experiment on the reprojection of Violet Water, things went from bad to worse for him. At a rapid pace he moved away from the capital of the Khasg kingdom. In the first couple of days I quickly crossed the developed areas of Khasgarad. It took several weeks to reach the borders of the kingdom, avoiding the Nomadic Tribes. And now he was in the Outer Lands. Lands full of scum, murderers and smugglers. And Croesus. Arxoth is sick and tired of these fucking kresses until his knobby toes shiver.
Arxoth stuck his claw into a piece of slightly overcooked meat. He raised his finger to his mouth and, slightly opening his mouth, dotted with two rows of small triangular teeth, licked the juice that had flowed out of the meat with his tongue. “Now I would like to be in my villa in Khasgarad,” thought Arxot, “and at the table that is being set for Kut of my rank. My former rank". The teeth began to cut the meat into dust. The Outlying Lands have never been friends with salt. Either fresh, like sand, or salty, like the urine of an old ard. Now Khasgu has come across the second option.
Having finished chewing his portion with all his might, Arxot’Kes rose from the bench. Around it was the most ordinary tavern of the Outlying Lands. In a dark corner a group of young Khasgahs were chattering about something. Dressed in light chain mail and capes with rounded daggers at their belts, they were eagerly arguing about something over a piece of paper. Looking closer, Arxoth saw on it a sketch of a map of the Outlying Lands. “Another youngster escaped from his Nomadic Tribe and went in search of adventure. I give my any tooth, they are looking for the treasures of the legendary lost king Eskanrot. How many young animals have already died on such trips?. But no, everyone believes that they can find the grave of the first and only nomadic king,” Arxot thought with a grin.
The second table was empty. Only the remains of food lay on the plate and empty mugs. Judging by the number of mugs and the small plate, there was a wandering ard here. “These horned descendants of bulls drink more than they eat. But when they are drunk, they do not notice the scorching sun, nor the stings of scorpions, nor the grins of stupid croeses. They will put a huge backpack with luggage on their hump and go their own way,” Arxot noted for himself.
At the third table sat those same two Croesus. Judging by their crooked faces, the jug bought with Arxot’s money was already less than half full.

Khasg took his staff, https://bettingsitesnogamstop.co.uk/review/winit-casino/ straightened the crooked runic dagger on his belt and left the table. As soon as he opened the door, a wave of heat washed over him. And a huge stream of scorching light from the sun. Arxoth’s eyes quickly adjusted to him. The pupils narrowed to two black thin threads. The nostrils have decreased in size. To let in as little scalding air as possible.
Arxoth headed towards the stables. Passing by the caravan, which was supposedly guarded by those two kroes, the Khasg counted more than a dozen norgs. Moreover, each person had two huge bags of luggage. “I wonder where such a huge caravan is heading?" – thought Arxot. Approaching his norg, whom Kes nicknamed Tusk, he untied him from the post. It was time to look for a place to stay for the night. Staying under the same roof with the Croesians, of whom there were apparently more than two, seemed like a bad idea to Arxoth. Moreover, creating an invisible camp will require very little supply of runes and Water. Purple Water loves deception. The worst thing is to spend it on creation.
Taking Tusk by the bit, Arxoth led him away from the camp. The huge feet of the norga, a half-rhinoceros half-bull, were well adapted for walking on loose sand. But the Khasga’s legs sank with every step. Climbing onto the nearest hill, Arxot looked around. A terrible half-steppe, half-desert surrounded him. Cursed Outlands! The heat will stop in a couple of hours, the sun will set in a few more. There was no point in moving further. It is unlikely that his new comrades with pig snouts liked the way he gave them the wallet. They will follow, catch up and attack. The last thing Arxoth wanted was for them to catch up with him on the way. He looked back towards the tavern. Indeed, two of his comrades stood at the entrance and watched him. Four more were playing dice under the canopy. "So, six snouts. Too much. We need to prepare." – Arxot frowned with displeasure. Looking around again, he saw not far away, behind a hill, a small patch of solid ground. A small, semi-withered tree stuck out of it. “There will be something for my Tusk to chew on. For now, I’ll be busy with the guests,” Khasg grinned. And headed to the place of his future overnight stay.
Having reached the place, Khasg stopped his norg near the tree he had noticed earlier. The tusk happily began to tear open the remains of the bark and upper layers of the tree with its horn. He wanted to get to at least some traces of moisture. Khasg unfolded a small canopy on his side, hid in his shadow, took out his dagger from his belt and began to sharpen his claws. To draw runes they must be sharper.

The sun continued on its way. For a year now Arxoth has been watching this huge orange light hide behind the Sharp Mountains. How the mountain, called the Great Fang by the Bulers who lived there, cuts the sun in half. It’s as if day after day this bright orange ball is trying to commit suicide by running into a sharp dagger. At first only a little, edgewise, but every minute deeper and deeper thrusting this mountain Fang into your hot body. And then, cutting himself in half, he disappears behind the ridge of the mountains. According to the stories of the Bulers, the bright red star goes under the water, into the Great Sea. It’s like learning to swim all over again every day. Careful, as if touching water with your foot. And in a couple of hours it is completely immersed. It was time to get ready.
Khasg stood in the center of his makeshift camp and looked around. It was covered on three sides by hills. The fourth side was directed in the opposite direction from the tavern and the road. Arxot’Kes followed the deceptive outline with his gaze. He checked how smoothly he outlined the circle. Did you place the runes correctly?. The rune of the birth of Asrakh, the Fire Lizard, who burst out of the firmament of the earth and gave heat to this world. The Rune of his Overthrow, signifying his murder, when Asrakh realized that his heat was burning his Khasg children, and, finding no other way out, died at the hands of Xath. And the rune in the center of the camp, the Rune of Xat’Kutregash, the Rune of the Great Khasg Xath, who killed Asrach by drawing his blood. Great Violet Water.
Everything was done right. Just a couple of small touches left. Bind your flesh, blood and water to the rune of Xat’Kutregasha. Arxot took the knife. I picked up a dark green scale just above my elbow and cut it off. The scale fell and his blood landed on top of it in dark burgundy drops. All that remains is a drop of Purple Water.

"Hey to her! Kut! Wait! Your money has run out! And we’re not drunk enough yet! How can we protect the caravan from all sorts of scaly creatures like you if we are still so sober?? Don’t close your circle! Otherwise we will open it! The wine is just asking to come out!" – Arxoth turned. Grunting from the joke they liked, five Croesus descended from the hill closest to the tavern. The comedian turned out to be an acquaintance from the tavern. "What was his name? How disgusting. Like the cough of another victim they killed. Rakt seems to be” – for some reason Arksot remembered.- “It seemed like there were more of them. Apparently, one of them had enough wine for my money.”.
"Hey you freaks! You forgot the taste of Blackscale sabers? So they will instantly remind you! If there is even the slightest scratch on one of my scales, you will all become food for the local jackals! Although they are unlikely to eat such crap!"- Arxoth did not want to waste his energy and runes on these Croesians. More molting will begin, everything will itch. The Croesus slowed down. Two of them scratched their heads. But the two comrades from the tavern did not subside.
"By the time they arrive, we’ll have gutted you."! Your skin will make excellent belts for all of us! We’ll drink at your expense! – Rakt grunted mischievously – And for a snack we will have your tail and your frog legs!»
The fire of rage began to flare up in Arxoth’s chest. How dare those pigs call him an amphibian??! He hissed furiously, baring his teeth. "Come here, shit eaters! Your corpses will fertilize this damned land well!" – The runes on the Hasg’s body lit up with a violet flame. He twirled his dagger in his hand, igniting purple fire on the symbols that covered the curved blade – "You’re just another pile of trash in my path!»
The Croesus couldn’t stand it and ran. One of the comrades from the tavern was the first to step across the circle. His foot fell right on the runes placed in advance. A loud bang and a kroez nicknamed Mold stares in bewilderment at where his leg used to be. Blood gushed from the stump, which ended just above the knee. Croesus lost his balance and fell. “In vain. It would be better if you stood” – flashed through Arxot’s head. Another bang and what used to be his head turned into a splash of red. “The Runes of Violet Water destroy as well as they deceive,” Hasg smiled, continuing to unwind the dagger.
Mold’s only intact tusk flew out like a crossbow bolt and entered the side of one of the Croesus. Looks like it was Rakt. A terrible screech rose over the hills, which was immediately drowned out by the furious cries of the Croesians. They rushed to kill.
Hissing, Arxoth ducked under the ax aimed at his right shoulder, and held his dagger under the arm of Croesus, who ran up the fastest. There was a loud hiss of burning meat. The untwisted dagger immediately cauterized the wound, but cut warm butter like a hot knife and caused incredible pain. Croesus’ arm remained hanging only by a bunch of muscles. He grabbed his shoulder and took a couple of quick steps away from the hasg. It was his mistake. Tusk does not like it when unknown people approach him. Especially when they yell and distract him from the juicy parts of the tree. Croesus screamed as loud as he could. The end of a norg tusk appeared from his chest at the same second. It was easy for the huge beast to lift Croesus above his head. Just as easily he shook it off at his feet. And he quickly ended his torment by placing his columnar paw on his head. There was a gurgling crunch and the scream immediately stopped. The tusk returned to the almost eaten tree.
The Croesus slowed down and began to approach in a group. Apparently they didn’t like how their five to one numerical advantage was quickly reduced to three to two. Arxoth drew a purple arc around himself, hissing a barely audible "Asrah’Shahr". The name of the Fire Lizard, along with its first word, meaning "light". A bright flash blinded the attackers for a split second. Croesus began to rub his watery eyes. This time was enough for Hasgu. In a couple of long steps, Arxoth reached the Croesus called Raktom. In those same seconds, he managed to scratch the rune on his thigh. And stick a sharp claw right between Rakta’s eyes. Without stopping, Arxoth hissed into his ear the words of the Deceiver and the Traitor, the words of the Great Khasg Xath, spoken by him with a dagger in Asrach’s chest. Words that meant “enemies are everywhere, don’t trust anyone,” And just as quickly he moved away from the Croesians.
Arxoth was pleased. Rakt went crazy, just as Khasg wanted him to. Croesus grabbed his head, screamed and with all his might drove the ax into the head of a comrade standing next to him. A wave of burgundy spray flew out from the place where the ax landed. The body of the Croesus went limp and he fell with his entire body onto the sand. The last surviving attacker turned around and tried to escape. But Rakt had already pulled the ax out of his body and was preparing to throw. A couple of seconds. A couple of long seconds for a fleeing Croesus. He almost managed to reach the edge of the circle. But Rakta’s ax caught up with him. The body of the person running away bent sharply, as if someone with a huge invisible hand had broken it like a straw. Croesus fell forward. There was a bang. Another red cloud flew up where the head fell.
Khasg approached Raktu. In a couple of seconds the scales should fall from his eyes. Blood flowed from Rakt’s pierced side in an unstoppable stream. Croesus shuddered sharply, coming to his senses. Arxoth held his dagger blade under Rakta’s knee. The last surviving attacker fell to his knees, clutching his bloody side. "What was that? What happened to me? What kind of witchcraft, you damned hasg?"- Rakt croaked, choking on his own blood. Arxoth took him by the muzzle, digging his claws into it. Slowly he brought the dagger to his throat. The blade was already starting to fade, but was still quite hot.
“Glory to Xatu,” hissed the Khasg Arxoth’Kes. He was echoed by the hiss of the dagger and the bloody gurgling of the throat of Croesus Rakta.
After half an hour it was all over. Arxoth dragged the remnants of the attackers behind the nearest hill and returned to the interrupted ritual. A scale from his hand and drops of his blood were already on the Rune of Xat’Kutregasha. Arxoth pulled out from his bosom a small flask, wrapped in the black skin of a huge python, brought from a distant country on the edge of the Great Sea. He picked up the cork with his claw and carefully pulled it out. Dipped the claw of his free hand in the bottle. Just a little bit so that you can get no more than one drop of Violet Water. Raised his claw over the rune. A viscous drop of viscous thick liquid froze on the sharp tip of Arxot’s claw. With years of practiced movement of his brush, Hasg shook off a drop exactly onto the scale lying on the rune. At that same second, the scale hissed and dissolved, and the rune began to glow subtly. At the same second, a barely audible rumble was heard. True, only Arxot heard him. And, together with his norg Tusk, which fell behind the ground with a long-suffering tree and a small area of ​​​​earth around, it melted into the air.

Arxoth exhaled calmly. He was safe. It was possible to spend the night.

From the bag attached to Tusk’s back came the sounds of subtle fuss and quiet purring..

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