Always claimed to be an author first...

[Tralla]

EDIT by Katzaniel: The following was written as an application to the StoryWeaver Guild. Katz out.

 

 

"When do we move, Ashani? It's been three days."

 

"Tonight, Katya. Tell the men, tonight. They are keen for blood, aren't they?"

 

"Foreigners are good sport. Not as good as the wild krazz mamei, far to the south, but still better than nothing."

 

"Mm. The light will die soon. Tell them to be ready."

 

"They are always ready." Nonetheless, Katya moved away to spread the word; they'd see good red blood tonight. The foreign creatures, so strangely pale and completely unprepared for the untamed, hostile expanse of the wasteland-desert of the Ahra'maen, still had not learned to move by night as the native creatures did. They laboured on by day, tugging their furry, noisy creatures forward step by step, sweating and stinking in their silver skins, and setting up camp when the light has died and the air has cooled. Foolish creatures, they set watcher who knew not what to look for, and slept too heavily under the illusion of safety. At least they had learned not to burn things. Or perhaps it was because, so far from the gaping wound of Fahrei Eerra that severed the Ahra'maen from the Lands Where Water Flowed, there really was nothing left to burn.

 

The Water Lands.

 

A story, a legend told by the Jouin clan-women, of a place where the sands were not sands at all, and green like the infant krazz's sinuous scales. A place where Fahrai Eerra bled his lifeblood up from the green sands, and the cool clear fluids never clotted. A place where the gods showered tears from the storm-darkened sky, grieving for the rape of the land by the pale-skinned monsters with flashing hides and sharp fangs that killed without poison. A place of death, but a place of great resources. The Water Lands. A myth.

 

Until the monsters crossed the Wound of Fahrei Eerra and entered the Ahra'maen. Until Ashani y Avi-Nema, Daughter of the blood-clan Gidoun, had led her first sport-party across their path, and traced them to their ill-chosen and ill-defended core. They would kill these intruders, and bring their shining carcasses back to the tribes, as proof of flesh that the wealth was waiting across the Wound. At long last, the tribes would cross the Wound, trade blood for blood with Fahrei Eerra, and harvest the riches of the Water Lands. Gidoun would stand first among the tribes, and Ashani first among the Gidoun. The Jouin dreamsongs would remember down the bloodlines until the End, the wealth and water brought to the tribes of Ahra'maen by the Daughter. All that was left now was to take what had been offered.

 

The light died.

 

At a gesture, the white watcher fell, seeing nothing in breath or death.

 

The pack closed in.

 

And blood ran.

Edited March 13, 2006 by Katzaniel

[Lady Celes Crusader]

What a compelling story. I like the surreal universe you created.

 

*Marks this application with the APPROVED seal*

[Tralla]

YAY!

 

*does the happy new tale spinner dance, which happens to be a jerkily jumpy-sway-y monstrosity the likes of which you've never seen and hope to never again*

[Ayshela]

YAY!

 

*Gives Tralla a big happy hug and joins her in the new tail spinner.. err.. tale spinner.. dance*