New Scribbly Rant Stories!
Hurrah for anyone who can read this. Huzzah for those who await my next move! These next installments will be some crazy freewrite/rant of a story, almost always fictional, but they may resemble reality. But in the end, is that not the purpose? And thus...
It was hot inside the cart. Time changes perceptions on time. The ride could have been days, or even weeks. Slavery of the S'kra Mur was a common practice since the Rip became whole again almost 100 years ago. Zifzeil was one of the first S'kra Mur taken from his home in the mountains. The Humoor raids started in the southern wetland regions, but slowly progressed northward toward the Dragonspire mountains. Most raids were fueled by predjudice leftover from the Battle of Endall, some would end in a whole villages of S'kra Mur being slaughtered. The S'kra Mur were the invaders to the land, but they were also seperated from their own kind. There had been an number of attempts to establish political power within the Humoor government, all of which where quickly dismissed. To partner with a S'kra Mur would be the same as murder of your own family. Some Humoor communities have established peace treatys with the S'kra Mur, but the establishment of trade between cultures has yet to be seen, except for the selling of S'kra Mur organs, bones, and workers which made much profit for the Humoor. Zifzeil was lucky enough to be left alive during the raid. He was a trained swordsmen, but the Humoor came in numbers that outshadowed the entire village, there was nothing he could do.
Now he sat within the makeshift wooden cart filled with hay and about enough head room to sit up with a hard slouch. His tail rested awkwardly underneath his body. The scales on his body began to fester from the parasites which would borrow themselves into his flesh. During the capture, the Humoor were able to put Zifzeil into submission, where he was stripped of all possessions, and his claws on his hind legs and front appendages were worn smooth so he was left defenseless. He was dehydrated and beginning to see images within the cart that would shift as he would move his focus around. Meditation worked best to help him get through th long summer days. The cart seemed to travel nonstop, day and night. Zifziel began thinking about his village, and back to his childhood when it was attacked by and evil clan of Magis. He could feel the heat from the flames of his past licking through his body. The sounds of the others screaming, and his father commanding the militia to defend their village. All the choas was ended when the cart finally came to a stop, and Zifzeil felt a cool breeze whip through his body as the top of the cart was finally lifted.
It was hot inside the cart. Time changes perceptions on time. The ride could have been days, or even weeks. Slavery of the S'kra Mur was a common practice since the Rip became whole again almost 100 years ago. Zifzeil was one of the first S'kra Mur taken from his home in the mountains. The Humoor raids started in the southern wetland regions, but slowly progressed northward toward the Dragonspire mountains. Most raids were fueled by predjudice leftover from the Battle of Endall, some would end in a whole villages of S'kra Mur being slaughtered. The S'kra Mur were the invaders to the land, but they were also seperated from their own kind. There had been an number of attempts to establish political power within the Humoor government, all of which where quickly dismissed. To partner with a S'kra Mur would be the same as murder of your own family. Some Humoor communities have established peace treatys with the S'kra Mur, but the establishment of trade between cultures has yet to be seen, except for the selling of S'kra Mur organs, bones, and workers which made much profit for the Humoor. Zifzeil was lucky enough to be left alive during the raid. He was a trained swordsmen, but the Humoor came in numbers that outshadowed the entire village, there was nothing he could do.
Now he sat within the makeshift wooden cart filled with hay and about enough head room to sit up with a hard slouch. His tail rested awkwardly underneath his body. The scales on his body began to fester from the parasites which would borrow themselves into his flesh. During the capture, the Humoor were able to put Zifzeil into submission, where he was stripped of all possessions, and his claws on his hind legs and front appendages were worn smooth so he was left defenseless. He was dehydrated and beginning to see images within the cart that would shift as he would move his focus around. Meditation worked best to help him get through th long summer days. The cart seemed to travel nonstop, day and night. Zifziel began thinking about his village, and back to his childhood when it was attacked by and evil clan of Magis. He could feel the heat from the flames of his past licking through his body. The sounds of the others screaming, and his father commanding the militia to defend their village. All the choas was ended when the cart finally came to a stop, and Zifzeil felt a cool breeze whip through his body as the top of the cart was finally lifted.