by yanna » Tue Apr 24, 2012 11:09 pm
working on the road now. we're at the grass area around New Horizon.
RPing this shit. Here's my story:
~~~~~~~~~
I do not know where this road leads. Nor do I know who will tread upon it's stones. But I build it nonetheless, for my master commands it. The others call it the Red Road, named for the corpses that lie along it's length. I try not think of what lies behind me and only look ahead. Looking back is impossible now.
I am curious when they say new horizons are before us but alas it is a cruel trick of words. It is not *new horizons* but New Horizons. A place where men draped in metal and gold live behind walls of brick and wood.
I fear this place as I fear death itself. I have seen such places before and they are nightmares come to life. Where humble farmers plow their fields in peace in one moment and lie dead with an arrow in the eye the next. Where men slaughter men for no reason, or even worse, for 'The Lulz', a dark and vile god worshipped by a breed of mankind no better than devils.
It is wise to steer clear of such places, yet we build our road so close I can smell the sweet stench of death emanating from within its walls. Be it human or beast, I know not, and do not want to know.
This road grows longer and I grow increasingly thirsty. The more I drink the hungrier I get. My master has provided me with no food and I am forced to hunt small game and gather roots for sustenance. An apple tree will have to suffice for now, as no rabbits are to be found.
I am relieved to see a fellow laborer approach. I greet him.
'Hail friend' I say.
'Hi' he responds. He is naked as the day he was born holding only an axe in hand. "Too laggy to work," he says.
"Do your best," I say with encouragement. He laughs out loud and walks away.
I fear this road will never be finished with workers like these.
The ground here is rough and filled with stone making short work of our primitive wooden plows. Another one broken. I gather blocks to repair it by removing a nearby stump.
My fellow worker returns with a cart full of stuff. Maybe I've judged this one too soon. He stops the cart and leaves a chair for me to rest on and speeds off again.
I decide to befriend him when he returns with more chairs and a catcher of dreams. I am thankful and rest in the chair. I set my stone axe down and stare at my calloused hands, then back up again at the dream catcher, as it sways gently in the wind.
A dream catcher?
I laugh aloud to myself. What sick dream will I find caught in its web this time? A beautiful dream? I scowl at the thought. In these hearthlands they say it is better to wish for a dreamless sleep, for even the smallest and sweetest of dreams is as likely to turn to nightmare.
