Name: Kihrona
Year: 2323
Brief Past:
A war unlike any other ravaged the countries worldwide. Each country had tapped into Old Magick and had unleashed heinous, out-of-control creatures—hybrids unto the land. They turned on their masters before they could blink and have been roaming the land killing whom they will. I and mine are just such creatures. The Almost Forgotten created us to gather information, but without hearts we’ve no loyalty—as well as no voice with which to speak, to tell of the secrets we hold in place of a beating, crimson vault. Thus the wars destroyed all that they had ever known, and thus we live as we can—day to day. Our one constant truth and law: Survival is Supreme.
Setting:
The silhouette of our once great city licks like flames at the sky. The rising sun paints the almost ancient ruins in the colors of the witch’s fire downwind. As the great smoke black dragon begins to wake I take in the sounds: the last were-howls sound as they start to change, tavern keepers and merchants throw the doors wide—well, at least those that survived do, those that thrive by night retreat from the sun’s warm sneer—burning those unworthy of its gaze. Dimly from the Far North can you see the neu-voux-riche still slumbering, obscurely safe in the knowledge that their robot “assassins”-for want of a better word-will protect them from the creatures that go bump in the night.
The lilting sounds of the Elvin Tongue can be heard amongst the dunes. The halting, butchery of words called the Common Tongue can also be heard amongst Trader’s Square. I hover over the square watching it come to life. The merchants from foreign worlds and lands lay out their goods calling in an accented Common Tongue their wares to the buyers, creating a cacophony of noise as they try to be louder than their competitor.
It’s mid-Spring and yet you can feel in the very air the too soon birth of the Summer months. The pubs doors have closed for the day while who-knows-what rests inside. In the distance the Silvers can be seen as well as the Munks. Were I to have a voice I’d warn whom I could, but as Watchers have neither hearts nor voice it is useless. The Silvers march, their robotic arms swinging in time to their internal clocks, of one mind and one mission they march to the Square.
The Prophet of square sees in the leaves the coming of the Silvers, and their mission to clean the city. Where the neu-voux-riche keeps themselves, it is thought that the land is sick, that those of magick blood are poisoning the land. Their Silver “Knights” are sent to clean them out each time they realize that the seasons have changed. The Prophet alerts all those of magick decent and hides himself as well. Suddenly there are only one or two merchants in the square as well as five humans that cluster together at one of the stalls. Though they are frightened they are not afraid, they will merely be brought to the “Human” end of the city. Where they are fed, and given a few coins; if they chose to leave, they left. Watching these people and their games are all the Watchers do. We have no other purpose. We have no loyalty, even to our own—we only see what we solely see. And I have seen many things in this lame dragon than any other Watcher. The Far West holds vast sand dunes and the seemingly endless water. The Far East is nothing but windblown memories of something once called a desert land. The Far North keeps vast tracks of unexplored forests and mountains; whereas, the South held only brimstone and a fire that would melt you within two thousand feet. There were creatures—hybrids that lived in such environments, preventing all else from entering—or at least living past sunset. Perhaps you are wondering how the traders come, easy: they hire creatures from the lands they’re traversing through to get where they’re going.
The languages that the people use in this era of life and death are far different than the Almost Forgotten. From other worlds come the tongues of Elvin, Dragon, Faery, Demon, Angel, Magick of all kinds, and the sort of things you’d heard and seen only in the darkest of tales—the most gruesome of nightmares. There are only a small group of people who speak the ancient languages. I and other immortals that learned the tongues of old, to keep a part of their heritage from being completely destroyed by the sands of time.
The cities name has been long forgotten and has been given a new one.
The New Ones call it Kihrona they have barely begun to tap into the technologies the Almost Forgotten once had. Although they are determined to be different—they will fail. History must repeat itself I can only hope they don’t start a war like one of the Five. The last of which permanently destroyed all technology and most resources until a century ago. Slowly the New Ones have made their way to this point in their advances.
Year: 2323
Brief Past:
A war unlike any other ravaged the countries worldwide. Each country had tapped into Old Magick and had unleashed heinous, out-of-control creatures—hybrids unto the land. They turned on their masters before they could blink and have been roaming the land killing whom they will. I and mine are just such creatures. The Almost Forgotten created us to gather information, but without hearts we’ve no loyalty—as well as no voice with which to speak, to tell of the secrets we hold in place of a beating, crimson vault. Thus the wars destroyed all that they had ever known, and thus we live as we can—day to day. Our one constant truth and law: Survival is Supreme.
Setting:
The silhouette of our once great city licks like flames at the sky. The rising sun paints the almost ancient ruins in the colors of the witch’s fire downwind. As the great smoke black dragon begins to wake I take in the sounds: the last were-howls sound as they start to change, tavern keepers and merchants throw the doors wide—well, at least those that survived do, those that thrive by night retreat from the sun’s warm sneer—burning those unworthy of its gaze. Dimly from the Far North can you see the neu-voux-riche still slumbering, obscurely safe in the knowledge that their robot “assassins”-for want of a better word-will protect them from the creatures that go bump in the night.
The lilting sounds of the Elvin Tongue can be heard amongst the dunes. The halting, butchery of words called the Common Tongue can also be heard amongst Trader’s Square. I hover over the square watching it come to life. The merchants from foreign worlds and lands lay out their goods calling in an accented Common Tongue their wares to the buyers, creating a cacophony of noise as they try to be louder than their competitor.
It’s mid-Spring and yet you can feel in the very air the too soon birth of the Summer months. The pubs doors have closed for the day while who-knows-what rests inside. In the distance the Silvers can be seen as well as the Munks. Were I to have a voice I’d warn whom I could, but as Watchers have neither hearts nor voice it is useless. The Silvers march, their robotic arms swinging in time to their internal clocks, of one mind and one mission they march to the Square.
The Prophet of square sees in the leaves the coming of the Silvers, and their mission to clean the city. Where the neu-voux-riche keeps themselves, it is thought that the land is sick, that those of magick blood are poisoning the land. Their Silver “Knights” are sent to clean them out each time they realize that the seasons have changed. The Prophet alerts all those of magick decent and hides himself as well. Suddenly there are only one or two merchants in the square as well as five humans that cluster together at one of the stalls. Though they are frightened they are not afraid, they will merely be brought to the “Human” end of the city. Where they are fed, and given a few coins; if they chose to leave, they left. Watching these people and their games are all the Watchers do. We have no other purpose. We have no loyalty, even to our own—we only see what we solely see. And I have seen many things in this lame dragon than any other Watcher. The Far West holds vast sand dunes and the seemingly endless water. The Far East is nothing but windblown memories of something once called a desert land. The Far North keeps vast tracks of unexplored forests and mountains; whereas, the South held only brimstone and a fire that would melt you within two thousand feet. There were creatures—hybrids that lived in such environments, preventing all else from entering—or at least living past sunset. Perhaps you are wondering how the traders come, easy: they hire creatures from the lands they’re traversing through to get where they’re going.
The languages that the people use in this era of life and death are far different than the Almost Forgotten. From other worlds come the tongues of Elvin, Dragon, Faery, Demon, Angel, Magick of all kinds, and the sort of things you’d heard and seen only in the darkest of tales—the most gruesome of nightmares. There are only a small group of people who speak the ancient languages. I and other immortals that learned the tongues of old, to keep a part of their heritage from being completely destroyed by the sands of time.
The cities name has been long forgotten and has been given a new one.
The New Ones call it Kihrona they have barely begun to tap into the technologies the Almost Forgotten once had. Although they are determined to be different—they will fail. History must repeat itself I can only hope they don’t start a war like one of the Five. The last of which permanently destroyed all technology and most resources until a century ago. Slowly the New Ones have made their way to this point in their advances.
