8/15/2004 Dungnuggets part 1
Religious clerics eons and eons ago
came together at a truce table. You
see, before then they fought for so long that the records were centuries
dust since there was peace. There
was no record for peace. In
fact the word had actually fallen out of the collective dictionary of a
language in flux. Nothing
had been written for so long except military records.
The brevity of each needed to be cut down for the scarcity of the
paper. No scrap could be
spared, it was too important, records must be saved.
Too many resources devoted to war that there was no longer enough
to feed the paper industry.
These Clerics were tired of death,
tired of fighting. It
wasn’t until one of them went a bit on the odd side.
An illness as a child had left him slightly off in the head.
But he was the only son left to inherit the chaos that was his
country. The only thing
holding his country together was the citizens almost godlike worship of
his family. It was close to
an old Egyptian style of government.
In the middle of a Battle at what
was politely referred to as an operational pause (which is actually
getting our shit back together after the real world stepped in on our
battle plan.) He dropped
his swords and armor, going naked out on to the battlefield, standing up
in his saddle. He wobbled a
couple of times on the way, but managed to make it all the way down to
the bowl of the valley where all the death was.
The other generals were in turn, amused, insulted, worried and
One by one they, and only they
saddled their horses and started down the slope.
They however did not drop all their weapons and clothing.
When they reached the bottom, they found the ill chieftain
sitting cross legged on the dirt. He
had spread a white cloth out in front of him and retrieved from his
saddlebags the finest wine that his country still produced on occasion
carried in the thickest leather skin.
None of them missed the trademark givaway carried on the bottom
of the most prized
possession on the planet, a Thick Skin of Vyn. (the named had morphed in
the couple hundred years since it began distilling the elixir.
Th-in Vyn to the more stylized “Thvyn.”
There had been a minor skirmish
between two of the countries over a bottle once, recently enough that it
was still in memory.
“Intriguing” said Jar of House
Kah, freehold clan. “Are
you offering us drink, ser?” A
slight twitch of his head, “My god!
He is without clothes.”
Worry lines creased the forehead of
the 2nd down the hill. Was
this a trick? He had
secreted a message for his archers to surreptitiously maneuver in to
range of the gathering and he kept his horse tight against him.
His troops were on edge behind him, skittishly ready to strike at
the slightest rumor.
Genney swore and was immediately punished with the slightest rush
of nausea. It had been happening a lot lately.
Spitting the bile taste out of his mouth he paraded himself down.
A chuckle escaped the lips of the
last General to arrive. “You
old sack of dungnuggets, you’ve finally lost it.”
of house Thvyn started up into the sun at them.
An almost inaudible croak escaped his lips.
A couple of the others heard it but didn’t comment.
At length, Thvyn’s mouth opened again and this time a low but
hypnotically soothing voice
emerged. “Please stretch
yourselves out. You’re
limbs are too short. We
need to encircle the earth.”