My custom civ - Project Discussion

The snow, it was everywhere. For weeks if not months it had covered the land as far as the eyes could see like a white blanket suffocating the world buried beneath. Winter had long since passed but it refused to melt. And with each day that it staid died the hopes for the fledgling crops and memories of the touch of sun light that gave all things life.

Beneath it the world was dying. Nature and man alike slowly vanished as the world was no longer able to sustain them. Many starved in their homes and dens, many others lay sick and dying as herbs and medicine were wasted by the snow, others yet and many of them lay in the thick snow awaiting helplessly passage to their eternal rest.

So many died in fact that death it self became meaningless. All records were long since abandoned and now not even the stars cared to fall when another corpse expired in the wastes. This night was different however. For among the victims of the evening was one unlike all the others, one so different that the hand of fate it self felt compelled to intervene. For among the endless snow lay a creature like no other. A man of reed and straw woven together like a wicker basket. And as he lay there, face down like so many others, awaiting peacefully his inevitable end something changed. For fate knew that this was not his time, and that his journey would have many chapters yet.

The creature, or rather person in the snow however knew nothing of this. It's mind was peaceful and resigned. From the moment he ran away he knew this was how it would end. And even so he had to run, there was no other choice left. And as his life slowly passed before his eyes for the one last time he knew that he would have made the same choice again.

Back on the farmstead where he lived he was just one of many. Creatures of straw called by many names, they were created by the Parthian Empire as work force. A cheap substitute for golems where money was short and straw was plentiful. And even thou there were so many he was always different. He newer gave any sign of it, and perhaps other simply did not as well yet deep inside he always knew that this was not the case. He was different from them, unique in his own way. He did not know what it was but there was something inside him a spark so to speak that set him apart from the rest of his brothers and sisters. Be he kept silent about it and it went unnoticed until it was too late.

For years he had served his masters faithfully. His masters were fair and honest people and times were plentiful. He performed every task they gave him, every order they issued without question. And over the years he grew fond of them coming to see them as something he could newer have, a thing the humans would call family. And yet all of this proved to only be an illusion. An illusion scattered brutally on that wary night. For it was on that night that he finally realized his masters had abandoned all reason. And it was on that night that he was savagely betrayed.

At first he barely noticed it. But as winter set in and the crops failed more and more of his brethren disappeared without a trace. Slowly he began to notice that day after day the masters would take some of them from the shelter where they were resting and that those they took would newer return again. But he dismissed it as just coincidence, illusions, or even madness on his part. He could not, would not or rather did not wish to see the truth before it was too late. For it was his own loyalty and caring for them that had left him blinded until that faithful nigh. For that night was the one when his turn finally came.

For the first time in his life he felt filled with fear and he panicked. He tried to explain to them that he was alive, that he had feelings and dreams and he begged them to spare him. But they would not listen. Impatient to feed the beasts and confused the man attacked him. Hearing the shouting, the farmers wife rushed into the barn and seeing the creature resist her husband she scoured it with a pitchfork pinning him to the wall. But he could not die, he would not die, not that way. Instinct took over and as if in a trance he ripped away from the pitchfork ripping at his own wicker flesh leaving gaping wounds that none could survive. Yet survive is just what he did and more. He lunged at the door throwing the farmer and his wife aside like rag dolls into the surrounding hay and fled. And he fled, and fled, and fled. He did not know how far he had run or in what direction nor did he care. For he knew he would not survive the night that was before him. But if he was to die he would die knowing that his flesh would not be used to feed the beasts of the betrayers. At least in death he would become free. Exhausted he fell onto the snow and waited for death to come. And he was at peace.

But it was not to be, not that night and not for a weary long time. He newer thought about death before, and as he lay there waiting for it he found that strange. He wondered how it would come for him and if he would see it or if he would just close his eyes and disappear. And as he was not human he wondered if there was something there for him as well, something after the end. But mostly he wondered what it was taking so long. And than it came for him, or so he thought.

A bright flame like a burning star appeared in the air just above him. It's light shined over the ground around him so hard that the snow began to melt. With what must have been his last atom of strength he turned around to face it prepared to look death in the eyes. But what he saw both stunned and amazed him and it would remain etched into his mind for no matter how long he lived. For above him was no star, no flaming ball of death but an angel. It's wings ignited with magical flame burned at the cold around him melting the snow and bringing back life. He felt energy returning to him. And as he lay there trying to understand what was happening the angel spoke:
"Listen to me young one, and do not speak."
"I have been watching you for a long time. You are special, different from all your brethren. You have within you a spark, a remnant of my mistress, a fragment of her true self still left upon this plane. It is what has drawn me to you when all lights had faded and what has kept me alive for so long at your side. And it is what gave you life and made you who you are."
The angel stood still for a moment pausing his light flickering like a candle in the breeze. One could feel its pain as it struggled to maintain its shape and existence during what seemed like its dying breath. Slowly and with great effort it spoke out again.
"I can tell you no more. My time here is short. The flame of my existence is dying and I have used too much of it already by appearing to you."
"But it was what had to be done. For without my help you would die and that can not be allowed to happen. I do not know why the flame has chosen you but it has. And it has given you the potential to become so much more than you ever dreamed. I have seen this in its reflection, in the way it burns within you. But not even I can see beyond."
"All I can tell you is that you are destined to do what must be done and that I am destined to ensure you live to do it."
And with those words the angel swooped forward pining the man of straw to the ground. The angels shape deteriorated the man could feel the fire flowing through him, consuming him but he did not burn. The straw of his body did not ignite yet the flames lit up a fire inside. For the first time in his existence he felt alive, not just a living intelligent slave but a real living creature almost as if he was made of flesh. He felt power surging through him as if he was the center of all existence, the living god of straw ascended on this plane. And than it all disappeared and the light of the fire slowly dimmed and vanished into the blackness of winter.

Reborn, the man of wicker stood up. Beneath his feet lay a puddle of ice, all that remained as evidence to what had occurred. He looked up at the sky and whispered to the vanished angel: "You shall not be forgotten. I shall do what must be done." And than he slowly turned and started walking back to the farmstead from whence he came.

That night the snow ran red.

The snow was everywhere. For weeks (if not months) it had covered the land as far as the eye could see. It was like a white blanket suffocating the world buried beneath. Winter had long since passed, but it refused to melt. And with each day that it stayed, man's hope for his fledgling crops and his memories of the touch of sun-light, which gives all things life died.

Beneath it the world was dying. Nature and man alike slowly vanished, as the world was no longer able to sustain them. Many starved in their homes and dens. Many others lay sick and dying as herbs could not be grown because of the snow, and medicine could not be made without herbs. Others yet , lay in the thick snow waiting helplessly for their passage to eternal rest.

So many died that death itself became meaningless. All records had long since been abandoned and now not even the stars cared to fall when another corpse expired in the wastes. This night was different however. For among the victims of the evening was one unlike all the others. One so different, that the hand of fate itself felt compelled to intervene. For among the endless snow lay a creature like no other. A man of reed and straw woven together like a wicker basket. And as he lay there, face down like so many others, waiting peacefully for his inevitable end, something changed. For fate knew that this was not his time, and that his journey would have many chapters yet.

The creature, or rather person, in the snow however knew nothing of this. It's mind was peaceful and resigned. From the moment he ran away he knew this was how it would end. And even so he had to run, there was no other choice left. And as his life slowly passed before his eyes, one last time he knew that he would have made the same choice again.

Back on the farmstead where he lived he was just one of many. Creatures of straw called by many names, they were created by the Parthian Empire as it's work force. A cheap substitute for golems where money was short and straw was plentiful. And even though there were so many, he was always different. He newer gave any sign of it, and perhaps others simply did not either, yet deep inside he always knew that this was not the case. He was different from them, unique in his own way. He did not know what it was, but there was something inside him, a spark so to speak, that set him apart from the rest of his brothers and sisters. Be he kept silent about it and it went unnoticed until it was too late.

For years he had served his masters faithfully. His masters were fair and honest people and times were plentiful. He performed every task they gave him, every order they issued without question. And over the years he grew fond of them, coming to see them as something he could newer have, a thing the humans would call family. And yet all of this proved to only be an illusion. An illusion scattered brutally on that very night. For it was on that night that he finally realized his masters had abandoned all reason. And it was on that night that he was savagely betrayed.

At first he barely noticed it. But as winter set in and the crops failed more and more of his brethren disappeared without a trace. Slowly he began to notice that day after day the masters would take some of them from the shelter where they were resting and that those they took would never return again. But he dismissed it as just coincidence, illusions, or even madness on his part. He could not, would not or rather did not wish to see the truth before it was too late. For it was his own loyalty and caring for them that had left him blinded until that faithful night. For that night was the one when his turn finally came.

For the first time in his life he felt filled with fear and he panicked. He tried to explain to them that he was alive, that he had feelings and dreams and he begged them to spare him. But they would not listen. Impatient to feed the beasts the confused man attacked him. When she heard the shouting, the farmers wife rushed into the barn. Seeing him resist her husband, she attacked him with a pitchfork and pinned him to the wall. But he could not die. He would not die. Not in that way. Instinct took over and as if in a trance, he ripped away from the pitchfork ripping his own wicker flesh, leaving gaping wounds that none could survive. [possibly reword this sentence, or break it up, confusing] Yet survive is just what he did (and more). He lunged at the door, throwing the farmer and his wife aside into the surrounding hay like rag dolls and fled. And he fled, and fled, and fled. He did not know how far he had run or in what direction, nor did he care. For he knew he would not survive the night that was before him. But if he was to die, he would die knowing that his flesh would not be used to feed the beasts of the betrayers. At least in death he would become free. Exhausted he fell onto the snow and waited for death to come. And he was at peace. [Changed person references from third to second person in a few sentences to match the rest of the paragraph]

But it was not to be, not that night and not for a weary long time. He had never thought about death before. And as he lay there waiting for it, he found this strange. He wondered how it would come for him, and if he would see it or if he would just close his eyes and disappear. And as he was not human, he wondered if there was something after the end for him as well. But mostly he wondered why it was taking so long. And then at long last it came for him, or so he thought.

A bright flame like a burning star appeared in the air just above him. It's light shined over the ground around him so brightly that the snow began to melt. With what must have been his last atom of strength, he turned around to see it and prepared to look death in the eyes. But what he saw both stunned and amazed him, and would remain etched in his mind for as long as he lived. For above him was no star, no flaming ball of death, but an angel. It's wings ignited with magical flame which burned at the cold around him and melted the snow and brought back life. He felt energy returning to him. And as he lay there trying to understand what was happening the angel spoke:
"Listen to me young one, and do not speak."
"I have been watching you for a long time. You are special, different from all your brethren. You have within you a spark, a remnant of my mistress, a fragment of her true self still left upon this plane. It is what has drawn me to you when all hope had faded and what has kept me alive for so long at your side. And it is what gave you life and made you who you are."
The angel stood still for a moment pausing, his light flickering like a candle in the breeze. One could feel its pain as it struggled to maintain its shape and existence during what seemed like its dying breath. Slowly and with great effort it spoke again.
"I can tell you no more. My time here is short. The flame of my existence is dying and I have used too much of it already by appearing to you."
"But it was what had to be done. For without my help you would die and that can not be allowed to happen. I do not know why the flame has chosen you but it has. And it has given you the potential to become so much more than you ever dreamed. I have seen this in its reflection, in the way it burns within you. But not even I can see beyond."
"All I can tell you is that you are destined to do what must be done and that I am destined to make sure you live to do it."
And with those words the angel swooped forward, pinning the man of straw to the ground. As the angels shape deteriorated, the man could feel the fire flowing through him, consuming him, but he did not burn. The straw of his body did not ignite, yet the flames lit up a fire inside. For the first time in his existence, he felt alive. He was no longer just a living intelligent slave, but he was a real living creature almost as if he was made of flesh. He felt power surging through him as if he was the center of all existence, the living god of straw ascended on this plane. And then, the flame disappeared and the light of the fire slowly dimmed and vanished into the blackness of winter.

Reborn, the man of wicker stood up. Beneath his feet lay a puddle of ice, all that remained as evidence of what had occurred. He looked up at the sky and whispered to the vanished angel: "You shall not be forgotten. I shall do what must be done." And then he slowly turned and started to walk back to the farmstead from whence he had come.

That night the snow ran red.