nervouspete
Chieftain
- Joined
- Oct 30, 2005
- Messages
- 4
Hullo, Pete here. First time post here, though I've been lurking here for a while. Anyway, I knocked up this little tale to engender kindhearted pity for us Brits who don't have the game yet. Hope you enjoy...
The Quest for Civ - A Waiting Tale
And in the old lands of the fathers the cheiftain questioned the wise man as to the truth of his warning, for the cheiftain was a prudent man and thus had his tribe survived in these bleak times; and so the wise old man replied...
They are not my words, he growled as he shook his grey shaggy head, they are the words of the God Meier. He who so long as his strength lives keeps the disc of our planet spinning one more turn, he cries, one more turn as his grip pushes the earth. And what if he stumbles and slips and the earth heaves and the cracks swallow the children and the slow and the old and the ill-fated? His power keeps the world turning. And he knows things yes, he knows things
The chieftain shifted uncomfortably, cross legged before the fire and the wizened man dressed in furs. An offering lay before him; a single gaunt boar to be consumed in fire, the substance to Meier for luck and protection - but times had been hard of late and it really was a shabby morsel compared to the offerings of old. He waited for the wise man to continue.
A star from the void will strike the land, spreading flame and famine death to all within its reach. Before the moon finishes her third cycle, this land shall perish, the old man intoned, before bending over and grabbing another of his strange mushrooms, which opened the door to Meier. But hope lives in another land, beyond the great mountains. March to the land of the rising sun and you shall find a pass between Id and Valve, the two warring idiot brothers whose match of death brings us our thunder and lightning. Venture beyond their land and you shall find a bountiful land of fat gazelles, boars and wild fruits. And there you shall live long and prosper, as the benevolent Nimoy, star voice of the all-father Meier, has promised.
And so they left the land and headed east towards the rising sun. The way was hard and there were several among the weak and old whose life had faded on the path. But now the chieftain and his tribe rested around a stream that wound between mossy rocks, a silver trail tinkling down from the high peaks looming overhead. Behind them lay the great plains of their origin. Ahead sank a dark and forbidding pass, beyond which they hoped and prayed that the legend would come true. The brothers Id and Valve were prone to unleash avalanches upon unfamiliar faces in their land, despising new men. Only a few strange hermits endured within the cold crags. It would be a dangerous trek.
The leader of the tribe knelt before the running water, sank his hands into the chill stream and retrieved for his tired frame a cupped mouthful of water. His nomad tribe, no more than three hundred souls, had been walking these foothills for several days now. Through the pass lay the unexplored territories, the mysterious land of Civ which legend described as a bountiful paradise bereft of predators
No land could be so, the chieftain had spoken to the wise man so many months ago, life is a struggle and always shall be so. But if what you say is true, then our people have little choice. For the star grows brighter and brighter, and we fear her and would not be here when she falls.
It would be four days to the other side of the pass, and another four days by the wise mans reckoning until the star smote the land of their fathers. As he staggered to his feet the brutalised frame of the chieftain protested with creaks and aches, but he ignored the dull throb of exhaustion. There was no time to linger. Four days until the light struck the land. Four days until he could find their new home and feast upon a fat land, spreading their number across what-lay-beyond.
The way through the pass was difficult but it was accomplished with no loss and well within the four days, much to the chieftains surprise. He secretly concluded that despite their loud bark, Id and Valve had little bite upon his people and they could safely get by without worshiping such meagre gods. Meier was the only one for them. Now they sprawled on the foothills, looking out over the midnight moonlit land. She was one of glistening lakes, great forests, noble plains and fat animals. The chieftain knew that she would be good to them.
And as they lay gazing happily, but perhaps with a little trepidation, upon this virgin land, a most astonishing event occurred. With an incandescent flash night turned to brightest day, every blade of grass defined as serried spears waving in the gentle breeze. The light hurt the eyes, and those few who had turned by ill chance back towards the pass were cruelly blinded by the fierce glare. There were no screams, for the shock was too great and the sight too overwhelming. The harsh light began to die, but slowly, and with the dying glow came a faint reddish quality to the light as if blood had slipped across the rising sun.
And then the chieftain gasped, for turning cautiously to the source of this dying light he saw a great incandescent cloud rising high in the distance; a pillar of flame that spread out at the top, as if a mighty tree or one of the wise mans strange mushrooms. And then they heard the sharp crack of thunder that slammed the pass walls, sending tons of rock falling and shattering the snow capped crowns of Id and Valve, the two peaks buckling before the onslaught. The sound doubled and redoubled, pummelling their ears until they bled. And as they staggered in pain a great wind whipped through the pass and picked them up, tossing them like leaves.
And then within minutes it was over. A ringing silence fell upon them, one where mouths flapped without noise and the beasts ran wild in the long grass without a murmur or a rustle.
Later that day their hearing came back, and they thanked Meier for his kindness in sparing them, and they buried the wise man in his rich furs for the poor fellow had fallen to his knees and expired at the sight and sound of the awful spectacle.
And thus the chieftain spoke to his people, who bore the name of Brits, it is another four days to the lake ahead. There shall we make camp, and perhaps with Meiers grace build our homes and raise our children. Yes, this land shall be good for us and once we have patched ourselves up, we shall thrive. This shall be our land the land of Civ, and on the fourth day we shall begin, and see what fate deals us
The End...
(Or IS it?)
ARGH! Four bloody days until Civ 4 comes out in the UK! All I can do is daydream and write bad fiction. (Apologies to Neil Gaiman, of whom I stole what Hitchcock called a plot McGuffin.)
The Quest for Civ - A Waiting Tale
And in the old lands of the fathers the cheiftain questioned the wise man as to the truth of his warning, for the cheiftain was a prudent man and thus had his tribe survived in these bleak times; and so the wise old man replied...
They are not my words, he growled as he shook his grey shaggy head, they are the words of the God Meier. He who so long as his strength lives keeps the disc of our planet spinning one more turn, he cries, one more turn as his grip pushes the earth. And what if he stumbles and slips and the earth heaves and the cracks swallow the children and the slow and the old and the ill-fated? His power keeps the world turning. And he knows things yes, he knows things
The chieftain shifted uncomfortably, cross legged before the fire and the wizened man dressed in furs. An offering lay before him; a single gaunt boar to be consumed in fire, the substance to Meier for luck and protection - but times had been hard of late and it really was a shabby morsel compared to the offerings of old. He waited for the wise man to continue.
A star from the void will strike the land, spreading flame and famine death to all within its reach. Before the moon finishes her third cycle, this land shall perish, the old man intoned, before bending over and grabbing another of his strange mushrooms, which opened the door to Meier. But hope lives in another land, beyond the great mountains. March to the land of the rising sun and you shall find a pass between Id and Valve, the two warring idiot brothers whose match of death brings us our thunder and lightning. Venture beyond their land and you shall find a bountiful land of fat gazelles, boars and wild fruits. And there you shall live long and prosper, as the benevolent Nimoy, star voice of the all-father Meier, has promised.
And so they left the land and headed east towards the rising sun. The way was hard and there were several among the weak and old whose life had faded on the path. But now the chieftain and his tribe rested around a stream that wound between mossy rocks, a silver trail tinkling down from the high peaks looming overhead. Behind them lay the great plains of their origin. Ahead sank a dark and forbidding pass, beyond which they hoped and prayed that the legend would come true. The brothers Id and Valve were prone to unleash avalanches upon unfamiliar faces in their land, despising new men. Only a few strange hermits endured within the cold crags. It would be a dangerous trek.
The leader of the tribe knelt before the running water, sank his hands into the chill stream and retrieved for his tired frame a cupped mouthful of water. His nomad tribe, no more than three hundred souls, had been walking these foothills for several days now. Through the pass lay the unexplored territories, the mysterious land of Civ which legend described as a bountiful paradise bereft of predators
No land could be so, the chieftain had spoken to the wise man so many months ago, life is a struggle and always shall be so. But if what you say is true, then our people have little choice. For the star grows brighter and brighter, and we fear her and would not be here when she falls.
It would be four days to the other side of the pass, and another four days by the wise mans reckoning until the star smote the land of their fathers. As he staggered to his feet the brutalised frame of the chieftain protested with creaks and aches, but he ignored the dull throb of exhaustion. There was no time to linger. Four days until the light struck the land. Four days until he could find their new home and feast upon a fat land, spreading their number across what-lay-beyond.
The way through the pass was difficult but it was accomplished with no loss and well within the four days, much to the chieftains surprise. He secretly concluded that despite their loud bark, Id and Valve had little bite upon his people and they could safely get by without worshiping such meagre gods. Meier was the only one for them. Now they sprawled on the foothills, looking out over the midnight moonlit land. She was one of glistening lakes, great forests, noble plains and fat animals. The chieftain knew that she would be good to them.
And as they lay gazing happily, but perhaps with a little trepidation, upon this virgin land, a most astonishing event occurred. With an incandescent flash night turned to brightest day, every blade of grass defined as serried spears waving in the gentle breeze. The light hurt the eyes, and those few who had turned by ill chance back towards the pass were cruelly blinded by the fierce glare. There were no screams, for the shock was too great and the sight too overwhelming. The harsh light began to die, but slowly, and with the dying glow came a faint reddish quality to the light as if blood had slipped across the rising sun.
And then the chieftain gasped, for turning cautiously to the source of this dying light he saw a great incandescent cloud rising high in the distance; a pillar of flame that spread out at the top, as if a mighty tree or one of the wise mans strange mushrooms. And then they heard the sharp crack of thunder that slammed the pass walls, sending tons of rock falling and shattering the snow capped crowns of Id and Valve, the two peaks buckling before the onslaught. The sound doubled and redoubled, pummelling their ears until they bled. And as they staggered in pain a great wind whipped through the pass and picked them up, tossing them like leaves.
And then within minutes it was over. A ringing silence fell upon them, one where mouths flapped without noise and the beasts ran wild in the long grass without a murmur or a rustle.
Later that day their hearing came back, and they thanked Meier for his kindness in sparing them, and they buried the wise man in his rich furs for the poor fellow had fallen to his knees and expired at the sight and sound of the awful spectacle.
And thus the chieftain spoke to his people, who bore the name of Brits, it is another four days to the lake ahead. There shall we make camp, and perhaps with Meiers grace build our homes and raise our children. Yes, this land shall be good for us and once we have patched ourselves up, we shall thrive. This shall be our land the land of Civ, and on the fourth day we shall begin, and see what fate deals us
The End...
(Or IS it?)
ARGH! Four bloody days until Civ 4 comes out in the UK! All I can do is daydream and write bad fiction. (Apologies to Neil Gaiman, of whom I stole what Hitchcock called a plot McGuffin.)
