Creative History Department - Storyline

[Cyc]

As we entered the Council Tribunal, Bonalone and I were greeted with nervous signs of greetings. We moved through the tent to where Bonalone's place was and I sit down beside him.

What followed next was beyond my experiences. I watched as men young and old, with revolution in their eyes come and speak to the Council. A long procession of representatives came and went, each claiming situations that needed to be addressed. The Council seemed to be agreeable to all in an attempt to keep their scalps. Finally, the main leaders came in dressed in war paint. They began their dance ceremony, shaking their colored staffs and screaming war cries. Twenty of them with what seemed to start out as entertainment soon turns into a terrorizing display of anger. To add to it, the citizens outside the tent started stomping the ground and singing also. It was quite an ordeal. Then it stopped.

Then the leaders of the common people faced the Council and declared that the nation had decided to settle here. A hush fell over the crowd. Then they claimed the people were 10 thousand strong and included the strongest Warriors and Hunters. The people now demanded change. For their new home they would raise a new Great Leader to rule over the Council. A single man will rule the Nation. They then asked for the Council's blessing for this change. Again silence fell over the crowd. The Council realized the people were giving them a graceful way to relinguish control to the People. Had they chose to refuse, it would have been there last act. The Council nodded in unison and tried to act dignified. They did that very well.

Bonalone then approached the Leaders and asked humbly "Who have you chosen as your new Great Leader?" The oldest Leader steps forward and claims "We have chosen Rik Meleet!" The Council applauds and Rik Meleet steps forward and comes alongside Bonalone. Elder Bonalone turns to Rik Meleet and bows slightly, then returns his gaze to the Revolutionary, "You have chosen wisely."

 

[Stuck_as_a_Mac]

Francois d'Bourg was unsure of what was happening. The Bourg tribe, along with the other eleven, were moving, as normally, through the land looking for hunting grounds. They came across a nice area, and suddenly the horns went off to just stop. No reason was given, just stop walking and put down your items. Thats what the horns said, nothing more. Francois was a bit worried over this. Had someone from another tribe seen a band of attackers? If so, Francois would end up the sorry sap who had to deal with them first "dipolmaticly." Right... talking peace with something that can't talk. He laughed at the thought.

Why had he signed up for this crazy job? It would never work. "It's because you know as well as I do that there are some people out there, somewhere, who have stopped roving around and know of a better way to live" said the voice in his head. The voice in his head was one of Francois's main confidants. Its name was Tzara, and when it first appeared, it told Francois that it would one day lead him to do odd, but great, things. So, Francois didnt go crazy and try to kill Tzara, and Tzara didn't act like an evil subconcious.

While arguing over the merits of eating grass with Tzara, the horns sounded again. This time with the drums and Francois could have sworn he heard a musical duck in there somewhere. They said.. All praise... No, wait.. (Francois misconjugated ::treeeboomtreeequack: : ) All hail (yea, thats right) your new leader ("Someone added a new word to the dictionary, eh Francois" joked Tzara) Rik Meleet. "Leader? What the heck is a leader?" Thought either Francois or Tzara (Francois was unsure). The drums kept going. Remain where you are. We are going to try something different.

Different. Francois laughed. Like the tribes could ever do anything that didn't involve the same hunting ground and the same crops every year. But who was he to talk? He was just the guy who talked with all unknown people and held conversations with a voice in his head named Tzara.


Authors Notes: Well, I've established my charater. Francois d'Bourg. Named after the real name of the esteemed thinker Voltaire. His subconcious, Tzara, is named after Tristan Tzara, a founder of the Dadaist movement (which is a French as it was German) More entires like this one are to come. Anyone spot the Oboe reference? And no, talking with Tzara is not based on any real life conversations I've had with my own subconcious.

 

[TerminalMan90]

Rosée's practiced eye spotted the plant she was looking for among the dense plants of the thicket. She knelt and pushed the other nettle barbed plants out of the way and dug the soil away from the slender rooted plant. The root was what she was after and there were enough here to feed her own family and several others. This plant was good for stews, and if the hunters found any meat they would eat well.

While she was gathering roots she noticed the fine crescent shaped seeds stuck to her clothes. She knew that they were far too small to eat and didn't taste good anyway. She suspected that the plants made them so that they could reappear the following year. Now that the elders of the tribe were discussing staying in one spot, she decided it was time to try out her idea of saving the seeds and putting them in a spot of her choosing. That way she and the other gleaners wouldn't have to look for new places where the plants grew. After collecting a basket of roots, she carefully harvested enough seeds to fill a small pouch at her waist.

There were so many more mouths to feed now that the tribes had combined. Granted, there were more workers, but a much greater area had to be searched in order to find enough good food to keep everyone fed. If her plan worked, there would be less work for her and the other gatherers. Then Rosée would have more time to try the trick with other plants.

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TM90 shook his head, thinking about the young hunters he had found fighting earlier in the day. They had such hot blood in them. They were cock sure that they knew all the answers. If left to themselves, they would drag the 12 tribes over every hill and mountain in search of the herds.

TM90 was sick and tired of traveling. As elder of the Touloo tribe, he sometimes wondered if it was a good idea to join in with the other 11 tribes.

The Other tribes are so different from us, he thought. The Others are such a serious lot. His own tribe loves to laugh and dance. They are lusty singers and quick on their feet. Many of the Others are big boned and clumsy in comparison.

As he ducked into his tent, he reflected that he really didn't have any choice in the matter. The late fall flood last Harvest Moon, the Other Elders now called it the Marse moon, had wiped out their store of food for the winter, washed away what hadn't already been harvested and scattered their food animals. When the messengers from the Other tribes came, it was either accept their assistance and join the Others or face famine and a long hard winter.

Tugging at his dusty boots, TM90 yearned for more permanence. The current site under consideration seemed to have all the resources his tribe and the Others were looking for. When the Elders council next met, he knew what his vote would be.

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The hunting parties' prey lay below them and there seemed to be a great number of them. Jon was so close he could smell the big hairy beasts. Jon was careful not to make noise or get too far up wind, as he was told by the other hunters. He would show them that he was ready. When he got the first kill, they would know that he was no longer a boy.

40J was reluctant at first to even add Jon to the hunting party. But with more mouths to feed, more hunting parties were required. Jon had a slim build, his youthful muscles just beginning to fill out. When picking out new hunters, 40J should have passed over Jon, but his experience and keen eye spotted the spark of intelligence in the boy.

So Jon was allowed to join the beaters whose job was to push the herd closer together so that the hunters could take more of the beasts down. Jon peeked over the boulder ahead of him to see the animals more clearly. What was taking them so long? He pulled out the spear he had concealed in the long grass. He thought the cry would go up any minute, and he wanted to be first to reach the animals.

Spear at the ready, he leaned out to catch a glimpse of the hunters. He leaned a bit further, putting out his hand to steady himself. The mossy stone slipped beneath his fingers and he toppled out of his hiding place. Spooked, the herd stampeded off down the valley away from the angry hunters. Wiping dirt of his hands, Jon rose to face the fuming hunting party. 40J would NOT be pleased.

 

[TerminalMan90]

Rosée frowned and attacked the ground angrily with her pick. Her experiment with the seeds was going well, but now that she had been 'drafted' by the Elders into the worker camp, she had very little time to play with her project.

Why wouldn't they listen to her? There was so much she wanted to do. Her little plot was growing well, but it always needed watering. The plants would shrivel if she neglected it too long.

Rosée stopped digging to brush a strand of long black hair out of her face. She looked at the progress the work crew had made, clearing a this section of scrub land. This is where the new town would be built. Her arms ached from the digging.

She leaned on her pick and reflected again on the watering problem for her garden. What it needed was to be nearer to the river. Then the soil would remain wet and she could tend to other things. Perhaps she could bring the river TO her plot. Since the new town was on a flood plane, it should be easy to dig a channel deep enough for the water to flow.

Excited by her new plan she dropped her pick and rushed off to find an Elder who would listen.

 

[TerminalMan90]

The sun burned red on the horizon igniting the evening clouds into fiery orange and gold bands. It would be dark soon and the hunters would rest.

A lot had changed since Jon joined the hunting parties. Now the aim was not so much to bring the beasts down as it was to capture as many of them alive as possible. Many of the older hunters had difficulty adjusting to the new methods.

Jon, who had little to unlearn, thrived with the new challenges. He wasn't going to let a herd of dumb animals out smart him. His clumsiness on his first day on the hunt was now a distant, but painful, memory. Jon still messed up occasionally, but also found he had a talent for predicting how the herd would react. In a short time, 40J had assigned Jon to directing a group of the other beaters. It wouldn't be long before Jon would gain full hunter status.

On occasion, people from outside the 12 tribes were encountered on hunting trips. These others were usually leary and kept their distance. Sometimes, however, they yelled and threatened, gesturing that we stay away from what they saw as their game. There had been a few reports of attacks and the interlopers were getting bolder.

 

[Grandmaster]

Grandmaster sat on a fallen log, contemplatively carving a piece of wood with his flint knife. Something of an outcast from his native Marse tribe, he preferred to spend his time in the woodlands away from the rest of the tribesmen. For the same reason the leaders of his people had neglected to assign him to a hunting party. "Perhaps they're afraid I'll scare the animals away..." he thought to himself. "More likely they're afraid I'll scare away the hunters," he admitted to himself with an inward laugh. The brooding young man was not the most popular person among the hunters... in fact, he couldn't think of one single hunter off the top of his head who liked him. This, of course, was nothing new to him.

As he continued to carve, he remembered back to his childhood. His mother had died in childbirth, and so he had never known her. His father, a famed Marse hunter and warrior, and hero of the Three Tribes War, had been killed in a stampede shortly after his birth while trying to rescue an injured comrade from the charging beasts. And so he had grown up alone, under the stewardship of a different relative for every moon. That is, until he had run away. He remembered that day all too well... he had had a heated argument with his uncle, and in the middle of the night had grabbed his spear and water skins and stormed out into the forests. He had stayed away, alone, for nearly a year... somehow, miraculously, when he re-emerged from the woods, a Marse scouting party was nearby, and he was able to return to him "home." And he had continued to move with them since.

Which brought him here, to the log on the outskirts of the tribe. By now had carved his block of soid wood into a low, slender strip. It was still damp, only recently cut from a young tree. The wood in the area was excellent due to the particularly rainy season the region had experienced. The supple wood bent easilly without breaking. Grandmaster gripped each end and bent the wooden strip until it made a curve that he liked. Grandmaster had a strange new idea for this piece of wood: many of the hunters threw spears to kill their pray. But they could only throw a spear so far and with so much force. If an improved way of throwing spears was found, beasts could be killed from farther away and with less risk. He knew that when wood was bent and then released, it snapped back with great force. He believed that this force could be used to propel a small spear-like projectile. To hold the curve of the wood, Grandmaster tied a long piece of sinew string throw holes he had bore in each end of the wood. He then held the wood-and-string item over his fire, make specifically with wet wood and leaves to provide much smoke. The smoke removed the moisture from the wood and hardened it. Finally, Grandmaster thought it was done. He picked up the broken half-shaft of a spear that had been shattered by a hunter the day before. He put it to the string, pulled back on the string, and...

The wood snapped in half, made too brittle by the smoke. It was the wrong type of wood, too soft and weak. He had failed again. He knew his idea would work, if only he could get the mechanics right...

 

[TerminalMan90]

The earliest glimmers of dawn were on the eastern horizon. From his cover, the scout peered through branches at the Invaders growing camp. His black-smeared face and the darkness made him virtually invisible to his foes. From where he crouched, the scout spotted signs that the strangers had no intention of moving on in the foreseeable future. He quickly counted the dwellings and captured animals, gathered what information he could about their military strength and then retreated to make his report to his commander.

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The Ifrit slumped back into his throne, back stiff from the long consultation with his commanders. So their new neighbors were here to stay. And they were uncomfortably close to the Ifrit's domain. By the chief commanders estimate, their strength was much more than our own. It would be best to stay on good terms with these strangers until their weaknesses were known.

EDIT: added Spiffy sign. Thanks Cyc/40J

 

[FortyJ]

FortyJ waded through the shin-high water, lost in thought. They had travelled so far that it seemed strange that they were finally nearing their destination. A destination no one had known until they arrived.

The strong current of the river tugged at his legs even in this shallow depth. He craned his head around and followed the river from the hills in the northeast all the way down to the distant jungles in the southwest. The floodplains they had found were ripe for farming - something that he and his fellow hunters saw as a threat to their status in the tribes.

Far off to the east, at the southern extent of the eastern hills (as best as he could tell), FortyJ had seen evidence of a small village. He had reported as much to the new leadership, and there was some discussion as to how and when, if ever, we should approach them. Some had suggested that we offer them a place in our new tribe. Others prefered a more cautious approach. FortyJ just prefered they not hunt from the same herd as he.

<><><><><>

Gaston could not believe what was happening. He and his new friends had worked so hard over these past moons to divide the tribes, but despite their best efforts, and more ironically, almost as a result of their efforts, the tribes have unified even stronger - this time under a single man.

They had hoped to set tribe against tribe, but instead they had succeeded in almost removing the tribal divisions altogether. It was almost too much to bear. To make matters worse, some of his friends had been caught setting fires in some of the tents and word was getting around about him.

"Maurice!" came the call from a nearby tent, breaking his train of thought. "Soup's hot."

"I'll be right there" replied Gaston gruffly.

His thoughts drifted to his father, the real Maurice. He wondered if he would approve of him using his name to hide like this, but figured he, of all people, would understand. He would continue to blend in with the people of the Reim as Maurice. The good earth willing, he would never be caught, and the memory of Gaston could live on to terrorize the children of this unified tribe for all time.

 

[GenMarshall]

'Whats that up in the clearing" said one warrior. "I dont know, they look like barbarians. Oh no they are comming this way!" said the commanding warrior.

The Barbarian warriors ambushed the group of exploring warriors. Heavy losses were reported on the aftermath. "Gah they are heading to the capital!!, we better stop them at all costs!" Said the commanding Warrior.

The Expiditionary force soon made a counterattack. There was only one survivior. Before the barbarian raid the survivor ran to the capital and ran to Mara Jade.

"M'am we have been attacked by the barbarians and they are comming this way!' Said the surviving warrior before a tworling axe hits his back.

Soon Mara ran to the military office and told CivGeneral about the impending raid. "CivGeneral, our last surriving warrior was killed by a barbarian assault raid comming in, he told me that the rest of the unit was lost in a Barbarian raid after poping the goodie hut" Mara said.

CivGeneral aknowlages his wife and pepares the citizens into defensive mode. "Alright, we will not let these uncivilized men into our homes!!". Citizens armed with pitch forks and other sharp farm tools began to attack the offending barbarians. The battle left half of the population dead.

 

[Stuck_as_a_Mac]

--Francois Goes Exploring OR How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Strange Coincidences--


“Francois… Wake up… WAKE UP!!”
Francois D’bourg looked around. No one was in his home. His home. Not a random shack somewhere in the wilderness, but his house in his city of his nation. Leader Rik Meleet had done that for the people, as he said he would.

His home was not the issue right now. The issue was the voice screaming at him. Glancing around at the walls, he realized that only he was in here. Only him and…
“What is it, Tzara?” he asked. “I was wondering when you would get up” it replied. Francois wasn’t sure of the gender of this being in his head. He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. All he knew was that this voice appeared to him one day and has refused to go away ever since. “I like it here” it said.

Anyway, back to Tzara waking up Francois. “Francois… why don’t we go exploring. There is some nice land up north, past the hills. We never go anywhere nice. Can’t we go just this once… pweese?” Ter-rific. I share my subconscious with a teenage female, thought Francois. “Hey! I heard that!” responded Tzara, angrily. “Besides, I’m not a gender. Just an annoying voice. La la la la la.”

It’s annoying… just plain annoying. That’s all it is, regardless of gender. Anyway, now it wants to take a trip. After wandering all our lives, it wants to take a trip… What am I going to do with it.

“Over the hills! Over the hills! Over the hills!” OKAY! We’ll go. Over the hills. If we hit any bad land, though, we’ll come right back home.


Little did Francois know that giving in to this would save his life and help Fanatica rebuild

 

[TerminalMan90]

The Ifrit of what remained of the Ooliga tribe shifted his weight and adjusted his lama's riding blanket. The infernal beast seemed incapable of walking in a straight line and it was starting to stink due to the light drizzle of rain.

The Ifrit gave a snort of disqust. At least it was better than walking like the other remnants of the once mighty Ooliga tribe who trailed behind.

The attack on the Ooliga (a neighboring tribe knew the Ooligars as Bulgars, which was a very nasty word in their dialect) had come virtually without warning. But the Ifrit had been expecting treachery, and had been preparing these long years. It took very little thought to realize that the Fanaticans, once they became established and more organized, would see Ooligar as no more than a 'goodie' hut rife with goods for the picking. So he had gathered several of the smaller tribes in the vicinity of Ooligar. He pointed out to them that the Fanaticans would continue to grow and steal more and more resources from the Mother Goddess.

The force he was able to generate was insufficient, however, to stop an attack on Ooligar when it came. The lack of coordination by his commanders and the hastily assembled tribes were no match for the organized and unified Fanatican warriors. The Ifrit had barely escaped with his retinue of Royals and some of the priests. Two whole units threw themselves at the attackers and bravely gave their lives defending the Mother Goddess and her chosen peoples.

The Mother Goddess, from whom all strength flows, then enabled the final unit to destroy the weakened Fanatican unit. In their fervor, the Ooliga forces went on to attack the Fanatican homeland, as it now lay unprotected. In their blood lust, they very nearly fought their way to the compound where the Mighty CivGeneral and Mara Jade were said to be controlling defensive manouvers.

In the end, most of the Ooliga forces were repelled or wiped out, but they had delivered a blow of revenge that would pass into legend. And he, the Ooliga's Ifrit, and the few followers who clung to his leadership, would flee from the land of their elders.

EDIT:Appropiate icon added

As the tempo of the rain increased, the Ifrit drew his cloak closer to his rain drenched skin. They would be back, and in greater numbers. The Fanaticans had not heard the last of the Ooliga people!

 

[Cyc]

Yeah, it turned into quite a celebration for the People that day. Rik Meleet had put his arms on the Leader’s shoulders as a sign of unity as they walked outside of the tent. The Leader’s then picked him up and put him on their shoulders. As his arms rose over his head, an enormous cheer went up also, from the crowd below him. The People were happy and broke into a chant that reflected that. This celebration lasted well into the next day. During the night there was plenty of eating and dancing. Rik Meleet held council with many different factors from within the now consolidated tribe about many different things and began to form small committees to oversee various parts of the city’s organizational structure. The Celebration ended with the official founding of our Capital City Deux Rivieres as well as the official founding of our nation of Fanatica. In the next several hundred years, we Fanaticans produced a regiment of Warriors to protect our city from Outsiders. We also built a mine in the Bonus Grasslands to obtain needed resources. We also developed a road system for our city and extended it out to the mine. Fanatica was doing quite well for itself, in fact, we were the number one city in the world (at least that’s what Rik Meleet told us. ). These have been some good years. We are planning on producing another regiment of Warriors and then a Settlement party for a group wishing to break away from the Flood plains and live elsewhere.

For myself, I have remained an explorer at heart. I spend most of my time scouting the region, and telling tales of what I have found with people I know. In fact, FortyJ and I have been designated the official History-tellers of the nation (we’ve even been given our own Office in the Capital, even though I am seldom there) by the Government. I can fill you in on the other appointments of the Council in different areas of our nation’s organization, but it must wait, for now I am witnessing something totally unexpected.

I have been walking the hills East of the Capital, just South of the river. My intent was to analyze the area for a possible mine operation, and then drift on over towards the Ooliga Village to catch any new development in their Culture. Having finished my analysis of the area and moving on towards the village, I came to a vantage point where I could see the village below and the entire valley surrounding the hills it was located on. At this point was when I noticed the majority of our Military force heading in the same direction as I was, probably heading for the same destination too. What was this all about? Had something developed between our nation and this village of people striving for their very existence? I reviewed the scenario, trying to get a better understanding of the big picture, when I noticed movement in the valley below. There was a large herd of cattle there that this village probably fed off of, and it was being moved at quick pace. This allowed me to see a small group of warriors in the Jungle South of the Village. By their markings, I could see that they were from another tribe in the area. I also saw a group of warriors on the other side of the cattle, which appeared to be the Ooliga. Seeing a third group of Warriors Northeast of the village (again from a different regional tribe) set the scenario I was hoping didn’t exist. Upon scanning the village again, I notice very little movement, as if the people had been evacuated. A trap had been set for the Fanatican troops, who were about to invade the village! Again I ask, how did all of this come about? We had been thinking a peaceful assimilation of this village would occur naturally as our nation grew. Had this village attacked us? I raised my eyes to the Gods.

Apparently, the Ooliga people had become aware of the movement of troops and had become suspicious. But what of the other tribes? How did they enter the picture? Regardless, the three individual groups were poised to pounce on the Fanatican Warriors as they invaded the deserted village. I put down my walking staff next to a large flat rock and had a seat. I had a strong desire to watch what was about to unfold.

As the Fanaticans entered the village, the southern tribe and the group of Ooliga Warriors to the East attacked them, even using the cattle in a failed effort for a stampede. The small Warrior tribe to the Northeast of the village moved dangerously close to my position in order to flank the Fanaticans and surprise them possibly. This day had been well planned for.

The well-trained Fanatican troops easily dispatched the first two bands of Warriors and were unaffected by the cattle. But they had endured many casualties in fending them off. When they saw the Warriors in the hills above them, they froze contemplating an attack. That attack was signaled by the Fanatican commander as it was feared the tribe of Warriors might head for the Capital City. Rather than heal their troops and then attack, the commander’s signal to attack seemed to be more of an act of desperation than strategy. They all perished in the attack of the Warriors who were above them, and withstood the Fanatican surge taking minimal damage.

I hung my head in mourning for the loss of our troops, some of whom I knew. I was also aware that the remainder of the Warriors who had been protecting the Ooliga Village would now turn on Deux Rivieres, undefended or damn close to it. I had no option but to remain where I was and record this day in my mind. I watched as those Warriors ransacked our city, killed half our people and then left, if they survived at all.

I was over-come with grief. I walked to the highest point in the hills I was in to get a blast of cold, refreshing mountain air that was blowing in a rain cloud. Through my tears, I scanned the horizon looking for an answer. I found none. I did see a caravan of what appeared to be the evacuated Ooliga tribe heading for the coastline in the East. It was a sad day for all. I turned to head for home, to see if I could be of any help. It was a long walk back. One of my longest…

 

[Rik Meleet]

Rik didn't leave his house for days. Noone saw him, noone heard him. The many concerned citizens and officials knocking on his door all gave up their efforts to talk to the president since Rik didn't open the doors. "Leave me alone" was the tought in Rik's head when another citizen came by.

The massacre happened 2 days ago. All had gone terribly wrong. How could this have happened ?

It all started off well. The soil they build Deux Rivières on proved to be an excellent food-provider. There was something no Fanatican had ever experienced; surplus. Everyone could eat as much wheat as he needed and still there was plenty left. He thought of all the children that now played on the streets and saw many families growing in size. After some time they even had to expand the city as the numbers had doubled.

He had a dream one night that the Fanaticans weren't the only civilization in the world; there were many others. But none had a population nearly as high as Deux Rivières. He saw a list with the city on top and double the size as any other city in the world. But that was just a dream. Rik knew that, besides some wandering tribes, nowhere in the world tribes would be united into a city.

The closest neighbours; the Ooliga were still suffering from the hardship of living of the lands. Rik thought out plan to celebrate the city's 350 year anniversary. He would send a honor guard, dressed in full ceremonial war-dressing to the Ooliga to welcome them as neighbours and to gift them a large quantity of the surplus food. The troops would march over the hills so the Ooliga would see them early and prepare for the gift.

When the honor-guard entered the outskirts of the village it appeared strangely deserted. That surprised Chuck, the commander of the guards, but he wasn't too worried. Often the Fanatican hunters had met the Ooligans and they knew of eachother's existence. Chuck decided to wait in the village for the Ooligans to return so he could officially gift the food. The Ooligans would be surprised, but very grateful, Chuck was sure.

The Ooligans weren't surprised, the Fanaticans were. A warcry was heard and 2 troops of Ooliga charged from the plains towards Chuck. They weren't very grateful. They weren't even happy. They were attacking !

Chuck ordered his troops to stay calm, do not show their weapons, but do take them in their hands. At the site of the first charging Ooliga he shouted: "We come in peace ! We want to gift you food as you obviously suffer from hunger and we have plenty !". When the last words were spoken, already some of his men had died through the axes of the Ooliga. Chuck ordered his troops to form a devensive pattern and, while taking some casualties, he was able to win this bloody battle.

Chuck was shocked to his core. If this was their first contact; how would things go when they met more ? Did they always have to fight ? He assembled the leftovers of his troops and turned back to the Hills. He could see Deux Rivières in the distant and smiled. He could get home and report, but he was safe there. Then he spotted the 3rd Ooliga warriors, moving towards Deux Rivières. Their painted faces told him all he needed to know, but he couldn't believe it. They aren't going to .... ? OH MY GOD; they are going to attack Deux Rivières. I know what monsters these Ooliga are; but the poor citizens in Deux Rivières don't. They are going to kill all of them.

He hesitated for a while. He knew that if he did nothing, the city would be lost and it would be the end of the Fanatican civilization, even before it truly began. But his troops would probably not survive if he decided to interfere.

This hesitation, although short, was just enough for the Ooliga to notice them. Chuck knew he'd lost the element of surprise. He heard in his head the words he would say if he'd been the president: "The President cannot allow our citizens to get harmed while an (injured) army is close. The troops are ordered to attack.". He charged screaming and shouting towards the now prepared Ooliga. He knew he'd not survive, but at least the citizens would notice the battle and could flee or prepare to fight back.

The Ooliga destroyed the Fanatican warriors and stormed Deux Rivières. But Chucks sacrifice wasn't in vain. Mara Jade and CivGeneral just had enough time to gather up some defense, which succeeded to safe the city. Or at least half the city.

This all went through Rik's head. The only thought for 2 full days. "Get yourself together !! The people need you now. Although you don't feel it yourself you have to make the citizens feel they can trust the future."

And he swore to never put any citizen, worker or settler in danger again. Then he unlocked his door and stepped outside.

 

[FortyJ]

The Campgrounds were located just south of the capitol city, on the other side of the river. They had begun as a camp for workers as they erected a ferry line across the river, but now it served as a resting area for weary travelers and those workers coming to and from the mines.

Cosette stood for second, watching as the ferrymen pulled the large raft up to the nearby shore. The ferry itself was barely large enough to carry thirty men, including the five ferrymen responsible for pulling the vessel from shore to shore. This was the narrowest spot in the river in either direction for at least a days walk, but the ferry moved so slowly that they could barely manage a handful of round-trips each day.

Cosette was the matron of the campgrounds. She certainly didn't own it, that honor fell to the emperor himself, Lord Rik Meleet. All the same, Cosette ran the show and everyone passing through either knew it, or learned it real quickly. Over the years, she had seen more than her share of people pass through these parts. Travellers, workers, explorers - you name it - they all passed through, and they all stayed for at least a drink from Cosettes famous kegs. There wasn't much happening that Cosette didn't know about.

As she returned to her duties, cleaning up a table, she happened to overhear a hushed discussion at the next table. I heard Gaston was with 'em. came one voice. Gaston ain't nuthin' but a myth. came back another.

Cosette smiled quietly as she carried off the plates and nearly empty tankards. These were strange times, indeed. The story of Gaston had filtered down from the very first days. Mothers would use that name to scare their children into obedience: "Do as I say, or Gaston'll get you!", but she'd never seen grown men talking about him like this. The people were obviously scared.

And with good reason. The Ooliga raid was still too recent in everyone's memory. Cosette watched as some of the refugees from the capitol reached the far shore during the Ooliga attack. Desarte and his crew managed to ferry a few families over before the rush came - hundreds of people crowding the shore, screaming and begging for the ferry to return.

It would be another hour before the ferry could make it back to that shore at the very least. Long before Desarte even reached this side of the river, the panic on the far side reached a peak, and people began to wade into the river. Many managed to navigate the current and reach the nearby shore no worse for wear, but several were not so lucky.

Some drowned, some didn't even try. Caught between the fear of being caught by the Ooliga and the fear of drowning in the river, they panicked and ventured off upstream to find another way to cross. Cosette could only hope that some of them managed to elude their hunters and returned to their homes safely.

Fortunately, the Ooliga raiders never made it this far, and Desarte managed to ferry a few more ferryloads across the river to safety. By nightfall, most of the fighting had subsided, but Cosette could still see the fires from the city, burning in the distance. She could only imagine the extent of the death and destruction suffered at the hands of the Ooliga.

She would never forget it, and she would make sure that everyone passing through this campground would never forget it either.

 

[Stuck_as_a_Mac]

Adventures of Francois and

Francois and Tzara were off. “Over the hills! Over the hills!” repeated Tzara. It was really getting annoying. But, to shut her (Francois made up his mind; Tzara had to be an annoying female) up, Francois went. Out of the city, over the hills. The hills were the hard part. Francois had never been to this part of the world. The tribes always stayed near the sea. Somehow we ended up by these two rivers in the jungle. No one remembers how, but it appears all of the twelve tribes sailed down to where the rivers met and ended up founding Deux Rivieres. Regardless, now Francois was exploring.

The hills were not that bad. They weren’t too steep and they had some nice vegetation that Francois might want to bring back to Deux. There was a great view from the top, too. You could see for miles around. The view was breathtaking. To the north there were great planes and a desert that seemed to be teeming with strange life, some of which Francois had never seen before. To the west there were snowcapped mountains that touched the sky. It looked like even the spirits themselves could not reach the top of these, but Francois had the urge to try, to prove that he could. More great rivers were seen, and Tzara had finally shut up.

Tzara had given up her babble and was now gasping at the beauty of the surrounding area. “Climb the mountains! Climb them! That’s what they’re there for! Climb ev’ry mountain! Forge every sea! Follow every river… until…you…find…your…DREAM!” Oh great, thought Francois. She’s making the hills come alive with the friggin sound of music…”Oo-ooh-ooo-oo!” continued Tzara.

ENOUGH MUSIC screamed Francois. His screamed echoed through the hills. The earth seemed to tremble under Francois’s annoyed feet. But then something Francois never thought would happen happened. He saw another human being.

Ju sue Fanatican? He asked, using the formal language of the 12 tribes.

“Nein. Ich Bien Montparlamer.” It replied.

You’re what?

Lets see what happens with Francois, How-Do-You-Solve-A-Problem-Like Tzara and the Montparlamerean…

 

[TerminalMan90]

A good deal of time had passed since the devastating Ooligan attack. Most Fanaticans had stopped talking about it. They nolonger went over the smallest detail of what could have been done or what should not have been done. In fact, many didn't want to talk about the incident at all anymore. The memories were too painful and people just wanted to get on with building their new nation.

There certainly was lots of work to be done. With the completion of the mines to the South, the farmland irrigation project to the North East and a new mine to be built, the common people had their hands and minds occupied.

Jon remembered though. He still occasionally awoke in a cold sweat. He had long been a hunter and was accustomed to the spilling of blood and tearing of sinew. He had heard the death cry of the beasts they hunted and hardly noticed as their life blood sank into the earth.

But the surprise attack by the Ooligans was different. The Ooligans were not hunting food. They herded women and children like beasts and struck them down with their flint axes. They set the thatched roofs on fire. Jon shook as he recalled the old man who was knocked down and a spear.... Oh to the Goddess, a spear shoved into... Jon clenched his eyes to push the awful image from his thoughts.

Jon actually remembered being excited, when the call-to-arms for all able bodied men had gone forth. He was no longer satisfied with being just a hunter. When Mara Jade's runner had come bursting into commons crying that invaders were approaching the city, Jon saw that his chance was at hand. The situation was desperate and any hand that could hold a pitch fork would be needed in the absence of disciplined warriors.

And he had served Civ General and the people of Fanatica well. He had killed several of the invaders. Blind luck had saved his life on more than one occasion, as he fought with men who towered over him. But he and others had eventually chased the remaining few invaders from the town waving their 'weapons' and shouting curses.

When the fighting was over, he helped with the grisly task of cleaning up corpses of citizens and invaders alike. He had felt great satisfaction, when he located the body of the Ooligan who had stolen the old man's life, among the dead. Jon had contemptuously shoved the corpse onto a growing pile of burning enemy bodies.

Now Jon knew war. He would never be thought of as a boy again. He was now a man and a warrior.

 

[FortyJ]

Mattice sat on his stool, transfixed by the clay obelisk before him. He had worked all morning on this shape and it was finally forming up into the image he had in his mind when he had started.

He had spent the entire day before carving the wooden center to which he had applied the clay. After baking the clay in the oven, the wood center would burn away, leaving an empty cavity within his creation, perfect for carrying water or whatever the eventual owner saw fit to fill it with.

He had been studying this new art for several moons now. Ever since the Montparlamers taught the Fanaticans how to mold and bake the clay, the desire to have all variety of pots and platters made in this new style had consumed them. Fanaticans all over could not get enough of this new treasure.

Pottery had so dramatically changed the lives of Fanaticans, that Mattice's master was involved with some high level discussions about using this new practice to construct a new type of building capable of storing great amounts of food to help the flourishing city survive the harshest of seasons.

Mattice was extremely grateful to his master for teaching him this new trade, but secretly, he felt that his skills were beginning to rival those of his master, and on some levels, even surpassing his. He yearned to strike out on his own.

As an apprentice he would never gain the status necessary to ask Jeanette's father for her hand. The more he thought on the subject, the more his path became clear. He and Jeanette would have to sneak away with the other settlers that were preparing to leave town in search of a new home.

 

[Stuck_as_a_Mac]

(Sorry about the delay. Being stuck in bed for a day can really slow you down)
Francois and the Montparlamer

You’re a what? Francois was amazed. He had never seen any other people. He knew they must exist, but to actually see one was a marvelous thing. “A whatsit? Where did he say it was from?” Tzara started babbling. Sssh!

“A Montparlamerian. My name is Jutagan,” replied the man. “He seems nice”. I come from the Montparlamer tribe. We live just over these hills. We are a friendly people and you are welcome to come stay with us and tell stories of your land. We will be grateful for your company.

“Why thank you! That is soooo nice for you to do. You don’t even know us and you’re letting us come stay with you!” Tzara… he can’t hear you, remember? I’m the only one you can annoy.

“Who are you talking to, my friend?” asked Jutagan. Oh, no one. Just the annoying voice in my head. She thinks everyone can hear her, but she forgets that it is only I that is able to even acknowledge her existence.

“Ooookayyy” replied Jutagan. “Lets just get to the camp.”

And so they walked. The three walked down the hill. Francois marveled at the plants that grew on these hills, wondering if he should pick any and bring them back. Perhaps he could grow them near his home, let something come to the Bourg tribe’s name… “Ooo! Or we could take the rocks and make forts! Yay!!!” Francois rolled his eyes… leave it to Tzara to think up something that stupid.

Slowly, they made it to the walls of the Montparlamer colony. This was a small town, about a third of the size of Deux Rivers. The people were friendly and they eagerly listened to Francois ramble on for hours on end. He told stories of the founding of the city, how there had been strife prior to the erection of the first houses, how there were 12 tribes, each with their own mentality. The people just gobbled the stuff up. “Hey, Francois. Lets have some fun and make some crap up, just to confuse ’em.” That would be cruel, thought Francois. “Nah… Just pull their chains a bit. Tell them about how an elite group of our strongest warriors is looking for you and how they might end up finding you here.” Like that’ll ever happen.

“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Fanatican.” Came a voice. It wasn’t in his head, and the other people surrounding him noticed it too. A man wearing a Fanatican head dress stepped out. Francois could see he was a warrior, but he hoped the Montparlamers did not. The man continued, “His name is Francois D’bourg. He is needed back in Fanatica to rebuild”

Francois stood up. I’m Francois D’borg. Why am I needed back in Deux Rivers? Has something happened?

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the city had come under attack by Barbarians a moon or so ago. Many people were lost, over half the city. An emergency council is being called into session. Its goal is to try to expand so that this will never happen again. You have been chosen as the Bourg representative. You are needed back immediately.”

Well, my friends, it looks like I have to go. I will bring word of your people to the Fanaticans. Perhaps we can learn from one another. “Bye everybody! Lets have a group hug!!” Tzara… be quiet… “Voice in your head again, Monsieur D’bourg?” asked the warrior. Yea. Anyway, lets get back to Fanatica.

“Wait! Before you go, please, take some of these with you.” Shouted Jutagan. With this, he handed over some clay items that neither Francois nor the warrior had ever seen before. “They are pots. You can hold things in them. I put seeds of the plants you admired on your way here in them. The pots should keep them fresh.”

And so, Pottery was discovered thanks to the Montparlamer tribe.

 

[Cyc]

It is now 3000bc, and I find myself on that rare occasion when I’m in my grass hut office talking about Fanatica’s history. I came here today to talk about the final positions given out by Despot Rik Meleet. Let’s see now…

As Rik Meleet was Elder of the Marse Tribe and became Despot, he chose to assign other Elders from the different tribes to Leadership positions within his rule. Take CivGeneral for instance. He was the Elder of the Reim Tribe and because of his Military background, Rik Meleet put him in charge of the Military and officially made him our first General. Francois d’Bourg (sometimes known as Stuck) was Elder of the Bourg Tribe, of course, and because of his family’s reputation for co-mingling, was given the position of Foreign Affairs Minister. Elder Bonalone had retired from politics and had named me as his replacement. In light of this, the Despot named me Chief Justice as I was now Elder of the largest tribe, the Paree. Orleroy had also decided to step down from his Elder position in the Orle Tribe, and named FortyJ and Plexus (Plexus was named Governor) as his replacement. Although FortyJ declined any Leadership position at this time, as he opted to join me as Co-Historian. TerminalMan90, Elder of the Touloo Tribe, had wanted a Leadership position in Culture and the Arts, but as this was not available, he too chose to decline any present offers. Peri d’Ami, Elder of the Ami Tribe, the last of the large tribes, was chosen by Rik Meleet to join me on the Judgment Court. Octavian X, Elder from the Lourd Tribe was given the position of Trade and Technology, as he was always tinkering with new ideas on how to make his doughnuts better and then barter them off. The discovery of Pottery had increased his baking ability, thus making Octavian’s status in the commercial world that much greater. DaveShack, Elder of the Nant Tribe, had shown amazing organizational skills and was named Internal Affairs Minister. Noldodan, Elder of the Troy Tribe, and Amirsan, Elder of the Rou Tribe were both named as representatives of the People. They would be assigned other important duties later. To round out the Judgment Court, Rik Meleet chose Bootstoots, Elder of one of the smaller tribes, The Cala.

As of now, this was to be our Government. The Despot and his Council of Advisors would rule Fanatica. So far they seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it.

 

[Donovan Zoi]

CivGeneral's expeditiary force was 200 strong, thanks to an executive order from the all-powerful Rik Meleet. But due to the chaos that still surrounded Deux Rivieres, CivGeneral could not lead any external missions. To the General's good fortune, there was no one more willing to lead the new eastern expedition than Jon. The grand despot had spoken of an even larger presence of the mysterious Ooliga tribe that had wreaked such havok on Fanatica's earlier expedition, and Jon was more than willing to take them on.

Soon a brave new world once again lay ahead as the troops had made it past the now empty Ooliga huts and kept forging east into unfamiliar territory. After two days and two nights of travel, the plains gave way to desert and before too long the expolorers found themselves surrounded by nothing but sand. Jon was about to order a reverse, until one of his men alerted him of a lake in the distance. After a long day of travel, he figured that lakeside would be a great place to set up camp for the night. So they continued east.

As they slowly closed in on the lake, Jon wondered what they hoped to find amidst all of the desolation. Perhaps a suitable site for a more permanent camp lay on the other side of the lake. Perhaps they could introduce themselves to a more peaceful group of foreigners. Perhaps they would.........


whooooOOOOOOSSSHHHhhhhh


It was a sound unlike any other he had heard before, yet before he got the chance to ponder its origin Jon noticed one of his men jump upward and back in the same movement. As he ran to his warrior's side, he noticed a stream of blood coming from the man's forehead. Unconcious or deceased? He could not tell at this time, as his comrade lay perfectly still. Whatever could have done such a thing?

Jon looked to the horizon before him and now saw a sizeable army of men running out of the lake in full stride and heading his way....quickly. Running out of the lake? Once again, he had no time for logistics. He guessed that this army was at least twice as large as his, so he called out to his troops. Almost all of the men joined him in battle, except for a sane few who could not handle the surrealism of the moment.

Both battalions charged each other furiously and soon were in the thick of battle. However the approaching army's weaponry was no match for the Fanatican-made axes and wooden spears. In fact, Jon noticed that his opponents were merely fighting with small limbs torn from trees! From that point, Jon's army fought from a huge deficit, but in the end had all but finished off the primitive aggressors. His army had lost a few men as well, but not many. Now having the upper hand, Jon helped to make captive what remained of the enemy and ordered them to direct his men to the strange phenomena coming from the lake. And as if by suggestion, the noise came again.

whooooOOOOOOSSSHHHhhhhh

But apparently this mysterious weapon hadn't been perfected yet, because this time one of the captives fell. Jon told his men to use caution as they quickly ran toward the lake. Moments later, they all gasped with shock as a small wooden fort with room for only 2 or 3 people emerged from the lake! They stopped for a moment to ponder this then pressed on. Still in the distance, the lake remained as elusive as ever.

Soon enough they reached the small fort and swiftly tore it down hoping to find the answer to the riddles of the lake and the whistling noise. Inside were three men --- a tall dark-haired bearded man, a small blondish man and a gigantic man who seemed to have skipped a step in the evolutionary process. Next to them was a strange contraption unlike anything ever seen in Fanatica. It seemed to have moving parts, and Jon soon surmised that is was used to throw stones. One mystery solved, Jon thought, and then surmised that the blondish man that sat near the stone thrower was the operator of the machine.

"I'll kill you like you did my bretheren!" Jon shouted and lunged at the operator. But the bearded man quickly stepped in and grabbed Jon's axe before it any harm could come to his friend.

"You do not want to kill this one," the bearded man stated as he stood up. "I am Donovan Zoi and the inventor of the stone-thrower here is Armand Vandelay. We wish you no ill will, as we thought we were protecting ourselves from the Ooligans, who had passed through here earlier. We thought you were the second wave. Yet now that most of our tribe has been decimated by your men, I hope you will consider taking us into your custody. I think that over time, you will find us to be very useful to your cause."

Jon laughed. "And to think I had mistaken you for the Ooligans. Your men fight with sticks, Mr. Zoi. What use could you possibly serve us?"

"Sticks and stones! Break your bones!" chortled the missing link in the corner.

"Not now, Yumbo...." coaxed Donovan, who then turned back to the impatient Fantican leader. "Well, as you can see here, Armand can build great things but unfortunately we have limited resources to work with. As I can see by your clothing and weaponry, your tribe is somewhat more advanced and most likely possesses the resources for Armand to work his magic."

"And can this great man not speak for himself?" Jon asked.

"Unfortunately not, although I do not want to get into the details," Donovan said. "All I can say is that we really were hoping you were the Ooligans."

"And what of this, in the corner?" Jon asked, pointing to a very overanxious Yumbo.

"Well, if you would be so kind to bring him along, I am sure you will find him instrumental in completing any rigorous tasks you may have at home. He does the work of ten men and asks no questions, although he can get a bit wordy at times."

"Wordy gurdy, wordy birdy....." Yumbo repeated incessantly much to Jon's ire.

"ENOUGH, Yumbo!" Donovan yelled, and the behemoth slunk low in the corner. "So, what do you say, sir?" he asked extending a hand.

"Very well," Jon replied and took the offer. "And call me Jon. We can actually use a bit of help rebuilding after what the Ooligans have done to our city. Men!"

Several of the Fantican soldiers(yes, they could now truly call themselves soldiers) took the three men into custody and readied themselves to return west. Yet Jon thought that now the battalion was seasoned enough to split up so that some could continue east.

"Donovan," he asked. "Do you have any idea what lies on the other side of that lake?"

Donovan smiled. "Jon, my good man. You could travel for days and never reach that lake. It is an illusion bourne of the collective dreams of leaving this ruin."

And the second mystery solved, Jon thought . "Then let's do just that," he said, smiling back. "You follow my men that way, while I lead my men this way."

"Very well, my good man," Donovan said. "Hopefully you will find the three of us in better standing upon your return."

With that, the two men waved and one military unit became two. By sunset, the two teams were miles apart.