"This report is maybe 12-years-old. Parliament buried it, and it stayed buried till River dug it up. This is what they feared she knew. And they were right to fear because there's a whole universe of folk who are gonna know it, too. They're gonna see it. Somebody has to speak for these people. You all got on this boat for different reasons, but you all come to the same place. So now I'm asking more of you than I have before. Maybe all. Sure as I know anything I know this, they will try again. Maybe on another world, maybe on this very ground swept clean. A year from now, 10, they'll swing back to the belief that they can make people . . . better. And I do not hold to that. So no more running. I aim to misbehave." ~ Captain Malcom Reynolds
Sunday, November 13, 2016
A Quick Write-Up
Was inspired for this one off of a model I am wrapping up, which may post pictures of soon. May do something with it as a story or game setting someday, but thought I'd share:
Post-apocalyptic fantasy with Viking raiders, lost fae, strange magics and dangerous technologies.
They say that once we covered the Earth, with cities grander than any imagining, ordinary people flying through the air like sorcerers, and machines which catered to our daily needs.
They say a lot of things about those times. Who knows what was true?
We do know that hubris led to our downfall.
First the Gods threw their lances of fire, striking those cities from the Earth with balls of flame and suffering which still plague those nearby.
Then the Earth itself revolted, swallowing a vast swath before spitting it out again to cover the lands in ash and death and starving the world.
In what seemed the final insult, reality itself rebelled. Magic. Sorcery. Monsters. Demons. All of the things of legend turned out to be true. Whether they had been there all along, or it was simply the final act of madness, who can say? What our grandfather's grandfather called impossible, our grandfathers called real, and we call normal. Creatures that supposedly only existed in fables live in my very hamlet. Powers that are unexplainable now heal our sick and aid our harvest.
They say a lot. What I know is probably the same as anyone throughout history. Times are lean, and I have a family to care for. Whether the past is truth or myth doesn't put food on our table, nor coin in my pocket.
We raid, the Dirtmen farm. We live free, land dwellers are tied to their crofts. We embrace the old ways, they hide from science and knowledge. This is the way of the world.
Yes, they call us barbarians. Heathens. Northmen. They blame us for their weakness, and condemn us for our ways. But, has it not always been that the strong take what they need?
Of course, we did not always have our ships, our freedom, or the rights to the open seas. Before the fall of man we were cogs in the machine, like any other - but, some men dared dream. Dared to remember the old ways, to lead their kith and kin as the Gods intended, to prepare for the future. So when it came, they were not surprised, but ready. With stockpiles. Plans. Weapons. And a people who remembered that a man's bravery and skill outshone any lie of civilization.
The Dead Zones. Certainly a problem, but we have learned how to not only pass through them, but to use them to our advantage. The masks and the washes only add to the fear we instill in our foes, while protecting us from the contamination that still remains. Without the Dead Zones it would be harder to find ammunition for our weapons, or parts for our Home Ships.
It is no easy life, but I would have no other. A companion at home, Valhalla ahead, and the cries of the Dirtmen as my longship emerges from the fog of morning remind me of what is right.
Once, we were beasts. Pets. Livestock. Or free in the wilds. No speech beyond grunts and whines, no drive for more than the life we had.
Some of us came from the sciences of humanity. Others were changed by the fires and doom man laid upon the world. Whatever the cause, we were uplifted. Changed. No longer dumb brutes, we have come into our own. The best of both worlds - still running with nature, but wise enough to build more.
Some humans accept us, some still want to hunt us. Some don't know what to think.
Either way, we are beasts no more.
The sad part is our ancestors knew it was coming.
They knew men were poisoning the Earth and skies.
They knew that our weapons could destroy the world.
They saw the end was neigh.
They railed against it, seeking a return to simpler ways, when brother loved brother, and we lived in harmony not destruction. They fought to educate not only their communities, but their rulers far away.
All for naught.
When the Destruction came, some survived. Safe on their farms, in their communes, or simply survivors by chance. Their worst nightmares come true, the reaping of an evil harvest which could have easily led them astray.
Instead, they remembered. Their duties to Mother Gaia. The peace preached by the ones who came before. The drive that all would live equal, no matter their race or creed. The knowledge that Jah would provide, as long as we remained true.
It is not easy. Most towns are lucky to feed their own, and have little room to listen to wandering pilgrims spreading the truth of how we really *can* be better, if we just move towards harmony. The old churches mistrust our sacraments, claim our faith is the illusion of intoxication rather than a gateway to truth. The Northmen care not that we abhor violence - they kill and take as they wish. The Fey mock us and smirk behind their tricks.
But, as the pilgrims before us said, if we don't *imagine* it will never be.
So - we wander. We preach. We heal.
And, someday, all may live in harmony.
Ages past the Christian God of men rose, the iron cities grew, and we grew weak in this realm. Consigned to myths and legends, tales used to frighten or amuse, the Fae waited.
While the humans spread across the world like a disease, we waited.
While they destroyed the forests, dug deep under the mountains, and soared in the skies, we waited.
Because the circle always turns - summer becomes winter, new becomes old, what grows and feeds must someday feed another.
And, now our time has returned. Their steel cages no longer fill black roads. Their technologies no longer overwhelm the very fabrics of reality. Now the Fae once more walk in the day and the night, and it is time for man to learn he is not the pinnacle of creation.
Magick is back, and we come with it.
The elders warned when the white men came, of the destruction they would bring to these lands. We foolishly thought that the tribes had suffered that doom already - confined to reservations, no longer free to hunt or live as the Great Spirit intended. Burdened by diseases, poverty, alcohol, and the other curses of "civilization." Little did we know the worst was yet to come... the nuclear fires, vast quakes, and fall of man. Where once they filled the Earth like locusts, less than a hundredth must now remain. The cities fallen to poison and ruin, the vaunted gifts of their technology forgotten as they scramble to survive.
The elders had done more than warn, though. They had prophesied that we would rise again - and we have. No longer confined by their laws, the boundaries they sought to impose on the land and free people, we grow stronger every season. Some hunt the whale on the sea, as their ancestors did. Others roam the forests. Or seek the bison on the plains. Warriors ride to raid and challenge once more, not to conquer but to prove their worth. Our children learn to live with the rhythms of the Earth, to walk with creatures returned from legends, all as it should be.
Where there was destruction comes new growth. Where a people were lost we are reborn.
The elders were wise, and we return to their ways.