The days were filled with heat, trackers wandering about salvaging food from the dead. Garbage is left from the early street wars. The time the war began was the end of existence, the beginning of human slavery. There was no hope left, no ideas of how to fight back. The shadows were no longer used to hide from the enemy. Groups are easier to find, so isolating your soul from the party could help toward breathing another day.
Even before the fear devoured the surface, smiles and children playing swarmed the solid grounds. No where could one find a speck of hatred in the flicker of one's eye sight. There was no reason to fear existence, which may possibly be the reason for the fall. All my thoughts are a blur. Being born into such a land takes the justice of any man into reason why do we continue to live if there is is no hope. Many clans have attempted to overtake the fear, but all have failed.
This land of magic has lost it's last hero. Ten years ago was the fight that would've ended the powerful struggle for solid ground. This brawl, this fight lasted many months. A young fighter, Jogum Bish, was no match for the fear. He believed nothing was able to stop the fear. His lost was forgotten. The fear fought and destroyed the human. Losing track of its destruction, it assumes death to the courageous fighter.
Now comes the time of recollection and obeying the voice of fear. The land is lost with famine and disease. Hunters, trackers, and beggars roamed the peace streets. As long as the fear was else where, they lived, but only to wait for death.
to be continued.
note: wrote check for Dose. I know he'll pay me back.
N094-4533-9263-2#1#-4 $240