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<Clu> no nsfcd is basically a ghost town, it should be killed behind fences

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Destination.

Started by IN-SANITY, June 29, 2010, 08:24:38 PM

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IN-SANITY

He stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down. The sunlight danced off the surface of the water. It was a dance he could only watch. The light reflected off his clothes, clothes that looked foreign to the land. His slacks a deep brown, his shirt a mixture of whites and greens, like the sea below. His long brown hair fell about his ears and his face was fixed in swred smile. He could feel the dagger in his boot digging against his leg, and the breeze lifted up his traveling cloak, also of white and green, so as to give the apperance of some galant knight, but he was just a simple traveler. One hoping to avoid all war. The waters swriled and bashed against the cliff, their white foam mixing with the deep colours of the sea. The wind blowed playfully across his face, attempting to coax him to come play in the water. His hair whipped around and he made a mental note to see a barber, if he could. If one listened close enough, they could hear giggling coming from the wind. The man leaned over the cliff and looked harder at the bottom. He saw the jagged rocks protruding from the surface of the water. He saw the mighty waters wrath upon the cliff side. He didn't care. He would soon be long gone from such the sea and sitting by a cozy fire, whittling piecies of wood to his hearts content.
The man sat down and dangled his legs off the edge, his feet taking turns banging against the cliff. He laughed to himself and threw his head back to the sky. The sun was admist a game of peak-a-boo, hiding behind the thick clouds one second and shinning brightly the next. Looking out at the massive sea he saw the sun reflect off the surface of the ocean. The white sails of fishing boats could be seen in the distance, returning home after a long days work.
His feet stopped their rythmic motions and he instead sat still, letting the wind blow against him, try and force him to come play in the water. The suns rays bounced off of the mans back, casting his shadow many feet below on the surface of the water. He felt the sweat tickle his brow and slowly make it's way down his face and off his chin. It hung for awhile on the tip and then made the long drop to the ocean. He watched the drop of sweat fall. It was not long before he lost sight of it and again turned his focus to the jagged rocks.
He stood and spread his arms out wide, his shirt was caught in the breeze and he thought for a moment he might take flight and fall into the water. He felt a tug at his neck and heard the snapping of the bonds that kept his cloak attached, then he saw it flutter in the breeze, falling down to the sea below. But he had no such luck and remained firmly planted to the ground. He looked at the ground beside him, where lay his pack. It continued a few days worth of supplies, enough to get him inland. Far from where the apprent "Evils" of the South Sanactions would be landing.
It had been a year ago when the first words of war were whispered on the lips of the people of the Eastern Collective, the largest landmass not ruled by any single monarch. The people were not worried, however. They were always left alone when it came to matters of war. Soon the rumours died down and the people began their normal routine again, that is, until the Western Wyrld, a small farming nation,  sent a request for help. At first, the people were enraged that their cousins in the west would dare impose such a request, but then they began to worry. What if they denied such a request and the Wyrld attacked the Collective, as it has in the past? Of course, no successful military campaign has overtakn the Collectives military might, and none were overly worried about it, but it was an inconvince the people could do without. And so the Grand Collective, a group of elders from various cities, towns, and ports of the Collective decided to send a small force of soilders to aid the Wyrld.
Not long after, more news came. Apprently the Wyrld had made good use of the Eastern Collective soilders, by using them to conquer the Lost Isles from the South Sanactions. Of all the powers left in the world, the South was the one that most avoided a confrontation with. When the people heard that their brothers and sisters had been used to attack them, many feared that the South would soon turn their eyes here. That was a month ago. Two weeks after the people began to fear attacks, they came.
The first attack was in a place no one expected, the northern port-city of Toll was over taken in a single day. The people were shocked, and the Grand Collective sent in the military to retake the port. The next day, it was back in the hands of the Collective. The next attack happened inland, at the city of Yunick, a surprise to even the South. Apprently a small force of troops from the Toll occupation had evaded capture and death and had made it as far inland as Yunick before being discovered. There the small band of six soildiers almost single handly overtook the heaveily fortified city before the South ordered them to cease their mindless battle. The six surrended and have since been kept prisoner at the Collective capitial, Prism.
Now peace talks were going on between the two warring factions to return the prisoners to the South in return of a stable peace between the two nations. Both understood that the Wyrld had used the Collective, and they would be punished, but right now they had their own personal battles to win.
This is where he came in. Standing on the cliff, soaking in the suns rays, and contemplating the long drop down into the sea, he had come to the Collective from the South hoping to escape such militarian actions as war, only to walk right into the battle field. He had cursed his luck when the attack on Toll had happened, and doublely cursed it when the six in Yunick had attacked. Now he was determined to find a haven from this war. He let his arms fall to his side and picked up his pack. Looking over the edge yet again, he eyed the jagged rocks. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a doll, one obviously meant for a young girl. The doll wore a ragged pink dress, and it's hair seemed to be made of straw. The dolls eyes were bright blue beads and seemed to reflect the same life that might be held in the eyes of small child. The wind blew around the doll and the man smiled as he remembed fondly the many memories they had shared. Holding the doll infront of him, he turned it view the sea and let it bask in the warmth of the sun.
"See, Claire. This is what I'm leaving. For us. Maybe this time we can find peace."
He stuffed the doll back into his pack and began the long journey inland.