She knew the end was nigh, as the sky drained down upon her broken body, and the large lizards with wingspans the length of buses roared overhead. Scavengers and hunters, eyeing what may lay underneath, they spot their prey for this day and swoop...
It was a sunny day when the world as we know it came to a halt. Fucking apocalypse. Ragnarok as some may know it. The end of days. Well this particular end ofs in this particular timeline, as there are an infinite number, was a particularly holy fucking shit what a way to go.
Bombs flopping down from planes falling out the sky with them, nukes, satellite electromagnetic pulse weapons, screams, bullets. Chaos in a war torn land as the zealotry won the day. Ignorant bastards sticking to a dogma that made as much sense as a square wheel. Yet the believers numbered in the billions and overran the remaining brain functioning populace. Well...almost...hence the end of days in this particular time stream/timeline.
Well wait a minute? You ask yourself. How does this tie into some lady laid out about to be eaten by what sounds like pterodactyls?
Time! Yes that dastardly thing that keeps on ticking. The end comes as it most assuredly does in any given reality, only to kick back up again. The end came and went, and in the interim life slumbered and scraped by against the back drop of a world torn a new one.
Fast forward a thousand years and here we are, back in a relatively calm era...well considering how the last one was anyway. Here we be, mutated whosawhatsits, beasts, dinosaurs, humans, insects, plants with brains...you know the usual post apocalyptic nightmare. Okay so not quit nightmare, I mean there is a semblance of civilization scattered around the globe.
Peoples of varying language, garb and thought. In particular a group living in the region millennia ago known as Eschca, now simply known as Esh, funny how surviving bits of data live in altered form. Like gossip blown out of proportion after the thousandth mouth has worded its grossly erroneous assumptions of what was so called.
A village, scraggly people wearing makeshift clothes, fabrics woven of plant fibres and animal leftovers. Huts of mud and shit compacted over sticks to form walls. That sort of scraggly peopled village. Just like any other day, people going about their simple lives. The butcher butchering, blacksmith blacksmithing. Here we meet the lady of the starting point, Herrin. She is of middle age for this particular era, 25. Age span being that of 50ish.
She finds herself in a quandary. A bind a bit of a pickle. Bandits or something of similar label come through these parts and stole what was not theirs. An heirloom, a precious family gadgets who's purpose was long lost forgotten and yer its supposed importance clung onto for dear life. Sentimental value and all that.
Herrin is tasked with being the only member remaining of that family name to track down these thieving no goods and giving them what for! An adventure awaits this lass as she combs through her mud and shit hut estate for any bits and bobs that may come in handy in them outlands. The wilds.
How is it people survive in a world as I have described? All them monsters and such? Banding together, keeping the fires lit, the metres thick mud walls maintained and perimeter monitored. Of course it helps this particular village, they are located with a cliff wall on their backside and a river in front, causing a contained space just right for human habitation. Ingenuity in the harshest of times, created the situation for some semblance of comfort.
Where was I? Oh yes Herrin and her bits and bots. Cue the 80s music montage....oh wait not really the medium for that form of amusement. Unless you got a good enough imagination...
She sets off bright eyed and bushy tailed first thing in the morn. Sun just peeking its ass up over the horizon, mooning all the beings to see. This particular star in this particular timeline had a sense of humour. Not that the beings of this world had the science to know the front or back of the star they orbited mind you.
The gate opens as a draw bridge cranking to stretch across the flowing river and a passage across is born. Herrin finds herself on foot, as not too many can afford to hunt, capture and tame a wild beast such as a two legged leaping lizard variety, or any number of mountable bizarre looking creatures.
Over the river and through the woods...not a grandmother's house awaits though. Herrin follows the hunting trails through lush forest, the trails well worn and managed, no hacking of plant life required. This forest essentially goes for untold or known distances. Raised land creating cliffs and plateaus erupt all around, creating a world so mysterious and deadly only the bravest of the brave part their groups ways. To be alone is to damn near commit suicide.
What chance does Herrin have then in such a dangerous foreboding environment? She suddenly hears thunder overhead when just that morning it was clear sky. A rain from nowhere descends upon Herrin the trail in back and front. She decides not having any experience in these parts, having been born in and never having left the village before, to chance seeking cover within the plant life dominating the region. And they do dominate, some of them having brains remember.
Herrin takes her sleek and small short sword and thrashes her way through thicket seeking to reach a space under a large plant to shelter from the rain. What was that?! Movement in the leaves, sticks breaking. A growl close by. Well that about does it for this shit Herrin thinks. Bolting for what she feels may be a safe region among a cliff face in her view.
Low and behold as she scampers along the wet and slippery ground finding purchase with the branches around her, she comes upon a clearing, the cliff face poking straight up in front with what appears to be a climbable face, to maybe that is a cave just above.
She begins to grab rock holds and climb her soaking self upward, away from the growling sound beneath. Being small and spry she finds is quite manageable to climb a rock face of porous rock. Lots of foot holds and the like.
To her dismay the rain has caused just enough slippery wetness on the rock face to create trouble spots, where a hand and foot hold is not so apparent. She thinks of these as few and far between hence a minimal threat when grabbing one trouble spot out of 10 for a solid hold and upward shift.
Half way to her desired destination she learns how wrong she was in her assumption and disregard for the dangers of free climbing a cliff in the pouring rain. She slips and falls, scraping along the rock face at the initial slip, and landing on her back in the muck. Nowhere to hear her falling scream, or crying wails. She lay there broken and battered.
What of the growling you ask? Oh that was just a particular plant in the region with a defence mechanism evolved over time to scare away herbivorous predators. She was in no danger from this essentially harmless plant species.
Here we find ourselves back at the beginning. You see with so many plateaus and hence cliff faces, well that is the perfect birthing ground for flying lizards with large wing spans. Upon hearing the cries, they only become interested hunched up in the cliff caves awaiting out the rain. And wouldn't you know it a snack just happened to drop by for a visit. How nice.
