literature

Ark--the Sundering Pt2

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Literature Text

Gortag's Record

We are the orcs—a people of strength and honour, of fire and steel, of ruthlessness and war. We value strength, for it allowed us to carve a home in the wastelands into which Galena cast us; and honour, for it dictates how we use that strength to lead and serve our people. We value ruthlessness, and our enemies know that they will find no tolerance or sympathy from us. War has been, and shall always be, our way of maintaining our ancestor's lands and our beliefs; and fire of the tongue and the air, and steel of the sharpened stones, has always been our tools.

What good is an argument, however backed by logic and evidence, without a physical force to ensure that the proof is respected?
How can one respect a people that fails to defend itself and its argument for existence?

The Humans claim that they are Galena's chosen—perhaps this was true. But we have seen little to prove their claims, and little strength on their part to suggest that they even believe their collective claims. Whereas my people are one in mind, the Humans separate themselves from each other with the 'I'.

'I' believe... Say the Humans.
There is no 'I' amongst my people, only a 'we', and we say to Humans as we have said to the others:

"Begone. We do not care for your religion, or your works, or your words, or your survival. Stay away from our lands, or be struck down."

Foolish Humans—they never listen. And so we respond.



Cenelil's Tale

I am Cenelil, of the First Tree. I am but one of many of the Elves.

We do not write our history on dead wood like the unattuned. We whisper it into the hollows of trees, or into the murmuring streams, or scatter it to the winds; and we retrieve it in the same way—by the attuning.

When Galena left us in the forests, we took root in our new homes, some of us taking to the branches and canopy like birds, and others taking to the soil and floor like animals. Some of us still were so attuned that they became like the trees themselves—stoic, wise, and ancient.
We are the Elves, and we are One with nature.

Do the Humans not understand that we cannot, and will not part with the forests, however small a portion they might consider? The forests are not merely our homes—they are a part of us through the attunement, and we feel its pains and pleasures, its joys and sorrows, its fears and triumphs as we do for each other.

Do the Humans realize that they insult us by repeatedly asking for portions of our trees?

I, Cenelil, have warned the Humans. Leave our forests alone, or fertilize the trees that you so desire.

We, the Elves, do not warn twice.



Arralla's Plea

Blessed Mother Galena, where are you? Your chosen people are suffering.

Please, hear our prayers, and come to our aid.

Did you not promise us that we would be able to take from the land what we needed for our survival? Did you not promise us that we would prosper and multiply wherever we chose to make a living?

Why then, do we encounter resistance wherever we travel?

The Elves of the forests deny us wood, and unleash the horrors of nature upon us when we attempt to brave the trees—from the air they slay us with poisoned darts, arrows and magical storms, and on the ground they pounce on us in the form of wild beasts and bring the forest to life as twisted, walking abominations that drain the blood of men.

The Orcs of the barrens refuse to barter their metal and food with us, and build barricades and ramparts to keep us away. We seek to negotiate with them, but they attack us with spears and fiery spells from atop great riding beasts. Those of us that survive are taken as slaves to be sold or worked to death.

The seas and coasts are hostile to us: what ships we manage to construct are capsized by the monsters of the sea under the command of the Merfolk, and any settlements we build on the shorefronts are drowned by magical floods and storms.

The Dwarves agree to trade with us, but they will not come to us, and so we must brave the dangers of the mountains to seek them. Great beasts of fire, poison and acid devour our livestock and men alike within these rocky regions, and our outposts are buried by Goblin landslides.

Even the flatlands where we currently reside are not safe: Beastfolk raid our villages in the day, and vicious monsters wearing the guises of men steal our children and women at night.

Blessed Mother Galena, why are we, as your chosen people, allowed to be persecuted and destroyed by the jealous unbelievers? Why are our peaceful approaches met with scorn and violence, when we have no such tools or inclinations of our own?

Why are we, as your chosen people, subjected to misery and suffering instead of what we were promised?

Blessed Mother Galena, your High Priestess begs you. Please help us in this time of need, before we cease to exist as a people.
I'm planning to make an actual comic soon (goodness knows how long I've procrastinated on that!) now that my art isn't as crappy as it used to be.

This series (more to come) is about how the background world (Ark) of the comic came to be and why it is so today, but not as a third person account, but rather from the accounts of different historically significant people.
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greywave's avatar
A very appealing chapter. Galena's best creation is facing extinction?