we're not accepted, only tolerated. And I
guess I don't help myself, me and my dreams. The area isn't safe
anymore and I want to do something about it. Today is the day! I
tell myself that at least. In truth, another day to be mocked. In
between Gods at the moment, no one knows what to do. So they laugh
at me, and do nothing.
The town is made up of aged wooden buildings and dirt
roads. No structures more than two stories tall, except for the
town hall which is three. The roads are lined with signs directing
you to each place in an orderly manner, something no local would
ever do. You would think that this is the only place on earth if it
weren't for the machinist propaganda in the middle of town.
Intricate artwork of machines and mecha all with the Valasian
brand. But Propaganda is where the Valasian aid ends. We get
neither the heavy machinery of the industry towns, nor the heavy
arms of the border that separates God from man. We are almost
forgotten to live in another time. They exist mostly to take the
lions share of what we produce. They rely totally on machines in
their home country. Everything is made and done by their impressive
metal monsters. But here, life is more simple. Hand spun cloths,
water wells, and axes to chop trees. That's about all this town is
here for, to contain us as we barely care for ourselves, and
produce lumber to keep us busy.
I push myself through the old wooden door of the
towns only shop, a basket of things to sell, and a list of things
to buy. Maybe today will be the day that the former out weighs the
latter, I joke to myself, as the old man behind the counter tells
me what a “youngster” I am for the fiftieth time. I guess I'm glad
to be called a youngster. 'Others in town have called me worse' I
think to myself, as just one such person slams through the
door.
“well have you slayed the giant yet!” he waltzes into
the room to stare me down, cronies in toe.
Duke. A large man, balding, with wild eyes, and a
squared smirk on his wrinkled face. A well known town leader, or in
my opinion, village idiot, we've taken stabs at each other for as
long as I can remember.
“I'm still deciding which giant should go down” I say
to him sarcastically, as if eying him as a giant – which he is, in
waist anyway.
His smugness turns to anger, and he looks me down
like today is the day that he'll finally do me in. His face
tightening, his eyes beady. His anger building as we stay locked in
a gaze. Suddenly the tone is broken as the old shopkeeper returns,
and hands me my load, and bill. I pay It quickly while the other
patrons eye me. Some of them smile, in a mean way. A few spout out
some kind of ribbing from back in their day, they think they're
funny. And some look upon me solemnly, as if I’m a dumb kitten,
hell bent on killing myself from stupidity. It's never easy, to
pretend I like these people. They certainly don't pretend with
me.
The people aren't all bad though, some are quite
nice. But when you go around spouting nonsense that most are afraid
to even think about, the average reaction is to hate you. The world
is not the same now. I grew up in a time of peace and harmony. The
machinists of Valasia are the most advanced kingdom on the planet.
They treated us like slaves and prisoners. But for all of the bad
things that machines brought, they also brought stability. A
massive army, unkillable mecha, a barrier that pushed back the old
Gods power, and unparalleled infrastructure. They built towns,
roads, and factories that brought work. We depended on them for
almost everything, and now with them gone the kingdom has fallen
apart. Many without jobs. Only the few and poorly equipped town
guards to defend us. No word from our king, or any news from the
outside. And worst of all, bandits roam freely, and the old Gods
enraged by centuries of betrayal and neglect, are rumored to have
set their terrible power upon us as well. I want to do something
about it. What I
guess I don't help myself, me and my dreams. The area isn't safe
anymore and I want to do something about it. Today is the day! I
tell myself that at least. In truth, another day to be mocked. In
between Gods at the moment, no one knows what to do. So they laugh
at me, and do nothing.
The town is made up of aged wooden buildings and dirt
roads. No structures more than two stories tall, except for the
town hall which is three. The roads are lined with signs directing
you to each place in an orderly manner, something no local would
ever do. You would think that this is the only place on earth if it
weren't for the machinist propaganda in the middle of town.
Intricate artwork of machines and mecha all with the Valasian
brand. But Propaganda is where the Valasian aid ends. We get
neither the heavy machinery of the industry towns, nor the heavy
arms of the border that separates God from man. We are almost
forgotten to live in another time. They exist mostly to take the
lions share of what we produce. They rely totally on machines in
their home country. Everything is made and done by their impressive
metal monsters. But here, life is more simple. Hand spun cloths,
water wells, and axes to chop trees. That's about all this town is
here for, to contain us as we barely care for ourselves, and
produce lumber to keep us busy.
I push myself through the old wooden door of the
towns only shop, a basket of things to sell, and a list of things
to buy. Maybe today will be the day that the former out weighs the
latter, I joke to myself, as the old man behind the counter tells
me what a “youngster” I am for the fiftieth time. I guess I'm glad
to be called a youngster. 'Others in town have called me worse' I
think to myself, as just one such person slams through the
door.
“well have you slayed the giant yet!” he waltzes into
the room to stare me down, cronies in toe.
Duke. A large man, balding, with wild eyes, and a
squared smirk on his wrinkled face. A well known town leader, or in
my opinion, village idiot, we've taken stabs at each other for as
long as I can remember.
“I'm still deciding which giant should go down” I say
to him sarcastically, as if eying him as a giant – which he is, in
waist anyway.
His smugness turns to anger, and he looks me down
like today is the day that he'll finally do me in. His face
tightening, his eyes beady. His anger building as we stay locked in
a gaze. Suddenly the tone is broken as the old shopkeeper returns,
and hands me my load, and bill. I pay It quickly while the other
patrons eye me. Some of them smile, in a mean way. A few spout out
some kind of ribbing from back in their day, they think they're
funny. And some look upon me solemnly, as if I’m a dumb kitten,
hell bent on killing myself from stupidity. It's never easy, to
pretend I like these people. They certainly don't pretend with
me.
The people aren't all bad though, some are quite
nice. But when you go around spouting nonsense that most are afraid
to even think about, the average reaction is to hate you. The world
is not the same now. I grew up in a time of peace and harmony. The
machinists of Valasia are the most advanced kingdom on the planet.
They treated us like slaves and prisoners. But for all of the bad
things that machines brought, they also brought stability. A
massive army, unkillable mecha, a barrier that pushed back the old
Gods power, and unparalleled infrastructure. They built towns,
roads, and factories that brought work. We depended on them for
almost everything, and now with them gone the kingdom has fallen
apart. Many without jobs. Only the few and poorly equipped town
guards to defend us. No word from our king, or any news from the
outside. And worst of all, bandits roam freely, and the old Gods
enraged by centuries of betrayal and neglect, are rumored to have
set their terrible power upon us as well. I want to do something
about it. What I
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