Some Story

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The sky is barely noticable. The rock walls are dingy, unsaturated and dull. The trees here are almost a thousand years old, with the bark still bonding with the tree like it was new. There was no sun. The only sun you'd get would be the thin streams of light, passing through the scarce amount of free space between the leaves of the massive trees. Here was a settlement, with not more than fifty people living here. For twelve years, the Tokara Forest's inhabitants have lived off the sap, and small amount of wildlife running wildly between the trees. The Zarods dug small amounts of wood from the trees, and called it home. It was enough to give them shelter. Here, there was no worry about wind, rain or crime. Everyone knew each other, everyone trusted each other.
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''Home sweet home.''
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Patrick just got home from his daily training. Since he was eight years old, he wanted to become an archer, to follow in his father's footsteps. His father crafted arrows using the finest woods, feathers and heads many years ago, before they lived in the Tokara settlement. Patrick always wondered what would bring them to this wasted part of the country, but whenever he would bring the subject up, his father would change it or go for a lone walk. Patrick wanted to find out about his history, where he came from. He missed his mother, and his sister whom he only had a picture of from a painter. He treasured that painting, left it beside his bed and looked at it, examined it before he blew his candle out each night.
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The sky existed only to paint a dull matte behind the towering trees. Faint sunlight penetrated the scarce holes between the thick roof of the Tokara forest. These trees had lived here for hundreds of years, and yet the bark still bonded with the tree as if it were new. Here was a settlement, with not more than fifty people living here. For twelve years, the inhabitants lived off the sap and wildlife provided scarcely by the land. The '''TRIBE NAME''' burrowed deep and complex caverns into the trees. This was home. The network of wooden tunnels provided shelter from the heat, wind and rain. Life was dangerous in Tokara, but there was no fear. Everyone knew each other, everyone trusted each other.
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Rick, Patrick's older brother was about to leave for work. He was a trainer as a Swordsman and he had been training ever since he was 5 years old. Because of that, he was well-built, tall, and had the mildest of tempers. If anyone were to try to aggravate him, it wouldn't work. He would just figure you're teasing him, and get on with his work.  
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Patrick got home from his daily training. Ever since he was eight years old, he wanted to become an archer, to follow in his father's footsteps. His father crafted arrows using the finest woods, feathers and heads many years ago, before they lived in the Tokara settlement. Patrick always wondered what had brought them to this wasted part of the country, but his father would avoid the answer. He would walk for long hours through the thick flora, his mind full of thoughts Patrick desired to know. Patrick wanted to find out about his history, where he came from. He missed his mother, and his sister whom he only had a painted portrait of. He treasured that painting. It hung beside his bed, and he would stare into it every night as he fell to sleep.
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Rick, Patrick's older brother was about to leave for work. He was a trainer as a Swordsman and he had been training ever since he was 5 years old. He was well-built, tall, rugged, and respected for his patience. Never had anyone seen him aggravated.  
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Before Rick left, Patrick emitted a low, shy voice, "When will you be home? I want to talk to you."
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Before Rick left, Patrick asked in a low, shy voice, "When will you be home? I want to talk to you."
 
"I'll be home late tonight. Got a few people falling behind in their training. You'd better eat breakfast and get to archery training."
"I'll be home late tonight. Got a few people falling behind in their training. You'd better eat breakfast and get to archery training."
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"Alright, Rick."
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"Okay, Rick."
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Patrick didn't really know what to do, so he grabbed a few fruits, and was on his way to training. Once his training area was in sight, lit up by the giant emerald, reflecting off the bark of the trees, he sat down by a bunch of lit torches. He stared at the glorious orange light flickering off of the nearby trees. This was the place that gave him peace of mind. This was where he would sit, every day, before and after training to think about what he would do when he got older.
Patrick didn't really know what to do, so he grabbed a few fruits, and was on his way to training. Once his training area was in sight, lit up by the giant emerald, reflecting off the bark of the trees, he sat down by a bunch of lit torches. He stared at the glorious orange light flickering off of the nearby trees. This was the place that gave him peace of mind. This was where he would sit, every day, before and after training to think about what he would do when he got older.

Revision as of 17:03, 20 April 2008

Home sweet home.

The sky existed only to paint a dull matte behind the towering trees. Faint sunlight penetrated the scarce holes between the thick roof of the Tokara forest. These trees had lived here for hundreds of years, and yet the bark still bonded with the tree as if it were new. Here was a settlement, with not more than fifty people living here. For twelve years, the inhabitants lived off the sap and wildlife provided scarcely by the land. The TRIBE NAME burrowed deep and complex caverns into the trees. This was home. The network of wooden tunnels provided shelter from the heat, wind and rain. Life was dangerous in Tokara, but there was no fear. Everyone knew each other, everyone trusted each other.

Patrick got home from his daily training. Ever since he was eight years old, he wanted to become an archer, to follow in his father's footsteps. His father crafted arrows using the finest woods, feathers and heads many years ago, before they lived in the Tokara settlement. Patrick always wondered what had brought them to this wasted part of the country, but his father would avoid the answer. He would walk for long hours through the thick flora, his mind full of thoughts Patrick desired to know. Patrick wanted to find out about his history, where he came from. He missed his mother, and his sister whom he only had a painted portrait of. He treasured that painting. It hung beside his bed, and he would stare into it every night as he fell to sleep.

Rick, Patrick's older brother was about to leave for work. He was a trainer as a Swordsman and he had been training ever since he was 5 years old. He was well-built, tall, rugged, and respected for his patience. Never had anyone seen him aggravated.

Before Rick left, Patrick emitted a low, shy voice, "When will you be home? I want to talk to you."

"I'll be home late tonight. Got a few people falling behind in their training. You'd better eat breakfast and get to archery training."

"Okay, Rick."

Patrick didn't really know what to do, so he grabbed a few fruits, and was on his way to training. Once his training area was in sight, lit up by the giant emerald, reflecting off the bark of the trees, he sat down by a bunch of lit torches. He stared at the glorious orange light flickering off of the nearby trees. This was the place that gave him peace of mind. This was where he would sit, every day, before and after training to think about what he would do when he got older.

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