World Building / The Wars Of Knowledge And Power
Long ago, so far back that only fossils prove their existance, lived a strange race of giants much like Glimouths. They were powerful and apparently very intelligent. But they were too smart, or maybe too powerful, and have all since died out. Now the age of the Glimouth has begun; We, the small, scaly, Rabbit-like sucsessors to these giants may only have tamed a fraction of this world the Jungle Glimouths have built a civilization of marble and oak, all thanks to the glory of our founder: Nautil the wise. Being a librarian myself I have a great respect for Nautil and his triumphs over time. Nautil did have an enemy though, Sa'rul the mighty. The story goes that the two were once great allies when Glimouths first came to be; but the two fought over which was better: Wisdom or power.Sa'rul, in a rage, took to the mountains and created the Mountain Glimouths: Our brawny, red-scaled enimies. Many wars have been fought between our tribes for the sake of our ancestor's feud but recently an unsteady calm has settled. We still avoid Mountain Glimouths as best we can, which is fairly easy since it would take days to climb the mountains from Vittandi, the capital of the Jungle Glimouths and my home. But sometimes nature makes things difficult for us. Now as I have said before I am a librarian, and all of the history and literature of my people is contained in my home, which is a nice dry pile of fallen logs cut and shaped with the help of the entire village. In turn they are allowed to study to their heart's content as much as they wish within my home, and often stay in long after dark and well into the night. But one day, during an awful downpour coupled by plentiful thunder I had only one guest; and a very unexpected one at that. My last candle had burnt out, and as I searched for a new one I Heard a loud thump outside, followed by three loud knocks on my door. I stumbled over some books on the first War of Knowledge and Power and looked outside before opening the door. No one in their right mind would be outside today, and yet there stood the dark figure of a Glimouth standing behind a Fresa; a predatory bird with bright plumage. Cautiously I opened the door and meekly asked, "May I help you somehow tonight?" "Just let me in from the rain and cold tonight and I'll give you as much Fresa meat as you can eat." Since Fresa meat tastes like rotten apples I had very little to eat myself I accepted, but as he stepped inside my home a flash of lightning Caught his back to reveal his scales were blood red. But the bird he had killed has black blood.