Shattered Realms

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Weightless. Dark. The omnipresent crush of eons. A lone, damaged vessel floats in the nothing. Aboard, the Anunnaki work tirelessly to restore power. Sabotage has left them adrift. One last desperate ploy. Let there be light...  

"Life is what you make it," they say. So true here. Once I was a young scientist fighting to replenish a world dying in the grip of an industrial ice age created by man's ignorance of the damage he caused to the ecological balance, now look at me. I bear a human semblance, but my flesh is vine, my blood laces with chlorophyll, and bark-like thorns grow at my will from my flesh as weapons. When I fell to this world...fell, it was more like being hurled...the brambles and vines of this earth accepted my will and became the vessel of my burdened soul.   The Obbaraeon War was in a heated pitch. And the trees... I SPOKE FOR THE TREES! Now Thalybrion and Albyrion are at peace, but i remain vigilant... Trees need guardians. Trees need a voice.  
Battles end...the memory fades...only pain, fear and grief remain. They came in horses, unrelenting, hungry. You speak about Valerians and old women tremble, young boys men pound fists in anger. I see the children play Border Guards and Valerian in the alleys near the Barracks. There's only on kid playing the Valerians, and all but one Guard pretends to survive the fight. That's optimistic. I've counted the ash bags.  
These rabble! Filthy mongrels of our infection feeding. They bring war to our peaceful city streets and don't care! The blackguards don't even return to face the demons they summon upon us! These Corazonians are an agony set upon us by our own...borne on the wings of sacrificial plague rats!  
Three tribes, six cities, and one sultan to rule over them all. By my ruffled black feathers he'll have a time of it when I'm done. The thieves guild, the assassin's, and the merchants are already nestled under my wings and I only lack a few more pieces to this puzzle to claim the Jewel for myself. These sandworms think me little more than a sable peacock, but they'll learn this devilish little bird has strength enough to beat his wings with the gales of a roc! My mind is more intricate, my magic sublime, and I have aspirations beyond the simple wealth these peasants keep to comfort their tanned desert hides.

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