Recco's Adventure

Recco's Adventure is a grand novel written by the Rhuuxl known as Recco, who was once a slave born in the early third era around 6100 3E. He was born in the western moors but would soon be captured by the Nunbae Tribe and taken to their island off the coast of Amut and Malatata. He would work a slave until the age of fifty. It was at this time that Recco would look beyond the horizon and wish to see the world instead of living life as a slave. The gods would take pity on the Rhuuxl and grant him his wish. They would take him through a great journey not only across Wold, but across the cosmos as well. He began his journey from his home in Amut and ended the same with the gods as his tour guides. He recorded his findings in the famous book now known as Recco's Adventure and would shortly die after the book's completion in the year 6151 3E. 

Recco's Adventure

Not in a palace, or halls of granduer. Not in the high peaks or deep in the ground. Not in the presence of the mighty and noble, and with blessings ripe 'round me. It was under a simple willow tree where I was birthed by my mother alone. She held my tight and called me her little grapevine. It was a rare moment in my life where I felt truly loved. Though I remember it not, I still cherish it deep within my chest. She was a lowone in the village the Roscreans call the Western Moors. My village is unpronounceable in the human language I write in, but it may be called Irakzas. Her lustful youths had caused her to play in the mud and soil her name. None would take her as their brood-kin, but when she had me, she told as I was young that I had changed her life for the better, given her order and responsibility. Though I lived only a few years in Irakas and in what many would consider poverty, I considered it to be the best years of my life, as a Rhuuxl's memory is greater than that of any race. 
The only word that could describe the way of life we lived would be; simple. The hunters hunted, the fishers fished, the weavers weaved, the builders built, the warriors guarded, the cookers cooked, and the artists produced honey in our ears and sweet frog mucus in our eyes. I played with the children in the wilderness on the outskirts of our village, who cared for your skill in the sport of Teebad rather than your reputation. I could make this book's words half of how life was in Irakas and my experience in it, but that is not why my pen strokes. I force myself to skip the finer details, the little moments I hold dear, for the sake of what must be shared, so I do apologize, dear reader, that this happy moment must end for the sake of what I must share.
I will, however, describe that night, perhaps in uncomfortable detail not wished by me to do so by the wider audience. To describe this event in all harshness it was; it was the rape of Irakas.  It started with the missing of a small-kin while she ventured the wilderness a week before the attack. Many assumed that the swamp had claimed her as she wandered foolish, but when another, and another, yet another went missing, the elders of the village suspected more, and play was outlawed from our lives. All of this had led up to one night. The immense came from two directions, they came. One group by land, one group by sea.

Type

Record, Logbook