Note: ----#---- represents scene break
Chapter 1
It was a world of myth. It was a world of old and new. It was - after all - a world of vast imagination; and it is a world that holds the secret of hope. Creatures only known to roam our minds are now free to take the forms of humans, leaving only small traces to give us hints of their true physical selves. Good and evil collide once again, but the outcome can only be understood if one knows the whole tale.
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“Honesah!” A young male Sarachoo trotted toward a female as his green mane and tail flowed about in the gentle winter breeze as though they were patches of a luscious meadow in the spring. “It has been many a day since I have seen the Princess,” he bowed his head in a quick and formal gesture. The two Cotlies - Sarachoo from birth to the age of twelve - were both only eight and nine years old.
Sarachoo were a rare and spiritual species. In simple terms, they would resemble a flying Unicorn. Their short, silky fur mimicked freshly fallen snow, while the mane, tail, eyes, hooves, et cetera were naturally many different colors and designs; as humans, their ears and tails remained, horns now replaced by a simple diamond-shaped crystal on their foreheads; and wings were able to appear and disappear at will in this form. Lastly, they wore robes for quick and easy dressing when they had to Form; the robes would be contained in a waist pouch that could stretch and retract to fit either form. Existing in a single large village, deep within a vast forest, it was difficult to find them unless by accident.
It had snowed heavily the night before, the ground blanketed by its icy white shield; the sun, however, soothed the chill for the plants and animals that basked in its golden rays.
Honesah, the younger of the two, sighed and shook her head, “I have told you before, Allo: there is no need to be formal around me. I do not mind being treated like everyone else.” Her soft pink eyes clashed against her gold and sapphire striped mane and tail as she tried to engrave her words into her friend’s mind. It was a common custom with the Sarachoo village that all Sarachoo, no matter their social status, were to be treated as equals. Formal courtesy wasn't needed, even toward royalty. There were exceptions, however, which included assaults, and other negative actions toward royalty; if one were to attack a member of the dominion, there were serious consequences; other Sarachoo were important matters as well, of course.
Choosing not to listen, Allo changed the subject; he didn’t believe in putting a social ranking to waste. “I was helping my mother with her garden and noticed you walking by. If you are not busy, would you like to join us? We could catch up on our friendship.” Secretly, he cared for Honesah as more than just a friend, but he didn’t want to let it out just yet. Both of them were far too young to be making Partnerships - committed relationships - just yet.
A smile curled on the female’s muzzle, “I am not busy at all. In fact, I was looking for you, but I must have lost you in all the green.” She enjoyed teasing Allo about his colors, it always reminded her about how they had first met.
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It was back not long ago, when the two were four years younger, on another winter’s day. The ground was deeply covered in snow, and Cotlies as young as Allo and Honesah were not quite tall enough to get around easily.
Honesah leaped from her holes in her Natural Form, making new ones as she sank into the snow each time. It was her only means of getting around, but she did have fun, and her older brother, Freero - who was the age of nine at the time - watched over her as he stepped through the snow with just a bit of trouble. His light blue and lemon-yellow striped tail only just brushed the surface of the snow, leaving a faint disturbance between the hoof prints he made. Honesah had still not yet gotten used to taking flight with her tiny wings, as most Cotlies could not so easily control them until the age of six.
Freero was a protective brother, but didn’t immediately shoo away every newcomer. First, he would inspect the conversation between his dear sister and the new Sarachoo. If he didn't approve of them, Freero would later approach the acquaintance on his own, and explain that Honesah didn't wish to speak with them any longer. Though his intentions leaned toward good, his actions were most devious.
Near the frozen lake, a common ground for the young Sarachoo, the siblings played together, hopping around in the snow and kicking up flakes. At one point, Honesah noticed two small patches of grass and decided to jump onto them for her own silly reasons. She landed, but didn’t sink, only hearing an “Oof!” sounding from underneath. Scrambling off the strange grass, the young Princess proclaimed, “It talks!”
Freero, however, was much wiser and noticed the small yellow horn poking from its white confinement. “That is not grass, Honesah,” he laughed and walked over to dig a small Cotly from the snow. The young one rolled up, over, and sank back down, his head poking up as he looked around. “How long have you been here?” Freero asked the new Cotly.
“Most of the morning. Is it mid-day yet?” His innocent voice responded.
Shaking his head, Freero smiled, “Almost. Give it an hour or two.”
“Good. I do not want to miss lunch!”
Honesah had gradually crawled closer, nearly swimming as she sneaked up on the equally young Sarachoo. She was a hair away from leaping onto him, only to collapse from a deeper area in the snow.
“My name is Allo,” the Cotly turned at the sound of Honesah’s crunch of snow and squeak of surprise. “What is yours?” He strained his neck to peek into the female’s pit of powdery substance.
“Honesah!” came a muffled voice.
“And I am Freero,” the brother lifted his sister with his mouth by the scruff of her neck. “It is a good thing we came here. You seemed stuck.”
Allo shook his head in an effort to knock the snow from his mane, “My mother usually finds me by mid-day. She knows I hate to miss lunch.”
Wriggling and squirming to get free of her brother’s hold, Honesah asked, “Can he be my new friend, Freero? Please?” She soon gave up her struggle and sighed.
The oldest Cotly answered, purposely doing so to drop his sister as he rolled his lavender eyes up in thought, “I guess so.”
Honesah fell into the snow as though it were a cloud, sinking though so easily until she found the solid ground, but it didn't hurt. She then bounced up from her new hole with glee, only able to raise her head above the cold blanket. “Yay! That makes two!” She remembered the successful event, holding it dear in her heart.
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Allo only laughed at his friend’s joke, accepting it like words of endearment. “I have much to tell you.” He turned, heading back to his small hay and log built home that stood passed a small hill, hidden behind other Sarachoo homes. Honesah following close behind as her eyes watched Allo lovingly, thankful for the only friend her brother had allowed.
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The dim atmosphere of The Keep was disturbed by two beings - Sarachoo, in their Human Forms. The eldest one had a broad face. His long, light-blue hair reached about mid-back; his tail was the same color. The younger male, old enough to be in the Marcroo range of age - twenty-two to death - was built a little less in strength, his hair reaching to his shoulders and tied back in thick wool thread to match his sunset orange tail.
“This weather has been far too calm,” stated the first male. “Clear skies for days.”
“Maybe it is just a simple period of bright skies,” countered the younger Sarachoo. He didn’t want to believe what his King was suggesting.
Bremeg, the light-blue male, was indeed King of Sarachoo. The royal family had no means to dress more fashionably than the rest of the citizens – they didn't see a reason to. As King, he was to protect his people at all costs. In Bremeg’s past, he was highly intrigued by legends and the village’s history. The Crimp Legend was one that he respected most.
Five-hundred upon the time
Clouds bring the darkness,
Howling out their sorrows.
One cry to bleed and shake,
Two cries to weaken and break,
Three cries and the fire is black.
Feasting upon the bodies
They do not turn back.
One Savior will survive,
Choosing to forget;
Or instead, will save.
Rain upon the ruins,
To restore the stolen life
As it was before that day.
He could recite it without a stutter, and knew that the time drew near. Those evil draconian beasts would return for their long awaited Feast. Bremeg wanted to end this once and for all. He wanted to do it without chaos, though, and the King knew such a goal would prove challenging. Searching the many shelves that walled and filled the large Keep, Bremeg scanned along the books and scrolls compiled of information on Sarachoo history, Crimps, and other notable mentions about the world around them. Bremeg's eyes stopped at a specific old book, one that he had read many times over, but always felt that he had missed something important. Dust had collected in The Keep, and he simply brushed it off with his hand as he pulled out the book he had some to inspect. There was no title, but he knew exactly what it was - records of each Feast, written by past Saviors, who were the Sarachoo to escape before being devoured. Once the Savior restored the village, he or she would make their own input of what happened before, during, and after the Feast; this would give the Sarachoo information on any changes in the patterns of which the Crimps would perform their Feast.
"What is this Feast that you speak of so cautiously?" One might ask. Why, it is a dark and painful time for all of the Sarachoo - and for most of the Crimps. It was nature's intention that Sarachoo blood can cure hunger, but it wasn't that simple, no. One would have to drink a belly full of Sarachoo blood; then, the devourer would never go hungry again - they would have all the nutrition needed for their lifetime! Most other beings of the earth, who learned of this miraculous blood, came to respect the Sarachoo, due to their sentient and peaceful nature, but the Crimps paid no mind - they wanted to be full; they wanted to have a meal that would be satisfying! Their size and population was just too great for petty creatures, such as farm animals, to support their hunger.
To make sure there would always be Sarachoo available, however, the Crimps decided to allow five-hundred years for their personal cattle to repopulate, thus beginning the cycle of the Feast. After witnessing the Savior and its amazing restoration powers, it came by popular belief of the Crimps that eating the Savior would grant eternal life; but the sinister Dragons were smarter than to kill off the sole anchor of the Sarachoo population; without the Savior, they would become extinct, thus starving the Crimp species of a most important food source. They had no choice but to keep such an idea of eternal life as only a belief; however, one Crimp learned the truth by accident.
“Unless this is a drought, I seriously doubt your suggestion, Ordway. Besides,” Bremeg flipped to a page in the back half of the book and pointed to a date, “seventy, thirty-six - that was the last Feast. The year is now twenty, thirty-seven. In three more days, it will be the new year.”
Ordway, the orange Sarachoo, cracked open and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to say something that would prove his King wrong. He didn’t, of course. Out of all the Feasts recorded - eight, to be exact - not one of them failed to take place on the night of the new year, each five-hundred years apart. “Can we not find shelter until the Crimps give up?”
“It has been tried before,” Bremeg closed the book and replaced it in its original spot. “None have been successful. The Crimps can smell our blood no matter how well we hide.” This was true. The Crimps had a natural ability to smell Sarachoo from incredible distances. How this was possible, they could never determine, but many efforts of relocating, hiding underground, and even masking their scent had proven futile. It were as if the not only could smell, but simply detect, the Sarachoo in some other way.
Sighing in defeat, Ordway looked to the rickety door leading back to the village. “So our fate has been sealed, and there is no way to fight back.”
“No,” Bremeg smirked at the sight of his assistant’s face. “We will fight, just as our ancestors. We merely have to plan it all out; devise a way to surprise the Crimps and attack them off guard.”
“Sire, you know how titanic those beasts are. How can we stand up to hundreds of them?” He was right - Crimps stood up just high enough to reach the treetops. The Lord of Crimps, currently known as Cyfro, stood nearly three times that size. Their whip-like tails were as long as their bodies, and their quick reflexes weren’t helpful to the Sarachoo. If anything, it would take fifty or more Sarachoo to each Crimp for a fighting chance - that was only a chance, though.
Pausing in thought, the King stared to the door, processing each bit of information about the black dragons that he held in his mind. With a gentle smile, Bremeg rested a sturdy large hand on the shoulder of his comrade, “We just have to try, fail or avail.”
Ordway twitched his white equine ears that proudly poked from near the top sides of his head, his doubt leaving him as quickly as a lightning strike. King Bremeg was a leader he respected greatly, a Sarachoo who, after becoming almost obsessed with the Feast legend, had spent a majority of his life planning the its end. Knowing this, Ordway felt reassured, trusting his Ruler thoroughly, “What is your plan, Sire? I shall follow you to my death and beyond.”
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Deep in the southern regions of the Earth, there was a rejected mountain range known as Farroon Marock - Shadowed Desert – that was covered in darkness and flourished with mostly death. There was, however, a certain species that thrived in such a harsh land - the Crimps. Enormous caverns filled the dry mountain, twisting downward as the they made their way deep into the planet to a center alcove. Within this chamber, the entire population of the Crimps met, noisily screeching and nipping at each other, uncomfortable with being so cramped together. A tall and unnaturally large formation of rock stood near the front of the chamber. On it stood Cyfro, Lord of Crimps, his white thin hairs that grew from the back of his head and his solid white eyes signified his ranking amongst the others; no doubt, he was much larger in stature as well. The lesser Crimps looked similar to him, only their hairs and eyes were red. As Crimp anatomy went: the leader of the Crimps would be born with a solid white body, and as it grew, its scales would darken to beyond black, its eyes and hairs would remain white, and its body would grow twice (and on some occasions, thrice) as large as its followers; the commoners of the Crimps would be born entirely black, and has they grew, their eyes and hairs would brighten to a deep blood red, signifying their lust for the life force of the Sarachoo.
“Silence!” Cyfro’s powerful voice shook the walls, a few fragments of rock falling and hitting the reptiles below. Not wanting to risk slicing their tongues by their own unbelievably sharp teeth, the Crimps had produced a powerful intellect over the thousands of years their species had reigned, thus communicating to all with telepathy. Silence filled the air at the sound of their leader’s voice, and Cyfro began his speech, “It has been nearly five-hundred years since the last Feast. Scouts have returned with wonderful news of plentiful amounts of Sarachoo for us! In merely three days, our bellies will be full with the most savory creatures alive!”
Screeching and roaring filled the cavern room as three-hundred Crimps grew excited. For half a million years, their kind would only snack on cattle and livestock, sworn to never deplete the world as long as Sarachoo existed. Each Crimp could live for roughly six-hundred years, so such an event was a once-in-a-lifetime treasure. Their winged arms pulsated with the major veins going through the flaps as they flared about, climbing the rocky walls and ceiling. Cyfro only curled his scaly lips in a twisted smirk. He was a proud Crimp - such luxuries. He crawled along the wall, crushing it with each step, as he calmly tried to escape the chaos.
Up the tunnels and out of the mountain, Cyfro spread his enormous winged arms and swooped upward to reach the top of his home. He landed, sitting at the peak, his claws gripping tightly and his long tail wrapped around his perch. There were many other holes from where his claws had dug into the rocks as he returned to this spot to ponder. Cyfro stared toward the glow of the large full moon from behind the swirling dark clouds that haunted his people for eternity. What will the Sarachoo try this time, I wonder. . .
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The shadows of night slowly began to cast themselves over the Sarachoo Village. Dusk was growing into night; Cotlies and Contles - Sarachoo from ages 13 to 21 - entered their makeshift log and straw homes for shelter and sleep. Allo and Honesah had finished helping his mother in the garden, uncovering and tending to the plants that were buried underneath the thick snow. Both retreated to their homes for the night, eager to start a new day.
Freero, now a Contle, sat at a desk in his pristine room, his Human Form body reclined in the wooden chair as he read a small book that was aged and worn. A rapping sounded on his closed door, and he quickly shut the book, placing it in an open drawer at the side of his desk. "Come in."
It was Honesah – she was in Human Form as well and had come to tell Freero that dinner was ready and he should come downstairs to join their parents. The Contle smiled softly to his younger sister and assured her that he would be down soon. Honesah's soft pink eyes glimmered brightly and she closed the door, heading back downstairs to tell her parents that Freero would be there. Staring hard at the drawer he had placed the book in, Freero began to ponder his future actions. Just who is the Savior? When should he or she leave the village? He wasn't sure, but he had an idea, and would soon need to make a choice.
Freero stood from his seat and began to make his way downstairs; he could hear his mother, father, and sister conversing with one another as Honesah told her story of her playtime with Allo. Once Freero reached the modestly sized dining room, everyone grew silent - they could sense a fearful aura on the Contle, but Bremeg knew exactly what was on his mind. The brightly colored Sarachoo glanced around the room, feeling that such a normal atmosphere would be taken away at any moment. The dining room was just enough to sit and eat and walk around a bit, the table was a six-seater. A painting or two were on each of the four wooden walls, and the other doorway opposite of Freero lead straight into the kitchen. Tonight, there was a mixture of grilled and seasoned vegetables, along with a roast - consisting of a rather large meaty insect that resembled a rhinoceros beetle. It's browned form gave off a delicious scent that made Freero's mouth water. He then took his seat, sitting opposite of his father, and fixed his plate.
"The snow has not thinned out today," Honesah broke the silence, "If it snows again tonight, will we be stuck inside?"
Her mother, Crooton, chuckled lightly and answered, "It all depends on how hard it snows, dear. Eat your dinner."
"But I do not like Beglons, they remind me of the small beetles," Honesah stared into her mother's lavender eyes, hoping that her pouting would get her out of eating the roasted creature. She then looked over her mother's form, studying her golden hair, her pale-pink crystal that took place of her horn, and her silvery lips. She then looked to her father, doing the same with his light blue hair, his purple crystal, and his orange eyes, hoping that maybe he would take up for the Cotly.
"Eat it," Bremeg and Crooton answered in unison, then flashed a smirk, finding humor in the situation.
Honesah didn't bother arguing, knowing that when both of her parents were against her, the attempt was futile. She took a glance at Freero, seeing him hungrily devour the portion of roasted Beglon that he had on his plate, and cringed at the wonder of how or even why he liked such a detestable food. Staring at her plate, the sapphire and gold Cotly furrowed her brows at the much smaller portion of the roast - only four bites, four agonizing bites. She aimed her fork, hand trembling, and gulped her anticipation down. Then, her hand shot downward, and with one foul swoop, the first piece was shoved into her mouth. Honesah quickly chewed, twisting her face so that everyone could see just how much she hated its taste. No one bothered to care, though the Cotly swore she heard her brother chuckle just faintly while gorging himself with the food. Finally, Honesah gulped it down and stared at the other three pieces; she wondered why her parents were so cruel as to make her eat what she didn't like.
Soon after dinner, Bremeg took Freero outside to the lake. They sat on the frozen bank, not minding the cold, and stared at the icy layer that covered the once lively water.
"Have you decided?" Bremeg continued to take interest in the random designs of cracks within the ice. He didn't receive an answer as soon as he had hoped. "I know this is a hard decision to make, and I understand that you are still quite young." Still Freero said nothing. "If you make your decision at the last moment, that is fine. I had only hoped for one tonight to assure myself and be ready for the worst."
"Make sure Honesah escapes," Freero stated.
For a few moments, Bremeg didn't answer; he did, however, after building the courage to speak from his heart, "I want both of you to escape, in the least. So, you sense it, too - the Savior." He smirked a bit and shook his head, "For some reason I had expected you carry that burden."
So she really is going to become the Savior. Freero had a strong feeling that she might be, but wasn't quite sure. He had hoped that such a young Sarachoo wouldn't have to suffer the burdens that accompany it. "I will go," Freero decided, though nervous, "I will protect Honesah from a distance. She will need to learn to fight for herself." It was understood by the Sarachoo that the only way to efficiently learn something was to experience it first hand - or hoof. This did include dangers within one's life and how to avoid harm when it passed by.
Bremeg nodded once, never locking eyes with his son, his only son, the Prince and heir to the Sarachoo throne. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and snatched Freero into an embrace. "Do not die. Take my place on the throne once your sister revives the village. It will be my time to retire by then." He knew his plan of attack against the Crimps would end in disaster - there was no possible way of victory. Bremeg didn't want to admit defeat to his son, though. Just the thought of being unable to hold his symbol as a hero clutched his heart with an icy hand far colder than the lake in front of them.
It was then that Freero knew just how serious the Feast was. "Father," he tightly returned the embrace, "I will not let you down."
Only two days until the Feast. Bremeg was up to something - a project that seemed futile. Many Sarachoo were digging deep trenches wherever they could fit them within the village; trees were cut down and split in half, then sharpened at one end. The trees were not enormous, variously the height of their homes. Ropes and switches, springs and pulleys were set up around the village in a secretive manner, not wanting the Crimps to see a trap. The giant spears were buried in the trenches, along with the springs required for the devices to work. All trace of any traps were carefully hidden and returned to the natural state of non-disturbance as closely as before. Bremeg grinned as he oversaw his plan finishing up within the late afternoon. This Feast was going to be the ultimate Feast, and it included a lot wood.
Chapter 1
It was a world of myth. It was a world of old and new. It was - after all - a world of vast imagination; and it is a world that holds the secret of hope. Creatures only known to roam our minds are now free to take the forms of humans, leaving only small traces to give us hints of their true physical selves. Good and evil collide once again, but the outcome can only be understood if one knows the whole tale.
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“Honesah!” A young male Sarachoo trotted toward a female as his green mane and tail flowed about in the gentle winter breeze as though they were patches of a luscious meadow in the spring. “It has been many a day since I have seen the Princess,” he bowed his head in a quick and formal gesture. The two Cotlies - Sarachoo from birth to the age of twelve - were both only eight and nine years old.
Sarachoo were a rare and spiritual species. In simple terms, they would resemble a flying Unicorn. Their short, silky fur mimicked freshly fallen snow, while the mane, tail, eyes, hooves, et cetera were naturally many different colors and designs; as humans, their ears and tails remained, horns now replaced by a simple diamond-shaped crystal on their foreheads; and wings were able to appear and disappear at will in this form. Lastly, they wore robes for quick and easy dressing when they had to Form; the robes would be contained in a waist pouch that could stretch and retract to fit either form. Existing in a single large village, deep within a vast forest, it was difficult to find them unless by accident.
It had snowed heavily the night before, the ground blanketed by its icy white shield; the sun, however, soothed the chill for the plants and animals that basked in its golden rays.
Honesah, the younger of the two, sighed and shook her head, “I have told you before, Allo: there is no need to be formal around me. I do not mind being treated like everyone else.” Her soft pink eyes clashed against her gold and sapphire striped mane and tail as she tried to engrave her words into her friend’s mind. It was a common custom with the Sarachoo village that all Sarachoo, no matter their social status, were to be treated as equals. Formal courtesy wasn't needed, even toward royalty. There were exceptions, however, which included assaults, and other negative actions toward royalty; if one were to attack a member of the dominion, there were serious consequences; other Sarachoo were important matters as well, of course.
Choosing not to listen, Allo changed the subject; he didn’t believe in putting a social ranking to waste. “I was helping my mother with her garden and noticed you walking by. If you are not busy, would you like to join us? We could catch up on our friendship.” Secretly, he cared for Honesah as more than just a friend, but he didn’t want to let it out just yet. Both of them were far too young to be making Partnerships - committed relationships - just yet.
A smile curled on the female’s muzzle, “I am not busy at all. In fact, I was looking for you, but I must have lost you in all the green.” She enjoyed teasing Allo about his colors, it always reminded her about how they had first met.
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It was back not long ago, when the two were four years younger, on another winter’s day. The ground was deeply covered in snow, and Cotlies as young as Allo and Honesah were not quite tall enough to get around easily.
Honesah leaped from her holes in her Natural Form, making new ones as she sank into the snow each time. It was her only means of getting around, but she did have fun, and her older brother, Freero - who was the age of nine at the time - watched over her as he stepped through the snow with just a bit of trouble. His light blue and lemon-yellow striped tail only just brushed the surface of the snow, leaving a faint disturbance between the hoof prints he made. Honesah had still not yet gotten used to taking flight with her tiny wings, as most Cotlies could not so easily control them until the age of six.
Freero was a protective brother, but didn’t immediately shoo away every newcomer. First, he would inspect the conversation between his dear sister and the new Sarachoo. If he didn't approve of them, Freero would later approach the acquaintance on his own, and explain that Honesah didn't wish to speak with them any longer. Though his intentions leaned toward good, his actions were most devious.
Near the frozen lake, a common ground for the young Sarachoo, the siblings played together, hopping around in the snow and kicking up flakes. At one point, Honesah noticed two small patches of grass and decided to jump onto them for her own silly reasons. She landed, but didn’t sink, only hearing an “Oof!” sounding from underneath. Scrambling off the strange grass, the young Princess proclaimed, “It talks!”
Freero, however, was much wiser and noticed the small yellow horn poking from its white confinement. “That is not grass, Honesah,” he laughed and walked over to dig a small Cotly from the snow. The young one rolled up, over, and sank back down, his head poking up as he looked around. “How long have you been here?” Freero asked the new Cotly.
“Most of the morning. Is it mid-day yet?” His innocent voice responded.
Shaking his head, Freero smiled, “Almost. Give it an hour or two.”
“Good. I do not want to miss lunch!”
Honesah had gradually crawled closer, nearly swimming as she sneaked up on the equally young Sarachoo. She was a hair away from leaping onto him, only to collapse from a deeper area in the snow.
“My name is Allo,” the Cotly turned at the sound of Honesah’s crunch of snow and squeak of surprise. “What is yours?” He strained his neck to peek into the female’s pit of powdery substance.
“Honesah!” came a muffled voice.
“And I am Freero,” the brother lifted his sister with his mouth by the scruff of her neck. “It is a good thing we came here. You seemed stuck.”
Allo shook his head in an effort to knock the snow from his mane, “My mother usually finds me by mid-day. She knows I hate to miss lunch.”
Wriggling and squirming to get free of her brother’s hold, Honesah asked, “Can he be my new friend, Freero? Please?” She soon gave up her struggle and sighed.
The oldest Cotly answered, purposely doing so to drop his sister as he rolled his lavender eyes up in thought, “I guess so.”
Honesah fell into the snow as though it were a cloud, sinking though so easily until she found the solid ground, but it didn't hurt. She then bounced up from her new hole with glee, only able to raise her head above the cold blanket. “Yay! That makes two!” She remembered the successful event, holding it dear in her heart.
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Allo only laughed at his friend’s joke, accepting it like words of endearment. “I have much to tell you.” He turned, heading back to his small hay and log built home that stood passed a small hill, hidden behind other Sarachoo homes. Honesah following close behind as her eyes watched Allo lovingly, thankful for the only friend her brother had allowed.
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The dim atmosphere of The Keep was disturbed by two beings - Sarachoo, in their Human Forms. The eldest one had a broad face. His long, light-blue hair reached about mid-back; his tail was the same color. The younger male, old enough to be in the Marcroo range of age - twenty-two to death - was built a little less in strength, his hair reaching to his shoulders and tied back in thick wool thread to match his sunset orange tail.
“This weather has been far too calm,” stated the first male. “Clear skies for days.”
“Maybe it is just a simple period of bright skies,” countered the younger Sarachoo. He didn’t want to believe what his King was suggesting.
Bremeg, the light-blue male, was indeed King of Sarachoo. The royal family had no means to dress more fashionably than the rest of the citizens – they didn't see a reason to. As King, he was to protect his people at all costs. In Bremeg’s past, he was highly intrigued by legends and the village’s history. The Crimp Legend was one that he respected most.
Five-hundred upon the time
Clouds bring the darkness,
Howling out their sorrows.
One cry to bleed and shake,
Two cries to weaken and break,
Three cries and the fire is black.
Feasting upon the bodies
They do not turn back.
One Savior will survive,
Choosing to forget;
Or instead, will save.
Rain upon the ruins,
To restore the stolen life
As it was before that day.
He could recite it without a stutter, and knew that the time drew near. Those evil draconian beasts would return for their long awaited Feast. Bremeg wanted to end this once and for all. He wanted to do it without chaos, though, and the King knew such a goal would prove challenging. Searching the many shelves that walled and filled the large Keep, Bremeg scanned along the books and scrolls compiled of information on Sarachoo history, Crimps, and other notable mentions about the world around them. Bremeg's eyes stopped at a specific old book, one that he had read many times over, but always felt that he had missed something important. Dust had collected in The Keep, and he simply brushed it off with his hand as he pulled out the book he had some to inspect. There was no title, but he knew exactly what it was - records of each Feast, written by past Saviors, who were the Sarachoo to escape before being devoured. Once the Savior restored the village, he or she would make their own input of what happened before, during, and after the Feast; this would give the Sarachoo information on any changes in the patterns of which the Crimps would perform their Feast.
"What is this Feast that you speak of so cautiously?" One might ask. Why, it is a dark and painful time for all of the Sarachoo - and for most of the Crimps. It was nature's intention that Sarachoo blood can cure hunger, but it wasn't that simple, no. One would have to drink a belly full of Sarachoo blood; then, the devourer would never go hungry again - they would have all the nutrition needed for their lifetime! Most other beings of the earth, who learned of this miraculous blood, came to respect the Sarachoo, due to their sentient and peaceful nature, but the Crimps paid no mind - they wanted to be full; they wanted to have a meal that would be satisfying! Their size and population was just too great for petty creatures, such as farm animals, to support their hunger.
To make sure there would always be Sarachoo available, however, the Crimps decided to allow five-hundred years for their personal cattle to repopulate, thus beginning the cycle of the Feast. After witnessing the Savior and its amazing restoration powers, it came by popular belief of the Crimps that eating the Savior would grant eternal life; but the sinister Dragons were smarter than to kill off the sole anchor of the Sarachoo population; without the Savior, they would become extinct, thus starving the Crimp species of a most important food source. They had no choice but to keep such an idea of eternal life as only a belief; however, one Crimp learned the truth by accident.
“Unless this is a drought, I seriously doubt your suggestion, Ordway. Besides,” Bremeg flipped to a page in the back half of the book and pointed to a date, “seventy, thirty-six - that was the last Feast. The year is now twenty, thirty-seven. In three more days, it will be the new year.”
Ordway, the orange Sarachoo, cracked open and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to say something that would prove his King wrong. He didn’t, of course. Out of all the Feasts recorded - eight, to be exact - not one of them failed to take place on the night of the new year, each five-hundred years apart. “Can we not find shelter until the Crimps give up?”
“It has been tried before,” Bremeg closed the book and replaced it in its original spot. “None have been successful. The Crimps can smell our blood no matter how well we hide.” This was true. The Crimps had a natural ability to smell Sarachoo from incredible distances. How this was possible, they could never determine, but many efforts of relocating, hiding underground, and even masking their scent had proven futile. It were as if the not only could smell, but simply detect, the Sarachoo in some other way.
Sighing in defeat, Ordway looked to the rickety door leading back to the village. “So our fate has been sealed, and there is no way to fight back.”
“No,” Bremeg smirked at the sight of his assistant’s face. “We will fight, just as our ancestors. We merely have to plan it all out; devise a way to surprise the Crimps and attack them off guard.”
“Sire, you know how titanic those beasts are. How can we stand up to hundreds of them?” He was right - Crimps stood up just high enough to reach the treetops. The Lord of Crimps, currently known as Cyfro, stood nearly three times that size. Their whip-like tails were as long as their bodies, and their quick reflexes weren’t helpful to the Sarachoo. If anything, it would take fifty or more Sarachoo to each Crimp for a fighting chance - that was only a chance, though.
Pausing in thought, the King stared to the door, processing each bit of information about the black dragons that he held in his mind. With a gentle smile, Bremeg rested a sturdy large hand on the shoulder of his comrade, “We just have to try, fail or avail.”
Ordway twitched his white equine ears that proudly poked from near the top sides of his head, his doubt leaving him as quickly as a lightning strike. King Bremeg was a leader he respected greatly, a Sarachoo who, after becoming almost obsessed with the Feast legend, had spent a majority of his life planning the its end. Knowing this, Ordway felt reassured, trusting his Ruler thoroughly, “What is your plan, Sire? I shall follow you to my death and beyond.”
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Deep in the southern regions of the Earth, there was a rejected mountain range known as Farroon Marock - Shadowed Desert – that was covered in darkness and flourished with mostly death. There was, however, a certain species that thrived in such a harsh land - the Crimps. Enormous caverns filled the dry mountain, twisting downward as the they made their way deep into the planet to a center alcove. Within this chamber, the entire population of the Crimps met, noisily screeching and nipping at each other, uncomfortable with being so cramped together. A tall and unnaturally large formation of rock stood near the front of the chamber. On it stood Cyfro, Lord of Crimps, his white thin hairs that grew from the back of his head and his solid white eyes signified his ranking amongst the others; no doubt, he was much larger in stature as well. The lesser Crimps looked similar to him, only their hairs and eyes were red. As Crimp anatomy went: the leader of the Crimps would be born with a solid white body, and as it grew, its scales would darken to beyond black, its eyes and hairs would remain white, and its body would grow twice (and on some occasions, thrice) as large as its followers; the commoners of the Crimps would be born entirely black, and has they grew, their eyes and hairs would brighten to a deep blood red, signifying their lust for the life force of the Sarachoo.
“Silence!” Cyfro’s powerful voice shook the walls, a few fragments of rock falling and hitting the reptiles below. Not wanting to risk slicing their tongues by their own unbelievably sharp teeth, the Crimps had produced a powerful intellect over the thousands of years their species had reigned, thus communicating to all with telepathy. Silence filled the air at the sound of their leader’s voice, and Cyfro began his speech, “It has been nearly five-hundred years since the last Feast. Scouts have returned with wonderful news of plentiful amounts of Sarachoo for us! In merely three days, our bellies will be full with the most savory creatures alive!”
Screeching and roaring filled the cavern room as three-hundred Crimps grew excited. For half a million years, their kind would only snack on cattle and livestock, sworn to never deplete the world as long as Sarachoo existed. Each Crimp could live for roughly six-hundred years, so such an event was a once-in-a-lifetime treasure. Their winged arms pulsated with the major veins going through the flaps as they flared about, climbing the rocky walls and ceiling. Cyfro only curled his scaly lips in a twisted smirk. He was a proud Crimp - such luxuries. He crawled along the wall, crushing it with each step, as he calmly tried to escape the chaos.
Up the tunnels and out of the mountain, Cyfro spread his enormous winged arms and swooped upward to reach the top of his home. He landed, sitting at the peak, his claws gripping tightly and his long tail wrapped around his perch. There were many other holes from where his claws had dug into the rocks as he returned to this spot to ponder. Cyfro stared toward the glow of the large full moon from behind the swirling dark clouds that haunted his people for eternity. What will the Sarachoo try this time, I wonder. . .
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The shadows of night slowly began to cast themselves over the Sarachoo Village. Dusk was growing into night; Cotlies and Contles - Sarachoo from ages 13 to 21 - entered their makeshift log and straw homes for shelter and sleep. Allo and Honesah had finished helping his mother in the garden, uncovering and tending to the plants that were buried underneath the thick snow. Both retreated to their homes for the night, eager to start a new day.
Freero, now a Contle, sat at a desk in his pristine room, his Human Form body reclined in the wooden chair as he read a small book that was aged and worn. A rapping sounded on his closed door, and he quickly shut the book, placing it in an open drawer at the side of his desk. "Come in."
It was Honesah – she was in Human Form as well and had come to tell Freero that dinner was ready and he should come downstairs to join their parents. The Contle smiled softly to his younger sister and assured her that he would be down soon. Honesah's soft pink eyes glimmered brightly and she closed the door, heading back downstairs to tell her parents that Freero would be there. Staring hard at the drawer he had placed the book in, Freero began to ponder his future actions. Just who is the Savior? When should he or she leave the village? He wasn't sure, but he had an idea, and would soon need to make a choice.
Freero stood from his seat and began to make his way downstairs; he could hear his mother, father, and sister conversing with one another as Honesah told her story of her playtime with Allo. Once Freero reached the modestly sized dining room, everyone grew silent - they could sense a fearful aura on the Contle, but Bremeg knew exactly what was on his mind. The brightly colored Sarachoo glanced around the room, feeling that such a normal atmosphere would be taken away at any moment. The dining room was just enough to sit and eat and walk around a bit, the table was a six-seater. A painting or two were on each of the four wooden walls, and the other doorway opposite of Freero lead straight into the kitchen. Tonight, there was a mixture of grilled and seasoned vegetables, along with a roast - consisting of a rather large meaty insect that resembled a rhinoceros beetle. It's browned form gave off a delicious scent that made Freero's mouth water. He then took his seat, sitting opposite of his father, and fixed his plate.
"The snow has not thinned out today," Honesah broke the silence, "If it snows again tonight, will we be stuck inside?"
Her mother, Crooton, chuckled lightly and answered, "It all depends on how hard it snows, dear. Eat your dinner."
"But I do not like Beglons, they remind me of the small beetles," Honesah stared into her mother's lavender eyes, hoping that her pouting would get her out of eating the roasted creature. She then looked over her mother's form, studying her golden hair, her pale-pink crystal that took place of her horn, and her silvery lips. She then looked to her father, doing the same with his light blue hair, his purple crystal, and his orange eyes, hoping that maybe he would take up for the Cotly.
"Eat it," Bremeg and Crooton answered in unison, then flashed a smirk, finding humor in the situation.
Honesah didn't bother arguing, knowing that when both of her parents were against her, the attempt was futile. She took a glance at Freero, seeing him hungrily devour the portion of roasted Beglon that he had on his plate, and cringed at the wonder of how or even why he liked such a detestable food. Staring at her plate, the sapphire and gold Cotly furrowed her brows at the much smaller portion of the roast - only four bites, four agonizing bites. She aimed her fork, hand trembling, and gulped her anticipation down. Then, her hand shot downward, and with one foul swoop, the first piece was shoved into her mouth. Honesah quickly chewed, twisting her face so that everyone could see just how much she hated its taste. No one bothered to care, though the Cotly swore she heard her brother chuckle just faintly while gorging himself with the food. Finally, Honesah gulped it down and stared at the other three pieces; she wondered why her parents were so cruel as to make her eat what she didn't like.
Soon after dinner, Bremeg took Freero outside to the lake. They sat on the frozen bank, not minding the cold, and stared at the icy layer that covered the once lively water.
"Have you decided?" Bremeg continued to take interest in the random designs of cracks within the ice. He didn't receive an answer as soon as he had hoped. "I know this is a hard decision to make, and I understand that you are still quite young." Still Freero said nothing. "If you make your decision at the last moment, that is fine. I had only hoped for one tonight to assure myself and be ready for the worst."
"Make sure Honesah escapes," Freero stated.
For a few moments, Bremeg didn't answer; he did, however, after building the courage to speak from his heart, "I want both of you to escape, in the least. So, you sense it, too - the Savior." He smirked a bit and shook his head, "For some reason I had expected you carry that burden."
So she really is going to become the Savior. Freero had a strong feeling that she might be, but wasn't quite sure. He had hoped that such a young Sarachoo wouldn't have to suffer the burdens that accompany it. "I will go," Freero decided, though nervous, "I will protect Honesah from a distance. She will need to learn to fight for herself." It was understood by the Sarachoo that the only way to efficiently learn something was to experience it first hand - or hoof. This did include dangers within one's life and how to avoid harm when it passed by.
Bremeg nodded once, never locking eyes with his son, his only son, the Prince and heir to the Sarachoo throne. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and snatched Freero into an embrace. "Do not die. Take my place on the throne once your sister revives the village. It will be my time to retire by then." He knew his plan of attack against the Crimps would end in disaster - there was no possible way of victory. Bremeg didn't want to admit defeat to his son, though. Just the thought of being unable to hold his symbol as a hero clutched his heart with an icy hand far colder than the lake in front of them.
It was then that Freero knew just how serious the Feast was. "Father," he tightly returned the embrace, "I will not let you down."
Only two days until the Feast. Bremeg was up to something - a project that seemed futile. Many Sarachoo were digging deep trenches wherever they could fit them within the village; trees were cut down and split in half, then sharpened at one end. The trees were not enormous, variously the height of their homes. Ropes and switches, springs and pulleys were set up around the village in a secretive manner, not wanting the Crimps to see a trap. The giant spears were buried in the trenches, along with the springs required for the devices to work. All trace of any traps were carefully hidden and returned to the natural state of non-disturbance as closely as before. Bremeg grinned as he oversaw his plan finishing up within the late afternoon. This Feast was going to be the ultimate Feast, and it included a lot wood.
