Thread: Lost Wishes [Cheshire Smirk and Shaelinn]

Nice intro! Eventually night, freezing night, fell upon the high desert steppes. The ragtag band of weary refugees that had sought shelter and safety within Father Desert's dry, cracked palm were about to learn a harsh lesson. They had bemoaned the sun's scorching affections during the day...And now Daughter Night would make the ragged ''survivors'' pray for dawn to break her frigid embrace. The frail and weak-minded would view this treatment as testament to nature's cruelty. The enlightened however recognized these tests for the gifts they really were. The Desert made sure that only the strongest and smartest survived. Those that did not learn did not make it. There were no warning labels out here, no hazard signs or rest stops along the way. The flow of stragglers fighting tooth and nail to reach High Rock seemed to be an endless cycle, their hearts full of desperate hope and their minds brimming with visions of safe sturdy walls, clean water and electricity, glorious electricity! It was these very stragglers that were so essential to the survival of High Rock. Without them the Afflicted would not brave the perils of the desert. Without the Afflicted there would be no Hunters. Without Hunters there would be no Inoculate, and without Inoculate there would be no hope to hide the dark deception of tyranny with. Those that reached High Rock never found what they expected. There was too much work to be done and not enough currency flowing through to make it all worthwhile. The once plentiful trade caravans that valiantly braved the winding, perilous roads through the mountains in floods had dwindled to a trickle as the afflicted population swelled. Inflation ran rampant as the 'upper class' kept the peasants in a state of indebted servitude by holding water, the most basic and holy of all resources hostage with an iron fist. But what good was currency with nothing to spend it on? Enter the Inoculate!The only thing more valuable than water was the Inoculate...Flesh of someone who had survived an afflicted attack without turning. The idea was nothing short of quackery but the terrified populace would pay money hand over fist and give away everything they had for a steady supply of the macabre product. Two crimson eyes streaked with topaz watched the camp from afar, peering through a pair of rusted binoculars. Starlight was more than enough for this gifted hunter to watch the bait. This was the best part of the hunt. Stray thoughts entertained the hunter's mind as he waited patiently for the show to begin. Would any of them survive? Would they fight? Would they even wake up? Question after question danced through his head, ideas and curious musings chasing scenarios to and fro across the landscape of his thoughts. The hunter could spend hours crouched motionless among the brush and tumbleweeds in patient contemplation. They'd come... They always did. Superstitious folk thought they only came on the full moon. The truth was they always came, even when Mother Moon could not be seen riding high in the sky. Miles away he could smell their scents drifting on the air. Soon the songs would start and then the hunt would begin. Soon he would feel alive once more! sorry it's short