When did everything go so wrong? Thought a certain long fellow, as he laid dying in his sick bed. Whatever he imagined for his little nation of Makkon was brought to a dead halt when the jungle disease overtook him.
"It's a sign from the Gods that Makkon is no longer protected by the forest!" Cried the witch doctor.
"No," said the miner, "It's a sign that he is no longer a good leader!"
"None of you are correct," stated the architect proudly, "It is a sign that Makkon should be absolved into the alliance!"
Days and days went on, and no conclusion could be drawn. No one was able to find out why the long fellow was taken by the disease... nor did they care. What they cared about was the omens, the truth about why their leader had been poisoned so. They could not find the answer they desired.
They spoke to the rocks, but the rocks stayed silent. They asked the trees, but the trees listened to the wind instead. They beseeched the vines, but they were ignored. None of their natural guardians would speak to them anymore, and they in itself turned to panic.
"We must consult our allies of Oas Sfraren!" Stated the Architect to the long fellow, "They shall tell us what to do."
"No," Exclaimed the Miner, "They are outsiders and should stay where they be-"
"Enough! I will no longer have these pointless arguments! Just do whatever the hell you idiots want!" Roared the leader in anger, "I no longer care! Just let me die in peace!"
A schism and chaos was formed. Makkon members defected from the tribe, and soon, the small nation crumbled under foolish decisions made. Now, it is a ruin of itself, ready for desecration and takeover. Some say you can hear the whispers of the deceased leader here and there.
"It's a sign from the Gods that Makkon is no longer protected by the forest!" Cried the witch doctor.
"No," said the miner, "It's a sign that he is no longer a good leader!"
"None of you are correct," stated the architect proudly, "It is a sign that Makkon should be absolved into the alliance!"
Days and days went on, and no conclusion could be drawn. No one was able to find out why the long fellow was taken by the disease... nor did they care. What they cared about was the omens, the truth about why their leader had been poisoned so. They could not find the answer they desired.
They spoke to the rocks, but the rocks stayed silent. They asked the trees, but the trees listened to the wind instead. They beseeched the vines, but they were ignored. None of their natural guardians would speak to them anymore, and they in itself turned to panic.
"We must consult our allies of Oas Sfraren!" Stated the Architect to the long fellow, "They shall tell us what to do."
"No," Exclaimed the Miner, "They are outsiders and should stay where they be-"
"Enough! I will no longer have these pointless arguments! Just do whatever the hell you idiots want!" Roared the leader in anger, "I no longer care! Just let me die in peace!"
A schism and chaos was formed. Makkon members defected from the tribe, and soon, the small nation crumbled under foolish decisions made. Now, it is a ruin of itself, ready for desecration and takeover. Some say you can hear the whispers of the deceased leader here and there.
