toomanyjoints69

Im working class, and have worked a lot of industrial construction jobs most people are too scared to do.

My coworkers are invariably all subhuman bigoted orcs that are literally dumber than the "people" from the movie Idiocracy.

After arguing with 3 coworkers who all believed that trans people shit in litterboxes i think that i have decided that the working class isnt worth anything. They all just hate all my friends anyway. Id rather have a society of gay landlords oppressing these subhumans.

I cursed them out, which does nothing but get me in trouble. They reported me to HR for harassing them. I hate the working class. I hate straight people.

Do i want to feel this way? No - ive dedicated a lot of my life to socialist organizing. Im a massive hypocrite. I hate myself, dont worry.

My job is very dirty and labour intensive so i don't understand why I make 1000 words a day on those days, but 200 words a day on weekends.

When he was in its labyrinthine tunnels, Grimheim had felt like a whole universe. Up this high in the air, Hans came to an understanding of just how small it really was. All of the people he had ever known were down there. He wondered how long his mother would miss him. He smiled at the thought of just how angry Baron Klien would be about not being able to catch him.

Hans leaned on the cold balcony of the ship as he watched the only home he had ever known recede into the distance. He breathed the unprocessed wasteland air in, and let it escape in a long sigh. He was free, but he didn't know what to do. The iron bars of the balcony felt cold on his fingertips.

Fredder watched him from the glass portal, wondering if he should even bother. He understood. It had been hard on him too, when he first ran away from home and became a pirate. At the same time, people died. There was no guarantee the boy would even stay. He might even leave at the first town they landed at. Fredder looked down at his jacket, and all the medals that he didn't earn. He had torn it off the corpse of an officer. It had ornate stitches up and down the thick wool. Hans was shivering out there, wearing just a greasy jumpsuit. Fredder cleared his throat and opened the hatch. He couldn't allow that.

Hans was so lost in thought, that he didn't even notice the pirate walking behind him on the rickety metal walkway. He was caught totally by surprise when the warm coat landed on his shoulders. "If you're staying out here, then at least wear this. The wasteland is cold at night."

Hans flinched but looked up at him with big, appreciative eyes. His red hair covered half his face in a way that made Fredder's heart race.

Fredder continued. "It won't get easier." He cleared his throat again. "Avarice is a different place though. You're free to leave next time we land."

Hans was still looking at him. "I'd never feel like a prisoner here." The hairs on Fredder's arms were already standing up from the chill. Hans leaned on his shoulder to share the warmth. "Where are we heading to anyway?"

"With a cargo hold full of food it'll probably be somewhere close. Barter Town I'd say." He abruptly pulled himself away from Hans, who still clung to his arm. "Have you decided if you're staying? Barter Town is a free city."

Hans felt his heart quicken. "Of course silly. I'd rather steal like you than work for a living!" He forced himself close again and once again everything felt right. He felt Fredder's breath become shallower, as if he was trying to force himself not to feel anything.

"In that case -" Fredder forced a big smile, and spun Hans around. In a fluid motion he seized his shoulder and wrapped his heavy arm around it. He led pushed him forward as he walked. "It's time to properly introduce everyone to their new crewmate!"

Suwu "The Sparkling"

"Apasi Stormwind cut her way through the deep, dead jungles of Egath Mes, expecting that at any moment the clawed hands of the dead would reach out from the muck and drag her to hell! She walked with her sword drawn, still covered in the blood of her dead lover, who she had put down after his mind had been enslaved by the necromancer's curse. In her pack was the very tome the dark lord had used to do it. It was bound with human skin and contained the secrets of life and death! Despite the great horrors she had seen, it was a struggle to overcome the temptation to read it. 'Just a peak', and she would gain the evil one's immortality. She repressed her urges for now, and pressed on along the long abandoned road. She couldn't let Amu's death be in vain. There was only one place she could go if she wanted to destroy the necormancer's evil forever."

Suwu "The Sparkling" strut about on a table, surrounded by a small crowd of dwarves and elves that listened intently. None of them were as well read as him, in fact, being literate made Suwu somewhat unique in the castle. Though the story was ancient history to Suwu, his fellow townsfolk had no idea how the tale ended. Suwu reached for the pipes on his belt, and played a few ghostly notes to set the mood.

"Piercing red eyes watched her from all the leafless treetops, as the vampire bats informed the necromancer of her every move. Hours turned into days, as the road sank into a miserable swamp. She could not sleep even when she found dry ground, because of the many terrors sent to kill her in the night. Horrible shambling things stitched together using magic man wasn't meant to know were cloven in twain by her magical sword. A flick of her wrist severed the head of an enormous mummified snake. Its thrashing carcass creating great waves in the watery muck. Quietly, she made her escape before it could find its head. Finally, after three sleepless nights, she made it to the end of the road. The ruins of Evemina - the Hell Temple!"

Suwu played rapid, dangerous notes with his pipe. He looked at the crowd with intense eyes, as if he had gone mad. The crowd leaned in, hanging on Suwu's every word, captivated by the suspense. Some clutched their drinks, others had worried expressions, and a young couple used the story as an excuse to hold eachother tight.

"As Apasi entered the shattered gates of Evemina, the air grew heavy with a sinister presence. The very ground seemed to pulse with dark energy, resonating with the malevolent forces that had infested this accursed place. She could hear whispers in the wind, a chorus of lost souls pleading for release from their tormented existence, and promising great rewards for her eternal soul. But Apasi had a purpose, a mission that burned brighter than any fear or temptation."

Suwu saw that his best friend Leru was watching his performance intently from her table, seated behind empty mugs of wine. Suwu took a satisfying deep breath and played a long dramatic note on his taro pipe.

"Deep within the heart of Evemina the Hell Temple, she knew the necromancer was conducting his vile experiments, seeking to harness the power of the forbidden arts for his twisted ambitions. As she ventured further, she encountered grotesque guardians, monstrous sentinels crafted from the darkest nightmares. Each confrontation was a test of her skills, her resolve, and her determination to rid the world of this wicked scourge.

Apasi's sword gleamed with ethereal light as she faced off against the necromancer himself. The battle was fierce, a clash of steel and magic that shook the very foundations of the temple. The tome, that blasphemous book, lay nearby, its presence a constant temptation, but Apasi's love for Amu, her fallen partner, fueled her resistance. She channeled all her grief, anger, and love into her strikes, driving back the necromancer's forces.

In the end, it was a final, devastating blow that sealed the necromancer's fate. The darkness that had shrouded Evemina began to dissipate, revealing a glimmer of hope for the world. As Apasi stood victorious, her heart heavy but her spirit resolute, she knew that she had not only avenged Amu's death but had also saved countless lives from the horrors that the necromancer would have unleashed.

And so, the people of Egath Mes, inspired by Apasi's bravery and determination, built a monument in honor of her and her love, a symbol of triumph over darkness. The great monument to their hero remains within the wilderness of Egath Mes."

The small crowd cheered and clapped. Suwu closed his eyes and took it in. He tossed his pointed leather hat into the crowd, and they passed it around dropping a few coins in it here and there. Suwu gave a dramatic bow before he jumped off the table. "Keeper! How about a drink?"

The tavern keeper, a wrinkled old human woman who was somehow shorter than the smallest dwarf, gave him a wink and walked over with a mug of plump helmet wine. She looked up at his green eyes and soft skin before handing him the mug.

Suddenly the air smelled even more like wine. Someone tapped Suwu on the shoulder. He looked behind him to see that Leru had stumbled over to congratulate him. "You're the best at telling stories. How did you find out about it, or did you make it up?"

"Thanks. I actually learned about the shrine while reading an old atlas in the castle library. I added a few embellishments, but from what little I could find the story is accurate." Suwu loved how Leru would ask questions since he loved talking about his stories, although he was a little bothered by how over-affectionate Leru was becoming lately.

"You're so smart, being able to read n all." Her cheeks were red, not entirely from the alcohol. She was oblivious to his discomfort. "I've been meaning to ask you something. We're both elves and -"

"Oh look at the time!" Suwu pointed at the window, which was darkening as the sun set. "I have to get back to my workshop to cut those jewels for Catten, or I'll never hear the end of it." He hastily walked around her and through the adoring crowd.

"Wait, Suwu!" She helplessly watched him run away. Someone handed her a pointed leather hat filled with a handful of copper coins. "Don't you want your money?"

...

Suwu walked through the shadowy streets and looked at the blossoming sunset behind Malag's Keep, which towered above the rest of the castle atop a huge crag on the mountainside. Castle Malag was a cramped, crowded place full of stone walls and winding corridors built on a small plateau on the side of a colossal mountain. Everywhere there was the sound of running water as the mountain streams coming from the glacier above ran under his feet in channels to the moat and eventually down to the Dead River. The architecture was ancient and crumbling, reinforced with much cruder wooden palisades where fortifications had collapsed. Suwu looked up over the tall walls to see the rising ridges of the snow capped mountains.

It had been built to protect the nearby town from invasion, and to provide safe shelter with food and water in the event of a siege. Years ago, the necromancers had attacked. The town was destroyed, and the survivors made their living in the castle. Suwu had been only a little boy then, but he remembered Catten pulling him out from the wreckage of a burnt out tavern, helping him limp along on the journey up the mountain, and adopting him as his own son. The surrounding forests had died, and nothing grew except on the mountainsides. There was a long period of hunger, and many had died to disease. If it had not been for the dwarves' knowledge of underground mushroom farming, they all would have starved to death. In gratitude for their assistance, Lord Malag swore fealty to the Dwarven King. The place may officially be a possession of the Dwarven King, but Suwu didn't even know the monarch's name. This was Lord Malag's castle, and it always would be even if he was a vassal now.

Suwu forced thoughts of politics and unpleasant history out of his mind, running his fingers along the mossy cobblestone as he walked along a storehouse. He would much rather think about adventure. He twirled around, dancing for an imaginary crowd, and improvising a song.

"Beneath moon's gaze, she tread alone, Her lover's blood, her heart a stone, Necromancer's curse, a tome of dread, Bound in skin of the long-lost dead."

He smiled to himself. He was getting better at songs, and would have to remember that one. He forced himself to stop singing and walk up the enormous staircase however, as he had not been entirely lying when he told Leru that Catten was expecting him. The truth was, he had been long late when he first walked into the tavern. "You'd think dwarves would have made shorter stairs," he complained. Suwu hated work, especially cutting Lord Malag's jewels that he would never get to wear. On rare occasions the Lord would have him copy a book, which gave him the oppurtunity for some reading, but copying books made his fingers ache. Lord Malag had no taste for music in his keep at all, and Suwu was forbidden to ever play his horns or sing within those cold stone walls.

Suwu sighed and looked down at his own leather tunic, plain cloth skirt, and long wool socks. Despite his profession, he didn't have a bit of fine jewelry. Just wooden bracelets on his bare slender arms. Suwu cursed himself. He was a peasant, condemned to labor the rest of his life for someone else. Nobody was going to write a saga about a jeweler.

"Be thankful you aren't covered in dirt like the rest of em," he could almost hear Catten say. His adopted father always seemed to dismiss him. He just didn't understand why Suwu would worry about freedom when he was so safe, up in the mountain keep. "More like a prison," Suwu muttered to himself.

He walked up to the guards flanking the iron banded door to the Keep. They wore hooded chain shirts that went down past their knees, and each one had a mace on his belt. "Hello Suwu. Out drinking at the tavern again?" The guard was a burly man with long red hair and a square jaw.

"Maybe. Too bad you weren't there, Zuso." Suwu looked him up and down lustfully. "When does your shift end?"

Zuso looked at the other guard, who had a bristly beard and a suspicious look. "Ha heh. Not tonight, elf. My shift just started and Jewel Master Catten is looking for you. He's hopping mad - just a warning."

"Fiiine." Suwu rolled his eyes and walked through the open door. The room was hot, and smelled of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. Between the tables were servants sleeping on wool pallets. Suwu felt bad for them. For all he complained, at least he was allowed his own room. It wasn't fair. The center of the room was dominated by the red hot embers of the hearth where succulent game must have been cooked for the Lord earlier. The scent was mouth watering.

He ran through a door in a forgotten corner of the room and up a spiralling staircase to a long hallway. He crept through it, praying silently to Ngethac that his father would already be asleep. He arrived at the door, turned the handle, and slowly opened.

"Ah, the prince finally chooses to arrive, and reward me with his presence!", Catten spoke with a sarcastic tone and a gravelly voice. "What in the Nine Hells were yeh doing for all this time?" At this moment, the little dwarf seemed like he was twelve feet tall.

Suwu felt remorse as his chest deflated. "I'm sorry dad. I knew it would be busy at the tavern, and we needed the coin." He scratched the back of his red hair.

"Is that so? How much silver did you make, entertaining herdsmen, fishers and mushroom farmers?"

At that moment, Suwu realized that he forgot his pointed cap at the tavern. He turned red. "Oh, well, uhh... It was a few dozen copper coins. A good haul!"

"Well, a fine treasure indeed." Catten's sarcasm cut deep. "Lord Malag pays you an allowance of ten silver shillings a month, and he expects something in return. I'm not doing your work anymore. So I left it all for you. If you want to while away the time telling stories so be it, but when you come home you'll be cutting gems instead of sleeping!" He pointed angrily at the pile of rough black chunks of smoky quartz haphazardly heaped upon the table.

"But Dad, I'm tired."

"But Dad, I'm tiiired," Catten repeated in a mocking tone. "So am I!" The dwarf walked a few feet over and hopped into his little bed, pointedly laying on his side away from his adopted son.

Suwu sighed, and looked at his own bed on the opposite side of the room with tired eyes. He sat down at the table and got to work. Suwu meticulously organized the massive pile of rough smoky quartz, trying not to make noise as he grinded it along the table. He wondered how his father intended to sleep through the racket the work would create, but was surprised when the dwarf began snoring. The sound of cracking stone must not be anything distracting for a dwarf. Suwu carefully selected the first piece. With steady hands, he placed the stone on the clearest part of the workbench, inspecting its shape and size, then grabbed a gemstone saw, cutting the quartz into manageable sections with dramatic tiring motions that made his arm ache. Again he glanced at Catten, amazed that he was sleeping through it all. He breathed in the gem dust.

Next, he roughly scraped it on the file on the grinding post to remove the initial rough outer layer, gradually revealing the stone's hidden potential. Suwu progressed through a series of sanding files, smoothing the surfaces, and then applied specialized polishing compounds. He wore gloves to avoid burning his hands with the harsh chemicals. He had more than a few scars on his fingers from past mistakes. Using a felt rag and enormous effort, he skillfully buffed it, bringing out the quartz's natural luster. After a final inspection, he cleaned the polished gem and placed it in a neat chest, ready for use in Malag's commissioned jewelry, a testament to his father's craftsmanship and dedication.

It was nearly too dark to see, so he used a candle to light a few more. He glanced out the window at the stars, and wondered if he would get any sleep this night at all.

...

In a dank dark hole tunneled through the dirt beneath the forest floor, Zahbok the hermit sat against the dirt wall, feeling a worm crawl along his bare feet and between his toes. He could hear the pitter patter of rain on the wooden roof of his burrow, along with a squeaking rat crawling along the rafters. He stood up, and extended his withered, veiny hands. He watched, and waited. The rat scurried along, and he snatched it grabbing it tight as it squaked and jittered. Sharp teeth bit into its side, tearing a hole but eating no flesh. His long, snaking toung sopped the blood, letting it pool as he drank.

In an instant, the creature was a dry, drained husk. He threw its remains into the pile with the rest of them. Bones tumbled off the pile unseen.Zahbok looked down at his filthy hands. Loose skin tightened, and the veins retreated into clean flesh. For a moment, he felt sated.

A nauseous wooziness overcame him, and he fell back onto the dirt wall and slid down. He was completley naked, but he was unaffected by the midnight chill. He breathed the muddy air, watching as his hands once again withered, and black veins appeared. He knew it wouldn't be enough. It was never enough. For a year he had subsisted off of rats and squirrels. He needed real blood, or he would wither away to nothing.

He glanced at the skull collecting grime on the muddy floor. It had been an elf girl once, and she had been gorgeous. He remembered her flowing red hair, her green eyes, and how her chest rose and fell when she believed his lies. 'Had it really been a year ago,' he wondered to himself. He tried so hard to fight it, and resist the temptation. He had found her lost in the woods. She had tired of life in the castle, and decided to make the trek through the dead forest to the towns where things grew far to the south. She had only wanted to know where the road was, but it was cold, and it had not been hard to coax her into his secluded burrow to rest for the night. Her blood had flowed and flowed. He looked young for months afterwards.

Zahbok continued staring at her skull, and wondered if it was really worth it. Perhaps it would be best if he let himself wither, and joined her as a pile of bones on the floor. He hadn't chosen this life. It had chosen him, when the necromancers burnt down the town he had lived in for all his life. He knew it was still his decision not to let himself die. Perhaps, it was time to make a different decision.

"No." He muttered to himself. He didn't know what would happen after he died; if his spirit would go somewhere or if he would simply rot. If there was an afterlife, then it would be terrible for him indeed. He couldn't allow himself to rot, and he refused to suffer in any of the Nine Hells.

He felt a grim determination take control of him. He stood up, and walked on wobbly knees until he found his walking stick. There were rotten clothes scattered about the burrow - remains of his past victims. If he put enough of them on, then he might be able to pass as a normal old man. He began searching for the right clothes. He would hunt again, laying in wait for anyone foolish enough to travel in the dead forest.

...

Suwu sat down in his bed opposite his father's bed, watching the sun rise through the window. He hadn't slept at all. The room smelled like burnt wax from the many candles he had used, but on the table lay a pile of glistening gems, ready for his father to turn into jewelry that Lord Malag would trade with the merchants from the south when they arrived.

He thought about his life, and how it compared to the heroes in his songs, stories, and poems. He didn't measure up, and felt inadequate next to heroes like Apasi Stormwind. She had been so devoted to the love of her life, that when he died, nothing could stop her mission. Who was Suwu devoted to? He had a friend who couldn't accept that she was a friend, and a father who was almost as disappointed in him as he was with himself. He wasn't a particularly devoted subject to Lord Malag, since he was nothing more than a landlord and boss to him. Perhaps Zuso? No. Niether of them particularly cared about the other. It all felt meaningless being cooped up in this prison of a castle. Maybe somewhere to the south, where plants still grew he could find something or someone to dedicate himself to. Maybe he was just in the wrong place.

He was tired of the same stone walls, the same people, and the same stale grog every night at the tavern. He wanted to go to new places, meet new people, and feel the experiences the world had to offer. He wanted to leave, but he didn't want to abandon everyone.

He tried not to fall asleep as he thought about it long and hard.

In the end, he didn't measure up anyway. They would be disappointed either way, but Suwu was certain that if he left he at least would be happy. For a moment he considered sneaking off in the night, but he knew that would be wrong. He would make his preperations, say his goodbyes, and leave at the first chance he got.

I'm writing a series of short stories for the less important pages of my Communist Party's magazine. If anyone would like to help with ideas or submit stories I can print them and then send you a copy of that issue of the magazine.

FORWARD

Kureph is a small city state in the archipelago of Arkoph. This is a document compiling its sociological, political, and economic history for the purposes of giving me a good understanding of the wider society in Arkoph.

Kureph is a name with a simple explanation. Ku is the Arkoptic diety of the sea. Reph is a word meaning town. Thus, a literal tra nslation into English would be "Ku's Town"

MYTHIC AGE 0 - 300

In the neolithic, around year 0, Arkoptic peoples existed as nomadic hunter gatherers. Over time, they settled down around reliab le sources of food. Kureph was originally settled because its location at the mouth of a river leading into the sea gave it acces s to a reliable source of fish. Additionally, the hilly forests are rich in game and edible plants. The nearby mountains were a b arrier that kept them mostly isolated. The town was originally not refered to by any official name, as instead the inhabitants wo uld just refer to their people as the Metics, and the town was the spot where the Metics were.

The Metics were a small tribe which consisted of 10 clans or around 300 people. Each clan had around 30 members and 60 sheep. The sheep were enough to clothe them, but not enough to sustain their entire caloric needs, so they also had to rely on hunting, gat hering, and fishing. Thus their diet consisted of lamb, catfish from the river, oysters and crabs from the sea, deer, roots, and pik berries.

Marriage within the same clan was not permissible, and so the town kept social cohesion with a sprawling web of marriages between clans. Marriage was considered less of a partnership and more of a business deal where a father or mother would sell one of his children to a different individual. Thus the society was neither patriarchical or matriarchical because the master of the house c ould be either a man or a woman.

Men and women clothed themselves in wool kilts, held to them with leather belts. In the winter they would wear longer wool tunics . Men were expectedc to have long hair and beards, and not being able to grow facial hair was embarassing. Women had equality and were expected to cut their hair short to avoid it getting in the way. Bracelets, necklaces, and head dresses made of bone and se ashells were common, and the heads of clans often wore them to show their elevated status.

During this early age, houses were made of waddledaub created from twigs, mud, and the manure of their sheep. They were built far apart and usually close to the river. Periodic floods caused by mountain snow thawing at the end of winter would destroy their h omes occasionally. Most homes were small, containing only a single room complete with a firepit, bedding, and a shrine to the nat ure forces they worshipped. The elders of the clans lived in larger houses that served as granaries and primitive forts in case o f a monster attack.

The people worshiped a pantheistic spirit of the land called Kophti, who they believed they could manipulate through good behavior into giving them good bounty from the forests and their livestock. During the winter the bounty of the river and the sea was the main source of food, and the Metics slowly came to worship the sea as opposed to the earth. This was the earliest begining of their worship of Ku, though at the time the God was more of a pantheistic force called Vaw. Their religion centered around the conflict between Kophti and Vaw, as acting according to one could mean throwing the other out of balance. While Vaw was most importa nt for preventing starvation, Kophti was relied upon for all of their higher needs and luxuries. Over the course of the next 10 g enerations, or 300 years, Kophti and Vaw came to be viewed as spirits omnipresent over their purview, as oppsed to mindless and m agical forces. In their mythology, Kophti would appear as a bald old man wearing a wool tunic and much beutiful jewelry made of b one. He was calm, watchful, and permissive, but could also slump into heartless apathy if he was not appeased, leading to draught s that would reduce the bounty of the forest, long winter, as well as still births and plague. Vaw on the other hand was a more p assionate God willing to give vast gifts of seastuff, but could very quickly be thrown into divine anger leading to terrible stor ms and floods. The two gods would eternally feud over control of the sky, because while Vaw controlled the weather, Kophti contro lled the seasons.

They made slings, spears, and canoes which they rode up and down the river as well as into the sea, though they never strayed far from land. It was quickly discovered that the crabs they caught in their traps stained fingers and fabric blue. Blue clothes bec ame a mark of considerable status, with only the patriarchs or matriarchs of clans being allowed to wear all blue clothes. It was discovered that the blue dye could be put on the tip of a bone needle, which could be used for primitive tattoos. These tatoos w ere very common, and consisted of bands around the limbs and horizontal lines on the forehead to mark kills of the dangerous mons ters that would sometimes attack homes or even the entire community. Women were not allowed to have tattoos, which represented th e very start of a developing patriarchy. Over time family leaders became more culturally willing to trade their daughters than th eir sons, though matriarchs still sometimes led families and even clans.

Tigers were the most feared predator, because of their stealth and incredible strength. They were also sometimes terrorized by be ars and drakken. The drakken were capable of causing immense damage with their voracious appetites and terrible strength, but the ir lack of subtlety made them the easiest to defend against once they organized themselves into a militia. Each man or woman in charge of a family was expected to be prepared to defend the community with a spear, a dagger, and a sling. The militia was led by the archon, who was elected by all of the heads of the clans.

The place was rather prosperous, and by the end of the era 1000 people and 2000 sheep. It became a truly vast, sprawling community that followed the river and the coast of the sea. For miles and miles roaming herds of sheep could be encountered led by shepherd boys or shepherd girls.

By the year 300, the Al'Vara who lived on the peninsula of Vara across the sea discovered copper working, and travelers would occ asionally walk the long distance across the coast to trade with the Metics for wool, bone jewelry, and seashells for copper tools and copper jewelry. This was the earliest begining of the copper age for the land of Arkoph.

To recap, the Neolithic Metics were an egalitarian but hierarchical people with a religion consisting of two gods that were also omnipresent forces of nature. They were neither patriarchical or matriarchical, though a patriarchy was developing.

COPPER AGE 300 - 1000

Over the next hundred years, a lot changed for the Metics. The Al'Varans invented war canoes, which they used to raid the prosper ous metics to get food for their desolate desert villages. Rather than only organizing defence against monsters, the archons beca me true military leaders who defended against raids and led their own counter attacks against their Al'Varan enemies. These raids brought back prisoners who became the very first slaves, called phrals. These Al'Varan phrals had darker skin and a culture that required them to be bald regardless of gender. They worshipped a god of death and rebirth called Aroo. Their language was a lot smoother, making them sound like they were mumbling from the Metic's point of view. In summary, the phrals looked different, thou ght differently, sounded strange, and had a religion which disturbed the Metics. Combined with the generational grudge of the rai ds where Metic warriors probably lost women and children to, it isn't hard to understand why they were such cruel oppressors of t heir new slaves.

In general, phrals would be owned by the clan elder, who would dole them out to members of his clan as needed. These slaves were made unwilling members of the clan, but they had only the responsibilities, and none of the special priveleges and rights afforde d to the other members. In this way, the growing class sytstem was solidiefied even further.

Immigrants from Vara and other areas began to move in to the land of the Metics, where they built a town next to the growing copper mines in the hills called Motireph, meaning mine town. These immigrants were not members of the established clan system, yet they lived in the lands of the Metics. The Al'Varans were a distrusted minority, and were often made into phrals as punishment for even minor crimes. There was the widespread belief that the interests of Al'Varan residents were not aligned with the rest of the population, and in 307 they were all enslaved by the Archon Meti the Liar.

The ethnically Arkoptic immigrants made up the majority of the population during the Copper Age. The rugged land around the land of the Metics was difficult, but not impossible to travel through by foot. The rough topography led to most immigrants ultimatley hailing from the surrounding islands between Vara and Arkoph, but they were all ethnically Arkoptic. Their island heritage caused them to nearly universally arrive at the city worshiping a god similar to Vaw. His name was Ku, and he was a god as opposed to an omnipresent force. Ku and Vaw would combine over the next few centuries to create a more personal god that still retained his omnipresent power. Thus, the immigrants living in the land of Metics became known as Vawdi, as opposed to Vawdic which would have sounded much too respectful to address the underclass of foreigners.

Vawdi were not allowed ownership of phrals, and could not own herding land or boats. They often worked as miners and lived in Motireph, but those that were craftsmen or farmers built a community at the center between the sea, the river, and Motireph. This town of craftsmen and farmers became known as Ireph.

Ireph became very populous and was home to many colorful people such as fortunate phem clad in silk togas bought from Vara, Vawdi wearing wool tunics bought from their masters, and even tattooed slaves wearing kilts and carrying out their labor with tired eyes. Just outside of the city was the Temple of Ku, which stood on the edge of a colossal cliff on the edge of the ocean. The priests would often come down and sell their charms which were said to bring great luck. They could bless many items presented to them with Ku's luck. The greatest warriors in the land of the Metics wore as many of their charms as they could.

A great sense of resentment permeated through the Vawdi communities over the question of the phrals and their rights. Some of the Vawdi felt that the phrals made a good ally against their Phem oppressors, while other Vawdi were simply bitter that they weren' t allowed to own slaves themselves. The class system fully developed by the year 500. At the very top was the Archon, who was elected by the Oligarchy of Elders. The Elders ruled over their clans, which were populated by the noble Phem. The Elders owned the phral slaves and gave use of their l abor to the Phem, but still retained official ownership over all Phrals. Beneath the clans, was the class of immigrant Vawdi. The Vawdi lived in the crowded and diseased urban centers while the Phem lived in the magnificent rural countryside in the hilly pasturelands, clean river, and bountiful sea. By this time, around 5000 people and countless livestock lived in Metic lands, incl uding 2000 people in Ireph and 1000 people in Motireph. In particular, Motireph was a hotbed of strife and anger towards the ruling class of Phem. The First Phral War was less significa nt than the first, and occured because wealthy Vawdi were angry that they were being outcompeted in copper mining by Phem who com manded armies of phral miners. The rebelion was quickly crushed, but became a part of the collective consiousness of the Vawdi wh ich reminded them that the Phems did not have absolute power. In the mines, phrals and Vawdi worked side by side hauling copper and silver boulders off mountains, and digging open pits in the hills dirt to find deposits underground. By the 600s, outcrops of copper ore on the arid hills had been mostly depleted. The Phe m responded by having their workers and slaves dig pits to find the ore. While clans owning land in the Mountains could still lo$ k for raw deposits on the surface, these hill people had to dig. When the open pits became less profitable, they began digging th e world's very first tunnel mines. These places were horribly dangerous quagmires where casualty rates were high. The Motoireptic Vawdi had had enough by this point, and enough of them were finally willing to join the phralls in overthrowing their Phem masters.

In the year 650, a charismatic and wealthy Vawdi prophet claimed to hear the voice of Kophti along the wind. The priesthood was only open to Phem, so the upper class dismissed him as a lunatic. The Prophet of Kophti (named Piktimot) led an army of miners that were quickly able to seize control of the hills, plundering the Phem herds of sheep that the Vawdi had always covetted. Against the advice of his lieutenants, Piktimot granted phrals freedom and equal status to the Vawdi. From the hills he beseiged the actual city of Motireph until the starving population overthrew the governor and opened the gates to Piktimot's army. The Phem population was exiled, the phralls were once again freed, and Piktomot declared himself as a prophet acting on behalf of Kophti, who appeared to him in the aspect of a drakken.

For the first time, large amounts of phrals moved into the city center, adding a new ethnic group to the urban area. Motireph was a sprawling set of wood, waudle, and even some marble buildings. At the center of town was the Oracle of Kophti, who could predict the future, as well as harvests. She and her priests were the only Phem not expelled from the city. They became a source of frequent opposition for Piktimot the Prophet King.

Piktimot's reign ended after 40 years when he relinquished control of his kingdom and leadership over the war to his daughter I'armit. He snuck into the town of Ireph with a team of his closest friends and followers, but was captured when his lover betrayed him. He was unceremoniously killed in the Massacre of the Martyrs. His lover Judic became the cultural symbol of an untrustworthy woman.

At the same time, the enslaved phralls finished building the Acropolis of Kureth. It was a huge fortified palace with a population rivalling the two other cities. The most prestigious The Elders along with the most prestigious Phem would leisurely enjoy the profits of their farms and fleets while less noble phem managed them and strived to be promoted.

40 years of war had devastated both lands, and Piktimot would immediatley accept hard fought surrender terms with the Phem. The Motiroptic people would be allowed to keep their nominal independence, but would submit to alliance with the Phem. The Motiroptics would pay a tribute that was harsh enough to be noticed, but not so harsh that it crippled them. Phrals in Motireph would remain free and slavery would be illegal in its borders, but Vawdi in Kuroptic lands would finally gain their right to own phrals.

Many Vawdi travelled to Kureph to purchase phrals from the Elders there. After aquiring their new property, they immigrated to Ireph. The population of Motireph decreased during this era, allowing for Kureph to extract greater tribute.

The rebels were never able to secure control of the mountains, which remained in Metic hands. The Metics lamented the initial loss of Motireph, and sent an army to retake it. Again and again, they were driven away. The loss was traumatizing to the Elders, who began to stop fighting amongst themselves and began working together.

The remaining 300 years of history are a repetitive series of civil wars in which Motireph will again and again fail to gain its independence. With both cities weakened, Ireph will rebel and force an alliance upon both cities. Ireph establishes a Democracy where every Vawdi and free Phral had the right to vote, but not the Phem or the slaves. Kureph, Motireph, and the nobles in the countryside all rose up in revolt, securing independence for both Motireph and Kureph.

During this time, the Al'Varans present in Vara began to trade more with the Metics, though their piracy did not cease. A few of them moved in to the Land of the Metics and used their wealth to attain citizenship everywhere except for Kureph, where the old order still reigned.

Thus, the Copper Age ended with the Metics living on a semi arid forested coast divided amongst 3 tumultuous city-states. The Ireptic Phem became a persecuted minority, and were not allowed to return to the lands they owned, because they were seized by Vawdic traders. Free phrals began to settle along the whole coast, slowly prospering as small farmers, A few of them even became wealthy. This era of civil war and revolution destroyed the Phem, Vawdi, and Phrals as economic classes, as membership in any particular category did not confer economic status. In the future, they would begin to be thought of more as ethnic groups. There was still a caste system, though each city state had a different society.

LONG WINTER 1001 - 1100

Kureph was still the smallest city, but its wealthy population had ballooned to 5000. Motireph had a similar population of 6000. Ireph dwarfed both of them at 10000. The entire Land of the Metics had around 30000 people, making up the bulk of the population for all of Arkoph, which was still quite rural by comparison.

By this time, the four ethnic groups present in the Land of the Metics had started to look different. The Al'Varans were black, bald, and had brown eyes. The few of them who grew hair were usually blonde or red. They were mostly very rich or related to someone wealthy, and were often merchants. They dressed in thin silk tunics but wore wool togas over them in winter. Black was a common color, along with dark greys and the occasional blue to show status. Jewelry would not be present on an Al'Varan, with the exception of piercings made of precious metals. They primarily worshipped Aroo the God of death and rebirth. A few scattered sorcerers among them could practice necromancy.

The Phem living in the countryside were farmers, who were sometimes rich and sometimes poor, but the richest landed aristocrats remained Phem. They only wore wool during the winter, and dressed in cotton tunics along with kilts as undergarments. Blue clothes were a sign of wealth, but most people dressed in browns and whites. Gorgeous jewels would adorn the hair, ankels, wrists, and clothes of any Phem who could afford to show off their wealth. They were pale, with black hair and eyes that could be blue, green, yellow, and in rare cases magenta. The Phem populated the priesthood, as even in this era only Phem were permitted to learn the ancient knowledge needed to commune with the Gods. Kophti became supplanted by the worship of Jud, who was believed to be Kophti's son. The priests of Jud made great diviners and oracles, and the priests of Ku were the most powerful enchanters in Arkoph.

The Vawdi often wore brown or red clothes dyed with magnetite. Their skin was tan to peach. They dressed like the Phem, but less of them could afford jewelry. Those that could afford it dressed in blue. They did not have a heritage of anything but common magical knowledge, and so most great alchemists were Vawdi, giving them a lot of good doctors also. It became the fashion among Vawdi to be clean shaven. Women would let their hair grow long.

Phrals looked like the Al'Varans but brown instead of black. They grew their hair, and had no cultural requirment to shave their heads. They are often poor and dressed in flax, or cotton tunics. Wool is a mark of status among them, and they often dye it black with small quantities of squid ink, which was also prestigious. A few of them are able to practice necromancy. Like the Phem, Phrals prefered to grow beards and women cut their hair short.

In 1001 The Al'Varan pirate and necromancer Grixis the Black from the distant city of Illiethan landed upon the beaches and marched into the hills to lay seige to Motireph. After a year, the city could hold out no longer and surrendered. Grixis was by far the most powerful necromancer ever to step foot in Arkoph. His army of skeletons and zombies was so immense, that they double the city's production of goods. The general population of the city saw no improvement in their quality of life, and Grixis' decree that all the dead must be brought to him so that they may be raised made the population suspicious and fearful. When he decreed that all newborn children must be sacrificed to him, the people rebelled and burnt him at the stake. Afterwards, they scattered his ashes so that he could never resurrect himself to once again terrorize the land.

At the same time, Kureph and Ireph were embroiled in a bitter war to try and force eachother into subservient alliance; they were unable to take advantage of Motireph's weakness. When Kureph finally won the war, they forced Ireph to expell half of its population to the countryside and slums of Kureph, and appointed a second archon to supervise the Democracy of Ireph. Ireph still remained nominally independent, and the Archon immediatley declared war on the Archon of Kureph that had just created his position. This became known as the Time of Kings. Kureph's infastructure buckled under the immense weight of all of the migrants, and the glorious palace at the center of the city became surrounded by slums for as far as the eye could see. The Great Fire raged in the year 1040, destroying most of the outer city.

Overall, the urban areas were gradually depopulated in this era before the coming disaster even began. The populations of all of them were cut in half, because so many had died or moved away.

In 1057, an asteroid obliterated the Al'Varran city of Illiethan, leaving behind a smoldering, flooded crater and creating enormous tidal waves that devestated Kureph in particular. It lost the war with Ireph and was forced to accept an alliance in which it was the junior partner. There was no time to celebrate, as ash rained from the sky. The skys were blackened, and even once the sun returned the air became cold and dry. The rain was red like blood, some even say that it was blood. For 40 years all of the world was plunged into a dark winter that did not end. This was known as Long Winter. Famine and disease devestated the population of all Arkoph, and the cities became villages surrounded by the remains of their ancestors. The waudle and wood buildings collapsed from lack of maitenance, and only the marble and clay buildings remained.

THE DARK AGE 1100 - 1300

Long Winter subsided, but the society of Arkoph was destroyed. They would never again reach the height of civilization and glory that they did in the Copper Age.

The secrets of writing were forgotten by everyone except for the priests and scribes. Settlements went back to something resembling their copper age populations - Motireph at 3000, Ireph at 4000. Kureph was completley abandoned except for the palace and the Temple of Ku, which were populated by the Elders, the richest Phem, and the most elite priests of Ku. Kureth still controlled the largest amount of the countryside in the Land of the Metics.

Bronze trade goods from Varra began to make their way into Arkoph. Al'Varran swords in particular were highly prized, along with mail armor and helmets. Most warriors still fought unarmored with copper maces and metal-tipped spears. Those who were neither wealthy or poor wore basic breastplates made out of sheets of bronze.

Most of the history of the Dark Age is forgotten, but it is known that the three city states have vied for control of the entire region through war and politicing throughout the entire era.

PRESENT TIMES 1301+

It is a rare time of peace in the Land of Metic, after years of war all three of the cities have retained their independence. A necromancer pirate from Varra is heading to Arkoph with ill intent.

Pikti'me sat on the tall stairs with his bag full of powerful herbs and sweet smelling flowers resting on his lap. He leaned forward, dreading what the night would have in store. He knew that he had to be in the temple right now, and that if the priests caught him dallying he would be whipped, but he was tired, and the view was beautiful. So high up but not quite all the way to the top of the Temple stairs, he had a good view of the city beneath the setting sun. Warm wind from the swelling ocean beneath the cliff knocked his blonde hair into his soft face and blew up his tunic. It felt soothing. The sun was setting over what remained of Kureph, casting long shadows and making the town of his ancestors look very desolate.

Despite his stress, he couldn't help but be impressed at how the ruins extended for as far as he could see, only ending just past the ocean shore. Marble pillars poked out of the waters and looked tiny despite towering over wooden shacks built behind the beach in between ancient ruins that had once been far grander. Pikti'me took a moment to watch a tired shepherd lean on his walking stick. The dozen sheep nearly knocked the shepherd over before stopping to chewing on the grass that grew between discarded bricks that had once been a plaza. The elderly shepherd moved again, and lead his charge of a dozen sheep with tired, wobbly knees towards a clay barn. The barn was probably once a home for a wealthy Phem similar to Pikti'me's father, but a barn door had been knocked through its wall. Pikti'me wondered if the structure's interior had been stripped out and filled with hay. He was unfamiliar with the common people, despite seeing them every day. He wished he knew more about them. Their lives seemed simple, and more free. He watched the people walk along the overgrown streets for a long time. The whole city was a monument to what his people once had, and would never have again.

His heart began to race when he realized that he had lost himself, and let entirley too much time pass by. The sun was closer to the ocean than it had been before. Malarik his tutor would be angry. He decided not to let himself sulk and be even more late. He forced himself to his feet, heaved the bag of fragence over his shoulder, and climbed up the stairs leading to the Temple of Ku on top of the enormous cliffside. He would accept the consequences of being late. In a way, he welcomed the delay a punishment would bring, as Malarik's kindness would be equally unbearable.

Pikti'me felt his knees wobbling like the shepherd's, but the bag wasn't heavy despite its size. He was weighed down by all of his fear. He knew that he would fail at his spells, and what Malarik would say when he did. "Your father had done it, why can't you", Pikti'me said mocking Malarik's deep, cracking voice. He loved and hated the old man.

The Temple loomed high above the stairs atop an enormous pyramid with balconies, tunnels, and fortifications made of mud brick that did not match the much finer ancient architecture. A priest dressed in a fine blue toga over her white dress silently walked down the stairs, not even sparing Pikti'me a glance. He was only an initiate, not worth noticing. Being invisible had its advantages. Sneaking was easy, and nobody punished him for being late until he showed up. It was a long climb, but Pikti'me finally reched the top of the steps. He spared one more glance at the city bellow. The people were tiny. It was impossible to make out their features.

Atop the blocky pyramid was the entrance, which was decorated more elaboratley. Heavy Columns held up the pediments which supported a sloping marble roof over the ornatley painted wood facade of browns and yellows. Unlike the white marble of the ruins bellow, these pillars were painted with scenes of battling warriors and priests prostrating themselves before the gods. Pikti'me walked along the road flanked by pillars, stopping to look at one. Ku's tentacle wrapped around one pillar holding up a stylized ocean which flowed from Heaven all the way down to Hell.

Pikti'me felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. He flung himself around to see Malarik's bald wrinkled face looking up at him. "Young man, if you were a bird, and flew all the way up in the sky - when you looked down at the world that pillar is what you would see." Malarik had stark white eyes that always unnerved Pikti'me.

Pikti'me forgot his worries and thought for a second. "Would it be standing up like the pillar, on on its side like a fallen tree?"

"Nobody knows." The old priest closed his eyes and smiled, grateful that his student was interested. "You're late. Don't think that I forgot."

"The lavender was right where you told me, but the mugwort had been fowled by a mule. I had to find another patch." Pikti'me considered himself a good liar.

"If that's the case, then you shouldn't have sat and watched the sun set." Malarik was amused at how his student shifted nervously. "I have a good view from up here too, you know."

Malarik turned around and beckoned his student to follow before he could come up with another excuse. Pikti'me wanted to ask where they were going, but decided not to risk it; Malarik's mood could change unpredictably. He led him through the huge already open doors of the temple, into the Sanctum of Ku. Sweet smelling incense filled Pikti'me's nostrils. Flickering light illuminated everything from a large dish containing the eternal flame, which had always been dutifully maintained ever since the city was founded. Cackling flames echoed across the spacious chamber. The rafters which held up the pediments were supported by a four rows of pillars. The room was dominated by the golden statue of Ku seated upon his heavenly throne. He had long hair and wore a bushy beard that extended all the way to his knees, which were visible beneath his tunic and kilt. He held a trident in one hand, and an orb in the other. Wrapping around his limbs and the throne and the trident were the suckery tentacles that grew from his hair. A hunchbacked slave silently polished the statue.

"We are alone. Set the bag down.", Malarik said.

Pikti'me wished he could be as invisible as a slave, then he could hide all day. He stopped fantasizing and did as his tutor asked. The statue was flanked by two smaller doors. Bowls of incense sat on the floor lining the walls, providing places for common folk to pray during the daytime when the Temple of Ku was open to them and their offerings.

Malarik reached into the bag, grabbing Mugwort, Lavender, Thyme, and a chunk of wormwood. He dropped them into the fire. Pikti'me's eyes widened in amazement as the flames turned pink, green, then yellow before settling on a wisping ghostly blue.

Pikti'me had magenta eyes like his father, Malarik thought. That man had been a more talented, but less interested student. He wished he could someday have a student who had gifts to match his interest. He wondered how well he hid his disappointment, and if that was the cause for the young man's recent string of disobedience.

He took a deep breath. "Put your hands in the fire. You are a Phem with strong magenta eyes. It won't burn you."

Nervously, cautiously, he brought his hands close to the fire. It felt warm, and he held back. Malarik scowled, and Piktime decided he was more afraid of the whip than the flame. The student winced and shoved his hands into the fire. He felt nothing, as if his arms were in air. He looked down and confirmed that his arms really were in the huge flame up to his elbows.

"Back up a bit. You are immune but your tunic has no such gift."

Pikti'me did as his teacher asked. He nodded, unsure of what to do now.

"Move the flame. Make it dance to your will."

Pikti'me stared at the strands of cackling blue fire until his eyes hurt. He focused, commanding it with his thoughts. Nothing happened. He tried moving his fingers to no effect. He waved his hands around uselessly, trying to somehow make them move and avoid once again to hear the dreaded -

"Hmph. Your father got it right away. If you can't change it directly then maybe you can alter it indirectly. Think about yourself." Pikti'me gave him a confused pleading look. "Think about you own thoughts, your nature, and who you really are. Focus on only that until nothing exists except for you, not even the flame."

He closed his eyes, and thought. What am I thinking about, besides that I don't know what I'm thinking of. I'm feeling anxiety. Is that a thought?

He opened his eyes. The flame was unchanged. His eyes once again clamped shut.

What is my nature? Why did he ask who I really am? Does he think I'm not genuine, or that maybe I fail at his lessons on purpose? That's what it is, isn't it? I'm a weakling, a sneaky coward, and I'm lazy. That's what I am. A terrible priest.

"Pikti'me!"

He came out of his trance, and saw that the flames were shrinking, moving at an unnatural slow rhythm. His palms were sweaty. He pleaded with the flame in his mind for the it to please rise. Despite his efforts, the flame continued to shrink and shrink, until he had to lower his arms just to remain in it.

"Make them grow, now!"

This is it, isn't it? It will be my destiny to be known as the initiate who extinguished the eternal flame, breaking a thousand year tradition...

The flames were shrinking rapidly now. He had to lean forward just to keep inside of them. He breathed heavy. He felt hot, very hot, and suddenly felt a burst of anger.

Make them grow? As if its that easy! I'm not my father. I shouldn't have to be as good as him! I'm not lazy! I sneak around because I'm tired of your weary eyes. I hate you, Malarik. I hate you Ku. I hate this whole damn temple, and i want these flames to grow so that I can burn it to the ground!!

The flames jerked, and exploded upward in a torrent of sparkling flame. Pikti'me would have sighed with relief, but the force knocked him to his feet. He was breathing even heavier, and realized he was covered in sweat. For a moment he felt a sense of accomplishment, and even pride, before he remembered the awful things he had thought about his teacher and his God. He wished that he could put his hands back in and appologize, but he felt too tired to move. Maybe Ku hadn't heard him. After all, he only thought it. Relief washed over him. At least it was over.

"Why do I feel so hot still?" He looked around to see that his teacher was gone.

"Because your tunic is on fire."

Pikti'me screamed, slapping the flame growing on his chest in a panic. It felt hot! Hot! His hands burnt from hitting it, but the flame spread up the fabric. Cool water suddenly drenched him and extinguished the horrible heat.

He looked up to see that Malarik was standing over him holding an empty jug with an amused look on his face. "You did well. Very well, in fact. Your father had only gotten them to dance a little, but I've never seen anything like that."

Pikti'me was overjoyed. He wanted to get up and squeeze his teacher in a warm embrace, but he was too tired. He lay his head back on the tile floor exhausted. "Does this mean I won't be whipped for being late?"

"And sully your accomplishment? Of course not!"

"What a relief." He let his hands rest on his chest. He felt a small hole where the flames had eaten through his expensive blue tunic, and the whole thing was singed and no longer felt soft. "What should I do about my tunic?"

Malarik extended his hand and helped him back to his feet. "One of the slaves can fetch you a new one, but leave it on tomorrow. I want all the other priests to see just what my student is capable of!"

I have become attrached to the idea of using a totally marxist set up for my writing.