Tequil remembers vividly when the copper spear stabbed upwards through the ground, all those centuries ago. Utes, the weasel king, boiled out like volcanic pus from the earth. The spear, an extension of his fiery wrath, cut upwards into the heavens like a burning thorn. But, as terrifying as it was, it was also their beacon, their salvation.
A great exodus formed, for Cyclopes and Ettin and Giant alike-- following promises from each of their gods that, were they quick enough, clever enough, driven enough, they would survive this cleansing and live to see a brighter tomorrow.
No one questioned these commands. To question was death. Those who stayed behind were drowned by salty seas, which the Five Gods called "becoming esteemed". Tequil's family fell into the esteeming surf ages ago. They never became un-esteemed again.
So he and a handful of giants- no more than fifty- left the moment the spire boiled up from the surface, following the advice of Stukos, the rabbit mother. They stumbled for weeks as the ocean lapped at their heels, flooding everything they had ever known. Vast crops and forests lay at the bed of the sea. Towers that were once full of life, shimmered deep beneath the waves.
Harpies would bring them food to keep their groaning muscles fueled in the march, and the small bird-women became the caretakers of the larger, ground-bound races.
Tequil, somehow, became the leader of his lost people, those of various clans and backgrounds banding together under his tutelage. Even Zilar, the war general of the southern forests, acquiesced to Tequil's somber, thoughtful guidance. Together, they trundled up ash-choked slopes and through dying forests. They fought off swarms of the undead, who plagued the land until the ocean cleansed the earth. All to reach the copper spear of Utes' grip. All to be sheltered under its glowing warmth.
Everything would be peaceful, now.
He did as Stukos commanded.
He led his people
to the safe land.
Author
Topic: Adventures on Monster Island (Read 268129 times)