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About Deviant Member David SkippMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Only some can understand the native tongue of The Gorge, large seemingly brutish and angry creatures by look. Not Breon, nor did he care to learn. To him it seemed utterly pointless to learn the language of a race which he thought were quite frankly vulgar. Young Breon walked further through the murky swampland of The Gorge as he noticed the light fade through the tall lilac whisp trees’ as they slowly loomed in above him, without thought the Breon raises a finger into the air, recites the words that he has known since a child and produces a sphere, which floats gracefully into the air above him and emits a powerful blue light.

“May the light be with me” he chuckled to himself as he made his way through the shoddily built settlements of The Gorge, blue sphere following slowly above. The Gorge were more of a horde than a race, harmless to most and usually only agitated by conflict, It’s said that the vulgarity that they carry on their backs are the digested remains of soldiers and mercenaries. The only known sightings of these creatures of blank expression and great despair was at war and battles, hording together and charging there foes on all fours, the Gorge make sure neither man nor anything else may cause conflict. So many moons have passed since war has arisen, but that doesn’t mean conflict and treachery doesn’t still strive deep in the “safety” of civilization.

 Taking a deep breath Breon strides out of the valley in which The Gorge dwell, adjusting his eyes to the sunlight his bright blue sphere dims and fizzes into the warm air around him. Just ahead of him on the dusty sun scarred terrain lie the walls of the distinct twisted tower Breon knows to be a fountain of knowledge for his kind. Only a few more minutes now he thought to himself.

Panic struck as Breon approached the sleekly dressed guards in majestic blue robes with gilded trims. “Good day” said one of the guards, noticeably carrying a large halberd. “Indeed it is gentlemen” replied Breon with a smirk on his face, “the sun is shining and for I have finally arrived” he continued. The two guards looked at each other with bemused look on their faces, “And who exactly are you?” the unarmed guard demanded, releasing the relaxed position they held only moments earlier.

Only some can understand the native tongue of The Gorge, large seemingly brutish and angry creatures by look. Not Breon, nor did he care to learn. To him it seemed utterly pointless to learn the language of a race which he thought were quite frankly vulgar. Young Breon walked further through the murky swampland of The Gorge as he noticed the light fade through the tall lilac whisp trees’ as they slowly loomed in above him, without thought the Breon raises a finger into the air, recites the words that he has known since a child and produces a sphere, which floats gracefully into the air above him and emits a powerful blue light.

“May the light be with me” he chuckled to himself as he made his way through the shoddily built settlements of The Gorge, blue sphere following slowly above. The Gorge were more of a horde than a race, harmless to most and usually only agitated by conflict, It’s said that the vulgarity that they carry on their backs are the digested remains of soldiers and mercenaries. The only known sightings of these creatures of blank expression and great despair was at war and battles, hording together and charging there foes on all fours, the Gorge make sure neither man nor anything else may cause conflict. So many moons have passed since war has arisen, but that doesn’t mean conflict and treachery doesn’t still strive deep in the “safety” of civilization.

 Taking a deep breath Breon strides out of the valley in which The Gorge dwell, adjusting his eyes to the sunlight his bright blue sphere dims and fizzes into the warm air around him. Just ahead of him on the dusty sun scarred terrain lie the walls of the distinct twisted tower Breon knows to be a fountain of knowledge for his kind. Only a few more minutes now he thought to himself.

Panic struck as Breon approached the sleekly dressed guards in majestic blue robes with gilded trims. “Good day” said one of the guards, noticeably carrying a large halberd. “Indeed it is gentlemen” replied Breon with a smirk on his face, “the sun is shining and for I have finally arrived” he continued. The two guards looked at each other with bemused look on their faces, “And who exactly are you?” the unarmed guard demanded, releasing the relaxed position they held only moments earlier.

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Skippystar
David Skipp
United Kingdom
Creative writer / short story teller

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