Prologue - The Rebellion

A battle that takes place in the near future.

 

Inspired by a dream 4/4/07

 

Prologue - The Rebellion (Final - 2/1/10)

      What began as a calm, lazy day quickly grew into a fierce and bloody battle that washed over the community in an immense wave of death and destruction.  The once docile and subservient slaves struck out at their abusive masters with a brutal force that was so out of character that many died thinking they were caught in a nightmare that would end when wakefulness came.  Aided with the element of surprise and disbelief, the enraged beasts of burden carried out their quest to kill those that had struck and demeaned them with the speed and efficiency of skilled bounty hunters.  Many townsfolk stood awe-stricken as they where slashed and gouged with mortal wounds, too astounded to make even a meager attempt at survival. 

     The Town Keepers had emergency plans for everything from frost on the fields, to wild animal attacks, but no plans were in place to protect the people from a tragedy of this magnitude.  It had never been considered that an insurgence of this level would manifest itself and devour the entire community so rapidly.  Despite the fact they knew the dragons could communicate telepathically with one another not a single person fathomed that these   creatures had the mental capacity to plan and orchestrate a raid of this enormity and attack their keepers in such an aggressive manner.

   With their roles reversed and the world turned upside down, many unfortunate towns’ folk were slain before a warning went out to those that had remained unaware of the chaos and madness around them.  When, as if some morbid spell of deadly silence had been lifted off the witnesses and reality was at last allowed a place in the minds of the bystanders, numerous shouts were heard above the normal buzz of the mid-day weekend crowd, the streets that ran through the village resembled that of an unorganized anthill.  Children spilled out of the schoolhouse in a flood of terror as the roof collapsed under the pressure of the dragons that were perched there.  The streets were filled with screaming mothers, desperate battle cries, and pain stricken sobs.  No doubt even those who were on the outskirts of town could hear these blood curdling screams of pain and terror.  A few, close enough to make sense of the warnings panicked and ran out into the streets looking for answers to their fears.  Shouting franticly for loved ones, they died at the hands of their servants before ever knowing the fate of their children, spouses and other friends and family.  While others, disbelieving, went in search of their faithful dragons only to find swift deaths. 

     In the beginning, even though the encounter was as violent and horrific as it was unexpected, there was not much time or pain involved.  But as the battle progressed the dragons found less and less solace in the death of their masters, the simple act of killing no longer soothed their tortured spirits and they took the slaughter to a new level.  They started taking time with their victims, taking pleasure in their screams and pleads of mercy.  And it was then that the villagers tried to fight back.   

   Those who wanted to go down as heroes armed themselves with anything they could get their hands on in a futile attempt at fighting back.  Old man Wheatherby charged his dragon with the pitchfork that he had been using to clean out his servants’ stables when the attack started.  If his dragon, Gloria, had not been in the cornfield digging irrigation ditches at zero hour, he never would have been able to arm himself.  It made no difference though, other than the fact that Bill Wheatherby was allowed the choice to go down fighting.  A young man, hardly more than a boy, turned his wood axe on his parents’ dragon after she had killed them, but he didn’t get a swing in before his spirit left him.  The most successful attack on the dragons came from a family of five.  Kris Crabapple had been out hanging laundry when the families’ dragon attacked her.  Her parents and siblings watched from the house a few feet away.  Armed with flaming logs and burning arrows, they managed to take out an eye of their dragon Elsie before she tore off their roof and killed them all. 

   The wisest of the villagers took heed of the shouted warnings and calmly but with great speed, gathered as many provisions as they could carry and left with their families, neighbors or even out of towners, anyone that was nearby so that no one had to face the madness alone. 

   Half the village was aflame and a thick black smoke blotted out the sky.  Ashes and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.  The fires that quickly engulfed the village were not set by the dragons as everyone feared, but by the residents them selves either by accident, or purposely set in an attempt at salvation.  All was chaos, everywhere people were screaming.  Some one from out of town stood in the street in front of the Cedar Lodge frozen in terror as his dragon tried to protect him from the attackers, and then with no apparent cause, he turned to attack his master. No one understood what was happening; they only knew that it was happening.  Some of these dragons had served them for generations.  It never occurred to them that the dragons were just tired of being abused and disrespected on a daily basis.

   Fleeing from their homes, the survivors raced towards the safety of the cavern system that lay hidden under the hills outside of town in the Windy Wood.  With unspoken agreement, everyone decided that Whispering Caverns was their best bet for survival.  Only a handful of these people would have made it to the caves if not for the heroes of Gaffys’ Valley.  Their efforts kept the dragons attention away from the escape.  The gaping maws of the many tunneled caves were too small to admit all but the youngest of the gigantic beasts and the labyrinth of passageways that snaked deep underground would hopefully provide protection from the fires that would sweep the land if, the deities forbid, the dragons relearned how to breath fire. 

    At dusk, runners were sent from the caves to fetch those still alive in the village.  Few were unwounded and most had to be helped along, carried or even dragged out on makeshift stretchers.  They gathered in a large room, hidden beneath the earth, where the only light emanated from the torches that had been placed in cracks in the walls of rock.   It was in these caves, deep under ground, that the people of Gaffys’ Valley formed their army against their former slaves.