Sid's Exodus. A tale of the N.L.A
Ok, so this is the first part of another fiction i scrounged from my imagtination. It's a sequal to my first fic. The link to which can ber found in ym signiture. Don't worry. if you haven't read the first one, it makes no difference, the stories do relate, but are not mutally exclusive, so you don't have to have read the first to understand the second.
It's a tad longer than the other ones too. Enjoy.
And now with no more ado i present
Sid's exodus, a tale of the N.L.A
Prologue:
The plains are quiet now. The violence has ended, and our sacred land has long since resumed its peaceful state. No slavery blights the lines and we have continued to protect our home.
The Plains are quiet now.
But it wasn’t always this way.
The N.L.A? They are all bones now. They lie beneath the earth where we sit, but if you like I will tell you about them. Just allow me a few moments to cast my mind back over the decades. To the days of the N.L.A
The “Native Liberation Army” They called themselves. To the settlers, they were nothing more than extremists, rebels, relics of an old forgotten culture. But there are those of us that revered them as the heroes who saved the Lines from slavery.
Still, this might take a long time; you can’t really grow to appreciate them without having been there. But we’ll do our best.
Ah yes, gather round me. And speak of the N.L.A
And I will tell you our story.
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Miles from where Rupture Farms once stood, on the old Mudokon Lands. The Cliff covered rugged lands give way to countless grassy plains and stinking swamp as far as the eye can see. A great valley carved by eons of rushing water was cut from the hills. And Abe’s moon shone brightly in the sky. The white light dancing on the cold metal of the train.
The colossal structure in the distance blighted the otherwise beautiful horizon. An ugly thing, built into the side of a very large cliff. A million chimneys belched smoke into the sky, the land around the structure was burnt black, the earth scorched and scolded into glimmering glass. At the base of the cliff, stood the refinery, the din of the grinding conveyer belts and clank of metal echoed from inside, above another large train rumbled into a station hundreds of metres from the ground, the screaming of the tracks as the train ground to a halt affronting Omar’s ears.
Omar and his two fellows sat in a carriage of the train. Slight, slim, blue and with a few large green feathers protruding from his headpiece and big orange eyes reflecting the glint of the night sky. Omar, James and Charlie. All mudokons, all quiet, nervous, savouring the coming weeks. All silent in the realisation that they were at last here. Bound to spend an indefinite time in the closest thing to hell the Monsaic Lines had to offer. The Native’s called it the hellgate Mine Omar tilted his head towards the giant structure, burping fire and smoke into the cold night air in the distance.
Omar was (unlike most of his brothers) not coming here as a slave, nor were the other mudokons sharing the carriage with him. As Far as the Industrialists were concerned., They were Mudokon businessmen who were taking advantage of the commercial thoroughfare the Glukkons had forcibly built on the Native’s land. As Far as the industrialists were concerned, these were peaceful muds, sympathetic to their aim, who had seen the future and fancied throwing in their lot with the Sligs and their evil taskmasters ... the Glukkons.
How very wrong they were.
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Arise O Man in thy strength. The kingdom is thine to inherit!
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