The Valley of Skarria

[Sal the Mudokon]

Oddworld spun, revealing the star by which it orbitted over its lush foliage. It rose high into the sky, slowly but steadily. The star was at its highest point in the sky when a small creature on the edge of a mountain woke up from his deep, relaxing slumber. He lifted his body from the ground with his arms and dragged himself to the cliffs edge. It was a beautiful day. The moisture filled greens and maroons and blues and yellows that carpetted the landscape reflected the star's overwhelming magnificence. The creature noticed a growing shadow in the corner of his eye. He turned to find another of his fellow kind looking at the same view. The other turned to him and began to speak. In the translation of the Industrialized world, it was a greeting and an address.
"Hello, Frag. How are you?" is one way that it might have been said.
"Just dandy, Drok," Frag said in his strange, alien language.
"That's good," said Drok in the toungue of the glukkons, "Because you will only be able to enjoy it so long."
Frag understood. The day was here and he would return to that which he did best. Today, he would find battle.

[Canned Gabbiar]

This is brilliant. The description is great. Fabula valde bona est! This story is excellent! And that last line really makes you want to read on. Keep up the excellent work Sal. I'm waiting for the next installment....

[Sal the Mudokon]

Frag, Drok, and a score of their fellow sligs waited at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the calm valley. Most of them were equipped with a type of spear that was used to swing and impail the enemy over one's head when the slig was on his back. Other's were armed with stone-filled slings by which they flung from their tails.
They continued waiting, proud of their first row status. In the native slig culture, being on the front lines of battle does not mean to be of the least importance and be simply mowed down, but rather the honor that you were the first pick.
Still, they were not alone in this battle by any means. Deep inside the caves lay the rest of the army: Sligs, a thousand strong, armed and ready with slings on their tales. They had sworn to die for their queen, and today they would test their loyalty.
It was around dusk that Raam, a slig of higher standing in the colony than Frag and Drok, noticed the small shadows collecting in the setting star. They were like bees swarming up from the horizon. There wasn't a slig who witnessed that wasn't sickened by the glukkons' strategy. They were using their own kind against them.
The "Skyllaron", translated litterally as "Sons of Skylla", rose high into the blood read sky. At first, their movements were merely verticle. In moments, the small spots would become complex beings, armed with offensives that were unlike any of that which the children of Skarria had ever seen before.

[FireFrog]

nice! u should do work in the RPG forum too!

[Canned Gabbiar]

Well this is getting interesting.. Another slig queen with more primitive sligs. Get to the battle Sal... I want to see how this battle turns out.

[Jacob]

I like this story, keep up the good work.

[Sal the Mudokon]

The colony had heard legends of monsters who were half-slig and half-bat. They were creatures with horrifying red eyes and stones that would explode on impact. Most never took too much interest in the tales until eleven days prior to the great battle.
A six-member squad of slig soldiers from the Aslik's Air Industrial Atmosphere Freshener Company had gotten lost from their unit. They were on a routine inspection for the rare plant known by the Industrialists as the "Laughadill", named so for it's abilities to be manipulated into giving off a yellow pollen capable of rendering mudokon slaves senseless to rescue parties. It had been sighted in along a small creek that eventually led into the valley Skarria. Most were sealthily killed by an opposition that they didn't expect but three were captured. They were easily motivated to speak about what was going to happen. Still, this information, alone, would not give the Skarrian, mountain-dwellers the upper hand they needed against this new enemy.
The cloud of flying sligs continued to soar towards the colony, screaming profanities over the wind. Drok looked in terror as the signature red eyes became visible in the emotionless faces of the enemy.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the war began.
"Brrrann!" shouted Raam, signalling twelve sligs to launch their stones at the airborne enemy. The warriors were highly skilled, but at that distance and judging from the velocity of their advecaries, only two where knocked from their formation. These two soon smashed into other sligs, causing the sky to be filled with three small explosion in the deminishing star.
The natives had taken their first turn, it was now time for the aerial soldiers to retalliate.

[Canned Gabbiar]

Sal! I hate you! You always leave us in suspense at the end of each installment.

Come on! I'm waiting Sal! heh...

Good job, keep it up.

[Sal the Mudokon]

The sligs roared toward the cliffside, bombs at their disposal. Without any leadership, they randomly unleashed their destructive forces.
The mountain dwellers fled in all directions. Pieces of rock shot and poured through the air, polluting it with a thick cloud of chaos for the already unsteady soldiers. Screams were all that could be sensed through the haze. Within seconds, six sligs lay dead on the dirt they had once called home.
The sligs were now scattered and the enemy broke formation. It bacame a war of the individual. Frag found himself weaving in between both friend and foe to find a place to attack. Between whisps of thick cloud, he could see an untouched cliff on the other side of the rope bridge. From that position he would be able to successfully take out a few attackers. Frag bolted towards the bridge.
It was a wide trail of wood and rope that extended thirty meters to the other mountain edge. Frag wanted to help his people. The slig behind him just wanted another notch under his belt.
Frag grew wise to the prowling enemy and scurried at full force for a clean shot. The flying slig pursued. Unbeknownst to either, an explosion had stained the air and before either Frag or his opponant could think, a stray blade ripped into the the flying slig. Frag turned around, just in time to witness the slig smash into the bridge, chopping it from the other side of the cliff.
Time seemed to slow down as the bridge fell out from below Frag. He held tightly to the falling structure as it crashed into the face of the cliff, putting Frag in a quite undesirable position.
Frag was confident that the other sligs would show the Industrialists what anger really was in his momentary absence.
Raam's spear sliced through the wind, going straight through a flying slig, then taking out an entire row of them. Much to his dismay, this brought lots of the attention to Raam, who, from Drok's point of view, was very outnumbered. Raam continued to dodge the various close-call explosions. He darted one way, then the other, but then found himself trapped between two sligs, both with their bombs ready.
The one on Raam's left threw his bomb, forcing Raam to move right, but this put him in for a clean shot for the other slig. Drok screamed as he hurtled the stone at the bomb in the slig's hand, blasting him into pieces. Drok could only feel relieved for a moment, before becoming overwhelmed with grief. He had to face the reality of his mistake.
The slig that had exploded's blade shot straight into Raam, killing him on contact. Drok was horrified and ran straight towards the other slig. He then bent his elbows and launched himself off the ground and grabbed onto the slig's helicopter pack. Overwhelmed with anger Drok beat him in the face until he was unconscious. The emotionally-crushed slig jumped off of his aerial enemy when he saw a safe place to land, leaving the slig to crash into the ground far below.
Drok had trouble finding his breath. All he could do was fight. He was in too much shock to be any less primitive.
A slig flew pass Drok, catching his eye. The slig didn't notice Drok at all, though. He was too busy with the slig clinging his way upt the thirty meter bridge that was still plastered to the side of the mountain.
Frag caught sight of the bomb in the corner of his eye, and without using anything more than pure instinct, he let go of hope, and put his trust in a lower altitude. He feard not for himself, but only for the colony.

[Canned Gabbiar]

This is great. Gen hao. I love the description... you and Jacob are rivals in the writing field.

Keep up the good work.

[Sal the Mudokon]

"Frammbarrrr!" shouted Drok amidst the clammer and roars of war. Down, the sound carried, into the very bowels of the mountains. By the hundreds, the sligs would swarm out of their caves into the ominous night. They all had their slings ready when they welcomed the moons to their eyes, but many wouldn't even be able to draw stones before their eyes were eternally closed. But still, they faught on. Blood-stained rubble on the face of what was once a breathe-taking mountain would be all that would stand as record of those that had given their final breathes. The war would wage on through the night, but would end before the star could re-awaken.
Niether Frag nor Raam would see the valiance that was exhibited by their brothers in defence. Niether would see the way that the children of Skarria stood without fear at her aid once again. Niether of them would ever view with their eyes the terrors and arguous pains that hundreds of their brothers would find just within their attempts to muster their final spurts of dormant energy in the name of their lives and their land.
But niether those who had fallen nor those who stood victorious could know of that which was going to happen next.
...For fate, by which all things good and evil are determined, is a mute prophet to even those who listen the closest.

[Canned Gabbiar]

What happens??? What happens??? Come on tell us!