Curses

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Curses

Postby Kusanagi » Thu Jul 05, 2007 4:34 am

Taste of something I'm working on. Just a prolog so far. 8)

From the pages of Roger Blanc’s Journal, so now you’re cursed.

I know what you’re thinking, I really didn’t need to know my family was crazy thank you very much, and if it weren’t that I was sure I was going to die tomorrow I would probably agree. You see I would not believe if I had not seen it with my own eyes as my father and my two uncles were taken cruelly from me in front of my eyes, one year after the other, followed by my brothers nearly two decades later. I know you’re probably saying, we live in harsh times, death happens there doesn’t need to be a supernatural aspect to it. If there had been any other circumstances I would readily agree, but as much as I would like to I can not deny the facts.

My father, his two brothers and my four all died at the age of 27. By itself it is a scary coincidence, but still a coincidence, it’s the two other factors that cement the fact that I am going to die. Each of their deaths occurred on their 27th birthday, and each time in the jaws of a macro. I can’t speak for macro normal relations whenever you gentle reader find this, but while we have never been on good terms with the giants the odds of being killed, much less eaten are far lower than any conventional death. On average it’s close to 1 in 500,000. Coupled with dying specifically on their 27th birthday I can’t begin to calculate the odds. A trip to the family plot, only deepened my fears, this was no recent trend, it had been overlooked with an influx of daughters and men marrying into the family, but for those born into the family the dawn of their 27th year was their last day on earth.

I found this all out at 20 and have spent the last few years trying to find out why, and if it could be prevented. Researching the family history, going as far to listen to lore, myth, anything to offer the slightest explanation to why my family seemed to be plagued by this dire misfortune. I found it two years ago, in a small hamlet with a story that chilled me to my very core.

200 years ago, there was a young man of the village whose name was lost to time. He was a simple doctor, who lived off the kindness of his fellow villagers, a good and noble lad, perhaps too noble. He was dedicated to helping any patient no matter how dire the situation, even if it was just to comfort them in their final moments. He didn’t care if they couldn’t pay him back, it was his duty and he wouldn’t trade it or compromise his principles no matter how big the burden.

It was these burdens that drove him to the forest one eve, he often took these trips as a respite, a way to clear his head. Think about those he couldn’t save and how he might better himself. It was on one such journey that he had heard a pained cry in the woods. It sounded like a wounded animal at first, a baneful howl, but there were words there, hidden under the sounds of anguish and rage. It would be lying to say he wasn’t afraid, but he it wasn’t in his nature to ignore anyone in pain, mores the pity for both him and the rest of our line.

He sought the cries out finding what hadn’t been seen by the villagers in decades. A macro wolfess, her leg horribly twisted, she looked like she had been there for days. In pain and clearly starving, macros were even more a danger then than they are now, one wouldn’t blink at making a man a meal. Our ancestor though was a man of convictions. Bless him and damn him for them. He was no fool though, he approached with caution and a large case of paranoia. He announced his intention from a distance, waiting for a sincere reply before he approached further. Her voice was sweet and pleading, her hunger a distant memory to the thought of someone to talk to, let alone someone that would help her.

She had been traveling to a distant town when the accident occurred, it was a nasty sprain, but no breaks thankfully for her. He soothed the pain, trusting her not to gobble him up along with her medication, but in the end knew that the only thing that would heal her was time.

He provided her with as much food as she could offer, and as much time he could spare away from the village. While the food was never enough to fill her, or even keep her comfortable it was enough to keep her from starving to death. His company however helped her a great deal more, doing more than just keeping her sane. They grew to like one another. They learned about each other’s worlds, our ancestor though was careful. A town’s safety often depended on its secrecy, he never gave an accurate description of the town no matter how his feelings for the wolf grew, he even took to spending the nights by her side.

The time arrived when she was healthy enough to move on her own and it was time for them to say their goodbyes, and she asked for one last night with him by her side. During their time together, she could have ended his life multiple times, so even with a fully mobile macro he wasn’t afraid and he agreed.

When he awoke in the morning she was gone, he had to remind himself of the last few weeks to even remember she existed. It was when he returned to the village, that he received a horrifying reminder that not only was she real, it was a reminder of what she was. The village was decimated, houses leveled, survivors crying in the streets lamenting those taken eaten. A few of the men grabbed him, and beat him.

The wolf upon departing had told the survivors to tell the doctor she was sorry.

It was of little consolation to him, the blows that fell on him from the men, was nothing compared to what the wolfess had done to his spirit. That night he was cast from the village to wander the wilderness, but not before one of the surviving women cursed his family, to suffer as they had suffered upon the same day he had betrayed them. So on his 27th birthday the man walked into the wilderness a shell of a man, he was never seen again. If there was a cure to the curse, it’s been lost to history along with the name of my ancestor, and his wolfess. So now I wait, isolated and alone writing this journal and sending it out before a beast comes to claim me. I turn 27 in two days, I have no regrets, I have accomplished much. At least we now know what is killing us, it will fall to another to break it.

Roger Leblanc (1945)
http://www.furaffinity.net/user/kusanagi/

http://giantessworld.net/viewuser.php?uid=27873 (something new has been added :o)

catch other stories by the drunken writer
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Postby eviscerator » Thu Jul 05, 2007 8:27 am

You'd think the macro could have at least had the good sense to destroy ALL the witnesses, or at least keep her yap shut.

Then again, if no one made mistakes, there'd be no heroes.
When two macros get in a fight, it's everyone else who loses!..or wins...depends on how far away you get to watch from.
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Postby Duct Tape Fanatic » Thu Jul 05, 2007 4:48 pm

Bummer, no good deed goes unpunished, huh? It makes me wonder if this would be like Dragonheart where the guy swears revenge after feeling betrayed, except in this case he has a good reason.

Oh well, it's great to see more writing from you. Keep up the good work.
Fixing the world, one duct tape job at a time.
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Postby crazyfox22 » Fri Jan 04, 2008 3:07 am

This is one great story man!!!
I will really love to see how this one comes out!
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