Dud Sea Scrawls The Writing, clearly, is not on the wall!

This is an experiment in writing. My aims are:

to complete the story

to try and evolve it into a novel

to exercise my editing skills, in creating new and better drafts.

All critical comments are most welcome!

It was the time of the young suns burning fiercely in the sky. Many wondrous creatures roamed the land we now know as Urna. The myth of Dumara, the Almighty, reigned supreme, and his direct descendants were the rulers of the kingdom of Dumar.

The kingdom of Dumar was immense, sprawling over vast tracts of fertile and barren land, each corner barely knowing the other. Up north, the giant slumbering Yarpa woke up once in six months to ravage the land and feast upon their rewards. Down south, nimble Swena flew from tree to tree, gathering and hoarding sweet fruit and nectar, throughout the year. The midlands, known as the Greso, were home to majority of the Dumar population. Its western edge shimmered with the blue of the Pilna sea and the gold of the sand. Its eastern edge was spiked with the Finyana mountain range: a dangerous and remote place, seldom ventured into. It was in this hostile land that the tiny village of Sherinado was located.

If you were to take a bird’s eye view of Sherinado, you could see that it was shaped astonishingly like a tear-drop. At the base of the tear-drop was the forest of Meanac, where the herbs made famous by the herb doctors of Sherinado grew. Clusters of khamirs, or cloa-skin tents, occupied the center, and the tear-drop ended in the Raperad - a sheer cliff, that dropped off into a forbidding murkiness. The village itself was perched on a little plateau between the towering peaks of Asmand and Koriga.

Legend had it that Asmand and Koriga were two brothers who had dared to challenge the might of the all-powerful Dumara. Dumara, in his wrath, turned the two siblings into stone. A drop of Dumara’s sacred blood had fallen exactly where Sherinado stood, and it was this sacred blood that allowed habitation of the bleak landscape. Asmand and Koriga rose black and menacing against a pale blue sky, their slopes so steep that no one ever ventured to scale them.

Dumara had bestowed the knowledge of herbs to the first Sherinado chief, Trigla. The knowledge had been preserved for generations, and the fame of the Sherinado herb doctors spread throughout the land. All the young males of Sherinado were trained in the practice of herbal medicine by their fathers, and when they reached fifteen years of age, they were ready to escort their fathers on their journeys across the land. They would return each year during the month of Nerda, laden with goods, just in time for harvesting the fresh herbs. Nerda was a month of weddings, great feasting, and celebrations, following which they would embark again on their journeys.

The Sherinados were a tall and lean people, with keen eyes that spotted elusive herbs instantly. Their skin shone like polished ebony, their gait was swift and powerful, their hands large and quick. They were peace-loving, but ready to defend themselves should they be attacked by bandits or wild animals. The first Sherinado chief, Trigla, had earned the reputation of killing a Yarpa, which was by no means a small feat.

Life in the small village was simple and quiet: a rejoicing of nature’s gifts, a seamless blending with nature’s rhythms. A tranquility that was about to be shattered forever.