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Canon: © Anne Bishop
Board's Plot: Blood Rites
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Established February 2010
by Jamie, Gina & Bowie.


* Plot Information for Pruul

Seven children are destined to save Pruul and shake the traditions of the territory to their very core. In response, factions have broken the peace of a previously unified territory and violence has erupted across the dessert. It is a battle between the past and the future, the young and the old, and blood won’t stop seeping into the sand.
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Author Topic: The Great Gifts of The Rains  (Read 288 times)

Description: Warning: Sandworm Attack

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The Great Gifts of The Rains
« on: Jun 12, 18, 05:06:27 PM »
From above, the sand looked calm. Peaceful. As if Mother Night had sculpted large dunes with her ring finger—wisps, gently falling grains, reflected in the sunlight like gold. Pruul was beautiful from above, cast out like a great expanse of hard fought love. Every cactus, fighting, every oasis, fighting, every sand rat that scurried under the grains—fighting. Peace in the struggle and balance in the giving and taking of life.

But sometimes looks can be deceiving. Sometimes, the grains that trickled down from the tops of dunes were not from sand rats, but what lurked underneath.

The rains had seeped into the sand, bled into the oasis’s, clawed their way into Pruul. They gave Pruul’s inhabitants the water they desperately needed—all of Pruul’s inhabitants. Now, the slickened bodies of the sandworms contorted and danced around each other, the water sending them into a frenzy. Heads disappeared into tails until they amassed under the sands, first one than ten than thirty, twisting around each other until they formed a great ball. It pulsed, dunes toppling and a loud keen reverberating for miles. As the moon rose and set, rose and set, the bellies of the worms began to bulge, distend, the others circling protectively.

During this time, caravan after caravan came under attack, the frenzied animals lashing out of the deep desert and killing anything that neared their nesting ground. They could feel the Craft pulsing at the edge of the desert and it drove them wild, their giant bodies racing under the grains of sand, leaving long angry lines behind.

And still their bellies grew.

Until, one night, the greatest sandworm attack in living history befell Tuono. The ancient training ground that had warned of the growing restlessness of the worms had not expected it. The sandriders were in their beds. Asleep. Safe. But then the earth began to shake. Slowly at first, then louder, men and women racing into the streets to feel the ground underneath their bare feet rumbling. The great Sheikh shouted for the apprentices to flee, but it was too late. His words died on his lips as the giant heads of the monsters they rode burst into the city, through the thick walls that had guarded them for ages. Brick flung through the air as the sandworms thrashed around, their bodies crushing sandriders even as they attempted to mount the creatures.

But no one had seen sandworms like this. Frantic. Feverish. Crazed. Alive.

No one knows the exact number of worms that attacked Tuono, because their hardened bodies were so thick, so tangled and clumped, that it was difficult to count. The ancient Charmchi Temple was destroyed that day, the sacred sanctuary for the Ceremony of Two buried under the rubble. The sharpened razer teeth of the worms feasted on so much flesh that the sand was died red as the sun rose, tattered clothing and cloth floating in the wind.

And soon after, right as news of the great attack spread, the bellies of the sandworms burst, sending dozens upon dozens of hungry children out into the increasingly crowded sands of Pruul. And one thing was clear, the deep desert would not be home to them all.
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