Qrushkil
03-20-2011, 07:17 AM
I wrote this for the people of Japan, would like if someone would please translate in Japanese.
Gazing on a sky of unending blue, Qrushkil nodded satisfactorily to himself, making his ponderous way (ponderous for a non-Galka, that is) towards the square in North San d’Oria. He cradled half a dozen items in one massive arm, items he had searched most the night for in the mess he called a mog house. These were some of his most prized possessions, and he hoped they brought a good price at the big auction today.
As he strolled through the gateway from South Sandy into North, he could see a considerable crowd had already gathered, talking animatedly to one another, glancing fearfully off to the east. A deep sadness filled Qrushkil’s heart, and he sighed heavily. Never had a tragedy of such magnitude struck the people of Vana’diel.
He’d heard the news just yesterday; an unknown wizard had attacked a small island nation in the Near East, smiting it with earth and water and fire, vanishing once his work was done. The devastation had been unimaginable: buildings leveled and washed away; farmlands stripped bare of their crops; and the people…
Qrushkil stopped, stumbled a few steps to one side, leaning one shoulder unsteadily against the wall as the sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. Thousands of lives had been lost; thousands of people killed in a senseless act of unbridled destruction. Thousands more homeless, hopeless, searching for family they may never find. He thought of his own family, and he was nearly overcome at the thought of losing them.
Thick Galka hands gripped his arms gently, but firmly, pulling him upright. He turned to see Anela and Makamai standing behind him, saw his own grief mirrored in their eyes. Anela smiled sadly, then they walked into the square.
The people of Vana’diel had reached out to the beleaguered nation, sending help in whatever way, shape, or form they could. The Bastokian, San d’Orian, and Windurstian presidents had decided on a massive auction, with all proceeds going to the Near East. Mithrans, Taru-tarus, Humes, Elvaans, and Galkans flocked to San d’Oria, all hoping to help out in the relief efforts. Such a sign of unity lifted Qrushkil’s heart as he set his own items for auction on the ever expanding pile.
He stared at the faces around, faces he’d seen all his life, and others never seen until today, and felt a surge of pride knowing these were his people, his family, and they would be there for one another no matter what. Hope rekindled in his heart, he looked eastward, sending his thoughts, hopes, and prayers to those who needed it most.
Gazing on a sky of unending blue, Qrushkil nodded satisfactorily to himself, making his ponderous way (ponderous for a non-Galka, that is) towards the square in North San d’Oria. He cradled half a dozen items in one massive arm, items he had searched most the night for in the mess he called a mog house. These were some of his most prized possessions, and he hoped they brought a good price at the big auction today.
As he strolled through the gateway from South Sandy into North, he could see a considerable crowd had already gathered, talking animatedly to one another, glancing fearfully off to the east. A deep sadness filled Qrushkil’s heart, and he sighed heavily. Never had a tragedy of such magnitude struck the people of Vana’diel.
He’d heard the news just yesterday; an unknown wizard had attacked a small island nation in the Near East, smiting it with earth and water and fire, vanishing once his work was done. The devastation had been unimaginable: buildings leveled and washed away; farmlands stripped bare of their crops; and the people…
Qrushkil stopped, stumbled a few steps to one side, leaning one shoulder unsteadily against the wall as the sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. Thousands of lives had been lost; thousands of people killed in a senseless act of unbridled destruction. Thousands more homeless, hopeless, searching for family they may never find. He thought of his own family, and he was nearly overcome at the thought of losing them.
Thick Galka hands gripped his arms gently, but firmly, pulling him upright. He turned to see Anela and Makamai standing behind him, saw his own grief mirrored in their eyes. Anela smiled sadly, then they walked into the square.
The people of Vana’diel had reached out to the beleaguered nation, sending help in whatever way, shape, or form they could. The Bastokian, San d’Orian, and Windurstian presidents had decided on a massive auction, with all proceeds going to the Near East. Mithrans, Taru-tarus, Humes, Elvaans, and Galkans flocked to San d’Oria, all hoping to help out in the relief efforts. Such a sign of unity lifted Qrushkil’s heart as he set his own items for auction on the ever expanding pile.
He stared at the faces around, faces he’d seen all his life, and others never seen until today, and felt a surge of pride knowing these were his people, his family, and they would be there for one another no matter what. Hope rekindled in his heart, he looked eastward, sending his thoughts, hopes, and prayers to those who needed it most.