|Disease Plot - 2 |
The volume of his voice quickly raised to a booming level, reverberating off the walls of the canyon they had gathered in. "Each day it seems more and more of our species fall ill to this... body ravaging disease... each day we grow weaker and weaker... None of us have yet to die because of it... but who knows how long we can continue like this?" the question was posed in a much softer voice. Then, the more savage tone returned.
"And now, instead of HELPING us... they want to ban us, place us in a quarantine... as if that would help prevent this blight!" Several of the sick nodded, their own anger shimmering through the murkiness of their eyes. “There are even some who say… we should be purged from this world… unless we can somehow, magically, conjure up a cure…” Snaremare snarled softly as some of the creatures near him gasped.
A young Chirops, newly infected, cried out, “But this isn’t our fault! Why should we--”
She was swiftly cut off by a deafening roar. “I believe he had said not to interrupt and to wait to speak.” The mighty Spike curled his lip as he looked up; the owner of the roar was seated on one of the ledges and was yet another whose species was only recently affected by the outbreak. The blue fur was only just starting to show the ugly boils the rest of the ill species bore and her eyes were aglow with her own rage at the situation. She was a Bast of average size with silver adornment instead of gold.
Her tail lashed ferociously as she settled down on the rock she had been laying on. The Chirops she had scolded cover her own face with her wing.
“Thank you, Newcomer…” Snaremane curled his lips up into a half grin, one of his bottom teeth poking out. “A good reminder indeed… …where will it all stop, though?” His voice returned to its previously thunderous volume.
“As it stands, there are not nearly enough votes… to put a block to the proposed quarantine… it will be passed, then what? If they still cannot find a cure, even with a segregation, will we be eradicated simply because we are ill?” Snaremane pushed himself to his feet, his two attendants making sure he would not fall, “WE must be the ones to strike first. WE must be the ones to ensure they really ARE working on a cure for this! WE must form a coalition… and regain control over Settlement One and Harena… we may be ill, sick, near death, whichever you wish to call it… but if we are but one force… they will have little choice but to give in… There are more and more of us each day… who suffer this affliction while they sit around and do little…”
There was a tremor in his legs. He had stayed standing for too long; the mind was strong, but the body was weak, and the old Spike sat back on his haunches. “Some of you, many of you… are not fighters by nature… but what little choice do we have? This is THEIR fault, those settlers… the least THEY can do is cure us… … …now… who is with me?”
At first there was silence and Snaremane laid himself back down. Maybe it had been too much at once, he thought to himself, they weren’t ready for something of this magnitude just yet, something so radical.
Within a few moments of inner deliberation, however, several of the creatures present stepped forward. Others soon followed the lead of the first few braver ones until the whole lot who had come that evening were in agreement: If they wanted to be cured, they needed to fight for it to be done.
Snaremane smiled, this was good, then, very good…
(Once again we thank lucifer for the writing :3)