It was a dream. He knew it was a dream, but it was the most vivid one he ever had. He was standing on a tall mountain, surrounded by cold, white silence. Nothing moved, nothing could be heard. He could only see.
Far to the east, a great volcano was erupting, sending pillars of black smoke to the sky. Even from here, he could somehow see small figures laboring on its slopes, mining something. Building something.
FLASH.
A tribe of fierce horseriders, using their superb riding skills, hunting down their enemies, growing stronger with each new battle.
FLASH.
A peaceful town, on the shores of a great, limitless sea. Fishing nets were cast, grabbing a bounty from the water, keeping the small nation alive.
FLASH.
A great, dark cave, lit only by the luminescence of strange plants. Pale men, laboring tirelessly under a black sky, their forges the only bright spots in an otherwise endless ocean of darkness.
FLASH.
A sunny, small island. A town overshadowed by its port, great boats sailing back and forth, carrying trade to and from foreign lands, giving riches to a people without any resource to live on.
FLASH.
A fertile farmland, men toiling under a warm, bountiful sun. Yet their worried gazes were always drawn to the north, to the mountains rising in a dark line all across the horizon.
FLASH.
Cold, white silence. A voice was whispering in his ear. He wanted to turn, but he couldn't. The voice was saying something, something important, but he couldn't understand. He tried to, desperately, but he couldn't understand.
Flash.
The man woke with a gasp. He rose from his bed, muttering: "I need to ease down with the beer. That was weird."
He stretched, looked around his home, then dressed. It would be a busy day. He left his home, emerging into the sun and looking around a familiar sight:
A. The endless grasslands. The man turned right, approached his horse and mounted. It would be a long day of herding, the tribe's buffalos needed to be tended to, those great beasts that were the life of the tribe.
B. The great sea. The town around him was still sleeping, but he had to go and fish. Lunch wouldn't put itself on the table!
C. Darkness, and a pale green glow. He shielded his eyes from the light of a nearby torch, grabbed his glowing lichen lantern and made his way to the forge. There were weapons to be made.
D. Palms, grass and bright sun. He was already late, he was to embark almost an hour ago. He ran through the muddy streets, rushing to port. He hoped the shipmaster hadn't left him on dry land, he needed the pay from this trade, his wife was expecting.
E. The rich smell of black earth. His farm needed tending to. As usual, his gaze was drawn north. He hoped this would be a good year. The flying beasts hadn't been seen for a while, but they would be back. They always came back.
Alright, these 5 are the options. Don't mind the 'man', it's just a literary device. You'll take command of the tribe/town/nation that grabs your fancy the most in this list. Vote on!
