Thursday 18 November 2010

Getting Closer To Nature, Then Calling A Doctor.

The people of The Crescent Continent have always had a lot of things to deal with as of late. Not only is the Tyrant Jaspiel making life for those who live on the Waning Shores rather difficult (‘An execution a day keeps overpopulation away’), but there are also rumours of a Crimson Elf invasion from their home on the Volco Isles. Add on to this the fact that goats are mysteriously dying out, and most of the wheat planted before July has run away, and one could be forgiven for thinking that the people of the Crescent Continent have had enough of hardship for a generation or two.

Apparently not, it seems. There is one thing that even a tyrant cannot restrict, that even Crimson Elf domination could not confiscate from the populace, and that is the vast array of diseases and ailments to choose from. And it seems that the people of the CC really love their choice when it comes to how to be ill. As if the vast array of illness available to mankind were not enough, the people of the Crescent Continent have started to borrow ailments from the animal kingdom as well.
This is why apothecaries across the curved land are now struggling to find cures for a variety of animal-related diseases, as the people of this particular part of Mephoria fall foul to Giraffe Limping, Antelope Headaches, Panda Rickets and Spider Sneezing.

Some claim that these recent animal inflictions are in fact a punishment sent down by the gods. Many people blame Elisa the Pig-Headed for this. She spent much of her time preaching that the gods had created women and men and then populated the remaining space with animals which provided them not only with something tasty to eat when they all got bored of fruit, but also some a lot of entertainment in the form of zoos, pets, races and hunting. (Cresentuan Scholars are unclear as to whether animals in zoos count as pets. They like to think that they are pets for the entire public, but they do not like the implication that the next time a lion gets sick, they may be partially responsible for footing the bill for the vet.)

The gods have yet to speak out on whether or not Elisa was speaking the truth, but because there are so many people who are interpreting their writings and, like Elisa, generally speaking for them, the chances are they won’t even bother. So the rumours will go unabated that in order to show that they created animals for something more than just the pleasure of humans, the gods are now inflicting said humans with the animal diseases.

They hope, or at least it is claimed they hope, that if a man laughs at a swan, and then two days later goes down with a bad case of Swan Itch, he’ll realise that perhaps he and the swan are equals. It’s hard to feel superior to a bird when you are overcome with an overwhelming urge to run a very deep bath and then spend the next few days with your bottom being the only thing sticking out of the water.

Certain theologians have started to wonder, if this is the case, why it has not worked the other way around. It is hard to prove that humans and animals are equal by giving humans animal diseases and afflictions, if the same thing is not happening in reverse. Where, they want to know, are the lactose intolerant cats? Where are the giraffes with vertigo? Where are the ostriches with Athlete’s Foot? Where are the Invisible Geruffian Hunting Camels? The latter being a general question, and not having much to do with animal ailments, and more simply being something that people really want answered.

The percentage of the population that tend not to believe that the gods have had a great hand in things tend to disagree. (There are no people in Mephoria who do not believe in the gods. Considering how often they make their presence known it would equate to not believing in windows or, more fatally, bear traps.) These people have turned to alchemists for their explanation, and got an equally unsatisfactory answer to those who listened to Miss P. Headed.

The Alchemists have come up with the novel idea that perhaps the viruses are evolving, that they are reshaping themselves to greater adapt to the environment. This raises certain chilling situations, images of viruses actively on the hunt. The day that haemorrhoids can disguise itself as a comfy set of garden furniture is the last day anyone sits comfortably. The day flu can package itself as a sachet of medicinal hot lemon drink is the day the human race will fall. And a headache that learns to take its strength from menthol, well, it just does not bear thinking about.

The people of the Crescent Continent are on the whole not a very happy bunch. On one side, they can believe that the divine beings who lounge around on the clouds and occasionally drop new chocolates down on Mephoria (accidentally, of course, apart from the Giggle Mint, which was just a prank) are punishing humanity for their lack of respect towards the animal kingdom. On the other, the viruses are attacking with a vengeance, covering themselves in tissues, clinging to paracetemol, swimming in cough syrup. Science and religion have both thrown up equally unlikely answers.

Regardless of whether or not the cause can be fully ascertained, this winter in Mephoria looks like it is shaping up to be a suspicious one. Not only are those who believe that the gods are responsible getting ready to clash violently with those who believe the Alchemist’s version of events, but every time a sparrow dies, the nearby villagers will be rushing to put ointment over their noses. Every time a Yak coughs, the rural witches will perform their famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) Spirits Begone Suppository Dance. Every time a bear sneezes, some salmon will undoubtedly shout ‘bless you’, before realising the large tactical mistake they have just made.

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