Saturday, November 14, 2009

The History of the Snorflog

This is the history of the snorflogs, or possibly The Snorflog – the true number of these creatures has been ever difficult to identify since the mass exodus from le Pays maudit where the original home was, when crossing the seas to the Belgium frontier. It is believed that before the 1300s when the Maori people were leaving for New Zealand, the snorflogs attempted to follow from their original Polynesian homes to this new land. However things did not go as planned.

Little is known about the ancient history of the Maori people, but it can be believed that their exodus and population of the lands now best known as home to Peter Jackson's vision of Lord of the Rings was due to their inability to tolerate these tiny creatures any longer.

While faeries may be well known to those of European decent, the tales of the snorflogs are just as well known to those who have had to deal with, tolerate, or even learn to coexist in some sort of terribly symbiotic / parasitic relationship with them. And while these creatures wished to stay close to those whom they knew, seafaring, and guide by night navigational skills were not well known to them. It so happened that their ships crashed on the shores of a distant continent, after – it is supposed – they travelled between the two landmasses of New Zealand and Australia, up along Indonesia, just missing the lands of the Maldives and India, past Pakistan, and eventually coming to rest on the shores of Iraq.

This journey, torturous for any man, must have been neigh impossible for these creatures due to their relative size. Though it may have been that size that kept them alive. One piece of fruit would last as if an orchard, and any fish from the sea would seem to be a whale. And as we all know, whale is the greatest of meats.

For forty years the snorflogs wandered through deserts, being unceremoniously hunted and cast out from one country to the next. Historians presume that they made their pilgrimage towards Syria, then into and across modern-day Turkey. What perils they must have faced there can only be guessed at, and partially remembered in those late night dreams where their fears infect our collective unconscious causing us to rise from our slumber, as if from our graves.

It is said that they ventured as far as Romania before trying to build their first settlement. For many generations now the snorflogs had known nothing but the nomadic life of hardships and struggle. Links to their homelands, and the Polynesian warmth were nearly all but forgotten except to the very old, who even then recalled only legends passed down to them.

It is believed that the creatures settled near the city of Malva, within Dacia Malvensis. Evidence of their settlement are still being discovered today, though more often than not they are wrongly assumed as being pieces of clay pots, and other cooking tools. No – in fact these Romanian trinkets were once part of the might snorflogian town.

Their settlement here lasted nearly one hundred years. One hundred years of peace, prosperity, and a chance to regrow their numbers. For many were lost in the hardships leading up until then. And, strangely, it was found – the snorflogs did not die. It seemed that they had no maximum life span, no limit to longevity. We can see this recorded in pictographs on the exterior of their houses.

No, it seemed only the hardships, wear and tear of a torturous life, and hunger caused their deaths. Here they lived for decades and decades brining up new children, and creating ever greater art, and luxury.

Unfortunately, the snorflogs did not go unnoticed. They rarely do. The Romans became aware of their presence, and the cause of their own nocturnal awakenings. And as such wolves were used to hunt down and slaughter the creatures by the dozens. For a race free from struggle and turmoil this must have been the cruelest of fates. While their future was unknown, their present was not. They could not remain. They must push on.

And push on they did, up into the Ukraine, and through Poland, and deep into Germany, where another navigational mistake was made, causing them to wander aimlessly through dark forest, through deep marshes, often traversed on boats crafted from hollowed logs. Strange that they had not lost their seafaring ways, despite so much time locked on land. It i quite possible, scientists assume, that this is actually an innate gift within them. Part of their biological instincts imbued from the time of birth. Once more their was, to them – scorching desert – today we can assume that they most likely made their way to the European coastline, and natural beaches found there. But once again, due to their diminutive size, only two apples tall, an acer could seem an eternity. And finally they crossed over a high mountain range. It was here that they settled in le Pays maudit. While the precise location is still unknown, it is assumed that this is a region close to the modern Belgian/French border.

And once more there was peace. And harmony. In fact their civilization ran until the early twentieth century. It was here, at this point in history, that a most terrible plague befell them. Rumours that persist claim it was referred to as the Cerulean Death. A time of ethnic cleansing on a scale which the world had never before seen. And yet, this went mostly unnoticed. Because a race of peoples two apples high is ever so easy to ignore. And for most they were considered pests, run from the Middle East through to Western Europe. They were feared by some, and hated by most. Their death were welcomes, and worshiped by all – save one: A black clad alchemist, with awkwardly large red shoes, tuffs of black hair, and a large protruding nose. It is said that due to his allegiance with the creatures, only his stray orange cat will stay by his side. To this day, he hunts the Sapphire devils who killed with no mercy.

When the Azure waves, capped with white, flooded into the cursed lands, they were seen as giants by the snorflogs. Not so much as the men whom they had always known to inhabit the world, but those men seldom paid attention to the snorflogs except during the exterminations, and the hunts. From day to day they were ignored. So easy, it is, to escape the notice of human eyes when you seem unworthy, nonthreatening, and helpless. Only the very cruel of their race took the time to interfere, or injure. And since their settling amongst the fungal overgrown of these new lands, they had been all but undisturbed.

But then these new giants – standing fifty percent taller – entered. They too had made their way through forest, swamp, desert, and mountain. And at first, all was well. At first the two races interacted without malice, hatred, or rage. But all the while he who wore the red was plotting. Ever since that first night when the cries of the snorflogs was heard through the darkness, keeping the new inhabitants from enjoying rest of their own, plans began to come together.

Those of the cobalt order knew their larger size, and potential corruption would lead them to a swift and decisive victory. And it was on the eve of the second week, to the day, that this group of creatures struck the first blow.

They had created a mixture from the berries of the lands, and the droppings of the animals, and the waters of the ponds. Together they formed a gaseous plague that spread out, harming only the other race whose territory they wanted for their own. Or so they believed. They could not have known that genetic similarities were so close within the snorflogs, as with their own females. And while the snorflogs fell by the masses, so too were nearly all teal females wiped from existence.

It must have been a terrible thing to witness. And while vengeance was desired, there was no hope. There was no way to fight back. Even with the indigo devils reeling from the disaster they had cast upon themselves, there was no chance to return with a counter attack. Those surviving the initial attack quickly made way to to the great waters and set sail into the expansive oceans. Only there could they hope to find peace. And for the last fifty years, while tales of the aquamarine invaders have grown, those of their victims have faded nearly to nothing, lost in antiquity.

But all know of their pain. All know of their suffering. And while we may have forgotten during the waking hours, it is at night, when our minds are most receptive, that some are forced to remember. So great was their suffering, and so large was their tragedy that the thousand years of snorflog suffering has permeated the collective unconsciousness. And it is because of that, these dreams of terror, and upset, that some cry out in the night, screaming in the snorflog language, rousing all those around them and preventing sleep.

And it is this language, these cries which they spoke during their waking state, and that of dreams, that caused their persecution throughout the ages; that caused the rage and anger. And despite knowing of that which they endured, to this day it is still hard to accept their voice without thoughts of murder, and rage, and anger. For their calls not unlike that of idling chainsaws, or backfiring cars, churning through the night, is still one to cause violence and animosity. But such was the tale of the snoflogs, and so too is their current state. It is said that until the last of their race falls from the planet, their memory will live on. And while it may be that only one survives to this day, they are a people who have become very good at hiding, and very wise at covertly moving. We are of the world of man, so much goes unnoticed. After all, it's a big world, and for one only two apples tall, it's easy to get lost – and remain that way, if that is their wish.

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