Forum Fiction.

[Cyan]

Prologue:

Begins with ColonelMilesQuaritch, his body black against the lashing rain that attempts to cleanse this accumulation of industrial muck. Pollutants consume the earth, and he has had enough. The population have to meet the demands of the corrupted corporations, believing commercialism can persuade us to boost an economy, in which it’s interests are morally dubious.

But there is a beacon of beauty in this desolate place, the hope that captures the hearts of these ten men, and they will go against all odds to pursue her, this is their story.

ColonelMilesQuaritch has a plan to assemble a team of individuals, those who have been touched by the images of that beauteous moon, and the native female. It will take him deeper into the trash heap of ever expanding waste and decay and become shrouded in that terminal cesspool to find them.






Chapter 1 - Thorinair

ColonelMilesQuaritch stands black against the dribbling rain enveloping his body. Beads of droplets lash out against his pale face as a storm of commuters in their dependent metallic shells roar past him, he has been given information that a Neytiri obsessive dwells in the area, by the name of the elusive Thorinair and on the scrunched up papers in his clenched fist, is the apparent address.

The colonel knocked on the shabby apartment door, brief sunlight peels through the cracks in the woodwork, there is no sound or movement, and the door is partly open. The colonel found this peculiar as he heaves the door open to reveal the most disturbing sight. Blackened images, marked in permanent pen are riddled upon every reachable surface. It takes a while for him to process, that the images are of Neytiri. Hundreds of doodles, written in inks and felts, like a mad man burdened with one obsession. Is this something you want to get involved with he thought to himself. In the centre of the room is a man, with a pen lid lodged in his mouth, hurrying down potential doodles onto the floorboards in thick felt pen. He has sweat streaming down his body, and his facial features contort with precision, it would not take a doctor to figure this man was a nutter.

He at first, did not notice the new presence in the room, he continued to etch into the floorboards furiously with his marker, the sound screeching the ear drums. But when the colonel blocked out the only source of light flooding into the room, did his canvas become invisible, and this annoyed him. The troubled man detached himself from his business, and looked up at the intruder merely calmly and content. He brushed his hair back, and demanded this intruders business.
The colonel breached the darkness.
“I’m the colonel, and I’m assembling a team,” he said, completely taken by the intricacy and elaborate forms of the sketches that enveloped them. “It is I, who will take you to your beloved Neytiri.”