All was silent in the town of hemshire for this was the "correct" social grace that was followed by everyone within hemshire when a baby was born. This silly little custom all stemmed from a strange event that occurred long ago which just happened to have saved the village from total decimation. It is a very riveting tale, but to long for me to tell and still keep my sanity. Long story short a demon was in a bad mood because his child had put up quite the fight in the struggle to get the child to sleep. The demon eventually succeeded in getting the little twerp to go into a temporary coma, but suffice to say his feathers were a bit ruffled from the event. So while in this bad mood he declared to everyone within the small town of hemshire that if one noise was made while his baby was sleeping he would set fire to the world and yatta yatta yatta. Now no one makes noises when in ear shot of new borns in fear of what demon could be watching. This baby seemed to be nothing special to the eyes of everyone, but his mother, the leader of hemshire, knew otherwise. Suddenly a rather tipsy wombat whispered a "flattering" comment to the local barmaid, and the whole world was engulfed in a fiery tornado.
The year is a long ass fucking time from then, and everything is a wasteland. All the lush forests and ecosystems of Wombania, the world in which the small silent charred town of hemshire was located, are now nothing but ash. The world is scarred, and all life suffers. But, there is still hope for wombatinity for a new civilization has begun. They are the only survivors of the great reckoning and they intend to bring the wombats back to the civilization they once were. In the middle of this new technological uprising is a great and powerful wombat whos name yields such weight as George wombatshington, Barack wombabma, or even Vladimir wombin; he is Tim Fields the wombat.
The desert sand stream roughly slashed at his face. Urged on by the whipping wind, it continued to scratch at the burlap scarf shielding his whiskery visage. Trekking on through the harsh unyielding post apocalyptic wilderness, Tim Fields pulled out his leather sack. Unscrewing a small cap located on the top end of the bag. As he raised the bag up to his mouth he sighed, finding a comforting anticipation feeling that the bag was refilled completely with water. Previously, Fields had gone at least 4 years without drinking a single drop of pure water, only surviving from wild cactus juice that also gave him wonderful mind visions, which some viewed in a negative light calling them "hallucinations". Now, having finally had the time to find true liquid he took a gulp. Then said " Damn this doesn't taste like anything, and if it doesn't at least make me feel funny, well then its the worlds shittiest drink ever. Don't know why i ever switched back from magic cactus juice." As he neared the peak of the large dune he was climbing, the light began to shine from the city below. Crossing over the crest, he began his descent to the glowing town. "What a dink..." Fields exclaimed, " If someone was to just torch the world right now, and destroy this place... You know I'd be okay with it".
The town was called ios Mosley, and one would be hard pressed to find another town that is more filled with neat freaks and outstanding citizens. It was because of this cleanliness that Fields so loathed ios. Scholars have studied and pondered for years, searching for another interesting fact, just one, about ios mosley, however all that they could come up with is that they are so boring that the true citizens have developed a hive mentality. Meaning that all that they think is dictated by a singularity, a single thought or will that drives them all, and it drives them all to produce an exclamation or inquiry of which concerns the current and previous state of the sky. "nice weather we're having. nice weather we're having. nice weather we're having" It went on for hours, days, some say that they never stopped. In fact they are so consumed by the sky that they haven't even had... well anything.
