The Lost Histories

They were monsters, each of them; from the most distorted and twisted shapes to theose most superficially human. Some scuttled through the tall grass; others soared above it on great, beating wings or strode through it with powerful steps. And for all their superficial diversity and terrifying aspects, they were all pawns, tools in the hands of human masters.

In pre-industrial times, they had roamed freely, in grasslands and deserts and oceans. Their numbers seemed as limitless as the stars. Men and women hunted them, capturing them with net and lasso, and training them to serve human wishes. A man with a single one of these monstrosities under his control was a chief; one with a half-dozen was a King. Human society grew to center around them as ever-better methods of their domination and control were devised; the brightest minds of every generations laboured on new ways to hunt them, train them, heal them and fight them.

Industry exploded onto the land, powered by monstrous strength. Every man kept a stable of monsters in his house for use as servants or pets; strange new types were bred for use in factories and farms and war. Scientists devised ever-more ingenuous devices for the control and use of monstrosities. Great sweeping machines rolled across grassland and reaped monsters by the thousands. Boats trawled nets off every coast. Sportsmen detonated bombs that brought down clouds of flying beasts so numerous as to blot out the sun. It was a time of astounding achievements and grotesque excess.

An event no-one could have predicted put an end to the age. A solar flare of unusual strength collapsed worldwide communications, fried unshielded computers, and - most importantly - destroyed the devices used to contain the monstrosities. Technology, ever focused on the creatures that defined civilization, had long obsoleted cages and nets for the capture of monsters: great or small, all were held in capsules the size of a man's hand, a scientific accomplishment far beyond any our own society may boast. Now this blessing turned bane, as every capsule containing a monster was irradiated and rendered useless. The factories went silent as governments dissolved into anarchy.

When the chaos ended, much had changed. Civilization now clustered near the few remaining grasslands (in formerly remote regions), depending on now-scarce monsters to survive. Relics of the glorious past remained - capsules unused at the time of the disaster were usable and stockpiled in great quantities, and much of the wondrous medical equipment of the pre-disaster society remained potent. But no more could be manufactured. In an effort to prevent a repeat of the folly that led up to the great disaster, dictators took tight hold of each region. Naming themselves the Elite, they had complete control over each distant and autonomous area, delegating subordinates to rule over each city. Rulership was determined strictly by strength; any man that defeated the Elite was made one of them. Strict rules were emplaced, regulating every aspect of the monsters that were life and death alike. Scientists in particular were hard-hit; blamed for the disaster, any scientist that attempted to conduct true research was exiled to the wild-lands, with only priest-like "scientists" left to conduct "research".

And the monsters remain: proud and tall, short and fearful, the lifeblood of humanity.