TALES OF GURUJE: THE LIVING PAINTINGS.

The man who never stopped wanting.

Episode 1 - Tales of Guruje: The living paintings.

Once there was a tale in the far lands of Guruje. It was the story of a foolish man who never stopped wanting.

The city of Guruje was an ancient city ingrained into a modern world. It was not entirely out of place to see vast skyscrapers mingled with artsy old buildings. Guruje was a burst of color both light and dark and so were its people. It was much like the Wakanda of another planet.

But as with where people are, there is also culture, tradition and... there are stories.

What's a civilization without its own dark tales long held over time. The only problem with such tales is that over time, centuries, eons, the lines begin to blur.

It becomes hard to comprehend what is true and what is not. And usually that is not a problem. No one was planning to seek for fish like beings under the sea or acid breathing monsters anyway.

They were for laughs, morals and sometimes to scare little children to their beds at night.

And just like any other place, that was Guruje. A city of history long buried, of great men and women, a thriving metropolis of color and radiance.

There was life there.

But as with every seeming bright light, there always seems to be a spark of darkness just lurking deep within.
Within the vast number of breathing humans that stayed at Guruje was a complexity of emotions.

There was love, there was trust, there was good but there was hunger, ambition, lust and sometimes a lurking darkness in the heart that was yet uncovered. This darkness usually lurked within those who were willing to do just about anything to survive.

Like I said when I started this tale. Guruje is just like any other place.

And also note, for many, this will not be a happy tale.

First I will remind us of one thing that is rampant in the culture of Guruje.
Long ago, tradition spoke of men who were willing to give up anything to become successful. In a world of many realms, transactions can be made in many places.

These transactions are not signed on paper. Some are signed in blood. Some are signed with lives and some needed much more. This was for the truly desperate. For only the truly desperate alone can pay any price.
But remember, culture, tradition and all that. Who knew if they were really real?

At least that's what Amadi thought. Amadi was a man that had been a part of the rich of Guruje all his life.

Well, not him really. His family had been. Had.

They had been rich. But like they say, wealth is no man's friend. The holy book of Guruje once said - Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? For riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle towards heaven. Only the wise, only those who knew the rules could keep it forever.

But someone in Amadi's family missed a step and just like that, the wealth in their coffers made wings and flew away.

To make matters worse, Amadi had been the first son, destined to inherit everything by progeniture.

All his life, this young man felt his ways were set but somehow, everything was pulled out from under him in one day.

Now he lived in the slum, a place he had never stepped before. A place he never even knew existed whilst he managed a struggling arts store in the less seedy side of Guruje.

In the end, it was all he could afford after taking care of his aging mother and three siblings who have refused to come to a full grasp and a full understanding of the life they now had.

Yes, he had been heartbroken in the beginning but being the first son, a lot fell on his shoulders when his once rich father also took ill.

He surmised that he had a lot of friends in high places and that he could start a trade that would flourish quickly.

But many times, with the loss of wealth came the loss of friends.

And the once confident man learnt to struggle. When the struggling didn't pay off, he became desperate.

Sometimes living straight and righteous didn't exactly pay the bills.

At least not for the kind of life he wanted and needed. Not for the kind of money he wanted.

Amadi, once a man of confidence, began to chip away by the day. In outlook and in thought. New emotions giving way to a new man full of bitterness and desperation. Deep pains that came with betrayal from friends and being scorned by a society that had once revered him.

It was this new man that went to places he should have never gone. It was this new man that sought answers in the dark corridors of Guruje. A tradition better left forgotten, a belief and a knowledge best left to the relics of time, Amadi sought out its practitioners and with it, he rose again.

He didn't make a deal with evil. That is just so common now. Exceedingly lacking in creativity if you ask me. What he did was much worse. In some circles, making a deal with evil was simply not enough. There are corridors of darkness that would make even angels who had seen dark things shiver.

In the second month of the year 1750 C.A, Amadi got his desire to the fullest.
You may be wondering how he got it. What is this tradition I have shrouded in mystery? Don't be in a hurry my dear readers. This story is almost at an end.

That night, after Amadi's initiation, a vast number of consignments of paintings were suddenly brought to Amadi's art gallery.

Everyone was surprised. Even his always sick father seemed better that week. In fact, after two weeks of great sales in the gallery for the first time since its opening, Amadi's father's sickness was all but forgotten.

Amadi seemed like a new man. He looked just like he said before when he had all the money but somehow, even better.

For another two months, the sales were beyond great. The gallery moved to the more affluent parts of Guruje, along with the family of course.

However, there is an old adage in Guruje that says, when evil gives you a finger, be ready to return an entire arm. If it gives an animal, know for certain that you will pay back with an entire human being.

Screams....... were heard from the new Atilan gallery seven months later in the wee hours of the morning.

A sculpture was bleeding.

And a painting swallowed someone whole.

What exactly did Amadi do?!

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