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1813
The Medicine Man

Long ago there was a war. The tribes of the Old World would make weapons and tools that would conquer nature and make her their slave. But this was never enough; it is man's nature to dominate and so he sought to make a slave of his fellow man. The tribes would fight on the decaying corpse of mother nature until man's destructive habits drove the tribes to open the sky and pour fire onto the Earth, destroying everything.
Man was an animal once again.
The ruins of the Old World was a decrepit alien presence, haunted by the ghosts of a million dead warriors. Life would never again grow there, and all animals avoided them. Only the foolish and the brave dared to venture into the ruins and would return with terrifying stories of metal giants that turned warriors to ashes and the whisper of madness that made even the wisest elder into a savage cannibal.
Travelers from the Old World ruins would come to me, sick and vomiting. Their hair fell out and they would stare up at me with desperate eyes, pleading "help me". There was nothing I could do. They would suffer for days as their bodies fell apart before letting out that unearthly screech, articulating their last painful moments of life.
This was a sign that the Gods did not want us to return to the ruins of the Old World. They wanted man to stay united to the reborn child of Mother Nature. I never blamed them; they did not want us to remember how evil we once were. The metal giants guarded the Old World fiercely, protecting its secrets from the warriors that sought the power to conquer other tribes. I sought power from them, too. But my cause was pure.
I never wanted any other man to watch helplessly as death claimed his loved ones, my loved one. I sought not to elevate my tribe or to conquer the other tribes. I was a medicine man, it was not in my nature to fight man; it was in my nature to fight death.
The great metal giants had many powers. I wondered if the power to cure all pestilence and sickness was among them. I would not want their power to fight the other tribes, only the power to keep them from dying.
I watched the ruins in the distance with a longing in my heart. As I stepped closer and closer to the ominous jagged buildings, I felt a tingling fear tremble through me. There were no plants or animals here, only sand, ashes, stone and death. Then I saw a giant.
He was twice the size of any warrior and his metal body moaned as he walked. His hollow eyes emitted a faint red glow. He pointed his weapon at me and I held my hands up.
He spoke in a dark demon's voice in an ancient language.
"I am a medicine man," I told him "I seek the power to heal the sick. With your permission, I may use it only for that noble cause."
"All people who seek us out only seek to slay us and take our power to kill," he said "They understand not what we are or what we protect. No person has ever come to us to learn how to help human kind, only how to hurt humankind."
"Will you help me?" I pleaded, my arms still up.
"I can not. I am a weapon of war. A ghost of the civilization that created me, repurposed to keep the events that nearly ended all surface life on Earth from ever happening again."
"Does the Old World hold any secrets of medicine?"
"None that you might understand, medicine man. Leave now."
I was not going to object. I turned and left the dusty ruins, disappointed.
The Old World would leave behind only it's metal dogs of war. Whatever healing powers I might have found there have been ereased in time or buried deep under the ash and sand.

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