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@ wilto
2025-01-14 14:07:18
Opening of *Raiders of the Lost Ark* might unfold from the perspective of a Hovitos warrior loyal to Belloq:
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The jungle was alive with whispers. Not the whispers of the wind through the trees or the calls of birds, but the urgent murmurs of my people. We had been tracking the strangers for hours, moving silently through the dense underbrush. They were outsiders, white men with strange tools and greed in their eyes, led by the arrogant one, Belloq.
Belloq spoke our tongue, but his words were twisted, like vines choking the life from a tree. He promised power, gold, and glory—things our gods have no need for. Yet, he was clever, and his promises had lured some of our young ones to his side. We followed because the elders had commanded it. We would protect our sacred places, no matter the cost.
When we reached the temple, I saw the other stranger—a different one. He moved like a hunter, careful and deliberate, his whip coiled at his side. Belloq called him “Dr. Jones,” though his name meant little to me. This one, I could tell, was not here for conquest but for knowledge, though the gods would not look kindly on his intrusion either.
We watched from the shadows as the man descended into the temple. The jungle fell silent, save for the occasional murmur from Belloq as he waited, smug and assured. I did not like him, this Belloq. He spoke of the gods as if they were toys, things to be played with or controlled. But I obeyed the elders, so I stayed at his side, my spear in hand.
Time dragged. When Jones emerged, the golden idol in his hands, I felt my heart tighten. He had survived the traps and claimed what should never have been touched. Belloq stepped forward then, his voice smooth as the river. He raised his hands, and Jones hesitated. The two exchanged words in the foreign tongue, their voices tense. And then it happened.
Belloq betrayed him, of course. He always does. The idol was handed over, and Jones ran, chased by my brothers, though none could match his speed. Belloq turned to us, holding the golden figure high as if it were some great prize. I felt the weight of it then—not the gold itself but the burden of what had been disturbed.
The jungle is patient, but its wrath is not. I knew the gods were watching, and their silence would not last.
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