And so, in the era of the god’s rest, the mortals began to act.
The Longarms
There was an incredible amount of new during this era, and for the longarms, new is incredibly stressful. For longer than any, even the arborists, could remember, the longarms have lived in relative peace. The trees provided them fruits in the spring, so that the longarms could fill their bellies. And in the fall, the trees shed their leaves to clothe the longarms. In a perfectly symbiotic relationship, the trees and the longarms exist in peace and harmony. Though, as the gods slept, this balance was put into jeopardy.
With the appearance of two giants, much rumor spread through the forests of much newness. Worry quickly spread through the people, but it wasn't until many met the Maka that they understood the gravity of the changes to the balance of their existence. Shortly after receiving the Guardian Combine, she ventured west, beyond her home forest, to those near where the hairy people live. The local arborist was shocked when she arrived, and with a strange beast no less! The scandal of it all spread through the area in what seemed to be overnight. In days, she gained the title of erroarbist in their native language, which roughly implies "Tree Which Wanders" though, there is a heavy negative connotation to the nickname, implying an unnatural element, as well an air of mistakes and impropriety.
Though, this nickname didn't truly become popular until after she met the hairy ones in battle. Maka had changed much in her time with the gods, and though still tied to her culture, she truly had come into her own as a young adult, gaining a sense of responsibility that guided her actions, often in conflict with the holy teachings of the arborists. This was best illustrated in this battle where, for the first time since the purple sun appeared, a long arm left the forest.
She ventured out to meet the hairy ones as they approached from outside the territory of the long arms. Indeed, she was far from home. As she approached, the hairy ones were stunned to see a long arm out in the open, and though she gave them warning to turn back, they, in ignorance, pressed towards her and the forest behind her. In the next few minutes over a hundred of the hairyones perished, and the small army was decimated. Some unscathed and some of the injured turned and fled, horrified by the strange long arm. Seen by many a longarm, whispers of the event spread like wildfire through dry brush. Soon, the erroarbist was a mirah among her people. Valt and the guardian combine had given her the power to protect her people, but at the same time, they had forever separated her from them. Her name was forever henceforth etched into the holy stories and the story was spread to every arborist. Interestingly, there was an increased interest in education as a result. Many an arborist scoured the stories for any mention of such things, or wisdom to guide them in this period of strange occurrences.
South Mountain Warriors
Dread. Dread was the language which every mountain clan knew well, baked into the very fiber of their being and culture was a sense of incredible dread. So it had been as long as any clansman can remember. And it was this dread which gave the dark speakers their power. The Watcher watched silently as the fearful, and the opportunistic alike came to the edge of the lair of his god.
With eyes most hollow and a mouth full of only blackness, they spouted words in a language unfamiliar. And from the well of darkness inside them, came forth the strange power their shamans wielded. Lines of darkness spread across the caverns, growing more numerous as more and more shamans came forth to cast their power against the domain of a god. Most came with a congregation, giving sermons to their flock. This was common. What was not, was those who can alone. Those who came not to bolster their lead, no, it was those who came to barter that gained the eye of the watcher. As the era of rest passed, there was a stark change. More and more began to beseech the sleeping god, their words of dread stronger now.
There was another change about the same time, clans started growing larger, gathering together and unifying into larger hordes. Word of a wandering tree had spread to the tribes. This tree had no roots and could leave the forest, and while that was concerning, it's triumphs were terrifying. The Wandering Tree had grown tall enough to reach the sky, and had captured thunder in it's branches. And even worse, it had reached deep into the earth and drank full of something deep within. And if this was not enough, the tree then abandoned it's roots and leaves so that it may wander in the guise of a mortal girl, a monsterous girl indeed. The Wandering Tree inspired great dread and the mountain clans grew restless. The Watcher listened closely to the words of the mountain people then, and gained an insight which it believed would please it's master greatly. It eagerly awaited its awakening.
The Lone Bisonyak
Life for the sentient bisonyak was nice at first. For a few years they spoke with Bipram and talked with them much. But soon, the god fell asleep and they were left alone. They attempted to return to their herd, but soon they became frustrated. They could not bare the loneliness of being surrounded by her kin, and yet seeing them as the dumb slobbering animals they were. Then came the rutting season. Watching the beasts which looked like her, but were wholly unlike her now, it was disturbing. As the bulls turned their sights to her, she fled.
She wandered for quite a long time, alone and constantly wary. With no herd to protect her, she had to remain vigilant and move often, ere the hungry wolves catch up to her. In time, she came to hate Bipram for this cursed life. She was not only alone, but she had been made conscious of the fact she was alone. Not just physically, but entirely, there was no other like her in existence. She would never live among her people, and even the humans nearby had been turned into dumb beasts. Truly, she was cursed.
She did eventually become the captive of a distant tribe of humans. While hunting her she screamed for them to stop and was taken alive for the novelty of a talking bisonyak. The barbarians who captured her put her on display and made her an attraction for visitors and passerbys. When she would not speak, they would prod her with hot irons until she talked to the patrons, who paid well for the novelty of such a strange creature. Years of this abuse and display baked a hatred deep in her heart.
In the later years of her life, she came to be visited by a spirit which offered her all she had desired. Friendship, freedom, belongingness, and most importantly, revenge. Filled entirely with hate, the bisonyak accepted, disappearing from the sight of the gods.
The People of a Dead Mountain
Silent the mountain was. It was not quiet, no, it was silent. There was not a sound, no matter how hard the mountain folk pressed their ears to the stone. Truly, it was dead. Many who believed Kapesh's appearance to be a sign of resurrection were surely and wholy disappointed. The Mountain King's song would never resume.
Starving and hungry Kapesh came to them, and unto the regent he gifted a Taste of Salvation. The reagent struck the mountain top with the bone cross, and lo he did bend his head low and drink deeply the milk of the mountain that sprang forth from the magic of the cross. When he did raise his head once more, he raised it in song. A deep low sound escaped his throat, quenched as it now was by the mountain milk. The people of the mountains looked up, as they heard the single sound undercut the silence of the mountain, and slowly, they began to climb. Hand over hand, foot in front of foot, one rock then the next, they made their way up the mountain to drink the mountain’s milk. As each dry throat was dampened by the muck of salvation, so too did it raise its voice in the song of the mountain king. As more and more joined the chorus, their song radiated out into the valley of the four mountains. Ever so very faintly, the song was heard upon the next mountain, and, in time, it was returned with the sounds of drums.
As the sounds of drums reached the ears of the mountain men, their voices fell quiet. The silence was gone, but in its stead, a much more threatening sound filled the air. Yet, it was not alone. In time with the drums, one could hear footsteps, not of the approaching enemy, but of Anope. Silent and alone, it descended the mountain, and stood at the ready to defend these mortals. As it stood, awaiting those who would do harm, many a mountain woman did lift rock and spear and descend. As the drumbeat intensified, the enemy appeared, at least two hundred strong. Against them, near the same number had rallied behind Anope and stood to defend their home. The ensuing battle stained the rock red, and though the invaders were repelled, it was not without much loss of life. Anope had busted many a skull, leaving a trail of broken heads across the battlefield, but so too had many of the mountain people been slain.
As time passed, Anope stood down upon the battlefield, among the corpses, soon to be skeletal brethren to Anope, always facing south.
The People of Swamp Tower
In the east the being Yume raised a tower most high from the center of the swamp lake. While this region is home to few, being both hostile and toxic, several tribes do find themselves to be quite successful in navigating the dangers of the swamp. Yet few could have forseen the danger that the tower posed to them. Stories of its appearance and rumor of it’s light drew forth the curious, others drifted too close and lingered to long in it’s waters. Those that made the mistake of venturing near did hear the insidious whisper in the back of their minds, a simple thought that was not their own. A command to worship. While many did turn and flee long before this thought embedded itself in their minds, a few were caught in the spider’s web, unable to shake the thought.
Upon the nearest shore they built their hovels, lingering close to the tower and making pilgrimages by boat to the walls of the tower. While dangerous, many did feel compelled to grovel at the strange stone, if they were not devoured by the swamp beasts nearby. And yet those upon the shores were not safe from the rockodiles and the knifelings. Tall upon stilts they were forced to build their homes, to raise themselves further from the dangers of the swamp. Yet the animals were not the only danger. The other villages, from whom these towermen did come from, did watch in horror as their brothers and sisters come to obsess over the tower, unable to venture far from it’s glorious light. Raids were common upon the tower folk, for there was an easy cure, and a difficult cure for what appeared to be a madness upon their kin. For many, death was the easy answer. For others, their fate was to be dragged kicking and screaming far from the tower, until their thoughts once again became their own.
In time, the villagers found the inverse to also be suitable. Thieves, murderers, rapists, and villains of all sorts were dragged, similarly kicking and screaming, into the village of the towermen. Bound and gagged, they were bathed in the light of the tower for endless days and countless darkless nights, until the commands of Yume were scarred into their mind and worship poured forth from their lips.
The People of Haven
Far to the north, upon an island of some good size, the gods Neutrantal and Aurum did grow close with the mortals there. Walking amongst them, and teaching them much in the ways of war, the people of Haven did come to form a militaristic theocracy in a surprisingly short time.
The Haveners had come into a hierarchy of a sort based upon a few guiding principles. First, skill of the hunter was prized above all. Whether it be spear or sling, those with the skill of a hunter did rise in the ranks of society. Secondly, order was prized. Those who were intelligent in their organization, whether it be thoughts or belongings were given praise for their following of the teachings of the gods. Last, came sociability. Those that were popular and walked among the many were seen more and trusted more.
In time, the hierarchy of Haven was established. At it’s top was one who typified the three principals of Haven. A leader who was both skilled in the spear and in the politics of the village, while also having passable organization. Beneath them the Principled Ones, a member of the village which best represented one of the three teachings. The High Hunter, the Master of Planning, and the Cosmopolitan. Afterwards, beneath the Principled Ones, the rest of the members of Haven were organized into three houses based upon the same. The House of Spears, the House of Marks, and the House of Speakers.
In this organized society, members of the society were raised in their family homes, and then joined one of the other houses upon coming of age. While many did remain in the houses of their parents and families, black sheep did oft join a house in which they were not born. In a good light, they were referred to as the rehoused, but all too often they were seen as lesser by those who were born and raised in the skill of the house they now belong. The phrase ‘switcher’ came to be a derogatory term for one such individual.
In the morning the hunters would depart, to stalk the jungle in search of prey. In the afternoon, they would return with their prize and the organizers would store the food, organize the preparation of the daily meal, and see too the information is recorded. Finally the socialites would own the night, telling story and singing songs of the hunt or tell tale of the gods. Then all would rest and start the day again, doing the same until the gods awoke.
The Greenskins of the Western Jungle
Little changed for the greenskins this era. Or at least it seemed so at first. They spent many a day attempting to catch the insects in their teeth and spit the bugs into a ceremonial bowl for the jungle spirits appeasement. Yet if one watched closely, one could see a bit of mischief enter their actions. One classic example centers around the Mimic Stink Bug, a flying beetle with a taste most foul and causes sweats and a burning of the throat and bowels with a noxious spray. However, it looks most incredibly similar to the Prized Beetle, a rare beetle which the forest spirits are known to love above all others. So a few mischievous individuals would catch the beetle not in their mouths, but in their hands, and release it near a friend so that they would attempt to catch it in their teeth, only to be sprayed by the horrid fluid. Much to the joy and laughter of the prankster. In time, this would be come to be known as classic comedy.
As the era went on, friendships emerged and the ties between individuals grew stronger and closer. While this did not lead to a massive change in the lives of the greenskins, they were happier and closer knit than they were before. Though, the unfortunate practice of pulling a tiger’s tail while it was asleep to hear the beast yowl in fright did become ingrained in the culture. It was seen as a prank for only the most daring, and it soon came to pass that only those who had lived through this most dangerous of mischiefs did come to lead the greenskins. Some come to recognize the work of Chromatic Wing, and often use his name as a bit of comic relief. Often after getting pranked, one would jokingly invoke the god, thanking them for the happiness the prankster had given them.
The Ice Walkers
Farest to the north one may glimpse the nomadic Ice Walker. These regal men and women live in the harsh northern reaches of the Nevermelt. Their lives are harsher than the winds, and their constitution harder than glacier, but their hearts remain ever warm against the cold. They follow the caribou and the bisonyaks across the ice, rarely staying anywhere save the valleys for long. They do often travel through the ice spires, but never stay for long, for danger has been known to dwell there.
So too do they take to the waters, with clubs of blue ice they break through the shallow ice to the water below, casting in scraps of flesh upon hooks of bone and line of bisonyak yarn. The fishers are rather skilled in this practice, and have great renown among the peoples, but this is likely only due to the danger of the method. Far too often an unskilled fisherman will be dragged beneath the ice, never to be seen again. Thus, only those with skill survive to reap the prestige of the risky life they live.
Their culture revolves around making use of all things available to them. Men and pregnant women skin the beasts and scale the fish, while the women and they boys hunt the ice. While fishing is seen as a masculine pursuit, the use of a bow is entirely femine. Though, all are taught how to use the bow in their youth, the men of the ice walkers grow into more stationary pursuits leaving the chasing and the hauling of hunts to those better suited for it.
Cannibalism is not an uncommon practice among the ice walkers. When a member of a tribe perishes, they are ceremony skinned and eaten. While this certainly has a survival aspect involved, much of this is spiritual. To eat the flesh of the father is to impart patience onto the child and his tribe members. To eat of the mother is to impart strength and instinct. Similarly the leather and the bones allow the deceased to watch over and guide those they have left behind. As a consequence, to die upon (or in the case of fishers, beneath) the ice is to give your strength and wisdom to the beast which slayed you, endangering your tribe via empowering the beasts which may come to hunt them.
The Octopi
The fleshsmith spent much of this era among the octopi. They were incredibly abundant in the shallow waters, hunting fish and crab with strange alien intelligence. It was with them the servant, given the spark of mortal intelligence and bound to a god found home. The fleshsmith, while intelligent knew little, and had less explained, it had many an instinct. Eat, sleep, reproduce, these were what Andronii knew. With the powers given to it, these are what it did.
At first, Andronii made themselves large and powerful. They hunted and ate to their heart’s content. For a long time, Andronii was satisfied with the thrill of the hunt, but soon, many of the predators had been routed from the area. So, as they grew bored, they changed themsleves to sleep. They hibernated for a long long time, only to reawaken and find themselves lonely. Changing themselves once more, they became the most attractive of octopi and spent nearly a decade fornicating. So too did this come to lose its entertainment.
It was then that Andronii realized they were lonely. They began to change the life around them, changing his form and that of his children and others so that they could better live and communicate. In time, they took on more humanoid aspects, growing bones and limbs so that they could better build and create. Andronii, his four hundred wives, and a large number of his children then began to build a civilization upon the sea floor. Andronii knew little, but had learned much and by the end of the era, a rough approximation of a civilization was beginning to form around him.
Neurantal: +1 CP
Aurum: +1 DP
Malya: +1 CP
Vahranis: +1 DP
Vorak: +1 DP
Kapesh: +1 CP, +1 DP
Chromaticwing: +1DP
Yume: +1 DP
Noxuss: +1 CP
And thus, the gods began to stir once more.
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Topic: Between the Mountains IC (Read 4313 times)