Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Ginnungagap
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Ginnungagap Merger of Worlds

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Rudyar



Day 2, Week 25, Cycle 1


Reality convulsed, shivering in the aftermath of the storms, that had lashed those dreary shores.

Another people stood on the island's ground, brought from somewhere old to somewhere new. Those first few seconds would be definitional to them in this new world. And in that first moment, most of them knew only silence, their jaws futilely trying to remember what they were doing, or even to speak a word.
"...the principle of..." spoke the wisest Rudyar, reaching for the words she had been saying but moments before. She had been saying something, something vitally important, something that she could never forget and that she was sure her people would never forget, and yet...and yet she could not remember now what she was saying, or who she was saying it to.
Yet the others had all lost the words on their tongues in that instant that crossed worlds. But in the minds of all those around, having forgotten whence they had come, those were the first words they had ever heard. And some part of them longed to celebrate that. All who had heard those words turned to their source, a wordless cheer rising through the crowd.
Others, further away, only understanding that cheering was going on, simply joined in.

It did not take long after their arrival for the Rudyars to break off into smaller crowds, groups that could all speak together, and watch the other small groupings as well. A murmur was gathering, an undercurrent beneath everything else. As each Rudyar looked around at the world around them, ideas came to their minds. Concepts that they could explain, and with each explanation more words entered the circles. Some even felt the call of concepts that they could not put to words, things they just knew without understanding what it meant until another next to them said a word, a word that they could use, knowledge being pieced together in scattered ways.

One particular crowd, having set up higher up on the mild slope they had arrived on, suddenly made a proclamation that drew the attention of others.
"Listen!" came the call to order, from the largest of seven, with a fine beard of black, "Listen! Before light becomes dark, we must have two things! Two things! Food! And! Dens!"

Now wasn't that a revolutionary idea?



The treeline to the north was of immediate importance to the Rudyar, many trees had fallen in the aftermath of the storm, and the ground was littered with sticks of every size. Some industrious few grabbed what they could and headed back south along the tiny stream, to where they had first appeared. They knew deep down that, even if the wood would be important, even if the woods might be absolutely vital, they could not live under their boughs. The open grasslands suited them much better. A minute did not go by between the gatherers here someone did not pass some comment on the flavor of a leaf or a berry they had found, or one tried again by another curious soul, to see if they also liked it.

Others slunk through the trees and the grasslands like they had spent their whole lives doing so, crude knives of stone in their hand, shaped almost on the move. For this first day of days they avoided the larger game, but rodents, lepus, any creature they could reach and get their claws on was prey. They needed something more than just knives and a newly-formed hunting party if they wanted to take on the striders or krollans that seemed to rule the river itself. Some of them understood what they might need, but also knew they needed more than just rocks to get there.
Nonetheless, the Rudyars would eat tonight, and perhaps tomorrow, they would take down one of those birds.


Day 6, Week 25, Cycle 1


Home.
What a nebulous concept, thought up by the wisest Rudyar, claws sunk into the earth as she dug. Was this home? They were building homes, certainly, half-dug into the earth and roofed with whatever materials were quick at hand. They had been doing this for days now, at first all squished into whatever shelter they could scrounge up, now getting more comfortable in what space they could spare. She had been one of the first to suggest setting aside one home to keep their food, after lining the floors with some of the flat, smooth stone that could be found down in the riverbeds. It wasn't perfect, but it kept the food dry and kept the worst of the pests from eating it and leaving once they'd had their fill.
Some of the 'pests' were tasty too, they all had discovered, once they were caught.
"Perhaps put the pests to use?" she muttered aloud, some half-remembered dream of an idea coming to her.
"Ya need more sun if you're thinking stuff like that, quiet one" immediately came a response from outside, even as the speaker continued on their way.


Day 1, Week 27, Cycle 1


It had taken more time than the hunters would have liked, but sturdy wood had been needed for shelters first and foremost, and it was only now that they could spare anything to hunt down the larger prey, when smaller prey was plenty safe and plentiful still. But word was traveling fast around the stacks of hovels and the sunning-logs that had been brought back from the forest. They had appeared here at the very tail end of the hot months, and it would be getting cold soon.
But with the lack of wood, they had had plenty of time to prepare the heads for their tools. And prepare they had. Some of them carried a couple of short spears each, but the burlier individuals going out today had axes they'd shaped from the biggest and most promising stones they could find.

The strider never saw it coming, really. The first spear thunked satisfyingly into its thigh, and its cry of terror set the rest of its herd into a rapid retreat, leaving their comrade to face whatever monstrous predator had appeared.
They were allowed to escape today, as the Rudyars only wanted the one bird today.
Stumbling along, uselessly flapping its wings and simply trying to run itself, the strider didn't really stand a chance. Another cry as one of the tiny reptiles slashed at its leg with its stone arm. On the ground, flapping, trying to push them away...
Another cut, this time through its neck...


Day 3, Week 29, Cycle 1


Intuition, that little voice in the back of your head, the thing that occasionally (well, very rarely) poked into a Rudyar's head and told them speaking wasn't the right idea here, was paying off.

The hunters had learned that to hunt without speaking was the only way to succeed, at least until after they had downed their prey. Then the congratulations and the salutations could begin in earnest. And once they were back home, their speech was more earnest, even less restrained than the norm. And after a month of that hard work, running through the woods and even dragging back and splitting so many of the sunning logs, to ensure that ever more good sunning spots were available, they had decided that the only reasonable payment was that they would enjoy the best spots for themselves. So atop the slight incline of the grassland, they stacked up their thrones of sticks and logs, which they would ascend every morn, to look down on the littler Rudyars from.

Others had concluded very simply that to live was to speak, and so they spent their days gathering, or now watching the little plants grow in the small fields being tested to the east, where some of the island's vegetables and a few cereals that looked promising, or working together to dig and line the foundation for more storage.

It was a scarce few who had ideas, who stayed quiet as they tried them out. Sometimes it was just that something had clicked in their head, and now they were breeding little beetles in a hole, feeding them with grains and seeing just how many little larvae they could have. The little pests could be useful it seemed, after all. They would happily eat the worst parts of the grain and grow up to be eaten themselves. And they were far tastier than grain.

Others had more radical ideas, and they didn't necessarily turn out. But they all knew it in their bones...

They had to beat the cold, somehow.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Klomster
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Klomster The man, the myth, the legend.

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