Primitive Fantasy, needs a good title (M for F(s))

Started by IrishWolf, November 08, 2014, 05:07:56 AM

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Long ago, before even the first legends walked, the first of men and elves and dwarves, along other races, crafted by the whims of the Gods, set forth to spread about the world of Albeen. This power of creation weaked the great beings, limited their abilities to influence the world they ruled. Their children wandered the primitive world, alone, save for fleeting visions, seen by those deemed as shaman, medicine man or spiritwalker, depending on the tribe and race.

It was savagery. Although the fighting between tribes would never reach the scale of the wars in the ages to come, once civilization was created but it was more terrible. Battles were fought by small bands, ruthless and cruel, there could only be victory or death. Combattants killed one another with their bare hands or with fire-hardened sticks and shards of broken stones. There was more quarter given or asked. Those who died might even become food for the victors.

However, not all mercy was lost in this barbarism.

One starving clan of men, who had been driven from their homes, managed to trap a great bull mammoth in a cave, during one winter. Such a beast would have normally been the prey for a whole tribe’s worth of young hunters but the handful of men, weak from hunger, had little choice. They needed the meat now or death would claim their females, their children and their few elders. While trying to slay the enraged bull, nearly half of the hunters were trampled or smashed, leaving those still alive, even less of a chance to make a kill.

When all hope seemed lost, aid came from a most unexpected source. A pride of hunting sabretooth cats arrived in the cave and attacked the mammoth, their great claws tearing open the wounds already made by flint lance and embedded arrows. But they could not slay the beast alone either, as the bull] turned it’s fury upon the pride. Working together, men and cats managed to bleed the great beast, until it was so weak, that a deathblow was easily made, leaving he hunters, staring at one another.

With great care and one eye upon the cats, the men cut away hunks of meat, from the mammoth’s shoulders, as the cats watched them back, slowly eating from the flanks. For nearly two weeks, clan and pride eat their fill from the carcass, until only the bones remained. The pride left and the clan moved one, seeking a new home.

This would have merely been a strange story, to be forgotten, if the humans in question, had not been the favored of the Goddess Yelia.

In return for this act, this unprecedented sharing of prey, the Goddess visited the pride and gifted them with new forms. This pride stopped walking upon all fours, their forepaws stretching and lengthening into hands, as their minds increased. Yelia used nearly all of her remaining influence over this world. to thank those beings, who saved her children and gained new children in doing so.

Humanoid, they made tools and fire, crafting leather and skins into clothes, much like those worn by the humans they rescued. For generations, life was as good as it could be, They hunted and fished, danced and mated beneath the moon, the very celestial object of their Goddess. Their children grew, the walls of the very cave, where the mammoth was slain, painted, showing their history.

But, like all things, this comfortable life came to an end. New waves of migrating intelligent races pushed into their home. Fighting for their hunting grounds, the pride slowly began to dwindle away. Hunters died before they could breed or train those to replace them. Without the Goddess’s touch, new illnesses, brought by the elves and men, cut through the pride like a terrible scythe, until one day, only two young females, just reaching breeding age and a barely weaned male cub remained. Knowing it was death to stay, the females left the old home, carrying the small cub into the wild, not knowing where they might find shelter.

However, they were not abandoned by Yelia. She visited their dreams, urging them onward, to go north, always north. So they went, push along by the divine, never knowing they were retracing the path taken by the Goddess’s human children. All throughout the summer and fall they walked, scavenging where they could but it was never enough. Hunger was ever in their bellies, as tiredness pull on their limbs. Into the autumn they traveled, until they were caught in an early snowstorm. It would seem death would claim them no matter the Goddess’s plans, when a figure in the storm came upon them, all three losing consciousness and carried them to a warm cave.

They were to be saved by the second to last son, of the old tribe of men, whom their ancestors had saved. The years had not been kind to the tribe either, always pushed further north. The savior of the young females, one of two survivors living in the far north, a young man of twenty-three years, a fine hunter and the apprentice shaman. The only other was the old shaman himself, hoary with age, knew death would be upon him by winter’s end and knew what his Goddess commanded. He would teach all three (the cub was too young to learn) and maybe they would survive. Just maybe.

The winter would be hard. Bitter cold and a lack of game might just kill all of them yet. It would be up to the youths, come spring, if they would remain in the north or if they would venture south again, to fight for the right to live in a more fertile land.

Alright, I am looking for a partner or two to play the roles of the two female sabretooth Anthros, with the shaman and cub as NPCs. The basic plot will be survival in a prehistoric fantasy world but I am more than open to building a bigger and more complex plot.

If you're interested into playing both characters, send me a pm. If you’d like to play one character and let someone else take the other, post here so we can work something out.