Welcome to Gaia! ::

For countless generations, the humans of the Ashorn tribe have struggled to survive: pushed to the brink of their traditional homeland by the aggressive expansion of the Hittan tribes, these desperate hunters now find themselves the pray of the Terra Hurt, massive bears who have little interest in negotiation and large stomachs to fill. Pinned between the ambivalence of their large, uncompromising neighbors and the claws of the Terra Hurt, the Hittan elders fear that their tribe name may be swallowed by the great emptiness, and their forgotten souls may wither away into oblivion. And while others seek desperate plans to preserve their blood and names, such as developing non-conventional weaponry, seeking alliances from other nearby tribes, or even sending the woman to breed with other tribes and returning with swollen, stolen children, one young man has another idea.

When he was but a child, he remembers a stranger coming into town, telling stories of a mystical spring whose waters could pacify the rage of any and all who touched its pristine waters. For ages, people have dismissed these claims, but now that their numbers shrink by the day and they find themselves on the brink of war with a tribe they cannot hope to defeat, sending a boy out to chase rumors was every bit as useful as waiting for him to run afoul of a Terra Hurt bear while hunting for jungle lizards.

But how could a boy – and whoever he could talk into joining his long journey through strange lands – bring back the power of these mystic waters and ensure his tribe’s survival?

This is the story of The First Relic.

~*~

"Sten"
6'0"
Sten is a boy on the cusp of manhood, with long blond hair tied back into a bun with a lizard's tail, bright blue eyes, and a long scar running from the right corner of his forehead all the way down to his right eyebrow. He's also missing his two front teeth, and his cheeks are shotgunned with large freckles.

He has a long, wide-armed cloak made from oxskin, and under it he wears a set of simple leather armor, with leather boots to match, sewn together with goose intestine, which is supposed to bring good luck. Like the rest of the hunters in his tribe, he wears a long, flowing kilt just short of the knees, which is made from tempered tree-silk.

If your body can survive three weeks after birth, you’re given your first name: this marks your identity, and brings a soul into the body. After that, every name must be earned. Purchased through great feats, either through success in warfare, bountiful hunts, perfecting craftsmanship, anything that would have people repeating it for future generations.

For the fifteen years he’s been alive, Sten has only had one name. A humble name, common, one barely worth saying. Still, he held it and cherished it, and while he, as any young man his age, longed for another name—as many names as someone was willing to give him—he had an even greater desire. At least, at this exact moment.

His bright blue eyes were locked on the tent in front of him, an intense, burning focus causing him to take every deliberate step forward. Even for the Hittan people, who lived in great tents hanging from the massive moss-trees that grew in this dense jungle, this tent was considered high off the ground, hanging from the very top of the tallest tree Sten could see from this vantage point. Of course, he dared not look down—the height was dizzying, and the ladder he was climbing up swayed and creaked dangerously in the wind, shuttering and whining as the wooden logs were strained by the breeze and his own weight. So he had to focus: lock his eyes on the tent.

So he climbed. He was as fit and athletic as any young man who had spent his days hunting, and so the climb was hardly difficult: in fact, it was easier than the climbs he took daily down the side of crag-faced cliffs, going into gullies to hunt the BurkBurk tribe for their tender meat and strong, reinforced shells. Yet, this ladder proved far more dizzying, as the rocks at least could be counted on to be steady, and solid. This felt more like climbing up the side of a cloud than the reliable heft of earth and stone, so he felt queasier with every step he traveled.

When he reached the very top, he let out a small sigh of relief, before slapping his palm against the smooth leather flap that lead within, banging it a few times to announce his presence.

“Hey!” He shouted, his voice light and airy, sounding much younger than he was. “The namegivers are about to send me out! This is your last chance to come aloonnngggg~”

When the door opened, Sten's eyes brightened, turning the same sunny-blue hue as the bright sky that lorded above them. The wind was so strong, up here, and he could so clearly hear the sounds of the birds and the buzzing of the insects... it was so beautiful. He imagined the view was equally enriching, although he was too afraid to actually look around to enjoy it. Locked on with his traveling friend, it was far more manageable, and he didn't feel as inclined to piss himself and ruin his only good garments.

"I'm going to ask Mira!" He whined, although his face hardly matched his tone, still smiling and bushy-tailed. "But she'll be way more likely to say yes if you're coming! And I can only ask her once--I can keep asking you until your willpower erodes away and you wearily give in! So pleeeaasssseee?! Think of the name we'll get when we arrive, heck, think of the names we can get along the way?! Plus, you can trade while we travel! So you can multitask! It'll be fun! And think of all the new tribes we can eat! I always wanted to try ape!"

When the door flap was opened invitingly, Sten crawled up a bit more, sticking his head through the hole in the floor and leaning his elbows on the bottom of the tent, but not fully climbing inside. Rather, he let his legs hang freely, kicking at the hanging ladder as he watched his long-time friend mess with string and list all the reasons that would be a bad idea. Sten’s smile faded, but his eyes stayed wide, nearly sparkling, as he rested his chin against the ground, pouting.

“We’re not dying for names and ape-meat!” He insisted, forehead furrowing. “We’re dying for names, ape-meat, and to save the tribe! Geeze, you might not be here all too often, but you do know we’re getting killed by the Terra Hurt, right?”

“…but fine.” He grunted. “If I have to talk Mina into it first, that’s just what I’ll do. I’ll bring her right up here and she’ll carry you out over her shoulders if she has too!”

He didn’t waste a moment longer: he was already scampering down the latter by the time Neev looked up from what he was doing. He crawled down the ladder much faster than he first scaled it, although ‘crawling’ would be putting it generously: it was more like a controlled fall. After all, the namegivers were sending him out when the sun crossed the unblinking star at the top of the sky, and if he didn’t have any pledges before then, he’d have to go out all on his own.

…and in the two weeks he’d been trying to recruit help around town, he’d only gotten one pledge so far.

“You’re alone.”

Everything spoke the same language: every bird, every bear, every man and every fish. The only thing keeping all things from understanding each other were that some species were better at speaking it than others. Typically, while humans were far from the best speakers, they still spoke it pretty well, better than most small mammals and insects: which was good, because ancient laws forbade them from hunting and eating anything who could say their names.

Fortunately, his first pledge didn’t know such laws existed when they first met.

“Yeah, he’s being a butt.” Sten pouted as he landed on the back of his giant atlas beetle, Vunt. Vunt was easily large enough for Sten to ride, with a shell as hard as stone and horns as sharp as a warrior’s best spear, which made it all the more humiliating when Sten trounced him so badly. The benefits of experience. “We have to go to Mina first.”

“Fine.” Vunt huffed, before starting to shamble down the jungle path, his dark, beady eyes bouncing along the road as the two searched for their target. The warriors, like Mina, lived on the ground, instead of within the tangled weave of hanging tents: this was both so they could better protect them from the threats which typically came to the ground, and also because it meant they always had to be on guard, which would keep them alert and on the ready at all times: you never knew when a Terra Hurt would wander into sight, after all, and the one thing that would spell the doom of the tribe was a Terra Hurt living long enough to report the location of their home to their cheftans.

“You’ll like Mina.” Sten grunted, leaning forward so he could look Vunt in the eye. “She’s like you. Scary, and probably wants to kill me.”

“I don’t wish to kill you. But I am prepared too.” Vunt replied, his voice low and grungy as he continued. "Don’t give me a reason.”

“My word is my bond.” Sten grinned, patting Vunt on his forehead. “If we get the water, I’ll never hunt the BurkBurk tribe again.”

“Then we only have one thing in common.” Vunt turned forward again, pushing past a push of flowers into a clearing, where the warriors were known to spar. “Where is she?”

“…dunno. Just keep shambling and we'll probably find her."

“Hmm.”

Sten watched the match with wide eyes, Vurt coming to a stop a good distance away from the clashing, bloody warriors. Sten was clearly unafraid of the bloodshed, and admired both warriors equally as they clashed, while Vurt was a bit more adverse, sheepishly glancing away and squinting as she knocked her opponent on his back. Sten, conversely, nearly cheered, slapping his hands together in a galloping applause… that is, until she actually looked his way, at which point he froze, blinking a few times as color rushed to his face.

“H-hi Mira!” He waved, leaning forward, putting his hand on Vurt’s forhead, who huffed as the young man leaned over him. “I… I saw you nearly kill a guy! That’s… that’s really, um… c-cool! Good job!”

He thrust a thumbs up at her, grinning. He hadn’t blinked at all since she got close to him.

“Um, anyway, I, I, just wanted to say tha- I mean, um…”

“Sten.” Vurt bucked a little, causing Sten to gasp, nearly falling off the beetle’s back.

“A-ah! Ah! I, um, sorry! I’m sorry! Um… yes! Yes I-I am! And boy, Mira, do I have news that will make you throw your remaining attached arm up with delight! I have room for one, c-count em’, one more brave adventurer to join me on my quest! And… a-and… um…”

“He’s inviting you.” Vurt stated flatly, causing Sten to panic, bonking the beetle’s helmet repeatedly.

“H-hey, I was going to s-say tha-“

“-no you weren’t.” The mount replied, undisturbed by the weak-wristed punching of his rider.

“Shhhh!”

“Um, o-ohkay.” He pauses, taking her hand, blushing and avoiding eye contact while hold her hand firm, giving her the anchor she needed to re-adjust her arm, snapping it in place with crude efficiency. However, what came next made the blond-haired man jump a little, turning to look at her with wide, excited eyes: his shyness abruptly curtailed, at least for the time being. “W-wait, really?! You’ll come! Ah, yeah! I knew I wouldn’t have to do this alone!”

“Ahem.”

“Alone plus Vurt! Great! Anyway, we’re leaving before the sun passes the high star, so I’ll go tell Neev he’s coming along and you can grab your weapon of choice, because it’s already close to noon!”

“Oh, and be at the Namegiver’s tent when you’re done!” He called, Vurt turning around on Sten’s instruction, bounding ahead like a horse. “I’ll meet you there!”

Laughing, Vurt carried the young man to that very same ladder, which he scaled with much more enthusiasm than he had just a few minutes before, zooming up to the top like a terrified monkey being chased by a jungle cat. He threw open the bottom flap, grinning like a maniac, and scrambled up until his elbows were once again resting on the ground.

“Guess who’s coming with me on a magical journey to save our tribe?! It’s you! Mira said she’s coming, so now we have muscle we can hide behind when the arrows start flying!”

“Pack and be at the Namegiver tent before noon!” He shouted, falling back through the floor. “I have to grab a few things, see you there!”

Vurt raced through the thick of the forest, bringing his speed to bare as he swiftly navigated the brush and the trunks that littered the green underbrush. The forest was so alive this morning, way more so than when he first woke up: the sun was shining, rays penetrating the thick canopy and the hanging tents to illuminate the earth below, the flowers were blooding, their bright, colorful pedals garnishing love and affection for all who saw them, luring bees and hummingbirds to suck their sweet nectar. Warriors, patrolling or training, dashed to the side to avoid the beetle, some of them (unfamiliar with the creature) shouting at it, or ordering a chase: only to see Sten riding it, laughing as the wind swept past his hair and he bounced carelessly off his back.

“Whoa! Here! Here!”

Vurt skid to a stop just shy of a ladder, and Sten bounced off his forehead, using that extra momentum to throw himself into the air, catching the latter and scampering up it. The tent above wasn’t too high off the ground—only a dozen-and-a-half feet—and when he burst into the bottom, the smell of hot fragrant flowers exploded into his nose.

“Grandpa! Grandma! I have two more pledges!”

“Hmm?” An elderly woman, in a long flowing dress, but not top—merely painted, sagging flesh and a ring of flowers hanging from her neck, turned to face him. ‘Elderly’, of course, meant she was barely into her fifties, but that still made her the second-oldest person in the village, behind only the namegiver himself. “Just now?”

“Yep!” he bounced over to his hanging-sack, rummaging through it for his supplies: a day’s worth of dried meat, a waterskin of sappy water, two pouches of ground Soapflower for wounds, slamming his boomerang into his belt pocket, sliding his spear behind his back, and a particularly sharp carving stone into his pocket. “I got Neev and Mira to join! So we’ve got three people!”

“Four.”

“Three people and a beetle, comeon Grandma, he hardly counts.”

“…hm. Well, don’t die. Or if you die, die memorably.” She hummed, turning her attention back to the flowers she was grinding, with her fists and some stones mixed into a clay bowl. “And make sure Mira returns home. We need her.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine!” He dashed to her side, giving her sagging face a little kiss to the side before jumping back down the hole. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

“Hm.”

He slid down the ladder, until he could safely jump off, landing on Vunt’s head with a joyous yelp. The beetle, on the other hand, let out a very different yelp.

“Hey! Warn me next time!”

“Heh, sorry buddy. Now to the namegiver tent! Can’t be late to my own ceremony!”

~*~

The namegiver’s tent was the largest, and it was built at the very top of the largest tree, where it was cradled within the outstretched branches, that acted both as the ground to anchor it, and provided the shade to cover it. Torches burned brightly around the tent, flickering as the tall breeze combed the wild tongues, sparking and provoking further, more intricate dances from the flames. Neev, Mira, and Vurt sat on a green weave, laid out in front of the open doors of the tent, while Sten kneeled within, his head low and his eyes closed as the namegiver stood before him.

The namegiver was an imposing figure. Eight feet tall, garbed in beautiful robes made of beads and feathers, the combined efforts of generations upon generations of weavers. Upon his face, a mask of wood, painted and chipped, adorned with more feathers and dried flowers, but pulled up so all four could see the man’s face: thick beard, which tied into the weave of his cloak, bright blue eyes, with berry-red paint rubbed into the folds of his skin. He appeared friendly, yet, when his mouth opened, his words shook the earth, and their souls, with a heavy, unassailable gravity.

“State your name.”

“Sten.” He resolutely said, his eyes down low, avoiding the gaze of the namegiver.

“Sten. Pledges. State your names.”

One after the other, they spoke their name. And when they did, the Namegiver nodded.

“Vurt. Mira. Neev. Your names are now pledged to Sten’s. Now, you are one in all things. His mission shall be yours. Your glory, shall be his. His honor is yours, and your spirit is his. Together, you represent the name Sten, and Sten shall bring glory to Vurt, Mira, and Neev. And I, namegiver Osktor Vinstern Pestiban the Forgiven, act as the binds that tie you. Now, Sten—state your mission.”

“To find a way to bring peace to the Hittan tribe, and ensure they survive.”

“And until that deed is done, your spirits will remain bound.” The namegiver stated, pushing his thumb into the crown of Sten’s head. “The pledge is complete. Leave, and seek your mission.”

Sten stepped out of the tent, his head still bowed, and the Namegiver closed the curtain behind him, closing him off and marking the end of the ceremony. Sten sighed, a bit, then turned to face them, grinning.

“Okay! Let’s go!”

To stay Sten was a little shocked at his friend’s reaction was putting it mildly—his wide eyes started to quiver as Neev unleashed a torrent of rage upon the young man, screaming about his world choice. But in his shouting, at some point, Sten found resolution, and squeezed his hands together firmly, as if holding his rage and passion inside. At least the bag bounced off his barrier, keeping him from harm.

“I said that’s our mission because that’s why we’re doing this! Even if we don’t find the magic water, then we’ll still have to find SOME way to keep everyone from dying! And I intend to find it, with or without magic water!”

He huffed as the two descended, while Vurt took to the air, hovering on his giant wings, and lowering himself down that way. He followed down the ladder, after taking one last long glance at the tent.

“She’s right… without hunters like me feeding your butt you’d just sit in a cold pit and DIE. Harumph.”

But by the time he was at the ground again, it seems his bitterness had dissolved into the wind: throwing his bags on Vurts back, he started walking down the well-traveled path through the village, heading east.

“Anyway! The traveler said the water was to the east, so let’s head that way!”

“…isn’t that where the Ashorn tribe is?” Vurt asked, slowly and prodding.

“Yep! We’ll have to travel through there first!”

“…and you’re not worried?”

“Nope! We can say we’re there to trade! Why do you think I wanted Neev to join so badly?”

“…you… never said. That makes sense. I guess.”

“Of course, that’s assuming he won’t break our cover…?”