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The luxury of thought - Rauvin mood post

PostPosted: Fri Jan 18, 2008 9:26 am
by Talinor
*The barbarian known to many as Rauvin made his way out the gate in the Sea ward once more. The guards there have seen him go that way in and out many times before and hardly even give large man a second glance any more. Out past the reach of the wards, and along the shore the man walked.

Finding a place that seemed right, he went about making the fire pit. He went about the work, digging in the sand, forming up the hole then carefully adding collected wood to the hole. A large pile was soon built, and then carefully the man started the flame in a smaller pile then brought over the flame to the larger collection of wood. He set up his tent, and laid out his gear. He always traveled with all he owned, a habit from his time in the wilds, at least until recently. In the wilds one moved to get food, to find shelter, to avoid predators, to survive. His things were all things that he had made or scavenged all the way. Leather and bone, fire sharpened points… at least until recently.

His scrapped together hide armor lay among the items on the sand. His hand ran along the metal studded but much smoother leather that covered his chest now. His second skin was now the finer grade, and tighter fitting leather of the deep water herd. At Ashe’s shop, a large chest full of the shiny rocks (that those of the deepwater herd loved) sat. So many that Rauvin couldn’t even begin to count them. (He only had so many fingers and toes after all.)

He sat down among this things, and stared at the bits of light rising up from the fire and up into the night sky.

For the first time in his young life, something was tickling the inside of his head. His instinct had no response to it, in fact it seemed to cower away from the tickling.. this pressure of sorts that was pushing against his head.

For the first his memory.... Rauvin let go of his sense around him. Unconcerned about predators creeping up for their nightly hunt, either those on 2 legs or 4. An Rauvin's focus turned into his head and against the pressure there. Slowly, ever so slowly flashes of scenes had been returning to his awareness. The language of his people, of his youth returned with hearing it for the first time in a long while. Then him actively seeking to remember it, by speaking it. Much had returned, but he was only young when he stopped speaking it. It had been over a year since he first followed Ashe from the wilderness to the herdland known to him as silver moon city. His mind had slowly been switching over, listening to speech more, operating slightly less then on a full instinctive level. He had returned to the wild for a bit, concerned about losing his predator self among the strange people. But he know knew what it meant to have others in his life again, and he found himself missing it as much as he missed the wilds. And so he hunted his friend, across the face of the land. Until he came to an even greater 2 leg herd village. Deep water... Here, he saw even more different types of people it seemed. So many shaman, or the not shaman wielders of the power of the spirits. He had found his own way, and the 2 legged herd men didn't seem to mind the predator among them. But it was hear he met others of his own kind for the first time. The true shaman Astrid, who was now his bloodsister. And the hunter Vorla of the Red Tiger. He was used to the challenges that the herd of the deep water people brought to his head. New ideas, things he didn't understand. A comfort with the power of the spirits. But it was fine. after all he was not of their herd, of course a predator would have a hard time understanding all the thoughts of the 2 legged giant herd people.
But now he found himself looking at his own people, and not understanding them either. Not that Rauvin would use those terms, all he knew was that recently his instincts all felt wrong. He would react, and others would look at him like he was acting strangely. The pressure in his head, was called doubt...and it wasn't something the savage was used to having in there.

He shook his head to clear out the near past from it, and tried to stalk deeper within himself. He had to know. He thought to the small scenes of his youth.

So deeper the hunter stalked into his own mind... seeking his past. What was he? He found the images he remembered most. The punishment of the shaman upon those that failed. The challenges upon his father by other hunters, whom his father proceeded to cleave in two, and keep their skulls. To lay them outside of their tent as a warning to others who might wish to challenge him. He remembered the great hunters, strong powerful.. and the hidden lessons from his mother about nature and the bond between prey and predator, not just the hunter and the hunted. He remembered when his mother died from the bitter frost and illness that seemed to strike from no where and wasted her away to nothing. The burning pyre that meant he now only had his father. He remembered their hunts, now that there was no one else, and he was old enough... to try and keep up with the other hunters. He remembered the failed hunt that his father never returned from, and the other hunters who once feared his father, turning him out from the tribe. He would live or die by the grace of the spirits, but they would not be burdened by him....

Rauvin rocked a little as he watched the sparks fly up, he was incapable of tears now...but it was surprising how strong such memories were. These images cursed to him by the spirits he thought... still they continued and he thought more.

He thought about the bitter cold, and all the years in the wild blended together in his mind. It was one great long hunt for survival. Moving as much as possible, picking plants in warm days, hunting when he might get lucky enough to find something. Finding bodies and plucking what he could from them like a carron beast. But somehow he survived, and grew, and eventually moved from carron picker to predator. He avoided people for a long while, fearful of their strange ways, his gear was only what he could cobble together roughly... but most of it worked out well enough.....

maybe this was the bitter truth. He was neither of the herd people, nor of the predators of the Uthgardt.... then what was he?*