Org, Huntsman of the First MenSotraecan Territory, Conversing with Anunon.Org stood tall and proudly as the strangers approached, doing his best to hide his bewilderment of their beast mastery. He grasped a straight and narrow wooden spear in one hand, sharpened at both ends, but the weapon felt infinitely inferior to those worn by the beast-men. Their whole attire was alien to Org, and its origins was something beyond his comprehension.
He looked down briefly at his loose goat-skin that covered his genitals, and realised there and then he was parleying with mightier beings than he.
Their lead rider, Org made him as some kind of patriarch, approached and exchanged a few words with those closest him. The stranger's language was odd, not entirely different to the Neanderthal tongue, but not similar enough for him to understand. Then the patriarch said something to Org, and pointed at the sacks of dried berries, uttering something unintelligible. The stranger's face showed no emotion, and certainly not fear. Curiosity perhaps, but not a respectful kind.
Org beat his chest with his free hand, "Org," he said in a guttural tone. Then he pointed at the berries, and then at the beast-man. "You take, and you leave me and my peoples in peace."
Realising his language was probably gibberish to the strangers, as theirs was to him, he made an attempt at sign language. He pointed at the rider, pointed at the berries, and then gently placed the flat of his palm against his chest.
"Friends," he said. "You take these, you no hurt my people."
Not sure whether or not he was making sense to the beast-man, Org decided it was time to leave. He gave a curt nod, and then turned abruptly and began marching himself away. He'd learnt enough of these strangers, enough to know that sooner or later, they were going to become a problem. They were something altogether unworldly, and their bizarre settlements were growing at alarming rates. All of Neanderthalis, the new comers were spreading inland. Soon, Org's people would be forced to stand firm and say "no more", lest they be driven from the island.
Still, for now, Org needed to know more about the strangers. Diplomacy would continue, and who knew? Perhaps if Org stayed the course, an understanding may arise. He doubted it, every primal instinct told him to rally the menfolk into some kind of large hunting party, but the refined part of his brain was too curious... or too afraid.
Era, The Barren.The Riza, Eastern Coast.Life was harsh for a Neanderthal female. Beyond the age of ten, they were often fought over by neighbouring males, or traded by their own fathers for certain gains and rights to hunting grounds. After this, they entered a brutal cycle of child birth, gathering, child rearing, and more child birth. Many died in this hard life, their bodies eventually eroded by the strains of labour, and they weren't always treated well by their mates either.
Being weaker and smaller in stature, they made themselves easy victims of all kinds of abuse. Not all of this abuse was tolerated of course, and some family groups were more progressive than others, but generally speaking, being born with a penis was a much more beneficial blessing in a Neanderthal's life.
Not that this was a bad thing of course. Many Neanderthal females gladly accepted their role in the family groups, and many loved bringing children into the world. Death through complications, or through general exhaustion, of such a life, was simply the way things were.
Life however, was especially harsh for a barren female. Era had been with six mates in her seventeen year long life, and had produced a child for neither of them. As a result, she had been cast out, or rather, driven from the gene pool. Being barren was akin to a hunter using a broken spear with which to bring down the game. Being barren was useless, a non-asset.
Barren females did not live long in the wild.
Except Era, who unbeknownst to many, was perhaps the First Men's only one and true real warrior. She had killed the menfolk as often as she had the beasts of Neanderthalis. She wasn't aggressive by nature of course, but a barren female was fair game to some of the First Men's more violent members, and she found herself repeatedly facing situations that demanded her to fight or die. She became notorious in this way, feared across the entire island as something other worldly and dangerous.
And that's why, she had found herself deep within the new comer's territory. It wasn't easy, traversing the massive landscape and evading what appeared to be a heavily militarised peoples. However, a barren female doesn't share an island with hundreds of potential killers without learning a thing or two about remaining unseen.
The strangers were a bizarre gathering; Neanderthal, but not. They were more wiry, less robust than her kind. She'd seen their females too, and decided that should the gender of both species come to conflict, then the Neanderthals would surely win. Their menfolk however, were fearsome, and using weapons composed of materials not known to Era.
She'd arrived in the land to at first study the new comers; perhaps join them, if they proved friendly enough. As the days went by though, she became all the more horrified by the rate they seemed to spread. Already they numbered more than her own peoples, and their settlements were expanding daily.
And that's why she travelled to the coast, to find the Stone of Zoog, so that she could gaze upon the inscriptions written centuries ago. She hadn't seen the stone herself, but she knew the stories surrounding its origin. She knew that the Second Men had driven the Neanderthals from their home many, many years ago.
She wondered, if these strangers were Second Men.
And she had to know. Not for herself, not for her peoples who had forsaken her, but for her own morbid curiosity. Was she to see the end times?
After avoiding another wandering patrol of the creatures, Era made her way towards the edge of a sandy beach, and looked across at a weathered rocked that stood an impressive thirty feet in height. Casting a glance left and right, she broke from cover, and darted over to the rock. The inscriptions were heavily worn, and barely legible. She brushed some seaweed aside, and tried to make out the images of her peoples' past, a past that they had so easily forgotten.
A breeze carried across from the sea, washing over her exposed chest and thighs. It brought with it the smell of salt, but also, the smell of
them. She peered around, looking back at the greenery at the edge of the beach, and saw no one. After a few seconds of quietly watching for movement, she returned to her study of the rock, hoping to find some kind of image of the Second Men, and how it was that they came to war on the Neanderthals.
