Information
Caveman
Legacy Name: Caveman
The
Scribble SheetaOwner:
shipAge: 15 years, 7 months
Born: September 24th, 2008
Adopted: 15 years, 7 months ago (Legacy)
Adopted: September 24th, 2008 (Legacy)
Statistics
- Level: 104
- Strength: 260
- Defense: 257
- Speed: 259
- Health: 265
- HP: 265/265
- Intelligence: 243
- Books Read: 243
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Centrifuge Master
He sat on his haunches, surveying the horizon beyond. All he could see was sand, rolling on and on until the horizon disappeared into a hazy smog. Saherimos was what the continent had been named. It translated to The Sacred Sands, which he thought was somewhat ironic. The Sacred Wastelands was what it had been called by those before; the other outcasts. There was a hidden divide through the community across the lands. To the north lay the shimmering city, heaving with a population of the indigenous people, all vying to catch a glimpse of the Oracle. It had been decades since her blessing had reached the south, where number of outcasts now dwindled. They had originally fled to start a new life; those who didn’t believe in the Sand Spirits, or didn’t support the monarchy. Those who now remained in the southern lands buried themselves away into the far reaches of the sandstone caves which the winds had whipped up over the centuries. His ancestors had made the decision to leave the city, feeling as though there was no religious freedom. The old spirits were the only spirits in the eyes of the government and the people. And here he was, generations later, paying for their pride. He couldn’t go back. Not now. He didn’t even know what civilisation would feel like, even though he longed for it. It was with an empty bitterness that he watched the landscape from his sandy viewpoint. It wasn’t the sand which bothered him, or the cold. It wasn’t even the lack of excitement, or even the deep damp which the morning mist brought every sunrise without fail. It was the loneliness. It ate away at his gut slowly, leaving nothing but pangs of resentment.
He turned finally, sighing, and returned to the pale blue of his cave. Pulling a small knife from his belt, he began scratching at the hardened sand. One line. Two. An image appeared slowly, depicting a small horned beast. He smiled and ran him thumb over the grooves. A quick flick of his wrist finished the carving, giving it a cheeky smile. Taking a few steps back he admired the wall. It was covered in minute depictions of animals, people and the odd beings which sometimes appeared in dreams, only to leave him alone moments later. “If only,” he mused to himself. “If only you could talk.” The silence was almost deafening and swam around his ears as he turned his gaze to the sun setting over the sands beyond. He counted his breaths as the relentless sinking feeling once again attacked his stomach. “If only”, the words fell from his lips.
And a voice responded; “we think you just need to listen harder”.
He jumped, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles turned white. He scoured the horizon, searching for the voice in the winds.
“And maybe look in the right direction?”
He spun around to stare at the wall, his mind racing. The whole wall was moving; a myriad of tiny figures, facing towards him.
“Wha-wh... what are you? Who are you?”
“We? We are the sand spirits. We are the rising of the sun, the morning fog, the first smile and the last breath. We are everything and we are nothing. We are the gods you don’t believe in. We are the gods inside you. What about you? Who do you think you are?”
His thoughts reeled. In all honesty, he had no idea who he was, or what he had become but one thing was certain.
“I... I am your creator. I am the life bringer. I am the Caveman.”
fin
He turned finally, sighing, and returned to the pale blue of his cave. Pulling a small knife from his belt, he began scratching at the hardened sand. One line. Two. An image appeared slowly, depicting a small horned beast. He smiled and ran him thumb over the grooves. A quick flick of his wrist finished the carving, giving it a cheeky smile. Taking a few steps back he admired the wall. It was covered in minute depictions of animals, people and the odd beings which sometimes appeared in dreams, only to leave him alone moments later. “If only,” he mused to himself. “If only you could talk.” The silence was almost deafening and swam around his ears as he turned his gaze to the sun setting over the sands beyond. He counted his breaths as the relentless sinking feeling once again attacked his stomach. “If only”, the words fell from his lips.
And a voice responded; “we think you just need to listen harder”.
He jumped, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles turned white. He scoured the horizon, searching for the voice in the winds.
“And maybe look in the right direction?”
He spun around to stare at the wall, his mind racing. The whole wall was moving; a myriad of tiny figures, facing towards him.
“Wha-wh... what are you? Who are you?”
“We? We are the sand spirits. We are the rising of the sun, the morning fog, the first smile and the last breath. We are everything and we are nothing. We are the gods you don’t believe in. We are the gods inside you. What about you? Who do you think you are?”
His thoughts reeled. In all honesty, he had no idea who he was, or what he had become but one thing was certain.
“I... I am your creator. I am the life bringer. I am the Caveman.”
fin