NationStates Jolt Archive

The air was thick, dank and moist. So humid was it that barely any sunlight penetrated the heavy swamp canopy. The color of everything seemed either dark-brown or silt-black in response to this, save for a few fruits or flowers scattered about the soupy area. Mangrove and Paroo trees spread their roots out wide in the brackish waters, making imprompt bridges from one piece of solid land to the next. Some of these root-bridges could be considered as thick as a rhinoceros' torso.

It was along one of these bridges that one of the Tenders of the Birth Pits of the Black Swamp walked, bearing a trio of freshly hatched youngsters who seemed to climb all around her body. One sniffing at the pouch full of snacks at her side while it clung to her waist, another perched on her shoulders and the third cradled in her arms while it slept. She hummed a low, deep tone that came from deep in her throat, her dewlap wavering as she did so. It seemed to keep the hatchlings relatively calm while she walked.

THe walk is one of the daily routines of the Tenders. They teach the hatchlings the basest skills of survival during these forays. How to hunt; how to hide; how to know when to do one or the other. Later they teach them the basics of language and mathematics. The general grade-school education, as it were. Now as she nears the Birth Pits, her tympanum warble with the sub-sonic bellow that may be silent to the casual ear, but reverberates through the trees and the water. Upon getting the return signal, she enters the Pit with the hatchlings in tow.

Hundreds and thousands of nests holding multiple clutches of the powder-blue eggs can be seen in the swampy water itself, or up in the branches of the Paroo trees, and even arranged in a pyramidal shape like a massive termite hive bristling with eggs. Any spare space was used that would not be on the arranged paths of root-bridges that span the entire area. Resin beetles afforded the only light that would be seen in the Birth Pits; a soft yellowish glow that allowed the Tenders to see what eggs needed to be turned, or which should be buried in the ground for a time, or which should be risen up into the arboreal expanses.

In the native Sakkran tongue, the Tenders speak to each other. To the casual ear, it may sound like hissing coughs and grunting. But to the ear capable of hearing the sub-sonic, it would be a rich tapestry of sound mixed with the odd scent here and there for emphasis. <"Phashaa! You have returned, and just in time."> One of the higher-ranking Tenders trotted up as the Tender who went on the day's foray broke through the clearing. <"Yes, and I must say they are quite lively and attentive. This one here ..."> And her head cocks downward, indicating the sleeping hatchling <"...caught a Ghaan without any help today. Quite the speedy one, he is.">

The Ghaan is a form of wild pig in the Black Swamp. Much smalle rthan a boar, but a bit larger than a pot-bellied pig. No problem for an adult. But for a hatchling, it's quite a challenge. The Chief Tender raises herself straight up, her dewlap showing a great amount of purple. <"Of course. I took him in from his hatching, did I not? I can always see where the greatest potential lies.">

Phashaa tries her hardest to refrain from rolling her eyes at the display of great ego before her, but manages to hold off long enough until the CHief Tender turns her head. <"But your arrival is quite timely. The City Hatchling Affairs Representative is here for these three. They're being taken in by General Gaarm and his line.">

Phashaa looks down at the three; the two still awake have since stopped clambering about in their investigations, while the third still slept. "<Ah, from Hreer, correct? Have the rest of the of-age hatchlings already left?">

The Chief turns her head to look at Phashaa and the hatchlings. <"Yes. They've boarded the transports and are being situated now. At least this time you get to say your farewells. I'll give you a moment...>" And the Chief stalks off, checking the monitors on a clutch of eggs as she does so, and reminding the on-duty Tender to move them to a slightly drier location in time.

<"We going to see our sire now?"> The one on her shoulders manages to crane its neck out to look Phashaa in the eye. <"We going to new home?">

<"Yes, young ones. It's time you walk into the world beyond the Swamp.">

The two hatchlings that were awake drop to the ground and squeal loudly, rousing the third. <"What happend? Was I asleep?">

<"Yes, yes ,young one. Now it's time for you to walk among the others beyond the Swamp. You'l lsee many new things and meet many new people.">

<"And eat many new foods!"> The other two piped up in stereo while they ran about the Tender in circles. The Chief returned, with small packs for the three of them. <"It's time to go, young ones. Today you become neonates, and you must remember your lessons about being among the Adults."> The two stop running immediately, and walk up quietly and take their packs. <"Yes, sirrah!"> The thrid one drops down, and looks at Phashaa in her eyes. <"Will I see you again, sirrah?">

Phashaa drops to one knee, and hugs him mightily. <"You might, young one. You might. No one knows what the Natural Path will lead them to. Now scoot along. You don't want to hold up the transports."> He bows, and takes his pack, jogging to catch up with his hatch-mates. It's never any easier, no matter how many times it plays out. But alas.... She's broken from her thoughts by the Chief Tender handing her a pad.

<"Let's not get swept up in wistfulness. There are many hatchlings that need your care. Here are the next three you'll be Tending...."> Phashaa takes the pad with a sigh, and reads the data on it. To be reared and trained in the ways and means and customs of the city of Zzhouud....

OOC: This is a story at first, but will become something that can be joined in on later. Trust me, you'll never guess how. Hee hee. Mwah ha ha ha ha! I'l llet folks now when the TGs can be sent for information. Also, feel free to post critiques, questions and accolades here.

A few years pass, and the three youngsters have been attending their classes in the city of Hreer on Earth. The community they live in has taken a hand in their well-being, and the Elders in the area tell them stories and tales of daring-do from heroes past. These fill the youngster's heads as they walk home to the suite of First-General Gaarm, their sire.

The spacious home is well-lit and quite airy, with resin beetles fluttering about casting off light from their abdomens. The air is moist without being humid, with large windows opened towards the south where the sun is at its peak. The entire building is hewn from rough stone in the side of a large hill, so the resin beetles that provide the majority of the night-time illumination have plenty to chew on.

"How was your walk today?" Gaarm appears from around a corner where the kitchen area is. He's sporting an uncharacteristic apron emblazoned with the words 'Eat or be eaten' on the chest.

"The walk was fun, Sire. Elder Jhakooi told us some stories about the First Scion and his adventures with the first humans ever met." The three remove their packs and hang them on hooks by the doorway.

"Good, good. You know, Elder Jhakooi used to tell me stories when I was a hatchling myself. Showed me how to play Ghroff as well. But that was a bit later. Hmmm..." He stirs a pot of something that smells quite interesting, as the youngest hatchling's watering mouth could attest to. A huge femur of some manner is used as a soup-spoon with one end of it carved out to make a spoon-like bowl in it. He stirs, lifts the spoon-end uo and sips a bit. "Hrrr....more pepper." A large container is taken from a shelf, and a black powdery substance is generously applied.

"When will supper be ready, Sire?' The watering-mouthed neonate says as he wipes a touch of drool from his mouth. The other two have taken to siffing the air deeply, and trying to gess what it is.

"Guat stew?"

"Nope. I bet it's Ghaan stew if anything."

"No no. Ghaan has a heavier scent to it. This is light, like a bird of some sort. Like ....."

Gaarm puts down the soup-spoon bone and undoes his apron. "Like ostrich soup? Then you would be correct." He grins as the three neonates start clapping their hands together. A broad smile crosses his features when a ping comes from his data-terminal. "Young ones, go get yourselves cleaned and ready for supper." The tone has a no-nonsense edge to it as one of Gaarm's eyes levels on the blinking terminal.

The three scurry off, with the last one (the youngest) peeking around the edge of the hallway, to overhear what happens.

"Gaarm here. What's the situation......Hmmm.....hrr....Alright. Get the Fourteenth on alert at five-hundred tomorrow, and inform Inquisitor Gerrakk of this. We'll need some Skeen assistance. OpSec protocol should be observed. Get some Sat visuals of the area and have them uploaded to my terminal by morning......Out."

His hands press on both sides of his head as he mumbles to himself. The youngest neonate trods up as quietly as he can, but knows he's been spotted when Gaarm's eye opens, staring right at him. "So you've been sneaking about, eh?"

The hatchling takes on a wide-eyed look as he stands at attention. "Yes, Sire."

"What have you heard?"

"I heard enough to know you won't be here to make breakfast, Sire."

Gaarm continues looking at the hatchling with one eye. Sharp lad. He has a bright future ahead of him. Gaarm raise shimself from his chair, and walks a full circle around the neonate. Then places one massive hand on his head, nearly enveloping it. "Good lad, there. But i've told you about sneaking around when I have to talk business, right? Hrrmmm...i'll make you a deal. If you stop sneaking about when i'm on business calls, i'll make you all an extra-large breakfast tomorrow that'll be ready to eat when you wake up. Is it a deal?"

The neonate's eyes light up and both swivel to focus on Gaarm. "It's a deal!"