Browser's Journey

[forumbrowser]

Atys is filled with folklore, some legends stand as permanent records of how one race interpreted the world around them, a culture’s parables that reveal something about the nature of that group of homins and often are full of tragedy, love, triumph and struggles for power. Myths tell us the stories of ancestors, supernatural beings, heroes, gods, or goddesses with special powers. Sometimes myths try to describe aspects of customs or explain historic events such as the myth of the Great Dragon.

One can measure our civilizations by their remains, what is left can often tell us how it was to be alive then. We find it in homin literature, in homin art, and we measure beauty and say “This was a high culture, here they were experiencing a rebirth of culture,” but I ask “What of the things we cannot see, what of the aspects of life that do not remain?” We turn to the mystical Kami, to the mysterious Karavans and fill ourselves with artful dreams. But did you know there were times in our history when civilization was total, and real.

Do you know of the true homin life of perfection, of the ideal of happiness? Who dreams the grandest dreams, who paints them the largest, is that one the most happy?

I will tell you of another time, another way of life. I will tell you of a great civilization to which all of us are heirs, a civilization however that left few remains. Here a blade, there a picture, here a bone carved, there a cave discovered. I will tell you of a diverse and distant civilization, one that hovered on the edge of the stars. When half the surface still slept beneath its tendrils, when one could still move easily from all four corners. I will tell you of that time and place. For all your dreams of perfection, of classical Matisians, eternal Zorians, your warrior Fyrosian dreams, and your Tryker sense that happiness and fullness and freedom are real and can exist in a world of chaotic changes, those ideas are memories of that distant place.

We turn the cloaks of fur to silks and the heavy boots to sandals, and like so we call the feeling of inner warmth by its outer face. But each time one of us stops and sighs and says, "Why does it have to be this way?"--the memory of the Age has stirred in you. The mind is about to remember.

We measure civilizations by their remains, a poem, a potsherd, a ring, a foundation. We divide our homin world into history and prehistory. We divide cultures into primitive and civilized. I want to tell you of a time when homins lived enlightened, in grand edifices, in the stars, in temporary colonies, whose houses were built by the Karavan’s technology. To us those homins have become myths, and even forgotten.

I will tell you of a tribe whose children memorized vast song cycles, whose recitation in the great halls of wisdom took the night hours of three weeks to tell. Homins so well attuned to nature that weather changes were known in advance, by smell, by hearing, by the feel beneath one's feet. This was a time when homin would heal by singing, by manipulating the body's healing process through sound alone. But a time when people were rarely ill, who lived full lifetimes under adverse conditions, a people who lived and loved and worked in tribes. Homins of common affinity bonded together, where no interest or desire was stifled. Whose powers of mind-connection were so advanced that they were in contact with unseen homins half a world away. Talking and sharing their perceptions. And you say, "How nice a world you made up." And I say, not made up. We are still here, a new generation amongst you.

You find it acceptable to believe in myths, in gods, in great teachers of the past, in enlightened beings. But then you keep them "out there," in the distance, flat as a picture, lifeless, without thinking how active we homins are, how vital, how deep a source of comfort we can be and also a source of constant information. Some of us are known, others unknown. All of us waiting to help, guide, and love.

My name is Browser. I was born in a village built high above the uncultured wasteland of bark and wild jungle in what is now a Goo infested plateau, in the year 2525. My parents were of the tribe of artisans, craftspeople. "As a bird flies so do we weave," my mother used to say. We had no word in our language for "tree." We called each by its own name. Our language for example had 32 ways to say "be," depending on age, experience, situation, time, and included the relation to the speaker. Nor did we think all people were the same. The diversity of all was respected, expected, and part of the process of growing up was to seek the colony or tribe of our own affinity. This may not be the picture you have of tribal existence, where children follow their parents, generation after generation. We had fisher tribes, healing tribes, storytelling tribes, clothing-making tribes. We had people who raised children and people who didn't.

I belonged to the Outhouse Tribe. We are not many but we are strong by our diversity. Brothers and sisters united by our identity. Yes, we are different than most homins but we are homins nonetheless. Do not be put off by our lifestyle, it is but a small fraction of our identity, we share common goals and like you we’ll fight relentlessly to defend our equal civil liberties.

The Outhouse Tribe flag is a symbol of pride. "The fist represents the unity of arms of our homin community, a community that encompasses homins from all backgrounds, races, and civilization origins and that spans the panoply of faiths and experience." Our tribal flag also is the Diversity flag--one around which all homins can rally who prize and celebrate the rich and wonderful diversity hominity presents.

The tribe was founded in 2485 by surviving refugees when the homin cultures united to rebuild a single mixed society in a relatively remote area. Our forefathers wanting to promote the spirit of our diversity, sharing of ideas, information and resources to help build a world where all people can live free, dignified and productive lives separated from the widespread tribes and founded the alternative life style (gay) tribe.

Outhouse Tribe is build from homins with diverse talents and interests, who are dedicated to the exploration and healing of the homin seed, body and soul and to building a culture that advances our ability to choose, grow and create whilst celebrating our unique community. Our mission is to realize a vision of the possible for hominity.

All cultures have some type of myth. We believe revelations from the Kami are a part of hominkind's connection to the creative nature of Atys. Kamihood can be thought of as a reflection of the laws of creation. My ancestors knew that the divine in nature is an extension of their own hominity and depended on this relationship to support their very existence. In remembering the lessons of old we think of the land as an extension of our own body. Like the Kami we realized we must care for the natural resources as an extension of ourselves. These lessons teach only to take what is needed and to always give back that which we can.

In ages past we worked closely with the Karavan the first and best fruits of the harvest were always returned to the Mother in thanks for her many gifts. The conscious intent of honoring this sacred ritual originates in our awareness of the divine light and how we can use the technology to heal and regenerate the land, ourselves.

Aty’s cultures reveal themselves by what they do. The desired to co-create with nature is a beautiful form of this gifting process between homin and the environment – a sacred bond uniting us with our natural habitat. It is a mirror for the divine, a place to behold the beauty in nature.

The Ruins of Silan, an old Matis station built high above the uncultured wasteland of bark and wild jungle, had had almost no visitors since before the twilight times. But this past year the buzz started on Silan.

"I would guess that maybe 100 refugees are traveling in Silan right now," said an Atys Ranger whom we met in our village in Armseden, "but I'm one of the first to make it up here." Another Atys Ranger from Burning Desert said he had been there for 13 weeks. "I've been back and forth on the road for 7 months," said a young Tryker, "leading refugees to Ruins of Silan, it is the best spot for refugees outside of the mainland."

From middle-aged Zorians to young Trykers, the consensus was the same: This is a scene in the making, like Armseden years ago – picturesque and incredibly abundant with life and knowledge.

The three of us – my arms brother Nanohudo, my arms sister Vrich, and myself – had never planned to go to Silan. But the Goo slowly crawled about Armseden, every day more foliage died from exposure, all of the herbivores migrated, only hostile and infected animals roam about. Outhouse’s tribal council leaders decided to send out scouts to seek out safe zones furthering deep into uncharted territories, we three were chosen to explore The Ruins of Silan.

[kitty157]

OOC: //Very interesting! I look forward to interacting with your tribe