{Rosethorn} A history

I will not sully your ears by defaming Atlantis, as some of you fear I will do. I speak of before then, when we were as herds and packs, when we sang our songs of magic and inspiration alone. I speak of my forbearers, of those who stood before the Wild and became the Orphans of Proteus.
When the world was young, before the breaking of places, the fall of the Exarchs and Rise of the Abyss, and the sundering of the Hunting Ground that spirits speak of, magic was a thing of solitude. Cunning-men stayed with tribes, helping them understand the cycles of seasons. Witch-doctors travelled the lands, healing wounds that would kill. Beast-speakers helped tame Dog and Horse and Pig and Cow, offering them a share of food for a share back at the end of their days.
But they did so alone. If they were lucky, they had mentors, who shared with them the knowledge they had won with pain and sacrifice. But frequently they paid those prices themselves. Many of them died, from stronger predators and sickness they could not cure and magic running uncontrolled.
Then there came a time when a call was felt throughout the land, whispered in the trees, echoed in the falls of hoofed feet and sung through the very rock
The call was beguiling, tempting. It caught up Cunning-Men and Beast speakers and Witch doctors by whatever names they were known. They left their little humpies, they gave their blessing to their tribes, gathered their tools and cures and wandered.
And they came upon one another, in ones and twos, then threes and fours, then manies upon manies. Trials were staged, as strong souls vied for pack alpha, herd leader. Disagreements were had, for they were men and women of passion, but the song moved through them all, and they recognised each other as like souls.
And they went together among the spirits, into the places where man and beast had not settled. The journey was not easy, for in those days, the spirit and the physical world were one, so there were two fronts to fight on. But fight they did, with lightning bolt and ghost sword, protecting themselves with shields of magic and matter. Many died, and they were mourned, but still the journey continued
And a great journey it was, a migration of epic proportions, tales within tales within tales. Many are lost, and those that are left are scattered to the winds and the hearts of those who have heard them. Many tongues were spoken, many secrets exchanged, much lore found and lost and found again, and long seperated branches of traditions re-united.
After many turnings of the sun and moon they came deep into the protectorate of great and strong spirits. And they came to three thrones, upon which were seated three spirit lords. They covered their eyes as they came, for the glory was blinding to behold.
At the left was the form of a great animal, but none could say which.
"Look!" said one, "It has cloven hooves! Clearly it is a pig!"
"No," said another "See it's antlers? Clearly it must be a deer."
"You are wrong," said a third "Behold it's jaw and teeth! It is a great cat, not a prey animal!"
"Fools!" Declared a fourth. "Look at it's tail! It is shaped like a creature of the sea!"
"No," said a fifth, "It has hands like a monkey, with a thumb and fingers like our own. Obviously... it is all these things... and something else."
In the middle sat a form of sod and green and flowers, with coiling vines and full leaves, patches of grasses and firm, strong branches, full, perfumed flowers and ripe luscious fruit. The people scratched their heads, and could not say for sure what they looked upon.
And to the right was a form like a pillar of stone and earth, that glittered like pyrite and sulked sullenly in the light like basalt, that was soft as calcium and hard as diamond, that crumbled like sandstone and stood firm like clay, both precious and rare and common as cobblestones in the one column of matter.
And they looked upon the tribe-herd-pack-copse-gathering that had come before them, and saw they had shed blood and tears and misguided beliefs to complete their journey, and they saw that it was good.
"I am King-Of-Beasts," spoke the animal in a voice that teemed with the hue and cry of all the shapes it took, "And I have seen your journey."
"I am Earth-Veil" spoke the plant in a voice that echoed the lashing of wind in leaves and the growth of mosses "And I have seen your journey."
"I am World-Spine-Soul" spoke the earth in a voice that sounded of mountains breaking apart and pebbles rubbing together "And I have seen your journey."
Three shamans came forward, eyes determined
One stood before King-Of-Beasts, and spoke freely, one moment a determined alpha wolf, the next meek as a fawn.
"We have seen our journey, spirits. Why have you called us?"
Another stood before Earth-Veil, and spoke freely, one moment tall and unmoving as an oak, the next bowing and swaying as the reed
"What is this place, and why did you choose us?"
The third stood before World-Spine-Soul, and spoke freely, one moment an unbroken mountain, the next as the sand that teems on the shore
"And what will we gain, now that we have come away from our people to be here before you?"
And the spirits spoke as one
"You are us, in the flesh. You speak with us. You walk with us. You understand us. You have gone through all the world to come before us. Now we will show you how to wear our skins, how to speak with our children, how to strengthen and heal yourselves with our power. This is our gift for your loyalty. Carry it far and wide, and never forget"
And the spirits reached out and took hold of the hearts of the three shamans through their flesh. The others gathered around took up arms, but as they rushed forward to strike, the spirits withdrew their hold and vanished.
The three fell to the floor, and were still. They slept for five nights as the others around them fretted and worried. They tried to summon the three spirit lords, but for all their chanting and offerings, they would not come.
On the fifth night, when the three opened their eyes, something had changed. The man with the eyes of the beast found that he could speak their language freely, and run freely on four paws. The woman with feet that rooted in the earth found that she could see the spirits from the long-ago, even farther back than any spoke of, and could heal her wounds without even thinking. The man with shoulders of rock found that he could armour himself in great sheets of stone, and could hear the song of the earth. None of these gifts could be seen through magic sight, or countered by those who could stem the flow of magic.

Their migration completed, the Cunning-Men and Beast speakers and Witch doctors left the spirit-place. As they travelled the long roads back to their people, the three shared the knowledge they had been given, and so gifted, the legacy of the spirits spread. When Atlantis grew, many did not see the need to go to that city of mistakes, and stayed with their tribes and charges. As time went on, many different names they were known by merged into one- the Orphans of Proteus, and they taught the humans under their care to share with the land. In the times of darkness, those that lived by claw and leaf and stone were torn down, denounced as depraved and evil. But we are as we always have been, we sing to the land and those that inhabit it, and they sing back.

But throughout history, Spirit-callers have sung out to King-of-Beasts and Earth-Veil and World-Spine-Soul, and they have never answered.

And now you know how I was taught.