The Revival Project Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trpmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2024-09-10 11:02 am
trpmods) wrote in revivalproject2024-09-10 11:02 am
[Event] [Open Log] Why Did The Tumbleweed Cross The Road? To Meet He Rows
In a way it’s like a scene out of a Western full of cliches. It happens on a quiet day with the streets more or less empty. A wind rolls in from the south, from the path toward the beach. A large bundle of what looks like twigs and sticks curled up not unlike a tumbleweed rolls along in the wind. An orb that moves quietly as it rolls over the roads in Temba, from the outskirts toward the center.
It moves fast, faster than the winds should have allowed for. Someone catching sight, who might want to follow it, would need to jog to keep up. In fact, following it would only cause the orb to seem like it was rolling away faster. Actually, it is. How strange.
The almost tumbleweed rolls with purpose and ease through the twisting roads and paths of Temba, slowing only briefly once it reaches new paved areas. Again, weird, given it should be able to move easier over something so smooth. Then it’s off again, quicker than ever. Rolling and rolling and racing almost until… until the fountain.
Here the twisted, dried out vegetation rolls right up over the edge of the fountain and settles into it. There it rests for a while, still and perhaps sucking up a drink from the water. Only after ten minutes have passed does the bundle of twigs and sticks shiver. Shiver and tremble and quake, like a dead tree caught in a storm. Then it unfolds. Uncurls. Rises up.
The thing still looks like a large, twisting mass of twigs and sticks and branches. But now it unfolds a pair of arms and three supporting legs. A particularly dense clump of twigs lifts up above the shoulders, tilts as it looks around with faintly glowing amber eyes. All told it rises easily to four feet in height, which is impressive as when it had been nothing more than a bundle of twigs it was maybe eight inches tall. Turns out it was very densely packed in there. Now it looks more spindly and delicate, a mass of thin, twisted branches and twigs, with the only real bulk in the more branch-like legs. Legs that still rest in the water, perhaps still drinking.
Amber eyes peer about before the creature gives a series of trembling, shuddering movements. It makes all of the twigs and sticks around what might generously be called a ‘torso’ to rattling and rasping. Rustling and scraping. Groaning and whispering like trees in a breeze. To any who might be observing without Communications it may sound unnerving and mysterious. To those who can understand languages, well, it is clearly a calling.
Little kin, to me come. I return little ones. Come fruit, come frond. Let us speak and together be knowing of the world. So kin calls to kin, and the old stories are shared, the knowledge comes to be known.
The rattling carries an impressive distance. Near to the edges of the city it carries, amplified perhaps by the buildings still standing. And sure enough, over the course of the day, Funfronds will be seen rushing through the city to the Fountain. And a single Barry soldier, to serve as envoy to the arrival.
But that’s for later. For now the strange new Plantkin looks around, looking for something. Until, at last, it sees a He Row. Then the rattling starts again. Quieter.
It sounds like the hallucination of words whispered when wandering alone in the words. A low rattle that, the more that it goes on, the more it will resolve into a certainty of words.
“Summoned I was. By knowing kin and by the little ones. Come for the knowing. So is calling. Kin calls for me, and I seek for those of whom I was told. Come to seek Link. Seek Sonic. Seek Dustin. Seek Tony. Seek the strange animals who speak. Who build like the kin. Who aspire to know. Come and speak, and through sharing, grow together toward the sun.”
It moves fast, faster than the winds should have allowed for. Someone catching sight, who might want to follow it, would need to jog to keep up. In fact, following it would only cause the orb to seem like it was rolling away faster. Actually, it is. How strange.
The almost tumbleweed rolls with purpose and ease through the twisting roads and paths of Temba, slowing only briefly once it reaches new paved areas. Again, weird, given it should be able to move easier over something so smooth. Then it’s off again, quicker than ever. Rolling and rolling and racing almost until… until the fountain.
Here the twisted, dried out vegetation rolls right up over the edge of the fountain and settles into it. There it rests for a while, still and perhaps sucking up a drink from the water. Only after ten minutes have passed does the bundle of twigs and sticks shiver. Shiver and tremble and quake, like a dead tree caught in a storm. Then it unfolds. Uncurls. Rises up.
The thing still looks like a large, twisting mass of twigs and sticks and branches. But now it unfolds a pair of arms and three supporting legs. A particularly dense clump of twigs lifts up above the shoulders, tilts as it looks around with faintly glowing amber eyes. All told it rises easily to four feet in height, which is impressive as when it had been nothing more than a bundle of twigs it was maybe eight inches tall. Turns out it was very densely packed in there. Now it looks more spindly and delicate, a mass of thin, twisted branches and twigs, with the only real bulk in the more branch-like legs. Legs that still rest in the water, perhaps still drinking.
Amber eyes peer about before the creature gives a series of trembling, shuddering movements. It makes all of the twigs and sticks around what might generously be called a ‘torso’ to rattling and rasping. Rustling and scraping. Groaning and whispering like trees in a breeze. To any who might be observing without Communications it may sound unnerving and mysterious. To those who can understand languages, well, it is clearly a calling.
Little kin, to me come. I return little ones. Come fruit, come frond. Let us speak and together be knowing of the world. So kin calls to kin, and the old stories are shared, the knowledge comes to be known.
The rattling carries an impressive distance. Near to the edges of the city it carries, amplified perhaps by the buildings still standing. And sure enough, over the course of the day, Funfronds will be seen rushing through the city to the Fountain. And a single Barry soldier, to serve as envoy to the arrival.
But that’s for later. For now the strange new Plantkin looks around, looking for something. Until, at last, it sees a He Row. Then the rattling starts again. Quieter.
It sounds like the hallucination of words whispered when wandering alone in the words. A low rattle that, the more that it goes on, the more it will resolve into a certainty of words.
“Summoned I was. By knowing kin and by the little ones. Come for the knowing. So is calling. Kin calls for me, and I seek for those of whom I was told. Come to seek Link. Seek Sonic. Seek Dustin. Seek Tony. Seek the strange animals who speak. Who build like the kin. Who aspire to know. Come and speak, and through sharing, grow together toward the sun.”
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