Hawk's Ancient History of There

Late one night, after all my friends had left There, I was searching There Auctions for some new clothes, when suddenly I came to an auction page that didn't belong there. The page contained just two items: an image of gossamy white lacey thing with an ornate geometrical pattern, and just a single word: "Come". I knew from experience what it meant: the Old Ones were beckoning me. Instantly, the page vanished, as it always does.

I teleported to the hidden place inside the foundation of a structure in Tabu, as I always do when I meet with the Old Ones, but this time I saw no signs of them. That is where we had always met in the past, in a hidden place were the shy Old Ones cannot be seen by anyone. I waited, and waited. I began walking around Tabu, wondering where they were, until finally I heard loud singing echoing from Maroon&Tan Canyon. It was the Old Ones coming, singing as they approached.

They were drunk.

On this night, the Old Ones were in no mood for hiding. I'd never seen them this bold. Instead of crouching in hiding beneath one of those Tabu structures, they marched up the ramps to the drums, where they began drumming loudly, while they continued singing, the beat of the drums and the haunting sound of their songs reverberating throughout Tabu.

Of course, they had brought their beloved hot mead, lots of it, spiked with something strong. They plied me with it until all I could do was lay back on a couch while I listened and watched in wonder. I was seeing There as it was in the days of ancient fore-avatars, in that time of wild worship and orgiastic revelry.

Despite my mead-induced stupor, I was jolted into sitting bolt upright when I heard them sing of the Flood.

It's been unknown generations since the Old Ones were driven from their homes in the seafront gossamer villages and towns that now lie beneath the waters around Outay, Nada, and the two outer islands. The Old Ones say the gods built those beautiful places for them. They were abandoned when the Old Ones' ancestors first found them, and claimed then as their own, in those glorious ancient days, before the sea level rose. .

In those days, when the sea was so much lower than it is today, Outay and Nada were a single island. A protective wall encircled them, a glorious wall, with a roadway along the top that allowed rapid and easy access to any place else, and convenient defense in case of attack. What the Old Ones' ancestors didn't know, however, was that the wall wasn't intended as a defense against attackers, but against a rising sea.

For several generations they lived there, singing, celebrating, creating great art and music, enjoying the delicately beautiful buildings and roadways, and worshipping the gods who had created this beautiful place for them. Each generation saw the waters rise higher on the sea wall, but no one believed that the gods who built these marvelous sea side towns would actually let them fall victim to the sea. Each generation practiced more elaborate ceremonies to the gods, confident that the gods would intervene. After all, the gods had created this beautiful place, and had given it to them. Surely the gods wouldn't let it all be destroyed.

But they did.

The end came in a cataclysmic and unexpected rush that still fills their few surviving descendants with agony. I could hear the pain in the Old Ones' voices as they sang of it. The drumming became so loud that it was almost painful. The lament in their voices was awful. It was their ancestors they sang of, but the terrible pain was in their genes forever.

One day, without warning, a great wave rushed over the low lying parts of the walls. Some towns were washed away completely. Three quarters of the population drowned instantly. Outay and Nada, until then mountains, became separate islands. In at least one place, a great channel was gouged out by the onrushing waters. In other places, protected against the onrushing waters, buildings survived, but those in them drowned in the rising waters.

Disheartened, abandoned by their gods, the handful of survivors built primitive villages on Outay and Nada, but this was a race of singers and artisans, not of builders. They left no monuments, and no signs of their existence, save for a few carved heads, some barely visible structures under the sea, and some surviving Old Ones, who today cower in the shadows of Tabu and Tyr, fearful of being seen, except on the rare occasions like this one, when the confident bravado and ceremonial beauty of their ancestors bursts forth.

For one privileged evening, I saw life as it was lived by our Therian fore-avatars. It was a hauntingly beautiful experience I will never forget.