New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[Civilization OP]

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GM: Civilization OP
Map: 10/29/2019
OOC

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[G-Tech Corporation]

Viktor Nemtsov

My head, ach. A bender for sure. Friday nights always got to you, whether you wanted them to or not- a few hours since lunch, and finally hitting the weekend. What better way to celebrate than a little bit of the social elixir to help the good times roll? I was looking up, at, hmm. The sky, yes. A little bit past dawn or before dusk, by the light. Wisps of white cloud scudded by high above, probably cirrostratus. Nothing to be concerned about. My mouth tasted like the sour of sick, but that was to be expected. A pounding headache, a tender stomach beginning to ache with the first pangs of morning hunger; yep, another night out on the town gone wrong. I checked my faculties as I lay there looking up at the pale blue sky. Fingers, hands, still had them all. Lungs were functioning as normal, not choked or ragged, so I hadn't done that vodka-breathing trick again. Everyone loved it except for my respiratory medico, but party tricks would be party tricks. Dirt under my hands as clenched the nails slightly, covered by what felt like long grass with the occasional stone. Ah, and no clothes. That was a bit of a bother.

Sitting up, I glanced around me. This, hmm, shit. It didn't exactly look like the Midwest. This wasn't good at all. Mountains, erm, at least foothills. The sound of a river, maybe a large stream nearby, and of course nature. No cars, no sirens, no electric hum from generators or the grid. I must have been on some wild dare to drive all the way over to the Rockies. Well, memory would come, in time. The alcohol often took nights or days, but never forever. For now, clothing and a friendly stranger would be good to find. If they were around, that is. I couldn't see any obvious signs of civilization, which only told me I was definitely out in the backwoods. With a resigned shrug I stood- at least my upper body was fairly tanned from the yard maintenance of the summer, and wouldn't burn that quickly under this pallid sun. The rest of me... well, I had better find some pants I chuckled to myself. Indecent exposure charges had a way of haunting people.

Figuring following the stream was a good bet to find people, I walked over to it. It was pretty deep, and cold when I stuck a hand down to grab a drink of water. I was covered in filth and grime, and the day was already warm, so I plunged in briefly to cool off. A slight indulgence, and it would keep my core temperature down if I had to travel for any unreasonable distance. Sticking to mostly the shade of the trees growing along the bank I set out downstream, legs warming up for a steady jog. I wasn't much of a runner, but swimming kept your heart and lungs in good form. Someone would be looking for me, hopefully, and a watercourse was a natural place to check.

As I jogged along beside the glittering ribbon of silver and foam away from the Rockies, the plains eventually flattened out, though the woods seemed to get denser. Human habitation liked wood, and Lord knew how many settlers and homesteaders had changed the face of the continent with their tree planting back during the 1800s. North America was more forested than it had been at any point in recent history, for all the environmentalists liked to complain about deforestation. A scent touched my nose, and it wrinkled almost automatically; manure. Not an unfamiliar smell for anyone from near a farming community, but this smelled worse than most. It was like pig, chicken, and human all rolled together. Probably a wallow near to a particularly cut-rate trailer park or camping site. The Forest Service really did deserve a budget increase one of these years; as I jogged I resolved to look into the upcoming candidates stances on the issue. It wasn't fair to always beat the same old drum about deficits or abortion when there were other matters that could use attention too.

Then I saw it. A small mud and wood hut, built of crude logs and what looked like smeared river clay. Um. My surprise only deepened when I saw a man emerge from it with a beard like an untamed bush and nothing so much as animal hides on his brawny back. He was a little fellow, as I assessed from the distance, perhaps coming up to my vaguely goateed chin. I had meant to shave off the darned thing a few days ago, but there was always something else that had to be done more urgently at work. The best I could say for him was that he didn't look like a serial killer- more just the most Amish of all the Amish. Not inclined to be too picky, being naked and alone out in this wilderness, I approached with a friendly wave and smile.

"Hey!" I hollered in neighborly tones. "I've run into a spot of trouble. Would you mind letting me use your phone?" It was a long shot, I judged, that he actually had a phone given his rather squalid self-imposed state. But it was what I was actually looking for, and would prevent me from spending too much time talking to the strange shit-hobo if he knew someone with more modern amenities about. To my surprise, though, I almost scared myself as the words passed my lips. They were not the English that was my mother tongue, though I had conceived and sent them forth as such. Rather a more guttural language, perhaps like German or the Russian of my grandparents. I couldn't tell which it was, but frowned, and bit my lip. This was somewhat frightening. Mental aphasia was no laughing matter, despite how the old man would soon burst into laughter at my foreign grunts. My eyes seemed to be working fine, but clearly I had a concussion. This was serious.

To my shock though, he answered in the same tongue, unperturbed by my ghastly turn of phrase. He spoke in that language, and I understood him, but I had no idea how such a phenomenon occurred. Something about "cracked head crazy man, here, cover yourself". The old bearded fellow then proffered what looked like some sort of cloth tunic after turning back into his house for a second. I really had no idea why on earth he didn't have some pants, but this overcloak was better than running around naked. I took it with a smile and muttered thanks, and slipped it over my head. It was rough to the touch, and crudely woven, but clearly this was a chap living off of the land like some madcap Survivorman. It was probably the best he could make. I asked again about the phone, to which I got only a puzzled "what do you talk about?". Archaic verbiage. I mentioned wanting to get back to civilization, and he nodded and smiled. A nice old lunatic, at any rate, he waved his hand down the stream.

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can." I said, and he nodded seemingly content. It was a roughspun garment, but better than walking around naked, and it surely took him or his wife much effort to weave. I set off down the stream again, until after about an hour when noon approached I came upon another collection of buildings quite like to the lunatic's mud-thatch hut. This was a strange religious sect, and I had no idea why my head injury made me talk like them. I'm not an unimaginative fellow, and I keep up on the affairs of the world, but I really couldn't tell what on earth was going on. Their roads were packed dirt, and all wore cloth tunics like mine of dun brown or light grays. My repeated questions about a telephone were just met with more shrugs, as were questions about the police or a bus stop.

Eventually after asking about any other towns I gave up for the night. It seemed there was a larger city some ways to the east, but the odd villagers seemed to think it was at least a day's walk, and I hadn't seen any cars, or bikes, or even so much as a horse. Just sheep and lambs and weird tiny people. When I offered to chop wood for a night's stay, as I had done on the Appalachian Trail before, an elderly couple took me up on the offer. The axe they handed me might as well have been a British Museum artifact, made of a wedge of stone affixed by dried strips of heartwood to a thick sturdy handle. But it served the purpose. I had a sneaking suspicion, one I did not voice even within the quiet of my mind. But I slept well that night, muscles warmed from hard labor for the simple supper of dried strips of dubious meat and some root vegetables, despite how my bed was essentially a straw pallet. Those suspicions could wait until tomorrow.

[Revlona]

Captain Samuel Storm
Somewhere in modern day Cornwall

He woke from his slumber without any great reaction. Just a simple flutter of his eyes as they opened to the world around him. He was laid on his side on top of a hill, the place looked familiar, yet not, he surmised as he lifted himself to his feet.
It was as the tall grass around him brushed his body that he realized he was naked. His eyes widened suddenly as he realized that he was probably kidnapped, and his well trained mind immediately went into survival mode.
His eyes scanned the area around him, looking for signs of civilization and potential hostiles. Nothing immediately caught his attention as he scanned, the tree line to his east void of any visible people or buildings. That was when he caught sight of the wafting smoke in the distance, the lazy patch of grey, barely visible, seemed not so far off. With a sigh he crouched and began to stalk forwards, in the direction of the smoke.

-45 minutes later-

“Five...no...six,” Sam thought to himself as he took in the small camp. The men, they where all men, sitting around the feeble campfire where dressed in leather, though unlike any he had ever personally laid eyes on. They seemed relaxed as the slowly cooked a small rodent of some kind of the fire, two of the younger ones where laughing at each other, while the oldest held a smile on his face. “Primitives Maybe?” He thought to himself as he watched on of the younger ones brandish a spear playfully, only to be scolded by one of the older hunters.

Slowly he backed away, having heard what some groups of primitives did to trespassers. And then the ground behind him let out a sharp crack. And then all six pairs of eyes snapped to him. “Who’s there!” The oldest called out in surprisingly near perfect English, his spear now held in his hand, though it wasn’t yet readied. “Come out before we have to come get you!” One of the younger ones called out, eagerly holding his spear across his chest. “Alright I’m coming out” Sam called softly, realizing he was spotted, he was also curious at the hunters knowledge of English, so he tentatively took a step out into the clearing. “They’re so short,” Was Sams first thought as he got a closer look at them, none of them could be said to be even average height. The tallest stood about 5’5.

The hunters seemed to have the same reaction to him, their eyes widening as he made himself known, his massive limbs and towering height causing fear in the same young hunter who had rashly called out as he now stepped several steps back. “Who...who are you?” The older hunter asked, a mixture of emotions swirling in the question. So many that Sam couldn’t pin any one down. “Uh...Samuel, I guess you can call me Sam” he said

[Burgerlandia]

Jason Thatcher
February 22nd, 2019 - 11:24 PM

Toronto, Ontario

"... Babe, are you coming to bed or not?"

God I love that woman but she doesn't realize the the emails don't stop. Just a few more need to be rattled off before the weekend R&R can begin.

"Y-yeah, I'll be another minute!" I hollered back.

"It's been seven 'another minutes now,' where's my goodnight kiss?"

I sigh and close off the last few emails rather informally. No time to write proper endings here. Anything for the wife, of course. Both the oak wood chair and my back creak as I get up and hobble out of the office. I shut the lights off and head to finish up for the night. Brush my teeth, wash my face and thank God that slippers exist as I prance out of the ceramic bathroom and into the carpeted bedroom.

"Your knight in shining armor is here, did you miss me?"

She smiles wide as she pats beside her. "Thought you'd never make it." I climb in bed and sip a cold glass of water. "Something something fashionably late."

"Oh hush, let's get to bed. I have to visit Maria tomorrow to pick up the snow blower."

"Do I have anything to do?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Nope! You'll get to keep the bed warm for me until I get back." I give her a quick kiss. "You don't have to ask me twice, hon."

I reach over to the lamp, turn it off and cuddle up. I've always been a fan of sleeping in, shame I don't get many opportunities to do it. "Goodnight Jason," my wife whispers, "Goodnight Pauline." I drift off rather quickly, turns out the fan favourite combination of a coffee crash and repetitive emails is an effective sleep aid. Well, either way I don't mind. It's not exactly as if I have anything important to do tomorrow anyways.

Just another Saturday.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Edward "Ted" Tomlinson
USA, Denton County, Monday 2/17/2019

Morning was upon me again. I loathed mornings, and with my sleepy eyes I eyed the time. 7:01, was what the clock displayed, however I knew better as the clock only did time zones and "autocorrected" itself to be ten minutes off, in reality it was 6:51. Good, flex time, to tired to get up early, so I'll lay in bed for a few more minutes. I know that most people would call that reckless, but I know myself better then anyone else, I'll check that clock seven times before I really need to get up.

Mornings, miserable things they are. Whoever fancied the idea to wake up, before the sun rose ought to rethink their life choices. Oh, there are nice things in the morning, I have fond memories of seeing pancakes, but in the end of the day mornings come down to three things: medicine, getting dressed, and hygiene. Its all just to get you prepared for today, and preparation can either kill you with anticipation, or dread. As such I am not fond of mornings.

As the clock neared 7:00, I got up. Yes, this will not ever be a cliche where I am late to school. School starts in a hour, and I am merely 8 minutes away. I got kill time if anything. Anyways I grab one of the shirts, a pair of pants, socks, and jacket. Want details? To bad, I don't observe the things I wear long enough to describe them. If you want details here: I got a [Insert Brand] T-Shirt, a [Insert Brand] Jacket, and sweatpants. Good, now I can get on with my life.

I brush my teeth and wash my face like any respectable being. I dont bother shaving as I do that every sunday, I probably should do it now, but honestly like sticking to the status quo. A goatee is on my face, and I do prefer a well shaven chin. After a small debate in my head I decide to shave, afterall I don't paticularly prefer to make the wrong impression. As I finish shaving the last of the goatee, I grab my coat and head downstairs. Now your probably wondering why I wear a jacket or coat in Texas. Its pretty close to the equator, right? Well, your not wrong, the thing is its not the climate trying to kill you, its air conditioning. There's two people in Texas, those who like really cold air conditioning, those those who like warm air conditioning. I am on the latter, as such any really cold room I enter leaves me breaking into a shiver. Call me a wuss all you want, but Im grabbing a damn jacket.

As I go downstairs I pop some medication, say good morning to my grandparents, and grab my shoes. My grandmother starts the van and we go. Now, most suffer nausia when they swallow nothing but medication, however I am a tough lad. Every two weeks, I have to take a humira shot to stave off crohns, I took on last saturday. Crohns is known to cause a fairly large amount of pain throughout the day. Imagine your intestines squeezing itself; yeah it ain't pretty. I went to school with this pain, and didn't even know what it was for the longest time, when I found out they got me hooked up with humira. Needless to say I haven't been in any sort of crohns based pain in six years.

As we got in the car, I popped my headphones in and tuned out the world. I could've talked to my grandmother, scratch that should've, but I am a loner by heart. I turned on my favorite list, ranging from rock and roll to retro gaming music. As we begin driving I looked out the window. From the suburban streets to commercial roads, a whole slew of shops and houses could be seen. For those who didn't know Texas is one of the fastest growing states in the US, both financially and population wise. Even if I wasn't a native born Texan, it does play into your pride as a texan citizen.

After my grandmother dropped me off from the tennis court parking lot of the school, I crossed the street and entered the highschool. I entered it went through the school, and exited through the cafeteria side. I wasn't going to stay here long, I'm going to the career center, and that takes a bus. As such the cafeteria exit, was where the buses both pick up and drop off people. I stayed inside a bit, because of rain. Call me a melancholy being, but I just love rain, however I rather not wait for a bus in the rain, atleast not today.

When the bus arrived and I got aboard it, I chose one of the front seats. My friend who also went to the career center sat opposite of my seat. I should've talked to him, but I chose not to preferring media over interaction with another human being, a being who understood my own plight and thinking; a sort of being that I will not see for a long time again. As the bus begun driving I began drifting off to the land known as my dreams. Never to set eyes upon a United States of America again...

Rome, 3,000 BC

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I woke up confused. What I felt wasn't the thin leather of the bus chairs, no, I felt grass and dirt. I tensed, was I kidnapped? Did my friends play a cruel prank whilst I was asleep? With this in mind I forced my tired eyes open, and I saw it, lush green fields, tall grass, and sparse placements of trees. This must of been some kind of prank, that or this is a dream. This was nothing like Texas climate, that was certain, and panic sunk in when a simple pinch and the sharp, but small feeling of pain sunk reality in for me. This was not a dream.

I checked what he had, only to be appaled, he was naked. The only thing I was wearing were my glasses, that had miraculously been spared. A sudden thought stirred, everything but the bare essentials were taken, was this a test? I shoke the thought away, but their it crept in the corner of my mind. A shiver went down my spine, a terrifying thought indeed.

In the distance he saw what I could only call a tribal village, what will I find? I did not know, but I will find out...

[UniversalCommons]

Introduction, 3000 B.C., Day 1

Victor Spear was drinking his coffee, it was very late. He was reading the Enchiridion by Epictetus. He dozed off to sleep.

Then he found himself in a densely wooded forest. He had no idea where he was. He thought, "Is this a dream?". It was cold and dark outside. He could see himself barely by the light of the moon. He was completely naked. He looked at his hands and thought, “Where am I?”. He had no idea. There were tall pine trees surrounding him.

There was a wolves howl. He shivered in the night air. He looked around himself. In the distance he thought he saw water. He began walking, the ground was damp and his feet became wet. He thought "Where there is water there must be people." He kept walking by the rivers edge. He found the remains of a small camp fire with some bones in it. He kept walking by the edge of the river. He stopped and heard the croaking of frogs and thought he saw papyrus reeds by the waters edge.

Then in the distance he saw a fire, the sound of a lyre and flute floated through the woods. He could hear people were laughing and reciting poetry.

Sabazius I call, loud-sounding and divine, fanatic God, a two-fold shape is thine:
Thy various names and attributes I sing, O, first-born, thrice begotten, Sabazian king:
Rural, ineffable, two-form'd, obscure, two-horn'd, with ivy crown'd, euion, pure.
Bull-fac'd, and martial, bearer of the vine, endu'd with counsel prudent and divine:
Triennial, whom the leaves of vines adorn, of Jove and Proserpine, occultly born.
Immortal dæmon, hear my suppliant voice, give me in blameless plenty to rejoice;
And listen gracious to my mystic pray'r, surrounded with thy choir of nurses fair.

He walked towards the fire. He called out, “Is anyone there.” in english. A person yelled back, “Come to the fire, stranger. You are our guest this night, it is not good to wander.” Victor Spear stumbled forward, he looked at the bonfire. Sweet burning herbs filled his lungs. A man was throwing bundles of herbs on the fire.

A man looked at him and said “By the gods, the very image of a satyr comes tonight, an omen. Who are you?”, Victor Spear said simply, “Victor Spear. Where am I?” Another man thrusts a horn full of wine into Victor's hands saying, “Drink deep this night. Sweet wine of Thrace.

Victor gulped down the strong wine as the herbs went to his head. The man who first saw him says, “You were blessed, that another did not find you. They would have given you to the gods.” More wine was handed to him. Not knowing what to do he drank more deeply of the sweet Thracian wine. His head spun. He tried to stop the next cup, but a man said, “You are our guest tonight and you drink for the gods. Sit by our fire. We celebrate Sabazius, the father god and drink wine this night.” Victor Spear saw pitchers of wine being handed around the bonfire.

A man played a lyre and another started to to sing a song to Pan while another beat on a small drum. Victor drank until he passed out. He did not know where he was, but he could not refuse the hospitality of these men.

Victor Spear, Day 2

In the morning, he found himself in a farm house built of stones in a bed. He still did not know where he was. A man walked in and said, “Good morning, I am Dieghis, I heard your name was Victor Spear. You were talking of a far off place in your sleep called America. How did you come to be by our campfire last night?"

Victor Spear, “I was drinking coffee and reading from a book, then I was in the woods, how I got there I do not know. I am from a far off land. Where are we?"

Diaghis, “You are in Thrace in a small settlement. You are my guest, come eat and take the clothes I have laid out for you. The priest will come soon to talk to you, but first we must eat."

After breakfast of cracked barley, fruit and yogurt, Victor Spear is asked to work the fields and gardens of settlement. He agrees to work the gardens. He plants seeds with a copper tipped digging stick, weeds the garden, removes pests, and adds fertilizer. During the next week, spends some extra time on the gardens building a raised bed garden something which the Thracians have never seen before, breaking it into two foot square sections and seeking out extra fertilizer from manure and bird guano. When it rains, he gathers worms for the garden. His actions are strange and new. Working with his hands helps him concentrate. He is alone and afraid in a strange world.

Everything is archaic. He even has to go use a hole in the ground for a latrine. He goes to the river to clean himself each day. He gets up at night wondering if he is not in a dream and hallucinating. There are no cell phones, no technology, nothing of the modern world. He wonders why the people if they are truly ancient have not died from the diseases he had as a child. Why of all people was it him?

During the week, Diaghis shows him around the village introducing him to the coppersmith, the tanner, the potter, the stone mason and the priests of Sabazius. He notices that there is bronze and copper, but no steel or iron. So many basic things are missing. At times, he bursts out laughing. Things are so simple yet so far away.

Each day he takes a short walk, meditates, and does a series of exercises. Diaghis joins him in the exercises. He ends up telling Diaghis the story of Milo and the bull, a story from iron age Greece, where Milo would carry a calf on his shoulders until it became a full grown bull illustrating the idea of progressive resistance. Several men join him in their exercises in the morning. He is invited to wrestle, but is easily thrown. He had been sent to martial arts classes as a child, but could never get the knack for it. They are impressed with how strong he is though. They have not seen the stretches and exercises he has done before. Also, the meditation is curious to them. The routine helps hold his mind together.

Victor Spear Month 2

After a month, a priest of Sabazius meets with him questioning his appearance during the night. He cannot explain. The stories of America are outlandish to the the priest. The idea of self driving chariots and toilets with handles makes the priest stare. Victor Spear tries to explain he is a librarian which roughly translates into chief scribe. The priest insists he show them how he is a scribe, he has never seen writing, but has heard the Egyptians and Sumerians do it. The priest is amazed. He tells the priest, he knows how to make paper in the Egyptian style that he needs, reeds, papyrus stalks, fish glue, charcoal, and fresh water. He will make scrolls, paper and ink.

The priest, Darian reminds him, "What happened at the campfire must be kept secret. Our rituals are only for the initiated. Yours is a strange story, the gods must have chosen you. Come join us in the mysteries. Tell people you are a stranger from Egypt or Sumer or another foreign land, people might get ideas. Your appearance is a mystery."

Victor Spear Month 3

During the night he is woken and taken to a field where he is adorned with an ivy crown and garlands of flowers and initiated into the Sabazian rites. Victor Spear drinks to excess, eats raw goat meat, and has sex with one of the village women as part of the rites, but cannot remember who she is. It is a haze in his mind. The music, the chanting, and the playing of the lyre and drums fill his dreams at night. He thinks he sees a man riding a leopard with a staff singing to him in his sleep. He also remembers handling snakes.

Victor Spear Month 5

It takes Victor Spear several weeks of experimentation before he can make rough papyrus and ink which he gives to the priest. He mixes the charcoal, blackened bone, water and fish glue to make ink which he keeps in a dish. He cuts reeds and dries them from the river to make pens. It is something he remembers doing in bookmaking classes, but it is different to search for the things himself. Thinking of home makes him burst into tears.

He gathers papyrus reeds with the priest, pulling off strips, soaking them, then weaving them together and smoothing them out into sheets with a piece of wood. He takes two large smooth stones from the masons house and presses the papyrus letting it dry. The paper is crude but functional. He tries to make a scroll, but fails, finding making individual sheets much easier. He thinks he can make a scroll, but it will take him months before he gets to the point where he can properly put the sheets together.

The priest gives him some small pieces of gold and silver for the papyrus, mined from the local mines. Victor sees the priest has thick gold rings on his hands. Victor makes more papyrus and begins to write a journal each morning. At first his lettering is crude, but he gets better with practice. The priest sees the writing and is intrigued. The priest gives him more bits of amber and even some gold dust. Darian, the priest tries his hand at making papyrus putting the sheets together to make a scroll of ten sheets. He questions Victor continuously during the process. This is the first writing which the Thracians have ever made. Darian is pleased because it will mean he can record the poetry of the gods. There are many different versions of stories of the gods.

During the night Victor Spear has vivid dreams that he is back home reading his book and drinking his coffee. He wakes up in a cold sweat for several nights. He dreams of wine, sex, flowers, and satyrs. With wine readily at hand, he drinks to help him sleep.

During the time with the priest, he discusses philosophy telling the story of Simonides and the banquet, a story from Bronze Age Greece, where Simonides identifies people by their location at a table after the stone roof collapses on them. He attaches the names to where they were sitting. This is the basis for the method of loci or memory training. He further elaborates on the concept with the memory palace with a room for each month of the year. Two more priests of Sabazios join him in the discussion. They join him when he meditates, following his breathing techniques first sitting and counting breathes, then standing relaxed and counting steps.

One night, Darian, the priest reads a poem from the scroll. Other poems, longer and more complex follow.

Hear me, father Sabazios, son of Kronos, illustrious god. You sewed into your thigh Bacchic Dionysos, the roaring Eiraphiotes, that he might come whole To noble Tmolos, by the side of fair-cheeked Hipta. But, O blessed ruler of Phrygia and supreme king of all, Come kind-heartedly to the aid of the initiates.

Victor Spear Month 6

For almost six months he continues his daily exercises and meditations. By now he has close to a dozen people working out with him and ten people interested in his method of breathing meditation. Victor Spear tries to stick to what he knows about Greek philosophy, but often digresses into Chinese and other philosophies. These stories are like nothing which the Thracians have ever heard. His ideas are often very strange to people. It appears that some people have been complaining to the village council.

He uses some of the amber and bits of silver from the priests to buy pots which he plants herbs in, the smell of the herbs distracts him from his dark thoughts. He has a hard time concentrating.

Victor Spear Month 7

On the first day of the morning of the 7th month one of the village elders, Rholes, warns him that his strange ideas are corrupting the youth, that he must leave and find a new place. He is a foreigner and barbarian with strange ideas.

Two days later, he is woken in the night, Rholes is gathering a group of men to kill him at the gates of the village, but Diaghis warns him. Rholes describes Victor Spear as a dangerous man with ideas about the gods which are not true. Victor Spear flees in the night with a dozen men to an abandoned village in the swamp four days travel to the north. Several more people follow him the next day.


Victor Spear, Month 8

A month later, they are attacked by a small group of “bandits.” The men he has been doing exercise with and meditation are more physically fit and focused than the bandits giving them an advantage. Two men die in the battle at the encampment. Four of the bandits are slain and four are captured. Darius, the priest questions the "bandits" and finds out they were hired by the village elder, Rholes to kill Victor Spear. There is division in the village about what should be done about Victor Spear and Rholes cannot simply gather the villagers to hunt down Victor.

The captured men are stripped of their arms and sold to a gold mine a day and a half from the encampment. The bandits cannot be trusted. As part of the exchange, they trade for two dog puppies and two guard dogs. It is strange watching men being bartered for. It makes Victor's head hurt. He wonders if it would have been better if they had been killed.

The next few months prove to be a hard life for Victor and the people at the abandoned village. They have to gather food and resources to supplement the supplies which they brought to the settlement. To rely on the grown food is not enough. They have to go into the woods to gather resources. Knowing the woods insures they will not starve. Victor helps gather apples, mushrooms, dandelions, tubers, walnuts, and figs. He gathers wood, clay from the river, and stone. Victor to tries help with fishing, but is awful at it. They learn where the fish are, the birds nests, the bushes with blackberries, raspberries, the fields with tubers, herbs can be gathered like chamomile, where the flowers grow and where deer, goats, and boar can be hunted.

He is even worse at hunting. He cannot hit a rabbit with a sling. However, he is good at gathering herbs, firewood, and other resources. He has a green thumb. He helps plant raised bed gardens, herb flower pots, and spends time making quality compost from peat, manure, guano, worms, leaves, and green plants. He uses some pots to transport fig, olive, and apple tree saplings to the encampment. He tries to catch some ducks so he can pen them but fails miserably falling in the river and getting muddy in the process.

He is asked to help move the stones of the village because he is strong and fix some of the holes in the roofs of the abandoned village. Thatch is laid on the roofs and clay and stone is used to fix the walls. He watches as men gather willow to weave into the thatch and stone walls. A few new houses are built using oak posts, woven willow, stone and clay.

Some of the men make coracles and baskets from woven willow and animal hides which they use to fish.

Victor Spear creates a map, another new idea which the Thracians have never seen, so people know where to go in the swamp to find the resources they need. This will make it easier to find the resources they need. The men point out some unique places, a salt spring where Victor Spear boils salty water into rough salt, and the willow trees grow to make baskets.

[The GAmeTopians]

Siobhan Markey

Consciousness came slowly to me, my eyes slowly opening before quickly snapping shut in reaction to the blinding light of the sun.
“Damn it…” I cursed under my breath, planting my hands on either side of me, leaning forward to stand up. I felt the surface under my palms.

Grass?

“What the hell…?”
Moving a hand up to my eyes, I slowly overcame the light and forced my eyes open, revealing unfamiliar surroundings. I was pretty sure, after all, that the landscape before me was not MIT’s campus, nor my Boston apartment. Lush with greens, thick grasses padded the ground while towering trees dotted the surrounding landscape. It was eerily silent as well, little but the occasional chitter of wildlife to accompany the cool breeze on my bare skin. That’d be a problem too, I noticed, combined with the already bewildering situation - I was stark naked, and as I stood up a shiver ran down my spine. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to remain calm, carefully examining my surrounding as I did so.

“Well since I have absolutely no clue where I am, I’m probably best off looking for civilization - that’ll increase my chances of survival, not to mention being a source of clothing to preserve my as of yet intact modesty.” I muttered to myself, not overly concerned about being overheard. It was at that point that I noticed a pillar of smoke off in the distance, billowing up from the green horizon. I smirked to myself.
“That’s as good a lead as any.”

---

Running naked through an empty field isn't exactly something I thought I'd ever do. The sensations involved in doing so were exceedingly uncomfortable, and I found myself greatly wishing to return to my frantic preparation for exams that I had been in the middle of... before I woke up here. I had little time to ponder though, as cresting yet another hill revealed a stark change in the land. A neat field of barley slowly entered my vision as I halted my footsteps at the peak of the hill, set out in far neater rows than the untamed grass I had grown used to - though certainly far less neat than the machine-planted fields I had seen in pictures, and the crop appeared far smaller.

"Hey! Woman!" My head snapped to a voice, my head beginning to hurt as I heard it. What sounded like Greek, a language I had never learned, I somehow perfectly understood, translating it perfectly as it reached my ears. A bearded man stood below me in the field, clothed in rough cloth and holding up some type of tool, I suspected a sickle, a pile of the crop stacked haphazardly beside him. I stared at him in a daze - his clothing and tools were not reminiscent of the modern era, but of millennia past, if my highschool history classes served me correctly.
"You lost?"
His voice snapped me out of my thoughts, leading me to immediately realize that I was face to face with a random man, possibly from another era. And I was naked. My arms snapped instantly to cover the areas typically considered immodest, though there was only so much I could do given the situation. I called out to him with a look of shock on my face, mixed with embarrassment and absolute horror.
"Very much so, I'm afraid. I don't suppose you have some clothing I could borrow?"
He grinned and turned away from me, gesturing to the other side of the field.
"No trouble at all, miss. Able hands are welcome in our humble village."

---

[Gremand]

I woke up slowly from my sleep, cascading into panic as i realized i've been sleeping on the job, followed by confusion as the world around, green and sunlight-bright and way too much for the mind to handle at this hour of day. The realization that something's wrong didn't come to me, it was all as if this was just a dream. It wasn't until my tongue tasted blood where I had been biting my own skin that I realized this was real. My job was gone, my coworkers would have no idea why I'd disappeared. The sound of blood rushing filled my head as I fumbled for a phone, something to distract myself. That too was gone, left naked, stranded in a world of unknowns. What could guess this would bring?

The first month was a mixture of terror, pain, and forgetfulness as my mind refused to accept the situation. I would sleep, five to twelve hours a day, usually up in a tree but occasionally on the ground. The rough sleeping didn't do well for me, giving scratches and cuts deeper than they should be. This was not my world, but I kept waking up to expect a soft blinking light at my face, met instead by a harsh glare or soft, dim glow. Hunger was my biggest concern- The pangs wracked me constantly, and I lost at least a dozen pounds in the first two months alone. It was only when I first tried to kill myself that I found a source of food, in the form of little, finger-sized minnows, within the patties and ponds of what seemed to be some kind of swampland river.

After securing enough to eat that I didn't die, I started to experience some other hardships. There was much to be afraid of, it seemed, in this forested marsh. Lizards and snakes, I was used to. Not monitor lizards ten feet long and thicker than I was, not actual cobras. In the period of two months, I had gotten scars from more than I had seen in all my time working in the aquarium. It was in the middle of the third month I found the village.

I had been hit by something in the eyes, and while it seemed like I would survive, the pain in my face was blinding. In the midst of this delirious haze, I stumbled past the edges of my established territory, and fell into the camp. I was sickened from pain for a week, and in that time I was told I murmured only about fishes, swimming just beyond my reach. In the eyes of the villagers, that was enough for them.

When I returned to a semblance of health, I was told what I was to be in the village. A fisher, one who netted fish to feed the community. I think they understood something about what I could become. My skin was different, my build so much taller; I believe now that I had said something in my sleep that made me appear even more different, perhaps for good, perhaps for ill. All I know is the effect it had on my life. I was set to working, told how to behave, taught how I was to live with a preciseness that betrayed regard for some aspect of my being. The first time I caught Basa, I was given a necklace, woven of cord, with a single large pearl strung through.

(I learned, eventually, that I was referred to as a demon's spawn, someone who could be taught and bound into service, so that the clan might profit, or someone to be killed. A clan council was called, and I was taken in, rather than smothered on the spot. I can be thankful to them, for that and many things.)

As the seasons changed, the clan moved up the greater river, constructing simple leaning tents, built from sticks. I soon learned the various forms of fishing, and became good at my tasks. And here is where things started to fall apart.

It came with the first death, this time by snakebite. I was told then, that one had died during my stay in the healer/elder's quarters, but I did not know that then, was not aware. The depression, which was cleared by forgetfulness and need in this new world, was returning. I aided in the funeral procession, a simple marsh-burial, left in the water so that the fish might come again, and went back to my tasks. The cloud of depression was upon me again, and I found myself doing tasks simply because I had nothing else to do. The apathy, tenant of my brain, wormed its way back inside.

I fished alone, for the first week. Many ate of the fish that I brought, but I was the only one to go out. With the ninth day came the sudden return of the clan to the waters, fishing with net and simple bone-hook, that I did not quite understand. Everyone caught something, and left, feasting upon its flesh in a ritual feast, and I followed this process, feeling disconnected but not quite daring to offend.

I learned the spiritual purpose of it later that day, but I will not cover that here, as it has become my own and it is forbidden to talk about with those not following in the faith. I will return to my forgetfulness, and then I shall tell you more of the times I have spent upon this world.

[The Orson Empire]

Turner Jackson
Oklahoma, 2019 AD

It had all happened in slow motion.

It had already been an unusual day- work was slow, there was no drama, the customers were actually reasonable rather than complete asshats, and I actually got off early. I had no class tonight, and only minor assignments coming up in the near future. I planned to go home and do absolutely fucking nothing. Soon after clocking out, I stumbled out of the doors, ripped my hat and apron off, and hopped in my car, prepared to speed away and get home as quickly as possible. While I did my job to the best of my ability, once the clock hit five, I was done. Every man has his limits after all, and food service was extraordinarily stressful. I had been barely making it today anyway- I was extremely tired, having gotten very little sleep last night.

As I was driving down the road, I began to have hard time concentrating on the road. I had possibly taken too much of my medication this morning (which caused drowsiness), which only made it worse. I tried to brush it off, but as I came to a stoplight, the drowsiness became stronger and stronger, to the point that I risked falling asleep at the wheel. I briefly considered pulling over to take a quick power nap, but then it happened.

Time seemed to slow down as I saw a truck veer from the opposite lane into mine, right into the front of my car. It was happening too fast though- I could only watch helplessly as the disaster unfolded. For a brief second, I heard a horrific screeching sound, before finally blacking out.

Greece, 3000 BC

I woke up suddenly, disoriented and panicking. As my vision began to clear, the first thing I noticed was searing pain in my forehead and across my torso. Then, I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by a dense forests. I couldn't hear the sounds of any nearby cars, only the various chirps, howls, and growls of the local wildlife. I was lying down in tall grass. Wherever I was, it wasn't in Tulsa- I was way out in the boondocks. I laid on the ground for maybe twenty minutes, trying to gain my bearings and my memory. Finally, the few memories I had of the car accident came back to me, and I began wondering just how long I was out. Questions began racing through my mind: had I been kidnapped while I was out? Did I have any serious injuries from the accident? Does my family even know that I'm alive?

As the pain began to dull, I rose to me feet. Only now did I notice that I was completely naked- fortunately it was fairly warm out, or else I would have frozen to death. Nevertheless, it was clear something really fucked up was going on. Had he been kidnapped by some sort of weird cult to be experimented on? I quickly snapped to reality however, refusing to let my anxiety get the best of me. This was a life-or-death situation, and I needed to find a way back to civilization. Maybe there was someone out here, a hunter or farmer or something, that could help me out.

I walked for some distance before realizing I had been on a hill this entire time. I managed to move to a great vantage point on top of the hill, granting me an excellent view of the surrounding environment. I tried to relax and enjoy the scenery, taking my mind off of my horrific predicament. I counted four large mountains- two to the north and northeast, one to the west, and one to the east, as well as a number of other hills. This was...unusual- Oklahoma did not have mountains this tall. Dear lord...had they taken me to Colorado?

Just down the hill was a raised area of flat-topped rock, which I estimated to be at least 100 meters tall, which caught my attention as it seemed to be very familiar. Beyond that was the sea, with several small islands out near the horizon. Several minutes passed until I began breathing rapidly as the terrifying realization hit me. "Athens?!" I yelled out in bewilderment. It had to be- it was too picturesque to ignore. It was the Acropolis, but without the Parthenon and other ancient buildings constructed on top of it. While I was no expert historian, history was nevertheless one of my favorite genres to explore, and most recently I had been reading about the numerous Greek city-states.

I simply walked away, heading for the smoke I saw in the distance, not bothering to try and figure out how the hell I ended up in Europe. This was something outright supernatural, but I would have time to ponder later. My forehead still hurt like a bitch, my feet hurt from walking on the rough ground, I was exhausted and hungry. Where there is smoke, there is likely to be people- at least that's what I'm praying for. I walked for what felt like hours until the terrain changed, and I suddenly found myself in a farmer's field. The farmer looked to be very poor, dressed in nothing but rags- I was wary of the man at first, but ultimately decided to take my chances.

"Ex-excuse me, sir? I'm lost, I really need help!" I called out to him.

The farmer stopped his work and looked up, a weird expression on his face, probably due to my lack of clothing. "Who are you?" he said, but it...it wasn't in English. I could understand the language as good as English, but it sounded vaguely...Greek in nature. Perhaps this confirmed his suspicions. I still didn't immediately question it, however- I was solely focused on getting help.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm lost, I'm not from around here," I stumbled out before the man interrupted me.

"Yes, I can see that. You look pitiful," the man replied. "Where did you come from?"

"America," I replied. The man simply shook his head and looked confused. I attempted to go into further detail, asking him how I could get back to civilization, before he finally stopped me.

"Come with me. I have clothing you can use. You must be starving as well." I simply nodded and followed the man, happy to get some assistance.

[Burgerlandia]

Jason Thatcher
3000 B.C.

Somewhere near Nile Delta...

I stir, drifting in and out of consciousness. Happens frequently, the two dark roasts I downed the prior evening probably spurred thirst. No bother, I'll rouse briefly and grab a quick sip from my glass on water on the table adjacent to me. Taking care not to wake the wife of course. My eyes blink slowly as I turn, reaching blindly for that familiar cold beverage that I can always count on... and, nothing?

Huh.

I feel around a bit more. Can't find the damn table. Speaking of which, when did the room get so damn hot? I usually have the fan going so that I can maintain a semblance of comfort while Pauline steals the blankets. Fuck, I guess I can't do this self-consciously after all. My eyes dart open. Wait, what the fuck? I'm greeted by a familiar sunset in a completely unfamiliar setting. Fine grains permeate my naked body - where the FUCK is my underwear and socks? Where's my WIFE? Wait wait wait hold up... sand, lack of clothes, confusion? Am I lucid dreaming? I've read up on it in my spare time but I've never actually achieved lucidity until now. To anchor reality and maintain the dream it was recommended that I attempt to push a finger through my palm. Uneasily I open my palm and flex slowly, and with my other hand I extend my index finger and thrust toward the palm.

And...

and...

I-I don't understand.

Everyone says these methods reliably confirm the dream state. And it's absurd to think I'm actually in the middle of a fucking desert. I fell asleep beside my wife and I will wake up beside my wife. It's obvious that this method doesn't work for everyone. So I count my fingers. Five on one hand, five on the other... five on one hand, five on the other. Five... on one hand, five... on... the other?

I stand up slowly, shaking sand from me. I don't understand what is going on anymore. I have go be dreaming but in some other kind of dream state. The oceans of sand encompass most of my vision, though luckily I appear to be on some kind of plateau. Why does it fucking matter what I'm on, I'm not HERE! I'm at home in bed with my fucking wife. She's probably gone already to visit Maria. In the haze of the dawn light I spy what appears to be a small settlement by a river basin. It looks so... real? But it just CAN'T FUCKING BE REAL. How ridiculous am I gonna sound when I tell this to Pauline? She's gonna laugh but in the moment my grip on reality feels tested to its core. The only way I can prove that I'm dreaming is by going down there and talk to whoever resides within those stone huts.

My one last ace is telling them I'm dreaming. Dream characters are a reflection of ones subconscious and as such react horribly to that notification. I know I am. I'm getting pissed for god knows what reason. I'm gonna make my down there and end this nightmare once and for all.

"A-alexa, remind to call Dr. Jong tomorrow." I choke through tears, while attempting to chuckle. Why am I crying? I don't fucking know anymore. The sand feels nice. Oddly bearable.

But waking up in my own bed will feel all the better.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Carson

The gentle movement of the world around me, seemingly, drifted my mind. It all felt such like a dream. I won't say I woke with a start, with fear, only a delirious sense of confusion, and a headache. I was sopping wet, and completely naked. I'll be honest, I've never been a hundred percent comfortable with my body. I've always just thought I was average, never much more than that. And so... I generally had tried to hide it, and being so exposed was.. shaking, to say the least. I washed up upon the muddy shores with little the energy I needed to get up. My muscles seemed to cathartic, all I could do is lay there in the humid breeze. My hair was sopping, with great clumps of mud and grass inside of it. It was only when the rhythmic beat of footsteps from just a few yards off that I was shaken back into reality. They stopped. And I froze in horror- realizing the situation at hand. Whoever it was, (for I could only see their legs, my neck near frozen in place), was incredibly apprehensive about approaching me. Who were they? How did I get here? Why can't I move? My mind was so, so cloudy- I couldn't think of a single answer to my desperate attempt to reason it out. It seemed overwhelming, my mind seemed ever more and more turned to mush, before my vision... slowly... began to collapse into blackness.

I woke up to the sound of a crackling fire just beside me. It still took immense effort to move, but I finally had the ability to will it, however slowly and painfully. My thoughts- they were still hazy, I was in a daze. But, as I pushed myself up, the world began to spin, and before I could vomit up anything I had left inside of me, it settled with a loud thud. The air, I could feel it now. The noises were no longer dulled. I look across this small hovel of a home to see an older man, with graying hair beard looking across to me with wonder and fear. A woman stepped inside the room, maybe a few years his younger, but certainly ancient. Gasping, she nearly drops the pot she carried into the room, sloshing water onto the fire with a great cracking of steam. She stared at me with even more fear than the man, who seemed unphased by what had happened. "So... it wakes." The woman says, quietly. I looked at her, to the man, and back, before managing to stutter out a weak "Who are you?" The man nods slowly, while the woman, having to place down the pot, breathes a sigh of unease. "It talks too." "Yes." The old man says, standing. "Perfectly. Taller than any man in the village, whiter than bone, a wild thing... I- I do not trust it. Born from the mother river, I find it very poor to provoke it, lest the Goddess be wrathful... Demon- name yourself." "O-Olivia. Carson." "That... I do not know." He looks with more concern at the woman. "I don't like this... this fills me with unease. Fetch her a meal, and drink, and let her rest in the home." I looked at them, unsure what to say, and simply nodded, gazing around the simple mud-walled room, before watching them leave, and laying back down to sleep.

I woke up once again to darkness within the room. I could tell I was alone- but as the night air cleared my mind I came to a horrid conclusion- Where was I? Who were these people? I began to panic, hyperventilating, my bones shook with fear. What third world country was I in? Who had brought me here? Why was I naked? Had I been raped? The fear, the fear sent me into a mind-tizying cycle, until I could not think, let alone acknowledge the bowl of porridge and milk sitting cold just a few feet away from my starving body. The worry consumed me, and I soon found myself overwhelmed, up unto the point of exhaustion, and yet more sleep.

The next morning I was given a few things- a rough, dirty tunic probably made for a "large" man of these people, new, hot food, (which I did infact eat within seconds, it had been days since my last meal), milk, simple leather shoes, and the healthy skepticism of everyone around me. I left the hut, who it would later be revealed belonged to the village sage, and took in the surrounding countryside. For miles upon miles, dense foliage, and a winding river, up into the horizon. Wherever this was, it was so far away from anywhere recognizable. I took quite a few geography classes, but these people? Looked little like anything I'd come across- save for prehistory. But, of course, that made no sense. By the air, the occasional word, and the river they all seemed to venerate... I approximated I was either in Africa, India, or some other south asian country. These people were dark though, vastly darker than any modern Indians- yet of different build and shape than Africans. Perhaps... I was just in south India? But how the hell would I end up there- THOUSANDS OF MILES from home? I- I didn't know the answer, to be frank- and how did I know their tongue? The realization of my ability to understand- and say words I didn't just two days ago was truly earth shattering, with it's own breakdowns and fears attached in and of itself. But for now, all I could do was continue, however frightened.

And the fear was not one-sided. As I walked among the small collection of huts that made up this farming community, I was only met with glares of suspicion. I tried to say hello, tried to greet them, but the children would run, and the women would hide those who didn't. None approached me, and a terrible lonesomeness began to fill my chest. I didn't know what to do, why was I feared? Because I was different? Gosh, I suppose this is what it feels like to be a minority... it's tragic. Oh God- well, atleast I have food...

The fourth day had a preculiar thing. As I sat beside the great river, I noticed a girl, not too much younger than I, out picking through the brush just a few yards off, all alone. At first I was apprehensive, but, to my amazement, her occasional glances at me were not that of fear. She seemed... curious, but incredibly apprehensive. I slowly stood, and took a few steps over to her, before stopping myself. Was it rude to just approach someone in this culture? "Um- hi! Can I talk to you?" Her initial reaction of fear sent my heart plummeting, but as it did so, the greatest thing I have ever felt in far too long happened, she dropped her basket, and slowly nodded. "If you're not going to hurt me." "Hurt you- oh God am I really that scarry?" "Well, you are a giant water sprite." That took me with a shock. Is that what these people thought I was? Some demon, some magical being here to curse them? I suppose it only made sense, remembering the conversation the old sage had- the memory of it was so fuzzy, so unclear, I hadn't put the two together. "Well. Um, I'm Olivia. Whats-what's your name?" It seemed for the first time, I had actually met someone who I could talk to, some inkling of human interaction. I asked her questions for hours, until the very sun set. I wasn't the best help in her chores, all these herbs and spices I hadn't ever heard before, but I did my best. I think... I think I made a friend that day, something, I might add, I hadn't done in months back home. I made her promise me she'd come back tom morrow, by the river, and let me help her in her tasks. All these things, swimming in my head about where I was, and there wasn't enough time in the day to express it all. And so, I slept by the river that night, waiting for tomorrow to dawn beside the winding waters of the Holy River.

As the days wore on, and word spread about me, the people of the village began more and more to accept me. I had lost count of the days, but eventually, eventually, they let me join them in the fields. The work was backbreaking, they had just begun the planting of a small, thin, rice-like plant. Their fields were flooded, and the mud went up to my thighs. But as the day wore on, and we sweat together, I believe the people started to trust the river girl, maybe a little more. It would take much longer, months, years even, before they thought of accepting me, but if I could just make a few real connections, I might just be alright- I might just find out where I was. What other choise did I have? Wander off into the wilderness? Besides, I'm sure eventually a truck will roll by, and I'll be going home... right? But until then, I did my best, gardening with these people, kinda like me and mom used to do...

[G-Tech Corporation]

Viktor Nemtsov

My suspicions had been confirmed, though broadened. As far as I could tell, this was not the world as I knew it. Either alcohol had magical powers of teleportation I was the first human to unlock and there was still an uncontacted Chalcolithic tribe hanging out somewhere in central Germany, or something entirely stranger was afoot. This was Germany. As near as I could tell? Maybe Austria? They weren't the Rockies- too jagged and old, not large enough. The climate said northern, and the language said that these weren't the Urals. Plus the genetic phenotypes made sense with my conjecture; these people, for all their shortness, had often dark hair or sandy blonde hair like mine, and they seemed to be fair-skinned enough though the parts unprotected by their simple garments were more the color of old leather than proper Caucasian skin. My host, who I called Gregor because I didn't fell like pronouncing Gregafiareoapih- whatever his name was- was a dour old man who said he had seen five and forty winters. One of the elders of what I took to be a fairly close-knit clan. Either I had been thrown backwards in time (which might be, I wasn't a history major) or to another world where time flowed differently and man was still making copper tools in the foothills of the Alps in 2015 Anno Domini.

But at the end of the day, which was which didn't really matter. I was here, and here I looked to be staying for the foreseeable future. Rolling out of bed at Nat's mumbled call to work, I shrugged a new tunic over my head, thankful for the clean cloth. These people, for all their complete lack of knowledge of sanitation, at last bathed and washed their clothes. Some bathed downstream from the village, and chuckled when I walked upstream to take my morning wash above the streams of filth and offal that the Kniepers (as I called the villagers) cast without heed into the turbulent waters. My attempts to explain that washing in clean clear water meant avoiding the infections that plagued much of the village were treated with suspicion by some, but others noted that my body was without blemish or sign of disease like almost all in the village. This in itself was regarded as a small miracle by some of the settled tribesmen, for I had avoided the Bloody Flux and Wasting Sickness for all my life. It had been a month and more, if my cycle of days was accurate, and the villagers had been very kind. Speaking their language helped- though I didn't know how I did it, since to my mind I tried to speak in the Queen's English, their native barbarian tongue issued from my lips. My days of bow-hunting had also paid off; recreational spitting of deer, rabbit, and squirrels now supplied my host family with easy meat for the table, though their bows left much to be desired. Even the chief came up only to my mid-chest, and I had to outweigh him by a hundred pounds at least, maybe a hundred and thirty. I was a big man in the time before my jump through time and space, and now I was a giant.

At my request the local bowyer had made me a larger bow with a stronger draw maximum, a crude self bow with little artistry. But at least I didn't feel like a child shooting at pretend cowboys when I went hunting. My legs were growing stronger, getting the fresh air and exercise they had longed for in my cubicle job, and I could run with all but the most experienced hunters as my strides ate up the ground as theirs simply could not. Several things still troubled me though; it was only a matter of time before I nicked myself shaving and got blood poisoning, or winter came and the game ran scarce. I had no intention to die out here in some Godforsaken corner of time due to my stomach deciding to expel my life from my body over some bad meat. What these people needed were tools, proper ones. We were in luck, really- I'd sighted what I thought was a placer deposit of malachite on one of my hunts up into the mountains, and any materials engineer worth his salt can tell you how to extract copper from such a rich ore source. The Zimbabweans had similar deposits when I worked there. Making a proper smeltery would take time, and bricks, but these locals had no lack of clay. Explaining the concept of an axe holding a point not made of sharp-rock or flint to anyone was difficult, but I wasn't unskilled in the art of pantomime. Recruiting one of the younger lads, a fellow I called Peter for his stony face, we set out one day at dawn with stone hammers to climb up to the distinctive green-banded malachite formations. It was time to introduce these primitive agrarians to the Copper Age.

[Revlona]

Captain Samuel Storm
Somewhere in modern day Cornwall

The stone spear shot towards me at a frightening pace, fast enough to gut me if it had not been knocked aside by my just as quick staff. The boy, he was only fifteen or so I reckoned, grinned at me as he pulled the spear back towards him. I grinned back at him, the simple drill we where doing felt nice as it helped to keep the both of us in shape. Utgerd, that was his name, was the same youth that was apart of the hunting group I had stumbled into weeks before. Thankfully, after a tense conversation, they decided to to try and kill me, as I would most likely have taken one or two down with me. Instead, they had taken me back here.

Where was here? That question had been bothering me ever since the leader of this tribe, numbering about three hundred people, had called this place Cornwall. Or, that’s what it had sounded like. I’ve been to Cornwall before, at least the one in England, I’m not sure if their are any other Cornwall’s. But as I said, I’ve been to Cornwall before and this place does indeed look like Cornwall, except for one teeny tiny problem...there is no civilization.

So after racking my brain for several days, only to be interrupted to hunt or train, I’ve come to my conclusion, or conclusions. I’ve either been transported back in time to the Pre Copper Age, or all shit has hit the fan and I’ve woken up from a coma post apocalypse. I’m thinking it’s more of the former, because, my reasoning of course, there would still be buildings and signs of civilization after apocalypse.

So, now that I’ve come to that conclusion, I simply must figure out a way to survive, and hopefully prosper of course. To do so, I must get these people better tools and weapons, and I remember correctly, Cornwall has both copper and Tin, perfect for Bronze!

In other news I’ve begun scrounging supplies from the others, trading and scavenging where I must. I’ve decided to bring a little culture to this group, and to do so, we need music! Bagpipes should do..

[Damverland]

Joel Willis

On the banks of the Bosphorous

Joel awoke to the sound of a screeching eagle.

It was a distant, shrill sound, echoing. As he slowly opened his eyes, the sensations of the world soon came down upon him. His bed had suddenly become very lumpy, and as he clenched his fingers he felt the texture of grass rub against them. It was cold. Looking up, he didn't see the ceiling of his room... he saw the sky, with shades of blue and orange. The light of a new day peeked out from the distance.
Confusion immediately set in. Am I... outside? Wh-what am I doing out here? As Joel pushed himself to his feet, he took in more of his surroundings. Looking ahead, he saw a shoreline, green and forested. Behind it, the sun crept up, sending its rays of light out ahead, bright and yellow. Between him and the other shore was a huge river. Already, Joel knew he was far, far from home. He didn't live anywhere near a river, much less one this large. The closest river he knew was the Red River, having passed it many times on road trips north to Oklahoma. But this didn't look at all like that river... Suddenly, a brisk breeze chilled his skin. His skin. He looked down. He was naked.
Quickly covering himself with his hands, he frantically shot his head back and forth; there was nothing but trees, grass and bushes.

"Hello?!"

No response. Nothing.

Immediately, a multitude of scenarios came through his head, each one of them vivid and terrifying to him, no matter how illogical they might have seemed. He was drugged and kidnapped. He had been sleepwalking all the way to some river. Aliens abducted him. He was teleported. He died in his sleep and went to heaven, whatever heaven this might be. Or... he was dreaming.

Dreaming, yes. Yes, he was dreaming! Of course he was, what other reason would there have been? How could you explain something like this other than a dream? Relief began to rush over him, as he realized the truth of his situation. He wanted to slap himself for panicking in the first place. This was just a very vivid dream, that's all it was. He had one like this before some weeks ago where several men had broken into his home and kidnapped him. He got those quite often, and he had always been terrified of them. It was one of his deepest fears that somebody could invade his home and murder him and or his mother. He heard once that you could sometimes have 'sequels' to your dreams... Maybe this was a 'sequel' where the kidnappers had left him next to a river... and stripped him naked... and likely left him to die...

Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? Why did I think this morbid shit up? Sighing to himself, he decided to see what else he could find in this fucked up nightmare of his. He began heading to his right; it might've been east or west, it didn't matter. As he took everything in, he noticed just how vivid everything here seemed. He smelled the grass and earth below him, felt the weeds and bushes and twigs crunch and twist under his toes, and felt the cold chills growing goosebumps over his body. And then he felt the pain.

Sharp and deep, something had stung him from under his foot as he cried out in pain and fell to the ground below. He held up his foot to see what stung him... and it was a little thorn, no longer than a fingernail embedded in the center of his foot. With labored breath, he dug it out of his foot.

This is no dream, he realized in terror. This was real.

[UniversalCommons]

Victor Spear, Month 11.

Victor began to lose weight. Living in the settlement is not easy. There is not quite enough food to go around. People have to work hard to find the resources in the swamp. It will take them four months of searching to find most of what they need from gathering. He eats much more than the locals. Darian chides him for eating like a pregnant sow, more than two or three people eat in a day. Diaghis sees Victor's appetite like that of a bear. Victor Spear hungers for sugar and refined flour. He is no longer eating a rich American diet.

Victor Spear, Year 2 Month 3

He continued his daily exercises, meditation, and discussions with the priests. He shows them arabic numerals, then shows them addition, fractions, negative numbers, prime numbers, multiplication, division, and subtraction, as well as the multiplication tables. The priests know more about geometry than he does. Geometry is used for irrigation and building temples. It is handed down by word of mouth. The numerals again are a new thing. As part of this discussion he describes a ruler and a yard stick. Several of the priests of Sabazius go to talk among themselves of these strange new ideas. One of them brings back a carved dowel with numbers marked along its length.

Victor Spear, "I know but a little of mathematics, tell me of what you know, even better write it down for me. I wish to learn of what you know. Take the papyrus and record it for me." The priest is afraid and says Darian must do this, he knows not what he does.

Darian takes up the reed and begins to write. He says to Victor, "You must help me with this, show me how to write math and explain its meaning. Victor remembers another tool, a protractor which breaks a half circle into degrees. There are other tools that he remembers vaguely like the pendulum. He cannot remember exactly how it works, but it is a piece of metal on a string."

It is not just where to find things in the swamp that is important. It is also seeking unique resources. The settlement has to keep track of everything they own. Victor Spear starts writing down everything they own and asking people to acknowledge what they are taking. This makes it easier to manage the supplies of the village. There are many things to keep track of beer, pickled vegetables made from salted water, and other things.

Victor spends time with the potter, Dido. While he does not know high technology, he has some ideas he thinks can be done. He suggests the potter make a pot, fill it partially with wet sand, then put another pot inside it and cover both pots with a lid. This will make a storage container which is cool to keep things fresh. The potter sighs and says alright. He is surprised at how the device keeps food stored safely for several weeks. Victor suggests that he make some unglazed pottery as well. He digs holes and places the unglazed jars in the ground which are porous. Victor fills the jars with water. The porous jars slowly release water into the soil. The third thing he asks is to make jugs of porous clay, unglazed to keep water and other drinks in. The porous clay will keep the water cool.

Victor Spear Year 2, Month 4

In April, a group of 40 warriors carrying spears, swords and shields approached the settlement, they were from farther north. Alec the Badger, a leader of the Dii tribe asks for guest rite. They want a feast and expect a proper exchange of gifts. They offer an Egyptian slave named Senefer with a limp who was a farmer in Egypt, and a woman slave named Penelope as gifts as well as four goats, barley, wheat, wine, cloth, and silver cups.

The settlement does not have 40 hand picked warriors with shields, bows, javelins, helms, and copper spears. There is little they can do to resist the visitors. Victor Spear says of course they can come as guests. They will gladly exchange gifts. He goes through the lists he has compiled and give as much as they can which is surplus-- timber, apples, dried figs, eels from the swamp, honey, dried fish, some pottery jars, a few golden bracelets, decorated potted herbs and flowers, feathers, deer hides, and dried meat. Darius whispered that Penelope was known as a witch and a midwife and she was no ones slave to Victor Spear.

Alec the Badger praises the painted flower pots with herbs. Diaghis quietly brings all that he can find. This pleases Alec the Badger.

During the feast which drains the stores of the town, Daria plays the lyre, Diaghis plays a small drum, and a young man named Jove sings the story of Sabazius the father of the gods.

Finally Alec the Badger speaks, "A man named Rolph of the Satrae tribe asked that you be brought to justice for corrupting the youth of his village. Rolph came bearing gifts of silver and gold from the south."

Victor Spear spoke, " I came as a guest, a stranger in a strange land, naked before them. I meant no harm and did not raise my hand against them. I never spoke ill or caused harm to Rolph or his people. I helped them in the fields by planting gardens and acting with good will. My customs are different than Rolph's. He is going against the tradition of helping a guest in a foreign land.

Yet, an armed band came by night to take me to trial without reason. I meant no harm by what I believed. I am a scholar, a man of peace, yet warriors were sent against me to kill me in the night. Eight bandits came by night to accost me in my dwelling. For peace I got war, for help I was called a heretic. I did not seek you out to harm Rolph, nor did I make claims against his goods or lands. I do not seek revenge, for revenge and anger are a bitter fruit. I have no quarrel with the villagers."

Alec the Badger spoke, "I see you claim no redress against Rolph, you wish for peace. This is not as you were described. What would you have us do?"

Victor Spear, "Send Rolph away by sea to Egypt where he cannot harm me. Exile him. I will pay his passage with some bits of silver, gold, and amber which I have."

Alec the Badger, "If we send him away, he will come back."

Victor Spear, "Send him away and I will go to the village while he is gone and seek peace."

Alec the Badger, "You will travel with us south and you will bring what you have to trade for peace. He will not stay in Egypt forever. We will come back in two weeks. Be ready."

The soldiers left in the morning after the feast. During the next two weeks, the settlement worked to gather what they could for trade. The map helped them find the areas where the most desired goods were. Victor Spear tries to get the goats to carry things. He has seen his hippy friends put saddle bags on a goat. He gets headbutted and falls on his ass.

Diaghis, Victor Spear, Darius, and five men met the soldiers of the Dii outside the wall. Alec the Badger came south with eighty men this time. At the walls, they called to the town, come out we seek redress. The priests of Sabazius ask that the supplicants take wine and seek redress.

Darius spoke, "As a follower of Sabazius, I have found that he has spoken no heresy. His words are strange because he comes from a foreign land and his words are different from ours. The priests have questioned him."

At the gates, an exchange of goods which the settlement did not need. There is very little brought out in exchange.

Victor Spear gives a short speech, "We seek peace and not war, we have no quarrel with you. I have not committed any heresy in my knowledge, nor am I corrupting your youth. There is no need for bloodshed. We were attacked by eight men hired by Rholes and two men died. Come no more onto our lands and we will leave you be as well. Rholes will return, we do not seek war."

Darius spoke, "As a follower of Sabazius, I have found that he has spoken no heresy. His words are strange because he comes from a foreign land and his words are different from ours. The priests have questioned him. The temple speaks."

Several elder noblemen of the Satrae come out. One of them steps forward, "Your words are strange, they are foreign and have upset some of us. You do not know what you bring. Stay off our lands . We realize that you mean no harm and some of us acted in haste. However, you do not belong here. Take your people and go. Some of our tribesmen still support you. They are being exiled. We ask Dida the potter and Moskon the wine maker to leave. Plus we will give leave for Diaghis and Darius to take what they have north."

Then Alec the Badger spoke, "Know that I am the fourth son of King Charnabon, who passed to the other world a year ago. I inherited lands and a town to rule. I am here to remind you that there will be peace and trade in these lands. These are less than an eighth of my men and it is bad for farmers and tradesmen for neighbors to go to war. We trade in gold and silver and the roads must be safe for trade. You have broken the trust of guests and bring strife. Let those who would consider war here know that I can field many more men than there are people in this village. Plus my brothers will join me. You have shown greed by not offering proper trade. I will come again at a later date."

Eight people leave the village to head north with Victor Spear. They take what goods they can carry on their persons.

The harvest is good that year in their settlement. It alleviates some of the shortages and creates a slight surplus. They grow many vegetables and wheat. There is enough for people to eat. The compost and gardening makes more food available. Also, many common medicinal herbs and plants and cooking herbs are grown roses for rosehips, mint, garlic, chamomile, lavender, sage, thyme, dill, bitter greens, dandelion, and other plants. While Victor Spear is not an herbalist, he knows enough to pick out some common herbs from his gardening experience.
The Egyptian slave, Senefer convinces Diaghis to trade for oxen. Diaghis uses the silver gifted to the settlement to buy some oxen from the Dii at Mount Rhodope and Senefer makes an Egyptian style scratch plow which makes a shallow furrow to plant seeds. He also helps build an irrigation channel for the fields.

Penelope is recognized as not being a witch or a slave and is given a small house. She delivers several babies and collects herbs from the fields. When Victor Spear asks about the herbs, Penelope says they are women's secrets.

Victor Spear Month 8
The harvest is good that year in their settlement. It alleviates some of the shortages and creates a slight surplus. They grow many vegetables and wheat. There is enough for people to eat. The compost and gardening makes more food available. Also, many common medicinal herbs and plants and cooking herbs are grown roses for rosehips, mint, garlic, chamomile, lavender, sage, thyme, dill, bitter greens, dandelion, and other plants. While Victor Spear is not an herbalist, he knows enough to pick out some common herbs from his gardening experience.

Viktor Spear fears there will be another attack. They build a clay and stone wall around the village.

[Plzen]

Life is ultimately a puzzle. A complex and difficult puzzle with a million invisible moving parts, but a puzzle nonetheless. Puzzles, no matter how simple or complex, are ultimately all solved the same way.

What is the current state of things? What is the desired state of things? What smaller puzzles need be solved to get from the former to the latter?

As I slowly looked around, glancing at the plains stretching far out to the horizon and myself, bare to the winds and protected neither by my pajamas or the concrete and rebar of my dormitory room, I found myself completely unable, for possibly the first time in recent memory, to make any sense of my present situation.

Wracking my brain for hours didn't turn up any memories that could explain why I would be sleeping in a grassland ditch stark naked. After a brief bout of panic, for which I think I could be reasonably excused, I began to assess my situation. I was naked, yes, but it didn't hurt anywhere and there weren't any marks or injuries on my person that wasn't there the day before. A victim of some kind of violent crime, I did not think myself to be. Kidnapping was similarly ruled out, for who would kidnap a woman only to leave her in an open grassland, unguarded?

Clara. Calm down. Caaaaaalm. There must be a rational explanation for all this. First question, what is the current state of things?

Well the current state of things... I didn't know the current state of things! What had happened? Where was I?

Okay, okay. That answers. Current state of things: ignorant. Desired state of things: aware of what has happened. Course of action: investigate.

Looking around me, grasslands stretched out for as far as I could see, except to one direction where there seemed to be a lake or sea of some sort, and... was that smoke? Smoke was indicative of fire, which was indicative of either natural disaster, or civilisation. In the complete absence of alternatives this felt like a bet worth taking. That brought me to another difficult puzzle: I was totally indecent. Somehow I had the feeling that the inhabitants of that town over there -- if it was a town and not a forest fire -- would not be terribly inclined to give concise and helpful answers to a completely nude person walking in from the rural pastures.

...but that wasn't a problem I needed to have solved, was it? If I got interned in an asylum that would be an improvement over my current situation. At least I'd have someone to answer my questions and hear my explanations. And be warm and clothed. That was important too.

It did not take me very long to realise that something was very, very wrong. The first signs of problems appeared before I even got to what indeed turned out to be a town. First, the town was walled, and the construction was largely wood. It looked every bit like what I imagined primitive forts might have looked like. I know the Canadian rural backwaters can be... backwaters, but anything that historical and clearly well-maintained would have been declared a historical monument before the Second World War, easily.

I was, of course, spotted well before I could reach the village. One of their member came out -- perhaps to greet me, perhaps to ward me off, probably to question why I was walking around stark naked in winter -- holding wait is that a spear?

Why yes it was. My conscious mind groaned at the utter and ongoing insanity of this situation. Maybe I already am in an asylum and these are hallucinations of mine. A flint spear. Wielded by a man wearing some kind of animal pelt. What is this, the filming set for a life action The Flintstones production? If so, the cameras were bloody well hidden. Maybe one of those other primitive inhabitants of this village was the secret cameraman.

Oh, how wrong, so very wrong, I turned out to be.

"Stranger, greetings," the man introduced, in a language I swear I've never heard before but could somehow understand. "Who are you and what business have you with our tribe?"

The man looked vaguely Mediterranean... or maybe First Nations. But no native tribe, no matter how primitive or isolated, lived this simply anywhere in Canada. Here was... well, "civilisation," here was a person with whom I could communicate, and yet I was not an inch closer to solving my mystery.

With panic slowly creeping up on me again -- had I slept through the apocalypse? -- I quickly introduced myself as Clara, which according to the man's reaction was a name he wasn't terribly fond of for some reason, and simply stated that I was passing through. I wondered if I looked as insane to this man as he did to me. After all, I was absolutely naked.

True to my word, I moved on. Two hours walk following the shore, some kind of fjord judging by its narrowness and length, brought me to another village. Any hopes that I harboured that this might be different from the last was immediately dashed. Animals prancing about, wooden construction, primitive tools, check, check, and bloody well check.

As I was about to keep moving on, my stomach grumbled, forcing me to confront some deeply unpleasant realities. It was starting to get dark, and the prospects of spending another night out in the wilderness didn't appeal to me. And was probably deleterious to my continued existence. I was hungry, having had nothing to eat the entire day, and I was still very much naked.

Even if there was civilisation -- actual, globalised civilisation I could count on to take me home -- out there in walking distance, a prospect which seemed less likely with every passing hour, it would do me no good if I wasn't alive to reach it. It was difficult to believe. I, Clara, city woman born and bred, having to worry about basic survival. I didn't even know how to so much as start a fire, for goodness' sake, let alone live off the land without a single scrap of cloth to my name.

If there was civilisation to be reached, I must be alive to reach it. By the time I was in front of the village and the guard inquired as to my presence, in a language I still didn't recognise but was distinctly different from the language at that last village, I had made my decision. I didn't like my odds in this primitive shantytown, but I liked my odds in the wilds even less.

"Hello," I greeted, with a smile and a wave. "I'm Clara. A pleasure to meet you. May I come in? I am hungry and the winter is cold."

And to my gratitude,

He nodded.

---

There wasn't any singular moment where I decided to give up on the idea of going home. Rather, the impossibility of such a task slowly and gradually creeped up on me. Conversations with the occasional peddler in flint and obsidian, trade for which was surprisingly extensive given the relatively... simple nature of everything else in this region, revealed quite clearly that civilisation, at least the variety of it with which I was familiar, simply didn't, or perhaps ceased to, exist in this region. It took perhaps a month for me to fully accept my new situation. Even if I didn't really understand what that situation was. Post-apocalyptic? Amnesia? Time travel? Virtual reality?

In any case, I wasn't going home, because this was my home now.

That first month was very much a learning experience for me, much more than it was a teaching one. For all my knowledge and experience, memories of a more advanced society, all the education I received that would have allowed me to help keep it running, for all of that, I was useless. It was a humbling experience to see just how little I understood of the world I grew up in.

I knew, for example, that the wealth and might of history's first empires were built on bronzeworking and centralised irrigation. Bronze is an alloy of mostly copper and a little bit of tin. I wasn't entirely sure of what ratio, or whether there were other, minor ingredients, but a sound enough basis to work on.

...but I wouldn't be able to identify tin ore if it was in front of my eyes. Or know anything about building a kiln hot enough to melt down copper.

As to centralised irrigation, it was one thing to read about it in a history paper, but when it came down to actually designing such a thing? I didn't have a clue. The problem wasn't even the engineering - I could do that just fine. The problem was the much more basic questions like "how much water should I divert to the fields" or "how often does it rain around here." I did try to introduce the things I did know reasonably well, like field rotations to keep the soil healthy, but, well, I showed up naked and hungry, and the people here remembered it. They were disinclined to take my advice on farming.

In exchange for... well, nothing except the meagre labour that I could squeeze out of my undertrained muscles, the village taught me everything. How to tend to pigs and barley. How to identify edible or even medicinal plants. How to make flint arrows, and how to identify good stone to work with.

What I wouldn't give for a proper toolset right about now.

Eventually I settled down as an assistant of sorts to the little settlement's pot-maker, although the other villagers tell me I'll have to help with the sowing with everyone else come the spring, for one important reason. One critical piece of technology that I personally understand to the fullest extent that doesn't require me to already have prerequisites which this primitive tribe lacked. The only reason why I don't feel like a useless addition to this town.

Writing.

I'm not going to try and press this, though. I've learned my lesson from the whole field rotations argument. I've just started quietly inscribing a few words to help me remember the village's affairs - who promised what to whom, what gifts the village gave and received from which travellers and other settlements, who made what and how much of it, that sort of things - and managed to stop a couple of arguments already with my, ahem, "flawless memory." I can already tell some of the villagers looking at me curiously when I inscribe these strange scribbles into, first, the village pots and cooking utensils, and in the last couple weeks, little tablets I made for myself.

Eventually the nice lady who does most of the pottery work here will break and ask me. I can tell.

And when she does, I'll unveil the secrets behind my "flawless memory."

[G-Tech Corporation]

Viktor Nemtsov - Four Months AG

Fortune smiled upon the man out of time, the sojourner upon the temporal sands. Today I had found what I had scoured the countryside for with the proverbial fine-toothed comb; alluvial deposits of refractory clay, rich in aluminium and glistening like an Irishwoman's bonnie locks. This was the lynchpin to my plans, and I allowed a smile to cross my visage as I clambered down into the shallow pit where the stream ran down from the highlands. It was about two hours gentle walk from the village, more if I could convince any of the locals to exert themselves. They were good folks, and had been much impressed by the crude copper axe-heads I had forged using sand and molten orange metal from a simple cook fire. To move any further though, to casting and cold-working and hardening, I would need a hotter flame and a better medium to work with. The sedimentary clay deposits of the rivulet near Kniepper were insufficient for that purpose; I was no ceramics worker, to glaze pottery and create fired bricks with pasted exteriors. I mean, I had some knowledge of the art from way back in my undergraduate years, but that was more likely to be wrong and lead me astray than not. Metals were my province, specifically ferrous ones. But bronze was a simple effort, comparatively, to true forged steel.

Down I plunged a hand into the rich red soil, and it came away in a clump- sticky and self adhesive. Perfect. Gesturing to Peter, I spoke in the guttural yet sonorous speech of the local, urging him to fill his crude animal-skin sack with the ochre earth. I did likewise, working with the pleasant rhythm of my muscles warming up to the effort. If they could have seen me at home, they would have been amazed at the transformation. Wilderness living really separated the chaff from the wheat- I was the average American in that, despite my exercise routines and active lifestyle, I was still probably ten or fifteen pounds overweight in terms of fat alone, nevermind subcutaneous layers and water weight. Now I felt more taunt, more dangerous, a whipcord instead of a lumbering beast. I could run as I never had before, feet tough like leather from months on hard ground, and even with my crude great bow I was deadly beyond the range of even my best rifle shooting before this new life. So strange to find myself in a new world, or an old one, but God gave us what He choose, not what we would.

God. Explaining my prayers before meals to the Germanics had been surprisingly easy. They too prayed, at times, though as best I could tell they were primitive pagans, even hentotheists. The other villages, as best I could gather, were larger and more prosperous. To the east, where the material I would use had been manufactured. As I hiked back towards Kniepper I smiled at Peter. He had been my first convert. The god of Kniepper was a small thing, said to be a frog spirit of the stream. My God was stronger, I had explained to the youth. Not a God of one land, or one people, but of all time and all peoples. He had created all things, unlike the god of the river which had brought the stream to existence. Peter had though my God much more mighty, for He had given the tribesmen me, who was untouched by any disease and could make the very stones melt with my power. It was a curious notion when one thought about it, divine will. Some of the tribesmen had begun saying that I fell as a star from heaven to bring great things to them, and that it was the will of my God. I could not say them wrong- I had no idea how I got here. Maybe my God had sent me here for a reason indeed.

But I put that notion and wondering aside as I set to work outside the village environs, shaping bricks of the fire clay before suspending them on a lattice of sticks above a simple camp-fire. Charcoal production had been a difficult concept to teach the simple Germanics, but after showing them how long the briquettes burnt an old man had nodded and said it was good. The man was what I had taken to be their chief at first. Large and well-fed, all that jazz, pretty beefy bruiser. They didn't seem to have any real concept of the idea though; when I mentioned the word chief to them I got mainly confused stares back, and within a few weeks I had figured out that the man was simply a respected elder. They had no ruler to speak of, a testament to the unspoilt beauty of this land and the unsophisticated nature of their lives. After discussing the concept for a bit of a strong man to help all and lead in time of trouble, it seemed I had been more or less agreed to fulfill that role. This was truly a naive land, where outsiders could rise to such a position, but as far as I could tell they had almost no memory of warfare or struggle. Competition in trade, sure, and banditry on very rare occasions, but nothing formal aside from hunting. One day I would change that, perhaps soon. But other things had to be done first, before I could introduce these innocent people to the horrors of the reality of the world.

Charcoal, and brick. Those were the key, and the fire clay was the steel from which I molded the key. Slowly, working over a week, I built up a small kiln with a shaped stonebrick channel to pour out molten metal with, sealed by a ceramic disc made for the purpose. This would be my smeltery, the start of the age of metals for these simple people. The crushed copper ore I had in abundance now, the malachite easy to extract with a simple flame after being beaten with hammers. Some of the hunters had already reported great interest from Mara in the east, a larger city, about these copper tools my friends and, erm, subjects used. It had brought wealth of food and timber to the village, the simple commodities of life here on the slopes of the Alps. But now I would make something far more important, and begin my climb towards legend. Because why spend life in the past in ignominy? The stars had been given to them, as I had wished for before in my simple job of materials processing, and I would grasp them.

These lofty thoughts on my mind, I thrust the small crude pot I had traded from one of the old women into the flames, and waited. If I was right, it was made of crude beaten tin ores, valued for its color. That discovery in her house had cemented my path- this must be part of the ore bearing Alps of the Czech border, for such ancient people to have access to rare tin. With malachite and tin came bronze, the forefather of civilization. I smiled a toothy grin as the pot began to weep the dun gray metal I required, and slowly fed crushed malachite into the furnace. A slurry began to form, which I skimmed off with a length of fire-burnt bark. Merely the stone slag. For the better part of an hour I tended the furnace, and then began to work on the sand mold for my next creation. Eventually it was ready, and the slag had been cleared away by Peter's careful attentions, only the deep brown luminescence of liquid bronze remaining in the stone-clay kiln. The fumes were acrid, and I carefully avoided breathing too close to where they billowed from the crude chimney. Then I unstopped the spillway, and filled the sand mold.

Several minutes later I drew the bronze from the sand by its hand, and it flashed in the sun like fire given flesh. A sword, a gladius after the style of the ancient Romans. From this forging would come the path to a thousand victories to come. Bronze plows for the breaking of sod and stable food supplies, bronze armor to keep flesh from pain and death in war. Bronze arrowheads to slice open boiled leather and lesser metals. Not until I could find hematite could I make better. And this was one of the foremost tin sites of the world, one I had learned about long ago when first my Professor Xiu discussed how metals came to be used by man. I laughed aloud as I lifted the blade, and Peter stared at it in wonderment as some of the other villagers came at my cry.

It was a leader's metal, an instrument of conquest and power. Megalomania? Perhaps. Time would tell.

[The Holy Dominion of Inesea]

Jamie Devlin
Somewhere in India

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A warm, wet sensation spread down my cheek with each successive droplet. Groaning, I raised a hand to my cheek and wiped the wetness away. Either I’d been drooling or the damned window had cracked open again. Well, it was warm so it probably wasn’t Boston’s notorious winter rain. Ugh, I hated drooling. Had to kick that habit if I’m going to get married. Christ, the damned memory foam must have slipped again. Happened every time Sharanya slept over. Loved the girl but her tossing and turning ruined my bed. I opened and then closed my eyes. Obviously, I was still a little tired or hungover from last night. Maybe I hit too much of Matt’s special weed. Safe my ass. I opened them again and sat straight up. The hell. This isn’t my apartment. This isn’t my bed. What the fuck. Why am I naked? Where the hell are my clothes. Why am I in the woods? Why the hell is it this warm in fucking February. Fuck I better get dressed before someone sees me. I can already see the headlines. NAKED DRUGGIE DOCTOR SCARES PARKGOERS.

Breathe man, breathe. Look around. What do you see? Lots of forestation, lots of little critters, and it’s hot as hell. And so damned wet. Those trees, those bushes, those aren’t from New England. That’s…tropical? African maybe? I guess I shouldn’t have breezed through the Nature Merit Badge two decades ago. Fuck, if these are tropical then maybe I am in some biosphere at one of the arboretums. Or someone’s greenhouse.
I started exploring my surroundings. The vegetation went on for some time in either direction. And it was open air, not some indoor setting. Well, maybe the arboretum was using 8K sky panels. Destress the birds or something dumb like that. But I doubted it. Where on God’s Green Earth was I?

After maybe an hour, I came across a roaring brook. Fucking hell, the day’s heat and sun’s rays had sapped the water from my body. Survivalists always said that moving water was clean water. Not quite true. Moving water was cleaner water for sure, but who knew what chemicals or manure or parasites infested these waters. Ah fuck it, I can get checked out in the hospital later. I’m thirsty now. I waded into the cool waters of the brook, coming to about my waist. As I let the cool waters wash over me, I realized that my legs were a little sore. The thought made me chuckle. Me of four years past would have laughed off an hour-long hike.
I followed the brook downstream. Water almost always led to civilization. Another one of those survival mantras that everyone believed but wasn’t always true. I could only hope that it proved true for here. The sun had already begun its descent when I encountered the first signs of civilization. My brook had long since merged with others to form a respectable river. In the distance I could see a break in the chaotic vegetation. It looked almost like a farm of sorts. Picking up speed, I jogged through the field. There seemed to be little irrigation canals, shored up with clay. The crops themselves seemed to be grains, though they were a far cry from the amber waves of grain that I pictured in farms.

“YOU THERE, WHO ARE YOU? STOP RIGHT NOW!”

The shout echoed out from the river. I had been so focused on finding civilization in the farm that I had neglected to look out to the river. On a small reed raft, three men were watching me. They were brown, wearing rags. And so short. I was taller than them, quite the shock for a man like me. The raft was propelled by one man with a poll. The other two carried what I assumed were farm tools. Not steel or iron, but copper or bronze. Strange but the organic nutters, which I assumed there were, liked to farm with the ‘primitive’ tools.

“I’m sorry, I am terribly lost”

“You are on Bhatavdekar’s Farm. I am Rad, this is Roodra and Kusika. Who are you? Where are your clothes?”

“I am Dr. Devlin. I was out parting in Boston last night and then…. I’m here. Where ever we are.”

“I have never heard of this Bahstahn place. Is it beyond the Great Mountains of the Setting Sun? The Roof of the World? Or are you from the Father River?”

As we were talking, Kusika slowly poled the raft to shore. Christ though, they didn’t know what Boston was. Even the luddites and Amish knew about Boston. Where was I?

“I am afraid I don’t know what those are. I hate to be a beggar, but do you have some food or clothes I can borrow? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

As the got off the raft, Roodra whispered something to Rad.

“Come with us, we will bring you to the village. Roodra here wants to know why you are so…pale. You are like the sands of the shore. Where did your color go? Did the gods take it from you? You are paler than even the wild men that come over the Great Mountains of the Setting Sun.”

“Why…Why am I white? I’m Irish-American, we don’t get darker than this. Have…. have you never seen a white person before? How far are we from the nearest city?” Who are these people?
“The only people here are brown. There are no white people like you. Roodra thinks you are a spirit or a half-baked soul. Did the gods fail to cook you Oirich-Merkans long enough? I do not think you are a spirit. I think you need clothes however. Come with us”

As we rafted down the river I learned some more about my new compatriots. They were farmers from the village Bhatavdekar. Bhatavdekar had maybe fifty people from four families in it. They farmed these lands since time immemorial. When I asked them about America or phones or even what country we were in, they looked confused. I have no clue where, or when, I am. From what they said, Bhatavdekar paid tribute to the city of Mehgarh. Tribute. Who paid tribute these days?

We rounded another bend in the river and the village came into view. The village was surrounded by a wooden palisade and had a small dock. There were maybe a dozen houses built from wood, daub, and stone. Children and women scurried about here and there. Some were working with the harvest, others doing seemingly domestic chores. A few men were here and there. Rad said that most were out tending to the fields. It was the start of harvest season. Seeing the village in all its poverty, it dawned on me. This wasn’t 2019. Even the poorest Indian village had a phone line or Coke bottles or modern trash. None of that was here. Just like the Grantville novels, I seemed to have been teleported somewhere in time and space. With that realization I collapsed. I tumbled off the raft and into the river. The last thing I remember is strong arms dragging me back out of the water.

---

I woke up in a large hovel, on a soft bed of furs and skins. Rad and several others were looking at me, some with concern and others with horror.

“He’s a demon or a soulless. We must cast him back the river from which he came. Look how it’s washed the color from his skin. It probably washed his soul away.”

“He is a guest in need from a far away land. I think he may even be from the lands of the Setting Sun.”

With another groan I sat up in the skins. Everyone went silent and all eyes watched me.

“I am grateful to you all for taking me in and clothing and feeding me. My name is Jamie Devlin.”

At my introduction, Rad looked confused.

“I thought you said your name was Doctor Devlin?”

“Doctor is my title, my profession. Jamie is the name my parents gave me. Devlin is my…. clan name. I come from a town called Boston in America. It is…apparently… far from here.”

“Well Jamie, are you a demon?”

I laughed a little bit.

“No, no demons here. I’m just your regular flesh-and-blood human. I heal people, I don’t possess them”

“You are a healer?”

The question came from an elderly woman in the middle of the room. She was better dressed than the others, with some glass beads and what seemed to be a bronze ornament.

“Ahh, yes I am of a fashion. I am a Doctor. It’s like a…. shaman-healer…. apothecary….no an herbalist and a blacksmith for the body. I don’t know how much I can do without my medicines and tools but is someone sick?

The old women nodded.

“I am Chandinka, the eldest elder. My son, Chanda, is our village healer. While fixing a child’s teeth, the girl bit his hand. His wound has festered and his spirit threatens to leave his body. Please, if you are as you say, try to heal him.”

Others in the hovel looked less than pleased to see Chandinka make that request of me. Given that they thought I was a demon, it only made sense. And I was loath to see a patient who may still die. It would make a terrible impression if he died under my care. Nonetheless, I was indebted to these people who took me in. And human bites were nasty things.

“Lead me to him. I will do my best.”

---

It was tiresome work. The bite was indeed infected though the outlook not as bad as the poor mother had thought. There was no greater apparent spread of infection into the arm or body. The infestation itself seemed fairly minor. If anything, Chanda would probably have pulled through on his own. However, I understood the fear that illness strikes into the hearts of families. I turned to Rad.

“I need your sharpest knife. Silver, Copper, or Bronze. I need a fire. Water in a copper or bronze container. And alcohol. Your strongest drinks. I will also need cooked liver and garlic, if you have it. Quick.”
Silver, copper, and bronze were strong antimicrobial agents. Any knife made it would be cleaner than stone or steel. If they had steel. Fire to boil water. Liver and garlic for recovery. It was all so primitive. Christ, do they even have booze?

In short order Rad returned with all that I requested. I placed the copper knives into the boiling water. When I asked about silver, Rad said that only the wealthy in Mehrgarh had that. Copper would suffice. After a few seconds heating I carefully removed the knives from the water. Copper was less than ideal for a knife. Bronze would have been better but even that was in very short supply. It seemed that while cooper tools could be made locally, they had to trade for bronze. Shit, I forgot bandages. I sent Rad for their cleanest cloth while I started to work. I had two strong lads hold Chanda’s down and put a rag in his mouth. I poured the heated alcoholic drink, rice wine from the looks of it, over the man’s bite wounds. He started to thrash and moan. After the wound was as cleaned as it ever would be, I began to debride the dead flesh from the cuts. Truthfully, I was somewhat out of my element here, but leaving the dead flesh was worse than cutting it out. I’d dealt with worse wounds in the military but it’d always been with modern medicine. This barbarism was frankly horrific. After cutting the dead flesh away, I took another copper knife from the pot. This one was much hotter than the others and I used it through a cloth. With as much care as I could muster, I slowly cauterized the wound. I had toyed with the idea of sewing it shut but who knew if these people even had cats, let alone catgut. Chanda, the poor man, had fainted from the pain. I soaked the bandages in the boiling water and wrapped them around his hand. If I’d have had modern antibiotics, debridement would not have been necessary. As I left the tent, I told Rad to have Chanda fed the liver and garlic when he awoke. And to boil all water he drank in a copper pot. The exhaustion and shock of it all caught up to me in the moment and I leaned against a tree. In seconds I was asleep.

[Revlona]

Captain Samuel Storm
Somewhere in modern day Cornwall

Bronze, sounds easy, put tin and copper together and you got bronze. Right? Wrong. Well, mostly. I know how to make bronze, but I...don’t know how to make bronze. Ah it’s complicated. I found Copper quite easy, it’s everywhere in Cornwall! Well, not really, but it’s not that hard to find. Tin took more time to find. Three weeks of scrounging and hunting for the metal in my spare time finally offered results in the form of several lumps of Tin and a possible mine sight.

After a month of looking for the metals I finally had them! So I say myself in front of a cool fire, added the needed amount of both copper and tin, and realized I didn’t really know what I was doing. It took me a good hour before I realized that nothing was likely going to happen other than the tin melting, but the copper didn’t. I decided the fire wasn’t hot enough, and probably wouldn’t ever be hot enough on a simple wood fire. I needed charcoal. So yeah, making charcoal, easy right? Lump charcoal comes from burning simple wood, but if I remember my science class quite right, it probably won’t burn hot enough to melt the copper. So, that leaves me with making charcoal using a clamp...yeah.

After speaking with several of the groups elders, and some other friendly villages nearby, they have decided that I am crazy...in a good way, and have endorsed my project, putting me in charge of several younger boys for my clamp. My science teacher explained getting charcoal this way once, and I’ve been trying to dig that conversation from 6 years ago up. And pretty much what I remember has gone into this project.

—————

Success! Well, I’m getting charcoal at least, the clamp worked on the second try. The first try failed because the boys fell asleep and allowed oxygen to get to the burning wood. They’ve been thrashed for that one, yeah I could hear the beatings from the other side of town, ouch. Otherwise, while setting up the second clamp I came to realize that I had no real way of molding the bronze once I finally made it. So I asked several of the workers for help, making several sturdy stone cups with nozzles at the top, along with a stone hammer, tongs, and anvil. I’ve also made a simple mold that looks like a spear head.

———
I think I did it. The tin melted like last time, and thankfully, the copper did as well, though the heat of the flame was intense, I managed to the mold before I cooled it off. I then went to work hammering and adjusting the spear head while a large group of people watched me. Finally I stopped hammering and picked the spearhead up. I walked to one of the hunters who took the spear head and expertly attached it to a staff before handing it back to me. It was done, and I am happy. I may only know how to make a spear head, and it may have taken me months to do so, but this opens up a grand path for the group, and the cheer that the village gave me when I showed off the spear showed that they too understood it.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Edward "Ted" Tomlinson
Rome, Italy, 3000 BC, 3 months after landfall

So those huts that I went to months ago, didn't know what to find, a desperate part of me hoped it was a movie set, but no. These were flow blown primitive huts with primitives in them. You might be thinking I should've known better, yeah your right, but considering these huts were in the middle of a plains with a set of rivers nearby, you'd think good ol' USA would've kicked them out. Furthermore these natives had white skin that was tanner then the norm, but none the less Caucasian. If you don't know the USA well enough, there's no such thing as white natives, save for a few oddballs in native American camps.

Regardless of the fact they were primitives, they spoke a odd foreign tongue, nothing I ever heard. You hear a lot of languages in the USA, and while most use English some prefer speaking their native language, so this was no Italian or Spanish I ever heard. That however was not the problem, the problem was I could understand them. You might not think of it as a real problem, but to me that's kinda concerning, it means whatever has happened to me is not normal. Furthermore I could speak their strange tongue.

We got along fine, if you mean glares of suspicion down the back of my neck. I mean I was a naked young adult who just waltz right into their village; that's no everyday occurrence. Regardless they took me in and I began working, I am not to fond of sitting on my butt, twiddling my thumbs. I tried to become the Carpenters apprentice, but the man didn't trust me at all, so I joined the farmers at managing the fields. They seemed to have a lackluster understanding of farming, as crop rotation was not present as spring turned to summer, but I didn't know much either, so I didn't question their knowledge on the matter.

As the first few weeks drew to a close I felt it. That pain, the one that much suffering as a kid, Crohn's. It was a good thing early on the pains were weak and easily ignorable, but as time went on the became more present and more intense. Luckily pain tolerance help me from collaspsing from the ground, however it didn't stop me from the occasionally bending over due to pain. I kept this secret of mine well-hidden from the villagers. I would only show my anguish when in I knew I was not seen. This was something they need not know, and a weakness that no one must know.

Luckily for me, time was the best remedy for the villagers trust, they still were a bit suspicious, but the carpenter was finally willing to teach me. He wasn't blessed with sons and he needed to teach someone his craft, so my willingness to learn was a benefit to both of us. I guess he's thinking I'm here to stay now, good I guess, it's not like I have anywhere else to go...

So here I am building things with the carpenter, in the middle of God knows where. I'm starting to wonder if God had something to do with this, my ability to speak foreign languages, and the fact I'm in the middle of nowhere. I never been much of a religious man, but a little prayer won't hurt. I close my eyes for only a few seconds, and pray. I didn't know what to pray about honestly, I never had a relationship with God like my grandmother, so didn't know what to pray about. I guess I'll thank God for this power he gave me, and that he may grant the selfish request of returning me home. The carpenter must've saw me pray, because he asked me what I was doing.

I explained that I was doing a religious custom that they did back where I came from. He didn't pry to much, I guess because he wasn't big on theology. Perhaps this was a missionary quest sent by God, no, I'm likely overthinking things. Best stay as passive as possible to get by in life here.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Carson

The times changed, the days wore on, and my skin weathered beneath the sun. My hands grew tired, and my feet wore raw. I'll admit, I cried a lot on those days. The work was hard, dreadfully dull as I watched my hosts cut a life into the Riverlands. Had it been weeks? Months? I had little idea, the best I could guess was around two and a half months, I had learned much, but my heart still ached for home. The humid air clinged to my skin, I sweated every day. My skin hadn't tanned, only burned bright red, further alienating me from the rest of them. In all they were thirty five in number- making up four families. They lived in communal homes, save for the sage and his wife- who lived alone. They cooked a bland and thick porridge out of some sort of grain, and rarely, it seems, could eat anything else. Fish was a luxury, and often large caches were shared among the people. A hesitant gift seemed always present at my doorstep, the people seemingly thought this counted as goodwill. I got better by the day at the work, foraging the dense forests around us for food- my friend taught me much, and I tried my best to teach her.The limits of my modern education on this way of life was obvious from the start. Along our long matches and stalks through the woods, we often brought with us thick cakes of the grain, wrapped in large leaves for storage. They never trusted me around their cattle, never allowed me alone in their homes. It seemed no matter how much I helped them, how hard I worked for them, they never thought me as one among them.

This was, until the flood.

The rain pounded against the ground like bullets, a hard, torrential rain, that even the strongest of men of the village sheltered from. It was the first time I had felt cold in this place, a chill, which shook down my spine. It continued for hours upon hours, it never seemed to stop. The winds picked up, ever harder against the fragile walls of our homes. The river, most blessed mother nay days ago, began to swell, and spill over its banks. This was the worst flood in known history for them, as the waters ever encroached upon their homes. "You!" The old sage called. "You caused this! Demon! Make it stop!" What was I supposed to do? "I can't!" I cried "What do you expect me to do?" The waters had begun to overtake the village, as the shelter belt of trees protecting us began to be ripped from the earth. Vast swathes of ground gave way, being washed downstream with such violence that I hadn't seen before. The violence of this world, it shook me. Dozens of poor souls began to flee from their homes, wading in the waters knee-high, running for the trees and hills. They were pelted by the rain, it hit with such force that it stung them, priding them to run faster, faster. Before long I was alone, frightened, as the waters only grew. Or atleast, I thought so. Trapped upon an island, I saw a child. Not older than six, I saw him clinging to a patch of earth, not larger than a table, rooted firm by a great tree. But I could see that it had started to shake. I couldn't- I couldn't bare to see him washed away, as the island began to crumble, his tears indistinguishable from the rain. I was stupid- I ran to him. I dashed through the water, and tried to save him, to grab hold of the poor, fragile thing. To take hold and carry him to safety. But as I reached this poor child, the earth gave way, and holding him, I was swept into the waves. Kicking, screaming, desperate. I don't know how long I was there.

Once again, I washed up upon the shores of the river. The land was barren, a great swath of destruction in the foliage. I trudged out of the waters, holding something, something breathing. My god- he was alive! Bruised, cut, battered, but alive. I could see the trail of destruction from upstream, and I knew I had to go back. Whoever it was- whoever was out there, maybe his mother survived. Maybe they saw me- swept into the waters- and went to look for me? My clothes were ripped, a great gash bled from my arm. It stung terribly, I cried. But I kept moving, I tied a ripped piece of my clothes onto the wound, and I kept going. It felt like hours, my shoes were gone, and the rough ground sent splinters into my feet, cut it's soles with the rocks. But through sweat and tears, I emerged into the clearing. There I saw, thirty four people, battered and scared, picking through the ruins of their home. When they first saw me, a man lifted an axe, and screamed the most heartfelt curse I have ever felt. He scowled at me, and my first thought was upon my iminent death. I was frozen, unsure what to do, until the small child , clinging to my leg, stepped out from behind me. With a gasp, the people looked over in shock, I saw a woman start to cry as the boy ran for her. "Mommy- please don't hurt her. She saved me. Please?" I can't say I didn't cry myself as the man dropped his axe, look to the people around him, and kneel down to embrace his son.

Life continued onward towards the future. Through the remains of their homes, we picked up all that remained. Some tools, maybe. A pot or two, miraculously in decent shape. We'd be sleeping under the clear sky for the next few weeks- but maybe, maybe we could come together, and rebuild what had been lost. Maybe not as much as we thought was lost to the waters.

[Theyra]

Ikram al-Zaidi
Somewhere near Sari, Iran

"Where in God's name am I! I yelled in panic as I came to grips with my situation. Only moments ago I was asleep and it did not kick in right away that I was not in my bed or apartment even. I stared at the open blue sky till I looked down and saw I was naked and I had nothing on me. Then come to realize that I was on dirt and jumped up to my feet. I was utterly speechless as I thought this was just a dream and I tried to wake myself up using my normal method. But, it did not work and then covered my ears to check if I could still hear the rigging in them. I could still hear the rigging that I have gotten used to for years and this did not feel like a dream. It feels more real and less disconnected. But, where... why, and who....who and why put me here. Where ever in this hot place is.

I retraced the steps of where I was before here. I was in my apartment, ready for my first day at North Carolina State University and remembering the tips his father gave him about the place. How his teachers would be like, the fastest routes from class to class, stuff like that. After relaxing by playing some video games I check my watch and it was half past midnight. So, I went to bed and... and..... that is it. Okay....okay...focus Ikram focus..... You are out naked out in a hot place. Too much green to be a desert, and after I started to walk, it felt like nothing I had already felt back home in North Carolina. But, this place does not seem a location in the States or anywhere I have been to. Maybe a bit hotter out since I had no clothes on and nothing to protect myself from the merciless sun.

Water, I need water and some kind of shelter. Shelter was not that hard to find after ten minutes of walking, there were a bunch of trees and I found one that was casting a big shadow. I hid under it. some relief from the sun but, no trace of water in sight. After a few minutes resting I venture out to find some kind source of water. It felt like hours of walking and while I did not find any water, I did see in the distance some buildings. Maybe a town or something and I thought that the townsfolk could help me till I can figure out how to get home. As I walked closer to the settlement, I realized that building looked more like primitive huts then actual modern buildings and the place looked bigger then I thought. Then as I approached I got a good look at the townsfolk. They too looked like they were hearing primitive clothing and at the edge of the settlement, some of the townsfolk wielding primitive spears and clubs come to me.

"Who are you and why have you come to our village". He did not speak in a threatening tone but, it was firm and wary tone.

"My name is Ikram and I have come for help. As you can see I was stippled of my belongings, clothes and left to I guess rot just some distance away from your village". I answered truthfully.

"Left to rot? The man gave me a good look and responded, "You do not look injury and where is your home village?

"I.... I..do not know, The last thing I remembered was sleeping in my bed and when I came to I was on the ground and by chance found your village. I do not know where I am or where from here my home is".

"Hmmmmm, your tale sounds strange yet, your words sound since sincere Ikram". He approached him and it was clear that he was more muscular and taller then I was. "I am Soheil and while I am not sure I believe your tale but, you can rest here till the elders make up their mind of you". He pointed to a hut behind him and down a couple of huts. "Go there, Touran can get you clothed and get you some water if you need it. But outsider, do not make any trouble for us for we have already those that we must guard our village against, we do not need more or one of them in our home. You understand Ikram?

"I understand Soheil, I understand clearly and I will not cause any trouble for you or your village. I promise you this".

"Good and I will hold you to that promise Ikram, now get yourself clothed".

"Yes sir" was all I said as I made my way to Touran's hut. Hopefully, I can find out how to get home though something about this village is off. They were using stone spears and stone clubs, why would anyone be using those in this age. They can't be an uncontacted tribe like those South America. This place where ever he is, is not a heavily forested area that could house a lost tribe. And what are the odds he could understand them, they did not sound like they were speaking Arabic or English. Where am I, I wondered as I got my new clothes. I just need to wait for a time and I hope I can find my way home.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Viktor Nemtsov - Five Months AG

A Cup of Justice and Mercy

Today I had to deal with my first really unpleasant responsibility as the de facto strongman/young leader(?) of the village; crime. I hadn't seen any of it in this little agricultural hamlet, but today some of the outlying pig herders had brought a man to me bound with sturdy ropes, demanding justice. I walked with them to the village square, an area where a central fire pit was used for ceremonies involving the coming of age and funerals. As we walked their harsh voices brayed of his crimes, how he had slaughtered one of their piglets and been caught roasting it over a spit fire just a short distance away from their hovel-farm. I did not recognize his face; upon inquiry he reluctantly admitted to being from Mara, the larger town to the east. At a gesture from me, a perfunctory snap of the hand, he was thrown down in the dirt in the center of Kniepper. Judgement I would have to pass. I seated myself on an end of stone that would do for a chair, and nodded to the pig farmer, asking him to tell his tale in full.

It was pretty damning. A squealing noise around dawn, and all the pigs grunting together in panic. Fleeing footsteps. This man found roasting pig over a small fire, digging into the ribs even as the irate farmers came upon him. A piglet missing from the count, and a piglet found roasting. He was a haggard man, face pinched and drawn by hunger. He said he had merely been traveling in the region and eating breakfast when the farmers came upon him in anger, taking him for a thief. My eyes must have shown my disbelief, though, for he seemed to shrink in on himself even as the thief told the lie. No baggage had been found with him, or wares, or even a bow or axe as any reasonable traveler carried. For a man on a journey he was very poorly equipped, I explained in tones of patience and curiosity. Around me some of the villagers hooted at the supposition- the rogue had been caught in his lie. He merely hung his head, and mumbled something I couldn't catch. I got up, and hauled him to his feet in one smooth movement, his face at arm's length from mine. I asked his name.

"I am called Hamar, son of Hamath." he replied, the teeth of defiance in his voice. Some of my friends stirred, Peter among them. They did not think it becoming for such scum to speak to their comrade, perhaps a gift of God, in such a manner. But I merely smiled, and then spoke aloud, casting my voice for all to hear.

"Hamar, son of Hamath, you are guilty of the theft of food, a grievous crime. You would take from those who raised that pig to fill your own belly, giving nothing in exchange." About me the crowd muttered, some eager; oftentimes the penalty for theft, I had been told, was death. You deprived another of the stuff of life, and so you paid for that with your own. But that was not justice, not to me.

"So I sentence you to work for the village and the farmers you wronged, five years for the piglet you stole. You shall be fed, but not at your own leisure, and you shall work hard every day of your punishment or you shall be put to the sword. I condemn you to the chains until your debt is atoned. After five years time you shall go free again, a man of your own." Many wondered at what I had said- they had little concept of servitude, or slavery, or working for another. Once I explained it though, the pig farmers seemed content. One of them confided to me that with five years of labor he could raise four dozen piglets for the one stolen. Hamar seemed almost weak with relief at having been spared from the next life. Later that day I set about working at my forge, hammering lengths of bronze into lengths of chain for his hobble; Hamar would walk with slow step to prevent him fleeing for the days of his sentence, and be chained up at the farmer's house at night. Hammer met stone atop my impromptu anvil, and at lengths I added the chains back to the charcoal coals to meld together where the joins were clear. It was justice, to atone for his crime, and mercy, not to slaughter him like a wild beast over a simple pig. I could scarce blame him for his desperation, even as I fitted the shackles about the scarecrow's ankles. He was as gaunt as ever I had seen a man in this land. Apparently there was not enough food in Mara, not enough food for all men to be without want like here in Kniepper.

Perhaps that could be changed.

No farmer was I, nor a water engineer. My province was metals and materials and structures, the love of my youth. But I knew what any 21st century yokel knew of irrigation and fertilizer, of crop rotation and tilling the soil. Much of the knowledge I took for granted these men did not even perceive as being an issue- the locals here just scattered their winter wheat wild upon the ground, and where it grew it grew- the same with their vegetables. Small wonder their subsistence agriculture would not feed them unless they hunted and fished to supplement it. Working with Peter's help, and the small ponies a farmer named Gessum loaned us, I brought back more crushed malachite ore from the high mine, carried in rough animal skin sacks. They had to be precariously balanced, a funny affair. These people had never heard of saddles, or saddle bags for that matter. Perhaps in the future I should address that, but not now. Admittedly, I was surprised to find horses here in Germany. My mind told me that they had been domesticated somewhere in Asia, but I suppose even in this era useful animals were traded far and wide through informal networks. No matter- they simply meant I could carry more ore than otherwise feasible. This would be my most material intensive creation yet, aside from the spearheads and swords I had forged for the dozen men that functioned as community guards.

Out of the smelter the molten bronze came, in to my immense sand cast held together by wet clay. I gave it some time to cool, before carefully unearthing the immense wedge of bronze. I had asked some of the farmers to come meet me, and after a short demonstration of how the hoops on the side of the crude plow could hold ropes, they grasped the concept. Their eyes lit up with wonderment, and they smiled. It took four men to pull it at a reasonable speed, and I had to ask one of the woodworkers to fashion a primitive handle to allow me to guide it. But in the thick loamy soil of the region, it cut like a knife through butter, carefully upturned edges churning the soil into neat furrows for planting. Many of the agricultural workers had seen birds and beasts eat their seed, but planting each little potential growth in a hole they dug was simply too time consuming. With this bronze plough they could till many times as quickly as they had thought to do, and every seed properly planted at depth was far more likely to germinate than one carried off by the wildlife or baked dry and dead by the sun. It would be next spring before the winter wheat sprouted properly, but so many men clamored to use the plow that I had to ask them for payment in bushels of grain in order to limit the usage reasonably. I spent the next couple days forging bronze plows for those who wished them, and I heard the pig farmers made a good amount of trade allowing others to use Hamar to pull their plow on the days when he did not work for the village. An agreeable state of affairs.

I had my own plans for him though, not that he particularly liked them. My efforts to regularly wash upstream from the village and my good health had convinced many to join me in washing away from the filth. Now I had begun to make progress on changing that practice altogether. Night soil, the polite term for the shit of several hundred villagers, had more use than merely dumping in a hole in the ground. My explanation was necessarily silly and convoluted- one couldn't talk about vitamins and minerals and all that, for the Germanics had no conception of the term. All the same, they understood that their bodies got food from eating food, and one expelled waste after eating. From there it was easy enough to explain that new food grew best when supplied with dead food- after all, one begat the other. Hamar was the unfortunate victim of my scheme. Chamber-pots, as crude as they were, were a thing I got several villagers to use instead of the traditional method. They were easy enough to make from stoneware. The criminal had the unenviable task of picking up chamberpots in the morning of the days he worked for me, and hauling them out to one of the village fields to dump. Not one being sown, but one fallow. Over time I hoped it would decompose into rich fertilized soil, and at the same time make the stream less polluted with filth. I had gotten across to the villagers the concept of noxious vapors causing sickness, so they tried to stay away from the stream when taking care of the call of nature. But some were just set in their ways. Time would have to do the job my words could not.

After such a busy month, I eventually set out for Mara, riding with some of the village lads and hotbloods clad in bronze breastplates and helms of my own design. It was time to secure a more steady supply of tin than melting down pots made of her ore.

[Andaacht]

Tori Summers

Norway 3000 BC, Day 1

Swhooomph. Swhooooooooooooooomph. Swhoomph.

Tori felt like her whole body was on fire as she was dragged through the needle covered forest. Like some sort of twisted dream, she slowly gained awareness of her surroundings as the world changed from black to a picturesque view of conifers. Only...she was naked, upside down, and moving under someone else's accord.

"Fuck!" She shouted, realizing the boy's hands wrapped around her ankles and pulling her through the forest. He must of been fifteen or sixteen, only a few inches taller then her but built like a rock. She leaned up and pumped her legs towards him, hard, and he lost his grip in surprise.

They started at each other silently, neither moving a muscle, her sitting on the ground and him standing above her. He reminded her of Bambam from the flintstones, dressed in furs and looking like he hadn't showered or brushed his teeth in months. Tori was scared yeah, but fight or flight hadn't really kicked in yet. She struggled to make sense of any of this, her mind absolutely blown by her current situation. No sooner then she had finally made up her mind to run, did a second pair of hands clasp her around the waist and lift her up. She went down to the ground kicking and screaming as both the boy and some old man pinned her in the mud.

"Be quiet girl!" The old man bellowed in a language that sounded more like grunting then anything she had ever heard. Even stranger, Tori understood him perfectly. "You will be quiet! We will visit the Chief!"

Not wanting to make a bad situation worse, she complied and they released their weight off of her, the boy hoisting the petite woman back to her feet. Each of them took turns prodding her forward and guiding her along by the arms like prized cattle. Everytime Tori tried to speak, they either ignored her or the old man gave her a gentle slap upside the back of her head and told her to be quiet. It was demeaning as all heck.

After an hour of walking and shivering, they finally reached a rocky beach on the end of what she imagined was ocean just by the lack of any shore across the horizon. Log houses lined the edge of the pebbles, flanked by rudimentary walls and basic fields of grain and flocks of goats. As they traveled deeper, oddly painted totems and skulls decorated the doors, renewing her sense of panic. Whomever lived in this small village, definetely liked to kill things. As the sun set behind them, the old man and the boy grabbed a wet, nasty looking piece of reindeer hide from a wooden rack and wrapped her tightly with it before tossing her up the stairs of the largest of lodges. In a large room empty save for thirty some men, she found herself standing in the middle facing the one who was obviously the tallest and the strongest of the bunch. He seemed very, very angry sitting on his wooden throne. From behind, the old man and the boy forced her to to her knees.

"Jarl Throk, I am sorry me and my son return late without game. We discovered this woman washed up on shore across the land finger." The old man seemed desperate, begging almost. Tori might have felt pity if he wasn't pulling her hair while he did so. "She seems young and healthy enough, having found her I will stake my claim if I am able."

Jarl Throk rubbed his stubble covered chin intently, seeming to nod before the boy interrupted. "Hold up, father I found her! She is mine!" The room erupted with a cacophany of laughter as the old man slapped his son. Tori sensed Throk staring at her for a good while as the father and son fought each other. She felt uneasy as he stood up and silenced the room. "Seeing as neither of you can agree, and you bastards brought another mouth to feed when you were supposed to bring food, I will take her as compensation for your failure. Now get out before I slit yer throats to feed the dogs!"

Throk motioned for Tori to on the ground next to his chair, which she did, as the men continued to squabble over various topics from fishing reports to property disputes. Throk was the final answer to each and everyone, though Tori found it hard to concentrate. She was more keyed info the glances Throk kept sending her, and she knew she'd have to come up with something both creative and daring if she was going to survive as more then some neanderthal's eighth wife.

When the meeting was done, Throk carried her to a pen beside a smaller hut. He only asked one question at first. "Where are your people?" Her answer, "America", intrigued him, but when she continued saying it was ruled by "Donald Trump", whom builds great walls, he was satisfied for the time being. The large brute of a man next placed a collar around her neck, despite her protest, and chained her up beside a pack of Norwegian Elkhounds. "You are my thrall now," He said, softly but sternly. "Until the ceremony when the Gods bless you as my wife, you will sleep with the dogs."

[Revlona]

Captain Samuel Storm
Somewhere near modern day Truro

I miss Macaroni and Cheese, god do I miss it. Speaking of god, I’ve never really counted myself as a super religious, of course I have always believed in God, it’s just that I've never found myself at church too often, nor have I read the bible. So teaching several of the Villagers about god has become quite difficult. Utgerd was my first convert, he now dogs my footsteps, when I’m not at the forge. His questions about god are inumerable, and he does not seem to like the fact that much of god is a mystery, but he takes everything I tell him with a simple nod and clutches the simple cross he made himself that swings about his neck.

Others are coming around to the faith, and I’m thinking about starting a sunday sermon. But in other news, people are starting to look to me for leadership, and not to tute my own horn, but this is what I’ve been trained to do after all. The elders are asking for my advice more and more often, and people are starting to ask me for help solving issues now. The first thing I had done with my new found influence was to take all my followers, as not everyone yet looks to me, including a couple elders to a nearby creek where we bathed. I also gathered a group of a dozen volunteers to go around the village and clean up the filth.

The “Military” of our little community is shaping up well, near all of the dedicated guards, and most of the communal hunters now have a bronze weapon, or weapons in the case of the archers arrowheads. All of the bronze weapons are spears and arrowheads so far, though I am starting to experiment with swords. This all has come in the nick of time, as a large group of refugees showed up at our doorsteps begging to be allowed to stay, they told of a northern, middle england I’m thinking, raiding party that burned down their village and is now leisurely making its way in our direction.

I had made it known that I have military experience to the elders when I first arrived, and they near immediately placed me in charge of the village defenses should it come to that. Unfortunately most of the other villages men were killed while defending the village, and almost all of the men that did make it are injured, most critically. The refugees say that the enemy number about one hundred and fifty fighting men armed with stone and copper, while I have at most eighty men armed with maybe sixty armed with bronze, thankfully I now have help from several other villagers in making bronze tools and weapons, and our pace in making them as been steadily increasing.

Since we are outnumbered I intend on fortifying the village and forcing the raiders to attack us uphill. The two main entrances to the village have been fortified with earthen pile about five feet tall with stakes driven into the ground in front of it. All other, smaller, entrances have been filled using dirt, wood, and stone. I have also had the men at drill and gathering as much food as possible should the raiders try and starve us out, though I don’t believe this will happen.

I have begun to think on what I should do about armor, and have even molded half a dozen light bronze and copper disks and have distributed them to some of our better warriors. The I have for them is that the warriors will place the disks across their bellies in order to help stop a spear or sword thrust, though I don’t know if they will work.