[Immaculate]

Sauromatia

It began with a voice, slithering, serpentine, between the overhanging moss and vines, quietly, predatory, along the mist-crested waters, gently stroking the minds of beast and men alike as it spread.

It came before the sun, as the darkness only began to give way, sulkily, to the grey-violet of tomorrow on the horizon. Its whisper was slight, barely perceptible amidst the drum of each of our thoughts, our worries over our family squabbles, the daily hunger, our nets, traps, and bows. And as quietly and imperceptivity as it came, it was gone, the waters still but for the ripples of a serpent amidst the reeds as the mists began to burn away in the early morning sun.

But not all of us were deaf to its silken whispers. Amongst every tribe a select few, awake at the early hour, detangling our nets or sharpening our arrows, or feeding our infant children felt the quiet voice and in the clearness of our thoughts, heard its message: “It” had come. “It” would unite us, lead us, teach us the ways of our ancestors and future children. Those that heard were the first of its disciples.

Over the months and years, more and more awoke before the dawn, sitting quietly in small groups, preparing tea or gruel, waiting for the stillness in the trees, the hushing of the frogs and bird, and the quiet, a sort of pre-battle dread, that would descend upon the swamp before “Its” coming. We learned to clear our minds and be patient, to strain a sort of ear within us and to listen, truly listen. And as we did, day after day, we were united, we were taught an ancient law that would first be taught to our grand-children, we learned to share the wisdom of the departed and the very plants and animals of the swamp whispered their secrets to us.

Days, months, and even years went by. Our hunters learned to milk the white viper who swam only under the full moon. Our warriors learned to tame and even ride the great grey lizards the hid in the deep swamp. Even the many-headed wyrms of the great choking bog were brought under our sway by the whispered secrets. We learned not only to make the best of the swamp’s bounty but of our own. Our enemies we flayed and eviscerated. Their viscera we mixed with viper venom and grew in clay pots buried in the deep reeds until the mixture grew foul and putrid. These we dipped our arrows in and those scratched would die a painful agonizing death. The skins we raised, untanned and bloody on great standards to bring terror to our enemies and courage to ourselves. Their flesh we feasted upon that we might grow strong and many. After death, even the spirits and bones we learned to master, calling them back to serve us in death as they did not in life.

The Whisper that Came Before the Dawn called to us, bade us forge a great machine of war that was our people, the Sauromatia.

And we heeded that call, the Voice.