Snork Maiden
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- Joined
- Jan 22, 2002
- Posts
- 3,466
This is a closed thread between CG Raven and Snork Maiden.
The tale of Chenoo
Of all the mystical creatures that roamed the earth, none could be more terrible than the formidable and terrifying Chenoo. But I shall not describe him here for that would lessen the enjoyment of the tale.
In the days before the Europeans even discovered that there was lands beyond the horizon, a race of people inhabited the lands that now form New Hampshire and Maine. These people found the lakes, rivers, and rich fertile lands around the foothills in these areas rich in the resources that they needed to survive. They became skilled at fishing and hunting, and also at cultivation of the numerous edible plants.
As with most ancient cultures these people regarded the four elements with respect, Earth, the Mother, nurturing, bringing forth food. Air, the Sky, Father, his warm sun blessing the land, his storms, his might and anger destroying crops. Water, the purifier and most important to these people Fire, Magical, sacred. The keeper of the flame would often be an elder or shaman, he would carry a coal from one encampment to another, keeping it alive with care and using it to start a new fire.
The campfire was an important social focal point. Here the elders of the clan or tribe would sit and tell the tales of their forefathers, passing their knowledge on to the next generation so that they in turn could do the same when their turn came.
It would be around such a fire that the tales of Chenoo and the other animals and creatures that these people believed were magical and spiritual, would be told. Young children would cling to their Mothers, hiding there faces in the soft furs of the clothes peering out to listen to the tales, whilst the warriors would sit grim faced, listening with respect to the elders as they too remembered the times when they too cowered in the arms of their Mothers.
Picture then the scenery of this tranquil land, and let the words that I write expand into your minds. The gentle trickling of a busy brook, clear waters, winding their way down from the mountainsides, not knowing where it’s going, nor caring where it’s been. It’s purpose could be no more that to provide a cool drink for the moose and deer as they make their journeys southwards before the Fall. Or then too, to provide a home for the salmon and the trout, that sit motionless in the current, blending themselves, their colors as one with the soft sandy hues of the gravel and pebbled river bed; their bodies concealed, out of the sight of the heron as he even now patrols the riverside; noble in stature and graceful on his stalk like limbs.
Sense now the heavy scent of the meadow flowers blossom, sweet nectar, intoxicating and inducing a peaceful sleep. The insects, attracted to them, offering a rich reward for their unwitting labors. Their gentle buzzing as they whirl around you pausing but for a moment to rest and causing you to twitch perhaps before heading on to that bloom that sways provocatively in the warm summer breeze drifting through the valley.
And now your eyes rise from that stream and green meadow as you draw into view the sight of the pine forest, skirting like a wall, the green pastureland and rising like a deep green blanket up the foot hills and mountainsides, too vast to regard without turning your head; your eyes follow the tops of these trees, now thinning as they give way to the hard stone of the mountains capped with snow, glistening against the bright blue skies. You turn in a circle and your eyes fall once more onto the soft sloping foot hills, and there across the way you can see the shapes of something that looks sort of out of place, and yet, it’s presence is not disturbing to the scene. A small group of huts, circular, with gentle sloping roofs, a wisp of blue-white smoke rising and the shapes of figures moving about with purpose.
It is here our tale of Chenoo begins, with the plight of a young Panawampskik Indian maiden as she is driven from the village where she has lived the past sixteen years, but now must leave, her Mother dead and Father missing she has no one to provide for her.
Her lack of parents is seen as an ill omen and she is regarded to be the harbinger of ill fortune. None of the braves are willing to pair-bond with her neither is any family willing to take her into their homes.
----------------------------------------------------
Anuwha-caluh-nechua (‘gift given in the morning sun’) lifted her eyes slowly, her long braided black hair cut from her head and tied around her neck faced the circle of men as the chief pronounced her banishment from the Tribe, another tear rolled slowly from the corner of her reddened eye following the tracks and dripping from her cheek. She slowly picked up the small animal skin bag that contained the total of her worldly possessions, a small carved fish her father had made for her as a child, a couple of squash and a beaded necklace, a treasure that had been her mothers. She turned slowly and walked from the meeting place towards the entrance to the village. The way was lined with the Tribe’s women and children.
She looked at each as she passed by, hoping that one would claim her, take her into their home, but one by one they regimentally turned their backs on her, in silence, crossed their arms and ignored her as she passed them by. As she reached the last hut she heard the chant start behind her as the tribe in unison completed the rite of exclusion. Now she was without a people, alone in the whole world her only hope, that she could find her Father, and bring him home.
He had left the village some weeks earlier, on a hunting trip and not returned. Some said he had fallen to the attack of a great bear, others that he had been slain by one of the many earth monsters that roamed and lived deep in the pine woods. Anuwha-culah knew her father had travelled westward; towards the land of the setting sun and it was thus in this direction she now chose to go. Leaving the rich pasture lands behind her, she entered the pine wood. The sunlight filtered down through the branches like fingers of gold and yellow light and the smell of the pines filled her head. Slowly she continued on….
The tale of Chenoo
Of all the mystical creatures that roamed the earth, none could be more terrible than the formidable and terrifying Chenoo. But I shall not describe him here for that would lessen the enjoyment of the tale.
In the days before the Europeans even discovered that there was lands beyond the horizon, a race of people inhabited the lands that now form New Hampshire and Maine. These people found the lakes, rivers, and rich fertile lands around the foothills in these areas rich in the resources that they needed to survive. They became skilled at fishing and hunting, and also at cultivation of the numerous edible plants.
As with most ancient cultures these people regarded the four elements with respect, Earth, the Mother, nurturing, bringing forth food. Air, the Sky, Father, his warm sun blessing the land, his storms, his might and anger destroying crops. Water, the purifier and most important to these people Fire, Magical, sacred. The keeper of the flame would often be an elder or shaman, he would carry a coal from one encampment to another, keeping it alive with care and using it to start a new fire.
The campfire was an important social focal point. Here the elders of the clan or tribe would sit and tell the tales of their forefathers, passing their knowledge on to the next generation so that they in turn could do the same when their turn came.
It would be around such a fire that the tales of Chenoo and the other animals and creatures that these people believed were magical and spiritual, would be told. Young children would cling to their Mothers, hiding there faces in the soft furs of the clothes peering out to listen to the tales, whilst the warriors would sit grim faced, listening with respect to the elders as they too remembered the times when they too cowered in the arms of their Mothers.
Picture then the scenery of this tranquil land, and let the words that I write expand into your minds. The gentle trickling of a busy brook, clear waters, winding their way down from the mountainsides, not knowing where it’s going, nor caring where it’s been. It’s purpose could be no more that to provide a cool drink for the moose and deer as they make their journeys southwards before the Fall. Or then too, to provide a home for the salmon and the trout, that sit motionless in the current, blending themselves, their colors as one with the soft sandy hues of the gravel and pebbled river bed; their bodies concealed, out of the sight of the heron as he even now patrols the riverside; noble in stature and graceful on his stalk like limbs.
Sense now the heavy scent of the meadow flowers blossom, sweet nectar, intoxicating and inducing a peaceful sleep. The insects, attracted to them, offering a rich reward for their unwitting labors. Their gentle buzzing as they whirl around you pausing but for a moment to rest and causing you to twitch perhaps before heading on to that bloom that sways provocatively in the warm summer breeze drifting through the valley.
And now your eyes rise from that stream and green meadow as you draw into view the sight of the pine forest, skirting like a wall, the green pastureland and rising like a deep green blanket up the foot hills and mountainsides, too vast to regard without turning your head; your eyes follow the tops of these trees, now thinning as they give way to the hard stone of the mountains capped with snow, glistening against the bright blue skies. You turn in a circle and your eyes fall once more onto the soft sloping foot hills, and there across the way you can see the shapes of something that looks sort of out of place, and yet, it’s presence is not disturbing to the scene. A small group of huts, circular, with gentle sloping roofs, a wisp of blue-white smoke rising and the shapes of figures moving about with purpose.
It is here our tale of Chenoo begins, with the plight of a young Panawampskik Indian maiden as she is driven from the village where she has lived the past sixteen years, but now must leave, her Mother dead and Father missing she has no one to provide for her.
Her lack of parents is seen as an ill omen and she is regarded to be the harbinger of ill fortune. None of the braves are willing to pair-bond with her neither is any family willing to take her into their homes.
----------------------------------------------------
Anuwha-caluh-nechua (‘gift given in the morning sun’) lifted her eyes slowly, her long braided black hair cut from her head and tied around her neck faced the circle of men as the chief pronounced her banishment from the Tribe, another tear rolled slowly from the corner of her reddened eye following the tracks and dripping from her cheek. She slowly picked up the small animal skin bag that contained the total of her worldly possessions, a small carved fish her father had made for her as a child, a couple of squash and a beaded necklace, a treasure that had been her mothers. She turned slowly and walked from the meeting place towards the entrance to the village. The way was lined with the Tribe’s women and children.
She looked at each as she passed by, hoping that one would claim her, take her into their home, but one by one they regimentally turned their backs on her, in silence, crossed their arms and ignored her as she passed them by. As she reached the last hut she heard the chant start behind her as the tribe in unison completed the rite of exclusion. Now she was without a people, alone in the whole world her only hope, that she could find her Father, and bring him home.
He had left the village some weeks earlier, on a hunting trip and not returned. Some said he had fallen to the attack of a great bear, others that he had been slain by one of the many earth monsters that roamed and lived deep in the pine woods. Anuwha-culah knew her father had travelled westward; towards the land of the setting sun and it was thus in this direction she now chose to go. Leaving the rich pasture lands behind her, she entered the pine wood. The sunlight filtered down through the branches like fingers of gold and yellow light and the smell of the pines filled her head. Slowly she continued on….