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Description
Dust and rock and profanity followed Iljer as he tumbled down the mountain slope, his tribe uselessly shouting as they raced ahead of him to desperately avoid his fate, caught up in the rock-slide. His blood marred the ground in splotches as his broken body fell, freckles of damnation upon the skin of the stone. His body ached for cessation, his mind reeling as the sound of the plump boulders rolling all around almost deafening him and his companions, masking their deep horror with the rising pain of the rock. Pain that roiled and burned as the stone seemed to wield the skyfire for brief flashes as two of the boulders collided and rebounded time and again, stunning Iljer into silent awe. It did not last long though as they and the rock-slide finally met the dewy grass and muck of the valley that had been their intended destination, quenching the the panic of his companions and subduing the rolling of his body and the boulders. Groaning as he came to a stop amidst a cute copse of ponderosa and goldenpea, darkness overwhelmed and took him as suddenly as the rock-slide had started.

Iljer did not know how long he had been unconscious, but while he fought against the haze of awakening he remembered the mystery that had drawn his people toward the valley in the first place. Elk and deer had grown scarce in the banded hills, even the vermin had become difficult to hunt. Some puissant storm had swept down in winter and nearly starved every living thing as it roared for days and then weeks, hurling wind as sharp as fangs and snow as deep as their homes. They had endured it, survived on a thread, but the floods that came as it melted has stolen every patch of black soil, baring stone where prior generations had known the bounty of multifold harvests. His people were forced to leave their home, intending to follow west after the last seen game, but naught was found for dozens of leagues. His father, true chieftain of the tribe succumbed to despair and the lingering illness that beset his lungs in winter, and by right of blood and proof by combat, Iljer took on his father's mantle. That had been a mere three days prior, but some already spoke of separating to head south, testing his conviction and that of his father the next day. Desperation had beset them all and he was no exception. He merely told them he would make his decision on the marrow, after he had time to consult the ancestors.

That night, fraught with worry, Iljer's attempt to beseech the ancestors for wisdom was met with silence as it always had been. He did not have the connection his father had, that his father's father had and as far back as the tales had been spoken of his line, many great warriors and counsel to chieftains in time of war, finally with his own father becoming the chieftain himself. And now him. In anger and a sense of futility, he marched toward the setting moon, arguing with it and the tales of his ancestors as his ire bubbled and burst forth with one proclamation after another. Piercing through a wall of bur oak, however, his emanations ceased immediately. There, shaped in the ancient stone of the mountain the faces of four ancestors whose tales were lost to time, looking out with a humble but determined gaze, protecting an inheritance of fertile soil and gathered herds of game along the slopes leading up to their visage. Falling to his knees in humility, he remained there for an hour, apologizing for his doubt and unworthiness, thanking the ancestors for having prepared a place for his people and the setting moon for leading him to the tribe's salvation. Returning to the encampment, the transformation of reassurance that had been given to him made many question if he had gone insane. Dismissing their mocking, he merely told them that the ancestors had spoken to him, and had told him to go west until they saw a sign which all would recognize. Knowing its precise location and knowing the vast scale of the faces would ease their doubts as it had his, Iljer let them onward, through the same bur oak and said nothing as the tribe was brought before the mountain. As he had foreseen, none would doubt him now. None, perhaps, save the ancestors. For as they descended into the valley and on toward the herds of game the earth shook as if the ancestors had permitted them to see this wonder but determined them unworthy to live in its shadow. The rock-slide that came forth pushed his tribe on even faster and spread them out across the valley as they sought to avoid its wrath. Iljer's attempt to kneel and beg for forgiveness again was answered with a uprooted sapling hitting his back and sending him rolling.

Despite the shame of his doubt and provocation of the ancestors, Iljer knew that his tribe still needed leadership. He pulled himself out of his haze, attempting to rise and assure his people that he had survived, but found that his pain became unimaginable as he tried to put pressure on one leg. As his voice had broken during his shouting, only a whimper of shock and unbelief came forth, but he collapsed and panted for air. His leg was assuredly broken and unless he remained immobile until he could be found, it would never heal properly. Even if he did it might not, but worse, the shattered points might draw even more blood than he had already lost. His voice could not lead his people to him, and unless he was given medicine from their healer, he would likely die from his injury even if his leg was remained useless. He needed some sign, some way to show his presence. He looked up at the faces of the forgotten ancestors and winced, seeing one staring back at him from the angle, as if to remind him that his folly had been repaid. But the face, it was not mocking or recriminating. And as he gave a wince at the pain of from turning his body to look more closely at it, he saw that it was not looking at him, but rather near him. Iljer looked back down near himself, where the eyes seemed to be focused, espying a sapling like the one that hit his back, nestled against two shattered boulders. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he crawled over, wondering of what purpose the ancestor had directed him toward then.

As Iljer reached the boulders he saw the reflection of the sun off the broken heart of the rocks, dazzling him much like the skyfire he had seen flashing down the mountain with them. In a vague sense of comprehension, he looked back to the sapling, seeing its value at last. The tribe had long put dead branches to the skyfire's fury upon the earth, using it for illumination and cooking, keeping it going for weeks at a time even as they kept feeding it more and more until it had consumed itself and died. It had been only a few generations back that his people learned how to rub together sticks to produce an echo of the greater fury the skyfire had left, but it took time and finding the proper wood to work. But now Iljer realized what the forgotten ancestor had meant to convey: fire did not only belong to the sky and the wood. Yes, it belonged to both, but rockfire existed too, somehow. Remembering how the boulders had collided together before, he gathered the shattered remnants and struck them together. At first nothing but a reverberation and an noise occurred, but as he kept trying over and over, finally the stone deemed him suffered enough and released a portion of its might, landing on the sapling's thin branches and setting it alight. Grimacing, he sought out more wood, seeing a dead bush not far off, carrying the sapling and the stones with him in case the fire gave out. This indeed was sooth wisdom on his part as a strong breeze snatched the life from it, driving him to alight the bush directly. As he made his sixth attempt he heard a snap of a twig and turned, his mien almost collapsing into despair as he saw four mountain lions approaching, their stalking of his scent betrayed by a lone misstep by the youngest of the four. Almost immediately he renewed striking the stones together and finally as the four were almost upon him the bush caught fire. The sudden blaze startled three of the four and drove them away to seek other prey, clearly not so starved as to ignore common sense and risk the fire's wrath. The youngest though, haughty and brash, roared and leaped at Iljer. On pure instinct and fear, the chieftain lashed out with one of the stones as if to club the beast and hope to drive it away. Instead, it fell upon him with surprise as its throat had been cut by the rock with such a great gash as it had no time to even consider vengeance before it perished. Crying out in pain as it landed on his broken leg he knew instantly that it would never heal properly and he would always have a limp, always rely on a walking stick. But he had survived two great trials in a single day and proven himself worthy once more before the gaze of his forgotten ancestors. Laying back as the smoke from the burning bush rose into the sky, he clenched the stone in his hand as if its magic might flee if he let it go, holding it to his chest and staring at sky as the pain began once more to drive him back toward the darkness. He knew that he would live on and lead his people well despite his hindrance because of that magic. Never before had any weapon held such edge and more, it held the rockfire the ancestors had shown to him while withholding the greater portion of their wrath for his disrespect. Holding the stone aloft he gave it name.
"You are rockfire and beast slayer. You are the the power I wield which I shall teach to my people. You are a gift from the ancestors despite my lack of grace and wisdom and honor. You are Humblerstone."

Description
Dust and rock and profanity followed Iljer as he tumbled down the mountain slope, his tribe uselessly shouting as they raced ahead of him to desperately avoid his fate, caught up in the rock-slide. His blood marred the ground in splotches as his broken body fell, freckles of damnation upon the skin of the stone. His body ached for cessation, his mind reeling as the sound of the plump boulders rolling all around almost deafening him and his companions, masking their deep horror with the rising pain of the rock. Pain that roiled and burned as the stone seemed to wield the skyfire for brief flashes as two of the boulders collided and rebounded time and again, stunning Iljer into silent awe. It did not last long though as they and the rock-slide finally met the dewy grass and muck of the valley that had been their intended destination, quenching the the panic of his companions and subduing the rolling of his body and the boulders. Groaning as he came to a stop amidst a cute copse of ponderosa and goldenpea, darkness overwhelmed and took him as suddenly as the rock-slide had started.

Iljer did not know how long he had been unconscious, but while he fought against the haze of awakening he remembered the mystery that had drawn his people toward the valley in the first place. Elk and deer had grown scarce in the banded hills, even the vermin had become difficult to hunt. Some puissant storm had swept down in winter and nearly starved every living thing as it roared for days and then weeks, hurling wind as sharp as fangs and snow as deep as their homes. They had endured it, survived on a thread, but the floods that came as it melted has stolen every patch of black soil, baring stone where prior generations had known the bounty of multifold harvests. His people were forced to leave their home, intending to follow west after the last seen game, but naught was found for dozens of leagues. His father, true chieftain of the tribe succumbed to despair and the lingering illness that beset his lungs in winter, and by right of blood and proof by combat, Iljer took on his father's mantle. That had been a mere three days prior, but some already spoke of separating to head south, testing his conviction and that of his father the next day. Desperation had beset them all and he was no exception. He merely told them he would make his decision on the marrow, after he had time to consult the ancestors.

That night, fraught with worry, Iljer's attempt to beseech the ancestors for wisdom was met with silence as it always had been. He did not have the connection his father had, that his father's father had and as far back as the tales had been spoken of his line, many great warriors and counsel to chieftains in time of war, finally with his own father becoming the chieftain himself. And now him. In anger and a sense of futility, he marched toward the setting moon, arguing with it and the tales of his ancestors as his ire bubbled and burst forth with one proclamation after another. Piercing through a wall of bur oak, however, his emanations ceased immediately. There, shaped in the ancient stone of the mountain the faces of four ancestors whose tales were lost to time, looking out with a humble but determined gaze, protecting an inheritance of fertile soil and gathered herds of game along the slopes leading up to their visage. Falling to his knees in humility, he remained there for an hour, apologizing for his doubt and unworthiness, thanking the ancestors for having prepared a place for his people and the setting moon for leading him to the tribe's salvation. Returning to the encampment, the transformation of reassurance that had been given to him made many question if he had gone insane. Dismissing their mocking, he merely told them that the ancestors had spoken to him, and had told him to go west until they saw a sign which all would recognize. Knowing its precise location and knowing the vast scale of the faces would ease their doubts as it had his, Iljer let them onward, through the same bur oak and said nothing as the tribe was brought before the mountain. As he had foreseen, none would doubt him now. None, perhaps, save the ancestors. For as they descended into the valley and on toward the herds of game the earth shook as if the ancestors had permitted them to see this wonder but determined them unworthy to live in its shadow. The rock-slide that came forth pushed his tribe on even faster and spread them out across the valley as they sought to avoid its wrath. Iljer's attempt to kneel and beg for forgiveness again was answered with a uprooted sapling hitting his back and sending him rolling.

Despite the shame of his doubt and provocation of the ancestors, Iljer knew that his tribe still needed leadership. He pulled himself out of his haze, attempting to rise and assure his people that he had survived, but found that his pain became unimaginable as he tried to put pressure on one leg. As his voice had broken during his shouting, only a whimper of shock and unbelief came forth, but he collapsed and panted for air. His leg was assuredly broken and unless he remained immobile until he could be found, it would never heal properly. Even if he did it might not, but worse, the shattered points might draw even more blood than he had already lost. His voice could not lead his people to him, and unless he was given medicine from their healer, he would likely die from his injury even if his leg was remained useless. He needed some sign, some way to show his presence. He looked up at the faces of the forgotten ancestors and winced, seeing one staring back at him from the angle, as if to remind him that his folly had been repaid. But the face, it was not mocking or recriminating. And as he gave a wince at the pain of from turning his body to look more closely at it, he saw that it was not looking at him, but rather near him. Iljer looked back down near himself, where the eyes seemed to be focused, espying a sapling like the one that hit his back, nestled against two shattered boulders. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he crawled over, wondering of what purpose the ancestor had directed him toward then.

As Iljer reached the boulders he saw the reflection of the sun off the broken heart of the rocks, dazzling him much like the skyfire he had seen flashing down the mountain with them. In a vague sense of comprehension, he looked back to the sapling, seeing its value at last. The tribe had long put dead branches to the skyfire's fury upon the earth, using it for illumination and cooking, keeping it going for weeks at a time even as they kept feeding it more and more until it had consumed itself and died. It had been only a few generations back that his people learned how to rub together sticks to produce an echo of the greater fury the skyfire had left, but it took time and finding the proper wood to work. But now Iljer realized what the forgotten ancestor had meant to convey: fire did not only belong to the sky and the wood. Yes, it belonged to both, but rockfire existed too, somehow. Remembering how the boulders had collided together before, he gathered the shattered remnants and struck them together. At first nothing but a reverberation and an noise occurred, but as he kept trying over and over, finally the stone deemed him suffered enough and released a portion of its might, landing on the sapling's thin branches and setting it alight. Grimacing, he sought out more wood, seeing a dead bush not far off, carrying the sapling and the stones with him in case the fire gave out. This indeed was sooth wisdom on his part as a strong breeze snatched the life from it, driving him to alight the bush directly. As he made his sixth attempt he heard a snap of a twig and turned, his mien almost collapsing into despair as he saw four mountain lions approaching, their stalking of his scent betrayed by a lone misstep by the youngest of the four. Almost immediately he renewed striking the stones together and finally as the four were almost upon him the bush caught fire. The sudden blaze startled three of the four and drove them away to seek other prey, clearly not so starved as to ignore common sense and risk the fire's wrath. The youngest though, haughty and brash, roared and leaped at Iljer. On pure instinct and fear, the chieftain lashed out with one of the stones as if to club the beast and hope to drive it away. Instead, it fell upon him with surprise as its throat had been cut by the rock with such a great gash as it had no time to even consider vengeance before it perished. Crying out in pain as it landed on his broken leg he knew instantly that it would never heal properly and he would always have a limp, always rely on a walking stick. But he had survived two great trials in a single day and proven himself worthy once more before the gaze of his forgotten ancestors. Laying back as the smoke from the burning bush rose into the sky, he clenched the stone in his hand as if its magic might flee if he let it go, holding it to his chest and staring at sky as the pain began once more to drive him back toward the darkness. He knew that he would live on and lead his people well despite his hindrance because of that magic. Never before had any weapon held such edge and more, it held the rockfire the ancestors had shown to him while withholding the greater portion of their wrath for his disrespect. Holding the stone aloft he gave it name.
"You are rockfire and beast slayer. You are the the power I wield which I shall teach to my people. You are a gift from the ancestors despite my lack of grace and wisdom and honor. You are Humblerstone."