You are the first.

Someday, if you succeed, people in the far future may say that what you are comes from a peculiar wrinkle in the great invisible pattern of energies that flow through the world, or they may explain it as a special soul, greater than any other, once more returned by the eternal wheel of rebirth. Or, perhaps, that you were chosen as the champion of a supreme being that dwells in the outer realms. They will no doubt invent words for it: Paragon. Chosen. Champion. Hero.

Your people, The People, have no word for what you are. They are not the first people, but they may be remembered that way. The People live by moving. The world is vast and full of dangers. To move is to live. They are swift, but to be swift, they must be light. They carry little on their bodies, but much in their minds. They have cleverness sharpened by need. They have the wisdom of their ancestors, the hard-won knowledge of survivors. They flee, they fight, they hide, they whisper magic words and shout chants of power. They find the safe path and they follow it, generation after generation, fostering life in a world of death.

You have the spark of true greatness within you. Some began to notice when you were a young child, though they struggled to describe it. You learned too fast. You saw too much. You spoke too well. It is normal for a child to walk some paths faster than others. All are taught the Six Arts, but one might find a spear rests easily in their hand, and another will sing with a stronger voice. This is normal. You are not.

Unlike other children, you did not find any of the Arts more difficult to master than any other. Your progress is smooth and unrelenting. There is no nuance you fail to grasp, no detail you forget, no refinement you cannot adopt. The only limitation to your ceaseless growth in these early years is that you do better when taught. Your skills grow with practice, and you are continually innovating, but it is still much faster for you to craft a spear thrower after handling one than to invent it from first principles.

Like other children, you are gently encouraged by your parental figures to explore all the Arts, but you were also allowed to gravitate towards one over the others. Not limited by natural inclination in any way, your favored Art had more to do with who you enjoyed spending time with the most. Your favorite teacher was:

[][MENTOR] Your uncle, Strength of the Rock-Tree, a powerful Fighter.

Your uncle is well named: steady, strong, unbreakable. He rarely speaks, but that just makes you value his words even more. He teaches more by showing, and your eyes do not miss the slightest shift in his weight, the smallest twitch of muscle. Pleased by your dedication, he taught you the fighting chants normally reserved for adults, and let you accompany him when he went out with hunting parties.

Here are a few things you learned from him: how to care for your own body and the bodies of others, how to throw a spear with precision, how to set your spear against a charge, how to strike with ferocity, how to defend yourself with only a knife, how to wield fire as a weapon, how to subdue a person without hurting them, and how to master your fear.

[][MENTOR] Your grandma, Great Knower of Things, an observant Scout.

Your grandma looks much younger than her years, an impression bolstered by her endless energy. Among the people, she is boisterous and talkative, so you were shocked the first time she took you away from the safe path. She moved in absolute silence and forced you to do the same. She pushed you, through gesture and sign, to stretch your senses to their limit and see the many dangers and opportunities in the silent world. Back on the safe path, under the protective screen of other scouts, she instructed you endlessly. She taught you the names of the 100 good plants and the 1000 deadly ones, the subtle marks of prey, the smells of predators, but you learned even more from quietly exploring the unsafe world beyond the path.

Among other things, she taught you how to move swiftly without noise, how to use camouflage, how to sense hidden dangers, how to find secret water, how to find good plants and prey animals, how to communicate with scout signs, how to use the sacred whispers, and how to think quickly when it matters most.

[][MENTOR] Your mother, Spear in True Flight, a disciplined Maker.

Your mother is a hard-working woman. Her feet, her fingers, her voice, her eyes, some part of her is always moving, always doing something useful. To learn from her, you simply started working beside her. At first, you merely copied, and she gently corrected with each mistake. Then she began letting you help her in earnest, with a few words of instructions and guiding hands. Finally, she gave you assignments and critiqued the results.

You learned the skills of making: knapping, carving, skinning, sewing, tying, preserving, filtering, cooking, and fixing. You learned to use your body with precision and focus. You learned the songs of making and the marks that strengthen, soften, and trap. You learned to make yourself useful as your default state.

[][MENTOR] Your grandfather, Sharp as Obsidian, a beloved Carer.

Your grandfather is almost everyone’s grandfather, by blood or bond. He is among the eldest of the People. He only has one arm, an ancient injury that may have led to his remarkably long life. Since he cannot properly wield a spear, he does not scout or hunt, and he stays with the children and infirm when there’s a threat. He can usually be found tending to the children, seeing to their needs, observing their play, and teaching them the right way to think and act. He did this for you in your first few years. One of the few things you struggled with was the idea of fundamental equality and the non-instrumental value of all People, but it was a brief challenge. You were as good at understanding the People’s moral philosophy as you were at running really fast. You could sense that his years were beginning to weigh heavy and his last strength was dwindling, so you chose to care for him and help him with his self-assigned duties. As he weakened, you spent many long nights speaking to him about choices, life, and death.

He taught you how to show love, how to comfort others, how to grieve, how to express your feelings, how to avoid hurting other’s feelings, how to win graciously, how to properly see to the needs of children, the elderly, and the infirm, how to teach, how to spot a lie, how to self reflect, and how to tell right from wrong.

[][MENTOR] Your father, Weaver of Songs, a clever Performer.

Your father is the best singer, dancer, and storyteller among your people. Or, at least, he has insisted on this so firmly and repeatedly that no one has bothered to argue the point in years. His voice is beautiful, and he does seem to have perfectly memorized all the stories of your people and made up a few hundred more. Sometimes there are grumbles that he always seems to dance his way around the other five Arts, but whatever complaints people have are gone by the next riveting fireside tale. He didn’t take much interest in your early years, and definitely did not appreciate it when you recited one of his stories perfectly, down to every gesture, intonation, and pause, after you heard it once. But you convinced him to share the firelight with some new joint performances, and he was impressed that your creativity was just as good as your memory.

He taught you a great many of the stories of your people, how to charm others, how to move gracefully, how to control your voice, how to create stories and songs, how to manipulate others, how to question tradition, and how to open your mind to unorthodox opportunities.

[] The Listener

The sixth Art is Listening. You are as talented at listening as you are at everything else, and you were taught a bit of it, as all children are. To listen is to open yourself to the other worlds. To hear the voices from beyond. To feel when the dark forces move. A good listener is able to heed the world spirit and understand the lesser spirits that dwell within all beasts, plants, and people. You cannot focus on listening. The Listener has chosen to teach you no more than he would any other child your age. He has also convinced the other adults who are skilled at listening to similarly restrain themselves.

The Listener leads the People. It is their duty to warn the People of dangers they can’t perceive, to interpret for the world spirit, settle disputes between People, and to speak for the People to outside forces. When the current Listener dies, one from among the People will volunteer to ritually sacrifice their name, shatter their fingers, and take out their left eye. They will then be the new Listener.

---

You are not old enough to choose a true name for yourself. When a baby is born, they are given a thing-name. Thing-names are taken from simple, common, uninteresting things: rock, leaf, stick, dirt, bush, and so on. The People never name a vulnerable baby something that would pique the interest of an evil spirit.

[][NAME] What is your thing-name?

The People do not give much weight to what body parts you are born with. They don’t think they convey much meaning besides the possibility that you might have the blessing and danger of carrying a child within you someday. That, at least, does matter. So... you were born:

[][ANATOMY] Male [][ANATOMY] Female [][ANATOMY] None of the Above

The People don’t use gendered pronouns, but I’m writing in English, which does. So I’ll be matching the pronoun I use to this vote as well. I thought about giving the option of opposite pronoun to sex at birth, but that wouldn’t have the same significance to the People as it does to us.