Thread: First Past the Post (Hetero female with starters and plots)

Re First Past the Post Lit het female with starters and plots Plot IV currently in progress. No longer available. dom x dom, or my dom to your slight sub. A prehistoricpre-columbianpost-columbian tribal roleplay, or else my tribal shamanness to your colonial inhabitant. I just don't want it getting too Pocahontas-y, though. Premise is thisTwo waning tribes that must amalgamate against a common enemy tribe, or starvation, illness, or are in need of migration due to flooding? might be interesting--particularly if one was matriarchal and the other patriarchal. Or one exceedingly shamanistic in its customs, and the other either warlike or extremely and infuriatingly laid back. Having our two main characters struggle as the leaders of those two tribes might be fun. Mine would be sort-of unofficial, as her mentor is recently deceased. Or we could pick more nondescript roles, along the lines of warrior and shaman or council member. No real impressions about potential colonial roles, from me. Setting is flexible. The post is set for the west coast, Oregon-ish, but we could go to Lousiana swamps or Appalacian mountains really Im happy anywhere but I'd prefer to avoid the great plains. With or without prehistoric creatures. Star Bird approached the camp carefully, cloaked in the lavender of twilight. The stars of her namesake were just beginning to wink to life in the sky above her, as the Skywomen unfurled their beautiful weavings, strung with beads of quartz, to fall in the places where they always did. So proud of their work, they displayed it every night, so all the world might see. In the morning they would roll them up, gathering bit by bit as the Star Birds, flitting invisibly between them unless you knew just where to look, play and watch. And snatch one away, if the Skywomen did not keep a careful eye. Snatch it and store it away, or eat it some Star Birds craved only a full belly. Star Bird herself was hungry, but not for stars. Hungry for something other than dried deermeat and dug-up tuber roots. And even these, aside from a small hide pouchful that she carried at her hip, she had left with her dugout cedar canoe half-a-stone??s hike away, on the bank of the river when it grew too shallow. Her bare feet strode onwards, their soles hard as clay balls tread among the lush tangle of roots that matted and seemed to bind the rather solid earth together, holding it fast to the mountainsides. Here was not a place where stones threatened to tumble loose. Nearly on the cusp of the wildforests it was, rather out of the range of her own tribe, the People of the Cedar Veil. But now she was on the cusp of the lands of another, this pale, new-rival tribe. They wore the Moon Lady??s face, but not her heart, a blasphemy beyond reproach. A bloodsworn enemy but . . . Star Bird knew as the highest Star shamanness of her tribe, though both the visions she received in guidance and from the hungry bellies and fears that drove her people, this was the only option left, if they wished to survive. So Star Bird marched forwards, quietly but not too quietly, for she did not wish to alarm the firm-camp??s exceptional scouts. Clad in the ceremonial and nearly stark-white cream hide robes, decorated borders along the edges with painstakingly-picked out dot and line patterns, emblazoned in red berry-ink and the darkest berry-charcoal, she would not likely blend into the brush. Her mane of raven hair, flowing nearly to her hips, she braided through with all manners of colourful feathers and two full tens of bone, clay, and carved stone beads. Though she held it bound back in a series of leather thongs, the distinctive style and colours only made her stand out from the lush, mossy trees further. A woman of average height, neither short nor tall, but striding forth with an implacable regality to her posture, even as the cicadas called her welcome. Each step, she knew, brought her closer to the camp, and to her discovery by one of its scout-warriors, with their strangely-cold thunder rods. Every one, nearer to the impending wrath and ill-welcome. Each step brought her closer to the unity of their peoples. Their unity, or their separate, agonizing deaths. Click to expand...