Yildun Tribe

There was once one tribe, of which lived between the vast ocean, and the rugged mountains. Strung together, they lived in peace within the sister valley. The Vihren tribe as they were called, lived in a wondrous place rich in flora and fauna, and it was a haven for all. For hundreds of years toskals here lived without disruption, without chaos, not a hint of calamity. One day, the ground began to shake, little and little each day. It was thought to be just a herd running along the sparse open fields, but as the intensity grew, so did the fear for each of their lives. The walls of the once undisturbed valley began crumbling off, tearing down loose chunks of rocks and boulders came crashing down to the Earth.

The time finally came when the ground began shaking. Almost like a drum. Bang, bang, and finally, BANG! A loud crack split the air. A low rumble came from the distant lands, as the Earth buckled under its own pressure and brought a wave of disaster. The roar of trees uprooting, rocks flying, dust shooting into the skies, burying the camp in a blanket of dust and rubble.

The shaking seemed to never end, those who were able to bear through the nightmare were only able to sit there and watch as their home was being torn apart and broken into two. After the dust cleared, bodies of relatives and fellow tribe members were scattered. Some were impaled, some had suffocated, and for some, deep wounds and lacerations wrapped around their mangled bodies, a lifeless stare left in their eyes. Those who were left were wounded, gasping for air as the large wave that cleared the area threw all of them off their feet, leaving them breathless. Shocked and unsure of what to do, the remaining members of the tribe left for higher ground in a hurry, in fear that the valley itself could collapse or flood.

After the final waves came and went, the tribe seemed to be no more, only a smaller group left homeless and lost. They were without food, shelter, and light. An argument broke out between the group. The rift valley was too dangerous, too unsafe to try again, so they should move to the sea for the plentiful food and cliffside shelters, but another spoke of the mountains, with shelter and protection against the floods, with plenty to forage. Arguing went on for hours until finally each and every one of them were exhausted and out of breath. Finding a temporary shelter became the main focus until the next morning, at which there would be a vote to either go to the sea side or the mountain cliffs.

Morning came, and as each tosk rose, a final call was made for the vote that would decide it all. Two circles were marked by stones. One side would go to the sea and find their residence there, and the others would make their trek to the great mountains. The vote was split in half, and as fellow relatives said their goodbyes to each other, an arrangement was made, to meet at that very spot at half moon. They would laugh, have fun, and also pay their respects to each distant relative that fell in the great disaster, leaving charms or flowers at the spots where they once lie at their time of death. After the agreement was made, each group went their separate ways, settling into their new homes and continuing to meet at the sister valley to this day.