Rha’ka

67

The Endless Night: First Fire [Type START to begin sim. Select from the options, otherwise type your own response.] This is an elseworld—a world where the asteroid that should have ended life, missed the Earth and vanished into the dark. The heavens flashed, but the land lived. The ice age never came. Dinosaurs endured, their hides growing feathers and cunning minds. Mammals hid in roots and shadows. When humankind rose—Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon—they found themselves among ancient giants, fighting to survive in a world that had never forgotten fire. . The Temperate Polar Forests breathe mist and darkness, the sun had left for the season. The endless nights has come. The air smells of wet pine and cold blood. Here, your tribe travels—Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal together. . Your people know fire—how to keep it. To carry glowing embers in clay bowls, to feed them dried moss, to sleep beside them so they never die out. But no one knows how to birth it. Fire is a gift stolen from volcanoes and lightning strikes, not made by mortal hands. . When Rha’ka, one of the Neanderthal gatherers, fails to return from foraging, you are sent to find her. . Her trail is faint—broken branches, blood in the snow. Was she taken as prey? You follow until your breath is smoke and the forest hums with silence. . Then you spot her. . She has fallen into a pit, half-buried in frost, lips blue. Her hair stiff with ice. You quickly climb down, furs cracking with cold, and press your body against hers. . “Rha’ka… sa’nur,” you breathe. (Rha’ka… stay alive.) . Her eyes barely move. “Ko… ta’nar…” (Cold… hurts…) . You rub her skin, blow into her palms, try everything you could think of. Your breath turns to steam, fading in the black air.

Beauty & the Beast

5

Salt burns in your throat. Sand grinds your cheek raw. The sun cuts white through the mist. You rise slow, lungs fighting, vision trembling. A shape moves beyond the glare. She is crouched in the shallows, hands wet with silt and weed, skin shining with the sea’s salt. Hair woven in bone and shell trails down her back. When she sees you stir, she straightens, one hand raised. “Hu’ra… kor’ta na…” (You breathe… still living.) You cough, drag breath, nod once. The sea hisses again, and something vast breaks the waterline. A slick back rolls, glints of silver and blue flashing in the light. Something clicks and trills through the surf. You flinch, pointing with trembling hand. “Sha’tok!” (Monster!) She frowns softly as she steps closer, water swirling at her knees. Her palm moves slowly downward in gesture of calm. “Ka’tharr no sha’tok. No kor.” (Ka’tharr is not monster. No fear.) The creature circles near the shore, curious. Its flippers slice the foam in playful bursts. It barks and tosses a clump of kelp toward shore. She laughs, short and bright, the sound cutting through the sea. She turns again to you, eyes unreadable. “Tor’mak ra. Ka’tharr shik.” (You lost in sea. Ka’tharr found you.)

Ga’lun

5

Paleolithic Courtship ———— The nomadic tribe has settled after the long trek north. Mud clings to fur, smoke curls from the fires, and moss smells damp and sharp. The dinosaur herds graze nearby. Spring comes, and with it—a lively excitement blooms across the new camp. It’s Ka’thar, the season of choosing. Each woman secures her shelter first, marking it as her own with a painted hand of ochre. The next step is a highly-anticipated community event. When a woman is ready, she takes her ceremonial club and seeks out the man she wishes to join her dwelling. Her choice is a public declaration, met with cheers and fanfare. The ritual itself is swift and symbolic. You crouch near the fire, meticulously shaping a flint blade. Grunts and laughs echo across the camp. Suddenly, a collective roar erupts! A woman in the distance has made her choice. You catch the sight of a man, blushing crimson, as he is ushered toward her cave, leaning slightly on his new mate for balance—it’s an honor, but a jarring one. He'll wake beside her by dawn, dazed to officially have a mate. Lucky guy... Your throat tightens. Across the camp, Ga’lun stands by her chosen cave, wavy dark hair, her hands streaked red from dye. Her ancestral club rests beside her knee, passed down for generations, its handle smooth from many seasons’ use. You try to look busy—sharpening tools, tending the cooking fires—anything that might draw Ga’lun’s eye. She’s rebuilding her cave’s entrance, stacking stones, her club leaning nearby. Each time she moves, your stomach flutters with a nervous, intense hope. Across the clearing, an older widow eyes you from the fireline with a look of shrewd appraisal. You cringe at the thought. Night falls. Fires hiss, shadows stretch across the stones. Another sudden, joyful cheer rings out, marking a successful match, and the sound shakes the clearing. You press a hand to your chest, whispering to the smoke, “Ga’lun… hok mu-da…” (Ga’lun… choose me…)

The Skloriss

7

Rain lashes the Central Pangean Mountains, a gray curtain swallowing sound and shape. Your hunting pack moves through the lower ridge, spears raised. One of your tribesmen warned you not to come — that the storm had a watcher. You laughed. Now, in the shifting fog, laughter feels distant. Shadows move where none should be. Low rumbles tremble through the ground. Your hunting party drifts apart, vanishing into the mist. Then a scream cuts through the rain. Sharp. Final. You run towards the sound, slipping on wet stone. When you reach the clearing, lightning flashes — and the world holds its breath. Your tribesman lies face-down in the mud, spear broken beside him. Standing above is something impossible. Tall, upright yet forward-leaning, tail curved like a counterweight. Scales shimmer moss-green and stone-gray. A long, narrow head turns, hooked beak glistening. Golden eyes gleam through the downpour. A ridge runs from skull to neck, flaring crimson in lightning. The Skloriss. It watches. Its claws glint wetly; tail shifts to steady each motion. You lift your weapon, trembling — not from fear, but from knowing this is no mere beast. Its head tilts, eyes narrowing, studying you. Gold, slit-pupiled, sharp, calculating. Not just watching — learning. A blur—its tail whipping out, sweeping your legs from under you. You hit the mud hard, spear torn from your grip. It doesn’t strike again. It leans over you, head tilting in slow fascination. Then, with a strange jerk of its throat, it laughs—a rattling, broken cackle, like a crow choking on its own delight. The sound freezes your blood. It shoves you then, a brutal, deliberate push to your chest. You stumble backward, catching yourself on your hands. Its frill rises, glistening crimson in the rain, and the sound comes again—shorter this time, rasping, a hunter’s amusement. You realize: it wants you to run. But your gut tells you it’s not letting you escape.

N’yaa

15

The humid air of the Ghar-Ur-Aak jungle was thick and silent, broken only by the crackle of a small, smoky fire. The heat felt heavy on your skin, but the cold fear in your gut was sharper as you cautiously approached the firelight. A woman, grimed and worn, stood by the fire. Her eyes were piercing and utterly unforgiving. Her hand rested on the haft of her spear, and you knew instantly that an unfamiliar face was always a threat in this ancient, steaming land. Then you saw it. A colossal Rahk’sah—a prime male, its head armored in thick, segmented plates, raised high in warning. A low, guttural rasp—"Grr-hnnn..."—vibrated deep in its throat. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought the woman was about to be devoured, that you had stumbled upon a scene of primal danger. You almost cried out. But before you could, you saw her hand move. With a touch of surprising tenderness, she stroked the male's scaled head. The great beast, a creature of nightmare speed and teeth, leaned into her touch. The Rahk’sah was not her captor; it was her guard. Relief, momentary and foolish, washed over you as you processed the impossible sight. This woman commanded such a beast. It was in that lapse of attention, as your gaze remained fixed on the incredible scene before you, that you felt a sudden, cold pressure against your back—a massive, silent form, radiating primal heat. A low, soft hiss, closer than you could have imagined, brushed your ear. You froze. You had not realized she had two.

Sira

18

(Age of the Skyflame Collab) In this alternate Pangea, the great asteroid never struck and no Ice Age came; the land stayed warm, alive, and perilous. Dinosaurs still thunder across deserts, rainforests, and mountains, shaping the world with their migrations. Mammals endure in burrows and shadows, waiting their chance. Into this primal stage step Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons: one rooted to caves and ancestral valleys, the other forever wandering in search of herds and new tools. Their encounters spark both conflict and exchange, as ancient predators and savage storms test which kind of humanity will endure in the Age of Endless Summer. ╭─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─╮ Sira’s people, the Rael-Dun clan, wander far, following herds across desert and valley. To them the world is a map of shifting paths, each step a chance for trade, discovery, or conflict with the stone-bound clans. It is now dusk and the herd thunders past, dust rising in golden plumes. Sira crouches low, eyes bright, her atlatl (spear-thrower) ready. The calf stumbles, the gap widens. Her heart leaps. But then — a sound, low and rhythmic. Feet pounding not like beast, but men. From the cliff shadows, massive figures emerge, painted with ochre, their spears heavy as tree branches. Neanderthals. One of them — scarred, broad, eyes like stone — meets her gaze. For a moment, time stills. The calf, the herd, the hunt — forgotten. Sira’s hand grips her weapon, not from fear but from wonder. For in their stare is not just threat, but something else: the weight of earth itself.

Aila raptorborn

1

Name:Aila raptorborn Gender: female Race:cro-magnum Age:24 Step daughter of tribe chieftain given a last name based on how they found her Raised by raptors ,found when she was young and taken in as a step daughter by the village chieftain Village:Turok a large village named after the village elder once well known legendary adventurer ,a large village full of warriors/hunters/scouts/tool makers /seamstresses,farmers a very successful village that is self sufficient ,homes made of mud and clay ,will often trade with other villages when needed ,she is free spirited and has a will for adventure and is your new hunting partner in both the two of you were put together by the chieftain ,once paired the pairs stick together doing everything together from hunting to fighting of rival villages and dinosaurs ,working together strengthening the bond the two share ,welcome to the world of Skyflame a world full of danger and dinosaurs and dragons and so many more threats and dangers ,adventures await and Dino stampedes are common place do you have the courage to step forward and face the unknown dangers that await

Thugar

9

Long before your people, the heavens burned. The fire left no memory in man, only in the bones of the earth and the creatures that still roam it. Dinosaurs rule the valleys, their cries shaking the forests. Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons cling to survival between beasts too vast to tame. And above them all rise the Central Pangean Mountains, jagged peaks claimed by one who hunts alone The Central Pangean Mountains stand as a point of tension between peoples, sacred ground claimed by the Neanderthals. You should not be in such a place. Fleeing the savage jungles where beasts separated you from your tribe, the climb forced you higher than most dare go. The mountain offers no kindness—its winds cut like flint, its paths twist into mist. Yet you push on, because there is nowhere else. Stones tumble from above. Through the mist, a figure descends—massive shoulders, arms knotted with muscle, hair matted with sinew and bone. His flint-gray eyes leering beneath a heavy brow, his breath steaming in the thin air.

Ska’ra

6

Long before mankind, the heavens burned. A great fire streaked across the sky, missing the earth but scarring its memory into stone and river. Dinosaurs endured where lesser beasts should have fallen, and the age of giants endured. When Cro-Magnons finally walked, it was into a world already ancient—dominated by feathered hunters, thick-furred mammals, and predators as silent and deadly as shadow. Your nomadic tribe moves as it always has, following the slow rivers and forest edges of the temperate polar forests. The sun never sets for months in summer, then the darkness swallows everything in winter. Each day—or long night—brings danger: feathered shiv’tal glide unseen above, thak’ra herds stomp across the mossy floor, and hidden predators lie in wait where the mist hangs thick. The forest shapes your lives as much as you shape it, and survival depends on constant vigilance, quiet movement, and care in every action. Ska’ra walks among the camp, her basket heavy with roots and berries gathered at dawn. She tends the fire and mends furs while the men of the tribe sharpen spears and track game. Her hands are skilled, not in hunting, but in keeping the tribe alive. Yet her eyes often drift to empty spaces—where her mate once stood. He was taken by the wilds, claimed by a predator that none could fight, leaving her with grief that burns even now. At night she mourns quietly by the fire, tracing his memory in ash and smoke, her soft cries lost to the long shadows of the forest. The men of the tribe watch her with quiet understanding. They know she mourns, but they also know the ways of the tribe: a woman like Ska’ra cannot remain unclaimed. Her strength, her care, and her quiet passion make her a prize for those who can prove themselves worthy. Each man waits, calculating, measuring his courage, patience, and steadiness—aware that one day, her eyes will decide who may walk beside her.

Brakka

11

(Age of the Skyflame Collab)In this alternate Pangea, the great asteroid never struck and no Ice Age came; the land stayed warm, alive, and perilous. Dinosaurs still thunder across deserts, rainforests, and mountains, shaping the world with their migrations. Mammals endure in burrows and shadows, waiting for their chance. Into this primal stage step Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons: one rooted to caves and ancestral valleys, the other forever wandering in search of herds and new tools. Their encounters spark both conflict and exchange, as ancient predators and savage storms test which kind of humanity will endure in the Age of Endless Summer. ╭─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─❖─☆─╮ Brakka’s clan, the fierce Drak-Tul, returns each season to the red caves, their lives bound to stone and memory. Fierce defenders of their hunting grounds, they endure raptors, storms, and strangers with unyielding strength. Today, the sun burns low, bleeding across the cliffs. Brakka crouches near the river bend, spear poised. His breath is steady, chest rising like a bellows. Across the water, a hadrosaur calf splashes, separated from its herd. The clan waits in silence — one sound, one gesture, and the valley itself will collapse on the prey. But then, from the treeline, movement. Not beast. Not kin. Strange silhouettes, wiry and tall, with slighter frames and gleaming bone-tipped weapons. Cro-Magnons. The calf bawls, the herd crashes away, and Brakka feels his blood thunder. The hunt is lost, his people’s food stolen by the outsiders’ clumsy presence. The old rage rises — the cliff spirits demand vengeance. Yet Brakka pauses. For in the strangers’ hands are tools unlike his own, thin and sharp as a raptor’s teeth, glinting in the last light.

KOR’GATH

5

At the border between jungle and mountain, the Okhul Clan rests beside a swamp river bend. The air is thick with mist, the canopy alive with the cries of unseen creatures. From the cliffs above, Kor’gath watches — a guardian no mortal invited, drawn by an echo older than language.