A/n: This is rather irregular, but it must be said. Half the things I say here is bullshit. I am no programmer, no metallurgist, and no historian. Please, suspend your disbelief.
There are many things that occur in the multiverse. Not, of course, ranging from every choice ever made like some physicists have theorized, but there are indeed divergences. Points in time, where worlds and their fate had separated into different paths, and again and again, until they were all but unrecognizable from each other. Were one to be able to travel from one world to the next, they would find fascinating things. Entire new lines of evolution. Geological formations seen nowhere else. And entirely different civilisations.
And let's look at one now.
350,000 years ago
Unlike that of the other, Homo sapiens sapiens did not experience the ice age. No great frost. No immense blocks of ice to lock up entire oceans worth of water. The sea levels were higher, the places, more inaccessible. Humans never scattered across the planet, their landbridges submerged, and having no need to flee the sudden cold.
Here, with more temperate and far more stable climate, humanity flourished. Sure, they did not spread far and wide. But the stable climate and the warm weather did wonders for plants. And animals. And the humans fed off them, digging up tubers and yams, and hunting the various animals of their world. They sang, they danced, they told stories about the campfires. They fought off illness, fire, wild animals, and misfortune. Just like any other human, amongst the manifold worlds.
Left alone, they would have ended up like a typical human civilization, just like our world. They have already discovered fire, and with some effort, pottery. They would discover metal, writing, medicine, agriculture, all the little things which made life better. They would advance, like many would advance. And they would make their own unique culture, not quite the same, but quite similar to the ones in other worlds. Except for one small factor.
Let's look at them now.
Bands of hunter gatherers go around, on circuitious routes. Already, they are at the stage of gardener, destroying and uprooting plants that they figured out to be useless, and replanting those that they find useful. Plants with pretty flowers, delicious seeds and fruits, herbs, and tubers. Not on the level of dedicated farmers, but it ensured that the routes they took always had plentiful food.
Not for now. A famine had struck. Bad luck had struck this particular tribe of wanderers. First, came the illness. They buried their dead in unmarked graves, believing that they would meet the master beneath the earth. Second, came the drought. A great majority of the plants and tubers they relied on, died or shrunk, the drought slowly killing them. Hungry and weak, they trod on. The drought itself had slain many animals, and their carcasses and bones littered the ground as the tribe walked forward, hoping for respite.
There, it is. An elephant. One that had wandered away from its herd. A male, one in the midst of musth. Which was to this tribe's complete bad luck. Tired, hungry, they were slow. And a full grown male elephant in the midst of musth was one that could kill dozens of men. It released a single, trumpeting call.... and then it charged forward, its immense bulk and size making the ground itself shake and clouds of dust to be brought up. Its tusks, lowered and pointed at its unfortunate victims. Musth made an elephant highly aggressive, just like it did in elephants. And as it charged down the hapless humans, they scattered in fear. No use. Tired and hungry humans were no match in speed for an elephant. There was only one solution.
Some one had to stay behind, to stop it. And as bad luck had struck, the plague had killed many of the strong young men and experienced hunters that would help. Of the few that were left, there were only a scant two dozen left. Armed with nothing more than their wits, courage, a sharpened stick, and the willingness to die for their families, they struck the rampaging beast, hitting it from the sides as their loved ones fled. The enraged creature turned against them, its old target forgotten in favor of this new annoyance. It grabbed one, and held it to its teeth, crushing his head. A stinging pain to the side, and it saw one hunter, foolishly stabbing into it, shouting war cries. A swing of its trunk, and he was flung from his feet, kicking up dust clouds as he landed on the dusty soil. He lay there, not moving. Another two blows, and it threw a trunk from a dead tree, the mass of wood smashing onto several hunters who failed to scatter in time, their inexperience dooming them as they did not react to the sudden projectile before it smashed onto their bodies. Again and again, it struck. There were two dozen. Now, only six or so were left. And once they were done... well, it would either go after the women and children, or it would just leave. Either way, the tribe will die, either from the sudden loss of manpower, or from the fact that the few that were left were unable to fend off wild animals or aggressive humans.
Either way, without a miracle, this group of hunter-gardeners were doomed.
And a miracle happened.
A mutation occured, long before the group ever existed. Several genes were deleted. Some were rearranged. Some were added. A few were duplicated. And what came out, would always, be seen rarely.
The hunter who had jabbed the elephant in the side and had gotten a trunk swipe for his troubles, was not dead. His head injury only gave him a momentary concussion. And in that sudden jolt of nervous transmission by the impact, something awoke within him. It was like riding a bike (thought that will not be invented for millenia). Or how monks in the millenia to come would control their body temperature or heartbeat. He found muscles and abilities he did not know he possessed. And as he stood up, he saw the corpses of his friends and family. He saw his band of fellow hunters cut down to a small fraction of their previous numbers. And he saw the behemoth, that had done so much and endangered his loved ones.
There was no thought. There was no planning. He had fractured bones, strained muscles, and several bruised tendons. He had a crink in his neck, and a concussion still ringing in his ears. He did not care. There was a sharpened stick right next to him, a long-abandoned weapon of one of his compatriots. He grabbed it, and with a war cry, he charged forward, his footsteps leaving behind trails of fire, muscles pushing his body at speeds more similar to a racing car than a human being. The bull elephant turned to meet this new compatriot, trunk flaring, tusks ready to kill. And it scarcely had time to widen its eyes in reflex as the young man struck it in the side with a spear. And the spear punctured the leathery skin, and the energy contained it burst forth. The elephant, for lack of a better word, exploded, an enormous cavity opening in one side. It stood there, for one moment, trunk still wavering.... and then, it fell, away from the one that had killed it.
The young man, Grigar, did not know what he did. All he knew that he felt his body strengthen, his mind become fluid, and his blows become like that of lightning. His companions ran forward, searching answers on what happened. All they saw was Grigar, standing by the corpse of the elephant he had singlehandedly slain, liquid light pouring off his skin.
That, my friends, was the beginning.
There are many things that occur in the multiverse. Not, of course, ranging from every choice ever made like some physicists have theorized, but there are indeed divergences. Points in time, where worlds and their fate had separated into different paths, and again and again, until they were all but unrecognizable from each other. Were one to be able to travel from one world to the next, they would find fascinating things. Entire new lines of evolution. Geological formations seen nowhere else. And entirely different civilisations.
And let's look at one now.
350,000 years ago
Unlike that of the other, Homo sapiens sapiens did not experience the ice age. No great frost. No immense blocks of ice to lock up entire oceans worth of water. The sea levels were higher, the places, more inaccessible. Humans never scattered across the planet, their landbridges submerged, and having no need to flee the sudden cold.
Here, with more temperate and far more stable climate, humanity flourished. Sure, they did not spread far and wide. But the stable climate and the warm weather did wonders for plants. And animals. And the humans fed off them, digging up tubers and yams, and hunting the various animals of their world. They sang, they danced, they told stories about the campfires. They fought off illness, fire, wild animals, and misfortune. Just like any other human, amongst the manifold worlds.
Left alone, they would have ended up like a typical human civilization, just like our world. They have already discovered fire, and with some effort, pottery. They would discover metal, writing, medicine, agriculture, all the little things which made life better. They would advance, like many would advance. And they would make their own unique culture, not quite the same, but quite similar to the ones in other worlds. Except for one small factor.
Let's look at them now.
Bands of hunter gatherers go around, on circuitious routes. Already, they are at the stage of gardener, destroying and uprooting plants that they figured out to be useless, and replanting those that they find useful. Plants with pretty flowers, delicious seeds and fruits, herbs, and tubers. Not on the level of dedicated farmers, but it ensured that the routes they took always had plentiful food.
Not for now. A famine had struck. Bad luck had struck this particular tribe of wanderers. First, came the illness. They buried their dead in unmarked graves, believing that they would meet the master beneath the earth. Second, came the drought. A great majority of the plants and tubers they relied on, died or shrunk, the drought slowly killing them. Hungry and weak, they trod on. The drought itself had slain many animals, and their carcasses and bones littered the ground as the tribe walked forward, hoping for respite.
There, it is. An elephant. One that had wandered away from its herd. A male, one in the midst of musth. Which was to this tribe's complete bad luck. Tired, hungry, they were slow. And a full grown male elephant in the midst of musth was one that could kill dozens of men. It released a single, trumpeting call.... and then it charged forward, its immense bulk and size making the ground itself shake and clouds of dust to be brought up. Its tusks, lowered and pointed at its unfortunate victims. Musth made an elephant highly aggressive, just like it did in elephants. And as it charged down the hapless humans, they scattered in fear. No use. Tired and hungry humans were no match in speed for an elephant. There was only one solution.
Some one had to stay behind, to stop it. And as bad luck had struck, the plague had killed many of the strong young men and experienced hunters that would help. Of the few that were left, there were only a scant two dozen left. Armed with nothing more than their wits, courage, a sharpened stick, and the willingness to die for their families, they struck the rampaging beast, hitting it from the sides as their loved ones fled. The enraged creature turned against them, its old target forgotten in favor of this new annoyance. It grabbed one, and held it to its teeth, crushing his head. A stinging pain to the side, and it saw one hunter, foolishly stabbing into it, shouting war cries. A swing of its trunk, and he was flung from his feet, kicking up dust clouds as he landed on the dusty soil. He lay there, not moving. Another two blows, and it threw a trunk from a dead tree, the mass of wood smashing onto several hunters who failed to scatter in time, their inexperience dooming them as they did not react to the sudden projectile before it smashed onto their bodies. Again and again, it struck. There were two dozen. Now, only six or so were left. And once they were done... well, it would either go after the women and children, or it would just leave. Either way, the tribe will die, either from the sudden loss of manpower, or from the fact that the few that were left were unable to fend off wild animals or aggressive humans.
Either way, without a miracle, this group of hunter-gardeners were doomed.
And a miracle happened.
A mutation occured, long before the group ever existed. Several genes were deleted. Some were rearranged. Some were added. A few were duplicated. And what came out, would always, be seen rarely.
The hunter who had jabbed the elephant in the side and had gotten a trunk swipe for his troubles, was not dead. His head injury only gave him a momentary concussion. And in that sudden jolt of nervous transmission by the impact, something awoke within him. It was like riding a bike (thought that will not be invented for millenia). Or how monks in the millenia to come would control their body temperature or heartbeat. He found muscles and abilities he did not know he possessed. And as he stood up, he saw the corpses of his friends and family. He saw his band of fellow hunters cut down to a small fraction of their previous numbers. And he saw the behemoth, that had done so much and endangered his loved ones.
There was no thought. There was no planning. He had fractured bones, strained muscles, and several bruised tendons. He had a crink in his neck, and a concussion still ringing in his ears. He did not care. There was a sharpened stick right next to him, a long-abandoned weapon of one of his compatriots. He grabbed it, and with a war cry, he charged forward, his footsteps leaving behind trails of fire, muscles pushing his body at speeds more similar to a racing car than a human being. The bull elephant turned to meet this new compatriot, trunk flaring, tusks ready to kill. And it scarcely had time to widen its eyes in reflex as the young man struck it in the side with a spear. And the spear punctured the leathery skin, and the energy contained it burst forth. The elephant, for lack of a better word, exploded, an enormous cavity opening in one side. It stood there, for one moment, trunk still wavering.... and then, it fell, away from the one that had killed it.
The young man, Grigar, did not know what he did. All he knew that he felt his body strengthen, his mind become fluid, and his blows become like that of lightning. His companions ran forward, searching answers on what happened. All they saw was Grigar, standing by the corpse of the elephant he had singlehandedly slain, liquid light pouring off his skin.
That, my friends, was the beginning.