I have returned to the Cavern to transcribe the following account of yesterday’s mystery from my notebook. As of yet the party has not returned. I will return shortly, hoping that I haven’t missed them in my brief respite from the heat.

There are so many mysteries surrounding the natives of the Third Age, but none so confounding as this one:

Why, in the weeks that I have been patiently and dilligently observing these creatures, have I never seen them hunt? I have only noticed a lack of population on some visits, and an abundance of it on other visits. They just seem to vanish into the air, and re-appear just as mysteriously! I would have expected to see lavish hunting parties, or at least a group of them, crossing the hills in search of food for their village.

This morning the mystery only deepened.

I awoke early in the darkness of the Cavern and began my morning ritual. I had a cup of Lady Grey and the D’ni Gahrohevtee Codex open in minutes. It took me a great while to find “flower”, but after some time I was able to find and copy the word fifty times. Fifty now, fifty later.

As I linked into the Third Age cavern, I felt that familiar crippling nausea. I admit to actually storing a mat near the link-in spot in order to recover from my linking sickness. I eventually left the darkness of the cave and ventured into the light once again. I noted the large sun laying low on the horizon, causing the valley to be covered in a thin mist.

“Good,” I thought, “This Age does have a day and night cycle, that’s one less mystery about this place.”

A ritual of blood

I settled into my usual spot to watch the village, and soon noticed some sort of hurried preparations occuring. A mix of several warriors and trackers were assembling in front of the chief, who was holding a large, perhaps ceremonial bladed weapon in one hand, and what appeared to be a tall, pointed flag in the other.

A particularly large, heavily-scarred warrior stepped out of the congregation and began to speak, that dry throaty bark that immediately flashed memories of the fight for ascension I had witnessed weeks ago through my mind. The chief responded with a bark of his own. Immediately, every warrior in the group made the sign of respect towards the chief, folding their arms over each other and bowing their heads to touch them. Strangely, the trackers did not mimic the movement. The chief seemed placated however, as he offered the larger weapon to the warrior.

The warrior approached the chief, and as he accepted the weapon, he cut himself on the edge of the blade! At first I thought it was accidental, and I actually cringed at what I thought was a grievous blunder in a very strict ceremony. In the next moment however I was proven wrong, as the chief nodded and he too, opened his skin on the blade! Their dark purple blood mingled on the dull coppery metal as the warrior stepped back into the crowd.

A sign of respect

An unremarkable tracker then stepped forward, and the scenario was repeated. The creature spoke to the chief and was answered in kind. The trackers made the sign of respect and their elected representative stepped forward to accept the flag javelin. The tracker then bled on the tip of the spear, and once again the chief followed the example.

Once this ritual was completed, the chief spoke again, a series of commanding tones washing over the collected audience. Even at my distance I could hear the sound bouncing off the hills. Several more signs of respect from either party, then the assembled natives turned and marched away. The chief stood still, watching them go.

I lay motionless, hiding behind the rocks with my binoculars, watching the entire spectacle. I was absolutely convinced that I was witnessing a pre-hunt ritual. I thought that soon I would know. Soon I would have my answer.

The procession left the perimeter of the village, as they shrugged off their stiff ritual positions, eager to begin their journey. As they moved down the valley, I put away my equipment and hugged the rocks, choosing to keep my position hidden rather than observe the creatures and risk being spotted by the mass of trackers.

Once they passed my position, I slowly peeked above the rocks and watched them as they pressed on. Several hundred metres away, the party began to curve towards a rather large opening in the edge of the valley wall. Without slowing down, the entire group entered the cave.

I was absolutely floored.

A strange hunt

Did these savages hunt a cave-dwelling animal? How could there be enough of them to feed an entire tribe, not to mention enough to warrant such a large and elaborate hunting party? Was the cave simply a shortcut, a quick way to the other side of the valley? For a moment, I toyed with the idea of following them down into the valley and through the cave, but quickly dismissed the idea. If they spotted me, there was no way I would escape.

I sat there, dumbfounded for a time. There was no movement from the cave, no sign of a struggle. It was deadly silent.

The village was similarly quiet, albeit not lifeless. Several warriors had taken up guard positions, watching and protecting the now smaller and more timid village. For over ninety minutes I sat, my only movement was moving my binoculars between the cave and the village, searching for some sign. Some answer to this riddle. Nothing came. I sit here now, back against the rock I have spent so many hours hiding behind, writing this report and waiting for the return of the hunting party. I have no idea what they will return with.

Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps they were not a hunting party at all. If not, then what?