Far from the expansive metropolises, far from the wars and far from conflict lay the quaint uncharted island of Tuaoi. It’s indigenous populus were tall, olive-skinned humans that knew nothing about the outside world, their vision extending out only to the lapping cerulean ocean that surrounded their small island. The people of Tuaoi were hard workers, spending their days hunting and gathering along the coastline, enjoying all that the peaceful island life had to offer. Granted, the occasional conflict arised when the denizens of the nearby jungle would come out to harass the tribesmen, but they were often nothing more than the few goblin tribes that inhabited the verdant clusters or the occasional wild creature that had lost its egg in the village. For the most part, life was perfect on the tiny island.
It was into this paradise that Babau-Rin was born, son of Dokkka-Rin. His mother and fathers were hunters, so Babau had been born to continue their lineage and become a hunter. He would spend his childhood days spear fishing along the gentle coastline, gazing out into the star-lit ocean at night, or helping in the preparation in religious rituals; often sacrifices of rare fruits to vague nature spirits in return for protection against storms. As he reached his coming of age, however, their ‘protection’ had begun to falter.
The priests of the tribe would test the salty sea breeze, throw dirt into the wind, and a variety of other rituals, but every test had pointed towards oncoming doom. The people of Tuaoi had their suspicions confirmed as a mighty storm began to brew on the horizon. However, Babau-Rin had his attention drawn elsewhere; as the storm at settled, so did a woman’s voice, singing just far enough away to be out of sight, but close enough for him to be drawn to the woman’s delicate songs…
As Babau-Rin tracked the woman’s singing into a watery cove, the storm had landed on the island. He was forced to take shelter in the wet caverns, cowering behind the larger rocks in the cave as he prayed to every spirit he knew of that would come to save him. However, his eyes met with the gaze of the woman who had been singing; a beautiful young woman who had been cowering in the cave as well. He inched closer to her, trying to call out to her over the howling winds and crashing waves. She stared intensely into his eyes, and emitted a cackle. Soon, three other creatures appeared; wretched old crones, with wrinkled skin stretched tight over thin, bony limbs and unnaturally long fingers. They laughed in unison, echoing through the cave and threatening to deafen the young hunter. They then began to recite a curse in an ancient tongue; Babau-Rin could feel his body being ripped apart from the inside out, the cackling growing louder and louder in his ears until they began to bleed as pain rippled through his rapidly numbing body. He cried out in pain until he could no longer find the strength to scream. He could hear them taunting him; ”The bait was laid, and a fool has taken it! Kamohoalii shall rise again! Become the vessel, boy! Accept the spirit of blood!”. He could no longer hang on. The world faded as his body violently morphed, melding into a being of half-man, half spirit…
The hunter awoke in a cold sweat. He lay with his back on the sand, on an unfamiliar coast. How far from home was this place? He grabbed at his body to ensure he was still alive, and he was not dreaming. His heart still beat at an albeit rapid pace, but everything seemed so real. He was dripping wet in sea water, the salt stiffening his clothes. He stood, wiping sand and pebbles off of his skin. He could see something ahead; a village. Massive wooden platforms floated in the oceans, with large swathes of cloth hanging from the top of poles protruding from the center. He could hear the chatter of people from the coast. With nowhere else to go, he wandered towards that town, preparing for the new life he would find in civilization.
Since then, Babau-Rin has accepted a few oddjobs working at the docks, trying to learn the local language and learning the ways of modern culture. He has long since adjusted, though some facets of modern life he still finds odd. However, he still hears the whispers of the spirit who calls himself Kamohoalli, resting in the back of his mind. He has experienced the power Kamohoalli has to offer; it is not a power he plans on using again.
