Khoroboi the Bear Son and Khorobrod' - 1 effort
The oral legend of Khoroboi the Bear Son is the most notable Rodynian pryv' ("truth" or "legend" - one word has two seemingly contradicting meanings) of the third millennium BC, perhaps, due to its popularity in the later ages, during which it was expanded and greatly literarilly "improved." From the researcher's perspective, it is also a valuable insight into the origins of the second lasting attempt at state-building in the Rodynian world.
The pryv' itself starts with a rather fantastic premise. Marana, the goddess of Famine and Winter, chooses to marry Shatun, the god of Hunger and War. The two have a big wedding, being surrounded by the entire Rodynian pantheon, during which the mortals enjoy years upon years of fertility and warmth. Yet, Shatun makes love to his bride one single time, then fills himself up with food and honey and, as he customarily does, falls asleep. His sleep lasts for many winters and quite resembles hibernation of his avatar, a great bear. His bride Marana is not happy with her husband and, in a truly fretful manner, starts looking for lovers almost as soon as the great warrior falls into his slumber. With her cold, regal beauty, the Winter Queen easily finds lovers both among mortals (who her love turns into dry husks) and forest spirits (who seem to be unaffected by her powers). Children born from her affairs are plentiful; human bastards are eaten by Marana, and children of forest spirits are hidden in trunks of trees all across the forests of the land. Eventually, Marana takes over the skies and the soil, claiming her supremacy among gods by the merit of being married to mighty Shatun himself. The Winter Queen's reign sends blights and frost to the world, and the mortals starve from year to year. Eventually, the frost becomes so bitter that Marana's children from forest spirits start crying inside the tree trunks where they had been hidden, and their wails crack the wood, waking up Shatun. (This is seen by folklore researchers as a very early part of the pryv', being essentially an explanatory myth. It explains the phenomenon of tree trunks cracking in extreme frost due to the freezing of sap inside the tree.) As Shatun observes spirit children escaping the cracking trees, he understands that he had been ****olded and starts murdering his wife's bastard children one by one. Eventually, all of Marana's bastards are consumed by raging Shatun, and he is reaches for the last one. Suddenly, Shatun realizes that the child he holds in his hands is his own, born from the single night he spent with the Winter Queen. He spares the child's life and names him Khoroboi. However, the baby is not to stay among the gods for long. This time Marana gets angry at her husband and strips little Khoroboi off of his godhood, casting him into the world of the mortals.
The latter part of the mythos is likely a result of later additions, in which justification for kingship was attempted to be found in godly origin of the dynasts. Still, in combination of archaeological findings and anthropological research suggest that around the middle of the third millennium before our days the Dremuchi culture suffered a series of famines most likely caused by a colder or longer winters. This pushed their culture to the brink of societal collapse, but an unlikely answer was found in a new type of specialization. Instead of perceiving shatovye raids as the last resort measure undertaken by hunters and gatherers, they became a mean in itself. Some early researchers liked to depict that transition as a metamorphosis of the very foundation of the Dremuchian society, but most recent findings of warrior burials containing clubs and shields (weapons not used in big or small game hunting) and relative scarcity of mass graves (suggesting that the practice of ritual suicide became more rare) suggest that instead specialized warrior societies (druzhani) started forming as a primitive social stratus, becoming the carriers of Dremuchian social organization.
This brings us back to the Khoroboi’s legend. Starting a very young age, the Bear Son strives to hunt the biggest game in the forest and eventually moves on to ever bigger challenges. In total, he commits thirty three challenges, most of which are presented to him by his own zemlyanitsa. (Linguistic and thematic research suggests that at least half of these feats were added in later centuries, as they bear different themes and literary tone than the early challenges.) Most of Khoroboi’s challenges are hunts for specific mythical creatures and monsters (each of whom is a patron of a specific zemlyanitsa), but many of them show his macabre sense of kindness. For one instance, Khoroboi fights Trahlava, a three-headed, winged wolf. When the creature is defeated, and Khoroboi prepares to finish it off, Trahlava laments that it hadn’t had a good meal in a while, so the last thing it remembers before death would be hunger. Touched by the wolf’s howl, Khoroboi chops off Trahlava’s two heads and feeds them to the remaining one, saving the creature’s life and earning its loyalty. (This is also suspected to be a hint at consolidation of power by a more successful warrior society, which was either led by somebody named Khoroboi or itself was named Khoroboi, suggesting the Bear Son was a collective image).
Regardless of how one interprets the Khoroboi epic, most of the researchers agree that around that time the Dremuchi were either united by one warrior chieftain, or, more realistically, became dominated by a number of druzhani (warrior societies), among which one was a clear hegemon. This gave the name to the first realm (or brod’) of the Dremuchi: Khorobrod’.
Economy of conquest - 1 effort
The early days of the warrior societies that preceded the formation of Khorobrod’ were the lowest point of Dremuchian economic collapse. It is conceivable that some desperate earth-villages, seeing no prospects in attempting to survive merely by hunting and agricultural labor, fully turned their attention to wintertime raiding, eventually accumulating skill and knowledge of warfare that they started passing to new generations of Dremuchi. Alternatively, it’s possible that some individuals displaced by the shatovye warfare started offering their service to more populous and successful zemlyanitsy for protection in exchange for humble upkeep. Whatever it was, that societal change created the first type of social organization among the Dremuchi that topped the communal or family ties. Based on archaeological findings, the early druzhani were groups of unrelated individuals of both genders (with males being more numerous) united by an unspoken contract of protection of a specific community. In the lowest point of the societal collapse, the shatovye raids performed by these warrior societies were most likely similar to the ones performed in the more ancient times, with the “merciful sacrifice” of the defeated earth-villagers being the main tool of demographic regulation. However, as the years of famines and long winters had passed, it’s likely that the “merciful sacrifice” started losing its value in the Dremuchian tradition. Findings from that period that the sacrificial birchbark rope was mostly used to exterminate the leaders of enemy resistance, while leaving remaining defeated villagers alive (and, possibly, even with some means to survive till the end of winter). That was a logical change, as it ensured that a successful druzhen’ (singular “druzheni”) could easily loot that same village next year, as long as its resistance was broken once. With time, it led to the formation of a primitive tributary system, in which a warrior society skipped the violent part of a shatovye all together and would simply extract desired (and relatively bearable) pay from the tributary. Meanwhile, it’s completely conceivable that less successful zemlyanitsy could become a good recruitment ground for warrior societies, if they failed to act either as a host of another successful druzhen’ or as an economic actor capable both of feeding itself and paying the annual tribute to its extorter.
However, this economy of conquest had certain limitations in the Dremuchi world. With the economy of the Dremuchi being still extremely primitive, so was their material culture. This meant that, once all mouths are fed and excess food is stored, very little could be done to satisfy the growing demand of successful druzheni for continuous self-reward. Based on the epic of Khoroboi, some of the first inter-druzheni conflicts were fought not as much over the zemlyanitsy they wished to extort as over their warrior honor. For people as superstitious as the Dremuchi, luck was a fickle, yet magical possession, which required a constant check. First conflicts between the warrior societies, thus, might have been pre-arranged and somewhat ritualized (although, probably brutal, given the low value of human life in their culture). Yet, with time they started taking a more practical shape, as warrior equipment and tools became the aim of such conflicts. This is supported by Khoroboi’s sixth feat: tearing a scale off of the Earth Snake’s skin and turning it into his own unpierceable shield. This was a natural development, because the martial culture started guiding the material culture, and craftsmanship of that period was concentrated on creating first dedicated tools of war: wooden clubs, slings, rare bronze knives, bear spears that doubled as a hunting and fighting weapon, as well as leather cap helmets, pelt armor, and simple wooden shields. Since the size of fighting forces remained miniscule, battles mostly were fought as a multitude of duels or scrums, which made access to better equipment paramount to success.
Still, redistribution of fighting equipment was a reward that could sustain this economy of conquest only for a time being. As one druzhen’ (or, perhaps, a league of allied druzheni) became the first regional hegemon and formed Khorobrod’, the raids could not simply stop. The warrior culture required warfare to drive the society forward, and it shows in archaeological findings. Fishing equipment, fishskin clothes, and masterful wooden craft (mostly basketry) of the Vodyakian culture are found in many Dremuchian earth-villages of that period. While many of them certainly must have been looted in classical shatovye raids (against which the peaceful Vodyaki were ill-equipped and even less morally prepared), recent findings of fish (a much more perishable food resource than grain, vegetables, or even meat) in Dremuchian zemlyanitsy suggest that with time the Vodyaki, too, adopted to the custom of simply paying off their conquerors on an annual basis, becoming tributaries of Khorobrod’.
Povodyaki - 1 effort
It’s hard for us today to imagine the horrors Vodyaki fishers experienced when first shatovye raids came to their lands. A peaceful culture, the Voydaki had very little martial experience and were mostly content to move away from the danger (or, as established above, pay off the attackers). Migration routes for those who wished to escape the life under druzheni control were obvious: down or up the rivers where they lived. The downflow route was the easiest to undertake, as most of the village’s material possessions could be thus preserved and transported on a raft. This migrational direction “down” the flow of great rivers gave the new cultural group its name, Povodyaki.
While some Povodyakian villages can be found in the lower flow of the Beregoya and Vodnya rivers (Dnieper and Don), the biggest (and most transformative) settlements were created in the very mouths of these streams. Thus, the Povodyakian ethnos first became aware of sea as a phenomenon. First attempts to venture into the Chrenomyr’, as the new sea became known, must have been a deadly affair, as some surviving legends suggest (the sea being depicted as an living black shawl that Marena dropped from her shoulders to trap misguided fishermen to their doom). Still with time sea fishing became a skill the Povodyaki mastered, and first non-single-piece fishing boats can be dated this period of their history. It’s likely that the Povodyaki also remained in loose contact with the nomadic Mezhevity, still speaking a somewhat recognizable language. Yet, there was little the Povodyaki could offer to the prosperous and well-fed nomads, so the contact between the two groups remained rather superficial.
Kyzhev portage - 1 effort
One group of the Povodyaki, however, stood out from that pattern. While the Vodyakian world mostly was limited to the river shore and its direct vicinity, river exploration was a necessary activity in case fishing resources of a particular area were exhausted. One of such expeditions led by a legendary (possibly, made-up) explorer named Kyzh ended up discovering a narrow strip of land that separated the Vodnya (Don) river from an even bigger river his expedition called the Zezhva (OTL Volga). This didn’t only put the giant Zezhva into the Povodyakian world, but also gave their fishers access to a new aquatorium and, thus, a new ecosystem. Thanks to its connection to the isolated Caspian Sea (unknown to the Povodyaki at the time, and thus unnamed by them), the Zezhva was populated with fish that were viewed as a delicacy among the Povodyaki. Standing out among them, were many species of sturgeon, whose eggs (caviar, or, as the Povodyki called it, “ykora”) were particularly valued as a source of protein and a tasty treat. With time, the Kyzhev Voloh (Kyzh’s Portage) became a popular destination for some adventurous groups of Povodyakian fishermen, who dragged their boats from one river to the other across a strip of land (usually, using rolled bundles of dry steppe grass as improvised wheels) and spent sturgeon mating seasons in the Zezhva, gathering the precious ykora and, of course, the fish itself. WIth time, two large fishing villages formed on the ends of the portage, not only engaging in the standard Povodyakian fishing business, but also accommodating the seasonal fishermen and maintaining their boats. Then, smaller encampments started growing along the portage route, with local settlers offering their help at dragging the boats loaded with the catch, for a decent pay. At the time, this string of camps and villages was still far from merging into a single metropolis, but some researchers consider early Kyzhev the first Rodynian effort at urbanization. A string of settlements living off services and craft, Kyzhev was indeed a beacon of progress in the Eurasian Steppes, and naturally, it attracted attention of the nomadic Mezhevity tribes. At this point, the Mezhevity lacked any warrior tradition and had nothing to extract from Kyzhev except ykora caviar itself. So, the portage town became a seasonal migration destination for many Mezhevity porody, who would hold seasonal festivals in that town, exchanging news, celebrating inter-prorody marriages, and, of course, trading with the locals for their precious caviar. First consistent exchange between the steppe herders and river fishers of the Rodyn’ started to occur in Kyzhev.
Nazvodyaki - 1 effort
Not all groups of the Vodyaki, however, chose to migrate southward under the pressure from Khorobrod’. It’s unknown what motivated them, but some (perhaps, more desperate) groups of river settlers chose to row their boats upstream of the great rivers, then drag their vessels across strips of land into different aquatoria, and eventually take the Vydna (Dvina), Khvola (Volhov), Voskovya (Kama) rivers up north. This might have been not done over a life span of a single generation, and some researchers suggest that this group (known as the Nazvodyaki) might have been a mix of Vodyaki migrants and fringe Dremuchi communities driven off by the rise of Khorobrod’.
Regardless of their origin, the Nazvodyaki were destined to temporarily disappear from the awareness of the Rodyn’, arriving to the forested shores of a yet unknown sea they’d name Srenomyr’ (unknown to them, their most northern settlement was built on the shores of the Zhavarga (Onega) lake, but that geographic discovery would not be made for another few hundred years). The land they arrived to was not dissimilar to their past homeland, except the winter season was colder, soils were more swampy and thus less fertile, and forests aplenty, deep, and populated by tribes of hunters and gatherers that looked nothing like the Rodyn’ and spoke an unknown tongue (early Finno-Ugrian locals, most likely representatives of a drastically different genetic pool). Contact with these “savages” was rare and, when made, rarely productive. In fact, Nazvodyakian pryv’ legends depict local forests and bogs populated by ill-tempered, cannibalistic spirits, known collectively as the Lykhva (the fact that the spirits’ name had no singular form says something about how badly the Nazvodyaki (themselves not very sophisticated people) thought about the forest “savages”).
Regardless, for a few centuries the Nazvodyaki would remain living in insular fishing communities that were safe from any raids or serious threats by the merit of being located in a very sparsely populated region. Nothing at all indicated that that offshoot of the greater Rodyn’ would ever achieve greatness. Nothing, except a small bracelet found in a grave of a village matriarch from that period. A bracelet made out of amber.
Eurasian Steppe population - 1 effort
While the sedentary cultures of the Rodyn’ seemed to be developing under conditions of extreme scarcity, their nomadic brothers and sisters continued enjoying centuries of population boom. With plenty of pastures easily available to the family groups (porody) of migrationary herders, an answer to overpopulation and demographic tension was always simple: expulsion of a less well-established porod’ toward the horisont.
This early migrations looked nothing like what early archaeologists liked to depict them, drawing from images of nomadic conquest that would come millenia later. Most of the early Mezhevity migrants, contrary to the stereotype of later ages, were not horse-riding and would walk on foot along the herds of domesticated animals: mostly cows and sheep. Horses were domesticated by that time, but most of them were still in an early stage of breeding, featuring long fur and short stature, making the horseman or horsewoman barely taller than a standing human. Still, riding a horse was a great boon for saving energy in long treks, and it is speculated that first attempts to develop horse-riding skill were done in order to more efficiently hunt zubrs (European bisons) with javelins and hunting bows. Primitive carts carrying the porod’’s full material wealth were actively used in longer treks, usually being pulled by cows.
Mezhevitian burial customs were simple. Burning of the dead was out of question, as fire was a deadly hazard in the grass-covered plain. Leaving the dead to the vultures was equally frowned upon. Yet, abandoning one’s dead in a pit in the middle of vast steppe was equally disheartening. So, a mound burial culture was adopted. A deceased member of the porod’ was buried in an earth mound, essentially elevating the dead over the level of high grass. Leaving the dead people's material possessions with them was an absurd move for a culture constantly short of craft materials (except leather, perhaps). Instead size and height of such burials were used to show the significance of the deceased. It is thanks to their unique mound burials that we know today about the extreme success of the otherwise elusive Mezhevity culture. The easternmost burial mound is found as far as the slopes of the Altai Mountains, and the westernmost is located in the southern Carpathians, suggesting that in the middle of the third millennium before our days the Mezhevity culture experienced a true population boom.
Pomezhevy - 1 effort
One group of the Mezhevity stands out from this urge for constant expansion. Known as the Pomezhevy, they are believed the ultimate misfits of the Mezhevity society, porody so weak that they were pushed to the very edge of the Mezhevity steppe world.
First findings of strange “tent camps” on the shores of the Slenomyr’ (Aral Sea) and in the valleys of the L’nava and Zhnava (Syr Darya and Amu Darya) rivers were originally attributed to a much later period, perceived as small military camps of Medieval warlords. However, soon it became obvious that the “tent cities” were much, much older and gave us a glimpse at a much more transformative period of local history. Deprived of access to better steppe pastures, the Pomezhevy had to resort to a much more shrewd attitude to land control. A loss of a good meadow to a competing porod’ could spell a disaster to a family group that wasn’t protective enough of its territory. This created a need to leave small groups of armed, battle-ready men and women behind the bulk of the tribe in order to guard the lands the porod’ “owned.” While too small and defenseless to fight off a dedicated attack, these “tent cities” were essentially first awkward attempts to establish outposts, from which an improvised warrior band could scout the landscape and, if needed, alert the main tribe. Gradually, a martial tradition started to form among the Pomezhevy, but at this point warfare around Slenomyr’ was extremely simplistic and even primitive in its nature and methods.
Another tradition that the Pomezhevy had to start relearning due to their forced abandonment of the steppes was sedentary economy. The region was still big enough to support herding and pastoral economy, but the population boom combined with limitations of good pastures meant that the Pomezhevy had to newly learn primitive agriculture and even fishing. These first steps were rather primitive and seemed to be only an addition to the pastoral economy, but this was only the beginning of the transformation in the making.