No Tools, No Brains

[Mer]

Mer floated nearby a rock wall, the old Mer staring angrily at the wall that was not responding to his telepathy. The blacksmiths of the tribe had explained to him that they required ores to forge more weapons, and the rocks held all the ores. To aid the tribe, he had been trying to figure out how to use his leadership prowess to convince the rocks to move out of the way so he can get precious ores. The rocks had been persistent in their silence for hours, their stubbornness is the stuff of legends! With an internal sigh of annoyance, he gave it another shot.

“Move rocks,” Mer communicated, shaking his fist angrily to intimidate the rocks, “Mer demand movement!”

Noticing that the rocks continued to deny him, Mer was offended! The rocks were clearly trying to start a fight and Mer was more then willing to participate. Punching the rocks angrily, sending a small pebble sailing from the rock wall. Fleeing backwards from his exchange with the rocks, Mer looked towards his fists triumphantly. The face of triumph vanishing quickly as he noticed his hands were bloody from punching the sharp rocks. The rocks drew blood!

“Rocks want blood?” Mer queried to the rocks aggressively, going for the trident at his back, “Mer bleed rocks!”

The Mer angrily began to stab the rocks with his trident, realising this is likely why the miners had a preference to carrying those strange weapons. Rocks only respect brute force! Proud of his realisation, Mer continued to stab rocks with a trident to assert dominance.

“Surrender ore, stupid rocks!” Mer communicated to the rocks as he continued to stab at them with his rapidly dulling trident.