[center][b]Ialu[/b][/center]

[hider=Summary]
-Ialu's tribe is raising their army in preparation for war with the Cimex. The Strong Tribe has their usual hunters, but the vassal tribes are raising cavalry, spearmen, and 'slingers' that use the Wi to hurl lead bullets or stones at enemies.
-Ialu told himself that he wasn't going to use the Blade of Chaos but he's using it anyways. The sword transformed into a spear, because it sensed that the spear was his weapon of choice.
-Ialu is running north to challenge Viscardi, as Vestec (pretending to be the Mighty One) ordered him to.[/hider]

Ialu continued his journey back to his tribal lands at an inhuman pace, arriving back in less than half the time that it had taken to strike out as far as he had gone. He passed one of the vassal villages to see a satisfying sight: training fields absolutely bustling with activity. At his command the Strong Tribe had went to the outer villages and began raising armies, pressing hundreds of men and women alike into service. Willing or not, they were trained and drilled in the great grasslands. In time they would make able warriors, though in their current shape many would not be able to stand against the Cimex. Time was running short; the training might not be enough...

Or so Ialu had thought, before he saw the lethal effectiveness of the slingers. His tribe could only outfit so many with proper weaponry and armor; those were the true warriors, yet they were not numerous enough. So he had decided that he would have hordes of skirmishers to batter down the Cimex and weaken them for the spearmen and cavalry. The 'slingers' as he called these skirmishers were simply mobs of ordinary tribespeople. The Wi was within nigh every man and woman, and it was the only weapon that a skirmisher needed.

Ialu watched as a formation of fifty men and women pulled small stones out from pouches on their hips. A drillmaster shouted a hoarse command, and in the unison the horde lifted the small stones out of their hands. Swinging the stones in circular motions to build momentum, after a few moments they hurled the things forward. The tiny rocks were propelled through the air at incredible speeds, whistling through the air before landing hundreds of yards away with enough force to crack a skull. These were just stones, too; the village smiths were forging thousands of lead bullets. Granted, the slingers were not accurate at all, but if enough of them concentrated their fire on one point there would surely be casualties.

That spectacle done, Ialu sprinted on through the grasslands. He passed the spear levies practicing their formations, the cavalry performing mock charges, his own hunters honing their special form of Wi. His people were stronger than even he had thought. To his astonishment they seemed already prepared well enough for war, but he would not march off with his army yet. He had more people to kill before that day would come.

No sooner had he greeted the people within his village was he telling them farewell as he struck out for another journey. He went on foot, for no horse could cover as much ground in a day as the hero. He took no food or drink, his only supplies the armor on his back and the unholy weapon that he had claimed from the fallen Dyun Champion. 

Ialu had told himself that he did not need the Blade of Chaos. He had made up his mind to not touch the accursed thing, for it had a way of corrupting his mind. Still, he would be a fool to reject this boon. The Mighty One's voice had told him that his foe, the chieftain of the tribe to the north, had proven himself. So it was that he had determined he would don the unholy weapon into battle, if only for this one duel. Forsaking his spear and cutter to remain in his Mighty Cottage, when Ialu touched the blade it was almost as if the strange weapon was alive. It sensed that the spear was Ialu's weapon of choice, and so it had twisted and morphed into a vicious warspear.

Once Ialu drove the spear through his enemy's heat and conquered that tribe, he would lay the spear down. But until then, he ran to the north, the thing never leaving his grasp. Hunting for his food was unnaturally easy; he needed to merely point the spear's tip at an animal and watch as the twisted Wi within the spear struck down his prey. Victory was certain, but he knew that it would be bittersweet. It would not be Mighty Ialu who won this fight, it would be the Spear.