[center][sup]The Rise of Kul[/sup][/center]
[center]Smor’Gen’Blok[/center]

Ju’Kul imparted his wisdom; Za’Kul held to it through gritted teeth. Youth imparted passion; passion, war; war, disgrace. He could not let his family name fall any lower than it was after his father had worked a century and more to drag it from dust. In tune and a step behind Ju’Kul he waded, his mind clouded with all the things he could [i]do[/i] to that imp Hi’Wor. To hear him scream, to hear his father weep. After all, it was Wor’Boa who put the Lok’Sha in their state of meander and isolation in the first place.

Through the tent’s veil the two entered. Hi’Wor was in the midst of some contest of strength; the challenger looked to be on the wrong end of the test. Lok’Sha who seemed larger than Ja’Kul and Za’Kul combined stood around and on guard. Some eyes fell upon the duo, both of whom sat quiet while the match progressed. The bout was not what caught Za’Kul’s attention, it was the other dark skins.

He could only wonder what type of humiliation these dark skinned Lok’Sha went through. Even though Za’Kul and his tribe were dark skins, they were subject nigh-exclusively to the deepest tunnels and so the ridicule they faced was minimal, near metaphorical. It was when on these occasions he was reminded of the prejudice against his ilk. It was here the disdain for darskins and Lowborns was put before his eyes and made palpable. Among those fearful eyes, Za’Kul saw opportunity. Hope. Revolution. . . Later.

These Wor darkskins would have to suffer their humiliation in quiet for a time longer. For now, he had business to handle.

[i]”Speak for your father, not fight for him.”[/i]

Right. Ju’Kul was always right.