For recap see the post above. [hider=Summary and Khookie Stats] - After spending might on this almost a year ago, I finally show a flitterling. This one is named Lilul, and she is capable of flying at high speeds, which Trisana used to deliver Mavadzugji’s texts to the Dusklands. - Tura is on her mission to spread writing among the dusklands, while visiting a village she discovers they have “pet” owls they use to hunt mice and snakes. - Mavadzugji is doing good progress in translating texts, and after covering some of the Mesthalassa stuff, he starts aiming for things from more distant lands. - However, this makes him realize the Denolyo’s Abbey is a bit too complex to have been built like it was. Denolyo tells some context into it and shows the source of his religion, the Elysium portrait the divas drew to bait Allure. - Batsami starts to teach writing to the clan chiefs and lords of the dusklands. Starts to notice a lot of intrigues and meets a mysterious girl who runs away. - In Mesathalassa, the current chief of one of the clans who left particularly early is raging at Mavadzugji and everyone who supports him, as he believes this is all a plan to cause discord among the ranks of the dusklander lords already established in the sunlands. === Stats Mavadzugji 16 Initial prestige +10 from the post -2 candlemaking -2 oil lamps -2 medicine advancements -2 pulley -2 cloud pattern reading -2 local traditions for emblems -2 pet owls (-14) 12 prestige remaining [/hider] [hr] TSOTI 5 (63 PR) “Thing has been delivered, Tris.” “Thank you Lilul.” the human said, picking up a small bag and taking a shard of glass out of it. The little humanoid creature reached forward and took it, buzzing its dragonfly wings as it observed its shininess… and sharpness. From the other side of the room, Mavadzugji watched the scene with curiosity. The last thing he would have expected to witness in the south was to meet creatures who were typical of Dzanya folklore. Tales of humanoid creatures with insect wings had been popular as of late, typically called Fadja, though the priest had recently discovered that word was borrowed from a different creature, with butterfly wings as well but as far from a humanoid as one could be. Fittlerling was the name Trisana used. [color=9fc5e8]”Llillulle… uhm, I mean.”[/color] he took a deep breath and tried to contain his accent. [color=9fc5e8]”Lillul”[/color] Tris smirked while the little humanoid looked up at him, tilting its head. [color=9fc5e8]”Are you somehow related to the oddlands?”[/color] he had observed long ago how the tales of such creatures were tied to the borders of the oddlands. Lilul was confused, opening its mouth slightly and looking up at Tris for help. “The lands to the north, Lilul, a bit beyond where you took the papers.” “Ah! The Glam. Yeah! Lilul is made from that stuff!” Now it was Mavadzugji’s turn to be confused as to what Lilul meant, ‘made from that stuff’. Did it mean she was made from the same energies that were turning the dusklands into the oddlands? [color=9fc5e8]”And from where does ‘that stuff’ come from? What is it?”[/color] “Uhhhh. Its… energy.” the humanoid couldn’t really answer past that. “Once Lilul lived in another world, but thanks to that energy, she made it here.” Tris sighed. “The world of dreams.” [color=9fc5e8]”Huh? The world of dreams?”[/color] “Yes, it is a world beyond this one, we all go to it when we sleep, but shamans like my mother can access it at will and manipulate it.” [color=9fc5e8]”So Lilul came from the dream world? Why is it leaking into ours?”[/color] “Only the gods know,” Trisana told. “I imagine the Dusklands, or The Spires to its east, are some sort of… a meeting point of worlds. In the ancient times the Dusk was brought from there, but now…” [color=9fc5e8]”I see.”[/color] he looked to the side and pressed his lips together. “I am sorry,” she said. [color=9fc5e8]”Huh? For what?”[/color] “I know what you were going for, if there was a way to save your homeland.” [color=9fc5e8]”Do not fret. It is not like you are at fault for explaining things how they are.”[/color] [hr] Tura sighed as she stepped out of the boat. It was a hot day, even if always covered under the dark, sometimes the tropical Dusklands became unbearably hot. As the Tsefo (the council of priests allied to Mavadzugji) had decided, spreading reading and writing was the most crucial task at the moment. Tura was to meet a priest in a nearby village and teach him how to write so he could pass on the knowledge. Distracted by the view of the town, she barely noticed when she stepped on an ‘odd looking branch’. The true nature of the branch was soon revealed, as it hissed. The priestess barely had a moment to gasp when the snake lunged forward. Tura closed her eyes and expected the worse… but that never came. Opening her eyes slowly she looked down and met the gaze of huge yellow eyes. An owl had caught the snake the moment it rose from the tall grass. It then moved away without a care, it had just taken the snake to feed itself and its family. Nevertheless, Tura couldn’t help but say “Thanks…” A few steps later, into the town, she noticed other owls, not one or two but whole parliaments. The village followed the classical ring house shape of the Dzanya, but near the altars, or sometimes in the roof, some homes had nest-like shapes, and many trees, the shape of an araucaria but much smaller, were planted near the doors of the home. When Tura walked past the carved pillars, into the hut that was the village’s temple, the first thing she had to discuss with the priests was that odd sight of the many owls. ‘Over two generations ago a family had noticed an owl nest on the ground near where they wanted to build their home. Not wanting to disturb the creatures, they changed the whole project and built a smaller home, giving space for the nest. This was the start of an odd sort of friendship between the couple and the animals. They would feed it during the day, but never during the night, they built fences to protect newborn owlets, and soon the owls had learned they were safe to stay around. The owls, in turn, would hunt mice, snakes and other vermins. As time passed, more homes started to take the animals, never as a pet, more like associates, giving protection and some extra, better quality food, in exchange for the owls to hunt down the critters that plagued the village. With time, this led to the current situation. And never had the village lost any crop season to grasshoppers and rats ever since.’ Tura was enthralled with the story, she always found it amazing how it was possible to find something so amazing in such a small village. She also started to understand Mavadzugji’s worries far better, soon, this land would be overtaken by the oddlands, and the village and its story would be gone. Perhaps she could work to save it and the act of housing owls, but… she couldn’t help but wonder about what other villages she would never meet, what the world had already lost. Nevertheless, she was a practical person, she would do what she could, saving one was better than saving none. [hr] The first texts Mavadzugji focused on was, without much surprise, those about Queen Runza Thanfong. He had always admired the queen for her ability to craft a realm in a mere decade, even though her life was so short, the entirety of South-West Mesathalassa, even as it broke back into city-states, was changed by her. Ayisi, a woman of the ethnicity of the deer riders of from the cold south, who became Runza’s loyal assistant, had made amazing and well detailed, if not almost confidential, accounts of her years under Runza, from her rise to her death, as well as all the queen had told her. It was an intimate and factual take on power and kingship, so it was no wonder Ayisi had to run away from Imga, thankfully, to a place not too far from Denolyo’s abbey. Ayisi’ writings eventually branched out from just Runza and Imga, she had noticed Mesathalassa knew little about lands out of their own, so she wrote all that she knew from her travels as a deer rider in the salt road. Tales of lands half a world away, of wicked Tzertzeh and its demon king Hamartsiha. Of the Rovahike. Of mysterious Metsera. Of the luxurious lives of the Korallara in Tsarano Nonyir. The library of the abbey went far beyond just Ayisi’s writings, however. It had many sources from the harbour kingdoms of the west, as well as an impressive wealth of texts from further beyond Mesathalassa. Of course, this had one problem, the fact he did not know how to speak or read anything from across the oceans. Thankfully, Denolyo had been willing to help him out with the basics and Trisana would answer a few questions, albeit she lacked the patience for any long explanation. While working down on his language skills, he focused on more specific matters of what he had access to. Describing in details the process of candlemaking within the abbey, Mavadzugji also adding his own musing about beeswax, organized beekeeping instead of foraging being something exclusive to the dusklands, who had the knowledge in clothmaking to prepare proper gear for the task. He had also noticed the use of oil for lamps, something he would also describe. Anything within the realm of medicine was a must for him, medicine in the dusklands, despite the strong herbalistic knowledge of the region, was not all that well developed, mostly due to how people preferred to ‘take care of themselves’ over seeking the help of others. The more he studied, the more he realized he had to study. The world was not becoming smaller and easier to understand, as he expected, instead, it became more and more complex, harder to understand… and scarier. ‘Every sense of wonder is followed by a sense of inadequacy. You see the towering mountain and look in awe at its immensity, then comes that creeping thought, of just how small you are.’ he wrote. The world felt old, older than he imagined, he learned about distant cities much larger than the ones he had imagined so far, entire kingdom and empires, great wars, great people, technologies beyond his comprehension. If so far his plan to maintain and fortify his culture in the troubling times ahead seemed hard, now it seemed impossible… and sometimes futile. Would his effort, like those of the people in Fals, be buried by the sands of time? Nevertheless, he continued searching, he would not flinch and he would do all he could, he had to, not doing that was against all he stood for. Eventually he noticed something, The construction was far more complex than anything he had ever seen and the only things similar in scale and complexity were found in societies more complex than anything within the realm of Mesathalassa. “Hah, I thought you would notice this one day or another,” Denolyo said, upon the question being brought up to him by Mavadzugji. “Come with me.” They walked deeper into the abbey’s central building, going downstairs until a very simple room, with plain walls and blocky pillars. “I have never shown you it, have I?” He walked towards the end of the room, where a picture of a woman was displayed. It was not simply a drawing, it was something else, the colours, the lifelike semblance, the… everything, even the priest who had not bought the sailor’s talks about the goddess Yekoloria. “I found this in an abandoned temple, it was a hain temple, in a land that never had hain for longer than anyone could remember.” [color=9fc5e8]”That picture is of a human woman however.”[/color] “It is...Curious, is it not? Did humans even exist back then?” [color=9fc5e8]”And how does this answer my question?” “Well, upon finding the picture, my life changed. I had left Fals for a while, my art was just not the same, but this… it gave me inspiration. First I continued my journeys, here, and on other lands, for a long time I helped settlements out, I had a temple in The Great Ring, then I returned to Fals, and despite the people there only believing in different gods, I stood my ground, and often added aspects inspired by this picture to my work. I grew in popularity, in the homeland and with foreigners. And as such, I was soon one of the names that made Fals what it was.” He stopped. “Then I had a vision, and I was tasked with drawing a temple.” [color=9fc5e8]”No way.”[/color] The sailor smiled and nodded. “I was told to return to my old wilderness home… and it was here, the whole abbey.” [color=9fc5e8]”So a goddess built this place for you to worship her?”[/color] “Initially that is what I thought, but… perhaps not,” he smirked now. [color=9fc5e8]”Now you are just not making any sense.”[/color] He called the priest to the side and picked up a box hidden behind a pillar. “This was forgotten here.” Inside, there were picks, saws, ropes… and some weird round object. “The one you don’t know what the name of I had to search for a while. It is called a pulley. It seems to be originated from the hainlands east” [color=9fc5e8]”Oh… so the Hain built this… it does not look like Hain architecture though.”[/color] “It does not. Correct. It is the perfect mirror of what I drew. Yet they built this… and then they left, they did not live here for a single moment.” [color=9fc5e8]”This… must be a miracle after all.”[/color] “Yet it had to be done like this… Curious, is it not? Something for you to think about, priest. Now, do you want me to explain a bit more about how these tools were used? Surely this will be another valuable addition to your texts.”[/color] [hr] Batsami stepped out of the boat along with three other priests, who all carried crates with important texts, but not the Manyadjir, who was dressing the best of her dresses and the most adorable of her hats. Mutaraka’s home was one of the largest homes in the entire world, she assumed, though from what she heard the distant lands, far beyond the sunlands, had even larger buildings. Nevertheless, the warrior merchant’s three-storey house was something else. It was also decorated with many mirrors as well as delicate paints, a tall entrance and the clan’s Gjatze, a mask that represented the family’s guardian spirit, often being used as a clan emblem by some cultures, was carved in rare wood and looked heavier than the boat Batsami had used to travel. Despite all that, it was still a ring-shaped home, meant to be used as much as a social gathering point for the clan as it was used as a private sleeping quarter. Clay and adobe had substituted many of the planks and grass used in simpler homes, and although the roof was built from the same material as most houses, Mutaraka could afford to build it far thicker with no worries about costs. The central fire which kept the home illuminated was built in a far more elegant and complex manner, with a proper dugout and structure instead of just being a glorified campfire. The tall man soon appeared, greeting everyone himself with his typical warmth and forwardness. “Hah! Let’s see what you people are all about,” he said almost in a tease to the priests while hugging the Manyadjir. “You as well, Batsami, always believed you would make a name for yourself. Heard you have been gaining quite some wealth from all of this.” “Oh no no, everything I received are donations for the Tsefo and the temple in general.” “Right, haha.” he patted her shoulder. “Well then, come in, come in. The boys are eager to meet you.” The boys, in question, were some of the most powerful armed troop leaders in all of the Dusklands, Llapur Dyetzu, surely, but others as well. Tsilluhan Dyetzu, remained by his side, though he still looked what Batsami would describe using a paradoxical mix of the word boy/kid/brat and the suffix for young/hatchling, too shy and distracted to be around man such as the ones close to him. The Tsir clan was being represented by an elder, not its Elder, just an old man of the family. The Huro clan was present and led by the young Funmih, its future leader, most likely. The Nyotehe clan had a woman in there, probably doing the same role as the Tsir elder. Tzeba, a famous local warrior, was in there. There were a few more she did not recognise, but she was sure she saw the emblem of the Tzollotsihlle and the Ruhtseke. “Whoa, you were not lying! This is such an illustrious crowd,” she whispered to Mutaraka. “When have I ever overpromoted something?” “Well, not to say you exaggerate but… you do typically say words prettier than the reality.” Mutaraka just laughed and pushed Batsami to the front of the crowd. “This is Batsami, Manyadjir of the Tsefo.” the wording here did not only cause the group of warriors to look confused but Batsami as well. She was Manyadjir to Mavadzugji. “How does that even work, Tsefo isn’t a family, it cannot adopt a girl. She also looks way older than the Tsefo, despite being just a girl-ling.” At that Batsami gasped, there was no justified reason to use the word of child/girl and the suffix for a young / hatchling to describe her. She wasn’t shy, she wasn’t a silly dreamer. Nevertheless, she swallowed her pride and answered softly. “Well, you see…” she had to think what Mutaraka meant by describing her like that. In the end, it seemed he had used the word as loosely as she had used to declare herself Mavadzugji’s Manyadjir. “The group is formed by priests, so I am an outsider, and I was brought in, much like an adopted person. Yet, I was picked for my neutrality but also for my skills, as I am expected to help with the organization of tasks, create deals and, uhm...” she tried to explain. “That is clever.” Llapur noticed. “It seems you people really love to play around with words.” “Oh, hehe… I guess.” Batsami blushed. “So, you will teach us how to read these… things.” another man said. “Of course, it is simple, I wouldn’t want to eat too much of the time of such important people.” “And is it true that it describes the great fights of the sunlands?” “Yes!” “And what does that differ from the stories we already have told to us.” “Because any storyteller can go around saying things, even if they are not speaking untruths, the stories still had to make a long travel, across, uhm, time and space.” “Time and Space? What do you mean Batsami.” “Well, there is a great space between where the fights happened and here, the stories are retold many times surely some things are lost on the way. The same thing happens with time, some events happened long ago and no living person was there to see it, so we just hear stories retold by multiple generations, also losing accuracy on the way. Writing, however, does not change on the path and does not change with time, this makes the written words true and accurate. I have texts written by people who walked side-to-side with the great people they write about.” Llapur pondered over those words but did not say anything. It also seemed like Batsami had fully swayed the group to make an honest attempt at learning how to read, even if everyone there had an interest in the topic, some were just looking for the flaws in the rising Tsefo group. However, despite the tense political situation which was being discretely handled by Mutaraka during the ‘class’, the actual teaching advanced quickly. Perhaps because those who were truly interested were quick to whisper about the tales of the warriors of the sunny lands, or because Batsami had managed to sell the idea of reading as an advantage not only to current power, but to a lasting legacy, a sudden and recent worry of many of the affluent families that controlled the Dzanya lands. It was also helpful that Tzevami’s work in making writing more inclusive and easy to understand, creating the guideline on how to teach new readers, had been very successful so far. Despite having allowed the priests to handle the teaching, Batsami had to keep the role as the overall leader, going to talk with all groups, speaking about concerns and ideas of the clan leaders, which mostly had been to endure rantings of the older and more traditional of those who were present. Soon, the sun was setting and the day was over. “Eh, I thought we were going to hear about battles and soldiers! Not just talk about flowers.” “I am sorry and I am must ask for your patience, it's hard to convey complex strategies without using all the sounds of our vocabulary,” Batsami answered. The priests had initially agreed to teach them by telling the stories of the south they already had, but Batsami wouldn’t allow that. She wanted to keep those stories dangling in front of them like mice to an owl, furthermore, she guessed a bunch of seasoned soldiers or young blood burning warriors wouldn’t take nicely to a priest sitting down and telling them those stories. if allowed to read by themselves, they would create their own pace and imagery, furthering the effect those writings had on them. After a small moment of scowling, the old soldier gave up and retreated across the empty central space of the home to one of the many rooms in the building. Of course, clan leaders and such had closed rooms, but unlike most wealthy man, Mutaraka liked to have his house more open than usual, either to promote unity… or just to keep an ear at any intrigue going into the rooms. “As expected, you did well today, girl.” The old clan leader told Batsami, she hated to be called a girl, and for a long time disliked Mutaraka’s forwardness and casualty, now, however, seeing so many other clan leaders at once, she was becoming fond of the openness of the man. His ways she once called primitive were certainly refreshing over the excessive prudence of this new culture increasingly influenced by the south ever since the mercenaries returned from that big war that happened in the sunlands. “Did I?” “Absolutely, I expected many to drop out, but you held out very well.” “Hah, let’s hope they all stay. But say, I expected this to be more intimate, like, you and the two nearby clans at most, this class was quite a collection of important figures.” “Well… I reckon its best to not play favourites, we need to keep peace within the valley for as long as we can. It was that peace that allowed the flourishing of things such as the Tsefo on the first place.” His tone was far more serious, and weirdly, more personal. Batsami gulped at that, recognizing this is what importance looked like, he was not talking frivolities or just stating facts, he was making a demand, telling Batsami the role she would need to take. “I do not understand much about what people like you and Mavadzugji do, but I knew your parents well, and I trust them, so I will trust you as well, as the carriers of the light which will guide all of our people.” with a nod, he withdrew from the room, and Batsami was left a bit shocked, letting it all sink in. It was very curious to her, that the most traditional of the man in the room, the one who walked around without a shirt and preferred game and forage to anything using crops, was also the one the most interested in promoting a young group of people with ideas and values that caused a certain discomfort to the more established members of their society. Turning around and sighing, really needing a long bath and a nice night of rest, the young woman turned around and blinked, behind a crate she saw a foot, small, belonging to a child, thankfully still attached to it, as the foot shook as she stepped closer staring at the crate, all the sudden, the child hiding behind the crate jumped away, starting to run. It was a girl, wearing very tattered clothes, yet recognizable immediately since she had light orange hair. “Hey, wait!” Batsami told, giving chase, but she was an untrained woman in a fancy dress, she could not match the speed of a kid who was faster than usual, without a moment of hesitation, the girl left the room through a window and Batsami followed, by the time she stopped to realize it was quite a drop until the ground below, albeit too late, as she started to lose her balance. “Thief?” a voice said behind her, running and grabbing her before ended up hurting herself. “Huh? Huh!” She saw, seeing Llapur so close to her side. Seeing that babbling as a yes, Llapur took out his bow, despite being blinded by love, the idea of what Llapur could do immediately shook Batsami out of the charm. “Wait! No, it's just a child. I don’t even think she stole anything.” The warrior stopped and looked to his side, sighing. “So you saw her? Say what she looked like and we can discover later.” “Uhm… well, it was a girl, and she had short hair, looked kinda foreign, but not really... it was pale orange“ Llapur stopped. “Well, that was an unique description, I am sure we can track her,” he said, and immediately stopped following the girl with his eyes. “Are you fine? You almost fell.” “I am just not used to houses so big the windows are not close to the floor.” “Hah, that is cute. You better get used to it though. Certainly, an influential woman such as yourself will not be sleeping on thatch hovels for long.” “Eh… I don’t think they are too bed, clay gets too hot at times. And… you think I am influential?” “Think? I would say that is a bit of a fact. The Tsefo keeps growing as a group, and the local thought is slowly starting to gravitate around it. Soon your friend Mavadzugji shall have what he wished.” “Mmm, but I do not have anything to do with that…” the bait was thrown. “Do you truly think so? I think you are also a bit of a rebellious thinker. Better yet, you are the sort who easily sells their ideas.” he smiled. “Did you not see what you did today? The use of the title Manyadjir in such a weird way, it is quite subversive. You take one the structural positions of clan society and place it in a different context, furthermore, manyadjir are often used as servants, yet you justified it as a role of leadership. There were more than a few frowns in the room.” “It was not entirely within my intention to cause such a reaction.” “Entirely, huh?” She laughed. But then she became a bit more serious. “Should I be worried? I know the Tsefo has a been growing a bit of a reputation, especially Mavadzugji’s comments about the high clans made so long ago…” “Yes. I would say there is a lot of suspicions. But the Tsefo is just a small part of the whole, and in the end, no clan has the authority to persecute any of you except Mutaraka’s, and he has made it clear he supports you.” She nodded. “I know… Uhm, but, Mavadzugji really changed his opinions as time went by, I do not think he is…” “It does not matter. Have you ever learnt the basics of cloud patterns?” Batsami blinked, confused. “Uhm… no.” “Hah, I guess most do not. I did, however. My mother used to run a farm before she married my father. I learned it from her. The basics are simple, and I do not mean the recognition of patterns and coming rain, but how you act when you see the storm brewing. You take measures because while the storm might disperse, you will surely be the safest if you acknowledge it, storm arriving or not. Mavadzugji sees the storm and acknowledges it and acts accordingly, I do not agree with certain objectives of his, but at least he acts, something the many clan masters of these lands fail to do, instead just resting on their silk sheeted beds all day while presenting no alternative solution of their own.” He sighed. “So, I can understand from where the disgust towards the clans comes from. In the face of the oddlands, we have nothing.” This caused Batsami to blink. “Uhm... “ she stopped to reflect about all the Tsefo talking points, nothing about the oddlands seemed to come up in her mind. She really wished to not look slow in front of Llapur, but she wouldn’t worsen the situation by feigning knowledge. “The oddlands?” “Yes. You have not noticed it, I take? Well, it is understandable, you are sharp, but you must have far less information than even the daftest of clan lords. Perhaps, it is best if you do not think about the wars and intrigues that haunt us men of the banner and sword. Nevertheless, understand that the oddlands created the situation for groups such as Tsefo to rise, but Tsefo is not the only group. I do believe one day or another the local clans will get their act together and provide a better, more experienced solution to our situation.” Batsami tilted her head slightly. “But let’s say they do not…” “Well, that would be quite a disaster, would it not? Then Mavadzugji’s criticism would be true, the clans were not worth their status… and we will have to pray that there will be, what do you people say again… Dzanya people left to gather the potsherds.” “Well, that was bleak.” Batsami thought, also not liking that some information was being withheld from her, surely she could put some thought into the matter and help Llapur out with whatever was stressing him. But instead, he patted her shoulder and turned his face. “I think this is enough intrigue, go enjoy your free time, not all of us need to waste their youth with babbling old soldiers.” he laughed as he left. “Oh, and please, do not mention the girl you saw earlier to anyone. It will just cause more problems.” [hr] Northwest of Susah, South of Pictaraika, stood a wooden building. It was built like most North Mesathalassa lodges, albeit not very traditional and well tuned to the latest architectural developments of the central town of Susah, even with some Hain influence, albeit rarely were humans capable of replicating Hainland technology. One would need to have a sharp eye to notice the subtle eastern duskland influence on the buildings. “Disgusting Dzatsu Kafu, do not think your crimes will be forgotten.” Said a bound man, forced to bend his knees in front of the throne. “Crimes?” The chief questioned, rubbing his chin and looking at his guests. “What crimes did I commit… hmm,” he wondered what to call the man, “Dzadje Kafu? Oh, perhaps Re Kafu.” his subjects in the room laughed at that. “You attacked your own people while they were defenceless.” The chief shook his head. “My people?” he looked to his side. “My wife, Muvemi, do you remember those people being subject to my banner? No? Well, then you must be mistaken, I did not attack my people, just a bunch of poachers and trespassers.” “They were refugees from your own homeland! They lost everything to the oddlands.” “And that is their lord’s problem, not mine. If perhaps they had said they wanted to serve me, I would have… considered giving them a few hovels and some tools, the ones who proved themselves they could even join the charging lines of my army.” “They had no lord.” “What? Do not be silly. You are saying to me that whatever place they had settled just had no chieftain?” Realizing he was talking too much, the man stopped talking, it didn’t take long for the chief to order one of the captors to beat the words out of him. “Tsonya Kafumi has no chieftain, no clan owns the settlement, though a few clans have houses in there.” The chief looked confused, and so did his men, albeit, some thoughts that crossed the men’s head as doubt, or perhaps a possibility, crossed the chief’s like an arrow. “Well, I will not doubt you, after all, its people were left to be preyed upon. The price you pay for forsaking tradition.” This was received with nods. The chief sighed in relief. “Bah! Looks who says that. You who rest in a sunlander palace has no right to utter the word tradition.” “Being born in the dusk is not a distinction and not worthy of special treatment. I survive, I thrive, I do my duty as a clan leader and make sure my people are safe and fed. I will not create war with my neighbours just because they come from the sunlands, I will not deny a warrior’s skill because he uses bow and arrow instead of lance and sword and I will not allow people to consume my lands like locusts just because we speak the same tongue.” The man was about to answer but his attempt was cut short as the chief ordered him carried away. “Drown him later, accursed fiend, took down three farmsteads before we caught him.” “Yes, my master.” his most loyal warrior said, before noticing the chief was still pensive over what had been said. “Do not mind his words, his heart is filled with insane ideas.” “I do not know, Dzubi. It seems to me these people are becoming more and more insane as the day goes by.” the chief sighs “This is the acts of snakes such as Mutaraka, the Dyetzu, the Ruhtseke… They want to hold to these people no matter what, they fear what will happen if they become servants to my clan instead.” “And they hold no barriers when it comes to their power grab, the number of lies they tell is absurd. We just had to fight the refugees because hidden soldiers such as that man you talked with kept creating panic among them. I would not doubt he was also the one leading the pillaging.” “So you do not think it is true.” The chief pondered. “Of course not, I have never seen a Kafumi before, but, surely they must be ruled, either openly or by the shadows. This has always been Mutaraka’s way.” “I do not. This whole situation, this Dzanya talk… They would rather collapse our own society than to lose their power.” Dzubi added. “And here I thought that ancient talk of Djodjewadjodje was already insanity…” “I do not know. Chieftain of chieftains was just a dream… but it seems they have a lot of structures along with this Tsefo talk.” “That Mavadzugji snake is much like his father, a troublemaker, leading young men to their death on the pretext of dusklander superiority. We should make an incursion back into the Dusklands and end this for once and for all.” “That is too much.” the chief waved his second hand to calm down. “We will be at an disadvantage by crossing the border, the only safe crossing is held tightly by Mutaraka. The oddlands are advancing anyway, one day or another the snakes will need to leave, the best we can do is to make sure we continue to ensure the prestige and power of clan Mudjara, as we have done since my grandfather crossed into the sunlands sixty winters ago.”