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Shib Be'r-Jaz breathed raggedly as he made his way through the rot and darkness, and he held his hand to the great wound in his side which he had managed to wrap in a dirty rag once he had escaped the deathtrap that his people's encampment had become. He tripped but just about managed to hold himself upright with the walking staff he had made for himself. There was a horn tied to its top. "Be'r-Jaz aid me," he muttered as he continued. Beneath him the ground squelched and he shivered as he looked down at the black stuff. He could not tell what was rotten plant, what was decaying flesh, and what was mere mud and rainwater. Though death hung heavily in the air, beetles, flies, maggots, slugs, snails, millipedes, worms, cockroaches and all kinds of detritivores, continued to flourish and thrive. Shib Be'r-Jaz trembled in disgust, remembering how maggots and termites had started to emerge from the flesh of all those (mostly newborns, the ill, or those who the gods in their wisdom had decided to create frail and old) who had died of starvation.

These insects were everywhere now. When he slept in the night, he would hear the cockroaches scrambling about in the darkness. When he woke up he would accidentally step on slugs and curse in disgust, and their trails were everywhere. The flies would not leave him or anyone else alone. No sooner had he swatted some away then ten more had landed on his face or arms. Even now as he walked in the darkness he could hear them. And the mosquitos... he scratched at his arm. Some had died because they were bitten so much, and he had begun to see mosquitos that were far bigger than normal. He remembered the first mosquito he had smacked as it sucked his blood, and his hand had come away stained and dripping red. 

He stumbled on and the only sounds he heard were the eternal rain of Be'r-Jaz and the wind in the tree. His sensitive hunter's ears could not hear any animals, though there was here and now the persistent chirping of crickets and other insects. As he walked he saw light in the distance and his heart jumped hopefully as he finally came to the great mud path that led to the Cave of Light. He immediately realized that there were others on the road, and when he looked closely he saw that it was helpless valls like him: the injured, the old, those who were heavy with child, others who held children to their boney chests while looking at him with haggard eyes and skeletal faces. There was fear in their eyes too, and when they saw Shib Be'r-Jaz (who had been called Sieghbrien before, but had changed his name upon taking up the worship of Be'r-Jaz and whose new name meant "the one who worships Be'r-Jaz") they avoided him and gave him a wide berth despite the clear face that he was injured and of no threat to anyone.

Shib Be'r-Jaz continued along the road. An older vall further ahead suddenly raised a hand upwards and said, "may the Land show them its merciless justice!" And a few minutes later the same old vall said in a louder voice: "avenge your people, vengeful Be'r-Jaz!" When Shib Be'r-Jaz finally came to the mouth of the Cave of Light he saw hundreds gathered at its mouth and others within. It seemed that despite the terrible things the Rot had done, this was still a place of peace and safety. At least a bit, from time to time shouting rose and he saw even the old or the injured fighting and clawing at one another until they were driven apart. After all, despite the safety of the Cave there was still no food and everyone here was old or injured or unable to hunt.

For his part, Shib Be'r-Jaz lay himself down and put his head on a rock to sleep. When he woke up there were a few people around him prodding at his chest, and he gasped in pain. "He's not going to make it." One of them was saying, and another gave him a pitying look. Shib Be'r-Jaz shivered, sweat layering his head and body. Soon he was alone again and he slipped back into a fitful sleep. He woke up a bit later and looked at his wound, and he was shocked when he disgusting little insects all over the great wound. He tried to scream but there was only a mewl. He felt far too weak. When he next woke up he felt a bit better but was starving, and when he looked at the wound he was surprised to find that it was clean. He wrapped it up and got shakily to his feet. Using the help of his walking staff he walked around trying to find food.

Going into the cave, he found that the people had been making marks on the cave's walls similar to the markings of Be'r-Jaz. These showed the coming of the valls led by the Queen-Mother, and showed how she had separated them out and commanded them to go and live across the island. It showed their lives in central Be'r-Jaz and how these valls that inhabited this area in middle Be'r-Jaz came to call themselves middelvalls. And then the drawings showed he coming of the Rot and the great disorder caused by this, the death and starvation and disease, the social strife and the turning of encampment against encampment. It showed how many middelvalls turned to the terrible act of cannibalism and it showed how terrible rulers, the Tyrants, came to rule; and the greatest and most powerful Tyrant of all was Gildrik.

And the next drawing showed how Gildrik the Tyrant and all of his warriors were brought low by a horned creature with a terrible frowning visage. Rather than the rays of light that usually surrounded the Land's countenance in the cave's drawings, this one's head was surrounded by blood. It was the one the people were calling Det-Ard, the fury of the Land and its terrible vengeance. He had slaughtered the great tyrant, who had forsaken justice and the ways of the Land and who had hurt the people over the hurt they were already hurting. He was the great hero born in blood and rot and darkness.

Beside the shrine the people had erected to the Land, all the injured and ill and vulnerable valls who had come here to seek refuge and safety built a great effigy to Bloody Det-Ard. Then a group came and presented a broken horn, claiming that the Land itself had given it to them and that it was one of the Land's own horns, so that it would be placed on the effigy. Shib Be'r-Jaz was surprised by this and touched his walking staff and found that the horn he had tied was still there. It was the horn Be'r-Jaz had given him as a trophy not so long ago. "I- I also have a horn from the Land, a trophy. Please take as the second horn for the effigy." And so they placed the two horns on the effigy to complete the graven image of Det-Ard. When it was complete the all fell before it and praised the Be'r-Jaz and his blood-born and chosen warrior.

Then there was screaming outside and shouting and the sound of running and commands. Shib Be'r-Jaz's eyes widened and he gripped his walking staff and hobbled out of the cave even as people ran inside. Outside, by the Cave's light, he could see blood-stained warriors, their skin marked and painted in preparation for battle, their hair tied up and decorated with feathers, snarls on their faces and spears in their hands. They were all armored and the bones of warriors they had felled, like ribcages, decorated their armour and also provided an additional layer of protection. One of them, the biggest and clearly the leader, had an already-bloodied stone firmly tied to a staff instead of a spear. It was clearly a custom weapon of his own making. Shib Be'r-Jaz was shocked that someone would attempt to attack this sacred and sanctified place. There were already a number of dead middelvalls in the Cave's vicinity and a few others had been captured alive and were weeping and crying bitterly. One of the warriors stepped forward and shouted with a great snarl: "We are here to claim you all in the name of Heghdsur. Come freely, or you will be brought!"

Inside the Cave cries rose up and people begged for mercy and protection at the shrines to the Land and Det-Ard. A great bark was heard and the rain seemed to gather strength. "This Cave has a strong and wrathful Land, Heghdsur. And the Land hears the cries of the poor." A voice rose in the rain and rot and darkness. The massive warrior who was clearly Heghdsur looked around with a scowl and then he snarled, releasing a growl. From above the cave leapt a great shape, and it landed right before the Cave's entrance. It was a red-haired middelvall with a spear in his hand and inexplicable fury in his eyes. The molf shook its head in irritation and then released a long, loud howl. The warriors around Heghdsur seemed uncertain, but the Tyrant scoffed.

"The Land sent only you? You're not even a fitting appetizer. I guess I'll nibble on your bones." Daethyrd's angry eyes grew cold and he scowled disdainfully at the giant middelvall.
"Not only a criminal and a tyrant, but an ingrate too. You will be made to pay the blood price, and it is I who will be delivering your sentence." And without any further words or a warning, Daethyrd leapt from the back of the molf and high into the air. His spearhand cocked back, he threw it with a swift, mighty gesture and it accelerated at lightning speed and accuracy towards the Tyrant. With only seconds to spare the Tyrant lurched to the side and the spear caught him in the shoulder rather than running him through the chest. 

Daethyrd landed and drew his bone knife, then dashed right for the giant. But Heghdsur's warriors had gotten over their shock at the sudden attack and rushed forward. One of them swiftly got between Daethyrd and the Tyrant. He stabbed at Daethyrd, but the Executioner slipped past with catlike grace. He looked into the outlaw's eyes for what felt like an age but what was in reality less than a second before his knife slipped across the trespasser's throat. What followed was a bloody display that the people in the Cave watched with slack jaws. It was a terrible thing, but it was... beautiful. 

At last it was only Daethyrd and the Tyrant. Heghdsur looked at the Executioner without fear, only contempt. He did not fear death. But that lack of fear would not shield him from Daethyrd's bloody justice. Though he still had the spear stuck in his shoulder, he swung his great bludgeon wildly with one hand. Daethyrd easily avoided the swings with his unnatural grace and captivating movements, and when he slipped his knife into Heghdsur's throat the Tyrant smiled as blood spluttered from his mouth. "That's... goood..." were the massive Tyrant's final words before he fell back and slowly welcomed death. Daethyrd gripped his spear and withdrew it from the Tyrant's shoulder and cleaned it. Then he cleaned his knife and sheathed it. He turned to the people who were standing and watching from the Cave. 

Then a cry rose up and became a mighty chant. "An'u Qit-Tu! An'u Qit-Tu!" [i]This is Justice! This is Justice![/i] Daethyrd smiled and raised his spear. 
"Qit-Tu!" He declared loudly, and the people of the Cave responded in kind, again and again. Then a number of molves arrived and sniffed at Gul-Tir's snout. They had heard his howl before and had come to see what was going on, and when they saw the blood they seemed disturbed. A group of them sat at the Cave's entrance, clearly intent on remaining to protect Ya-Shuur's place of thought and contemplation. From time to time a molf disappeared and returned with a catch of fish, laying them on the shrine to the Land, and the people ate and were protected from both the tyranny of the hunger and the tyranny of fellow middelvals. Not long after this a molf came that Daethyrd immediately recognized as the one that had been with Be'r-Jaz when he last saw him. He realized that it was attempting to make him follow, and so he jumped on Gul-Tir and rushed off to obey the Land's summons.

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[*][hider=Summary]
People are flocking to the Cave of Light for safety during the Rot.
Daethyrd has become quite well-known and an effigy of him is built next to the shrine to Be'r-Jaz in the Cave of Light. He is called Det-Ard.
A Tyrant named Heghdsur attacks the Cave, but Daethyrd arrives and defeats him and his warriors. The people celebrate this as Justice. The word Justice in the Be'r-Jazi tongue seems to be "Qit-Tu" and this seems to be a name the people give Daethyrd and which he acknowledges and takes on.
Molves come to protect the Cave and also bring fish for the inhabitants. A molf then comes to summon Daethyrd to Ya-Shuur, which brings him to the time he meets the valthumir and joins their quest.
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[*][hider=Prestige]
[hider=Prestige Rules][list]
[*]1 Prestige for each post in which a Hero plays at least a minor role; this should still be more than just an offhanded mention or a few lines of dialogue. The role must advance the story in a notable way. ✔
[*]1 Prestige for a hero if they are the focus and the star of a post. ✔
[*]1 Prestige to each hero involved, if the post was collaborated between two or more people. ✘
[*]1 Prestige if the post follows a hero on a quest. ✘
[*]5+ Prestige if a Hero completes a quest they pursued over three or more posts. If the Quest is completed in two posts, this is halved and rounded down to the nearest whole number. ✘[/list][/hider]
+2 Prestige to Daethyrd
9 Prestige in Total
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