[sub]A collab between me and [@Sadko][/sub]

[hr]
[i]"Fear the man you have woken up from an afternoon nap, fools."[/i]

A strange head is carried by the shoulders of Lubbo - ever so stalwart and at the same time stagnant in his designs. The man stretches on his bed, akin to a cat. A messenger comes with troublesome news, and at such an inopportune time. There's a glint of irritation... somewhere in the air. An error of the monarch to expect those second to his command to take the matter into their own hands. [i]Must be important.[/i] He guessed, his movements surprisingly brusque and swift as he rose from his sleepy position and began to dress.

He was out from his tent in no time, his demeanor instantly capturing the attention of several of his retinue members on watch duty. The focused, yet groggy man turned to bark a command, but was pleasantly surprised to see them already mounting their horses. Hrorek, the golden son, led Lubbo's favorite stallion toward him, the beast adorned and yet armored by the work of a great southern smith: outlandish, you could say freakish horns, protruding from the iron helm. An obvious reference to the standard of the Carogacts, a white ox on a blue field. The old king was not keen on his offspring's ideas, though he didn't deny that the common folk would eat it up like a pig does its' shitmeal. It was a crude instrument, but a tool nevertheless. 

He gripped the reins, shifting in his saddle as the horse cantered toward the commotion. In these brief moments, his mind pestered him with thoughts and doubts. New plans for the day, depending on which way the wind blew. Omens be damned. 

He bore this thoughtful face the moment the would-be instigators of this whole affair appeared in his line of sight. His physiognomy swiftly turned into a grimace. His gaze withered the meek glances of his roguish subordinates, but the king once again took on the thoughtful, even puzzled look when he saw a clothed white ape in the scene.

The ape was not as puzzled in appearance as it were pugnacious, however; standing between the two parties like a cornered predator, his monstrous, catlike gaze wandered from one group to another, almost as if it had not made its mind on which to strike first. Blood dripped lightly from one of his hands, and on a closer look, it became obvious that the blood wasn’t his. His nostrils were heaving visibly. He did not look like he would be calming down anytime soon.  

With Lubbo's appearance, Anabinpāl raised his arms up in half frustration and half elation, and began thanking about how the Carogacts [i]finally[/i] had someone in charge on the premises. Having smashed one of the Carogacts' face in with a punch, and having burst one of his own men's lips open with a ferocious slap, Anabinpāl now walked back and forth like a beastly interloper, madly dancing on the grassy clearing, empty save for two discarded swords and an exasperated goat. The Carogacts did not dare approach, while the Mikanna themselves were too busy wiping the blood off their fellow warrior's mouth and suffering their chief's chastising gaze silently, like children aware of their guilt. 

"Is this how you Carogacts hail a fellow tribe?” Anabinpāl asked. “Unsheathing your swords and ganging up at every sign of commotion? Your chief must be proud of you.”

Of course, Anabinpāl had no idea that the man he was addressing was no other than the aforementioned chief.

By now, Lubbo already realized that he was facing the chief of the Mikanna. A man he had certainly heard of before the day they met, and so he took on an oddly fond appearance as he watched Anabinpāl pace about anxiously. The scene that the Carogact king observed, however, was not merry. A dreadful looking goat and several men of the two tribes wounded, one of them terribly so. The poor fellow Anabinpāl punched was feverishly collecting his strewn teeth off the ground. Considering the Mikanna chief’s last remarks, Lubbo cast a sidelong gaze at the man. He pondered on his reply.

“You are right; I am not proud of the spoiled apples in my bunch.” The king spoke softly. “The few.” He added, giving his soldiers a stern glance. 

He did not descend from his saddle yet, instead gently reining it forward and in such a fashion that his men were squarely behind him. They were fools, but they were his fools, nevertheless. “Who spoke the first insult, and who drew their weapon first?” His intonation almost as if it was an open-ended question. The soldiers looked onward at the footman with the burst lip and the one left with two teeth. 

He slowly climbed down from his saddle, taking a few steps toward Lord Anabinpāl. His frame, though not weak by any measure, was dwarfed by this freak of nature. Lubbo looked cool. “Our men almost died because of one goat.” 

“Happens more often than one’d admit. Cattle are scheming beasts. They confuse us on which of us get to butcher them, and make us butcher each other instead,” Anabinpāl replied, half sarcastically.

Lubbo gave a sardonic smile. “You and your tribesmen are welcome in our long hall tonight. We’ll have wine and mutton.”

Anabinpāl’s expression turned cloudy upon the offer. He looked away, seemingly lost in thought. Before speaking, however, he faced the man once more. “Do not let it be thought that we Mikanna are ungrateful for the Carogacts’ hospitality, Chief Lubbo,” he said, before another pause, seemingly trying to pick the best words from his repertoire, “but we know that the other tribes have made… assumptions about us. I would like it if we did not feed these assumptions further, so… It’s my opinion that it’s best if we honor your offer, perhaps after the conferring.”

He paused again and turned to the wounded men before continuing. 

“It would have been better if we hadn’t met over such an incident, but… such is fate. We did not come with a baggage train; the goat must have been yours. But one bad turn only leads to another. I had to stop these fools before their cockiness caused further incident. Still, we have the culprit; best make an example of that goat before others can follow in its wake.”

Lubbo’s shrewd eye twinkled as he listened. Clasping his hands together with a hum, the Carogact glanced over at the goat. “Aye, it would be a bad omen unless we give this creature up to the gods. Only they can have it.” He understood the chief of the Mikanna to be an able man, and someone to have an eye out for in the times to come. 

“I wish you well, then. See you at the conferring.” He said dryly, turning about and saddling his horse before trotting back to camp. The king was brooding over what transpired. He hoped his words had smoothed the rough initial contact, though he didn’t pride himself on being an apt diplomat. The interaction between the two tribes has left a bittersweet taste on his tongue. He reached for his waterskin, gulping as if to wash down this state of mind. Somehow, this mental trick worked. Lubbo’s mind was preoccupied with the breach of discipline by some of his men. The thoughts of more similar incidents occurring later on also visited him. He kicked the stirrups, speeding up to a full gallop as he made way back to camp, dead set on fixing the errors of his host’s arrival.