[center][h1][b][u]The Kayuk[/u][/b][/h1][/center]

The beast twitched, eyes wide and manic as the slightest scent carried across the wind. It was a vast creature, to be sure, and its pounding hooves or goring tusks could each provide an ample end to a life. Panic slowly subsided, its shoulders slowly lowering and eyes beginning to calm. As it were, the creature didn’t have too much to worry about in the Great Hooflands. Finally finding some semblance of calm from its animalistic trepidation, the monstrous animal returned to gorging itself.

In the low brush far off to its rear, however, other creatures were on the prowl. A small tide of dull fur and ragged scales seemed to flow like water, bobbing and shaking with unnatural unlife. They moved with purpose and soon each lump of hide found its way to a hiding place, divots and foxholes in the ground that lowered them out of sight. 

The air took on a quality all its own as the wind died down and a dread stillness settled in over the plain. The lone beast remained cautious, the loss of the wind removing all benefits its sense of smell provided. Nevertheless, only creatures of considerable size could possibly harm its sovereignty over these plains and those rare foes could be seen coming from miles around. A low whistling caught its temporary attention, the sound of some bird or scuttling animal, but was quickly dismissed as a non-threat. 

The tide of death burst into life from the numerous warrens in which they hid. The whistling continued, roaring noise across the plains while the pounding of drums began. The monster rose, gaze washing across the plains around it only to be struck by sudden awareness of the danger. Many dozens of the corpse-beasts had surrounded it, closing in with boughs of trees gripped in their dead hands, and the pounding beat of some far off entity unknown to the creature slammed in its head, disorienting it. It turned roughly on its rear hooves, making to make good its escape only to be faced with more of the nightmares made real.

A howl, a rolling peal of thunder, erupted from the oncoming surge; the roar of things with death on their minds. The howling whine of the whistling changed tune, screeching in the ears of the sovereign turned prey while the beat of distant drums pounded against its mind. The world was suddenly noise, so much noise, and a dizzying array of corpses that charged in from every direction.

The first spear connected with its haunches, resulting in a rough kick from the beast that shattered wood but failed to connect with the distant thrower. More sharp bites, like many large insects scouring flesh, stabbed deep into the creature’s flesh. They were painful but did not drive deep, merely flesh wounds that served only to agitate the monster further. Enraged by this unknown horde of attackers and the maddening noises that followed on their heels, the great beast rose on its hind legs, bellowing out a challenge as spears peppered its hide.

In an instant six of the corpse-beasts charged in, eyeless sockets revealing nothing of their intention. Their charge revealed a ram of considerable length held tightly between them, their momentum carrying the spike forward. Their monstrous prey, having revealed its underbelly to them in its foolish sense of invincibility and maddened state of thought, seemed to recoil as the realization dawned on it. With one last, glorious roar the tide of death drove the massive spear deep beneath the ribs of the beast and upwards, spearing liver, lung, and heart with their gruesome weapon. The spear was dropped and the killers fled, allowing the beast its death throes. Its eyes closed, those of the King of the plains, and its venerable life ended at the hands of the dead.
[hr]
The camp was abuzz with excitement and activity even as the blood of the great beast, so named Ilokhwe, poured into the earth. As the mother’s camp set down roots all around the corpse of the slain prey, a celebration had picked up. Music rang all across the band, bellowed songs, banging drums, and howling of spin-whistles. Laughter and praise for a hunt well done accompanied the wall of noise that surrounded the camp as its deafening aura.

Amaruq stood passively, watching the mothers and their pups set about butchering the carcass. The vast creature the hunters had slain would feed the band for months if properly prepared and cured and its numerous gifts would service the band’s many other needs for far longer. It was a much needed success for the hunters who had failed in three hunts prior. The band had taken a dangerous risk coming inland from the coast, effectively waylaying their continued journey, but needs justified such actions. Nevertheless, it had come dangerously close.

Amaruq thanked the spirits for their generosity, sparing the band any more injuries; nearly half a dozen had been injured in the previous three hunts and one of those poor souls had been unfortunate enough to not recover from his injuries. His grave was marked with a rounded headstone, smoothed by the waves back on the coast, and had been left as so many others had been on this long path.

The beast-hide weighed heavily on Amaruq then and the Selka removed it from his back, taking a moment to stare into the eyeless sockets of the corpse-beast. This was his armor, his regalia in times of violence and death, and when he donned it he felt transformed. He was no longer just Amaruq when wearing the hide but was, instead, some amalgam of himself and the very beast that lost its life to give him its skin. Though he wore it with pride during the hunt, the thoughts that filled him with its donning shamed him deeply.

“Amaruq, Shoulderman,” came a call to him, the hunched form of some other long dead beast being pulled away to reveal a young hunter freshly blooded.

Amaruq smiled at the young one, his whiskers still soft on his face and undrooped from age and hardship. A single scar graced his gentle features, one of many more to come if he lived a full life. Amaruq thought to his own time at that age, when he had been graced with a different name and a different life. Long distant, now, here on the plains.

“Yes, hunter? What are your needs.”

There was a small gathering of hunters behind him, each having pulled back their dread visages to reveal their youthful forms. Each had been fresh hunters during this season, desperate for a chance to prove themselves for their band. The first three failures had proved particularly crushing to their spirits and it was clear by their expressions they were elated to have finally found success. Each grasped spears in tight fists and sported smiles and wild eyes revealing their true thoughts, the thoughts of those who first melded with their hides and felt the beasts within.

“We wished to have their heart, Chieftain. After its strings are cut, of course. We would feast on it together, as brothers.”

Amaruq held back a smile, refusing to give in so easily. He himself remembered those feelings of need when his band had made their first kill, so eager to dig in to the power of that beast they had helped in slaying. It would not do to simply hand them such a prize, of course, for a heart had power equaled only by the liver and the brain. Although all parts of a kill were valued, these three carried the most power from the beast-that-was. 

“I do not know,” teased Amaruq, smile hidden well behind a veil of stern disapproval, “for it was not thee who made the decisive blow. And I believe I saw some of you at the back, edging towards the beast during the Roar . . .”

The crowd turned on themselves rapidly, accusing looks and silent judgement reigning supreme; each had known themselves to be at the forefront of that deadly melee but had not taken time to look for their brethren. Was it possible, they were no doubt all thinking, that one of their comrades had proven weak and cowardly when at last the hunt had come to blows? The young boy before him seemed to almost be at the edge, a flurry of emotions ranging from anger to utter disappointment marring his visage. One smile from Amaruq dispelled it all.

“Calm, young hunters, calm; I only jest. You did well today; tell the Mothers that I give the heart to you as gift. However, you must string it yourselves; any meat left over may be yours to eat. Feast well, for you are men now.”

The gaggle of youngling hunters now “men” cheered and charged off to the corpse, surrounding it like mayflies all goggling and pointing at the open wound where the heart lay. Amaruq smiled before turning off and away, walking the not-inconsiderable distance to the hill to the camp’s east. 

The hill was one of the very few of its lonesome kind out on these parts of the plains but it provided a unique perspective difficult to find elsewhere. From it one could look out to the horizon and see the blessed blue of the ocean. Amaruq, third to bare the name, had nearly hesitated when he gave the call to travel inland. Nevertheless, it had been the right call. His band had been one of several to travel inland, with the rest of the tribe hugging the coast waiting for success of the hunting bands. The Kayuk had been spread wide across this stretch of shore for some time as they travelled north, the elders and shouldermen of the bands all cautioning against travelling as one large group. The venerable Amaruq, second to bare the name, had directed the tribe to be willing to split when needed and her advice had been heeded ever since. Now, with her body returned to the waves, the new Amaruq was faced with the dangers posed by her command.

He was Chieftain and Wise Shoulderman, heir to the lineage of Amaruq the Wise and leader of the tribe. He had been gifted that authority by right of birth, selected from among his grandmother’s offspring to take over in her stead. Youth was valued over age among Chieftains, for they had the longest to learn and rule; Amaruq the Wise had dictated that many rulers over few years was foolish indeed. Amaruq’s decision at the Meeting to split the tribe once more following in his grandmother’s footsteps was met with approval, his leadership viewed as a steady hand in line with the two Amaruq’s that came before him. 

Disturbing rumors had travelled from the Northern bands, however, and Amaruq couldn’t help but thank the spirits for this successful hunt for more than one reason alone. With this hunt complete he could begin his band’s journey to the Meeting, reforging the Kayuk as whole once more. Runners from the many bands had been coming and going for weeks now from the Mother’s Camp, deciding what to do about this newest horror. An entire band had been destroyed, it was said, by beasts of jet black and pure malice spawned from the roiling seas. A path of blackness had surged across the spar of land before them, leaving devastation in their wake. Something would have to be done about this new threat, the decision to be made at the Meeting by the Elders and Amaruq.

Worry dissipated as a gentle hand touched Amaruq’s shoulder, easily recognized from years of experience. Amaruq turned and pulled his wife into a loving embrace, hugging the young Selka against himself. Tanaraq, who had been his wife since his own ascension to Amaruq, simply smiled and leaned into the moment for some time.

“Killik,” she finally spoke, using his first name in private as only her and their offspring could, “I am so happy you are safe. I worry for your safety now that I cannot join you on the hunt.”

Amaruq returned the smile before pressing his soft nose to her forehead, sharing in that single moment of closeness before responding to his wife. 

“Do not worry, Tanaraq, I am in no danger. I have many young hunters who could slay even the great lizards; I know, for they have told me so.”

Tanaraq gave Amaruq a pleasing giggle, a noise Killik-who-was-Amaruq had become addicted to as he aged. The love of his life, to be sure. Even now her belly was swollen with what would be their first child and the thought of bringing new life into the world with her brought Amaruq considerable pride and joy. The sort of pride and joy that one felt mandated to protect against even the greatest dangers the world posed. His brows furrowed and the husband-now-Chieftain turned his head, gazing out across the waters. 

“What waves roil in your mind, husband?”

“I fear the worst; more tales of dark things farther north. I worry; was Amaruq the Wise wrong to send us this way? Was my Grandmother foolish for continuing in his steps? Am I a fool, endangering what I love with this foolish journey?”

“Of course not, my love; you do what you can, that is all we can ask for.”

“Perhaps, my wife, but I fear they will ask more from me than simply what I can do; the Meeting is days away and they will demand much of me.”

“I know in you is all they could possibly ever need, my husband; of this I have no doubt.”

Amaruq nodded and placed his chin on the top of his wife’s head, looking out behind her back at the Mother’s Camp and the throng of warriors who were but minnows to his eyes. They were but few of many who were chiefly under his care and he couldn’t bare to see his people suffer so. Nevertheless, the Meeting was coming and the Chieftain Amaruq was needed far more than the man Killik. He steadied himself, determining to hold fast against the waves of their need, and would provide ample anchorage for their worries and woes to be dashed across.
[hr]
The Shoulderman-who-was-Amaruq stared into the flames as they began to die down, drums pounding in his ears to the tune of the flames. Black wings and shadows roared in those fiery depths the spirits revealed in the shoulder bones of the many sacrifices brought before him. Livers had been spilled, auguries performed, and intestines tossed for readings for over an hour now. Amaruq in the guise of the Shoulderman was surrounded by his brethren, each Shoulderman a reflection of the others in their ceremonial masks and decorative hides. They were a surly band, prone to fits of bellowing and shouting and rampant dances. A strange lot, to be sure, but a throng the Tribe had to respect during these trying times. 

At last the Shouldermen retired to their huts, for the elders they controlled to be released back into the world as themselves. As masks were pulled free the men and women who wore the bodies of the Shouldermen breathed sighs of relief, free from the power those clever spirits held over them once more. Amaruq was the last to remove his mask, the same powerful artifact every Amaruq had worn since the very first. There was a murmur of ascent to his freedom, thanking the spirits they let him return to control his body once more, before the group circled to discuss their visions. 

“The endless black lies before us,” came one Elder’s voice, followed by agreements from several others, “Some great devastation has befouled the land to our north. The hunting band of Akna has fallen, slain to all but one runner. He told us of a vast tide of evil spirits that flowed across the land as a tidal wave. We are assured by the visions that the Spirits have no power against them.”

There was a momentary debate then, discussing the likelihood of the spirits intervening on their behalf if even they feared these creatures. As the elders spoke Amaruq retreated into himself, considering the nature of his vision. Black wings, feathered and fiery, across red water. Dark waves, crushing depths, and a vast danger that would devour this continent. The final portion of his vision haunted him most, of dagger in back and Selka slaying Selka. He pondered on the vision as the Elders continued to debate.

“Perhaps we should head south? Find a way around? Perhaps we have passed the place Amaruq the Wise had seen in his vision?”

More debate, heated and defiant; the idea that Amaruq the Wise had sent them on this journey incorrectly was particularly distasteful and so clothed in the thoughts of their own failure, the Elders discussed returning south. Amaruq grimaced at the idea, his own visions confirming that such an action would be disastrous. As their arguments reached intensity that threatened to spill out of the tent by sheer volume, Amaruq intervened. 

“We cannot go south, brothers and sisters, for there is a danger hidden there greater than even this blackness presented before us. I see Selka slaying Selka and from this we would never recover. Hardship will strengthen us but such betrayal would destroy us. We must travel north.”

“North?! But to the North lies doom!”

Amaruq shook his head, baring his teeth in a display of disagreement. “No, to the North has passed doom; the tides always move, never settles. If the destroyers have left destruction in their wake, it is because they must keep moving. They cannot feed on nothing the same as us. We must travel past them, through the seas.”

“But our runners have told us the land ends and there is only sea above. What would you have us do? Swim out into open ocean?”

“Our home is to the North, this much I know; Amaruq the Wise and Amaruq the Guide both knew this and set us on this path for a reason. Trust in the spirits, for they will guide us. Our passage will be directed by black wings.”
[hr]
[hider=Summary]
The band of Amaruq III hunts one of the megafauna of the northern Great Hooflands, successfully bringing down the beast through joint effort.

The hunters are joined by the Mother’s Camp that butchers the carcass and Amaruq, Chieftain and Great Shoulderman of the Kayuk, presides over the passage of age for young hunters.

Amaruq is met by his wife on a far off hill, considering the dangers of the journey ahead. The invasion from Veradax has proven to be a thorn in the side of the Kayuk and the destruction created in its wake threatens the Kayuk’s food supply as they continue their migration.

The Kayuk regroup at The Meeting and the Shouldermen of the collected bands discuss their visions. Amaruq insists on a continued path north based on his newest vision, continuing along the path presented by the other Amaruqs before him.
[/hider]