[color=lightblue][center]The open plains
 Fleet stag
Falcons at your wrist 
The wind in your hair.[/center][/color]

These things might not be best in life, but to Mirak of the Arrak they were nearly just as good. 

Atop his war-buck the zhaan of the Kurhah Clan breathed deeply. Before him stretched the endless plains of the Mauda’a Tawil Jiilshaa. Golden grasses rose up in all directions, unbent by wind nor rain even after the dissipation of those dread storms. The Jiilshaa was strong and healthy, made of sterner stuff than the rages the sky threw at her. She was as her people and Mirak felt pride in this. A hand fell to his side where a heavy object, wrapped in blue linen, weighed him down in a particularly satisfying manner.

A throaty call of a distant stag summoned his attention from the endless plains, back towards the forest that hugged the world. The drivers signalled with sonorous cries from their bucks that the herds had all been brought into the forests, the migration of this season coming to a close. Mirak nodded to himself appreciatively; the skies were with them and for that he could be thankful. With a gentle pat of the neck and pressure to its sides, his war-buck loped from the hill it previously stood and galloped down the plains towards the forest. As the wind whipped through his long hair and his stag thundered beneath him through the golden plains, Mirak wished then only for a falcon to go hunting with. 
[hr]
The elk-drive had been long and arduous, nearly three months out on the open-steppe constantly keeping close care of the massive herd. To the numerous clans of the Arrak, those hardy people of the great plains and forests, the herds were life. The relationship between arrak and antlered-steed was a unique one, for no other men shared their understanding of these four-legged kin. It was said that an arrak was born on the back of their mother’s buck, would sire their child upon theirs, and be laid to rest on the back of their last beloved mount. To the Arrak, their steed was their brother and kinsmen, as much a warrior of the Clan as any of their number. They were respected, honored, and treated as equals.

It was from this relationship that the arrak sprung, all that they were born from this connection. Vast herds of female elk and their progeny were kept by the clans, the strongest males weeded out from these herds to serve riders well. The females were kept for milk, fur, and meat as well as all the other products they could be used for. Arrak bows were made from bone, wood, and sinew, glued using a foul mixture of stag and sap. Their yurts were laid with wooden poles hewn from the forests and covered with hides unused for clothing. Even antlers, regularly discarded before the coming of snow, were used in all things. It was the way of the world and if the Arrak cared for their herds they were assured their clans would never know hunger or squallor.

The Arrak created from this bounty a life worth living. To the north and east there were people who did not live this way and for them Mirak felt only pity. He had been to their villages and cities, seen the refuse they lived amongst and called homes. Mirak could not begin to imagine a world where he caged himself so willingly. For his people the open plains or the thick forests were enough. There was only one place where they gathered in great numbers, the single place that could be called a city of their people.

[i]Angetenar.[/i]

Mirak grinned as he entered the open clearing, if a space of such size and magnitude could be named as such, with the expansive city of Angetenar stretching outwards as far as the eyes could see. It was not like the cities of the settled peoples, for they were lovers of stone and walls. Those who consented to be caged could keep their trappings of fineries and halls of rock, for the Arrak had a better life. The city was one that grew and spread freely, wandered about the clearing and into the woods as it willed. Trees would be cut down if space was needed and when clans left the trees would be replanted, their seeds carried from this place to spread to the far winds. Massive clan yurts were assembled, room enough for whole bands, while long-huts full of goods were set up in a huge circle, leaving an open clearing for stalls and goods to be laid forth for viewing. Here were treasures from half-a-world away, drawn in by the many clans and bands that travelled far and wide.

With Mirak at their head, the Kurhah rode to their ancestral grounds and began to assemble their camp. The Kurhah were a powerful clan, large and with great history, and so their grounds were kept well for them. Though no conflict was permitted within the clearing of Angetenar, that did not apply to outside beyond the forest edge. Thus the Kurhah were given free reign like all the other Great-Clans. Within hours the kraal of the Kurhah was fully assembled, her herds left to wander freely with the daubed markings unique to their clan. There was no thievery of elk in this place for it was not only difficult but sacrilege. 

With his clan assembled and their camp prepared, Mirak set off with a group of his retainers. They were his khayhar, tent-guards, and each clan had numerous like them. Khayhar were selected for their size, for their skill with spear and bow, and for loyalty above all else. With them came several of the hunting hounds of the clan, always bound to follow their masters. In their plains regalia the band made for an imposing sight, beeling deeper into the ever changing city of Angetenar. 

“May death take pause at your sight, Mirak il’Kurhah Zhaan.”

The warband halted before the speaker as they arrived at the metaphysical center of the city. The Great Ovoo and the compound around it dominated the center of Angetenar like a cancer, constantly in a state of growth. Around the ovoo stood the only true barriers found within the city and even they were an oddity. Wooden posts, no higher than a man’s knee, encircled the area of the shrine in a large, oblong ring. Each post was carved into the sneering face of an ancestor-spirit, teeth bared and eyes wide. They were the spirit guardians of this place and respect for them was mandated; all things had a soul and they were no different. The speaker was an older man, wizened by sunlight and life spent roughly. Though his robes were colorful and danced with geometric patterns, he himself seemed like old chewing leather spit out one too many times to dry. 

It was a great honor to be speaking to him.

“Zawiah Shadhu,” called Mirak to the Ghost Talker, bowing his head low, “May time turn from you. You honor the Benya Kurhah with your greeting.”

Behind the Zhaan of the Kurhah the warband bowed while simultaneously unbinding their weapons. Spears and bows were thrust forward, tied together before entering the city in the first place, and the bundles were taken by the Shadhu one by one into the ring. With them set inside, consecrated by the spirit circle’s power, Zawiah stepped aside and allowed the band to pass. The group entered individually, taking a moment to bow their head at the small entrance into the circle, before waiting for the rest to all pass through. Even the hounds gave reverence to this place, trained well by their masters to respect the spirits of the world and their sacred places. 

With Mirak at their head the band closed the distance towards the center, ignoring the numerous other spirit shrines and even their own clan’s ovoo; that would come later. The towering pile that formed the Great Ovoo stretched upwards before them, surrounded on all sides by the tents and yurts of their resident shadhu and his disciples. The ovoo itself was a man-made hill of stones and refuse, piled high towards the sky with boughs and poles thrusting from it festooned with blue or yellow dyed fabric. Amidst the rocks were strewn helmets, weapons, bone, and trophies from half-a-world away, given to the spirit of Angetenar. The ovoo was the center of it all, the body of the great spirit that represented all Arrak on the spiritual plane. 

Mirak stepped forward and lifted from his hip the newest offering to be given to the ovoo of Angetenar. With reverent movements Mirak slowly unwrapped the object from its soft, blue trappings, to reveal a beautifully rounded stone. It was heavy and the size of a child’s head, found on the distant shore to the far north. With a humble nod Mirak pressed the stone to his forehead then lowered it to the pile, finding a snug place for it to lay. With the rock set he reached for the nearest pole and tied his linen upon it, making sure it was tightly fit to weather the worst storms. Content with his offering he stood and stepped away only to kneel and bow his head to the earth. His retainers followed suit while their dogs sat patiently behind them. Nearly five minutes passed in this time of prayer and reflection before the band stood to smile and give praise to the spirits and each other for this successful journey.

“At last, it is done! A long trip, most tiring, my Zhaan.”

“But well worth it! Many calfs were born healthy and strong; the wise-woman spoke rightly when she said the salt air of the blue-plains would birth them well.”

“Ah! But the sight of that vast place did my heart well; it was as the Mauda’a Tawil Jiilshaa, but ever more vast and holding the color of the sky! To ride upon it would be a gift.”

Mirak beamed at his brothers as they all burst into friendly conversation and laughter, discussing the journey at long last. It was considered an ill-omen to speak of a journey unfinished, practically begging for the ill-will of the world upon you. Death did not pause before weak men and the world took great strides to do harm to those who believed themselves immune. Talking freely for the first time in months, the warband moved back out away from the ovoo. The next step was their clan’s ovoo and the numerous family plots that surrounded it. This sacred place for the Kurhah held the dead of hundreds generations if the shamans were to be believed and the nature of that deathly presence was clear to see. Though the Arrak did not bury nor burn their people, it was wrong to leave a body completely untouched. Teeth, locks of hair, finger bones, and trinkets of personage were added to family ovoos where the bodies could not. Corpses were left to the wild, their soul free and unbound, while these little gifts were stolen away to be returned to the clan and the Arrak.

“Blessed day, at last I might be rid of my grandfather’s one good tooth. You died well, old man, but your tooth was no fine travelling companion. Did I tell you how he bit me from the otherside for carrying him undignified?!” 

“Then you should not have stuffed it in the backside of your pants, fool! No wonder he bit you!”

The crowd burst into laughter as the warrior placed his grandfather’s tooth carefully into the crook of several stones. Despite the humor this was a sacrosanct occasion; even as they spoke the spirit of that old man was reunited with his long lost family. Mirak wondered of that moment, how beautiful it would be; to step into the spirit realm of your ancestors and be greeted by faces lost to you and others you never met. Though he would strive to make that as distant from the present as possible, Mirak would not despise its arrival. 

The band remained there for some time, basking in the aura of their clan’s most sacred place. It was the belief of the Arrak that in doing so their families long past would hear them and join in the conversation, giving them more things to speak fondly of in the afterlife. Stories were told, deeds recounted, and words of love and longing were spoken to long lost family. The spirits were generous and great things, those of earth and rock and sky, but there was nothing more worthy of love and worship than family. 

To the Arrak there were no gods; those were creatures for the caged-peoples to fawn over. Though their works were great and their powers mighty, they were no more worthy of worship than another man. May the Terrible Spirits continue in their misdeeds and leave the Arrak out of it for they already had all they could need.

[color=lightblue][center]A warm fire
Friends close at hand
Family at your back
And a tale on your lips

These things were best in life.[/center][/color]

[hr]

[hider=Summary]
An introduction of the Arrak, one of the human civilizations on Toraan. The introduction is told from the perspective of Mirak, a Zhaan (Chieftain) of the Arrak Kurhah clan. Within the culture of the Arrak is revealed, most notably their religion and their spurning of divine worship.[/hider]