[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/M6JGXWy/zuanwa2.png[/img] [color=seagreen][i][b]Chapter 1: A Great Change[/b][/i][/color][/center] [hr] Sat upon the small wooden stool, Uraka surveyed her budding empire. The greased, delicate hands of four attendants rubbed the earthen mix of dye and oil over her arms and legs with practiced routine, massaging each muscle until her naturally sun-touched skin was covered with the sandy-white mixture. On her back, the gentle brush of fingertips and the brisk feel of wet paint caressed her, as another attendant decorated her with the history of her clan. A sixth attendant knelt before her, trying not to block Uraka’s view as she firmly rubbed bloodbloom dye over her chest in the pattern of snakes and teeth her father had chosen when they rose to prominence. They painted upon her as befitting of her station as a divine instrument, and beyond them, she could see the fruits of her will unfold. Hundreds of tools clattered repeatedly in the distance, carving wood, shaping rock, digging soil. Painted men clustered the tropical jungle’s edge with axes, cleavers, and flint. Trees fell one by one, brush was cleared, burned, or uprooted. Each hour, they gained more ground inland, carving out a massive clearing between the swaying seafront and the green wilds that had once pushed up against it - but no more. Besides Uraka’s rudimentary ziggurat, work was underway to replace old huts of leather, leaf and wood with grander construction - mighty limestone blocks were rolled in on logs from the jungle, and from the southern beachfront, slaves dragged large chunks of coral retrieved from the nearby overland reefs. Her father had used his blessed eyes to envision a grand clan unlike any other, and now Uraka would see his vision grow from a paltry gathering of the clans to something unlike anything that had come before - a jewel by the sea. All who saw it would weep with joy and astonishment. The true change had been the knowledge of the Ta’zun; a simple crafter had devised a way to divert freshwater away from it’s regular paths, and now ever more space could be made for food - without slashing and burning the jungle to find fertile soil. Uraka didn’t understand it, but the man had made grand promises that the good soil could come to them, now. That was enough to settle, and to expand her plans. Between crops and the bountiful sea, the jungle seemed like a distant path at best, skulking at the edges of her budding civilisation. A clearing throat brought her out of her idle surveying, and Uraka shifted her gaze to find the disturbance. Her eyes narrowed as she found herself looking at her chief advisor - her brother, Nuwan. The snake on his chest was faded, and the blue lines running over his eyes were flecked and smudged over his cheeks. She felt the tightening ripple through her fingers in frustration, but let it go with a sigh. She had grown tired of reminding him to respect tradition. “What is it, Nuwan? Must you intrude when I am not ready?” she pressed out instead, looking back out over her creation-in-progress. Nuwan cleared his throat again. Uraka stared back at him and caught him peering at her attendants. He rubbed at his cheek idly, before finally glancing away. “Do you think it wise, Sister, to accept this commoner’s request? Traditionally, a Ta’zun is not fit to be consort of a ruler,” he began, and she knew he would continue with the same argument as last time; “A Za’watem should select their mates from the Za’wal or Ta’zesh.” “I already have two Za’wal husbands, brother,” Uraka responded. She felt a hand scrub at her back gently - which could only mean a mistake was made. She cast a glance over her shoulder, causing the attendant back there to apologize profusely and throwing herself into a deep bow. Uraka frowned, but turned her attention back to Nuwan. “I am Za’watem, am I not? It is my divine will to honor his request. Besides, a man who can move the rivers is better placed in my bed, than in that of some uppity Ta’zesh. His wisdom would be wasted.” “A little rich to call a fluke wisdom, I think.” Nuwan cut back with a dissatisfied frown. “If he truly had wisdom, he would be a Za’wal, or marked by the gods to be a Za’watem.” “If we require a mark to remain Za’watem, I suppose I should abdicate father’s power.” Uraka sighed dramatically, slapping the hand of her kneeling attendant away from her face. Nuwan grimaced at her. “Don’t be absurd, sister. None but us have the means or the will to do something truly great.” Uraka could only hum an agreement at that. A moment of silence followed, before her brother decided to fill the void. “...Moving on, Wazan has requested an audience.” “Ah, my dear husband returns. I suppose he wishes to woo me with another tale of his endless jour-...” Uraka began, interrupted by hands gently rubbing her neck, throwing her off her thoughts in mild shock. Closing her eyes, she rapturously gave into the massage of paint and oil with a sigh. “Anything else, brother?” “Uh. Yes. Za’wal Huallar desires an audience as well, to deliver the reading of the sky.” “Very well,” Uraka offered with another sigh, waiting for the attendants’ hands to lift from her neck before standing up. “Girls, bring me the bowl. You may show them in, brother.” Hands left her in an instant, as the attendants rubbed their hands on cloth and fur to quickly dry off, and a quick chase began between two of them to cross the room and grab the ceremonial bowl of azure liquid. Two of the others gently and wordlessly began the delicate process of adorning her with a skirt of feathers without dirtying the feathers on the outside or smudging the painted patterns on her legs. Finally, a third gently draped her neck and shoulders with fur and gold without covering the snake pattern. As Nuwan excused himself, the bowl was brought forward, the cool blue liquid within rippling gently with each unsteady motion of her attendants. Uraka lowered both hands into the bowl, staining her skin deeply with the rich blue dye. She dragged them back above the surface steadily, letting her hands drip for a few moments before one of her girls dabbed it dry gently with a cloth. It should last her a week before she needed to re-apply her proof of rulership to her hands. The servant girls had just about cleared aside to give Uraka some space when her brother returned with two men in tow, the old and wrinkled Huallar, painted with the greens and yellows of a Za’wal. Its’ patchiness implied he was applying it himself. In tow behind him came the dark, short hair of her first husband, with immaculate paints over muscled arms and legs, and a red handprint with the insignia of her clan’s snake behind it. Something about it made her smile with glee, even if she imagined he’d only bothered because he was seeing her. “Beautiful Uraka, your eyes glow like the moon and your voice sings like the ocean,” he began as soon as he laid eyes on her, and Uraka felt her smile grow as her cheeks burned beneath the patterns. She loved the praise, and she knew he had figured that out early. She watched her husband move towards her, and raised her hand to stop him when he came within an arm’s length. She looked into his eyes, those magnificent, strange eyes; a myriad of shimmering color only matched by the rainbow. He had the divine blessing to be sure, more a Za’watem than she could ever be, yet he had chosen the life of a listener and scholar. She did not understand it, but he was ever fascinating. And his smile made her body flutter with butterflies, even now. “Oh, husband, your words are as sweet as a junanfruit.” She offered in return, gently sliding her hand to his shoulder, and letting her eyes roam his form. He had been gone from her bed for too long. Her thoughts were interrupted by Huallar, who took a few steps forwards and bowed his head. “Great Za’watem Uraka. I bring most grave news,” Huallar said with a gravelly, tired voice. He looked at her with eyes that were narrowed eyes from age or intent. “The assembly of sky speakers finished this morning, and it is unanimously agreed - the color of the sky is twisting. A rainstorm is coming. We believe it will be here before two moons have slept. Until it arrives, there is no telling how long it will last.” Uraka frowned. “So soon after the last?” With another sigh, she turned to her husband, who looked worried in turn. “The other speakers I do not care about, husband - You assured me that the ocean would not be displeased with our grand project, yet it sends another storm to wash us away?” “That is why I am here, beloved Uraka, star of my life,” he responded, lifting a hand to idly fidget with the necklace of painted sea shells hanging down over his chest. “The ocean speaks again - I have ventured far to speak with all the voices of the water, and all say the same. A great change is coming. They did not speak of any storms, but...” Uraka felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Had they lied to her before? She had been careful not to offend any deities. They had moved the ziggurat when the sun had worried, and now the ocean punished them. “A great change?” It wasn’t fair. “That is what they said, my love, my ruler.” She frowned deeply, trying to regain her resolve. Perhaps it was punishment for not truly being Za’watem like her father. Everyone knew it, but no one said anything. Perhaps that was why the ocean was angry. But she did not come this far to let rain stop her from completing the vision. “That could mean anything, husband. Perhaps it is the storm.” she offered back dismissively. Her husband looked ready to reply, but she cut him off. “We shall have to prepare for the storm. Will you let the taskmasters know, brother?” Nuwan nodded. “That will be all then. Thank you, Za’wal Huallar. Brother. Girls. Please leave me with my husband.” The others began to file out, and Uraka lifted a finger to stop him from speaking before they were alone. She smiled at him, finally lowering her finger. “Please, Uraka. I think there is more to the words of the ocean than a simple storm.” She grabbed his wrist gingerly, staining it blue with the still wet dye on her palm. “I haven’t seen you in months, Wazan. We can talk about the words of the gods later.” He sighed quietly, lifting his free hand to her arm. With a gentle pull on his other, Uraka coaxed him into stepping closer. “Sometimes I worry you do not wish to rule, my love.” he muttered quietly, leaning his head forwards to touch his forehead to hers. Uraka closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying the scent and warmth of her husband. “The construction of Zuanwa is finally underway, Wazan. Now more than ever, I am ready to rule. Nothing shall stop me.” [center][h2]* * *[/h2][/center] Raket paced outside the hut, listening to the intermittent cries of pain from his wife from within. He tried his best to still his anxiety, but it seemed to rise back up through his legs, crawling in his muscles like ants trying to get under his skin. Two women in the village had died in childbirth this spring, another had fallen to sleeping sickness in the heat a few months after. He bit at his nails, batted away the invasive leaves from the jungle around their hut, even steadied himself against a tree and it’s vines. Nothing helped. Every scream cut into his core like an obsidian knife scoring through animal fat. A hand slapped down on his shoulder with force, tearing him out of his spiral of panic with shock. He looked over his shoulder to find the familiar face of Larunan, and his body eased just a little. “Relax,” Larunan said with a gentle smile. “If you die out here of worry, who will teach the child to carve?” He squeezed his shoulder gently, before touching at his own chest’s handprint and yellowed insignia. “We are in this together, Raket. As her husbands, we must be stable and provide comforts for them both.” “I just-... she sounds so troubled. I want to hold her.” Raket sighed sharply, turning to face Larunan. Larunan nodded in turn. “Our wife is Ta’zesh. She has fought both men and jaguars. I do not think this battle shall claim her. As craftsmen our battlefield is of the mind and the-” he did not get to finish, as a scream erupted from the hut, loud and long enough to give both the men serious pause. A long pause followed, before the gentle and soft cry of a child pierced the thin walls of their hut. The two men lit up and smiled at each other. “Za’watem! Za’watem!” came a shout from within the hut. Raket furrowed his brow in confusion, and Larunan stared back at him with a blank expression. Shoulder to shoulder, the two moved towards the entrance with haste. Breaking tradition, they pulled aside the sheet that shielded the procession from the outside, and came face to face with the scene of their resting wife laid upon the simple bedding. Beside her, the midwife cradled a small child with an astonished expression of awe. Larunan placed his hand on Raket’s shoulder once more just as Raket saw why the midwife had shouted. Upon the child’s head was a strange fin rising from the forehead, with small membranes running down the sides. The midwife gave the child over to their tired wife gently, before turning to the two men with a great smile. “Your son is chosen by the ocean! May his reign be long and great!” [hr] [hider=Summary] We are introduced to Uraka, ruler of the nascent city-state of Zuanwa, a project in construction. We learn about her daily makeup rituals, and she glances out over her demesne as workers toil away in constructing a city. She plans to marry a commoner, who figured out a way to divert freshwater wherever they need it. When her brother-advisor objects, she notes that she already has two husbands of higher status. We also learn that unlike her father before her, Uraka does not have the necessary physical traits required to be a leader / divine instrument, and is thus technically above her station according to tradition. Two clergymen from the priest caste arrive for an audience; one old coot who reads the sky, and her husband who is a Servant. The Skyreader warns her of an oncoming storm, which they believe is a punishment from the ocean. Her husband claims to have spoken to the voices of the ocean, and they say a great change is coming, though what that change is is unknown. Uraka dismisses all but her husband, and implies she will not let anything stop her rule and vision. Meanwhile, a troubled husband in a backwater village in the jungle waits outside a hut as his wife gives birth. Her second husband arrives to comfort him, and they talk briefly before the child is born. The midwife shouts, causing them to rush inside, where they find that the newborn baby has been born with an Akua headfin. That kind of physical difference makes him Za’watem, part of the same ruling caste that Uraka is. [/hider] [hider=MP/DP] Nope! [/hider] [hider=Prestige] Servants: 62 +5 New total: 67. [/hider]