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Fourteen crouched silently as the group finished filing in and the representative began to speak. The tent swirled with the chaos of a dozen discordant voices and Fourteen strained to knit together any fragments of conversation. He turned to his right and saw the Yi-gin-sin staring at him. Its eyes, black and glistening, seemed to be glowing with the same curiosity Fourteen saw in the eyes of vultures and starved coyotes. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least, and Fourteen shifted uneasily. The red-haired woman as well, her eyes were filled with disgust as she stared out at the rest of the group. It was as if she were planning how she'd slay each of them, and Fourteen felt even further unease. This woman scared him, as much if not more than the bug-man. Something about her seemed...unstable to Fourteen.

The representative began to speak and Fourteen listened intently. Deep within, he felt a ribbon of hope weave through the darkness. Exusia. He was going to go to Exusia. Even before completing the quest, he would get the chance to see the legendary city for himself, the city that might hold answers to who he was and why every waking moment filled him with unease and dread. Surely he would be able to learn at least something while he was up there for so short a time- anything would help. When the woman finished, Fourteen nodded. He had no weapons to declare. In fact, he had almost no possessions at all, save a small rucksack thrown over his left shoulder. As the ritual began, Fourteen rose with a crunch and walked to the chalk circle drawn on the floor. He took a deep breath, the stones of his chest shifting, and closed his eyes, ready to ascend to the city in the sky. 

Then the moment of peace ended with a spear through the gut. Fourteen’s eyes snapped open as the canvas tore and the bone clansmen set upon those inside. Fourteen had met these men before, the men who wore bones as clothing. In a different city of the desert, they had attacked him, swinging about hammers and crying out “Monster! Monster!” They were violent, vicious men by all accounts, and their actions here had proven this. Fourteen wheeled around as the front flaps of the tent burst open and two clansmen entered. One wore the skull of a horse and armor made of rawhide flaps. The other wore the vertebrae of a snake around his neck like a scarf and rib bones sticking out from leather pauldrons. The man with the horse skull lunged forwards, and before Fourteen could act the man plunged a spear at his stomach. 

The spear collided with a dull “thunk!” and, a split second later, a snap. The clansman had struck before he had even seen what he was hitting, and as Fourteen rose to his full height the man’s eyes grew wide in the holes of his skull helmet. Fourteen grabbed the shaft of the spear. He squeezed, and it shattered in his hand. 

[b]“I do not believe violence is your best course of action,”[/b] Fourteen said as he stepped towards the two men. The other man, the one with the bone scarf, brandished a stone club. Fourteen turned to face him, and the man’s eyes turned from shock to anger. Fourteen knew then that there would be no diplomacy.

“Get out of my desert!” the man shouted. He lunged with the club. Fourteen blocked with his forearm. The man struck again, hitting the underside of the forearm with a twisting strike. The blows hurt, but Fourteen’s forearms were the thickest part of his body besides his torso- they were designed to be armor. The man with the horse skull dropped his broken spear and charged Fourteen bare-handed. He struck Fourteen with his shoulder in Fourteen’s midriff, some attempt at a shoulder bash. There was a crack, and the man released an audible groan. The man with the club swung again, this time colliding with Fourteen’s elbow. There was a small popping sound, and pain shot up Fourteen’s arm. Fourteen stepped forwards, the tackler struggling and failing to impede his movement. As the club-man wound up, Fourteen wound up a sweeping punch. The two swung one after the other, but Fourteen’s fist collided with the clansman first. 

The punch of a golem is legendary throughout Deadwood. It is said they can shatter stone and knock down trees with a single blow. An old legend goes that many thousands of years ago, a mountain king used golems to carve a tunnel through a mountain using their sheer power to disintegrate the rocks. Much of this is hyperbole, but it is to say that if one finds themselves poorly-armored and in a position where they are going to take a golem’s punch, their best course of action is to begin fervently praying for a peaceful afterlife. This bone clansman had not heard this lesson, or perhaps he simply did not believe it. But, as Fourteen’s fist collided with his left shoulder, he learned it well. The impact sounded off with a meaty thwack and a crunch as the clansman’s collarbone exploded. The force of the impact traveled through his body, bursting blood vessels and twisting his body like a ragdoll. Essentially, it was as if he had been run over by a car. He screamed, and then the scream went silent as he fell face-first into the sand, though whether dazed or dead Fourteen did not know.

Fourteen stepped forwards, stepping on the fallen man’s leg as he did and hearing a crunch. Outside, he could see more silhouettes approaching, but he could not decipher them. Their silhouettes were sharp and asymmetrical, and everywhere they went the sound of stone and steel clashing could be heard. Fourteen looked down at his elbow- there was a small hairline crack where the clansman had struck him. It wasn’t a serious injury, the equivalent of a scraped knee for a golem, but it stung nonetheless. Fourteen assessed that he could continue fighting if it was necessary. He stepped to the door of the tent, his whole body blocking the entrance. He raised his head high, opened his mouth, and roared. The sound was harsh and mechanical and impossibly deep, like a rock grinder. If these men sought to stand in the way of Fourteen’s answers, then they would be obliterated.