[centre][h1]For Honour[/h1][/centre]

	A howling cold wind washed over the island of Genesis. Sharp sparkles of ice and chill came carried in on it, sifting over the snow crusted ground and cutting into the crooked island trees. Local elk were sheltering in the thickest forests that dominated the center forests of conifers, while the bathing lizards submerged themselves safely in the surrounding geysers. Towering over it all was a hissing volcano, where longhaired alpacas greedily enjoyed the heat spilling from the lip.

	The wind swirled and spat, but beyond the geysers and volcanos, there was another spot it dare not go. By the shore, where the coast rolled upland enough to meet a field of oats sat a village, glowing orange with fire. Cheer erupted from the area, laced with laughter and joy.

	Po sat happily in the middle of the village of Genesis, ritual fires flickering around her while Porry after Porry rushed to her with big grins and bigger offerings of charred meats, ornate wooden carvings and even whole fish. 

One family even came with a fat block of browned whale meat for her to snack on. There was a bittersweet contortion of pride on the matriarch's face - rumour had it that the whale, the first to be brought ashore by Porry spear and Porry hand, had claimed four lives - two of which had been of her own kin. A fifth was nearly taken, but they were submerged briefly enough to reignite after being pulled from the icy waters. Bitterness had plagued the village, but now there was sweetness - with the offering came honour to their memory, sounded by both cheers and the salivating sizzle of bubbling whale oil.

The Porries had quickly come to realize after their creation that unity and kinship were the keys to the gate of survival. After all, a fire is only a gathering of sparks and fuel. A lone Porry was a candle in the wind; a clan could be like a forest fire, capable of withstanding the worst of storms. Furthermore, should the storm manage to extinguish the forest fire, the Porries had observed that sparks could smoulder underground for a long time, ready to set the woods ablaze again. Such would be the kinship of the Porries. The thought put a smile on her face, the future would only prove bright.

“Oh my favorite!” Po snatched Matriarch Burning Snow’s offering and quickly devoured it. A scratchy voice emanated from smacking lips. “You have my favor, my oily, delicious favor. What’s your clan name, again?”

"Clan Highgeyser, Great All-Warmer!" saluted the Matriarch proudly. "Your gratitude is all we could ever want. That and the knowledge that the lives of my brother Flickering Wick and my oathsister Wild Smoke have offered themselves in your glory." She prostrated herself along with the rest of her clan.

“Mm! They burned well. It’s a shame the water doesn’t light… yet.” Po reached forward and placed her hand (as was custom already) on the Matriarch’s scalp, her flame turning a bright blue as the heat intensified. A proud gleam could be seen in Po’s blazing eyes and she removed her hand, the blue flame lingering as it normally would — for now at least.

The Matriarch tearfully rose her head, the lava droplets burning pock marks in the ground. She ran her hand over her scalp and let her fingers dance before her eyes, blue flames spitting and kicking from her fingertips before finally dissipating. She turned to the rest of her clan and yelled, "The Sapphire Flame is with us!" A united roar clapped like thunder in response. She then stepped aside, helped by a young woman and a middle-aged man due to a poor gait of hers.

“Bring me my next offering!” Po sat back down in her glowing stone throne. “Bring the next clan!”

"Hep!" shouted an imposing figure, torso hidden from hand to hand and neck to knee. Like a cloud of colourful bats, the group strode into the offering circle like a patterned tide, jaws dropping like flies all around. At their head was Dancing-In-Ash, kicking and punching at the air while chanting in tongues. Up next to him stepped his daughter, Lights-in-the-Clouds, wearing a similar outfit to her father, but with her flaming scalp adorned with a crown of cracking stone. The rest of the clan formed a ring facing outwards towards the rest, hissing and flicking their tongues at the other Porries. Meanwhile, a particularly beautiful piece of fabric was being brought along behind the father and daughter, folded in thirds and sprinkled with obsidian dust.

"SHABOOBUH-BULAH!" howled Dancing-In-Ash as he kicked a footful of sand and grime at an unfortunate bystander.

"My father, the Ever-Seer, greets the Eternal Flame with the most profound respect," translated Lights-in-the-Clouds proudly. 

“Oo!” Po cooed with fascination. “Your clan seeks my favor? Name your clan and present your offering.”

"HAJA AD-HAJAHAJA! MAWAHOOEE!" The Ever-Seer ran over to a nearby rock, kicked off and spun through the air. Then he mimicked two horns on his head with his fingers and crabbed menacingly beside one of his brothers, who returned the gesture as though he was repelling an evil spirit.

"My father confirmed that the greatest clan, Clan Peakfire, humbly seek your favour, Magnificent Mother of Magma." She clapped her hands. "Bring the Volcanic Queen her gift!"

The fabric-holder stepped forth, presenting the triangle of colour in her hands. Eight hands surrounded her to unpack the work, fold by fold. The tongue of metallic wool uncurled itself slowly into a tapestry of history, a work depicting the creation of the Porries, of Genesis and of the world, all at the hands of the Eternal Flame and He-Who-Sails-the-Heavens. The fabric's final shape resembled what the whole clan was wearing - a triangular attire that covered the torso and kept the warmth in and the cold out. The Ever-Seer and his clan froze so that she could regard the gift in peace.

Po gripped the poncho, sending the metal into a steamy hiss as she looked it over. Save for the dancing and festivities of the clans long since favored by the pyres, the area was silent in anticipation. FInally, Po shoved the poncho under her hood with a gulp. “All is consumed by fire! I am fire!” A burp. “You have my favor, clan Peakfire, show me your flame.” She held out her hand.

The clan exploded with roars of cheer. Dancing-in-Ash whooped like a howling ape and cartwheeled over to Po with all the agility of someone twenty years younger and stood right before her, eagerly bouncing up and down to the hoo-hoo-hoos of the hooligan horde behind him.

Palming Dancing-in-Ash's head, Po ignited his hair a brilliant hot blue. "Spread heat wherever you go."

The Ever-Seer cast himself in another cartwheel, whooping like a flock of birds. The rest of the clan followed the sapphire wheel out of the circle, breaking formation to form a triumphant train of dancers who celebrated the name of Po and clacked together bone percussion sticks. Like a conga line, they stopped intermittently to kick their legs out to one side, then the other a few steps later.

"Are there any clans left?" Po held her stomach.

For a brief minute, there was silence. Then one of the smaller clan matriarchs, Clan Glacier-Foes’s Star-of-Red, shouted, “The Blackshores haven’t presented [i]their[/i] gift yet!” A rumbling mumble rolled through the gathered clans; the richest ones displayed borderline mockery - the poorer ones, concern. Another half minute managed to pass before the circle parted; the background music had slavishly followed the dying enthusiasm, and Clan Blackshore, a small family of hardly seven porries, stepped forward. 

Empty-handed.

Seeing how skinny they all were, one could easily make the argument that they were no more than four in number. They stopped before the goddess, their clan head Matriarch She-Who-Shatters-Waves leading the pyrrhic charge. They prostrated themselves as deeply as they could and, to the crescendo of silence, the matriarch spoke, “Eternal Fire, please accept our most sincere apologies and regrets for failing to present an offering.”


Po leaned back on her throne. The air was thick. The porries knew she wasn’t the quiet type and seeing her silently tap her finger on the arm of her chair was more than enough to send a fright through them. “What?” Her voice finally came, snappy and hot.

A quiver rocked the matriarch and her family to the core - they stood shaking like pebbles before a quake. Grasping for an escape like a drowning sailor, the panicking matriarch defaulted to the truth: "The, the, the winter - the winter was cruel to us this year! It took all our food, our home - my niece Braving Seas flickered her last in the early Spring. We, we…" The lava tears rolling down her boney cheeks threatened to choke her out. From the other clans, the response was mixed, ranging from shifting eyes to spitting and snarling.

“You brought nothing.” Po’s scratchy voice seemed to be in disbelief. It quickly turned to a growl. Her fire roared as it grew. “Fire is all consuming and you brought nothing?!”

"Then I will offer myself!" came a declaration from the matriarch's right. Considerably younger, likely her son, a boy in the eve of his teens fought severe nutrient deficiencies to erect himself to his full height, which compared to many others around was nothing to boast about. The stunned mother took a little too long to recuperate from the message and yelled, "He will do no such thing! Please, Infernal Mother, this spark knows not what he says!"

"For the honour of my clan!" the boy insisted as his sister and cousin tried to wrestle him to the ground.

“I accept!” Po hissed, her flames still licking angrily. “From fire to fire!” She held out both her arms, as if offering some strange hug. “Come ‘ere!”

"NO! Nuh! Not you, too, my little Blaze!" the matriarch wept and joined in to hold back the youth. The teen struggled against the three adults and moved not an inch, but all around the Porries egged him on and denounced the rest. 

"You shame him and your own name, She-Who-Shatters-Waves! Keep it up and his sacrifice will be annulled! To think such disgusting behaviour could be exhibited by a neighbour. Puh!" chastised the matriarch Burning Snow. When it became clear that the starved boy would never break out of their hold, zealots from every clan great and small stepped forward to peel the family off of him. To a chorus of wails from the Glacier-Foes, Blazing Woods was finally released and, with what little strength he had left, he stumbled into the arms of the fire goddess.

There was a flash of light as he hit Po’s breast and without a trace of dust or ash, he was gone. The goddess sat back down, her flames quelling but slightly as she did. She held out a single hand. “Remember… someday I’m going to eat the world. Everything will be fire, like how we are fire. One fire. Collect my favor.” She stretched her fingers.

Shattered, the matriarch stumbled forward robotically and presented her scalp, the flames on her head burning small and orange, almost red. Po placed her palm on her head and with a rush of heat, sent the matriach’s hair spiraling up in a blaze of blue.

“One fire,” Po reiterated and retracted her hand. The matriarch silently turned around and shuffled emptily back into the ring. Meanwhile, the chorus around had forgotten her and her clan; they looked only at the goddess, shouting as one voice: "ONE FIRE, ONE FIRE, ONE FIRE!"

[hr]

Weeks had passed since the offering, and life on Genesis had a way of returning to normal once the cold winds reminded everyone that they were, indeed, on Genesis. Food didn’t appear in one’s belly on its own; it was a struggle - a condition for life. The Porries were quick to labour and toil for survival; after all, a flame will consume everything it can to stay alive. So long as there are things to consume, that is. Fortunately, the island of Genesis was fat with sustenance, with forests full of beasts and waters full of fish. A wooden boat from the main village on Genesis, Polis, had cast off the shore and drifted into the ice cold waters, eagerly following the rivers of silver twisting and rolling under the lapping waves. Aboard were four people, each from a different family: 

	Born-Aflame of the Peakfire, every bit as eccentric as his grand uncle;

	Fiend-of-Shadows of the Singewalkers, the oldest of the crew;

	Two-Flowers of the Charr, a robust and patient fisherwoman;

	and Yellow-Scalp, a hotheaded young man of the Highgeysers.
	
Asail as the four of them were, each were busily tending to their tasks in a search for distraction as the monotony of the sea eventually settled down over the boat. Nets were mended and prepared; fishing spears were sharpened with rocks; wicker baskets were checked for holes. Before too long, however, the two youngest ones, at least, found themselves running low on tasks. The boat being so small as it was, one couldn’t move around much before it began to upset the balance of the vessel. It therefore quickly got on the others’ nerves when Born-Aflame, restless as he had always been, started pacing back and forth impatiently.

“Sit down!” Yellow-Scalp, without much filter, grumbled. He himself was sitting squarely by some wicker, weaving it into this and that to pass the time. Born-Aflame ignored him.

“There! That one! I swear, it was a fat one!” he said eagerly and pointed into the water with such vigor that Fiend-of-Shadows had to lean out on the opposite side to balance the boat.

“You heard him, sit down!” Two-Flowers demanded. Born-Aflame turned around and rolled his eyes before sitting down to poke at one of the nets. Mustering the sort of groan that only teenagers can, he looked longingly out into the water, distant glaciers contrasting the black peaks of the surrounding islands.

“Are we throwing the net out soon?” he tested. 

“Soon,” Fiend-of-Shadows replied patiently.

“Uuuuugh… I see the fish - they’re right there! Let’s catch them already!”

“There’s a trick to it, you dolt,” Yellow-Scalp chided. “Not that you know much about thinking.”

“What was that, you little flicker?!”

“Boys! Po almighty, we’re just fishing,” Two-Flowers moaned.

“Yeah, we’re fishing, but I don’t know what he thinks [i]he[/i] is doing.” Yellow-Scalp crossed his arms and cut a smirk. Born-Aflame was the type to bear everything on his sleeve - had the term been literal, he would’ve been weighed down to the ground at all times. The rage within him thus wasted no time in manifesting in a sharp kick, breaking straight through the wall of Yellow-Scalp’s wicker basket.

Yellow-Scalp threw the scraps still in his hands at the other boy. “What the hell did you do that for, you animal!” He stood up, nearly rocking the boat. “Why did you even bother coming!?”

“Why did YOU bother coming?! This is MY clan’s boat! You’re just here because Two-Flowers likes you!”

“Sit down, both of you! You’re rocking the boat!” Two-Flowers snapped back.

"You're wasting your breath." Yellow-Scalp started daggers at Born-Aflame. "You can't reason with animals."

“Animals?! You dirty–!” Born-Aflame snatched a fishing spear and tried to smack Yellow-Scalp across the face.

Yellow-Scalp leaned back to dodge the blow, but suddenly felt his stomach lurch as the boat followed him just enough. His knees locked up but it was too late - he lost balance. His hands flew behind him to catch anything but there was only air and with a sizzling splash, he landed overboard and into the water.

All three of the ones aboard panicked, and Two-Flowers almost instinctively jumped after him. However, mid-jump she was grabbed and held back by Fiend-of-Shadows, the boat only not tipping over because Born-Aflame fell backwards into a broken-backed seat atop some more baskets. While he slowly recovered, Fiend-of-Shadows blared at him, “YOU STUPID CHILD! Two-Flowers, grab that spear and help me fish him out!” The two tried their best to get a good grip on him, but as seconds became minutes, hope slowly faded for the crew. After a great deal of maneuvering the boat and labouriously trying to balance and counter-balance one of them leaning out to pick him out, they finally managed to recover Yellow-Scalp, now a flameless corpse.

When it became clear that his life was beyond saving, the other two turned slowly to face the very quiet Born-Aflame. Fiend-of-Shadows cast him a brief scowl before looking down in the belly of the boat. “You’ve caused such a shitshow, you stupid boy.”

Born-Aflame’s eyes flicked from side to side scouring for a reply, but even a youth like him understood what this meant. Two-Flowers said not a word either - she only glared beams of fire at him. Fiend-of-Shadows mustered only a sigh as his mind was still processing what had happened. After a moment passed, he added, “When we reach the shore, you will be given one day’s amnesty to return to your kin to say your farewells…” 
	
	Two-Flowers spat into the sea. Fiend-of-Shadows tossed her a brief stare. Born-Aflame moved not a muscle, but merely looked out at the distant icebergs drifting in the ocean. Fiend-of-Shadows continued, “... Afterwards, you will present the corpse to the Highgeysers and offer up your own life as an apology.”

	Another period of silence, broken only by waves kissing the frame of the boat. Then Born-Aflame mumbled, “It’s not fair.”

	Calmly, Fiend-of-Shadows replied, “Yeah, I’d wager that’s what he thought as he felt the heat sap from his body. All over a little dispute…” He shook his head. 

	“You better show,” hissed Two-Flowers.

	Born-Aflame swallowed nervously. Fiend-of-Shadows nodded. “Yeah, you better sit at the other end of the boat until we reach the shore, boy. The Charr are sworn to the Highgeysers through blood.”

	Born-Aflame suddenly quickened to and shot up to a stand. “But wait! Your brother and chief, Slagstone Singewalker, is a bloodbrother of my mother, the clan heiress! Therefore–”

	“Therefore I will do jackshit, boy. Good luck finding a single Singewalker who will follow a murderer.” The boy deflated. Fiend-of-Shadows turned the boat around and started paddling back to shore, helped by Two-Flowers. With his last ounce of patience spent, the old porry spat in the sea and growled the words: “Now sit your stupid ass down.”

[hider=Summary]
We open with the Feast of Po, a festival where the Porries give stuff to Po to eat. Here, we meet two of the big shot clans, Clan Highgeyser and Clan Peakfire, and one tiny poopy clan, Clan Blackshore. Highgeysers give Po whale meat, Peakfire gives her a poncho and Blackshore gives her squat. When Po gets angry, the Blackshores offer up a son much to the matriarch's dismay, but the others think this is very honorubru.

Cut to four people on a fishy boat, two young lads, an old man and a woman. The two lads, Yellow-Scalp of Highgeyser and Born-Aflame of Peakfire, get into a fight. Born-Aflame accidentally then kills him by making him fall into the ocean. The old man and the woman, now hateful towards the young lad, paddle on home to take him to be judged.

[/hider]