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5 yrs ago
Let me taste you.
6 yrs ago
The Hierarchy Shall Crumble.
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6 yrs ago
"No one man should have all that power."
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6 yrs ago
⭐️-_-💧
6 yrs ago
"Well as far as brains go, I've got the lion's share. But when it comes to brute strength, I'm afraid I'm at the shallow end of the gene pool." - Who?
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A cycle had passed since the Sealion armada landed on the shores of Xanchaladan, but their progress was not as productive as they liked. The first six months proved to be the bloodiest. The bitter sting of loss and the constant fighting dampened the men's spirits whilst defending the bloody wharf. 'The Crimson Coast', many dubbed it. The last six months proved rather manageable. Construction on Port Xicana - the name a product of the natives incessant use of the word when a ceasefire was declared - progressed steadily. A number of harbors had been constructed and the makeshift tent city has become a rather disorganized cacophony of wooden shacks and lean-ons.

Today, the city had retired for the day as sundown was in effect. The laborers were lining up to receive a somewhat warm supper after a hard, bitter day's work. But due to the rather hostile conditions, the Xicanii were not able to pillage the land for their food, resorting to the use of their reserved rations. Consequently, this led to the rationing of normal portions for the laborers. As Diana, Sadus, and Viatrix went through the meal line, Sadus got his portion, and was the most vocal out of everyone about his amount.

Sadus gave the head cook the most puzzling of looks, "Is this a joke? These portions are smaller than yesterday's!"

"I am aware," the cook replied rather disinterestedly, "It is something called, "rationing", has the word ever graced your skull?" The cook looked down the mess line and shouted, "Next!"

"Hold a moment!" Sadus rebuked, "Open your ears and listen good, your food is so droll my shit tastes better. But seeing as I cannot shit as much as you make food, I am forced to settle with this gruel. Now clean your eyes and look at me closely, I am a big man; a big, big man! And as such I deserve a larger portion!"

The cook leaned in closely to Sadus' face, their noses barely touching, "If you claim to be a 'big man', than why do you act like a big bitch? Move along, I have more pressing matters than you."

"Hey! What gives?" a worker near the back of the line yelled out. "Make like the wind and move!"

"Oh fuck off!" Sadus yelled back, then he turned his attention back to the unyielding cook, "Do you know who I am?"

"Sadus, not this," the cook sighed in dismay.

"Come on Sadus, let's move," Diana urged.

"Stay out of this, you Xerxanian shit! Cook, who am I? Who is the man that stands before you?"

"Ugh…" the cook groaned loudly, burying his face in his hand, "…You are Sadus—"

"Sadus the FUCKING Great! You are correct! The man who singlehandedly took on ten of those savage islanders at sea!"

"The thorn in our ass!" another worker in line jeered at the boisterous Xicani for delaying his meal.

"Hold your fucking tongue!" Sadus roared back. He jabbed his strong, meaty finger in the cook's barreled chest and hissed, "I even killed a fucking Berserker…By! My! Self! That should entitle me to a much larger portion."

"Oh yeah? So did Viatrix! The Ivory Viper even landed the killing blow! By that logic, Diana should have the entire pot of food!"

Diana raised an eyebrow and looked to the sky with a grin, "Hmm, that I don't mind."

"Silence!" Sadus snapped on his friend. "Where is the respect that Sadus deserves?!"

"It is in the wind along with your pride," the cook scoffed with a chuckle, "I heard tale of your foolish antics which awoken a slumbering jaguar. And how you squealed like a virgin being deflowered as it chased you like a frightened rabbit."

Sadus lunged forward at the cook, wanting to strangle the mouth of the lowly cook who never had to fight a day in his life, but Viatrix grabbed Sadus from behind and yanked him away before he had time to attack. The rest of the men cheered and shouted, expecting a show to improve their sour mood.

Sadus walked away irritated, being escorted by Viatrix and Diana. The cook yelled at Sadus, "Remember Sadus, I am the head cook! I know what you are allergic to!"

"Oh take knee and suck my cock!"

The line began to move along as if nothing had happened; they were too tired and too cold to particularly care. But watching off to the side was Xan, wrapped in a blanket, silently observing the entire amusing scene. After he had his fill of observance, Xan silently walked his way towards Red Dog's quarters, where he was saluted by the posted sentries.

"Red Dog, it's Xan," the Captain announced.

"Enter," his voice came from within.

Xan strolled on in and was embraced by the warmth of the hut. Red Dog was busy scribbling in his ledger with a slave holding a torch overhead; providing him light and keeping him warm.

"How goes it, Xan?" Red Dog asked, without raising his head.

Xan moved over to the torch to receive some warmth. "I can finally sleep well, months of paranoia hasn't done wonders for my sleep schedule, so it provides much expected relief. But that is not the nature of my visit. A few moment ago; Sadus, was shouting with fire at his food portions being scarcer than yesterday."

Red Dog laid down his stylus and sighed cantankerously, "If it's Sadus, I don't give two shits about his food problem."

"Sadus is quite vocal, and he hits our problem with a needle. If he is addressing the problem this early, then it is a drastic problem that needs to be addressed before others become as vocal."

"A problem that is clear as snow. I am aware of our food supply and I ordered them to be rationed."

"How are we situated?"

"The Quartermaster has given me the corn, grain, and bread provisions for the workers. We are in adequate standing, but he estimates that the food will be gone within 4 months. And with the storm season on it's way we won't receive out next shipment for 6 months. So the rationing has to begin now until we find a more bountiful source of food."

"How have the hunting parties fared?"

"Below expectation, most of the game has fled after the intense fighting and activity."

"It may have been a hidden blessing that we lost a quarter of our men last year, a few hundred less mouths to feed."

Red Dog snapped his head at the lax Captian, and stared at him with furious eyes, yet spoke in a calm demeanor, "Never speak ill of the dead who fought so bravely, you of all should know."

Xan gulped, yet still carried on a neutral expression, "Apologies, Red Dog."

Red Dog stared at the man for a little longer, until finally dropping his stare. "Our food supply is running low, and I would rather deal with this sooner than later, yet we are in no immediate risk of empty bellies."

Xan found his way to a chair and breathed easier, "Not yet."

"Right…" Red Dog groaned, "…not yet…"

As Xan reclined further in the chair, scratching the elongated scar on his cheek that itched from time to time, he could see the inner machinations of the mind of Red Dog begin to turn as he stared fiercely into a crude map on his desk. The knight cracked a toothy grin, "What sorts of schemes are you hatching in that mind of yours?"

Red Dog focused on Xan and smiled back. "Just pondering how predators act, when they can't procure food for themselves. Like a pack of wolves, if all the wildlife is absent from their den, what do they do then?"

Xan thought over it for a while. As he reached an answer, he chuckled and grinned more, "They steal it from another pack."

"Exactly, do me a favor."

"Speak." Xan said as he stood to his feet.

"Send a messenger to fetch Diana for me, will you?"

"Diana?!" Xan's face light up at the mention of his favorite ivory haired woman, "To what purpose?"

"To one that is suited for her."




The Itenco Tribe of Xanchaladan escorted a group of Xaxamaca Empire delegates until they arrived at their village. The Itenco women and children came out of their huts and pointed at the bounded Xaxamaca, wondering if they were royals or common-folk. They had some menacing warriors looking down upon them with wicked blades capable of cutting a man's skull in two and warriors that towered in height close to Berserker level. But as the Xaxamaca examined the Itenco closer, they could see that some of them were sickly and thin, others were to the point of malnourishment. They also noticed the absence of several pet animals such as dogs, and the absence of several livestock. The food situation must have grown desperate. They were thoroughly surprised that these people were the most violent of the Xanchaldii. A lack luster harvest must have crippled the tribe.

Biua, the Itenco's warrior-princess told the gathering crowd to make a hole and allow them to pass. She took them to the square and had the Xaxamaca placed under guard, all except Ermanar - the ambassador to the Emperor of Xaxamaca - who she escorted to the main hut and told him to wait patiently outside; as she went in to speak to her father.

It only took thirty seconds until she came out and told him to enter the chieftain's hut. Upon entering the dark and musty smelling hut, the Xaxamaii ambassador's eyes fell on the chieftain, who was sitting on a cot wrapped in a thick blanket. Chieftain Guatemoc stood to his feet to greet him. He was an old man, probably in mid to late 60s. He was blind in his left eye and had teeth as yellow as urine, his skin was pasty and started to sag, and his hair was grey and loose like thread while his beard fell to his chest. Yet despite his disgusting features, his body was still a good size to be intimidating, Ermanar pondered that he must have looked like a mountain in his prime. And the longer Ermanar stared at him, the more he thought that he recognized him before.

Guatemoc slowly opened his mouth, and a hoarse, smoky voice emanated, "I have been told that you stand Xaxamaca. If such is true, reveal name and see yourself received."

"I am Ermanar of the Iyolloyo tribe of Xaxamaca. I am the second son of Emperor. I humbly come before you with the highest deference and respects, oh chieftain Guatemoc of the Itenco, as emissary to the Bloodyhanded, King of the Iyolloyo, Emperor of the Xaxamaca Empire, and Sovereign of Xanchaladan."

Guatemoc nodded approvingly to his daughter, "He holds great manners and respect." Biua rolled her eyes. "So tell me, Ermanar, for what reason have you come south?"

The Xaxamaii spoke bluntly, "My lord requires knowledge of the situation of the Itenco. How Xaxamaca can provide assistance? And how you plan on further helping Xaxamaca deal with the Xicana threat?"

Guatemoc took a seat in his chair and drank some wine before giving a hoarse answer, "You Xaxamaii cannot understand the fragility of this situation."

"Then break words and see this ignorant mind enlightened."

The chieftain sighed, "The harvest. The gods did not bless the fields on this cruelest of seasons for us tribesmen in the south. But for the tribes north of us…their fields were rich with bounty.The unity of all the tribes ensured that trade would exist harmoniously with one another. But…come our king's demise in battle and no Heir-apparent, the tribes, who bonds extend from blood to hate, quickly broke off the confederation to ensure that the tribes with the poorer harvest starved. With no alternative, I sent my kin to raid the lands of other tribes for the sake of food."

Ermanar spoke with condescendence, "You speak to me of complex factors, yet you present the situation as filled with pettiness and greed. This squabble of yours, the breaking of the unity; cannot all be for the sake of food?"

"It is not solely about food! It extends from generations of the warring tribes, older than my father's father, fighting for crimes that existed long in the past! But why should I regale you on such a struggle, I can look into your eyes and know that you do not care." Guatemoc finally snapped, before having a dreaded coughing fit, "You may be an ally and envoy of the emperor...but know you tread dangerously on my hospitality! Do not question my actions."

"Apologies if I offend, but I only wish to stress what needs to be done."

"And what does your emperor stress needs to be done?"

"He seeks that the Itenco aid in the original mission of the Condeferation and help the Xaxamaca Empire, fight the Xicana."

The chieftain thought over the request for a moment before turning to Biua, who nodded in agreement with Ermanar. Guatemoc spoke, "I understand what your emperor asks, but this I cannot do."

"You refuse your an ally's request?"

"Know that I do not base my choice out of malice or complacency. I support the continuing war against the Xicana, but know that I cannot allow sending my kin to fight against the Xicana."

"Yet you send your people against your fellow tribes? Who number fewer in comparison to the Xicana? Continue to stall and you shall see a Xicana heel dominate you all! Fight for the common purpose! Help us."

"If we fight the northern tribes, we can win against them. We cannot, however, win against the Xicana. I shall offer prayers, but I cannot allow my people to fight them in proxy of your people."

Ermanar sighed in a mixture of frustration and disbelief, and buried his face in his hand. The Itenco would rather slat their former brethren than fight the Xicana. Their logic was truly astounding. Guatemoc took a drink from wine and continued, "If you seek our help, then give us aid against the northern tribes first, and we shall lend assistance to you."

Ermanar shook his head, "We cannot do this. What molds your mind into this decision?"

Guatemoc grew silent and drank some more wine before giving voice, "Blood Xaltentli." Ermanar exhaled and looked towards the ground. The chieftain continued, his voice filled with bitterness, "One cycle, over hundreds of warriors fell before the swords of the Xicana who numbered half. I lost my two sons in that battle who fought in my stead and dozens of our kinsmen. Those that fled told me of the crushing defeat. My sons' bodies…irretrievable. Throughout the mourning period, the cries of my people rang out for what we have deemed an eternity. The Xicana are unstoppable…they will march over my people and crush us if we attack them."

For the moment, Ermanar looked as if he had grieved with the Itenco, He struggled to find the words.. Fortunately, Biua spoke in his defense, "Father, if we strike at the Xicana, we can inflict a crippling blow unto them and allow for Xaxamaca to destroy them!"

"Have you not been listening to what I have spoken?!" Guatemoc snapped, "If we attack the Xicana, they would crush us and swallow our lands! Do you not understand, Biua? We are in no position to fight them!"

Biua gnashed her teeth and left the hut in anger. Guatemoc buried his face in his hand, "She was always a stubborn woman." He looked up to Ermanar with reluctant eyes, yet spoke sternly, "Ermanar, gratitude for coming this way to discuss terms with your father. But know that I shall not commit the Itenco to fight against the Xicana, we have much to lose and very little to gain. I shall support the emperor in whatever way I can, but I will not sacrifice one Itenco to fight against the Xicana. That is my final answer."

Ermanar bowed his head, subtlety gritted his teeth, and clenched his fist bitterly. He failed…he failed his father. He extended his pleasantries to the chieftain and left the hut feeling lower than snake shit.

As he left the hut, he was immediately surrounded by his men who were curious to hear if the chieftain accepted. To their dismay, Ermanar recounted the exchange. The men cursed quietly to themselves and spat on the Itenco land, ashamed that this so-called, "fierce people" was ruled by a coward and were leaving the Xaxamaca out to dry.

Ermanar told the dispirited Xaxamaii to gather their belongings and prepare to leave. But before Ermanar did so, he saw a fuming Biua sitting under a large tree, sharpening her daggers. An idea for a last second agreement sparked in the Xaxamaii's head.

"I cannot believe your father said such things," he told her as he approached.

She scoffed and kept sharpening the knife, making sure every that every nick that was being smoothed was extinguishing her inner frustration, "My Father has grown soft ever since the battle! He does not understand the vital situation we are in!"

"Exactly, maybe you should break words with him once again, except in the tone of frightful daughter?"

"I have tried such things, he still remains adamant to change his thoughts."

He crouched to her level, "Well then…maybe it shall be time that your thoughts eclipse his towards your people…absent his knowledge."

Her face grew abrasive and she sneered, "You are mad! I will not go against my father!"

"But you know that my father speaks the truth! If the Xicana seize full control of that beach, your people will be caught within their land. And in this vise, the Xicana shall seize all you claim for food and let you starve. And as you all grow weak, from feasting on mud, bark, and vegetation, and eventual hunger and madness claims you, the Xicana shall kill you all. Biua, lead your people away from this cruel fate!"

The Xaxamaii could see her facial expression change from irritation to a soft, perplexing bemusement. He could see the wheels in her mind turning as she actually considered for reign as leader of the Itenco. For the men of the village to follow her command meant that they respected her abilities as a warrior and feared her as such. She was a leader.

"Ermanar!" Guatemoc called out as he hobbled out of his hut towards the Xaxamaii, ten warrior fell in step along side him. "In order to leave this land, you must send all your men with ten of mine jungle. You must stay here."

"Why must I remain?" the prince asked, not liking the way the conversation was steering.

"Because I have a purpose for you to remain here in my village," he said sternly.

"Do you intend to hold me hostage against my father?"

"Not at all, such would be foolish. Be patient, you shall be free when it is over."

The Xaxamaii's eyes shot up, "'It'? What is 'it'?"

"The negotiations." Guatemoc declared calmly.

"Wait, what? What negotiations?" Ermanar asked. He was soon interrupted by Biua who came rushing to him with news.

"Father, forward scouts report a large concentration of the Xicana approaching the village!" she bellowed as she was out of breath. "They wish to attack!"

Before Biua could run off to mobilize the warriors, Guatemoc placed a calm, paternal hand on her shoulder, "Be at peace. They are not wishing to battle, but to break words."

Both Biua and Ermanar yelped in unison, "What?!"

"And I accepted," Guatemoc said with utter tranquility. He turned to Ermanar, "The reason I requested you to be here alone is so that you may see the negotiations between us and the Xicana, and know that the Xicana wants no war with us. And as long as we keep an amiable peace between them, they will not come to harm us."

Ermanar was so confused by everything moving so quickly that he had nothing to say. But Biua was vocal enough for both of them, "Father! How long have the Xicana been on our land?!" she demanded to know.

"This is their second day. Earlier in the morning they sent an emissary with letters of hopefully negotiating terms of trade and tribute later in the day, while you were absent in search of hunting earlier. And for the betterment of our kin, I accepted their terms to come to the village and speak to me."

"Father! Why is this now just gracing my ears?!"

His soft gaze transformed into a controlled glare, "Because I know that you will turn sword upon them at first moment. I have told the warriors to standby and allow them to pass and to not harm them. I will not give the Xicana any excuse to destroy us. And you shall see that they can be merciful if you know how to speak to them."

Biua grinded her teeth and wanted to curse her father for being negligent. Has he finally lost the last sense he had?!

Ermanar spoke up with uneasiness, "For what reason would you or your people profit from such talks?"

"Promised safety. I shall not see my people destroyed by this army. Whatever I can say to ensure the Xicana pass by our lands absent a drop of blood is my cause."

You despicable coward! Ermanar couldn't help but leer behind the chieftain's back. The Xicana would shed blood regardless of what would happen. How could he not see that? He would jeopardize the entire alliance for fear of his people's doom, which sounds admirable, but foolish in the long run. Ermanar eyed Biua with beseeching eyes for her to intervene, but she grudgingly shook her head, showing her helplessness in the situation. Her hands were tied and the Xicana were already on the verge of entering their village.

A messenger came by and told the chieftain that the Xicana entered the village and were on their way here. "Sheathe your weapons," Guatemoc shouted to all, "Do not aggravate them and stand with honor and respect towards them. I will not stand any signs of defiance towards their soldiers, translator, or their Commanders! Biua, Ermanar; stand by my side!"

"Chieftain, it is of utmost import that they must not know my identity as a Xaxamaii," the prince pleaded as he stood uniform by the chieftain.

"I understand, your identity will not be revealed, alough I am unsure how versed the Xicana are in Xanchaldii culture. Now fall silent, here they approach."

As the Xicana were moving closer to the main square, a large crowd of Itenco men, women, children, and warriors were following them in a swarming circle. Immediately, the Xicana soldiers ran forth and took a large square formation around the square and stood sharply at attention. Ermanar counted about 100 men, all whose eyes were looking around, precariously gauging the size of the Itenco tribe. A single Xicanii came pushing through the crowd and the soldiers, shouting in fluent islander tongue, "Make way! May way!" The formation of soldiers parted like a veil as the translator came through, followed by two people.

"Make way!" the translator shouted to the chieftain, "Make way for, Red Dog and Diana the Ivory Viper, the emissaries of Port Xicana."

Ermanar trembled subtlety, Biua glared at the Xicana, while Guatemoc walked forth to the two Xicanii and said with a sincere smile, "Greetings! I am Guatemoc, chieftain of the Itenco, welcome to our lands!"

"Gratitude for welcoming us unto your lands. As envoys of the port, I expect that we shall be treated with respect." Red Dog began.

"Of course, of course," the old man said "Dear Commanders, allow me to offer you two rest in our Meeting Hall, I have food and drink prepared for your arrival. There, we will speak upon your request."

"Agreed," Red Dog said with a cordial smile.

The Itenco led the Xicana and a small number of Xicanii soldiers, towards the Meeting Hall. On their way, Diana peered across the village in considerate detail. Although she saw a good number of warriors, she saw emaciated women and children look upon them with eyes filled with confusion, fear, and pain. She saw few livestock but she did notice a full stable of horses, so they must not have been that desperate. The atmosphere of the entire village was so filled with…bleakness, that she could begin to understand what it meant to truly starve.

"Red Dog," Diana whispered, "You see how these people are living?"

The man looked around, "I do…they seem so…weak, pathetic even?"

The Itenco presented a small rectangular table to the duo that held plates of cooked iguana and cups of palm wine.

Before Red Dog and Diana could sit, Biua extended her hand and ordered, "I must ask you two to relinquish all weapons that you carry on you."

Diana's eyebrow shot up, "Fuck that!"

"I do not believe I gave you a choice," she said with fire lighting her eyes.

"Biua!" Guatemoc raised his voice, before turning to the Xicanii. "Apologies, my daughter only offers stipulations that have always been in place, but absent consideration of her guests!" he sneered to her.

Red Dog eyed the scornful women once more, but ultimately allowed for their weapons to be taken without a word. He removed his knives handed them over to a Itenco warrior. Diana begrudgingly removed her cutlass' from her sides as well, and reached for her thigh dagger. Ermanar too reached behind his back to remove his hidden dagger.

Biua quickly seized his dagger and inspected it, "For what reason do you carry this dagger behind your back?" she genuinely asked him in curiosity.

"Because the enemy doesn't expect it and it stays away from their reach," he confidently told her.

She nodded silently in actual approval and handed the dagger over to her fellow warrior. "This only serves as precaution for safety of all parties," she said to them, but eyed the translator, as she herself removed her daggers from her waist, as did Guatemoc.

Guatemoc sat down in the middle of the opposite end of the Xicanii, with Biua and Ermanar sitting beside him. The Xicanii duo took their seats as well.

Red Dog cleared his throat, "…Under the direct orders of Lord Sealion, all tribes within 50 spans of Port Xicana must pay a direct tribute us. Such tribute includes, but is not limited to: crops, livestock, currency, oils, skins, and weaponry to supplement the port. Any questions?"

All the Itenco in the Hall fell silent, as if a phantom swooped into their lungs and stolen the precious air to breathe. Never before had Guatemoc's jaw fallen so low. "Questions?" From where to begin?

"D-D-Did you utter, 'tribute'?" Biua asked, her face locked in disbelief.

"Indeed I did," Red Dog replied.

"But that—'half?' We cannot pay in that form," Guatemoc explained with sorrow-filled eyes.

"And why isn't not possible?"

"Because—we simply do not have that amount, especially in the forms of food, we cannot give you half for if this comes to pass, my people will starve."

"I understand the barrenness of your fields, but Port Xicana demands whatever you have," he said unflinchingly.

"I fear…that the Xicana shall receive little from our people, not for lack of deception, but of scarcity."

Red Dog frowned and scratched his temple, "Must we seize everything you hoard from us?"

"But we only have the gristles on our bones!"

Red Dog glanced at Diana and they looked each other flatly. Diana raised a thick, roasted iguana leg from the table into the air for all to see.

"'Gristle', eh?" she said with a smirk.

"That—this is only a…token of celebratory gesture," Guatemoc said quickly, "To well gorge the appetite of my guests."

"Or," Diana said, "Maybe you gluttonous royals gorge on all the good food while your people starve?"

"Do not dare accuse me of such!" Guatemoc hissed, finally showing his authoritative presence. "Do not accuse me of such barbaric acts. I will do anything to save my people."

Diana rolled her eyes.

The chieftain exhaled in anxiety, "But to do so would damn my people to hunger, and that I cannot do."

"Well," Red Dog stepped in, "You can either damn your people by hunger and see if you hold a chance at surviving; or, you can damn them to the sword."

Biua made an audible growl and gave the eyes of death to the Xicanii. Her hands inconspicuously moved under the table and wrapped her hand around the handle of a secret dagger, strapped to the underside of the table. But before any action could be taken, Guatemoc discreetly placed a calming hand on his daughter's arm.

"ENOUGH!" Biua shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, startling everyone in the Hall. She was panting wildly in burning anger and gnashed her teeth. Ermanar looked over to the chieftain, hoping that he would restrain his daughter. But his head was lowered to the food, refusing to look at his daughter, yet not out of shame. He knew his outspoken daughter will voice his concerns, perhaps to a greater emotion than he could emote so that the Xicana could see how dire this tribute will be for them.

"You dare treat us as dirt?!" Biua shouted to the brothers, "You come to our lands and demand claim of what our people have toiled endlessly for. And you expect us, like obedient dogs, to bow before you and give you all that we own?!"

Red Dog smiled and simply said, "Of course."

The woman clenched her fist tightly, "What makes you hold mind towards our obedience to this despicable agreement?! Why should we hand over our food and livelihoods?" she snarled.

"Because you and your people only exist as simple slaves to Xicana."

Her voice rose an octave, "'Slaves?!' We are no slaves, we are the proud Itenco!"

"Do you possess an army the size of ours?"

"…No…"

The large man shrugged with a chuckle, "Then your're our fucking slaves."

Biua slumped back in her chair and nodded with a dark grin and said slowly, "You shit eating Xicanii."

"Biua!" Ermanar said through his teeth. Yet Sadus sat as he was, cool as ice with his smug smile still intact.

"Who do you think you are?" Biua continued with her angered grin, "I bet your cock rises at the thought of destroying our people."

Red Dog chuckled, "I am but a simple mercenary. Slayer of dozens of your barbaric kin." He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow, "But…if you seek to discover what could make my cock rise, how about you serve your people and me back in our encampment?"

The malevolent grin quickly fell from her face. She grabbed the hidden dagger under the table and removed it halfway, before her father seized her hand yet again. This entire action was performed in discretion. She did not remove her death glare from Sadus, and she was joined by her father as well, who would rather the gods skin him alive than see his daughter's body sold for pleasure.

"You Xicanii bastards, this cannot stand in—"

"I accept the terms…" Guatemoc finally spoke.

All the islander in the Hall snapped their heads to their chieftain, utterly shocked at the heinous terms that he accepted. Ermanar eyed the Itenco chieftain in complete bewilderment, Biua, pale from shock, looked as if her soul was ripped from her body.

"Father…?" she said weakly, almost as if she was in a daze.

"I accept your terms, Red Dog." He said again, his head bowed in shame. He could not see his people destroyed by the Xicana.

Red Dog smiled and stood from his seat, "Smart man."

Guatemoc turned to his livid daughter, "My dear Biua, I need you to collect a tally of all food, livestock, skins, weapons, and oils…and prepare them for transport. Do it now."

His daughter looked at him intently, but said nothing. She bitterly nodded and left the Hall, leaving a trail of sullenness in her wake.

Guatemoc stood to his feet, his dignity in shambles but still showing outward pride to his new masters. Sadus extended a hand forth, Guatemoc examined the young mans palm for a moment, but he extended his hand out nonetheless and both men shook hands. Ermanar stared on, his expression illustrated total disbelief in this historic scene.




"Now do you see?!" Ermanar asked Guatemoc as he followed him back to his hut.

With the meeting between the Xicana and the Itenco adjourned, the Xicanii left the Meeting Hall and oversaw the gathering of their tribute, making sure that nothing was skimmed from the taking and that everything was in order. As this was happening, Guatemoc went to retire to his hut, wishing complete solitude from his people; he stood unable to look upon their withered, helpless faces.

Yet Ermanar quickly followed him. His mission to ally the Itenco with the Xaxamaca against the Xicana was tearing at the seams. He had to try something, say anything, to get the Itenco chieftain on his side; and he refused to return a failure to his king.

The Xaxamaii continued with his harassing, "The people you claim that you hold no qualms about are going to allow your people to suffer the ultimate indignity. Starvation! Ally with us, and together we can crush these invaders!" The confederate chieftain picked up his pace without saying a word. "You still fall silent? Guatemoc, this is bigger than your tribe, commit yourself to our cause and aid us against the Xicana." He still remained silent. "Woden damn you! Break words upon your next actions!"

As Diana was ordering some workers to perform a last second inventory check before they shortly left, her peripheral vision caught the forms of Guatemoc and Ermanar storming back to a hut. A sly smile formed on her lips.

The ivory haired woman inhaled and exhaled and started towards Guatemoc's hut. Red Dog ran over to Diana's side.

"Diana," he said, patting her on the back, "Make it clean."

"Don't I always?" she intoned, and she left Red Dog behind.




Outside the hut, Biua sat underneath a tree, peering at a massive cart filled with food, weapons, and skins, along with livestock tied to the cart and pouches of wine draping over their backs, and Xicana men guarding it with stone faces as the poor Itenco looked on, heartbroken at the loss of their precious supplies that were tied to their very survival.

Biua remained sitting, nearly aloof to her surroundings, all she could think about was her father abandoning his own people like a hairless coward. She remembered the sobs of sadness she heard from her people as she took their food and wine from them, as Roman soldiers glared at her from afar, making sure that you she did not "forget" to leave anything.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ermanar exiting her fathers hut with a big smile on his face. Her stomach churned at the sight of him, but a thought shot in her head. Why is he coming out of father's hut? And why is he smiling as such? She observed him longer and saw him heading over to the ivory haired Xicanii. For the time when they were outside, she observed them both sharing a laugh and a lengthy conversation, they even shared a hug consisting of the ivory girl picking up Ermanar and slowly swinging him in the air back-and-forth.

Biua watched from afar in disgust. The Xicana were acting too friendly with the Xaxamaca. But before she could stomach any more, Diana walked back towards her father's hut and waved goodbye to the Xaxamaii.




Biua stood to her feet and looked on at her desolate village, no animals except for the stable of horses remained, women and children stood in a trance, wondering if this was reality or a dream, she herself stood reflecting the entire set of events, judging herself for not being more vocal in the defense against the Xicana. They had the manpower to take on a hundred Roman soldiers; she could have killed them all before they entered. She could—

A terrible yell pierced the absolute silence of the village. Biua snapped her head to the source of the yell, to her horror; it came from her father's hut. Diana rushed out of the hut and shouted into the air, "Help! Help come quick! Murder! Murder! The Chief has been murdered!"

A crowd quickly gathered around the hut, but none moved faster than Biua, who dashed down to the hut so fast that witnesses believed she had wings on her feet. Diana saw her coming and shouted, "Biua come quick! Your father has been murdered!"

No! NO! It cannot be! She burst through the hut door and there she saw him. He was crumpled stomach-up on top his personal table, one eye was wide open and fixated on the ceiling while his other eye was halfway closed, the room smelled more awful than usual, his bowels had loosened. The origins of the fatal wound was obvious to all that saw, a medium-sized dagger was still jammed in his jugular, judging from the angle, one could say that he bled out under 30 seconds.

Biua screamed louder than any person could believe was humanely possible. Tears flowed out of the corners of her eyes, and she ran to her father and cradled his body tight for several minutes. Her father was the only family she had left, and now, she was forever alone and now in charge of her dying people.

Several warriors entered the hut, and upon seeing the body, they bowed their heads in shame for allowing this vicious murder to take place. Diana bowed her head and shook it, "I found him as is, but didn't see who did it" she told the daughter, translator sputtering.

Biua suddenly stopped crying. She rose from the corpse and without turning around, hissed, "I saw you enter the hut, did you kill my father?"

The Itenco slowly turned to him and gave him menacing leers, as they slowly fondled the handles of their swords. Diana swallowed hard and stammered, "No! No-No-No, I did no such thing. I only wanted to reassure him before we left. When I entered, I saw him dead! I'm innocent!"

Biua leaped towards her and forcibly grabbed her palms and examined them. They were clean. "See?" she said to her, "No blood! I played no part in this!"

"Then what happened?!" She screamed to everyone in the hut. "Spread out and find the murderer! I want him now!"

Before the Itenco warriors ran out, Diana called attention to a crucial piece of evidence, "Hold on. The assassin's dagger is still in his throat!"

Biua went over to her father's body and examined the dagger closely. She gasped after her inspection. She pulled it out gently and showed it to everyone.

"That…dagger," a Itenco stated, "That is not confederate craft…"

"No…I recognize this craft, this pattern, this metal," she said. "This…This is an Iyolloyo dagger!"

"Shit it is," Diana chimed in, "Wasn't that the dagger that man with you earlier had?"

"Yes…it is," she said, as she began to access her memory. At the Meeting Hall, when she confiscated their weapons, she remembers pulling this dagger from Ermanar behind his back. It was one and the same. She shook her head wildly. The Xaxamaii prince killed her father? No, it wasn't possible…but wait…she remember seeing him exiting the hut…and he was smiling! The pieces were beginning to connect. And the Xaxamaii…they left the camp rather quickly as well! They…They did kill her father! They murder her father!

"THAT FUCKING XAXAMAII BASTARD!" she erupted with the intensity of a volcano. "He and his fucking entourage try and ally with us, and instead kill my father because of our refusal?!" She ran out of the hut fuming with the wrath of a goddess and addressed her grieving people who heard the news, "The Xaxamaii have invaded our lands, and murdered my father! Your chieftain! They are dogs without honor who are plagued with madness! We shall not stand for this!" She turned to her warriors, "As Chieftain of the Itenco, I command every man to take up the axe and sword and follow me to attack the Xaxamaii!"

Her warriors cheered with angered vengeance and quickly moved throughout the village to grab their remaining weapons. They were ready for war against the cowards who killed their chieftain. But only one woman in the entire village had the sense to address Biua about this issue.

"Biua!" Diana chased after her, "Stop this, you can't attack those guys witho—"

"Stand aside, Xicanii! I will avenge my father!"

"I understand, but this isn't the way!

"I give no shits to the 'correct way', they killed my father, and I will kill that bastard prince!"

"Listen to fucking reason, woman! You'll fucking die!"

"Fuck off!"

Diana jumped in front of Biua and drew her sword and pressed the tip to her throat. The new Itenco chieftain stopped in her tracks. "Not another step, until you hear what I have to say!" she told her.

"Get that sword away from me before I kill you!" she warned. Diana felt no fear, Biua was an ant compared to the beings she had fought.

She put his sword down while saying, "Attacking about 100 men is stupid!"

"Of course not! We shall crush them, we can still catch up to them!"

"Let me finish. Attacking 100 men is stupid, if you had the option of killing a thousand!"

Biua breathed softer and cocked her eyebrow, "Cease fucking riddles, what do you mean?"

"Red Dog, can get you your vengeance. Ally with us, and we can take everything the bastard holds dear."

Biua thought it over considerably; she paced from side-to-side, grunting loudly, juggling immediate vengeance and the safety of her own people. She desired the prince's head on a stake immensely, but then again, his father most likely ordered him to kill her father, he had to die too. All the Xaxamaca royalty had to die!

"Alright, I accept. The Itenco are now allied with the Xicana! You take us north and we shall aid you! But…I want the princes' heads"

Diana smiled, "Of course, vengeance is yours."

Biua nodded, then stormed off. War was on the horizon.



Jo-Vaughn Holloway


Location: Olivia's House
Interacting With: @Infamous Auror Taylor Evers, Liv @Nallore




Josh regarded Olivia with a nod. He could have don better but Taylor had him thinking. She brought up a good point. What next? Murderers and kidnappers where reeking havoc in the area, and where likely capable of blending in the townsfolk. No one could be trusted. No one was safe. Not until the bastards where caught. But from what he could gather, the police weren't making any noticeable progress either.

As much as Joey hated not having an answer to rid Taylor of her concerns, he truly had no idea what would happen next. So he shrugged and joined Taylor on the hood of his car.

"I feel ya, Tay. Red Lake's in some shit, and I'm not sure we can really do shit about it. Not unless your willing to risk your own life. I'm not sure what comes next."

The notion of risking ones own life for another was rather gratuitous to Joey, but he was a self-serving bastard who only cared for his closest friends and family. Risking an arm and a leg for a whole town was rather idiotic, but people he cared about would rather stay then flee. Maybe Olivia was right in her wanting to investigate on her own.
<Snipped quote by A Teknallian Observation>
Shet.



Tauga is god-queen of three Islands in the Metatic (the islands of Axotal, Ihuian and Xiloxoch - and as you said, is as a realm called 'Tlaca'.) which are the southern most islands.

The 2 northern most islands, which also happen to be the largest, are relatively untouched by Tauga, but have been colonized by others. Since you are coming up on that plot, I won’t spoil.

Lifsprial dubbed Tauga ‘Marquise of Amestris’ after the battle of Xerxes, but she promptly abandoned her position for her project on the Metalic Islands.
Greed Behind Ambition


With the city streets of Yala now filled to overflowing with it's determined troops, it wasn't long before the caravan carrying the municipalities precious crown prince disappeared from prying eyes, lost amongst the powerful bodies of Yala's elite contingent. Unfortunately, the caravan's departure was being observed by another set of eyes, a pair much less concerned about the well-being of Yalan royalty.

A heavy set man, with shoulders like a bear and arms like tree stumps, slowly smiled in satisfaction as he watched a miniature image of the caravan set inside a vast mirror of perfectly ground crystal, the wagons moving through a throng of soldiers.

"Excellent!" He softly growled before running ham-like hand over a balding head and an unshaven jaw. Though now softening in the middle, it was clear that he had been a powerful man at one time, as had his father been before him, and his father. Up the line of descent to the first of their long and storied House, the giant known in the annals of the Amestris and Xerxes as Urud the Mighty.

The man known as the Usurper, the last of his line to sit on the throne of Ngarlak, then took a step back from the crystal mirror sitting in its beautifully hand carved frame of precious black oak, close to the chamber's center. It, like many of the objects that lay thickly clustered about it, were the last signs of the Usurper's waning power. Waning, but still enough to reach across the long leagues that separated his Reach from that of Xerxes' Cipher.

Rich they were, the objects that filled the room to the point of opulence. But Urud had long grown used to, and even tired of, most of them. Majestic tapestries woven from the satin of the Djilyaro, hung from oak beam ceiling to flagstone floor. Beneath them were dozens of hand-spun carpets in the rich colors and fabrics of Koa covering that floor, along with thick furs of rare animals from the far north, trapped in the depths of the vast Ironhearts. All of these things, worth a king's ransom each, had become common to the big man in the heart of his exile.

Ignored also were candelabras of solid gold holding long tapers dipped from the finest of animal fats, a table of polished black oak that cradled a set of gem encrusted goblets of beaten gold and a golden flagon of fine wine. It sat chilling in a tub of fresh snow brought that day from the peaks of a small mountain range which reached into southern Ngarlak. A small sorcerous spell worth the life of a single turtle dove kept the tub cold, preventing the snow from melting and keeping the wine nicely chilled.

In subtle contrast to the frost lining the tub's outer surface, a merry fire of donner's wood burned in the small hearth set into the room's northern wall. The scented and spicy fuel was brought with great expense from the city of Jarrah. Burning it produced a smoke both intoxicating and relaxing, making the wood highly prized across Amestris.

Partaking of that intoxication were three men, each clothed in the military uniform of the Uric Rebellion, as was the Usurper, the rank of warmaster on their shoulders and sleeves. As the soft gray smoke slowly wrapped itself around their lean bodies, slight smiles played on their tanned faces. The vacant smiles, however, didn't reach their hard eyes, steely orbs of chiseled determination as they gazed upon the thickset rebel leader, his face florid from the chilled wine. No amount of intoxication could wipe away the darkness they embraced when they turned their backs on the people they called their brothers and sisters to help fuel the rebellion against them. That darkness now glittered from the windows to their souls.

"Excellent," the Usurper repeated, the chill in his voice in mocking counterpoint to the flush of alcohol in his face. "The fools; they've no idea what kind of pain they will suffer!" Then his eyes were lifted from the mirror to take in his generals wrapped in their cloud of smoke as he leaned against the crystal's great wooden frame.

"Are the troops in place, warmasters?" he growled and, as one, the three officers bowed their affirmatives. Nodding in satisfaction the big man stood erect and grabbed one of the goblets off the table. Lifting it with a jerk to his mouth, he drained it in one swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he casually tossed the goblet over his shoulder and grimaced after a long, windy belch erupted from his mouth.

"Well, it seems your plan is working, sorcerer," he rumbled to an almost invisible form that sat unmoving in a far corner. "For a while I had my doubts, allying with those bumbling idiots to the east and west, the use of this accursed magic and it's need for blood, that phantom army, all of it." The big man scooped up another goblet and raised it to his frowning mouth.

There it paused while the big man's dark eyes stabbed into the shadows.

"Well? No reaction, magic maker? Nothing to say?" Then the goblet was tipped up and dark wine rushed into the big mouth, filling it to overflowing. A trickle slid down the side of the round, unshaven face to disappear into the folds of flesh at the neck, which was unrestrained by the loosened collar of his undecorated uniform.

The form in the corner stirred before a low, husky voice issued from it.

"What is there left to say, Usurper?"

The emptied goblet quickly joined the first and the Usurper reached for a third as he replied to the rasped question.

"How about: fantastic, or excellent. Or even 'I am very pleased'. This sitting in a corner does nothing to bolster my confidence in your plan, Jericho. Did you not see the last of the wagons pull out of the city?"

"Aye," the figure that was Jericho husked. Thick lips pursed.

"Doesn't that excite you?"

"No," came the harsh reply, blunt and cold, the lean figure not moving.

"Why not?" the big man demanded, the third goblet of wine forgotten in his massive fist as he stared at the shadowy form of the sorcerer. "After all, it was the spell of one of your acolytes that brought the message of Sin's return. And your own spells that extended it over the entirety of Amestris, driving Vicer first to madness then to distraction so my armies could set themselves up at his doorstep so he would send his bastard son to defend. You should feel at least something for the fact it actually worked."

"My spells always work, Urud," the chill voice bluntly stated.

"So you keep saying," the Usurper muttered, suddenly remembering the goblet in his hand. Intent on taking a drink, he raised it to his mouth. But he lifted the heavy gold cup too quickly and the goblet's contents were sloshed all over the front of the man's uniform tunic. But Urud ignored the spill and drained the goblet anyway before adding it to its comrades already behind him. Wiping his mouth with his hand once more, he went on.

"You didn't seem so confident a fortnight ago when you appeared at my gates, eager to take over my cadre of acolytes and help me in my quest to unite Amestris." Grunting, Urud broke wind then followed it with another deep and windy belch.

Jericho's cold mind flinched at the blatant slobbery. Ever since he had entered the so-called Usurper's employ, the man's habits had appalled him. One would think that age would've made him more tolerant of his lessers. But, sadly, it wasn't the case. Even from where he sat in the corner at the furthest point away from Urud, he could still smell the man's unwashed body. No scented oil could hide that stench; it nearly made him gag.

Yet the man was a step, one of many the old sorcerer needed to take to return to the pinnacle of power he enjoyed during the glorious cycles of the long dead Amestrain Empire. A dry smile suddenly creased his narrow face, hidden in shadow and he allowed a brief, dry laugh inside his mind before he pushed the weakness of mirth back out of his mind.

Yes, to have that power again! But, only once could one attain power as easily as being born with it, he silently mused. This time he would need to work for it. This time he needed to use, ... tools.

"Bickering is useless, Urud," he softly said in his dry, cold voice. "There's much to do before we declare victory. Vicar won't be easily pushed from Yala's throne."

"Yes, yes," Urud grunted as he absently scratched at the two or three days' growth of whiskers on his chin. "That's what you said when you first suggested this great, unstoppable plan of yours. But now, according to our spies, most of the people of Yala have left the city, the prince rides against us, and surly, soon will the royal family depart, as predicted. The trap now can be sprung." A broad grin sprouted on Urud's unwholesome face as he reached out to pat the crystal's warm roundness.

"And, thanks to your toy here, and those cards, we even know where they are, and with a certainty, know how it will all play out."

"Indeed," Jericho husked, looking the other way.

Seeing the slender, bent form of the sorcerer turn away in apparent disinterest, Urud frowned. Only days before the wiry old man had come to him, selling his grand idea on laying Amestris low with great enthusiasm. Yet Jericho now acted as if it concerned him as much as a rash did. Was there something else going on inside the old sorcerer's head that he wasn't aware of?

"You're not planning to let the prince escape, are you?" he cautiously asked.

"Nonsense. Then it'd be a waste of time and effort," the thin sorcerer flatly replied.

"Then shouldn't we be doing something at this point?" Urud asked dryly, his frown growing as his patience began to wear thin.

"And what do you suggest we do, Urud?" Jericho asked in turn, his voice still soft. But as he brought his gaze around to bear on the thickset rebel leader, his black irised eyes were hard as stone.

The look, equal parts aloof anger and hot disdain, was enough to push the former king the rest of the way to frustration, his patience at last, lost.

"How about springing the thrice-damned trap, for Amestris' sake!" the big man snarled, stepping heavily around the crystal and its stand to come to a halt in front of Jericho, clenched fists on hips.

With Urud that close, the thin man found it almost impossible to breath as a nauseating mixture of body odor, stale food and bad breath now swirled thickly about him. With a grimace, he stood and pushed past the big man to stride quickly to the other side of the room where he found the air a spring breeze compared to the space around Urud.

"Very well," he said, glad to be away from the miasma that clung to Urud like a mantle of foulness. "If you can't contain your impatience and lust for Yala's destruction, I'll spring the 'trap', as you so quaintly call it." 'Just stay away from me!' he silently finished as he watched an ugly smile of satisfaction split Urud's thick features with his reluctant capitulation.

Pushing the unwelcome sight to the back of his mind, Jericho turned slightly as he began to mentally form the images he would need for the first part of his spell. As a curious Urud watched, he reached into his belt pouch, hanging beneath the bulky black robe he wore, and pulled out a small stone amulet. It was a shape-less lump of gray rock, as non-descript as any found at the side of a road, attached to a simple leather cord by a heavy steel staple punched into it's rounded edge.

Other than the cord, the only thing that distinguished this piece of stone from any other was the hole that had been laboriously bored through its center axis. It was around this strange little hole Jericho's claw-like index finger slowly began to circle as the cadaverous sorcerer murmured a chant in an alien tongue beneath his breath.

Frowning, Urud leaned even closer, trying to catch the words spilling in a non-stop stream from Jericho's thin lips. Before he could make out even one, however, the old sorcerer abruptly flung the hand clutching the amulet high into the air. At the same time he barked a single, guttural word. With a blink of discharge, the thick air of the small study began to churn with gathering energies in response to the alien command.

"What the, . . .?" Urud began, casting about with eyes wide in amazement. Then, with a sharp 'clap' of sound, a portal opened in the space directly before the bent old sorcerer.

Before Urud or any of his generals could catch more than a glimpse of what seethed beyond the portal's head-sized threshold, a giant hand of force curled about them. Moving so swiftly they were unable to react, the hand picked them up and slung them all into the nearby tapestry-covered wall. The four men impacted with enough force to drive the generals into unconsciousness, all of them sliding to the floor to lie in untidy heaps.

For his part, Urud managed to keep his consciousness with him. But he dropped onto the ground like an obscene, overly ripe fruit, emptying his stomach in one vast heave before he rolled onto his side where he lay groaning, stars dancing before his eyes. His mind reeled in shock as he tried to shake off the effects of the impact with the wall. But a greater shock awaited him when his eyes finally cleared.

There, floating above the scrying crystal was a creature pulled straight out of the imagination of the sickest of gods. A sickening twist of color and motion, it was a pair of hotly glowing red eyes and misty chaos.

"By Amestris' hairy crotch!" Urud breathed as he struggled up onto his elbows, vomit clinging to his tunic in putrid decoration.

Even worse, the thing seemed to be in conversation with that blasted sorcerer, it's eyes flaring in time to the rough words it croaked from somewhere in its wraith-like body. Urud blinked his eyes in rapid disbelief. Only to catch sight of it upon the last opening of his lids as it bobbed in midair and disappeared with a thunderous clap of displaced air, the room suddenly thick with sulphurous fumes. In an instant the heavyset rebel king was on his feet.

"What, in the name of Fate's ass, was that?!" he hotly demanded.

"You know the answer to that, Urud," answered a satisfied Jericho as he dropped the now dead amulet back into his pouch, unperturbed by Urud's explosive exclamation. "I'm sure you've heard the occult's powers."

"Aye, but to actually see one of those things. And in my own damn study, to boot!"

"My demonic allies are necessary for the next part of this plan," Jericho flatly stated, turning hard eyes onto the bulky rebel leader. "You do want Amestris, do you not?"

"Aye. But I can't say I'm keen on the idea of heavy supernatural involvement," the big man began.

"Then you've come to the wrong sorcerer," Jericho interrupted sharply to say, deliberately ignoring the fact that it was he that had knocked on Urud's door, not the other way around. "Either we use my plan in its entirety. Or you find other assistance!"

Urud's eyes narrowed at the flat, blunt ultimatum as he reassessed this almost frail looking old man. There was strength there now, coiling out from deep within, and its power suddenly made him wary. He could almost feel the black eyes boring into him as Jericho stared defiantly back at him.

"Very well." He finally rasped, his desire to take the throne of Amestris winning over his fear of the supernatural. And Jericho, . . .

"When do these demons attack?"

*


Several days' travel north of Yala found the short caravan of wagons that streamed out of the capital at the king's command. Flanking them on either side were a company of the Cobra's Legion, joining them after a brief pause at Lunaris, a fortified loyalist holding two days' north of Yala. To say the soldiers, drawn from the finest of the kings command, were a welcome sight to the handful of Prince's Own guarding the caravan would've been a vast understatement.

Unfortunately the soldiers, with their bright breastplates and blades always at ready, were nearly lost this day in a thick fog bank that rose from damp ground sometime in the early Watches of the morning to completely surround them in a thick, damp blanket of gray. Only the steady drum of shod hooves on cobblestone marked them keeping pace with the caravan as it pushed on through the fog to the north.

Hidden the men were, but their eyes were sharp in keeping watch on the wagon in the caravan's midst, a beautiful coach pulled by four powerful horses, each one from the finest of Yalan stock. The carriage they pulled was carved by hand from the dark woods of Jarrah, rolling silently on greased hubs in elegant contrast to the plodding wagons around them, which were pulled by thick-shouldered oxen.

With carved windows covered with curtains of silk overlooking both sides of the carriage, the coach was piloted by two soldiers of the Prince's Own, the prince's personal bodyguard. Their characteristic silver and purple scaled livery was pulled over thick tunics, marking them clearly in the mist-filled air despite thick cloaks draped around muscular shoulders as proof against the damp chill. Two more rode where the footmen usually sat, grim women with bow and arrow close at hand as they stared hard around them into the gloom, the heavyset men surrounding them notwithstanding.

In all, both the impromptu escort of heavy horse and the silver and purple of the Prince's Own bespoke to the importance of this carriage's passengers.

"Hallas," Sirax began. "What does our good Commander Adar have to say about conditions beyond the border?"

Hallas slipped a tightly rolled parchment from within his tunic and, after unfurling it, glanced down at the neat, compact script marching across its creamy face.

"He comments on the movements of a massive military force pouring out of the north." He handed the parchment to a frowning Sirax. "By his estimations, they'll reach Yala in about three days."

The square prince threw his officer a quick look.

"Does he have an identification for us? One of Urud's, perhaps?"

Hallas shook his head.

"From what I gathered, the army wasn't human at all."

"Not human?" Sirimax frowned, his mind working hard behind his eyes.

"Actually, the major indicated his rangers saw not one recognizable member of any race within it's ranks." He handed the prince a number of smaller scraps of parchment upon which a number of sketches had been made with charcoal.

Sirax frown only deepened as he let his gaze travel from sketch to sketch. The drawings included pictures of a wiry individual, with strange, pointed ears and dark skin, squat reptilian giants and tall, powerful beasts covered in matted hair.

"And Adar didn't have a name for these creatures, did he?"

Hallas shook his head.

That's all they needed: another player on an already crowded board.

The bluff prince's face tightened as yet another thought occurred to him: if this dark force was truly on the move against the,, then there was a good chance there was some connection to Urud and his insurrection. Burn him, did Ur and these new soldiers plan on taking Yala together? If that happened, Sirimax's beleaguered force could find itself in the soup.

He paused to rub a hand of a suddenly tired face. As if they weren't in the soup already, and a particularly messy one at that.

He glanced up at Hallas, the leftnant still waiting patiently for his commander to speak. Patient, yes, but there was no mistaking the question on his face. Hallas was wondering what they were going to do now. 'A damn good question.' Sirimax darkly mused to himself. 'And I don't have the first idea on how to answer it.'

"Tell Adar to have his rangers track this new force, leftnant. I don't want them moving without us knowing about it. And have them gather as much intelligence about them as they can. When we end up facing them in battle, I want to know every weakness we can exploit."

"Yes, sir," Hallas replied, saluting.

Before the lean colonel could step out of the wagon completely, however, Sirax quickly spoke.

"And Hallas, prepare our best scouts. I want them to carry messages to he King and Queen."

"What should the....

Without warning the slender officer's voice trailed off as his eyes went wide with agonized surprise, his mouth continuing to silently work. Then with a pain-filled groan, he toppled out of the wagon, his entire body twitching once before going limp.

"Hallas!" Sirax bellowed, leaping from his chair to find his fallen comrade in the dirt. "By Fate's Grace, what, ...?"

It then was his voice that trailed off into shocked silence as his sharp eyes discovered the arrow jutting out of the side of his unloving friend's neck.

"Hallas!" he husked, shock, anger and sorrow rushing through him like a storm.

Another arrow silently flying out of the fog to sink into the wooden frame beside him with a heavy 'thunk' of impact was enough to pull the big prince from his shock. Instantly the rage, pure and bestial, pushed everything else aside.

"Sound the horn!"

Trelan, the pilot of the royal carriage, tore free the brass horn hanging from his belt with a surge of powerful muscles, and raised it to his lips and blew hard, the sound lifting pure and unrestrained over the rain's hiss and into the thick air. The sound jerked around the heads of the Cobra's Legion escort to face the captain as the other Prince's Own riding in back boiled to their feet.

But any answers to the unspoken questions on their faces weren't forthcoming, the blast itself short lived. Streaking out of the fog, another arrow appeared to bury itself in Trelan's throat, the impact snapping his head back. Finding himself suddenly without voice, fiery pain blossoming in his neck, Trelan threw the horn onto the ground with a burbled curse as blood filled his mouth. He turned in time to watch several of the Cobra's Legion get torn to shreds by a hail of arrows.

Frantically the big captain reached for his sword as he heard the two behind him let loose with their arrows at unseen shapes in the fog, determined to fight to the death to protect the prince. Only to find his fingers stopped short of the hilt by three more arrows slamming into his broad chest, his mail shirt doing little to slow them. The missiles, insistently burrowing into his body, instantly stole his strength. Spitting blood as his legs suddenly lost their power, Trelan fell back against on the Prince's Own, his vision darkening. In doing so, his gauntleted hand fell onto the reins and convulsively they took hold of them, his falling body pulling back on the broad leather straps. With a jerk the carriage's team brought it to a halt in response.

Momentum slumping him over the end of the bench seat, the sharp motion was enough to jolt the failing Trelan back to his senses. He pushed the fluids welling up in his mouth and throat out with a convulsive cough as he willed his muscles into motion. He had to warn the Prince! With the overflow a warm rivulet that trickled over his chin and onto his snowy white surcoat to wreath the silver and purple oak tree in red, he leaned down to take hold of the curtain, the motion pushing the arrows even deeper into his body. Ignoring the pain, he gathered his flagging strength.

"Your Majesty!" he gasped roughly, bloody spittle flying from his lips to stream down the silken curtain.

"We've been ambushed!"

Then the fog exploded with shouts and screams, the blowing of horns a shrill counterpoint as Urud and his rebel forces attacked from their hiding places.

*


The commander of the guard detachment manning the western gates felt his guts tighten in cold fear as he watched the horizon darken from side to side with an army of the like he had never seen. Thousands of foot soldiers, hundreds of mounted warriors, siege engines, ... it was a force with an obvious purpose. This army was here to crush Yala.

"Commander?" Vicar hissed as he leapt the last handful of stairs and stepped onto the platform high on one of the guard towers that stood on either side of the massive western gates to the city. Behind him came his brother, Prince Lor, his Generals and his aide, Vodun.

The view of the vast army stretching across the western plain, however, was answer enough.

"Shards and bloody stones," Lor breathed beside his brother, Vicar having fallen silent in stunned shock.

"There's no conceivable way the rebels could've reached us so fast," a general hissed with open disbelief. "Just a tenday ago they where amassing at our borders to the north."

"Yet there this army stands," another rumbled, his gauntleted hands flexing. "And from the west I might add they marched."

"I, for one, will not, can not yield to such devotees of evil. I must return to my command, and direct them march on this army and give them battle!" Vicar, flatly growled. "General Kith, sound the general alarm. All troops to full alert, garrison and guard stations to their battle positions. Prepare to defend the walls!"

As commands to prepare sent ripples through the soldiers close about the knot of lords, generals and nobles, Vicar grabbed his brother's arm.

"You need to get Naomi and the children out of the city, my brother. Now! And send our best scouts to find Sirax and his detachment. Somehow Urud deceived us." he tautly whispered into his darker brother's ear.

"Consider it done, my king," Lor quickly assured his brother. Then he was gone, pushing through rushing soldiers to disappear near the doorway leading downward.

"My lord," a respectful voice spoke from the walkway behind him and, Vicar twisted in place to find a scout standing some five paces away, a tightly furled scroll in a gauntleted hand.

"I have word from Master Sirax's convoy that must be conveyed to you immediately!"

Not bothering to wonder what was going on, took two quick strides and he was accepting the scroll from the scout's hand and twisting it open. Only to crumple it into a tight ball a heartbeat after scanning it's contents.

"Bones and bloody shards!" he snarled, hurling the parchment ball into the darkness as fiery anger raged through him. "It was a bloody illusion! The army at the borders!?"

"I want Vethie and Kith up here now. If they're not here in five turns of the small glass, I'll have their heads decorating pikes at my gate. Got me?"

"Yes, sire!" Then the scout was off at a dead run.

Vicar watched her go for a long moment before turning his eyes back to the distant blur that was the rebel army gathering against him. An ambush at on the road to the northern boarder encampment, the parchment had said, his only child had gone missing and hundreds where left dead. And news that the army looming to the north at his border was nothing but a phantom.

"It's over, Urud," he hissed, voice filled with cold venom as the air began to ring with the proud song of Yalan war horns.

"You, Ur, . . . you're all dead!"


<Snipped quote by LokiLeo789>

...they're definitely humans. Largely a mixture of Native American/Mongol/Bedouin culture.



Yeah, cyclone cleared that up for me. Chick in the first pic lookin good tho, who is she?
<Snipped quote by Lauder>

The Rukbans are literally called 'Horse People'. If Rukban posts didn't leave you thinking of horses, I'd have done a terrible job.



I always thought they where literal horse people, like, bipedal horses.
@Antarctic Termite@Muttonhawk


I've been pronouncing it softly. And I've been pronouncing Achozaal's 'ch' hard.


Dog tastes pretty good.
@pandapolio

They can live forever. Unless they are killed, that generally makes them stop living.


No. Legends never die.
@LokiLeo789 Ok thanks. I'm still trying to get my footing, and find out who everyone is. Nice to meet ya.


@LokiLeo789 I think they will get along great.


Aye, take your time, there is no rush. Word of warning, watch out for Kho’s whip. He don’t use it often, but he get pretty liberal when he does.
Goddess of secrets giving birth to fear of the unknown. Huh fitting.


Laz is a demi-god. But the notion remains the same. Hi, I’m Loki. Raddist dude with the worst Tude. Our characters shall become the best of friends.
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