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Mae
Jensoman~ Chapter 1 ~
Kalo, A Stubborn Successor
The afternoon sun beat heavily upon Kalo's glistening shoulders as he held his ground against his older brother with unreal fortitude. His muscles rippled against the force of another blow, pushing the backs of his heels deeper into the dried earth. Kalen, his elder brother, towered over him as he rammed the length of his own pole into Kalo's, attempting to break through his brother's guard with his power advantage alone. But his persistence only drained heavily on what little stamina he had left. Kalo shifted his pole a few degrees back and released his left hand moments after, allowing Kalen's to slide past harmlessly. With a single quick motion, the end of Kalo's pole drove into his brother's jaw and knocked him clean off his feet. The crowd surrounding them cheered happily, but he payed them little mind. As Kalen fell against the dirt, he rose his pole with pride and turned to his father, expecting some kind of acknowledgement. The traditions of his people were well under way.
The nomad leader looked upon his sons with little expression, and nodded, urging two men to tend to Kalen's condition with a quick flick of his wrist. "A fine fight," He bellowed from the depths of his mighty chest, "I acknowledge your strength as superior, Kalo."
"As expected!" Kalo roared, shaking his pole-arm and riling up the crowd. Cheers sounded left and right, but Kalo's father was not amused by his grandstanding. "Bask in my victory, friends! See the power of my family, focused to-"
"Enough, Kalo!" His father demanded. The burly man uncrossed his legs and stood from his seated position, wielding a pole that was decorated with several animal bones of different origins, accenting the length of his staff. He himself stood taller than the weapon he held, nearly 7 feet, his bronze body adorned with an extravagant headdress, and a pair of loose leather pants. He and his sons refrained from wearing any sort of tunic, as was customary during times of celebration for the male heads of the clan. But the men who were forced to dress their upper bodies often found it foolish, especially during the hotter times when sunlight could sear skin with ease. The darker pigmentation of most clan members made it bearable, though. Not that it mattered. Nobody was about to challenge their leader Fuso, or either of his sons, anytime soon. "Please, friends, allies, make haste for the dinner tables. I thank you for bearing witness to our 300th year of success, taming these lands and paying respect to the elements as required!" Fuso shouted, raising his staff towards a lovely banquet set up behind his family gathering. Tables were lined with meat and vegetables, and set up mere yards from the edge of a glorious crystal-like lake. Fuso took care to give his people the grandest treatment possible whenever occasions like this came to pass. Anniversaries tickled his fancy, perhaps more than anyone else. After all, 300 years of success for his nomadic clan was nothing to gawk at. His great great grandfather said it best, Find glory in time, as it surpasses all sorrow, and crushes all foes. Or... Something like that. Who even knew? People were confident that his ancestor's quote changed every ten years, anyways. There was no use memorizing it.
"Find glory in our time, for it conquers the evil, and stomps sorrow!" Fuso shouted. Ah, yes. That was this year's version. Kalo rolled his eyes and stomped towards the feast, feeling robbed of the glory that his father spoke of. He glanced at several villagers who passed him up, congratulating him on his performance, and victory, as well as several villagers who he'd seen as close friends. He glanced at Lystra as well with a confident smile, despite the fact that he had never approached her before. He's always found her peculiar skin tone exotic, as did many men within the clan. But his father made it blatantly clear that he was only aloud to marry within the clans inner circle, whatever the hell that meant. He didn't care, or remember. Besides, he always got what he wanted. It was only a matter of time.
Lystra's foster mother pulled her towards the food in a hurry. She was a larger woman, and despite stuffing her face earlier in the day, was particularly eager to have at the feast laid before them. "Lystra! Hurry your feet!" She ordered, tugging at the girl's wrist more and more aggressively.
