[center][b][color=FF0000]The Rokthani | Population; ~315
Westhome: 90 | Middlehome: 161 | Easthome: 62[/color][/b][/center]


[center][img]http://www.mayhemdigital.com/images/DunesAtSunset.jpg[/img][/center]
A slow breeze was blowing over the outskirts of Easthome. The desert crickets were chirping in the shadows cast upon the sands by the dunes and the setting sun behind them. The troop of eight Rokthan soldiers were almost finished with their trek across country to the village. Though they were in a hurry, they couldn't help but speculate with each other. Thoughts ranged from a gigantic monster capable of crushing many in a single foot stomp, to holy apparitions enraged by the actions of Rokthanity. All that they knew was that these things, whatever they are, are tall, strange looking, and hostile. The village organizer of Easthome was returning with them to see justice served himself.

[center][b]Easthome[/b][/center]
[@Nerevarine]
"There! That 'oughta do it! For now, at least..."
The burrow that Anrétt would be staying in for the time being was complete. The entrance consisted of a short tunnel leading to a dark, slightly moist, but cozy den about eight feet wide by seven feet long, with a rather uncomfortable four foot high ceiling. Though this would be considered bare minimum living conditions for anybody else, for a Rokthan, it was the high life. Complete with soft river reed bedding, a skylight of sorts which could also function as a chimney, and state-of-the-art wood support beams, it was quite the lifestyle. The many Rokthan who put forth the effort to build the burrow were exhausted and laid out on the hill in what little sunlight there was to regain their strength. If Anrétt were to offer to aid in the construction, the Rokthan would refuse, claiming that "it would be a crime" to let her help. Whether they were speaking literally or out of kindness was not clear.
"See, my lad? I told you it was possible to finish it before dark." the elder says to his grandson who was laying limp panting in the sun.
"Yeah...... *gasp*  totally...."

Once she was settled in, the village decided to hold a bonfire in celebration. This was a chance for the Rokthan to impress the visitor with their ability to harness one of nature's most destructive forces... for recreation.
[@Nerevarine]

[center][b]Middlehome[/b][/center]
Gnila Skethar's pregnancy was going well for the first few weeks, but then started to become strange. There were great pains one day, then they stopped the next. Rokthan broods typically consist of three to eight eggs, but it's almost as if they've all merged into one. All they could do at this point is pray that everything will turn out fine.

Vinal comes to Shel to have a word. "Milord, perhaps it would be best if I made my way to Easthome as well. If these beings are capable of reason, I may find some way to--"
"No. I won't allow that, I'm sorry. I need you here at Middlehome. You and I both know that I cannot rule this practical hive alone. Without an organizer, things would fall apart. I'm sure that our men will do what must be done."
"Yes, milord..."
"By the way, Vinal."
"Yes?"
"Drop the formalities. You've known me long enough."
"Aye... thank you, Shel."