I have asked this question before and get ignored, I was very proud of my writing as I improved as I was apart of Mk 1 (or 2). Please could someone give me an answer? I'd really appreciate it, thanks.
This is the last post in which Kanros ever featured. The RP was rebooted shortly after and his story did not progress beyond that.
Then you've come to the right place. In this game you will play a newborn god summoned into a world that has just been completely destroyed. Nothing remains - except two mighty primordial beings known simply as Invictus and Fate. Alongside other gods, with the blessing of these two mighty beings, you will bring life to planet Galbar.
It will not be a simple task for Galbar is nothing but a dead rock. You will create seas, raise continents and mountains, carve out rivers and plant endless forests. And you will also create life, and from that life intelligent beings who will form up into societies, tribes, and nations. You will give them great boons and artifiacts and teach them great magics and technologies, and you may also choose to inflict curses and suffering upon them. The world is your oyster and you will make of it as you please.
In this game you will play a god with a chosen Domain - this is an aspect of reality governed by your character. For instance, a god with the Fire Domain has complete power over Fire. A god with the Death Domain is lord over Death. A god with the Domain of Weather has more power than any other god over that. As the game progresses, you will be able to amass additional Domains. The main advantage of a Domain is that you can carry out all sorts of things in relation to it that would otherwise need Might.
Might is the unit of Divine power, and you will get a set amount to spend every Turn. This can be spent on anything at all, there is no limit to what you can do - create suns, moons, stars, weather patterns, mountains, life, heroes, holy orders, monuments and whatever else. There will be a catalogue of Divine Actions alongside how much Might they cost.
The game will be split into Turns. Every Turn your deity will get 6 Might Points to spend either on furthering their power or on advancing their creations.
So, what will you do? Will you be the creator and guardian of civilisation? Will you be the sower of sin and debauchery? Will you be the harbinger of death and destruction? Will you bring chaos or demand order? Will you call to balance or will you delight in disharmony? Will you raise the banners of war or will you reign over peace?
Express your interest and let's find out.
Divine Powers and Might Catalogue
Environmental Manipulation: Divines can raise a small islands at no cost, and can also control the weather, landscape, and other physical phenomena in their vicinity using only their minds. They may raise rocks and water from the ground, purify or mix materials, extract a particular element out the ground, or compress, melt, ignite or freeze something.
Form: Divines can take on any shape or form they wish, and can even become invisible. Those with Domains related to these, such as Deception or Trickery for instance, are naturally more proficient at this.
Immortality: Divines are ageless and nigh unkillable. They cannot be harmed by normal weapons or magic. A god's weakness is usually particular to that individual god and a secret hidden with the utmost care and vigilance. If they are to die, it must be either by suicide or by the direct efforts of a very powerful god or a group of gods. Mortal efforts could at best cause superficial harm to a god, and more often have no effect.
Strength: Divines wield great martial power and resilience, and this is lesser or greater depending on the god. Most deities make terrifying opponents for all but other deities. Normal weapons are generally ineffective against then, as are low-level magics. They are immensely powerful, capable of lifting objects larger than them, and are unaffected by fatigue. They are able to shrug off mundane threats and perform impressive feats such as smashing large boulders with ease.
Regeneration: While harming a god is extremely difficult, if harm does come to one they possess the ability to almost instantaneously regenerate.
Acclimitisation: There is no place where a deity cannot survive. A god is unharmed by mundane environmental hazards such as extreme temperatures, extreme pressure, poisons, or falling. A god does not require food, air, drink, or sleep to survive.
Perception: A deity has the capability of, at any time, knowing all things within their vicinity, including thoughts, feelings, and - unless concealed - whether other gods are present. They can see in great detail in every direction, are able to see even in the true darkness of deep space, and can observe aspects such as heat, magnetic fields, or souls. They can hear as far as they can see, are able to pinpoint the direction of sounds and are able to simultaneously understand all speakers in a large crowd.
Private Planes: Any deity can create its own private plane of existence without spending Might. This can act as a private retreat or a manner to escape from other gods. These generally cannot be located by other gods unless the god in question allows others to find it, though those gods whose Domain involves dimensions or space/time warps may be able to find such planes. These planes are very small.
Travel: A god can travel wherever they wish, however they wish, at speeds incomprehensible to other creatures. They can fly, run at high speeds, breathe under or walk on water, and teleport anywhere instantly. Some gods may have preferences for particular modes of travel and those with relevant Domains may be better at utilising certain modes than other gods.
Divine Trails and Presence: A god's essence leaves a mark, or a trail, wherever they go and in whatever they create. This trail, unless concealed, can be detected and tracked by other gods. A god has the ability to cover their presence or block the senses of another god to it, although gods whose Domains relate to Trickery, Deception or things of that nature would be more skilful at this than others. The ability to cover Divine Presence can be improved with Might.
Creation: Divines are able to create things from nothing and shift them with ease. On a very small scale, this does not drain their energy at all. For instance, they can create a clump of metal and heat the metal to melt it, they can shape clay and carve stone with their touch, they can cause seeds to grow rapidly by merely focusing on them. A god can also create tiny creatures without magical properties, like ants, beetles, and mice, without using any Might. These can reproduce, survive, and thrive. Finally, a god may modify existing life-forms in a manner befitting their Domains. Such modifications typically affect a small proportion of the species’ population and does not cost Might.
Magic: Divines are naturally proficient in magic, or some equivalent thereof, with which they can perform what mortals would see as miracles and displays of tremendous power. This may not be conventional magic - they may have superhuman mechanical expertise or be able to command vast hordes of smaller spirits, or simply be so able of body that they can work divine wonders by hand.
Communication: Divines can understand and are fluent in all languages, including those of wild animals, and can even communicate with inanimate objects. Gods can communicate telepathically with beings they can sense or with whom they are familiar. Gods may also send messages to other gods across any distance.
Mind Reading: A god can read the thoughts and memories of mortal creatures within their vicinity. A god may also read the mind of any creation inside the god's Personal Plane. If a creation prays to a god, that god can hear that prayer and knows that creation's location. Gods have full access to the minds of any creation that prays to them, hearing its words and thoughts, and being able to actively read its memories.
Aura: Divines exude a supernatural aura that inspires, frightens, calms or generally affects nearby life. An aura may have additional effects depending on a god’s Domains and can also be further enhanced by using Might.
1 Might: Create a Hero. These are exceptionally powerful individuals among your creations whose powers and skills are renowned and well beyond the capabilities of normal members of their species. Those who gain such an honour may, for example, receive agelessness, immunity to diseases, superhuman resilience, or any other powers decided upon by the god.
1 Might: Form a Holy Order. A holy order is a collection of people treated as one hero. A god may decree a band of mortals to organise under a cause, philosophy, or similar motivation in that deity's name. These groups are generally specialised and skilled - if you want to create the Jedi, the Knights Templar, or the Bardic Band of Much Barding, this is your port of call.
1 Might: Create a large, lifeless landmass, mountain range, or sea.
2 Might: Create a small ecosystem of many species, which can fill a region such as a river, valley, mountain, small island, lake, or a small part of a sea or ocean (e.g. a small coral reef).
3 Might: Create a large ecosystem of innumerable species, which can fill a large geographic region such as a whole mountain range, an archipelago, a desert, a whole sea or a significant part of an ocean.
2 Might: Create sizeable celestial bodies such as stars and moons.
1-3 Might: Create a Beast of Phenomenal Power (e.g. the Kraken, the Thunder Bird, Jormungandr). The more extraordinary abilities they possess, the higher the cost.
1-3 Might: Create an Extraordinary non-Sapient Species (e.g. Manticores, Dragons, Lovecraftian Horrors). The more extraordinary abilities they possess, the higher the cost.
2-4 Might: Create a Sapient Species (e.g. Humans, Elves, Angels, Demons, Giants). The more extraordinary abilities they possess, the higher the cost.
1-3 Might: Create an Artifact. This is an item that affords its owner any of a plethora of abilities - a sword that cuts stone, a medallion that grants the owner invisibility, and so on. If multiple gods work together to create an Artifact, each can contribute up to 3 Might. This means the most powerful Artifacts are those created by the combined efforts of several gods. Very powerful Artifacts can be dangerous even for gods. Artifacts can be lost, stolen, destroyed, or traded.
1-3 Might: Create a Monument. Similar to Artifacts but generally in the form of a large physical structure that cannot be handed around. It can be a temple, for instance, or a tower, or a formation of menhirs. As with Artifacts, multiple gods can contribute to a Monument. A Monument is more powerful than an Artifact of the same MP value, though this advantage is offset by their disadvantages in being largely immobile and possibly harder to defend. Monuments can be destroyed.
1-3 Might: Bless or Curse. This is the sign of a deity's favour or disfavour and can affect entire populations, particular families and bloodlines, or specific individuals. A blessing can be any kind of boon, such as a greater birth rate, more bountiful harvests, or a blessing of greater strength or health. Curses are the reverse and can be rather tame such as a rain of frogs to more sinister things - such as causing a people's nightmares to come alive at night or turning an individual to stone. More powerful blessings and curses cost greater Might. These can be neutralised by the god who cast them at no cost, or can be counteracted by another god with a counter-blessing or counter-curse of the same cost.
1 Might: Confer a single extraordinary or powerful ability upon a species or set of people (e.g. Wings, Gills, Magic Talent).
1 Might: Teach People an Idea or Technology.
3 Might: Create a Gateway. You can use this action to create a permanent connection between Galbar and your Personal Plane. This connection can take virtually any form, from a discrete portal to a broad region or even something more abstract such as an elaborate ritual. The area around Gateways is affected and modified by energies from the Personal Plane they lead to - for instance, the area around a Gateway leading to your Personal Plane of Death may contain deposits of negative energy that wreak unknown mutations on those passing by the Gateway or through it.
2 Might: Create a Portal. This is a permanent connection between two locations on Galbar, allowing anyone to pass instantaneously from one to the other. The portal can be a physical doorway or can be a ritual that must be done or words spoken in a particular location, or anything else.
1-3 Might: Grant or Acquire an Ability. If you wish to further enhance your god's roster of abilities, you can expend Might to do so. You can spend Might to, for instance, increase your god's ability to perceive other gods' trails or hide their own. You can also grant Heroes or mortals unique abilities.
1+ Might: Perform some Other Divine Feat. You can expend Might to perform incredible actions beyond your innate abilities, such as hurling mighty fireballs, putting a city to sleep, shrugging off a devastating blow, or punching someone really hard. The more Might spent on an action, the more potent it is. Typically a Domain will provide you with a wide set of divine feats you can perform for free, and Artifacts and Monuments provide more potent ongoing/reusable abilities.
General Rules and Regulations
Tʜᴇ Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ Rᴜʟᴇ: Tʜᴏᴜ Sʜᴀʟᴛ Nᴏᴛ Gᴏᴅᴍᴏᴅ
It's funny 'cause you're a god and all some people think that this means normal RPing rules don't apply. But they do. You cannot take control of another player's characters.
Before significantly influencing someone else’s creations, especially if it is going to be in a destructive way, give them some fair warning OOC so that potential objections can be made ahead of time and plans can be shifted. Ideally, conflicts between two gods that lead to destruction or harm of one god or its possessions will be written with the consent of both players, but if you think that somebody is being unreasonable then let the GMs know.
Please give us forewarning on the OOC if circumstances dictate that you will become inactive in the RP for a time. I’m sure we’ve all seen the phenomena of people simply vanishing; it’s frustrating and leaves work where the others have to pick up the narrative pieces. Failure to follow this rule can potentially lead to your god being deposed IC; the Architect won’t look kindly upon squatters that sit around in his realm without contributing to Galbar’s development or fulfilling their divine duties.
The above commandments are most important. Almost every other conduct is to fall under the domain of common sense and the RPGuild rules, with the understanding that our goal is to collaboratively create cool narratives and have fun. Be considerate to one another and facilitate storytelling. If there are any concerns or clarifications required, the GMs are always happy to help.
Application:
[hider=Name or Nickname] [b]Name:[/b] To know your god, name your god.
[b]Alignment:[/b] Just to get a general idea of how your god might interact with others, take a guess at where they might fall on an [url=easydamus.com/alignmenttest.html]alig… chart[/url].
[b]Personality:[/b] The way they see themselves. The way they present themselves to others.
[b]Goals:[/b] What do they intend to do with their power? What will they fight for, ally for, sacrifice for? There's no need to plan too far ahead, but try to think of at least one example of an action they would take to achieve their goals.
[b]Appearance:[/b] Text description first, optional [u]link[/u] to an image second. You can specify preferred forms and what forms they adopt in particular circumstances.
[b]Domain:[/b] E.g. Fire. Give us some idea of what this means. What specific powers does it entail?
[b]Musical Theme:[/b] Let's add some spice.[/hider]
Name: Hyatonta-Akninot-Mihtut.
Domain: Life. Life is the condition that distinguishes things like animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death. The powers of a Life Domain enable the god in question to freely create things that have the quality of life, unlimited in this regard by anything short of its imagination. Power over Life also includes the capacity to deny a creature of life or to strip a particular place of it. Life is different from health - something can be alive but in extremely poor health - though when it comes to ailing eco-systems a god of Life may well be able to restore them to health by restoring key life forms and the such.
Personality: Just wants to have a bit o' fun, really. Extraordinarily affable and amiable, quite social and gets along with pretty much anyone - rarely anything can get her riled up or truly insulted though she may well pretend it has if the whimsy takes her. No dispute is ever truly personal - 'don't get riled up, it's just a bit o' fun'.
Goals: Being a Life god, she will want to create life and watch the world bloom. She will look down on any attempts by others to create life and may well launch a crusade against such sacrilege if the whimsy takes her. She will also, for no clear or logical reason, take to possessing random humans, who will go on living without realising they are the hosts of a god. She will fight and ally and plot and scheme with others for the fun of it, and will stop the moment it bores her - no alliance or contract is sacred as far as she is concerned.
Appearance: Tonta usually takes on a wraith-like black and grey form boasting a bark face akin to a primitive wooden mask with two dark holes for eyes. It is broadly humanoid. See an image here.
Both Rinaas and Ganisundur heard it happen - a callous deathsong, as careless as it was thoughtless - and it caused them both to pause. The songstress frowned deeply, her aged beauty gaining a severity of aspect rarely witnessed by her disciples. They had walked then for many days southward until the mountains reared up before them like cliffs from horizon to horizone. We stand here, ye humble things / No further may you walk / So burrow deep or fly on wings / Like earthworms be, or hawks. They were silent as they approached, and Sinhuldo was not happy.
"We are far from home, adi, and there are all kinds of strange creatures here near the mountains." And so Sonhuldo was the first to turn back. They continued through the mountains, follow trails and pathways until they came to a great cavern. Many elves milled around in the shade. They turned their heads towards Fihnoom with distaste. Humelves were not well liked round here. Rinaas spoke with them, asking about routes south.
"Ah, south is it. Have a nose for death and an ear for noise have ye?" One asked in barely legible higher azumai. Rinaas surprised them all by responding in a different tongue, and the elves relaxed and conversed with her for a few minutes.
"They have a caravan heading south, beneath the mountains. We can join it." She told her remaining three disciples.
"We are simply walking, Girgaah. Walking and listening. How can you sing if you don't look and listen?"
"Ah, adi, I had rather look at beautiful dancing forms and listen to sweet nothings." He complained.
"Then go do that." Was her simple response, and she turned away followed one of the elves into the cave and tunnels beyond. Ganisundur followed wordlessly and without hesitation, and Biruldaan followed nonchalantly. Fihnoom glanced to Girgaah, who frowned, pursed his lips, then backed away and turned his back on it all. The humelven woman looked into the darkness of the cave, sighed, then followed after the songstress and the two other disciples.
"To walk in darkness is not like walking in the night." The songstress commented lowly, and no one who heard her understood. It was silent, speech was brief and fleeting. Ropes were important, and touch. Ganisundur remained close to Rinaas, but they were not of those who needed ropes or gentle touches to see one another.
When they emerged into the twilight of a new day, the land the looked upon did not look so different from the one they had left behind. But it sounded different. The deathsong was louder, clearer, taunting and callous. It was not like any other deathsong - those usually sang with purpose, some were triumphant and some filled with honour. Some had within them the sadness of the killer and the killed. But there was none of that here. Rinaas swallowed and trembled, and Ganisundur placed a hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and nodded wordlessly. Then she walked on ahead, and her three remaining disciples followed.
Rinaas and Ganisundur heard the deathsong from Gibbou's nuclear attack and they journey to Welkoland via an underground trade route.
+2 Prestige to Rinaas (~3,500 characters). 19 total.
War, as any wandering ascetic knew, did not give rise to truly great cities. Those only came about during periods of peace, and when they did were the herald of decadence and decline. The great Ramshid Birsas shib Hur had taught his three sons this: “Chaos forges strong Ramshids, and strong Ramshids create prosperity. Prosperity forges weak Ramshids, and weak Ramshids reign over chaos.”
The fortified city of Kolcara was not much of a city -- not yet, at least. If the gods were good and Ramshid Dagran - or Warprince Dagran, as the foes who denied his great claim preferred to call him - was given just another ten or fifteen cycles of life, he would just have time to cast down the vultures claiming his throne and bring his dreams of Kolcara to fruition. But of course, nothing in life was certain. He was beginning to feel the toll of his age, having walked the land for fifty-some cycles and ruled in his own right for nearly half as long. And though he was a clever man, a schemer by all accounts, he could not know whether his cause would triumph at the end of this bloodletting that tore at the land he loved. He could only trust in the righteousness of his cause and fight to bring about better days, to build the Kolcara of his dreams.
Yes, in his dreams it was a grand and beautiful city, with long straight roads, temples crowning every hill along the riverbanks with spires that towered over the city and came just shy of the grand heights of his own castle in the heart of it all. He foresaw great walls also, storehouses, and cisterns enough to withstand drought and siege and hardship for all time. It was Sahruqar come again, only a thousand times as grand, in Dagran’s dreams. But of course, for now in reality it was only a glorified castle surrounded by muddied drilling fields, a dry moat, a few watchtowers, and many clusters of hovels that housed the builders and other folk unworthy of dwelling within the fortress at the heart of Kolcara. Still, the plans were there and when Dagran closed his eyes he could see the roads, wide and paved with white stones that gleamed in the sun like dew upon morning grass.
Still, for its humble beginnings, Kolcara was already Dagran’s seat of power. It lay in a strategic and defensible position in the center of his realm, at the convergence of the river Muniw with the Barjuhrim, which flowed south until it met the mighty Juhmar. This placed it a good ways away from the northern border where even now the fires of the bloodletting had found new kindling and caught once more. But it would not be long before his levies were assembled and readied to march north. This season could very well witness the final defeat and humiliation of Arkhus, if the seeds that he had sown would sprout and bear fruit. He had been planning this campaign for a long time, picking the grounds where he would take battle just as meticulously as he had planned out the paths and walls of his future city.
Not all approved of his plans and genius, however. He could feel their jealousy and fear. They knew, when they gazed into his obsidian eyes, that they stood before one who was to them as Mount Qaywandar was to other mountains. It was just such an envious gaze that he felt boring into his back at that very moment, and he turned to find the old ramtej approaching. The ancient man’s silver hair and beard were well-oiled and combed, bedecked with rings of silver and gold, and likewise his arms and chest. A saffron sarong, with gilded and intricately patterned trimmings, covered him from hip to ankle and he had a staff of gold and silver in his right hand. Precious jewels adorned the top, as did golden hoops and a golden figurine of the tri-faced Serene Lord, seated with all his eyes closed.
He came to a stop beside the ramshid and looked out from the high balcony across the great castle and to the encampments beyond. “What was it, my ramshid, that your father used to say? About chaos and strong ramshids.”
The ramshid sniffed and wondered for a moment just what the ramtej’s intent was, but he indulged the question. “He would speak of the chaos and great bloodlettings of old that had forged hard men, and of how those great men and their strong ramshids would bring about good days. And then he would promise that good days always bring about a weaker breed of men that kneel before indulgent ramshids, and then those men finally bring bad times. The bloodletting is renewed, and the cycle restarts then, as it always has and always will.”
“Indeed, for your father was a wise man and understood men, knew what moved their hearts and knew that their hearts have a proclivity towards vice. But he understood this also: that bad times are unvirtuous times, and that such proliferation of vice causes those of pure natures to become inclined towards virtue; the ugliness of vice and the ugliness it causes, this great imbalance in the world, drives them towards virtue. These strong virtuous ramshids create good days, for their virtue brings about the cosmic balance vital to any goodness.”
The old ramtej paused, his black eyes gazing towards the far horizon before he turned and looked directly at Dagran. “And these good days, brought by the virtuous strength of those who came before, cause the new generations to forget the evils that vice brings, the cosmic imbalance and chaos it causes. And their hearts become inclined towards its momentary pleasures. Weak, undisciplined, unvirtuous; they bring ruin to themselves and ruin to all. This is as it has always been, for you are a learned man my ramshid and you know this, but it is not as it always needs to be. If our ramshids know to be ever virtuous, then the times will be ever good.”
The ramshid’s own black eyes seemed to gaze listlessly over the horizon, his head gently bobbing in nods as though he heard nothing more than the eddies of wind. But when the other man had said his fill, Dagran did not wait long to reply. “Truth dwells in your words, wise Viparta,” he admitted, forgoing titles and calling the ramtej by his name, “and I have oft thought in ways much the same. Most men are shortsighted, lacking in vision; I think that is what leads them to fall prey to vice and foolishness, to abandon all teaching of discipline and vex their fathers. They contemplate yesterday, and realise that it was not so different from the day before that, or the one before, or even some day a cycle ago. So then they look to tomorrow, and think that it too shall be much the same. They are like leaves, falling from trees on the riverbank and drifting down into the water to be swept this way and that, never imagining that they might paddle their own way - or perhaps even change the course of the river! Ha!
“Gaze upward, Viparta; do you see how high this fort stands? Have you seen any other like it? Or even any temple so grand, reaching so close to the heavens above?” The hints of tiredness, boredom, reticence in the ramshid had vanished, replaced by something else… something perhaps more dangerous. His eyes were smiling, and the scent of pride was upon his breath as real as if it were a cloying smell of wine.
The ramtej looked up, his dark eyes impassive and mouth pursed. “It is a high fort indeed. Perhaps nothing higher was ever made by the hands of man - other than your father’s of course. It is a good and dutiful son who avoids outdoing his father, after all; and you my ramshid are clearly just that. And though the temples of man’s making are all of them cast low about you, the divine temple stands there in the west, the throne of the One Who Frowns down upon all and is not frowned down upon.” The ramtej smiled slightly. “It is as though he says, ‘build!’ and mocks all we raise high. Where is Sahruqar and its high towers? Where are its thousand streets, its hundred gates? Sprawling and mighty, built like a mountain and spreading like the sea - think how a mere peasant brought it low.” The ramtej spoke sadly, bitterly, but when his eyes turned to Dagran there was also a knowing gleam in the darkness of his eyes. “Is it not said, after all: ‘No glories ever fruit by mortals planned / The gods all laugh at all we scheme and brew / Come let us weep the loss of love and land’?”
“You must meditate carefully upon such thoughts, ramtej. A fruit half ripe and yet half black is in the end just a rotten fruit, and so a man who preaches half wisdom but half folly likewise cannot be called wise at all. Just ruminate upon what you have said: if no sons were ever to outdo their fathers, out of their senses of goodness and duty, out of fear, then you must understand that there would be no forts at all. We would all live in hovels and be nothing more than the dirt beneath our feet. From the hard times there would arise no strong men and ‘good ramshids’ to bring about better days, you see? So in your mockery you find truth: I am a good and dutiful son to my father, for seeking to rebuild the realm that was his legacy and leave behind a legacy of my own that is even stronger yet. The land bleeds and suffers; these are trying times, make no mistake, and I am a hard man that must - that shall! - see them into the twilight.
“And as for Sahruqar, you know as well as I that it lies a ruin. Its walls were not tall enough, the slopes and might of its mountain too easily climbed. So again that is why the son must surpass his father, and why I must build my own stronghold into a city stronger and grander yet, one that shall not fall for many lifetimes if ever. Have you ever thought of what it must be like, to be a god and look down upon all? I think that to them, we must be as mere ants. Do you notice the stray ants that crawl beneath your shadow? Do you concern yourself overly with any of them, of their struggles? No, you simply cannot, so you walk on mercilessly, not wishing them harm but also not watching for those that fall beneath your feet. But when the ants come together and build a great mound, then you take notice. Then you step around it. Perhaps one could say that in so doing, you give the ants your blessing.”
The ramtej turned away from the balcony, his eyes betraying his regret for having come or spoken. There was simply no reasoning with a man whose hubris matched the mountains. “Then build, ramshid. But as you build remember - for you are a learned man, are you not? - what became of those who came before us. Glorious ramshids came and went, the Glorified Mojtha, a god amongst us, descended and ruled; only the essential goodness of his teachings survive, not his ramshidra, not his great temples, not even his progeny. Only his virtue.” He glanced over his shoulder, his lips compressed. “Had you and your brothers loved your father better, my ramshid…” the words faded away, and the old man’s eyes lost themselves in thought as he turned away and walked off muttering to himself, “you are blowing into ashes, Viparta, into cinders. Won’t you learn?”
The Ramshid Dagran, or Warprince as he is styled by the enemies who dispute his claim, is introduced.
A heavy silence hung over Shidhig and those who had seen Sugae in the fray. There was a feeling, among them, that things had gone very wrong. "But it was weird, wasn't it." The big man, Balghro, said. "Like something out of the stories, you know?"
"Yeah..." Shidhig agreed sullenly as he stared into the fire.
"He saved my life, y'know." Galgu murmured.
"Yeah, you've not shut up about it." Shidhig muttered irritably. "Honour and all that bullshit, got it. What good's honour now, huh?"
"Come now Shidhig-" Balghro began, but the smith's apprentice rose and kicked the flame, sending cinders and burning wood everywhere.
"I don't want to hear it, alright?" Shidhig growled, then moved off.
Sugae had been alive, barely, after the elephant struck him. They had managed to get him back to camp and one of the ascetics had taken his warturban off and set to stitching him up. But he had died within the hour. Shidhig had watched numbly as they placed him on the pier, tunic and warturban and all. It was surreal.
That night, Shidhig slipped silently from the camp and disappeared into the darkness there.
Interested in playing a character from the southern desert people, potentially a warlord out to unify them or some such, and generally developing the desert people's culture etc.
Their little band crested a hill one day to find two great hosts stood in the valley below. They were dressed in many colours and held spears and great flat clubs of wood, some studded with metal or some made entirely of metal. Rinaas sat down on a nearby boulder and watched how things unravelled below.
Two figures were stood between the hosts, their clubs raised as they moved around each other in great exaggerated movements, gesturing here and there and puffing their chests out. They beat at the earth with their feet and sped up now and again like two great tigers circling and thrashing at one another. Their movements were full of power and violent intent, their gestures threatening and hostile, and yet they did not strike out at each other. The display continued for some time, now one causing the other to back away and now the other gaining ground as he swung his great club around with energy and ululations.
The hosts shouted and beat at the earth with their warrior, ululating as he ululated and crying out and cheering when his power manifested itself or when he carried out an impressive movement or manoeuvre. As the excitement and shouting increased, the hosts began to inch towards one another, hurling insults and boasting, swinging their weapons and raising their spears, drums sounding aggressively and giving each host the impression of having gods amongst them.
Here and there individual warriors stepped forth and engaged others in the display of duelling, like the original warriors, and before long both hosts had come together and pushed and shoved and boasted and insulted. Here and there were chaotic clashes as two warriors met and one managed to hurl the other to the ground, and it was soon becoming apparent that one of the hosts was gaining the upper ground.
A shout rose up somewhere and a ripple of fear ran through the losing host, and its men began to slip away and were soon disappearing over the far hill. The victorious host had gathered around what appeared to be a fallen warrior, circling around him with spears raised, gathering wood and piling it up around him as they circled and pounded the earth and howled in victory.
Soon ghouls began to emerge, lumbering towards the dead body, and the warriors beat at the earth and retreated slowly, shouting and boasting as the viney monstrosities of death found their target and began tearing and eating and destroying.
“For these warriors of the forests and plains, this is viewed as the only way to sate the Dead-eye and prevent him from setting the itralla on the living.” Rinaas explained.
“What are these itralla, adi?” Ganisundur asked.
“Have you not heard their song, my Ganisundur?” She asked.
“They are like no song of plant I have known. They hunger – but only for the dead. And it is not a hunger that seeks to stave off death. I don’t know if it can rightly be called hunger – it is merely consumption given form, consumption is its own end.” Ganisundur glanced at the songstress, who merely nodded. Beside him, the handsome Girgaah strummed at his instrument and sent a sigh towards the humelven Fihnoom.
“The people all fear feeding death “But in my chest is no such fear “I only weep with every breath “And call on her with every tear “If she would come feast on my flesh “I am restored and rise afresh!”
Fihnoom shook her head and glanced at him with a small smirk, then moved away and sat by Rinaas. “What I have never understood, adi is why the tribes on these southern plains wage war like this. Everywhere else war brings death and great bloodshed and it is a terrible sight, but here there is dance and boastful song and witful abuses, and the warriors dress as though they are going to a festival. Death only arises unintentionally.”
“Ah yes, these clans of the Hjinka are often feuding, often fighting. Perhaps it was the case long ago too, and perhaps they killed one another so much that they could kill no more. And perhaps there was a wise one amongst them who taught them how to make war without shedding blood. But perhaps by asking them you would know better, or if you listen to the rocks or the streams or the trees they may know a song or two.”
“It would be beautiful if all the world would fight as the Hjinka do,” Fihnoom sighed, “even if it is loud and horrible on the ears. I can only imagine my old man would frown severely at all that noise and think it worse than even death.”
“Oh, but there’s nothing worse than death!” Sinhuldo piped. “Nothing is worse than that Death-eye.”
“Then praise Hulaiya, Sinhuldo, and do not fear death so much that you stop enjoying life.” Rinaas spoke to the fearful man.
“Oh, never! I enjoy life, may the goddess never take that from us.” Sinhuldo responded with a shaking voice, looking down at the ghouls below as they dissipated and shivering in disgust.
“I don’t know about that,” Fihnoom said teasingly, “you seem like you’re not enjoying life at all. Perhaps great Hulaiya will see this.” Sinhuldo’s eyes widened and he gave a trembling smile.
“Wh- what? M-me? I enjoy life a lot. I sing and dance, l-look,” he started dancing and stumbling, strumming at his instrument with fumbling fingers. “See, the g-goddess will see I love life.” Ganisundur watched this exchange curiously, then looked to Rinaas, who spoke before he could ask his question.
“Life and death, day and night, joy and misery, the two great sides to life’s short cycle. Hulaiya presides over the first, Duhthaei over the other.”
“What of Reffoh, adi?” Fihnoom asked, causing Sinhuldo to scoff and earning him an irritated glance from the humelf.
“Incompetent and weak.” The giant Biruldaan spoke gruffly.
“Reffoh, disliked by elves and humans alike – though, it is said, she is the creator goddess whose face is the moon and who reigns over the night. When Duhthaei came to claim the mortals she had created, she could not stave him off and was felled, and even now she lies imprisoned inside the moon, her kingdom now her dungeon. When night arrives so too arrives her failure to rule. That is why all the dangers of Duhthaei arise with night. This is why when you visit Amashu or Telruto or Teukrall, or any of the great cities of the Upper Azumai, you will find there great braziers that are lit with the onset of dusk so as to keep the darkness - and its dangers - at bay.
“Not so with Hulaiya, the glorious mistress of the day who stands as the bastion against Duhthaei’s misery and darkness and death. She is not like Reffoh, the people say, she is not weak and useless – these are their words, my Ganisundur, do not frown. What are they to think of a goddess who failed them, hmm? People are fickle like that – they fear those who cause them fear and death, and they love those who ward that off and inspire joy. As for those who fail, if remembered at all they are despised even more than the evil that felled them.”
“Is it right?” The inkman asked, a small frown on his face.
“Is it right for a god to be so incompetent?” Biruldaan countered.
“Well, someone sounds like they have a grudge.” Fihnoom noted, her eyes on the big man.
“Yeah. Maybe.” His mutter came as he looked away. “Some things are unforgivable – a wilfully useless god, for one.”
“I mean, she’s not wilfully useless – she was just bested.” Sinhuldo retorted.
“No, the gods are many and the Death-eye could not best any of them. He is not more powerful, simply more terrible. Reffoh was bested because she was useless, incompetent, unworthy of being a god and unable to protect what she created. It had been better if she created nothing at all. Had Hulaiya made us, the Death-eye never would have taken us – he would never have brought calamity upon us by moving heaven and earth as he did to our most ancient ancestors, would never have taken us from the joys of life to death’s despair.”
“It is your pain that speaks, Biruldaan, for it is yet fresh.” Rinaas finally spoke. “Calm yourself and do not blaspheme overmuch against a divine being – imprisoned and incapable you may believe her to be, but she is yet a god.”
“I do not fear Reffoh, adi. Only those who have no protector but her have reason to fear. But let us speak of something else. The tattoo that Ganisundur gave you, adi, it is the same as that on Fihnoom’s thigh.”
“What?” cried Girgaah, “how do you know that? How does he know that?”
“Uhhh…” Fihnoom gave him a guilty glance then laughed.
The man fell to his knees and cried out loud, his beautifully sculpted visage contorted and pained. “Damn it Fihnoom, again? My poor heart.” Rinaas gave the three a frown then stood and began moving away. Ganisundur followed after her and looked at the tattoo that stood between her brows – an extended hand facing down.
“That symbol is known?” He asked.
“It is.” The songstress confirmed.
“I didn’t know… what does it mean?”
“It is the symbol of the singing god, Ghilmu. He lords over the good things in life – music, dance, poetry, feasting, revelry, pleasures of the flesh, and much else are his prerogative. They are the manner by which great Hulaiya is appeased. His great hand is known to be a ward that drives off all kinds of evil – and so he is regarded as the defender of everything good and the enemy of all that is bad. By dancing, singing, revelling in joy, the people call up his great protective powers and so aid in the fight against the Death-eye and all the evil he has birthed.”
“Why would it be on Fihnoom’s thigh?”
“Fihnoom was a professional dancer before she joined us, and tattoos of Ghilmu’s hand can be found on the thighs of dancers. Musicians too, actors, and servant girls.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “You don’t seem to approve, adi.”
“What she does is her business, Ganisundur.”
“No, I mean – you don’t seem to approve of the gods.”
“Oh, Ganisundur!” She exclaimed with a mite of shock, “you accuse me of blasphemy?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It seems to me more like… you don’t approve of what is said about the gods.”
“Ah, in that case you may well be right.”
“So… what do you say of them?”
“I don’t say anything Ganisundur. I listen and I sing, and what is beyond that is between my heart and I.”
“Why do you think my ink became a hand of Ghilmu on your brow?” He asked after a brief silence.
She paused and looked at him. “Isn’t it obvious, Ganisundur? It is because you are of that god.” He blinked after her.
“Ah.”
We observe ritual battle and some ghoul stuff by a tribe south of the Azumai. Ganisundur then finds out that he might be connected with a god or something.
“The masses of the Khadaar, Are pouring in amain From many a grand old market-place, From many a fruitful plain, From many a lonely village, They come to fight again Like the great and old, those brave and bold, Their glory to attain!”
31 AA | Year 16
The first man Sugae ever killed was a bare-chested spearman who came at him with terror in his eyes. The turbaned youth tried to side-step, but tripped in his hurry and fell onto his side. The man’s spear snaked at him, glanced against Sugae’s shield, and then rose again for another attempt. But the failure of the first strike gave Sugae enough time to lash out desperately with his sharpened stick. The point penetrated the man’s neck from one side and emerged from the other. He gave Sugae a confused look, shocked and gurgling, then fell over. The youth quickly got back up, shaken, and had only a few moments of respite before another man, wooden club in hand, was upon him.
In the confusion of the first moments of battle he had been separated from Shidhig, and looking around he spotted him fending off a spearman with his stick. Sugae’s new opponent struck out with his club, but this time the youth was better prepared and successfully dodged before swiftly stepping in and driving the spear into the man’s exposed stomach. Without waiting, he drew the spear out and rushed over to the struggling Shidhig, goring his adversary from behind. “Stick with me!” Sugae roared, before turning and raising his shield. Shidhig hurriedly abandoned his stick and took the felled man’s spear as Sugae warded off any would-be attackers. It was clear that shid Dharqul’s side had the upper hand, and Sugae notice that some parts of their mass had driven deep into the enemy.
The shid had crossed the Muhaddir with his force some three days back and made camp on a hill. After surveying the area around, he had moved the camp somewhat downriver and the command had gone around for everyone to prepare themselves for battle any day. Three days later, the enemy force of shid Dagran had appeared and the bloodletting had begun.
Sugae bashed a little bald man who had gotten past Shidhig’s spear with his shield, causing him to stumble to the side and giving Shidhig enough space to impale him. It was then that the earth began to rumble. Sugae looked up to see the enemy’s mounted warrior-nobles closing in on their flanks, along with a great number of behemoths – elephant-riders and riders of the reptilian monstrosities known as dircaans. The fighting continued and it was not long before the mounted warriors and behemoths crash into the massed host with terrible force. Shid Dharqul’s untrained commoners crumbled beneath the power of the charge. Swords flashed and spears snaked out; blood rose like a great cloud in their wake. Sugae grabbed Shidhig and began to back away, Bori’s words echoing in his mind. “You don’t want to be the first in the fray. And you want to be the first out. Don’t try to be a hero.” But then the weight of the warturban on his head reminded him of his mother’s tales about his father. He had never run from any battle; he had stood his ground always.
“C’mon Sug, let’s get the hell out of here!” Shidhig’s words drew him back to the realities of the battle, and he could see that bit by bit the enemy forces of shid Dagran were clamping in on them all. Sugae looked at Shidhig, his brows knotted, nostrils flared, flashing eyes of yellowed honey wide.
“I am shib Ravuk,” Sugae’s voice came, “I do not flee.” And with that, he drew his sword and began to move it as Bori taught him, and he advanced. He heard Shidhig cursing behind him, and then he was by his side.
“You’re going to get me fucking killed. You’re gonna kill me you-” he continued grumbling until suddenly there was a rider before them. Sugae raised his shield and stepped away just as the rider’s sword flashed. The tip ricocheted from the shield and Sugae stepped in immediately with a swift horizontal cut that ate into the horse’s side and lopped most of the rider’s leg off, before Shidhig’s spear caught the agonised rider in the throat.
Sugae looked at Shidhig wordlessly, and the other man spouted a few profanities at him. Sugae could see that shid Dharkul’s lines were now in full rout. Meanwhile, the enemy foot troops had recovered and both behemoths and riders were killing with abandon. “If we stick about, oh great shib Ravuk, we’re gonna die,” Shidhig shouted as Sugae swiftly put down a club-swinging peasant. Shidhig was right, but Sugae made no response.
Spotting a friendly group trying to make a stand, Sugae shouted to Shidhig and rushed to their aid, cleaving into the raised arm of a bald giant on the verge of bashing one of their men’s brains in with a hatchet as he went. Encouraged by the giant’s fall, the other men gave off a roar and pushed harder, causing the temporarily discouraged enemy troops to withdraw. Sugae’s encouraged comrades made to follow after them, but a shout from him caused them to halt and he ordered them to stay together. They instinctively obeyed, and before long Sugae was directing a growing defensive enclave against the massed enemy. One of the men stuck by his side, and when Sugae glanced at him the man smiled gratefully and nodded. “Thanks for that, thought that bald freak had me.”
“No worries, friend.”
“I’m Galgu by the way.”
“Good knowing you Galgu. I’m Sugaera shib Ravuk. Let’s get out of this alive, eh?”
“And with honour.” Galgu added, his eyes steely above his small smile. Sugae chuckled and nodded.
“Yeah, that too.”
The massing resistance did not receive much attention at first, but then an elephant and some riders took note of them and decided to break the little party apart. Scowling, a helpless fury growing within him as he wondered where shid Dharkul’s riders and behemoths were while they were all dying out here, Sugae shouted for the men to brace themselves for the charge. “Kill the fucking bastards!” He heard himself roar, and he sounded so self-assured that he found his own morale rising, and his voice came once more as though from far away, “they’re riding high above us. We’re gonna put them down!” Raising his sword, he stepped out to be among the first to receive the charge. He stood his ground as the riders speared towards them, and his eyes homed in on one of the riders heading for them. His gaze held his until the very last moment, when he ducked and stepped to the side, raising his shield to block a resounding downward slash from the rider even as Sugae’s blade licked out and cleanly severed one of the charging horse’s forelegs. It immediately collapsed and flipped in a mess of flesh and metal, the rider landing with gruesome cracking sounds ahead. Sugae released a triumphant bellow and turned about to face whoever came next, and found himself face to face with the elephant.
He stared at it for a few seconds, and then something struck him. The ground slipped away. He felt himself flying. And all was darkness.
Sugae's first battle! He is uber cool and powerful, mighty and dashing, stunning and- he is killed by an elephant.
“To where are we walking, adi?” One of the disciples asked one day. It was that same Sinhuldo who thought himself stupid in the ways of song. Stupid or not, he was faithful – for Rinaas’ disciples had been many when they walked the river ways, and now that they dared the jungles their number had dwindled to five – the small Sinhuldo, the strange Ganisundur, the giant Biruldaan, the handsome silk-voiced youth Girgaah, and the humelven woman Fihnoom for whom Girgaah often wove lovelorn lyrics and poesy.
“We are walking from here to there, my impatient Sinhuldo.” Rinaas told the young man as they slowly wove their way through the thick undergrowth.
“But adi, the jungle is dangerous – snakes and jaguars and gorillas.”
“Oh there are things far more dangerous than that Sinhuldo,” the songstress spoke melodiously, smiling at him. “Worrying so much that you can’t live, for one. What a terrible thing it is to die while yet there’s breath in you!”
Sinhuldo was silent then, watching the undergrowth fearfully, glancing up into the trees and hurriedly shaking away any dangling branches that brushed against his shoulders or head. His head turned to wherever there was sound – and there was sound everywhere. Above them unseen monkeys shouted and quarrelled, around them insects sent forth their myriad songs unceasingly, here and there the undergrowth rustled as some animal or another made its dashing way through.
They crossed tiny streams and paused by ponds, Rinaas simply breathing the places in and rocking gently from side to side with closed eyes. “These are the Ambuma jungles, my Ganisundur,” she said as they stood by one such rivulet. “Home to many things, of them the Buma tribes; free people who have never known a king or master. Other nomads and tribes may form up under one great chieftain or warlord or another, but not the Buma, the freest of the peoples of the great valley. They are the keepers of these jungles, worshippers of the jungle djinni whom they call Deh-dagini.”
“J- jungle djinni?” Sinhuldo whimpered, looking from side to side.
“Oh yes, a great and powerful thing – perhaps a child of the Godtree. Soon they will be setting out on the Great Hunt to appease Deh-dagini, and for that they will need us.”
“Why do they need us, adi?” Sinhuldo asked miserably.
“Oh, so many questions, Sinhuldo. You will find out. Come, we are close now.” The songstress stepped through the undergrowth and emerged into a small clearing at the centre of which was a small pool. At the far side were some huddled figures, who now watched them carefully as they approached.
“Seer Neh-naka, we had begun to think you would not be coming today.” One of them said once they were near enough, approaching Rinaas respectfully and touching his hands to his forehead in a gesture of respect. He was a short, stocky man – shorter even than Sinhuldo. His skin was dark, unlike the red people Ganisundur had grown used to seeing as they travelled the river ways of the Azumai river. He had a bamboo spear in one hand, his hair was cropped short and his face was stained with white and crimson paste. Beyond the long skirt of leaves, he wore a necklace of bone and amber with colourful feathers spreading out across his chest.
“It is good to see you too, Chief Ak-laha.” He was eyeing her five companions, particularly the variegated Ganisundur, and she noticed this. “I have brought these my companions. I know that some of them want to partake of the Great Hunt. Is that not so, Ganisundur?” She looked at the avatar who nodded with a small smile.
“You are not like anything I have ever seen, Friend Gin-sada,” Ak-laha said to Ganisundur. “You are of many colours, your colours shifting. You are like colour paste and like leaf-ink and earth-ink and all inks.”
“I am only a humble disciple of her whom you call Seer Neh-naka.”
“Ah, the weighty chest illness has you? There is only one cure for that.” Ak-laha laughed. Ganisundur cocked his head and glanced at Rinaas, who only smiled, revealing that small, familiar gap between her two front teeth. She gestured to the chief, who turned and led them from the clearing and through the jungle with the other Buma warriors until they reached their village. It was a simple affair, clearly not meant for permanent settlement.
There Ganisundur and Biruldaan – who likewise wished to partake of the Great Hunt – were handed bamboo spears. “Now know this, Friends Gin-sada and Bur-beda; to speak during the hunt is forbidden. There can be no sound.” Ak-laha told them, and both nodded in understanding. The hunters then gathered near Rinaas, who stood with eyes closed before a fire and seemed to be listening. The women beat drums and the hunters began to beat the ground with their feet, jumping and thumping rhythmically. Ganisundur watched them for a few moments, taking in the rhythms and the movement of their feet, and then joined them. Beside him Biruldaan attempted to do the same but only stumbled over his own feet or got the rhythm wrong.
There was clapping and singing from both the women and the dancing men, and the great ritual went on for some time before Rinaas, at last, opened her eyes and gestured in one direction. The song and dance came to an immediate halt, and Ak-laha turned and led his warriors, silently, into the jungle, going the direction Rinaas had pointed. Ganisundur and the giant Biruldaan followed.
The Buma men moved silently through the jungle, now that they had entered into the time and place of the Great Hunt. They communicated with hand gestured and exaggerated facial expressions, and Ganisundur watched this process with unveiled fascination. As they strode silently, gesturing and nodding to one another, a hand rose and there was abrupt stillness. They listened and watched; eyes wide.
There, hidden in the undergrowth but now moving was a great gorilla, its silver back to them. After some minutes, the great creature moved out and the warriors slowly readied their spears. This was the place that the Seer Neh-naka had told them about. This was the animal they were to hunt today. The warriors fanned out silently, and moved along with the unaware gorilla, watching it all the while.
Then, when they had it surrounded and the coast was clear, Ak-laha leapt forth and struck, and all others threw their spears and struck also. Ganisundur was swift, his spear landed right after that of the chief and lodged itself deep into the noble ape. It did not take this assault in silence, screeching loudly and beating its bleeding chest, rampaging now here and now there. One of the small warriors was not quite nimble enough and the dying thing of muscle struck him a glancing blow to the head that left him dead before he struck the ground.
When the rampage was over and it lay dead, the warriors all formed up around it and gathered their spears, they thumped the earth and ululated and danced around its body, praising the jungle djinni Deh-dagini. Ak-laha turned to Ganisundur. “You, who struck it first in truth, you shall carry it in the lead.” And so Ganisundur lifted its head while others lifted other parts and they carried it with them. The body of the fallen warrior was likewise brought and they entered the camp where the women and children were singing and dancing and ululating and beating their drums.
Praised is Deh-dagini! Praised is Deh-dagini! Oh djinni of the jungle Worshipped of the Buma You protect us from the monsters of the Ambuma You alone defend us from the gorilla and the jaguar You alone grant us great power and high ability To face all the dangers of our lives! Praised is Deh-dagini Praised is Deh-dagini We are made unseeable to our foes by your grace Great son of the Godtree, his shadow in the world You appear to us in every time and place You alone take care of the affairs of the great Godtree When, oh worshipped one, will you appear to us?
And as they sang, the jungle seemed to groan in response, and a great sound unlike anything known to mortalkind rumbled through the jungle of the Ambuma. It was, without a doubt, the great response and cry of the guardian Deh-dagini, the jungle djinni, to his loyal people.
Then they brought forth the body of the fallen warrior, wailing and praying to Deh-dagini to ward off the misfortune of death and the cosmic disharmony it brought. They piled debris around the corpse and danced around it all night, spears at the ready; when the viney ghouls came dashing to claim their brother the warriors all rose like the river and fought it off. They danced like this all night, tirelessly keeping the ghouls at bay, and after that long night the people gathered themselves and their belongings and departed, leaving the corpse behind. “Now we will go away from this place and its deathcurse, we will flee elsewhere and find there Deh-dagini’s blessings.” Ak-laha told Ganisundur. “You are of us now, Warrior Gin-sada, you struck the gorilla and heard the great voice of the jungle djinni. Take this spear, for you are foremost amongst hunters. Your heavy chest ties you to the Seer Neh-naka, but when you are cured return here to the Ambuma. May the jungle djinni cause all your foes to cease seeing you.” And with those words the chief and his people moved away and disappeared into the undergrowth.
“Come, my Ganisundur,” Rinaas sang, “for other tribes of the Buma await.”
We observe some rituals that a jungle tribe dwelling north of the Azumai river called the Buma do and some ghoul stuff.
1DP (Art Domain) - The Voice of Deh-dagini. The Jungles of the Ambuma are home to a strange and unique phenomenon - a musical sound that echoes through the jungle after the Buma ritual of the Great Hunt. (+1 Music)
It was a year before shid Arkhus shib Mucazim’s soldiers rode through Rehna again. This time, no pleas from Dhula could make them leave Shidhig as they had done the year before, and not even the promise of all her share of the harvest. When the warrior-lord and his riders arrived at Sugae’s door, his mother was just about finished tying his father’s great blue warturban around his head. The young man was clad in his father’s quilted tunic, sandals on his feet, and a white cloth wrapped around his waste numerous times to act as a holster for the simple scabbard into which his father’s silvery sword was sheathed. In one hand he held his herding staff, sharpened at one end, and in the other he gripped his father’s great round shield. The commanding warrior-lord, whose great beard had more grey in it than black, gave Sugae an amused, if somewhat surprised, look from beneath his thick brows. “Bit overdressed, aren’t you boy?” He did not laugh, but some of the noble riders behind him sniggered, and one of them commented something along the lines of a loincloth would have sufficed.
Bori had warned Sugae that people like him — ‘peasants’, ‘commoners’ — were not even considered soldiers, but merely spare meat to throw at the enemy before the real warriors — clad and armed noble shids — swept the bloodletting fields on foot and horse. “If you want to survive, pup, you’re going to want to keep your head down. The nobles and higher-ups will mock you, laugh at you, make you do menial and humiliating tasks. Take it in your stride. They expect you to die, but if you stick around long enough there will be recognition. They respect a survivor, even if he is a lowly peasant from some rural backwater.” Sugae looked up at the warrior-lord.
“My pa was a veteran, shid. He left these for me so that I can honour him.” The lord scanned the shield and eyed the turban.
“Is that true then,” he said, “thought that turban looked familiar.”
“You... you knew my father, lord?”
“Hmm. So I take it he’s dead then. Shame. A man like Ravuk belongs on the bloodletting field, in life and in death.” He looked Sugae in the eye, “if you can be half the fighter your father was, you will have earned that warturban.” With that, he gestured for him to follow and steered his horse away. A few of the riders, not laughing anymore, gave him curious looks before spurring their horses to follow after the warrior-lord.
Sugae turned to his mother and smiled thinly. “Await my return, mam. I’ll come back to you.” She smiled back and nodded, her eyes glistening as she planted a kiss on his forehead. Then she stepped back and poured water into a small clay bowl. Scooping water from it into her hand, she began spraying it over her son and chanting.
“May the Glorified Mojtha guide your steps. May the Thousand Terrible Things and Faces strike with you and never against you. May the One Who Frowns scowl down on all who wish you harm. May the Serene Lord bring you tranquillity even in the heart of the fray. So may it be.”
With her words at his back, he marched off after the riders and eventually found himself walking beside Shidhig. Unlike Sugae, his father perished in the bloodletting and so he had no armour or shield or sword, only his trusty herding stick. Sugae grinned at him and lifted his own stick. “Good thing I trained long and hard pummelling your sorry arse with this, eh?” He looked over despondently.
“Only reason you ever managed to do that is ‘cause stinkin’ Bori showed you some of his tricks. In a way, you cheated. If not for your cheating I’m obviously far superior.”
“Well, I did invite you to come train with us, but you’re just averse to any form of hard work.”
“Averse to hard work? Me?” He exclaimed, “while you were off messing about with Bori and prancing around the lake with Mahula, somebody was actually bothered to care for the goats. Ain’t nobody gonna bother with them now! Some wolf or leopard will get them without their brave, dashing, daring Shidhig. Oh, my poor goats.” Sugae chuckled slightly, but the mention of Mahula visibly dampened his mood. He knew he was going to miss her immensely. He looked around in the hope of spotting her somewhere in the crowds that had gathered to see the young men off, and even as he looked the mere thought of her brought an immediate smile to his face.
“Ugh, there it is again, that stupid, happy, vacant smile of yours. Can you blame me for wanting to whack you silly every time you look like that?” Sugae looked at Shidhig distractedly.
“You’re just miserable and jealous is all you are, Shidh,” he teased, “if the gods are kind you’ll get your wish and be reborn as a goat.” The bigger man jabbed him in the side with his stick, but Sugae’s thick tunic meant he barely felt it. And then he saw her and his heart leapt as he took a few steps out of the marching procession to be closer to her.
“Oi!” One of the noble riders shouted, riding past and kicking him back into the marching line. Sugae stumbled into a few of the others and they grumbled at him, but he quickly righted himself and got back to marching, though he had eyes for nothing other than Mahula's melancholy visage and small sad smile until the procession crested a hill and she, and Rehna, were permanently out of sight.
Sugae blinked and looked at the others marching around him, most of them in thin tunics. Others had their chests bared and either wore long white loincloths or great baggy sirwals. Only a few were ‘armoured’ like him, and many had not even bothered to arm themselves with a stick as Shidhig had. Only now, as he watched all those who had been pressed into this business of fighting, from all the towns and villages in the region, did the depressing and wretched reality of it dawn on him. No amount of training with Bori or words of warning and advice from him could have truly readied him for this mass of despondent people, near-naked and unarmed, being forcefully marched off from their homes and loved ones. He gripped his staff and tightened his hold on his father’s shield. He would return to Rehna, to his mother, to Mahula.
And everything would return to how it had always been.
Prepared For All Things
The long march ended just outside the market town of Zira, where they made camp. At first it was only the noble warriors who had tents, while rural ‘peasants’ like Sugae, Shidhig, and many others camped out in the open. It was not much of an issue as far as warmth went, since the wet season was not yet upon them and the days and nights alike were rather warm, but the Khadaar had many dangers that made having a tent, or some sort of shelter, advisable.
After perhaps four days in the open, during which time Sugae busied himself practising as Bori had taught him, the shid of Zira, Dharqul shib Caamuthrapa, finally rode through the camp with his warrior-lords, guards, and various advisors, to inspect the troops he would soon be leading into battle in the name of shid Arkhus and the true ramshida, Muwayma shil Sahrur. Upon surveying Sugae and other members of the commoner-militia and speaking for a time with members of his entourage, the giant old man ordered that every one of them be given simple bedding and that five-man tents be provided. “Lord, are we going to get weapons? And training?” Someone asked. The shid looked at him for a few moments, his great grey moustache seeming to curl upwards, then pointed towards the main camp where those of noble birth and military upbringing were.
“They came with their weapons and brought with them their training, and they brought their bedding and their tents and horses and all they will need. Because I am benevolent and wish for the gods to witness my virtue, I have bestowed on you bedding and tents, purchasing them with the shidra’s limited funds. But as for weapons, you will have to buy your own or earn them on the bloodletting field, and if you wish for training, then train amongst yourselves.” So saying, the shid turned his horse, looked once more at the commoner militias, and cantered away with his retinue in tow.
Shidhig looked at his herding stick with pursed lips. “Guess I’ll be holding onto this then,” he muttered. Sugae nodded.
“Good idea. If you like I can sharpen the tip for you.” He looked at him and nodded back in appreciation.
“Fucking Palwijtha coulda given me some of his old stuff. Heck, he coulda let me make something…” Shidhig let loose an exasperated sigh. “And, uh. I think I’ll be taking you up on that training business now.”
“My, you’re just brimming with good ideas today,” Sugae chuckled, and the bigger lad punched him on the shoulder.
The levies are called up and the youths of Rehna, along with others from the region, are marched to the regional capital of Zira.
Grant Sugae consecrated Warturban - Undying Light II (1DP & 2 Free Titles).
All strikes and ailments that come upon the wearer of this item somehow fail to be lethal. Stab wounds eerily miss vitals, deathly illnesses may weaken and bring the wearer to the gates of death, but at the last, they are returned.
Lord Zee
BBeast
DracoLunaris
Frettzo
Cyclone
Vec
Torack
