The throng of people below teemed with excitement. Packed shoulder to shoulder in the grand plaza far below, Tioteche could still hear their undulating screams of exultation. The press of bodies retreated in several spots to give room to ecstatic hoop-dancers, gyrating uncontrollably in their looping twirls. The Bloodchief smiled down at them, raising a hand that drew an erupting cacophony that reverberated out of the carefully planned acoustics of the plaza.

His People.
My Moch.
Kaiaomoch.

The people passed their burdens, like heavy stones, from one person to the next. Up and up the Mound of leadership until they eventually reached Tioteche - stacking these stones higher and higher in a never ending spire. His Moch was built upon these stones, problems solved and stacked. But they on the ground could never see what he saw at the top. How it teetered dangerously, buffeted by the winds of change and uncertainty. Tioteche straddled this spire like a horseman on a stallion that could never be broken. None below him could see how close the spire was to crashing down. Just one mistake and it would fall.

But they loved him for it. Even now they chanted the title they had given him. He lingered on the balcony, allowing the chant to become a crescendo. Let all in the Grand Mound hear what his people had to say. Let them never forget that they had named him Moch Maker reborn.

They were his weapon.
Let Sipowae have his blades.
Kaiao her schemes.
Tioteche had always had the people.

And far too often now, they were also his shield...

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. "Bloodchief?"

Tioteche snapped out of his reverie, turning away from the balcony and the chanting crowds below. There in the archway leaned his new aide. A young boy previously of the Warrior Caste. Born into the ways of the Twae'koa Arts. He had suffered an injury in the Twilamoch War and had his leg amputated at the knee, though that didn't stop him from wearing a gold ring through his septum and a flamboyant Warhawk braided with colored feathers. His father had always supported Tioteche, even during the times of the Exodus, so the Bloodchief had elevated the boy to Chief Caste as a favor - saving him from a life of Casteless begging in the streets.

Tioteche strode through the archway motioning for the boy to follow, consciously slowing his pace so he could keep up with his crutch. Hall-Hopper, the Chieflings called him. "What is it, Huini?" Asked Tioteche.

"You are almost a Tide late to the Council meeting, the Warchief has grown particularly agitated." He said.

Tioteche nodded. "Good. An angered Sipowae is far easier to herd in the direction I like."

Tioteche had seen Sipowae's procession emerge from the Southern Ghostwood and enter the city. Dragging captives through the streets as weary Warriors waved to the crowds, all too eager to visit their families now that they were fresh from the Warfront. Tio had quickly sent word to the Chiefs that Warchief Sipowae had requested a private audience in the amphitheater and to not convene there for a half-tide. This denied Sipowae the grand entrance he no doubt had planned, and secured Tioteche another foothold above him in the Poltical War that was Kaiaomoch's government.

"Thats not what I said, Bloodchief. Warchief Sipowae isn't angered, he's been soothed to mere agitation by the words of Rainchief Kaiao." Said Huini.

Tioteche slowed to almost a stop. He hadn't anticipated that. "And the Chief Council?"

Huini cleared his throat again nervously. "Dismissed by Rainchief Kaiao. To be recalled when you decided to arrive. - Her words! Not mine." He said quickly.

Tioteche continued down the hall, thinking through the possibilities as he waited at the bottom of a flight of stairs for Huini to catch up. Kaiao and his relationship had been tense throughout the winter, yes. But he'd assumed - hoped - that things would get better now that Xaliti had been sent north on a diplomatic exploration campaign. Kaiao and Sipowae getting along as of late was an irritable imbalance to Tioteche's power within the Triumvirate that he didnt need at this time. Not with how many delicate plans Tio was currently laying as it was. Something would have to be done. Soon.

He reached the ground floor of the Grand Mound's longhouse and took a seat at a nearby bench carved to resemble a river cat. The crowds outside had either died down or dispersed, their chants barely audible even though he was far closer to their source. Huini resolutely made his way down the stairs with practiced precision. This is why the Warrior would never be replaced as his aide if Tio could help it. Huini never rushed, never took a shortcut that may have an outcome not intended. He couldn't, it wasn't what the Warrior Philosophers of Twae'koa did. And, Tioteche was sure, a missing leg would do little to stop this young man's lethality. In this, he was a bodyguard cleverly disguised as an attendant.

The pair set off across a cavernous chamber, a silence between them as servants bowed or knelt at Tioteche's passing. Those too old to kneel touched two fingers to their throats in the Ganche sign of respect. Huini cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "I've been thinking."

"Id be worried if you weren't." Tioteche said, eyeing him sidelong with a smirk. If Huini registered the remark, he didnt show it.

"Is it wise? To purposefully push the Warchief is a dangerous and volatile maneuver." Said Huini as they reached the towering beaded archway that led outside to the amphitheater.

"I'm far too young to be wise." Tioteche said in a low voice. "Were that I was, this would all be alot easier."

Huini eyed him quizzically. "What would?"

Tioteche answered by throwing aside the beads covering the archway, letting the afternoon sun shine brilliantly into the longhouse. There, down a long series of steps and seated on a raised stage in the center of the amphitheater sat the lithe form of Kaiao flanked by the hulking silhouette of Sipowae. Alone.

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Tioteche leaned over and whispered to Huini. "Summon the Council. Have them ready, but wait for my signal." The aide nodded, beckoning for a waiting attendant back outside the beaded archway.

The Bloodchief began his methodical descent down the dozens of steps leading to the center of the amphitheater where the other two Highchiefs sat silently. His soft moccasins didn't make a sound on the tiled steps, only the chirping of the scissortails above broke the quiet. Tio spent the time thinking. Planning. Trying to guess his opponents' actions and outmaneuver them first. The two down below watched him with deepening frowns. How long had they been here? Conversing and Mirthing while he entertained the crowd. This was unusual. Kaiao and Sipowae had never exactly gotten along, only their hatred for Xaliti aligned their interests.

He reached the stone dais and table after a few stretched moments, taking his seat wordlessly and piling a plate with chile-fried dog that had been served some time ago. He didnt speak, he wouldn't be the one to break the thick tensions between them. Sipowae stood across the circle table, leaning forward on his hands. He wore a curious breastplate, shining like steel beneath cracked cyan paint. Across his chest were strung several scalps, their hair braided into a gruesome necklace. Most were the black hair of the Ganche, but Tio noted a few of red and yellow like those of the Brymoch. On his right sat Kaiao, radiant despite glaring daggers at Tioteche. Her face, vest, and split kilt were painted in sparkling orange paint. Crushed glass from Sogadar? Despite the situation and their fracturing relationship, Tio found himself captivated by her. Something she noticed too, pointedly looking away.

"This meeting should be over by now, had you been here on time." Sipowae managed to growl. Tio could feel his barely contained rage emanating across the table. Perhaps Huini was right. One should never challenge a Storm, despite how strong they think their house.

"A whole Season spent campaigning the Ghostwood. Do sit, Sipowae - I'm sure you're quite tired." Said Tioteche. Kaiao winced beside him.

The pair locked eyes. Glare against glare. Tio absently ate the fried dog, his eyes never leaving Sipowae's. The Warchief started getting more agitated, perhaps dangerously so. It was at that moment that Kaiao spoke. "Enough! Sipowae, sit. Tioteche, act like a Highchief and not like some boy playing at games."

Sipowae sat reluctantly and Tioteche gave him a miniscule fraction of a nod as Kaiao summoned a few dozen servants. Her aides each had their faces painted sparkling orange to match her. The effect was quite impressive in the midday sun. "Go and summon the Council. Tell them the Highchiefs are ready now." She said, waving the servants into action.

Perfect thought Tioteche. He waited a few seconds before raising his hand and snapping his fingers twice in quick succession. The uniquely planned acoustics of the amphitheater shot the noise throughout the empty stadium like a crack of thunder. All the servants stopped and turned to watch Tio nonchalantly resumed eating. "The Chiefs are already here." He said evenly to their questioning gazes. At that monent one of his aides, high above at the top of the bowl shaped amphitheater, opened wide the beaded archway and ushered in a long line of the hundred or so Council Chiefs that made up the Moch. Kaiao's servants tittered and whispered amongst themselves as the Rainchief's face grew red. Tio stared blankly at the Chiefs filing into the stadium and taking their places around the dais, unable to meet her gaze. Knowing she'd be seething. Her servants would spread word of this misstep of hers, slight as it was. Even a slight stumble can get you killed in a duel.

As the Chiefs found their respective seats, aligning themselves based on tribal relations and habitual Tiqwa differences, Tioteche stood. As Bloodchief of the Moch, it was his duty to oversee the internal politics and problems discussed in these weekly meetings. "Lets begin." He announced.

The Council Meeting went on for some time with all manner of tribal disputes being heard and settled by Tioteche, joined by Sipowae and Kaiao's input when needed. Nothing of particular note occurred until Tepiwah, Chief of the Kiorithich mountain tribe and Councilor of Agriculture stood up. He had the shaved head and filed teeth befitting his people. It was a deep irony that a Man-Eater oversaw the Moch's agriculture. Tio figured it kept him honest. "My Bloodchief. I would speak." Said Tepiwah. Tioteche nodded for him to continue.

"Chit requisitions for expectant mothers have quadrupled from our last count, my Chief." Said Tepiwah.
"Do we have the food to fill them?"
"... We dont know, my Chief." Said Tepiwah. A torrent of whispers spilled through the Council. Tioteche sighed and clapped for silence. "Work by torchlight to till and harvest the terraces."
Tepiwah clacked his pointed teeth nervously. "We have been, Bloodchief. The Twilamoch raids have left us with vastly reduced Workers for farming. Fields lay ripe and untended..." he trailed off.

Tioteche rubbed his eyes while leaning back against the table. "Let everyone hear me!" He began. "Tepiwah has free requisition of any Slave Caste for as long as we're lacking adequate Worker Caste." He said, eliciting several hisses and groans from the gathered chiefs. Though none spoke openly against the decree. Tio turned to eye Sipowae. "And speaking of our lack of Workers. Are you ready to give the War Tidings?"

Sipowae rose from his chair, causing his necklace of scalped skullplates to clink against eachother as he surveyed the crowd until his eyes landed back on Tioteche. He spoke to him, though due to the acoustics of the amphitheater all present within could easily hear him. "Yes. The Twilamoch has been contained in their Mec for several hundred tides now. We surround it by land, but the Brymoch Ships arrive nearly daily with food and other things."
"Other things?" Asked Tio.
Sipowae nodded. "My scouts say there are weapons. Like the Bolt-Thrower we made from theirs, but different. Like they took the design we improved from theirs and improved it again." He held his hands up in a shrug. "Time will tell. I expect that soon the Brymoch will grow weary of saving the drowning Twilamoch." A smile cracked across Sipowae's face as he continued. "In the meantime, we've brought nearly ten twenties of Twilamoch captives - all already stripped of Caste. The unruly among them have already been dealt with." He said, shooting a quick glance at Tepiwah. No doubt the majority of the Man-Eater's tribe was of the Warrior Caste. It wasn't hard for Tio to imagine what happened to unruly captives in the Ghostwood.

Kaiao rose from her seat. "And what of the eastern front? My ambassadors deliver conflicting reports from local chiefs in the Bordermounts." She said. Sipowae let loose a low growl that echoed through the stadium, giving the impression of a great Ganche Lion. "The Bordermounts are a wall of poisoned thorns to us. The tribes there know the land too well, and our own people aren't equipped for it." He threw his arm out wide, clearly frustrated. "And I've heard from trusted Warriors... That there are Quatch among the holdouts."

A dead silence dropped over the amphitheater immediately. Mention of that most ancient and forgotten people always bubbled fear in a Ganche. "The Quatch were drove out of Oniganche by our first ancestors. This land is ours and they know it. Let them cower in their deep forests or mountains. Pull back the eastern front, I say. Hold what we have?" Asked Tioteche, hesitantly eyeing Sipowae. This was dangerous, Tioteche was no Warchief. Tioteche held his breath until Sipowae merely nodded.

"Is there anything else?" Tio asked the Highchiefs. Kaiao shook her head and sat back down, but Sipowae brought a hand to his mouth and let loose a burst of whistling trills - Tiquini, the whistle speak of the Ganche.
Bring him.
Its time.
Tio cocked an eyebrow. Who was Sipowae signaling? At that moment a group of Warriors led a Brymoch captive into the amphitheater. The man had the fiery red hair not seen since the foreigners arrived, and was naked except for the lasso tied around his neck, though that didnt stop him from walking with head held high.

"Why isn't this one being sacrificed with the others?" Asked Tioteche. As if in answer, the red haired man reached the edge of the stone dais and touched two fingers to his neck in the Ganche sign of respect. A few gasps came from the crowd of Chiefs at that, and even Tio was taken aback.
"Thats why." Said Sipowae simply.

Tioteche eyed the captive more closely, noting his posture. This man had a back built from the burdens of those beneath him. It reminded him of his father, before the Antou missionaries twisted him. The two locked eyes for a long moment before Tio stepped forward.

"Who are you?" Said Tio, speaking Antou's language of Dantais. The Captive took a step back, his resolve cracked for a split second before he answered, though his words were drowned out by the cacophony of Chiefs. Nearly all of them leapt to their feet, spitting down at Tioteche or hissing and holding two fingers in an X over their mouths. This was always the reaction to the foul tongue of Antou, especially among the exiled Saskitchemoch tribes. Tio held a hand up, gesturing for them to be silent. He chose to ignore the scowls of Kaiao and Sipowae beside him.

After the Council was quiet again, the Captive spoke. "I am Alfred Cordell. Scion of the Cordell Family of Bryborough."

Tioteche opened his mouth to answer, but turned instead. His mouth hung open in shock as he watched Huini launch himself out of an enclosed dugout next to the dais - a tomahawk in one hand, a knife in the other.

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Huini

Huini lingered at the top of the tiled stone staircase for a few moments as Tioteche sauntered down. He couldn't follow. It wasn't his place to enter the main dais - and Huini didn't trust himself to navigate the steep staircase with a crutch and missing a leg.. Instead he circled around through a backchannel hallway clogged with servants and messengers running errands for attending Chiefs. He followed a series of wide stairs downwards, finally reaching the bottom floor where the dugout seating could be found. He circled around, passing archways leading to canopied rooms filled with the tittering followers of Kaiao and the hard eyed servants of Sipowae. He even passed Tio's cadre conversing quietly in their assigned dugout. No, he couldn't go with them. He needed quiet and concentration. Instead he went to a little-used Dugout that should afford him a wide view of the crowd. Just in case there was something to see.

He pushed aside the glittering beaded curtain hanging in the archway and shuffled inside the empty dugout crutch-first. It was shady and cool, canopied by striped canvas and dotted with padded wooden benches. The dugout sat about three feet or so lower than the stone dais and stage the High Chiefs sat upon. But there was nowhere closer to be during council meetings. Huini didn't sit, he didnt trust himself to get up fast enough should a situation require it. Instead he leaned forward on the front edge of the dugout, elbows resting on the stone stage. The Council Meeting seemed to be going well. Better than he had expected for the first meeting of Sipowae's return. Huini eyed him warily as the hulking warchief presented some new kind of Bolt-Thrower to Tioteche. Huini idly checked and rechecked that his bandolier of knives and tomahawk was still in place, despite the unlikely occasion of their use here. The device made Huini nervous. The Brymoch Warriors had used them to devastating effect during the exploratory raids Sipowae's War-Crop made into their territory. Even Kaiaomoch Warriors fell to them. What good was a lifetime of training in the Martial Arts of Twae'koa if a Farmer could kill you with one finger? The Brymoch hadn't escaped unscathed, and more than a few Bolt-Throwers had been retrieved and brought to Kaiaomoch's Artisans for study and reconstruction… This line of thinking always made the ghost of Huini's leg start twitching. It was a Bolt that had started him down this path he now walked.

"It seems honed minds think alike." A frigid voice said from behind Huini. A dread familiarity that sent an ice cold lance through his gut. He turned slowly to see Tehl standing in the archway. Her silken black hair was pulled back tight to reveal a face that would have been beautiful - if not for the multitudes of scars left behind from years of attempted scalpings. Huini found he couldn't move, thankfully, as he was torn between embracing or saluting the First Pathfinder. She studied him with glittering brown eyes - her gaze snapping from his clothes, to his crutch, to his missing leg, and finally resting on his new Chief Caste Marks tattooed beneath his left eye. She made the briefest gesture of salute, her fingers touching her own Warrior Caste Mark for a split second as she walked into the dugout. "Id heard that you'd done well for yourself after your… failure." Said Tehl. Huini winced at her choice of words. The end of his missing leg started throbbing, but he didnt reply. Instead he turned back to watching the High Chiefs. Huini remembered clearly what Tehl thought of his injury. He often recalled how she'd cast her vote that day in the Ghostwood - To kill him and leave him behind. Her allegiance to Sipowae had always came before him.

"Still. I figured you'd be Slave Caste by now." She scooted down the bench towards him. "Maybe Artisan if you were fortunate. But a Chiefling? Hmmm.." She purred. "I would ask whose pipe you smoked to get here, it the answer wasn't obvious." Said Tehl. Huini could hear the smirk in her tone. He shifted his weight from foot to crutch and back again.

Resolute as the Thunderhead.
Calm as Clear Water.
The Warrior-Turned-Chief thought, letting the decades of meditation training wash over him. "My station is none of your concern, Warrior." He said, his gaze not leaving the Chief Council.

A long pause of silence stretched between them. Huini wasn't ready for this encounter; He hadn't even known she was returning to the Mec. Tehl placed a hand gently on the small of his back. "Huini..." She said softly, her voice melting into that vulnerable, secret tone that had become so familiar over the months they'd spent together in the War-Crop. The same tone that reminded him that she wasn't just the killer she wanted everyone to think she was. Huini turned to look at Tehl suspiciously. The vulnerable tone disappeared with her next words: "You will not trust me." She said flatly. A statement. Huini let the moment linger, trying to discern the motives hidden in her frozen face. "I'd lay with The Great Boa before I trust another of Sipowae's war-bitches." Said Huini. He thought he saw the briefest flicker of emotion in her eyes before it was buried again. As if in answer, Tehl pulled a corn-paper bag from her satchel and unwrapped it. The crinkle of the bag tore through the silence, the smell of chiles and meat following the noise to fill the void. She looked up at Huini, smiling slightly - just enough to show her mouthful of filed teeth. "Sit with me Huini. If we can't be friends, then let's not be enemies." She said, patting the bench next to her.

Huini glanced back at the stage, eyeing Tioteche as he and Sipowae discussed something about the warfront while Kaiao looked on pensively. "They'll be fine. We're here as a formality, Huini." Said Tehl. Though he didn't particularly agree, Huini found himself drawn to the bench. Tehl smirked and rolled her eyes when Huini refused her offered hand to help him sit, instead lowering himself down slowly and purposefully leaning the crutch against the bench to separate him from her.

Tehl shook her corn-paper bag at Huini. He reached in, pulling out a few dog rinds: A smile spread across Huini's face after taking a small bite. "These are better than most." He said, noting the subtle waves of chile spice that enveloped his tongue. Tehl nodded, swallowing her own bite before answering: "Artisan."
"Artisan?" Huini Scoffed. "Street Cooks are not Artisans. And Artisans should not be Street Cooks." He finished, returning his last rind to the bag.

Tehl shrugged, taking another bite. "Who am I to sorry-soak about what some Artisan wants to call art? More chits to be had selling tastes of higher life to the Workers than there is in carving Olmas for Chiefs."

"Thats not the point. The Moch is stable only when each person understands their Role. The stream cannot find it's ocean home alone."

Tehl frowned at his tone, eyeing him sidelong. "Maybe."

Huini sighed. Knowing her dismissal was the end of this conversation. After all these months he'd almost forgotten how resolute she could be. "Maybe." He answered finally.

A silence grew between them, broken only by Tehl chewing dog rinds especially loud and passive aggressively digging through crinkling bag for more. Huini hadn't meant to speak that harshly, especially immediately after this fragile peace between them. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't find the words. Staring ahead, he studied the painted breastplate Sipowae wore. He recognized it, of course - it was one of the metal skins the Brymoch Warriors wore to battle. They were impenetrable, but Huini thought that their reliance on it made them weak.

"So." Said Tehl, snapping his attention back to the present. "Are you enjoying all of… this?" She asked, gesturing to the ongoing Council meeting.

Huini crossed his arms and leaned back against the bench. "I'm no Court-Creature. You know that."

"You are now." Said Tehl.

"I didn't have a choice."

"Stop pouting. You'd be dead, or enslaved - That was your choice. You chose to live. You could start your own tribe now if you wanted, Huini. You could go sit on that Council and govern." She said, jabbing a finger at the elaborately decorated theater of Chiefs. "I can name a dozen Warriors who would do anything to sit where you do, even if they were crippled."

Huini didn't say anything, he knew she was right. There were far worse places he could've ended up aside from in the personal cadre of their Moch Founder and Bloodchief. Tehl leaned over and shoved him gently with a laugh. "Douse it, Chiefling. Cheer up. Your life is clear skies and the smell of rain from here on out."

He smiled back at her, half sincerely even. "And not a Thunderbird to be heard." He said, reciting the customary response to her adage. He watched Tehl as her eyes flicked around the amphitheater taking in sights she'd probably never seen before. He answered a few general questions about the Council she posed until eventually her gaze stopped at Kaiao. "She's more beautiful than they say." Said Tehl, her voice harboring some strange emotion Huini couldn't place. He didnt respond. From a distance, especially with her face painted in that glittering sand, Kaiao was beautiful. But he had seen her those nights that she screamed herself bloody and tore at her face. Those long nights when visions plagued her. It took Huini a moment to register Tehl had continued speaking.

"But how much of that is from… well, you know." Tehl trailed off, eyeing him expectantly. Huini shrugged, shooting her a confused look. "What?" He asked. Tehl lowered her voice despite them being the only ones in the dugout. "Surely you've heard? The whole city is whispering. They say Kaiao is Harboring."

Huini nearly choked, sitting upright and coughing several times to catch his breath. The commotion drew depreciating glances from Kaiao and Sipowae, though Tioteche just continued talking to a Chief about requisitioning Slaves for the harvest. Huini hoped the Bloodchief hadn't heard at all. How could they have not heard about this, especially Tioteche? How did Tehl know after a few hours in the city? "She's Pregnant?" He whispered in shock. Tehl stifled a laugh with a grin and nodded noncommittally. "Thats what they say." Huini sat thinking it over while Tehl watched him carefully. He was about to ask another question when a series of Tiquini trills erupted from Sipowae.
Bring Him.
Its Time.

"Bring who?" Asked Huini. But if Tehl answered at all, he didnt hear. All his attention was arrested by the man being led into the amphitheater. A Bryman, with fiery red hair and a lasso around his neck. Huini shot forward and used the lip of the Dugout to pull himself upright, all other thoughts washed away as he focused on this new threat.
Presence of Rain.
Eye of the Storm.
He intoned, letting the lifetime of meditation training take hold. Time seemed to slow around him, voices and sounds stretching as his senses sharpened to a hyper-focused edge. He wasn't watched the naked and bound Bryman, no, his eyes were to the crowd. He watched as they hissed and crossed fingers over their mouths. Distantly he was aware Tioteche had spoke the Traitor-God's tongue, but that wasn't important now. The Twae'koa Trained Warrior's eyes drank in details, flickering over the amphitheater. The crowd was agitated, there was movement everywhere. Huini could hear nothing aside from the blood pumping through his body.

There! - Midway up the bowled walls of the theater, a young Chief started standing, too quickly. Huini had already launched himself out of the dugout, tomahawk and knife in hand as the Chief above threw aside his long wampum cloak to reveal a hidden Bolt-Thrower. The man saw Huini as he raised the weapon, panic cracked across his young face. The would-be attacker froze for a moment, but that was all Huini needed. The Warrior calculated the distance between them and firing archs, not with mathematics, but with years of practiced intuition. Huini's tomahawk was already reared back to throw as he landed on his feet-

Huini thought lightning fast, his mind racing as his ingrained training betrayed him. He had forgotten his missing leg - what would have been an acceptable landing now had him tumbling sidelong, unbalanced. He pushed conscious thought to the recesses of his mind and let his training take over, readjusting the trajectory as he fell sideways. The Chief above raised his Bolt-Thrower, aiming down at the dais as those seated around him gaped at him in horror.

From a nearly horizontal position, Huini let fly his tomahawk, his body clenching like a coiled spring to put as much force behind throw as he could from his disadvantaged position. Two heartbeats rang in his ears as the tomahawk flew. He watched the Chief glance sidelong at him, eyes going wide when he realized what Huini had did. The Chief's gaze snapped back to the dais, concentrating on aiming - his arms shaking in fear. He pulled the Bolt-Thrower's trigger the same moment that Huini's tomahawk struck him with a resounding crack. The Warrior couldn't watch the Chief, his eyes followed the Bolt.

The missle streaked through the air like a lightning bolt, narrowly missing the Brymoch Captive's head by a handswidth. Instead it flew past them, into the dugout packed with Kaiao's screaming attendants. The bolt struck one man in the shoulder, penetrated cleanly through and buried itself in the throat of a painted woman. Her scream turned to gurgle as Huini's body finally reached the ground. He rolled sideways with his momentum, coming to a stop in a kneeling position, his body weight supported directly on the stump of his missing leg. The sounds of bone scraping across stone filled his ears. Pain poured up through Huini like an endless deluge, breaking him from his medative state. Sounds and Time flowed back to him along with the pain, threatening to drown him. He began to swoon and would've collapsed if not for the strong hands of the towering Sipowae pulling him to his feet and supporting him upright.

Huini fought off waves of nausea, trying his best to take in events around him. He saw the attacker's body lying midway up the steep steps, tomahawk buried in his chest and blood flowing down the stairs. He heard the roar of a cheering crowd, amplified hundred fold by the acoustics of the amphitheater. Sipowae raised his hand in the air. Tioteche called for a Medicine Man. Huini looked down and saw a trail of blood leading back to where he had landed - and the series of deep scrapes in the tiles where his femur had struck the stone. As the pain became more manageable Huini took stock of his surroundings. Sipowae still held Huini upright while Tioteche knelt down to tie off Huini's bleeding stump. He got the Bloodchief's attention as Sipowae ordered Warriors out of their Dugouts to ring the dais, bellowing about their uselessness in the face of adversaries. Huini looked down at Tioteche and whispered:
"How bad is it?"
"Not great. You've splintered the bone."

Huini winced and looked around again, realizing he'd been leaned against the stone table. Sipowae and Kaiao were exiting the amphitheater through a side door while the gathered Chiefs filed up the various staircases. Huini looked back at his dugout, but Tehl was nowhere to be seen. "My Chief, there's something you should know. You'll hear it soon, so it may as well come from me…"

---

Tehl

Tehl watched as the crowd cheered for Huini, his hands raised by Sipowae. The sound of bone sliding across tiles made her teeth sting and dampened her smile - or so she told herself. In truth, there were a great many things dampening her smiles these days. Tehl rose from the bench, leaving Huini's crutch behind as she exited the dugout. Hoping to beat the rush of attendants using these lower level hallways, she worked her way through several beaded curtains and archways before reaching a vaulted exit chamber leading out to the grand promenade.

There she easily spotted Sipowae, standing a head taller than his followers. She made her way towards him through the crowds, but froze when she saw his companion. Kaiao stood with him, talking in hushed tones. She was recognizable only by her glittering orange face paint. Sipowae bowed his head to hear, nodding. The two High Chiefs shared a laugh like old friends. No, not quite like friends, Tehl noted Kaiao's hand lingering on Sipowae's arm as the Rainchief said goodbye, exiting off onto the promenade as Tehl arrived.

Sipowae turned and smiled wide at his Pathfinder. "Tehl." He said, leading her away from the gathered crowds and eager ears. "I couldn't see you during the Council… Did you manage to speak with one of Tioteche's cadre?" He asked, an eagerness glittering in his dark eyes. Tehl nodded, keeping her face blank, not wanting Sipowae to see the emotion roiling within her. "Huini. I told him what you ordered me to. He believed it, I think. Enough of it anyway."

Sipowae's smile widened even further than Tehl thought possible. "Amazing." He said, cupping Tehl's face in his surprisingly gentle hands. "The Bloodchief's personal Aide. You've done better than expected." He said, releasing her face as she took a step back. Tehl met his gaze, hoping her eyes wouldn't betray her stoic face. "Is it true? Is Kaiao Harboring?"

The Warchief grinned, spreading his hands wide. "If not already, she will be soon." He said with a wink.

Oniganche is an amalgamation of many ideas inspired by Indigenous American Peoples, particularly those of North America. Most particularly the Mississipian and the Eastern Woodlands Cultural Groups. I've always loved the artworks, the styles, and of course the Mounds.

Along with all the ideas above, I'm also inspired by the Copper and Bronze Age of Earth. Many ideas gleaned from these time periods have influenced Oniganche development for sure. From the importance of Obligation to the interconnectivity of the world using a level of tech that doesn't seem like it would be feasible.

Above all, I've strove to make Oniganche my own. Influenced by Early North American Cultures but not a direct copy of any of them. I never wanted to be a mirror held up to them, and so far I think I've accomplished this. There are direct lines you could draw, like the similarities between my Moch governing system and that of the Iroquois Confederacy (which is sometimes called the Rome of the Americas). Or the similarities between the Raqiwaa Herdsmen and the Wichita, Lakota, or Comanche Peoples (even though the Raqiwaa coexist with Rhinoceros Herds). But even these ideas have become standalone concepts of their own, something im quite happy with.

As far as my narrative writing goes - I've always been fascinated with ancient cultures who didn't write anything down. We know so little about them, and this is especially true of the Pre-Colonization North America. Entire cultures rose and fell, cities whose influence stretched from Florida to the pacific Northwest, the same City estimated to rival London in population during the 11th Century, all without any real concrete record to show why. I wanted to make a story that mimicked this rise and fall of cultures and civilization, and all the drama that made it happen.

Anyway, like Mouth said - I can go on and on, and I'm probably just rambling at this point. If anyone ever wants to talk about any of this, just message me on discord!

Previous Story- https://forums.candarion.com/topic/738/the-end-all-men-meet

Xaliti

She had heard of this land her entire life. Fractured stories from wandering traders and Hornbull nomads. Golden grass stretched across the horizon, challenging the sunset as the most beautiful sight eyes could hope to see. But this land held a brutality only the Sun Sons could understand, hidden beneath the shining facade. Only the desperate came here. Someone needing a place to hide, or needing hope - they would find neither. The desperate were fools, and fools never saw the trap until it was sprung. The Gold Expanse would make you into an effigy of what you once were, make you watch it burn to ash from behind glazed eyes. . .

Xaliti's eyes snapped open. She lay there staring at the ceiling of her canvas tent, the barest hints of pre-dawn light leaked through the open doorway. How long had she slept this time? A quarter-tide? Less? She sighed and rubbed her face, eyes still burning from exhaustion. With a grunt the Warrior sat up and took stock of her senses. Her back ached from another sleepless night on the hardpacked earth, she could smell a trace of smoke - the last watch? Xaliti pulled on a doeskin split kilt and her moccasins. She debated for a moment leaving the tent but decided to put on a tight linen wrap around her chest. She'd be on horseback today and would need it more than she needed reprieve from the wretched heat.

Exiting the tent and slinging her bandolier of knives around one shoulder, Xaliti surveyed the pitiful camp. Twelve similar tents were clustered around her's, with the Workers heaped in their sleeping bags behind a makeshift windwall made from the baggage. The edge of camp drew her eye, a small fire burned there with a figure leaned against a stone nearby. As she drew nearer it became clear that this wasn't some watchman, the silver haired warhawk gave it away - This was Rhotaro, her Second. The wizened warrior turned his ear at Xaliti's approach but didn't open his eyes. "Up early again." He stated, the words seeming to dredge up a coughing fit. Xaliti kicked a few rocks aside and sat across the fire from him. "Still can't sleep. What's your excuse?"

Rhotaro shrugged and turned back to the lightening dawn. "I took the last watch from Kaichiaxtch. He needs the rest more than I since you started him Pathfinding."

Xaliti rolled a bundle of gathered twigs onto the guttering fire. "Anything to report?"

"Two more horses died in the night."

"What caused it?"

The old man shrugged. "Hard to say. Dehydration I'd guess. Like the others." He leaned his head back against the stone and let out a sigh. "The ones still here won't do anything but walk."

Xaliti fiddled with the pommel of one of her sheathed knives, staring into the crackling flames. It took her a long moment to realize Rhotaro had opened his eyes and begun studying her. Mulling her thoughts over again, she cleared her throat. "Kill the remaining horses. Drain their blood into skins. They'll die today, or tomorrow. If we don't find something to drink then we'll be next."

Rhotaro grunted but didn't say anything. Xaliti knew him well enough to know that was an affirmation of agreement. She knew everyone in this expedition just as well - except the Workers of course. That made it all the harder to watch them suffer as they had. The expedition had been plagued by pitfalls since the day they'd left Kaiaomec. For sixty four tides they'd been travelling north, far behind schedule due to a herd of bison that took days to pass by. When they'd finally reached the Gold Expanse Xaliti had instituted water rationing after a Hornbull Raid, and now this slow death of the animals. Xaliti shook her head and matched Rhotaro's sigh. Despite her confidence of command, somewhere deep inside her that small voice still whispered aching truths - She had been given free reign to pick the members of this expedition. She picked her trusted friends and the most capable upstarts of her Crop. Was this the price of Loyalty to Xaliti?

Rhotaro leaned over and rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a small hemp-wrapped bundle and tossed it to Xaliti. She caught it deftly and unrolled it, smiling when she saw it was a few strips of gator-jerk. She'd thought they'd run out days ago. "Make merry, Xaliti. The Crop looks to you." Said Rhotaro, holding up a refusing hand when Xaliti tried to return the bundle. "You keep it. You're the last of us that needs to be downtrodden. Nobody watches me, I'm nearly Jerky myself in this Forgotten Sun." Finished Rhotaro. Xaliti attempted a smile but it was only on the surface. She nodded her thanks and tucked it into a spare sheath on her bandolier. "We've come too far to turn back now. We wouldn't make it back to Oniganche with the supplies we have, much less Kaiaomec. There has to be water somewhere… We'll keep following the Horbull Tribe until they lead us to it." Said Xaliti, waving a hand northward towards the wide tracks of a hundred Hornbulls plodding across the Expanse. Their deep footprints left behind pools of glistening shit filled mud reflecting off the coming dawn.

Rhotaro eyed Xaliti carefully. "So long as you keep the Pathfinders running out around us. We'll never know in this grass if we just missed a pond, or even a village of some-" Rhotaro coughed pointedly. Xaliti snapped her attention back to him and matched his crinkled gaze. He tilted his head, gesturing to the left. Xaliti looked and saw a small figure emerge from her tent and walk towards the fire on careful feet. She was dressed similarly to Xaliti and carried a long sheathed sword in her arms. The fire reflected in it's pommel of precious metals made to masterfully replicate a tortoise. A smile cracked across Xaliti's face. "Come, My Wake." She said, extending an arm to the girl. Khri took the last few steps and bowed slightly to Xaliti, then Rhotaro.

The girl handed the sword off to Xaliti and sat cross-legged next to her. Xaliti set the trophy sword aside and drew a knife, this one another trophy taken from the Brymoch. She moved to sit behind Khri, studying the sides of her head before setting to work shaving out the new growth there around her newly earned Warhawk.

The trio sat there in silence for a long while. Parts of the camp began to stir, but noone approached the fire. Whether they were preoccupied or respectful or fearful, Xaliti couldn't say. Finally the sun broke across the horizon, gold rays of dawn cascaded across the camp and every Ganche turned to gaze at the sun while it was still dim enough to allow it. There it was - their place of paradise that the Ganche were cast out of in the time before time, banished to wander the endless blue sea on the other side of the earth. Cursed to never look upon their homeland as it floated across. Only the souls of the greatest Chiefs and Warriors could escape the endless cycle of rebirth that was the Ganche's prison.

"Its so beautiful." Whispered Khri, her face sparkling with golden red light.
Rhotaro sighed and looked back to the fire. "All things lost and never found are thought of as beautiful."
That brought a frown to Xaliti's lips. She placed a hand on Khri's shoulder and squeezed. "Paradise is never lost." She said, eyes locked on the rising dawn. "It is simply out of reach."

Suddenly a low warble echoed across the Expanse from the north. That same deep, undulating reverberation that sounded at every dawn. At first Xaliti had figured it to be a beast of some kind, but now her scouts had reported that it was some kind of instrument used by the Hornbull Tribes every dawn. Long and loud, the sound could be heard for miles in all directions, subtley changing notes and pitches to create a sort of waving sound. Xaliti wasn't convinced that the Hornbull Tribes didn't use it as some kind of language similar to the Ganche Tiquini Whistle-Speak. Whatever it was, it swept a haunted energy through the camp. Every Ganche had stirred by now and every one was suddenly reminded that they were strangers in a strange land; This Dawn was not like those seen from the tops of great Mounds or the forests of Oniganche.

"I would speak clear with you, Xaliti." Said Rhotaro, breaking the eery silence that had fallen over the camp. Xaliti nodded for him to continue. The wizened Warrior looked at Khri then back to Xaliti pointedly. "Some words are only for you to hear. You may choose to tell your Wake, but that would be your decision."

"Khri. Rouse the Workers. Have them kill and drain the horses of blood. Have them set up drying packs for the meat. I want the camp to be ready to move by second tide." Said Xaliti, shushing Khri's welling protests. "Then alert the Pathfinders to spread out, relay reports when they can. Stay within Tiquini range." She sat back, watching the girl stand and gather her pack. "And fetch Kaichiaxtch. He'll be the lead Pathfinder today - He should be well rested." She finished. Rhotaro frowned at that but said nothing until Khri had left them.

"You understand that we're all going to die here?" He said flatly. Gaze leveled at Xaliti. The question took her by surprise, mind reeling while she searched his eyes for motive. "I… No, Rhotaro. Should I?"

"Yes. This expedition is a death sentence. We are lost, far from lands we know, far from water, and surrounded by enemies. We were never meant to survive, Xaliti." Said Rhotaro, sighing deeply. "We are victims of a political battle we could never truly understand. Tioteche's Folly - But we pay the cost in blood."

Xaliti narrowed her eyes. Was he right? She swept her gaze across the camp. At friends and allies that did not question her when they were chosen. Had she just condemned them all to die for the uncaring Chiefs? "No." She said, startling both Rhotaro herself with the icy resolve in her tone. "Tioteche wouldn't send us here for nothing."

Rhotaro grunted his dissent. "He would. If he had to. If he was forced to. Look around Xaliti. Already our numbers dwindle. We need to find water and we need to flee back to Oniganche… Every one of us that dies here cannot be returned to Twae'koa, Xaliti. You know that."

"I trust Tioteche!" She snapped back. "I am the Sum of a Thousand Lives. I am The Scourge of Bry. Who are you to question the Mochmaker when even I dare not?"

Rhotaro closed his eyes, the deep lines of his face catching dark shadows in the rising sun. "I am a dying man who needed to rinse his thoughts." He said slowly. Xaliti's eyes widened at that. "You're dying?" She said, anger suddenly washed away.

He nodded. "Yes. I have forgone my Water ration. And food. I give them to those more worthy than a withered warrior." His eyes shifted back to the dying fire as if staring in a mirror.

Xaliti snatched up her bandolier, pulling out the wrapped jerky and thrusting it at him. "Take this. Eat it, now. And drink the Bison Blood." There was a twinge her voice. An echo of something remembered but not recognized. "Rhotaro… Please. I can't lose you too."

Rhotaro didn't look up from the fire. His arms stayed resting on his crossed legs. "You will have to, My Wake." He said gently, using that term that hadn't applied to Xaliti for years. "I've felt the Withering inside me for many cycles now. I knew this would be my last journey. This may even be my last day."

"You shouldn't have come. Why did you agree?" Xaliti said softly. "You won't make it back. You won't be reborn… Your soul is wasted." She said, leaning forward on her elbow and covering her mouth with her hand.

"I came to counsel you. How could I turn my back to you?" Rhotaro coughed again. After spitting phlegm into the fire, he continued. "And so I have. Turn back. If you can't, then send others back. Go on yourself if you must. But know that this noose is tightening around you. Things will get worse and might never get better. You'll die here choking on sand and dust."

Xaliti didn't respond. The two sat quietly until the fire burned out. She looked up to see that Rhotaro staring back at her with precious moisture in his eyes.

A few hours later the camp was broken and loaded back onto the Bison Train. Meat was hung and blood was drank as the expedition continued stumbling north through the endless grass, following the winding shit-covered trail of the Hornbulls, still hoping they'd lead them to water. Kaichiaxtch called through Tiquini that he'd been spotted. He was never seen again. Xaliti hoped he deserted, but she knew better.

December 6th - God

The Ganche believe that long long ago they were cast out of Paradise (The Sun, which floats on the endless blue sea above) and cursed to walk this land they now do. They adhere to a set of beliefs/Philosophical tenants known as "Twae'koa" or Water's Wisdom. Each Moch (Tribal Federation) is said to have it's own Twae - A collection of Souls made up of the Moch Member's ancestors and their knowledge.

When a Ganche dies, their body is given back to Water in a ritualistic funeral that they believe returns the soul to the collective Twae of the Moch; They also believe the same thing can be achieved when sacrificing captives in a specific ritual, their Souks will become locked in the Twae as well. When a Woman Gives birth, they are pulling a soul back from their Twae back to live another life in the world they see as a prison.

A Ganche of great Renown is said to "Earn" their place in Paradise again, for them and all their past lives. Thus removing themselves from the cycle of rebirth within a Moch. A Ganche who adheres to the duties of their Caste is said to be reborn one Caste Higher in the next life, thus all the greatest Chiefs are said to have escaped this world long ago.

Kaiaomec Building Map - (Yellow is Market Area with 5 Merchants)

Kaiaomec Caravan Area in Aeredos -

Requesting to set up RTH at Kaiaomec with a Caravan-Link to Aeredos.

Previous Story - https://forums.candarion.com/topic/701/battles-of-a-different-kind

As the monolithic stone disc was rolled out of the way and the tunnel beyond revealed, Tioteche couldn't help but be gripped by anticipation. It was like this every time; Excavations proceeded across Kaiaomec every day, uncovering the forgotten secrets of this ancient city. He didn't often visit the Excavations anymore, not after the first few weeks after arriving. Eventually one tiled Avenue looked like any other. But this time it was different, something unusual had been found - unusual enough that even Kaiao and Sipowae had accompanied him to see.

What had at first glance appeared to be a hill overgrown with vegetation had now been realized to be a Mound. It's sacred foundations were riddled with the roots of trees and pockmarked with animal dens, yet he had ordered it cleared and cleaned regardless. It was there at the base of the Mound that they found this door and the tunneled complex that expanded beyond it. And it was within that complex that a stranger had been found.

The tunnel stank of wet earth, calcified stone, and death. Tioteche was sure if it weren't for the occasional breeze drifting up from the darkness ahead, the stench would be nearly unbearable. He walked with hands clasped behind him, wampum vest tinkling with each step. Beside and behind him walked Kaiao and Sipowae. All of them were silent. The High Chiefs, their Warrior Caste Retinue, and the Artisan that led them by torchlight through the complex - all of them knew they walked somewhere holy. Somewhere that held the weight of importance, forgotten though it may be.

Kaiao had had another Vision showing her this Mound weeks before, like the ones that had led the Exodus to the city ruins. Hungry, scared, nowhere to turn - They had trusted her. Their Sleepless Dreamer. And Tioteche had harnessed them and delivered them. It was why the Moch was named after her, a rare example of Ganche breaking tradition. Still, Tioteche had his doubts about the Visions. He believed Twae’koa was more a philosophy to follow rather than an actual being, though he knew he was in the minority. But if not Twae’koa, then what were these Visions?

The moments stretched onward as they were led deep into the Mound. Tioteche remained in quiet contemplation until they came to a massive chamber with a vaulted ceiling reaching up into the darkness. Tioteche couldn't see the other side of the room past the torchlight, though he did note that the flame fluttered fitfully as the breeze was stronger here in this chamber. At the center of the bowl-shaped chamber floor stood what remained of a smaller mound. It's shape was distorted by years of erosion, leaving what was left of it's tiled top scattered down the sides. Half sunken at its peak was an Olma whose face had long since worn away. But none of those could compare to what arrested Tioteche's attention as they approached.

There, leaning against the side of the mound, was a skeleton. It's clothes had long since rotted away, along with most of its flesh. Though it was bedecked nearly head to toe in gold and silver jewelry - some of its teeth had even been replaced with ruby gemstones, delicately cut to fit in place.

Sipowae grunted, crossing his arms. "What is this? Some Ancient Chief buried here?" He asked.

Kaiao knelt down to brush the grime away from a necklace of interlaced gold medallions. "No." She paused, inspecting the designs imprinted in the metal. "These are not Ganche. He is a Sun Son perhaps?" She said, turning to look up at Tioteche.

The Bloodchief crouched beside Kaiao and pulled one of the skeleton's hands up from the dirt, it still clutched the remains of a glass bottle. "Not a Sun Son. Further north, this one is Forgotten. Our land is a prison, their's is a death sentence. Senitwaa'iti, the Land that Water Forgot - Sogadar."

Kaiao looked up, eyes narrowed at Tioteche. "How would a Forgotten end up in a buried city within a Mound, both of which were hidden from us until my Visions revealed-".

"And how can you be certain it is a Forgotten?" Interrupted Sipowae.

Tioteche brushed away more loose dirt and grave-grime from the Skeleton, then looked up towards the shadowed ceiling. "I have one answer for each of you." He finally replied after a long moment. "There is an opening in this ceiling. A chimney, can you feel the breeze?" He looked at each of them as they nodded. Tioteche beckoned for a torch to be brought closer, near the skeleton's feet - revealing cracked shins and broken ankles. "See here? He suffered a great fall. It seems this man somehow slipped through the chimney and fell here. But, this could be anyone. What makes him Forgotten?" Tio smiled as he raised the bottle, pulling it from the Skeleton's hand then sniffed the opening. "This man fell and broke himself. He did not search for a way out, no. Instead, he crawled somewhere comfortable, drank his firewater, and died."

The group shared a silent moment of meditation that was broken by Kaiao. “What now? Is this something we can use?” She asked.

Tioteche stood, brushing his hands off on his deerskin kilt. “Yes, I think so. This Forgotten is clearly important, no commoner would drench themselves in jewels like this. This may be the relative of some Saka.”

Sipowae let loose a chuckle dripping with scorn. “Why? What do we care about some foreigner’s body?”

“Because,” said Tio. “With a little care, Foreigners can become Friends.” Tioteche paced, his legs desperate to keep up with quickening thoughts. “We must return this body to its people. Sogadar has a new Saka. A boy. Impressionable and eccentric - So I’ve heard. He owes nothing to my Father or Saskitchemoch. This is our perfect excuse to seek an audience.”

Kaiao frowned as she rested a hand gently on his shoulder. “Still chasing the Saltway, Tioteche? We’re surrounded by enemies every way the wind blows. The trade won’t help us.”

“It will. I was there when it started in Saskitchemec. The city changed almost overnight, it swelled in power like a stormwall. And trade brings allies. . . The only problem is, who to deliver our message? The way north is uncharted. The Sun Sons are no friend of ours, and the Forgotten even less so. It would be almost certain death. Like an unending-” Tioteche stopped abruptly when he witnessed Kaiao sharpen, going rigid like a cougar about to pounce. In that moment he knew he’d made a mistake. She knew it, and so did Sipowae. Tio sighed deeply and met their eager gazes, eyes glinting in the torchlight. There was only one person each of them would want to send away to certain death. The only one he didn’t.

Xaliti.

Previous Story! - https://forums.candarion.com/topic/760/the-hardest-things-to-never-say

Sipowae was always surprised at how fragile the body truly was. The thought struck him as his knife opened a ragged tear down the side of the fleeing farmer. The man fell to the rain-soaked earth and screamed the final moments of his life away. The Kaiaomoch Warchief strode onward into the inferno that was a village just moments before, watching as his Warriors rounded up able-bodied survivors to be shipped back to Kaiaomec for Slaves and Sacrifices. Sipowae didn't understand the Moch custom of capturing rather than killing opponents, he didn't understand most things the Mochs did. His tribe had lived free of them for generations - but when several thousand Mochborn refugees arrive on your land and command you to federalize or die, well, what choice was there? Sipowae was no fool. Joining the refugees and forming Kaiaomoch was the right choice, he could see that now. Life in the Moch was far easier than the squalor his tribe had lived in before, not that his tribe really existed anymore. Sipowae absently touched his cheek just below his left eye where his Moch Mark was tattooed, a diamond pattern denoting him as Chief Caste. Like it or not, they were all Kaiaomoch now. Drops of the same storm. Tears of the same sorrow.

Sipowae's thoughts were ripped away when he came across the body of a young girl, no more than a dozen winters old. The corpse reminded him of his daughter, though she would be far older now than this girl had been. She had been captured years ago during a Twi'la'moch raid. Sipowae grimaced at the thought and rolled the body until it was facedown. Twae willing, his daughter was dead by now. He would never know what became of her, and her screams would always haunt him; More frequently lately they would come unbidden to fill any quiet moment. Maybe that was his punishment. For all the lives he had destroyed.

So be it.

He wiped his blade on the girl's moccasins and stood, taking stock of his surroundings. The fires had burned low, sending pillars of black smoke to mix with the overcast sky above. Sipowae noticed several of his Warriors watching him. Now that the captives were secured and heading north, they were anxious to move on as well. He brought his hand to his mouth and let loose a series of trilling Tiquini whistles that cut through the clearing.
Time to move.

At once his War Crop melted away into the forest with practiced ease.

---

"We've seen no Twi'la'moch Warriors. Just a few dozen Watchmen who take shifts when they arent working the fields. There is a garrison here, and here." Tehl said. She squatted beside a replica of Hnouchi built from mud and sticks and rocks. Sipowae noted that the Mound at the center of the village, despite rising only a hands width from the earth in this replica, had been built with great care. Tehl led the War Crop's Pathfinders. She commanded their respect, if not their admiration. Sipowae could tell she was a Predator. Just as he was. Put in this prison to kill and nothing else. She continued on talking, pointing out choke points within the village, where and when the Watchmen changed shifts, who had passed through recently. Tehl had returned from her scouting mission at dawn, leaving the rest of her Pathfinders to watch Hnouchi.

Sipowae leaned forward and eyed the miniature village carefully. "Any sign of the Twi'la'moch Warriors on nearby trails?" He asked, flexing the cold stiffness out of his still-awakening hands.

"No, Chief. And no unusual traffic has travelled the area for a dozen tides." Said Tehl. She tugged on a shoulder strap of her bronze fish-skin armor before continuing. "I see no reason why we shouldn't encircle the village and drive them to their central plaza. There we could easily capture the entire-"

"No." Interrupted Sipowae. "There will be no captives. We can't risk one escaping and bringing the Twi'la'moch Warrior Caste down on us." Sipowae picked up a stone being used to represent a longhouse and inspected it before tossing it aside. "We will kill them all."

The few dozen Crop Leaders at the meeting erupted with a cacophony of harsh whispers. It was so much like the Chief Council back home that Sipowae almost laughed. Almost.

"Enough!" He barked, bringing the Warriors to silence. One of them, Akich, one of the men who fled Saskitchemoch in the Exodus, cleared his throat. "Chief," He began hesitantly, voice wavering at Sipowae's gaze. "Tioteche desires Captives for the planting season. . ." Akich trailed off as Sipowae's face twisted into a glare.

"I shit on what Tioteche desires. He is a Bloodchief and should learn his place. We will kill them all. There can be no escape." Sipowae said slowly, barely keeping his words from becoming a growl. The Warriors balked at his brazen insult, their faces of hostility, disbelief, and confusion forming a disjointed mosaic that stared back at him. Twae soak them all, Tioteche gambled with their lives day-to-day and they still idolized him.

One of the Warriors, an elder woman he didn't know, spoke up from the crowd. "Tioteche saved us. You weren't there, you can't know what it was like. We owe him everything."

Sipowae carefully met each Crop Leader's eyes, drinking in their expressions, his glare deepening. "The difference between a Savior and a Tyrant is a shift of tone and words left unspoken." He said to noone in particular. The Warriors quieted, mulling over his words. After a prolonged moment Sipowae spoke again. "You are dismissed. Relay my orders to your Crops, and have them break camp. We depart for Hnouchi at Noontide." The Crop Leaders shuffled off towards the makeshift tents marking where the bulk of the War Crop had been bivouacking for several weeks. Tehl nodded at Sipowae with a slight smile as she passed, he returned the nod. At least one of them understood.

Sipowae stood alone looking down at the mock village, lost in contemplation. The denial of captives wasn't to protect them from retaliation, and it wasn't to fracture Tioteche's power over his Warriors. He could never voice true reason for his decision, some things a man wouldn't admit, even if the truth gnawed at his mind at every moment of weakness. He knew what would come next, he could feel it welling up inside him. A river set to burst it's banks. He didn't fight it this time, instead he welcomed it. He wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. To strengthen his will for what he would do next.

The frantic screams of Sipowae's daughter boiled to the forefront of his mind, the memory so potent it brought tears to blur the outlines of the village replica. . . He would kill them all. It's what they deserved. There would be no survivors, he would make sure of it.

---

Sipowae stalked through the underbrush on all fours, body painted in the cyan Warpaint of Kaiaomoch. This was no petty raid like those of his youth. This time he wasnt leading a handful of overeager farmers. Behind him, stalking through the Ghostwood undergrowth the same as he did, were three hundred Mochborn Warriors. Trained since birth in Twae'ii -The Philosophical and Martial Arts.

Silent and practiced, Sipowae and his War Crop took out the perimeter guards and spread out to encircle the village. Hnouchi had no Warriors that he could see. There were Workers. Workers working guardposts. Sipowae had mixed feelings about this - Not for the first time the Warchief wondered if he'd fallen headlong into some trap. Sipowae had never claimed to be a clever man, but his God had deemed he'd be an excellent killer.

After a few minutes a watchman from the village let rip a Tiquini whistle - right on schedule. Tehl's Pathfinders had already watched the Hnouchi guards for several days and memorized their Tquini codes. Sipowae looked to Tehl and nodded. The woman brought her hand to her mouth and made the answering call, a complex series of trills - a unique word. Sipowae waited for an alarm to sound, exposing their subterfuge. When none came he waved his hand and motioned to the Crop Leaders to his left and right, starting a chain reaction around the entire perimeter. The signal meant one thing - It was Time.

---

The quiet forest sorrounding the Hnouchi suddenly exploded with motion as Kaiaomoch Warriors leapt from the underbrush and released an onslaught of screams whistles. They poured into the village from all sides like a flood of flesh, killing anyone not painted Cyan that they came across. The villagers ran screaming for an escape they wouldn't find. There could be no escape. Sipowae would make sure of it.

Earning his title of Warchief in every way, Sipowae led a knot of Warriors, Tehl beside him, straight to the Mound at the heart of Hnouchi. Sipowae carved his way through the meager defenses, a whirlwind of inescapable death. He attacked recklessly, his two knives and a wanton sense of self destruction were all that stood between him and oblivion. A group of villagers fled up the Mound steps as he arrived at the central plaza. Sipowae tore after them, nearly outpacing his entourage in the process. If this Mound was fortified, even by Workers, this battle would shift from minutes to hours. Fighting up a steep slope while arrows and javelins rained down upon them would certainly even the odds in his quarry's favor.

Sipowae took the mound steps two at a time, tripping a fleeing man as he passed him and sending him tumbling into the waiting blades of the Warriors below. At the top of the mound a group of women and children scrambled into the too-small doorway of the Chief's longhouse. The Chief stepped out as the last of the stragglers crammed themselves in. The Chief was past his prime, with graying hair and sagging muscles. He held a Tulthwe in one hand, each end of the double headed spear trembling in his grip. Sipowae didn't stop running when he hit the final step of the staircase, instead he charged directly at the ailing Chief with his bare hands.

The Chief raised the Tulthwe at his barreling enemy, but Sipowae was too quick, backhanding the shaft of the spear and throwing a fist at the Chief's wrist - causing him to drop his weapon. In the same fluid motion, Sipowae drew a bronze knife. It was all over. He thrust upward once, twice, three times - opening the Chief from neck to naval and tossing him aside into a pile of his own innards.

Sipowae drew a second knife and stalked into the Chief's Longhouse. He was met with the bone-chilling wails only those who knew they were dead could make.
Their screams and his daughter's bled together until he could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. And in that moment, Sipowae did not find Vengeance.

He emerged from the house, so soaked in blood that his moccasins slid on the flagstone walkway as he made his way to edge of the Mound.

He sat there, his feet dangling over the side, watching his Warriors round up and kill the Twi'la'moch Workers far below. The battle was over, Hnouchi belonged to Kaiaomoch.

And he didn't care.

Tehl

"If you are of the Warrior Caste, step out of line!"
Tehl stepped away from the misshapen line of Workers she'd been standing with, causing them all to back away in shock. She wasn't dressed as a Warrior, she never did. Just moccasins, doeskin leggings, and a belted poncho. Though now looking at her Moch Mark and tomahawk hanging from her belt it was clear to everyone what she was. A Chiefling at the front of the line waved her forward. Tehl walked slowly the dozen meters or so past the hungry, huddled masses of workers who'd spent the day waiting. Their jagged glares told her that they all knew what this meant - The Depot was running low on food, and Warriors always received their due before any others.

At the front of the line stood the squat stone tiered mound with the Depot building atop it. She climbed the steps and stopped at an oak countertop carved from a single ancient trunk. A pudgy Chiefling sat across the block-table from her with arms crossed. She didn't recognize him, which made sense - she barely recognized anyone in this wretched Mec.

"Food or Chits?" He asked. Tehl thought she could hear his disdain for having to hand out more food, especially since it was evident he'd used his position to sneak more than a little for himself. "Whats the Tide Rate for Warriors now?" Asked Tehl.

The Chiefling narrowed his eyes, double checking the validity of her Moch Mark. No doubt he considered the possibility she had drawn on a Warrior Mark to get food. But anyone could see her muscled frame, her multitudes of scars, and of course her Warhawk - albeit she kept hers cut close. "Two Hundred Chits at twen-tide." He said slowly, still not wholly believing she was a Warrior, but too craven to question it. Tehl nodded, counting the days she'd been on campaign in her head. "I'll need thirty twen-tides worth to accommodate my time fighting in the Ghostwood." She said, causing the Chiefling to recoil as if he'd been struck. He quickly regained composer and donned a slow, wicked grin. Tehl sighed preemptively - She knew what was coming. "The requisitions of active Warriors has been canceled in this most lean of times by the Bloodchief himself." He said. Smiling, he added: "My apologies."

Fuck the Bloodchief.
Thought Tehl, thankful she hadn't blurted it out. She stood staring back at the Chiefling, matching his gaze and hoping to will this unfortunate reality away. It didn't work. She sighed again. "Give me the Two Hundred."

The man nodded and retreated inside, having to turn sideways to fit his girth through the archway. "Wait!" Called Tehl. "Subtract whatever is required for Peanut Butter. A jar." The request earned her another look of suspicion, but the Chiefling nodded all the same. "I'll check to see what we have, Warrior." He said as he entered the darkened building's basement.

Two Hundred Chits would last her only a few days with the shortage driving food rates up so high - and she refused to find food at The Trough with the Slaves and Workers. The thought made Tehl turn to look down the stone tier, down at the crowd of gathered Workers. Mothers, Children, Fathers… She felt no pity for them. They chose this life, shackled to the Moch. Any of them could leave at any time if they weren't terrified of life outside the shadow of a Mound.

The Chiefling coughed and Tehl turned slowly back to him. He had a sack and a small green jar. "One Hundred and Six Tens of Chits." He cleared his throat, setting the items down on the counter. "And one Jar of peanut butter." Tehl took the package and departed without speaking, heading off to the edge of the tier and half climbed, half slid down the side. The Workers grumbled, but at least they could see she didn't take any of their precious Cricket Dust or Maize Oil. Tehl slung the pack over her shoulder and made her way through the Mec. She crossed several plazas and bridges, each one more grand than the last as she got further into the heart of the city.

As Tehl slipped through the crowds of the inner city she kept one ear open. It was always wise to know what the people were gossiping about at any given time, especially in these disparate days - The people both understood none of the power that they wholly wielded. A power that Sipowae, that rutting oaf, didn't understand either. She passed alongside a dancing circle of workers and artisans that spanned an entire plaza. They hopped in a pattern of interchanging circles, chanting in a language she didn't know about some ritual she knew even less about. At the far side of the plaza she heard a voice that left her stopped midstep. She perked an ear as she drew closer to a gathering of artisans. "-And she told her she was Harboring! It's true. The Blood of Tioteche will live on!"

Tell smiled wide and jaunted forward down an adjoining street of orange and cyan tiles. Word had already spread of Kaiao's pregnancy, and much sooner than Tehl anticipated. In celebration, the Warrior cracked open the jar of Peanut Butter and sniffed. She was hit with a torrent of piqued despair so potent that she clenched her jaw tight enough to threaten cracking teeth. The unmistakable stench of Cricket Butter pervaded from the open jar. She briefly considered returning to the Chiefling but shoved the thought aside as she revealed the jar - she would visit him another day, perhaps.

She had almost reached the Grand Promenade when she spotted a child walking up the street towards her. He wasn't moving fast or intently, didn't carry a weapon, he appeared as any other scraggled Slave boy except for his Moch Mark. It was filled in with black ink, marking him a slave. Three Diamonds though, so he'd been Third Caste before then. Artisan. None of this was unusual, but it was the arrangement that caught Tehl's eye. The three diamonds were touching points, end to end like linked chain. There was only one thing that could mean. The boy became agitated as they drew closer, he must have seen her studying him. Just before they met he darted left towards an alley, but all he found was Tehl's hand lashing out like a viper. She grabbed the boy's face and dragged him back to her so she could study the slave mark. The boy struggled until she hooked a finger into his eye. "Be still." She ordered. "You won't be the first Slave boy I kill today for disobedience." Tehl nodded as the slave child went still, neither of them paid attention to the traffic parting around them and flowing down the street. Still though, she kept alert for any Rickshaws coming their way. "Where are you from?"

The boy mumbled something unintelligible. Tehl removed the hand holding his face and gestured for him to speak. "Chetiwimoch." He said again, this time with a hint of defiance. Tehl laughed loud enough to draw attention from passerby. "Chetiwimoch? The Jewel of Three Storms? Better a slave in Chetiwimoch than a Chief in Kaiaomoch, these days." She wiped wetness from her eye and pulled the boy to the edge of the street. "Why are you here now? Kaiaomoch doesn't free runaways."

The boy looked up at her with sunken eyes, not dull like so many others of his cursed caste. These had an intensity when he spoke. "I'm here to find my Brother." Tehl laughed at his answer and threw her hands wide, gesturing to the stream of people heading towards the Grand Plaza. "Where is he now?"

His measured gaze fractured at that, looking away from Tehl for just a moment. "He fled our Moch for this one. I haven't seen him in a year."

Tehl stared at the boy, chewing the inside of her cheek. Surely this slave knew what happened to his sibling. "One year? Your brother is dead, or worse. I'd wager worse." She winced at the boy's quickly melting defiance upon registering what she'd said. Sighing, Tehl rummaged through her pack for the tainted peanut butter. Eyeing the boy for a moment she pulled it out and handed it to him. "Eat this, then find your way out of the Mec. I'm more lenient than most, but if another Warrior spots you then you'll be hauled off to the fields and sold to some Artisan. Hopefully one that wants you to work, rather than one that just wants a boy around." He cradled the jar and took a few steps back. Tehl shrugged a goodbye and continued onward towards the Plaza, though she didn't go more than a few steps before noticing two other Slaves flow around her going the opposite direction. She followed their jagged gaze to the Boy, still cradling the peanut butter in full view as he ducked into an alley. The two older Slaves pointed and followed him in, stalking him like starving Grass Lions.

Its not your problem Tehl.
That little voice inside her repeated over and over, even as her feet carried her to the alley. She peered around the corner of some stone terraced longhouse and saw the children. The two newcomers pressed the smaller Boy's chest and face hard against the wall as they went through the mangled sack he was carrying. One held a copper trowel he'd no doubt stolen from some previous work assignment. She stood there leaning against a wall at the entrance to the alley. The only entrance, she noted. It was bad luck for the Boy to choose this offshoot to duck into. She watched, still trying to decide if she should intervene. The Boy saw the contents of his sack upended and pushed back against his assailants.
Bits of stone and some carving tools? Why risk it for something so worthless? Tehl didnt have time to ponder his actions, she saw the trowel flash as the older boy held it up to strike. Her training took over, drawing her tomahawk and letting it fly before she'd thought it through. The axe struck the trowel-swinger in the head with such force that his face smashed against the stone wall before he slumped to the ground. His friend stood there in shock, his grip loosening just enough for the slave boy to throw his head back, cracking it against the older boy's nose. The assailant jumped back, hands holding a gushing nose, but there was no time for him to react - the slave boy turned and leapt on him. The two landed in a heap on the hardpacked dirt, with the slave boy on top and reaching for the copper trowel. Tehl walked forward slowly, watching that glistening trowel rise and fall many more times than necessary.

She stopped a few steps from the boy, now drenched in blood. He had already tossed his improvised weapon aside before looking up at her. He stood on shaky legs, eyes locked on her's. Tehl extended a hand, palm up. The boy tilted his head and knelt to retrieve something from the ground before placing the jar of peanut butter in her waiting hand. Tehl scowled at him and smashed the jar against the alley wall. "My tomahawk." She said, holding her hand out again. The boy shook away his shock at watching the food be wasted and jumped to retrieve the axe. He had to leverage his foot on the dead boy's neck to wrench the axe head until it at last broke free with a squelch. He returned it to the Warrior and bowed his head.

"First kill?" Asked Tehl, cleaning the blood from her tomahawk.
"No." He replied, shaking his head.
Tehl paused, staring him down while her mind raced. "Good." She said at last, eliciting a questioning look from the blood soaked slave boy. "Come with me, Slave. There may be a life for you besides being worked to death." She said, turning and striding away from the scene of death. Though she couldn't hear footsteps following her. She turned back and saw the boy trying to gather his stone carving tools from a pool of growing crimson. "Leave them!" She snapped. "The boy that those meant something to is dead. The only thing that matters is this moment, and every moment that follows." She set her gaze on him, eyes narrowed. "I will not ask again." The Boy took one last look as his things lying between the two crumpled corpses, then followed her. They didn't speak as they wove their way through the inner city complex and across the Grand Plaza and its immense mosaic depicting the Chief Caste Mark and hundreds of Catahns. Soon they stood at the foot of the Warrior Mound - the tallest Mound in the Mec. Flowing from the distant top was a set of narrow alabaster stairs. Tehl eyed the boy carefully as the pair climbed the first steps. Could he make it? These steps had claimed the lives of many unwary Warriors. One misstep meant a long fall with your demise at the bottom - if you were lucky. Or a life as a crippled slave if you weren't.

Near the top of the ascent, the Boy began to tire. Tehl sneered at his labored breath and began taking the steps two at a time - if he couldn't ascend the Mound then he had no future at its peak. She reached the top long before the Boy. Tehl watched him from a seated position at the highest step. He was practically dragging himself with hands and feet up the last dozen steps. Disinterested, the Warrior turned her gaze to the Mec, now far below and dizzyingly expansive. She could see all the Chief Mounds, the tribal boroughs, the foreign markets, the Garden… Her eyes lingered there at that walled Grove of trees, thankful she was too far away to hear the screams of the condemned.

Tehl rose to her feet as the boy finally reached the final step. She beckoned for him to follow and strode out onto the Moundtop without a word. A shrill tiquini whistle ripped through the air when she approached a series of fighting rings with Warriors locked in practice duels.

-Tehl is coming.-
The whistled warning set the Warriors and the gathered Wakes on edge, each of them stopping to watch her as she picked her way through the rings. Any of them she passed touched their Mochmarks in the traditional sign of respect - a sign she didn't return. There was no love lost between her and the others of her Caste. At the far end of the Mound she was approached by an elderly man who had emerged from a longhouse at the edge of the training yard.

"What have you brought with you now, Tehl?" He said after touching his Mochmark as she drew near. "Epoiche. I bring a Slave who shows merit." She responded. Tehl reached back and dragged the Boy up in front of her, letting loose a scoff when she realized he was still winded.

"He seems a bit old to begin training..." Began Epoiche with a shrug. Tehl waved a hand dismissively, already irritated this conversation had lasted this long. "Put him through The Crucible. If he dies, he dies. If he doesn't, train him. I dont care." She said, feeling the Boy's shoulders tense suddenly at her words. She smiled slightly at that, maybe he wasn't so meek as he seemed. Epoiche eyed the boy critically, as a chef might eye a questionable cut of meat. "He has no attachments, Epoiche. No family, no belongings, no Moch." Tehl said insistently, taking a step back from the boy as the old man reluctantly nodded his head. "Very well, Tehl. I will train the Slave."

Tehl turned and walked back towards the fighting rings, satisfied that her conscious was now washed clean. "Wait!" Said the Boy. "Don't you wish to know my name?" Tehl halted at that but didn't turn back to him. She paused for a brief moment before continuing on without answering.

The Moundtop was pulsing with activity. Groups of croplings gathered with elderly Warriors for third tide's instruction, Warriors gathered around fighting rings to watch practice duels, Wakes running back and forth with messages for various masters. Tehl watched it all with a bittersweet lense. She would never be a part of this Caste like they were. Most of these Warriors had followed Tioteche in the Exodus. A few were deemed capable from absorbed tribes, herself included, but other than those few inductees this Caste was made from bonds forged long ago and far away. Her gaze fell on the Wugum. A Healer's Longhouse at the edge of the moundtop.

Dont do it, Tehl.
That little voice inside her insisted. She knew who was in that Wugum. And she knew she shouldn't see him. The voice repeated itself when she reached the leather curtained entrance. She shook the shakes out of her hands, suddenly nervous, and cursed herself for it. Pushing through the curtain and stepping inside the dark interior, she was hit with the cloying stench of Puogi that drenched the room - The substance gleaned from the captured swellfish known for it's medicinal and toxic properties. As her eyes adjusted to the damp gloom, she saw him. Huini lay in a bed of stained linens, skin moist and clammy in the dim candlelight. He wore the same clothes from a few days ago at the amphitheater when she… her thoughts trailed off when he opened his eyes and looked at her.

He smiled. That white toothed smile anyone else would be grateful to have directed their way. It filled Tehl's mouth with the stale taste of guilt. The moment stretched to the point of awkwardness and she realized she was expected to say something - Anything.

"Who's pipe did you smoke to be admitted to the Warrior's Wugum, Chiefling?" She said with more callous than she intended. Huini's smile faded slightly. "I'm not accepted among the Chief Caste. And now Warriors turn their back on me." He sighed, pulling himself up to sit against the wall bordering his bed. Tehl chewed the inside of her cheek, understanding too well what he was saying. "I…" she began, her confidence quickly deflating.

"Have you come to insult me then?" Asked Huini. Why was she here? What had drove her to this Wugum? "I came to see how you were healing." She answered finally. It was the truth. Or, partially. The part she could put into words. In answer, Huini threw aside the patterned blanket and lifted what was left of his right leg. Tehl took an involuntary step back at the sight - Stark white bone sprouted from a stump of weeping red flesh and bandages stained with fluids she couldn't name. Huini watched her carefully as she approached him for a closer look. "Its infected." She stated. Huini nodded solemnly. "The Medicine Man says he may need to pare away the flesh and remove more bone. He seems… Confident." Tehl looked from Huini to the wound and back again in rapid succession. "I wish I were half as confident." Said Tehl, taking a seat at a bedside stool next to Huini. He seemed to relax at that, like some dreaded hurdle had been cleared. The two sat there for a long while, sharing a silence the way only certain people can.

When the ebon calm was broken, it was with a question Tehl wasn't expecting. "Will you leave the Mec so soon again?" Huini asked quietly, as if unwilling to ruin their shared reverie. Tehl fiddled with a carved decorative fish on the bedpost. She could feel herself withdrawing again, both willing and unwilling to let it happen. "We all have our part to play. Mine isn't here." She said without looking at him.

Huini rolled his eyes. "The world is not a stage, Tehl… And your life is not a play."

Her gaze snapped back to his. "Then why are you always The Fool?"

"Me? Foolish?" He Scoffed. "You would choke on your hypocrisy, if it ever stopped dripping from your mouth."

The silence grew between them again, this time alongside a palpable tension that filled the room. Not a violent tension, or even one of anger - this was Frustration in it's most omnipresent form.

"What is my Tribe, Huini? If you think to know me so well, then name it." She asked, leaning forward to block him from looking anywhere but at her. "You are Khrote." Answered Huini. "Can you name mine?"

Tehl recoiled, her mouth falling open in surprise. How had he known? Noone had spoken the name Khrote since the Founding. "I…" Her mind raced for an answer. "I… You have no Tribe - You gave it up for this Moch!" She shouted, letting more emotion leak into her words than she meant to. Huini studied her for a moment. "I didn't. My Tribe is still remembered, even in Saskitchemoch." He reached out then and took her fiddling hand in his. It was cold and slick with sweat, yet filled her chest with a warmth not unlike the desperate screams of the prematurely entombed. She froze, breath caught in a throat that wanted too badly to whisper and scream all at once. Huini gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Dont go, Tehl. Stay. Enjoy what you fight so hard for, just once."

Tehl's mind raced like a flooded river after rain. But there was a Boulder in that flow, one that no amount of water could shift. An inescapable truth. There was always a thumb on the scale of Duty and Desire. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then finally spoke. "My Course has no partner. You know that. I told you that." She said, standing up and staring at her hand clasped in his. "I will never be what Xaliti was to you..." She whispered, pulling her hand away. Huini let it go reluctantly. "I never asked you to." He said with a voice thick with enough emotion to make Tehl wince. She took a few steps back towards the door. "Always the Fool, Huini." she said before turning away into the daylight outside, leaving behind the strangled emotions and the cloying stench of the Wugum behind.

She stormed off across the Moundtop, grateful that the gathered Warriors were too craven to meet her eyes - or else they'd see the tears welling there. Tehl wiped away her eyes with her flapping poncho as she mounted a platform at the corner of the Mound. There she strapped a hooked gauntlet to her hand and latched it to a rope above her. She lept forward and let the taught line zip her along to the Promenade Tower far below. From there she wandered the Mec in a fit of emotions she could never put into words, blindly walking from street to alley to burough and becoming more and more exasperated each time she had to wipe her eyes.

Finally she stopped at a large brick archway covered in flaking black paint. Tehl stared at that black Arch and set her jaw. How had she got here? The wind whipped her poncho around her, bringing with it the smell of filthy bodies pervading from the forest beyond the Arch. Distantly she heard the irate screams of some poor soul within. It was answered by a chorus of similar screams sounding back to the first, creating a haunted cacophony of insane grief and suffering. The Garden… She knew why her blind emotions had brought her here.

Taking a few steps forward, Tehl passed under the Arch and walked into the walled forest beyond, following a sunken tiled path that she knew well. It didn't take long to reach the first Wretch, this one a Woman. Her limbs were removed like all the others, her torso hanging from a harness attached to a tree. She swayed in the wind like a rotten fruit filled with maggots. The woman's eyes shot open and she screamed at the Warrior, that same noise of unknowable pain that they all echoed as they hoped to die. Tehl picked her way down a side path as all the Condemned around the Woman took up her scream alongside her, sending a shiver down The Warrior's spine. She quickened her pace and put some distance between them.

After some time she arrived at her destination. A secluded part of The Garden where a single man hung alone. His hair was patchy and unkempt, his eyes seemed to be crusted closed. A stabbing fear that he was dead shot through Tehl. She stood there staring at his limbless body, swaying gently in the crisp breeze. Her pack clanked to the soft ground, forcing his eyes tear open upon hearing her. His mouth opened wide enough to split his cracked lips, sending rivulets of blood down his chin. She didn't move when he started screaming incoherently, his cacophony joining the echoed chorus around them. She didn't move when he pissed himself in excitement, liquid streaming from what was left of his bug-eaten crotch to spatter into the growing pile of waste on the ground below him. She only stared, committing every weeping rash and oozing sore to memory.

"Hello Chief." She whispered, causing the hanging man to jerk sideways so he could point an ant-encrusted ear at her. He stared sidelong, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out who she was. Tehl watched a line of ants exiting his ear and travelling back up the leather harness he hung from carrying tiny specs of flesh. She shuddered. The Hanging Chief burst into motion, wriggling his lower half in an excited motion. "Blackwren!" He screamed at her. The name sent cold water down Tehl's back. She shook her head slowly at the limbless gyrating man. "No, my Chief. Thats not my name anymore, remember? They gave me a new name now."

The Chief continued to wriggle about in his harness, raining down ants and flaking skin onto the pile below, where another host of insects reveled. "Blackwrreeeennn! Blackwren Blackwren!" He babbled over and over. Tehl clenched her fists at the sight, it always wrenched her to come see him, but his condition had worsened in the months she'd been on campaign. "No. I am not the Blackwren. Chief - Please remember." She pleaded, choking back tears before trying again. "Chief Four Hawks." She said, waiting for a chance to be heard between his screaming.

Four Hawks stopped gyrating abruptly, leaving himself swaying side to side as he stared open mouthed at Tehl. She could see his bloodshot eyes slowly come to realization - what little there was left. The man looked her up and down, his filed teeth clenched. The same filed teeth that she had. "Where is Blue Winds? Where is my Son?" He asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his gravelly tone. Tehl let loose a long sigh.. "He… He's dead. They're all dead, My Chief. When you - we - refused to assimilate." The Chief seemed perplexed by that. His eyes didn't register anything as far as Tehl could tell. The hanging man's eyes went wide suddenly, like some thought had just struck him. "Where is Blue Winds?" He asked again. Tehl shook her head and rubbed her eyes before turning away to walk back down the sunken path. Why had she come? It always ended the same way. There was nothing here aside from the tortured memories of her past that so desperately wanted to be forgotten.

"Kill me."
She froze midstep and whirled around, heart erupting in her chest. She couldn't remember the last time Four Hawks had said anything other than his usual questions. Tehl bounded back in front of the Chief. "What did you say?" She asked, not confident that she hadn't imagined it. The man looked down at her, a strange look of clarity on his bird-eaten face. "Kill me, Blackwren. Flee this place. Go home and live with our cousins on the plains." He said in a too-calm voice. Tehl winced at his words, she didn't have the heart to tell him that their cousins, the Taowaho Tribe, were gone as well. Eradicated by Saskitchemoch for helping the Exodus - Another forgotten casualty in this contest of Men and Mochs.

"Blackwren. Look at me! They keep me alive, but I am dead already. You will be the last of us now. You will be Chief!" He said with a cough that left a dribble of brown saliva on his chin. Now it was Tehl who stared with mouth agape. She never expected to hear a coherent sentence from him again, let alone one like this. "If you can speak the words, I'll do it." She said, forcing the response from her throat like so many sands through an hourglass. Four Hawks jerked his head from side to side as if he were trying to knock thoughts loose from his half-eaten mind. "Khovawiyo…" he intoned, clearly having trouble remembering. She shifted from foot to foot as he began again. "Khovawiyo Attiwitialwa Unkhroteoialtio." He finished. Tehl flinched instinctively, looking over her shoulder and cursing herself for the habit. She had been savagely beaten upon Assimilation nearly every day until she finally stopped using the Khrote language. But he had spoke it, free under the Endless Blue Sea - the ancient whispered words of Death. Tehl drew her knife and a breath at the same time, feeling her chest tighten with a sudden obligation. She pressed the knife to his sunken chest even as he went back to screaming "Blackwreeeenn!" Over and over in an endless drone. "Khovawiyo Attiwitialwa Unkhroteoialtio." She whispered through her own sudden strangled sobs.
Do it, Tehl.
That little voice inside her insisted, and this time, she listened.

Oniganche is an amalgamation of many ideas inspired by Indigenous American Peoples, particularly those of North America. Most particularly the Mississipian and the Eastern Woodlands Cultural Groups. I've always loved the artworks, the styles, and of course the Mounds.

Along with all the ideas above, I'm also inspired by the Copper and Bronze Age of Earth. Many ideas gleaned from these time periods have influenced Oniganche development for sure. From the importance of Obligation to the interconnectivity of the world using a level of tech that doesn't seem like it would be feasible.

Above all, I've strove to make Oniganche my own. Influenced by Early North American Cultures but not a direct copy of any of them. I never wanted to be a mirror held up to them, and so far I think I've accomplished this. There are direct lines you could draw, like the similarities between my Moch governing system and that of the Iroquois Confederacy (which is sometimes called the Rome of the Americas). Or the similarities between the Raqiwaa Herdsmen and the Wichita, Lakota, or Comanche Peoples (even though the Raqiwaa coexist with Rhinoceros Herds). But even these ideas have become standalone concepts of their own, something im quite happy with.

As far as my narrative writing goes - I've always been fascinated with ancient cultures who didn't write anything down. We know so little about them, and this is especially true of the Pre-Colonization North America. Entire cultures rose and fell, cities whose influence stretched from Florida to the pacific Northwest, the same City estimated to rival London in population during the 11th Century, all without any real concrete record to show why. I wanted to make a story that mimicked this rise and fall of cultures and civilization, and all the drama that made it happen.

Anyway, like Mouth said - I can go on and on, and I'm probably just rambling at this point. If anyone ever wants to talk about any of this, just message me on discord!

Part 1- https://forums.candarion.com/topic/1213/voices-in-the-dark-1

Sipowae

By the light of a flickering fire in one of the few windowless rooms in Kaiaomoch, Sipowae sat staring down his gathered Crop Leaders. None of them spoke, they all bore the scars he'd given them over the years until they finally learned the unique form of respect this War Chief wanted. Sipowae stood and strode in front of the War Council to toss another log onto the fire and beat back the chill that had descended in the last few weeks. He stood there with hands clasped behind his back, staring into the growing flames and trying to ignore the obvious absence of Tehl. "Hiawaeti. What word from the fronts?"

"The fronts? Yes, my Chief. The Ghostwood Cadre reports that the siege is still maintained with no change." Said Hiawaeti in his usual quavering voice that dislodged hot wires of rage in Sipowae.

"The Brymoch still sends their ships in and out of the Moch?"

"Yes, My Chief. As I said, there are no changes."

That elicited a grunt from Sipowae, a verbal cue all the gathered Warriors understood by now - Sipowae was unhappy, but it was time to move on. "In the East, the hesitant federation of Mountain Tribes and their… claimed allies of the Quatch still hold fast in their strongholds. We hope that they're not provisioned enough to live through the winter."

The War Chief didn't respond. They all knew how he felt about hoping for an enemy to make a mistake. He found himself once again wishing Tehl was here to report what her scouts knew of the situation there. "Anything else?" He asked without turning away from the fire.

"Yes, My Chief. It would seem that in the last hundred tides we've had several Pathfinders in the west go missing without cause. Tehl said she was investigating but hasn't commented further. At least not to me." He said. Sipowae let loose a low growl and turned slowly around. "Thuhoche." He said, pulling the nearest Crop Leader to his feet. "Go find our lost Tehl. Bring her here." Thuhoche opened his mouth as if to speak but elected to simply nod instead before leaving the room. Sipowae walked back to his high backed chair and sunk into it, eyeing each of his gathered council carefully. "What do we know about the Assassin?" He asked the room.

One Warrior shifted uneasily on his stool as he cleared his throat. "He is -was- a Chiefling. Of the Sikiwataw Tribe." This sent a stir through the room. Even Sipowae was surprised - the Sikiwataw were an old and respected tribe even back in Saskitchemoch. "The Chiefling was noted by piers to be an excellent bowman."

"Apparently not so great with the Crossbow." Interjected Sipowae. The Warriors chuckled uneasily at his presumed jest, but Sipowae only glared them back to silence. It hadn't been a joke. "Yes, well…" The Warrior continued. "It reflects poorly on us that we neglected to keep watch on a heavily armed Chiefling during a-"

At that moment Thuhoche came crashing through the arched doorway and landed in a heap on the ground. He tried to rise but was smashed back into the stone floor by Tehl as she strode into the room. She eyed the gathered council until her gaze found Sipowae's. "I found your lost Dog." She said without emotion. "Wandering the halls at his master's beck and call."

The Warrior Council were frozen in place, looks of barely contained terror laid bare on their faces as they looked from Tehl to Sipowae. Tehl's gaze never left the War Chief's, but she did allow Thuhoche to rise and limp back to his seat. Sipowae regarded her like a bird watches a worm wriggling in it's nest. "Leave us." Ordered Sipowae, causing the War Council to leap to their feet and shuffle out of the room.

Even from his sitting position Sipowae was able to look down at Tehl, an effect he amplified by sitting up straight in his wide chair. He gestured to a stool nearby. "Sit, Pathfinder."

Tehl didnt move or blink, she just stood there in the flickering fire at an angle that sent oddly angled shadows from her multitudes of scars cascading across her face. Sipowae was reminded that this woman was dangerous - a Veteran, albeit an unhinged one. "Tehl." Began Sipowae, his tone riddled with irritation. "Your behavior upon returning to the Moch is becoming increasingly unpredictable. Im hearing from all the Elders that you shirk responsibility and traditions at every opportunity." He eyed her indignant pose carefully. "I should send you back to The Ghostwood."

He smiled when he saw Tehl's resolve fracture at that. She looked away and took a seat at the stool. "I won't go to the Front. Not yet." She said with far less conviction than she tried. Sipowae openly laughed at her. "You will go where you are told. At my beck and call!" He roared, standing up and glaring down at the Warrior from his towering height. "When you wanted to spend ten tides skinning the Ghostwalker Chief alive - I stopped the War Party. When those Twilamoch refugees went missing - I turned a blind eye. And when you begged me spare the life of Huini after the overwhelming vote to kill him - I indulged you… Do you know why?" He asked, his final statement curling into a question. Tehl picked idly at stone table beside her but didn't say anything. "Because you are useful to me, Tehl. But you are swiftly becoming more trouble than you're worth."

"My apologies." She said without emotion. A blanket of silence engulfed the room, one only broken by the crackle of the cedar fire. Sipowae leaned against the stone table beside Tehl and let loose a slow sigh. "Do you have anything to do with the Assassin's failure?" He said, keeping his voice low despite them being alone in the room. "Yes." Tehl said through a half smile. "I gave him the misfiring crossbow." She said, glancing up at Sipowae. "Its not time to kill Tioteche. Not yet."

The Warchief stood over, boiling with rage so strong it seemed to give off heat. "That is not for you to decide - we act as we planned, remember? This is no time for your disobedience!"

Tehl shot to her feet at that, fiery eyes still locked with Sipowae's. "Of course I remember, Its my fucking plan!" She roared, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You couldn't scheme further than getting to stuff your fat cock into his Sleepless Whore!" She laughed, seeming to look down on Sipowae despite his far greater height. "And now that you have her, you think you can just kill Tioteche and usurp his power? Thats not how any of this works you dumb pile of-" Tehl was cut off by Sipowae's fist crashing into her mouth. She went reeling, falling backward onto the table as the immense Warchief struck her again and again like an avalanche of flesh. She tried to scoot back across the stone table, but Sipowae dragged her back. Blood poured from her nose and eyes as his hands found her throat, strangling away any cry for help she may have voiced. The room was eerily silent aside from the crackle of fire and Sipowae's excited breathing.

Sipowae felt that familiar feeling of detachment fall over him. He could feel her neck convulsing desperately beneath his iron-grip. He watched her bloodstained mouth gape open and shut like so many catfish he'd done this to so many times before. She tried to reach his face but her arms were too short, instead she clawed and grasped at his unyielding arms. Sipowae reared up and slammed her head down into the stone table until her strength finally slipped away. "You are always what I made you to be." He whispered, leaning forward and putting all his weight on her neck as the life faded from the single eye that hadn't swollen shut.

"Warchief?" He heard distantly, as if drifting into his mind from some dream memory.

Sipowae snapped his head towards the archway entrance. There stood a hesitant attendant, his gaze unable to look away from Tehl. "The.. uh… Excuse me, My Chief - The Rainchief Kaiao requests your immediate presence in her chambers." He stuttered out before taking a step back out of the room. "Should I tell her you're indisposed?"

The Warchief reluctantly relaxed his grip on Tehl's throat. The woman immediately gasped for air and coughed a torrent of blood all over her purple face. He let her go, watching her limp body slip from the table and crash into the floor. "No. I'll leave now. Run ahead and inform her cadre that I'll be arriving soon." He said. The attendant nodded and darted out of the doorway. "Clean yourself up Tehl." He laughed, stepping over her fetal-curled body on his way to the door. "You are very lucky that Sleepless Whores so crave my company."

Kaiao

It started as it always did, with that familiar feeling of creeping cold welling up from beneath her. "Its time." Kaiao croaked through cracked lips. Her attendants guided her to the stone floor, gently but firmly pushing her down to kneel before an iron tub filled with water. The ice cold lapped around her knees and thighs now, rising higher with every shuddering breath she took. Along with the cold came the whispers - constant, imperceptible, droning together until they became like the distant sound of a shallow brook flowing through her mind. A thousand voices from a thousand times desperately spoke over one another, growing louder and louder with each passing heartbeat. Kaiao's chest grew tight when the cold reached her navel, she could feel the dread building somewhere inside her that was always accompanied by the screams. Her attendants lashed her wrists to the tub while another woman went around the room extinguishing candles until the room was engulfed in darkness. The din of whispers rose to a cacophony that drowned out all other thoughts, seemingly empowered by the sudden blackness around her. "Why me?" She tried to whisper, but distantly - somewhere beneath the omnipotent drone of whispers, she knew she'd finally screamed. She felt her lips tear freshly open, felt the blood run down her chin, felt her ragged throat strain and snap, felt the ice cold rise up to her neck, felt someone grab a fistful of her hair and plunge her head down into the tub of water.

That was when she lost control. Under the water she could see nothing, could feel nothing, and could hear nothing aside from the tornado of droning voices around her. Her own screams joined theirs, mixing together even as she strained to hear them. Bubbles of air rushed up around her eyes and ears, she knew she'd run out of air soon. That was the point - the more desperate she grew, the more coherent the voices became. At last she was pulled back out of the water by her attendants. Kaiao gasped, sucking in air even as they plunged her back in to scream it all away.

What felt like hours passed by with Kaiao's attendants holding her underwater again and again. Finally, she felt it - the stillness when all became one and one became clear. Suddenly Kaiao felt entirely alone, buried beneath the ice cold sensation that gripped her even as cascading fire erupted from her loins. Everything of her life had been forgotten in the crushing silence, nothing mattered but the oncoming pressure she felt welling within her head. It was then that she heard the voice coalesce within her.

Bursting up from beneath the water, Kaiao arched her back and screamed, wriggling beneath her restraints and flexing her joints to their breaking point. "THE SLAUGHTER COMES FOR THE MOST DESERVING LAMB!" She screamed, voice reverberating through the small chamber with the echo of a different, deeper voice. Several of her newer attendants cried out in shock when Kaiao's head strained far enough backward to touch her shoulder blades. "A THOUSAND LIVES STUMBLE INTO THE DESERT ON A PATH CAST BY MY SHADOW!" She spouted, still straddling the coursing waves of fire between her legs. "WITNESS THE COVENANT OF JACKAL AND HARE, BONDED BENEATH THE BROKEN EYE!" Kaiao arched forward, coughing phlegm and blood into the tub in an uncontrollable spasm. "HE WILL HAVE AN END OF HIS OWN MAKING!" She screamed, arching her back with such force that a hand snapped the restraint holding it. Kaiao immediately brought it up and savagely clawed at her mouth and eyes, smearing blood across her face. "ARE YOU LOST? CAN YOU HEAR THEM TOO?" Kaiao asked, the double-voice echoing oddly as she twisted her head to face an empty corner. "SHE IS ALWAYS WHAT WE MAKE HER TO BE!" Kaiao screamed in the face of an attendant who was trying and failing to keep ahold of her free arm, now slicked with blood. "SHE IS… ALWAYS… what. We make her to… be." She said, voice shifting from a scream to a harsh whisper. Her body relaxed, the ice cold subsiding back into the nothingness it seeped from. Her eyes darted around the darkened room trying to see around the spots that speckled her vision. Already she felt the visions fading away from memory faster than any dream. She clung to any piece of them she could, the piece that felt most important. "I see you." She whispered to Noone. "She has a part to play…"

Kaiao snapped her free hand up to point at a young girl against the wall. "You! Bring him to me!" The attendant who'd been scribbling down hasty Catahn recordings lept to her feet. "I'll fetch Bloodchief Tioteche at once."

"No!" Shouted Kaiao, sending flecks of blood spattering over the girl. "Bring Sipowae, as fast as you can. You… We- we have to stop him."

"The Warchief?" Another attendant asked, voice screwed high in disbelief.

"NOW!" Kaiao screamed, sending the attendants scrambling to do her bidding. She slumped in the restraints as another coughing fit took hold of her.

Part 2- https://forums.candarion.com/topic/1214/voices-in-the-dark-2

It was a rumbling in the earth. That was the first sign something was coming. Xaliti snapped to attention, forgetting the packs she was loading onto a slave as they broke their afternoon camp. Around the hustling caravan stood several other of her Warriors peppered in around the lesser castes monitoring the too-tall sea of grass looming around them. She saw them suddenly stiffen - they felt it too. The rumbling grew deeper, sending the pack dogs skittering in all directions. Luckily they'd already loaded their cargo before the slaves. Xaliti brought her hand to her mouth and sending a trilling line of Tiquini ripping across the landscape. She blew as loud as she could, knowing it needed to reach her Pathfinders in their miles-distant patrols.

-Pathfinders Call-

-North Call- a whistle echoed through the camp, followed momentarily by East and West. A long moment stretched her nerves as she awaited a response, her breath caught on a knife edge. "Rhotaro! Khri!" Xaliti shouted as she sprinted to the south end of the small clearing they'd stopped in. Rhotaro fell in behind her step for step despite his advanced age. Xaliti waved a hand back towards the caravan. "Gather the Workers and Slaves, keep them from fleeing to their deaths. You know whats coming." Rhotaro touched his Mochmark briefly and peeled away from her, barking orders of his own to get the frightened chattel moving. Khri was at the south end of camp already when Xaliti arrived, she held her shirohk in one hand and loaded sling in the other. Xaliti felt a kernel of pride burn in her chest at the girl's readiness to fight, but pushed the feeling aside - there were more important tasks for her. "Khri!" Snapped Xaliti, causing the girl to raise her bow in a confused salute. Xaliti shook her head and took the double recurved bow from her. "You won't be fighting-" Xaliti began, swatting away Khri's attempts at protest. "You won't be fighting. I need you for something else." She finished, unslinging the belted satchel she'd been carrying since the expedition began. She turned the now-placated Khri around and strapped it onto her. The girl knew what this was. This satchel held the bones of the Forgotten man they'd set out to return to Sogadar. "Take the Forgotten. Run north, as fast as you can. Don't stop. If you don't hear our Tiquini by third tide, we're dead." Krhi whipped around at that. "Xaliti. I can fight! Let me-" Xaliti cracked the back of her hand across Khri's face, hard enough to send the smaller girl sprawling into the dust. "Go! I'll find you. And if I don't, you must find the Sun Sons."

At that moment she felt it. Xaliti whirled away from the girl as she got back to her feet just in time to see them. Three massive Hornbulls burst from enshrouding grass, the thunder of their trunk-like feet threatening to knock Xaliti to the ground. The beasts stood not much taller than a man, but seemed twice again as wide. Their hard grey skin was almost like plate armor with how good it was at turning aside weapons. Jutting from the Hornbull's nose was it's namesake - a vicious spike as long as Xaliti's arm. She stared down one such Horn as a beast charged her, the Howdah it wore bearing several whooping herdsmen armed with bows and short-hafted hook spears not unlike shirohks. One Tribesman pointed at her and drew back his bow.

Steady as the Tide.
Swift as the Rapids.
Xaliti intoned, feeling that familiar icy presence of the Twae'ii grip her mind as the world around her slowed. Her eyes darted around, drinking in her enemy. Three atop the charging Hornbull, the other two Hornbulls circled around her at full gallop - towards the Workers and Slaves. Xaliti worked to remain calm as the Herdsman released his arrow. She hadn't been raised as a Warrior, she didn't have the decades of training in the Twae'ii like the others had. Already she felt her hold on the presence slip along with her concentration. The arrow approached her now as if flying through honey, she easily sidestepped it and plucked it from the air, flipping it around and knocking it into her own bow. She drew back and let fly back at the tribesman.

The arrow took him in throat and snapped off when he crashed into the dust, snorting away his last breath. Her eyes lingered on him for just a second, but it was long enough for the Twae'ii to regress from her mind. Not yet! Xaliti screamed internally, wresting the trance back under control just as the Hornbull bore down on her. She rolled aside, easily positioning herself in her hyperfocused state to dodge the incoming thrust of a Shirohk from a passenger. Instead she grabbed onto the haft of the spear and yanked herself up, using the Herdsman's own weapon as a foothold to propel herself into the howdah. She felt the Twae'ii slip fully away as she landed. Xaliti bit her tongue hard and clenched her eyes, fighting off the vicious nausea and vertigo that accompanied leaving the trance. Luckily it seemed like the Herdsmen were too shocked by her sudden boarding to take advantage of her lapse in awareness. She stood up, shaking away the dull feeling of ice cold sweat from her body - as if she'd been doused in freezing water.

Xaliti rocked back and forth uneasily, not used to the shifting arena of the Hornbull's Howdah. The Herdsman charged at her with his Shirohk, pushing her on the backfoot - at that moment, her training took over.
Cross block.
Pull Shirohk.
Latch arm.
Sweep legs.
Knee to back.
Knife through spine.
Even now, after all these years, Xaliti was sometimes surprised at how well she'd taken to killing. Her body was a honed weapon of the Moch, and her mind an all too willing taskmaster.

The final Herdsman atop the Hornbull dropped the reigns and charged at her with a curved machete. Xaliti fell back into the Stance of Storms - feet spaced, knife close, arms loose and hands open. He took a few staggered steps to close the distance, raising his machete high. Xaliti swatted his machete wide with her open hand and plunged her knife into his supporting thigh in the same motion, smiling when she felt it clip the bone and exit the other side. The Herdsman's shriek of surprise was cut short by a thunderous strike from Xaliti's fist. He clutched his stomach and doubled over, his falling face lining up perfectly against her rising knee. Grabbing the wiry herdsman around the waste, Xaliti was again struck by how much more scrawny and malnourished they were than her. The thought passed quickly when she tossed the stunned Herdsman off the Howdah to crash in a heap below. Near where he landed Xaliti spotted an idle Warrior, she recognized him by his warhawk woven with blue feathers. "Inwitti!" She called out. Inwitti spun around, saw the rising Herdsman, and nodded at Xaliti as he raised his painted crossbow. She didn't wait to see his death, instead she spun around and leapt into the Hornbull's saddle and grasped the reigns.

Across the clearing were the other two Hornbulls. Snorting, stomping, and goring the mostly defenseless Workers. Xaliti clenched her teeth and drew the reigns up hard against her chest. Her Hornbull bucked for a few moments before finally calming enough to stand still while Xaliti lined it up with the other Bulls. She tried kicking the beast like a horse, clicking at it like a dog, and giving it free reign like a bison - but nothing would spur the Hornbull into forward motion. Xaliti let loose a low growl. She didn't have time for this. Trying a different tact, she drew another knife and plunged it into the beast's shoulder. The Hornbull seemed to almost squeal and started bucking and trotting wildly, it was all Xaliti coud do to keep it in line with the others across the clearing. Her vision began to swim with dehydration, he legs going weak from exhaustion. She focused just on holding the reigns straight as her target grew closer and closer.

Finally the Hornbull crashed into it's kin, slipping beneath the belly and impaling it on it's spike horn. The sudden stop threw Xaliti forward, sending her flying fully over the impaled Hornbull and into the grass beyond. Her vision began to darken as she tried to stand, swooned, and fell back to the dust. The last thing she saw was the two Hornbulls caught in a tug of war with life and death, one impaled, the other's neck broken.

---

When she awoke she was staring at the ground passing beneath her. She was being carried. Slowly she reached up to feel her warhawk, finally taking a breath when she confirmed she hadn't been scalped. "Put me down." She croaked. The ground stopped moving and she was hoisted off of someone's shoulder. She smiled when she was greeted with Rhotaro's wrinkled face. Xaliti fell forward and rested her head against his chest. "I'm surprised you can still carry me." She mumbled, still trying to make sense of her delirium. "You may be a Warrior, but I am too. Never assume someone has lost their edge." He answered her. She could hear the smile in his voice. Looking up and around them, Xaliti frowned. "Where are we? Where are the rest of the Chattel? I saw them break like rabbits before a wolf."

Rhotaro flicked his eyes around for prying ears. "These with me are the ones who stuck close by. A dozen Warriors have split to our flanks. The rest…" Rhotaro looked away. "Ch'sucht. Maybe. We call them as we run North, but there are Herdsmen searching for stragglers too."

Xaliti inhaled deeply and raised herself back to standing. Pressing in all around her was the ever-present grass of the Gold Expanse. Only now they weren't following some Hornbull Tribe's trail, or a road of any kind. No, now they were forging blindly through the endless grass, ticks, nettles, locusts, and all manner of other creatures she couldn't even see. How long until they came upon some Midnight Lion? "Where are we going?" She asked more specifically. "And where is Khri?"

A smile cracked across the old Warrior's face. "Khri lives. She guides us northward via Tiquini. Maybe a few miles away yet." He put a hand on Xaliti's shoulder, steadying her. "She says there's something you have to see."

With that, the group of beleaguered survivors trekked northward towards the distant call of Khri's Tiquini. More survivors joined up with them as they went, but to Xaliti it seemed like most had vanished. Eventually the dogs started trickling back to the group. You could always trust the pack dogs to return - Xaliti valued them more than the Workers if she was being honest. Sometime after the third tide, what was left of Xaliti's expedition stumbled out of the wall of endless grass. There they found themselves on the edge of an immense bluff overlooking the vast and unchanging landscape below. Khri jogged towards them from a distant outcropping of shady rocks, pointing wildly out towards the horizon.

Xaliti looked back, squinting against the setting sun. Her breath caught in her throat even as Rhotaro gasped. Across the plains there was a warm mass of light that filled the land below them. Tall concentric rings enclosed huts that spewed forth from the heavy stoneworks to bleed into one another like seafoam upon a beach. In the center of it all was another ring, but this was taller than the rest and made of stones that were impossibly large. Above its brightly patterned parapets, they could see static figures perched black against the waning light of the third tide.

"Is it Senitwaa'iti?" Asked Khri, breathless as she looked out over the city.

"No." Xaliti whispered. "That is Mehraq."

The caravan spent the next several hours inching their way down knotted hempen rope slung over the cliff until at last they reached the ground below. Xaliti reasoned that the cliff was a natural barrier for the Hornbull Raiders above, as the beasts they relied on could never climb down. For all she knew there wasn't an easy way down this bluff anywhere. Once the last Warrior reached the bottom, Xaliti did a headcount - Twenty Seven Warriors and Thirty or so of the lesser castes remained. A pitiful fraction of the proud caravan that left Kaiaomoch those weeks ago. She sighed and turned to the North, the city was hidden behind the looming tall grass now, but she knew it lay somewhere out there. Somewhere close. Workers armed with threshers took the lead, carving a path through the endless stale grass.

It wasn't until second tide on the next day that the beleaguered caravan stumbled it's way into the massive clearing that held the city and it's pastures. Upon reaching the outskirts Xaliti nearly fell into the dust, her body screaming for rest and water. But she didn't, she couldn't - not with her people watching. Instead she leaned against a woven stick fence, facing away from the accusing faces of her kin. "Rhotaro! Inwitti!" She croaked, voice cracking after hours of not speaking. The pair of Warriors leaned against the fence with her when they arrived. "Make ready, we go to treat with the Chief in this city. Inwitti - it's time for you to prove how good you really are speaking the Sun Son's Tongue."

---

Xaliti wove her way through the rows of huts, Rhotaro and Inwitti following just a few steps behind. People gawked and stopped from their hurried chores to look at them as they passed, and Xaliti couldn't help but feel as if she were being scrutinised with every step she took upon their path. The crowds, the huts, and the animals they kept in tiny enclosures seemed to grow even more dense as they slowly approached the city proper, until it had become hard to distinguish which were which. It was becoming harder to breathe at the sudden closeness of it all. Xaliti felt like a cricket piled atop other refuse in the feed trough the slaves would gather to eat from.

It was almost a relief when the claustrophobic space around them suddenly gave way to a clearing. Before them were walls so large, they looked like boulders stacked carefully atop one another by creatures larger than anything she could imagine. Inwitti stopped, rooted in place at the sight of the immense stone walls with mouth hanging open. Rhotaro had to reach back and grab him before he was washed away with the crowd and pulled him towards the gate, hurrying to keep up with Xaliti.
There were two sentries standing guard at the gates as they approached. They held long spears that towered far above their heads, as with most things they seemed to have found here. Xaliti wondered if these people worshipped giants. They wore helms with the fearsome visage of alligators and leopards carved upon them, and she could see behind those colourful headpieces the bright gold eyes of the man staring back at her.

“Attsuo pet ke?” one of them said to Xaliti.

Xaliti glanced towards Inwitti and gestured towards the sentries. The young Warrior swallowed dust down his dry throat and frowned. “Ke… Suopanuolliuoni” he said slowly, laboring over the words carefully.

If the guards had found humour in the way Inwitti had butchered their language, they did not show it, and instead gestured for them to come inside the walls with a cold wave of their hand. Inwitti locked eyes with Xaliti and forced a smile - one she didn't return.

The Trio were led through the inner city by the helmed guardsmen, through snaking corridors of walls, dead ends, and wide spaces packed with round huts and screaming children. Xaliti took it all in stride. She knew these people would live differently than the Mochs, but hadn't quite imagined the ant-colony feeling of the whole city. As they passed around a sharp corner like any other of the dozens they'd passed through so far, she was suddenly accosted by the sight of some great longhouse standing before them. It was crimson and cream colored, and had eerily similar construction to the A-frame atop the Grand Mound of Kaiaomoch.

The alligator helmed guardsmen threw a hand toward the A-frame and mumbled something they could not understand before stepping back with his cohort to guard the doorway. The trio took the steps up to the entrance of the Chief's Longhouse.

She looked back at Inwitti quizzically. "Are we just to… walk in?"

Inwitti held his hands up as if trying to grasp the answer from thin air. "Yes. I think. Maybe."

Xaliti rolled her eyes as she thrust aside the curtain. Inside she was met with an impossibly long room that stretched out before her like some never-ending dream. Lit by the glowing coals of central firepits, Xaliti could see colorful curtains lining the walls that hid the goings-on of the lounges behind them. At the far end of the room sat a man sitting atop a solid gold stool that glittered brilliantly in the firelight.[description of man]. Flanked by some form of council or court, all of them seemed to be engaged in some sort of meeting and meal. They started walking down the hall towards the Chief, the clinking of weapons and tinkling of beaded clothing echoing through the empty expanse and drawing a silence over the room.

“Attsuo dep ke?” The man on the stool said loudly as he took notice to their entry in his longhouse, the bright smile on his lips lingering after some unknown jest that was not shared or heard by them.

“Dep ke?” Inwitti struggled. “Dep ke… Ganche?” He finally answered.

“You come from Ganche lands, strangers?” The man said in fluent but accented Tiqwa, his eyes suddenly glimmering with a new found interest in the newcomers.

Xaliti took two steps forward with head held high. "I am Xaliti - Warrior of the Great Kaiaomoch. We are here on our passage to Senitwaa'iti. I am in need of water, food, and supplies."

“And what business do you have in Senitwaa’iti, warrior?” The man asked once more, leaning forward eagerly.

"We go to deliver their dead and negotiate trade for Kaiaomoch."

The man’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. “I see.” He nodded his head sagely. He stood up from his stool abruptly then, snatching a cup from one of his courtiers as he stepped forward towards the Ganche.

“Here is your Senitwaa’iti, warrior.” He offered her the cup with a wide grin.

Xaliti looked down at the gem encrusted cup in the shape of a bull, with the horns bent back to form its handle. Her eyes drifted slowly back up to the Chief's grinning gaze. "I do not understand."

“You need not to travel so far to find Sogad goods to receive them. We provide all that you seek here in Mehraq.” The chief explained, gently placing the cup on Xaliti’s hands before he turned to take his seat on the stool once more.

Xaliti's eyes narrowed. "Our business does not end with trade. I'm afraid it requires the aid of someone with a fair bit more influence than you could manage." She said, handing the cup back.

She could see his eyes harden at that, yet when he spoke, he betrayed nothing of his cordial nature to them. “And what would that be, Ganche?” He asked.

"To divert the Saltway away from Saskitchemoch." She said resolutely, her gaze flashing against his.

The courtiers erupted into a cacophony of whispers at that, eliciting a backward glare from the Chief. “Why should such matters be in my interest?”

"They…" Xaliti's shoulders slumped. "They don't." She finished, her determined tone cracking under the questioning line of conversation.

The Chief grinned once more, satisfied at the sight of Xaliti floundering. “And so it is not.” He repeated cheerfully, waving his jewel-drenched hand carelessly against the air. “You are welcome to purchase any provisions from our storehouses. Otherwise, you may leave us.” He said in a dismissive tone, settling himself back into his glimmering stool as he shared a laugh with his court.

Outside they rejoined the guardsmen who brought them here, though now Xaliti could see they were agitated, word had evidently reached them of her dismissal. They gestured for the trio to follow them without another word - Xaliti already knew where they were going. The Guards led them back through the twisting corridors of the inner city and to the main gate.

Rhotaro put a hand on Xaliti's shoulder. "We did what we could. We've passed merchants here, maybe they'll be willing to trade something for supplies."

"Trade what? Our Forgotten gifts?" She scoffed. "What's left of them, anyway."

"Maybe we should." Inwitti squeaked. "The Workers, some of them, they don't go much further without eat and drink."

Xaliti rubbed the shaved sides of her head, gathering the sweat droplets there before slurping them back into her mouth. "You're right." She said with a sigh. "The brownwater left by the Hornbull Herds has been… less than helpful." She said as she turned away from the gate and strode back into the city outskirts. The clusters of houses broke away into pastures stretching as far as she could see, dotted with herds of grazing cattle. There she came upon the remains of her huddled caravan - an entirely different breed of cattle.

Khri emerged from the crowd and jogged out to greet the returning trio. "Where are the supplies?" She said, poking her head around Xaliti as if some baggage train hid behind her. Rhotaro shook his head and pulled Khri away from Xaliti. "There is none. These Sun Sons will not help us. But we may trade on the outskirts."

Khri fell silent at that, she knew their moods after weeks of travel and knew when to not press her. Rhotaro called tiquini and summoned a set of Slave Caste from the caravan that trotted up to present their cargo. Xaliti opened the first one's pack of glittering artworks and baubles. She sifted through it, becoming more agitated. "How can we show the wealth of Kaiaomoch if we lose it along the way?" She asked, pulling out an Olma replica carved from a single fist-sized emerald. Rhotaro took the Olma from her and tossed it back into the pack. "We won't be showing anything if we all die of thirst, Xaliti. There has to be something to part with."

Rubbing her sleepless eyes, Xaliti groaned long and low. She was so tired of being tired. So exhausted with making every decision that always led to another failure greater than the last. Everything always came back to the Thirst. None of them would make it much further without water. Xaliti opened her eyes suddenly. "Won't make it much further without water…" She whispered. "Rhotaro!" A thought struck her suddenly. "Bring the Turtles!"

Rhotaro beckoned a certain slave over and shot Xaliti a questioning look. "The Turtles have all wasted away."

"Thats the point." Said Xaliti, opening the wicker cage on the slave's back. Inside were six small turtles with shells gilded in spiraling gold designs. They were dead for some time, all but one had perished weeks ago, there wasn't enough water to spare. Xaliti collected the carcasses and handed all five to Rhotaro. "Take these into town. Trade for Water. Food. Supplies. Take Inwitti to speak for you." She said, smiling at Inwitti's expected groan.

Rhotaro nodded and handed the dead turtles to Inwitti as the pair walked into town. Beside Xaliti, Khri cleared her throat. "What do we do now?"

Xaliti turned to regard the distant horizon. "We keep going North. There's nothing else to do."

Tehl

"If you are of the Warrior Caste, step out of line!"
Tehl stepped away from the misshapen line of Workers she'd been standing with, causing them all to back away in shock. She wasn't dressed as a Warrior, she never did. Just moccasins, doeskin leggings, and a belted poncho. Though now looking at her Moch Mark and tomahawk hanging from her belt it was clear to everyone what she was. A Chiefling at the front of the line waved her forward. Tehl walked slowly the dozen meters or so past the hungry, huddled masses of workers who'd spent the day waiting. Their jagged glares told her that they all knew what this meant - The Depot was running low on food, and Warriors always received their due before any others.

At the front of the line stood the squat stone tiered mound with the Depot building atop it. She climbed the steps and stopped at an oak countertop carved from a single ancient trunk. A pudgy Chiefling sat across the block-table from her with arms crossed. She didn't recognize him, which made sense - she barely recognized anyone in this wretched Mec.

"Food or Chits?" He asked. Tehl thought she could hear his disdain for having to hand out more food, especially since it was evident he'd used his position to sneak more than a little for himself. "Whats the Tide Rate for Warriors now?" Asked Tehl.

The Chiefling narrowed his eyes, double checking the validity of her Moch Mark. No doubt he considered the possibility she had drawn on a Warrior Mark to get food. But anyone could see her muscled frame, her multitudes of scars, and of course her Warhawk - albeit she kept hers cut close. "Two Hundred Chits at twen-tide." He said slowly, still not wholly believing she was a Warrior, but too craven to question it. Tehl nodded, counting the days she'd been on campaign in her head. "I'll need thirty twen-tides worth to accommodate my time fighting in the Ghostwood." She said, causing the Chiefling to recoil as if he'd been struck. He quickly regained composer and donned a slow, wicked grin. Tehl sighed preemptively - She knew what was coming. "The requisitions of active Warriors has been canceled in this most lean of times by the Bloodchief himself." He said. Smiling, he added: "My apologies."

Fuck the Bloodchief.
Thought Tehl, thankful she hadn't blurted it out. She stood staring back at the Chiefling, matching his gaze and hoping to will this unfortunate reality away. It didn't work. She sighed again. "Give me the Two Hundred."

The man nodded and retreated inside, having to turn sideways to fit his girth through the archway. "Wait!" Called Tehl. "Subtract whatever is required for Peanut Butter. A jar." The request earned her another look of suspicion, but the Chiefling nodded all the same. "I'll check to see what we have, Warrior." He said as he entered the darkened building's basement.

Two Hundred Chits would last her only a few days with the shortage driving food rates up so high - and she refused to find food at The Trough with the Slaves and Workers. The thought made Tehl turn to look down the stone tier, down at the crowd of gathered Workers. Mothers, Children, Fathers… She felt no pity for them. They chose this life, shackled to the Moch. Any of them could leave at any time if they weren't terrified of life outside the shadow of a Mound.

The Chiefling coughed and Tehl turned slowly back to him. He had a sack and a small green jar. "One Hundred and Six Tens of Chits." He cleared his throat, setting the items down on the counter. "And one Jar of peanut butter." Tehl took the package and departed without speaking, heading off to the edge of the tier and half climbed, half slid down the side. The Workers grumbled, but at least they could see she didn't take any of their precious Cricket Dust or Maize Oil. Tehl slung the pack over her shoulder and made her way through the Mec. She crossed several plazas and bridges, each one more grand than the last as she got further into the heart of the city.

As Tehl slipped through the crowds of the inner city she kept one ear open. It was always wise to know what the people were gossiping about at any given time, especially in these disparate days - The people both understood none of the power that they wholly wielded. A power that Sipowae, that rutting oaf, didn't understand either. She passed alongside a dancing circle of workers and artisans that spanned an entire plaza. They hopped in a pattern of interchanging circles, chanting in a language she didn't know about some ritual she knew even less about. At the far side of the plaza she heard a voice that left her stopped midstep. She perked an ear as she drew closer to a gathering of artisans. "-And she told her she was Harboring! It's true. The Blood of Tioteche will live on!"

Tell smiled wide and jaunted forward down an adjoining street of orange and cyan tiles. Word had already spread of Kaiao's pregnancy, and much sooner than Tehl anticipated. In celebration, the Warrior cracked open the jar of Peanut Butter and sniffed. She was hit with a torrent of piqued despair so potent that she clenched her jaw tight enough to threaten cracking teeth. The unmistakable stench of Cricket Butter pervaded from the open jar. She briefly considered returning to the Chiefling but shoved the thought aside as she revealed the jar - she would visit him another day, perhaps.

She had almost reached the Grand Promenade when she spotted a child walking up the street towards her. He wasn't moving fast or intently, didn't carry a weapon, he appeared as any other scraggled Slave boy except for his Moch Mark. It was filled in with black ink, marking him a slave. Three Diamonds though, so he'd been Third Caste before then. Artisan. None of this was unusual, but it was the arrangement that caught Tehl's eye. The three diamonds were touching points, end to end like linked chain. There was only one thing that could mean. The boy became agitated as they drew closer, he must have seen her studying him. Just before they met he darted left towards an alley, but all he found was Tehl's hand lashing out like a viper. She grabbed the boy's face and dragged him back to her so she could study the slave mark. The boy struggled until she hooked a finger into his eye. "Be still." She ordered. "You won't be the first Slave boy I kill today for disobedience." Tehl nodded as the slave child went still, neither of them paid attention to the traffic parting around them and flowing down the street. Still though, she kept alert for any Rickshaws coming their way. "Where are you from?"

The boy mumbled something unintelligible. Tehl removed the hand holding his face and gestured for him to speak. "Chetiwimoch." He said again, this time with a hint of defiance. Tehl laughed loud enough to draw attention from passerby. "Chetiwimoch? The Jewel of Three Storms? Better a slave in Chetiwimoch than a Chief in Kaiaomoch, these days." She wiped wetness from her eye and pulled the boy to the edge of the street. "Why are you here now? Kaiaomoch doesn't free runaways."

The boy looked up at her with sunken eyes, not dull like so many others of his cursed caste. These had an intensity when he spoke. "I'm here to find my Brother." Tehl laughed at his answer and threw her hands wide, gesturing to the stream of people heading towards the Grand Plaza. "Where is he now?"

His measured gaze fractured at that, looking away from Tehl for just a moment. "He fled our Moch for this one. I haven't seen him in a year."

Tehl stared at the boy, chewing the inside of her cheek. Surely this slave knew what happened to his sibling. "One year? Your brother is dead, or worse. I'd wager worse." She winced at the boy's quickly melting defiance upon registering what she'd said. Sighing, Tehl rummaged through her pack for the tainted peanut butter. Eyeing the boy for a moment she pulled it out and handed it to him. "Eat this, then find your way out of the Mec. I'm more lenient than most, but if another Warrior spots you then you'll be hauled off to the fields and sold to some Artisan. Hopefully one that wants you to work, rather than one that just wants a boy around." He cradled the jar and took a few steps back. Tehl shrugged a goodbye and continued onward towards the Plaza, though she didn't go more than a few steps before noticing two other Slaves flow around her going the opposite direction. She followed their jagged gaze to the Boy, still cradling the peanut butter in full view as he ducked into an alley. The two older Slaves pointed and followed him in, stalking him like starving Grass Lions.

Its not your problem Tehl.
That little voice inside her repeated over and over, even as her feet carried her to the alley. She peered around the corner of some stone terraced longhouse and saw the children. The two newcomers pressed the smaller Boy's chest and face hard against the wall as they went through the mangled sack he was carrying. One held a copper trowel he'd no doubt stolen from some previous work assignment. She stood there leaning against a wall at the entrance to the alley. The only entrance, she noted. It was bad luck for the Boy to choose this offshoot to duck into. She watched, still trying to decide if she should intervene. The Boy saw the contents of his sack upended and pushed back against his assailants.
Bits of stone and some carving tools? Why risk it for something so worthless? Tehl didnt have time to ponder his actions, she saw the trowel flash as the older boy held it up to strike. Her training took over, drawing her tomahawk and letting it fly before she'd thought it through. The axe struck the trowel-swinger in the head with such force that his face smashed against the stone wall before he slumped to the ground. His friend stood there in shock, his grip loosening just enough for the slave boy to throw his head back, cracking it against the older boy's nose. The assailant jumped back, hands holding a gushing nose, but there was no time for him to react - the slave boy turned and leapt on him. The two landed in a heap on the hardpacked dirt, with the slave boy on top and reaching for the copper trowel. Tehl walked forward slowly, watching that glistening trowel rise and fall many more times than necessary.

She stopped a few steps from the boy, now drenched in blood. He had already tossed his improvised weapon aside before looking up at her. He stood on shaky legs, eyes locked on her's. Tehl extended a hand, palm up. The boy tilted his head and knelt to retrieve something from the ground before placing the jar of peanut butter in her waiting hand. Tehl scowled at him and smashed the jar against the alley wall. "My tomahawk." She said, holding her hand out again. The boy shook away his shock at watching the food be wasted and jumped to retrieve the axe. He had to leverage his foot on the dead boy's neck to wrench the axe head until it at last broke free with a squelch. He returned it to the Warrior and bowed his head.

"First kill?" Asked Tehl, cleaning the blood from her tomahawk.
"No." He replied, shaking his head.
Tehl paused, staring him down while her mind raced. "Good." She said at last, eliciting a questioning look from the blood soaked slave boy. "Come with me, Slave. There may be a life for you besides being worked to death." She said, turning and striding away from the scene of death. Though she couldn't hear footsteps following her. She turned back and saw the boy trying to gather his stone carving tools from a pool of growing crimson. "Leave them!" She snapped. "The boy that those meant something to is dead. The only thing that matters is this moment, and every moment that follows." She set her gaze on him, eyes narrowed. "I will not ask again." The Boy took one last look as his things lying between the two crumpled corpses, then followed her. They didn't speak as they wove their way through the inner city complex and across the Grand Plaza and its immense mosaic depicting the Chief Caste Mark and hundreds of Catahns. Soon they stood at the foot of the Warrior Mound - the tallest Mound in the Mec. Flowing from the distant top was a set of narrow alabaster stairs. Tehl eyed the boy carefully as the pair climbed the first steps. Could he make it? These steps had claimed the lives of many unwary Warriors. One misstep meant a long fall with your demise at the bottom - if you were lucky. Or a life as a crippled slave if you weren't.

Near the top of the ascent, the Boy began to tire. Tehl sneered at his labored breath and began taking the steps two at a time - if he couldn't ascend the Mound then he had no future at its peak. She reached the top long before the Boy. Tehl watched him from a seated position at the highest step. He was practically dragging himself with hands and feet up the last dozen steps. Disinterested, the Warrior turned her gaze to the Mec, now far below and dizzyingly expansive. She could see all the Chief Mounds, the tribal boroughs, the foreign markets, the Garden… Her eyes lingered there at that walled Grove of trees, thankful she was too far away to hear the screams of the condemned.

Tehl rose to her feet as the boy finally reached the final step. She beckoned for him to follow and strode out onto the Moundtop without a word. A shrill tiquini whistle ripped through the air when she approached a series of fighting rings with Warriors locked in practice duels.

-Tehl is coming.-
The whistled warning set the Warriors and the gathered Wakes on edge, each of them stopping to watch her as she picked her way through the rings. Any of them she passed touched their Mochmarks in the traditional sign of respect - a sign she didn't return. There was no love lost between her and the others of her Caste. At the far end of the Mound she was approached by an elderly man who had emerged from a longhouse at the edge of the training yard.

"What have you brought with you now, Tehl?" He said after touching his Mochmark as she drew near. "Epoiche. I bring a Slave who shows merit." She responded. Tehl reached back and dragged the Boy up in front of her, letting loose a scoff when she realized he was still winded.

"He seems a bit old to begin training..." Began Epoiche with a shrug. Tehl waved a hand dismissively, already irritated this conversation had lasted this long. "Put him through The Crucible. If he dies, he dies. If he doesn't, train him. I dont care." She said, feeling the Boy's shoulders tense suddenly at her words. She smiled slightly at that, maybe he wasn't so meek as he seemed. Epoiche eyed the boy critically, as a chef might eye a questionable cut of meat. "He has no attachments, Epoiche. No family, no belongings, no Moch." Tehl said insistently, taking a step back from the boy as the old man reluctantly nodded his head. "Very well, Tehl. I will train the Slave."

Tehl turned and walked back towards the fighting rings, satisfied that her conscious was now washed clean. "Wait!" Said the Boy. "Don't you wish to know my name?" Tehl halted at that but didn't turn back to him. She paused for a brief moment before continuing on without answering.

The Moundtop was pulsing with activity. Groups of croplings gathered with elderly Warriors for third tide's instruction, Warriors gathered around fighting rings to watch practice duels, Wakes running back and forth with messages for various masters. Tehl watched it all with a bittersweet lense. She would never be a part of this Caste like they were. Most of these Warriors had followed Tioteche in the Exodus. A few were deemed capable from absorbed tribes, herself included, but other than those few inductees this Caste was made from bonds forged long ago and far away. Her gaze fell on the Wugum. A Healer's Longhouse at the edge of the moundtop.

Dont do it, Tehl.
That little voice inside her insisted. She knew who was in that Wugum. And she knew she shouldn't see him. The voice repeated itself when she reached the leather curtained entrance. She shook the shakes out of her hands, suddenly nervous, and cursed herself for it. Pushing through the curtain and stepping inside the dark interior, she was hit with the cloying stench of Puogi that drenched the room - The substance gleaned from the captured swellfish known for it's medicinal and toxic properties. As her eyes adjusted to the damp gloom, she saw him. Huini lay in a bed of stained linens, skin moist and clammy in the dim candlelight. He wore the same clothes from a few days ago at the amphitheater when she… her thoughts trailed off when he opened his eyes and looked at her.

He smiled. That white toothed smile anyone else would be grateful to have directed their way. It filled Tehl's mouth with the stale taste of guilt. The moment stretched to the point of awkwardness and she realized she was expected to say something - Anything.

"Who's pipe did you smoke to be admitted to the Warrior's Wugum, Chiefling?" She said with more callous than she intended. Huini's smile faded slightly. "I'm not accepted among the Chief Caste. And now Warriors turn their back on me." He sighed, pulling himself up to sit against the wall bordering his bed. Tehl chewed the inside of her cheek, understanding too well what he was saying. "I…" she began, her confidence quickly deflating.

"Have you come to insult me then?" Asked Huini. Why was she here? What had drove her to this Wugum? "I came to see how you were healing." She answered finally. It was the truth. Or, partially. The part she could put into words. In answer, Huini threw aside the patterned blanket and lifted what was left of his right leg. Tehl took an involuntary step back at the sight - Stark white bone sprouted from a stump of weeping red flesh and bandages stained with fluids she couldn't name. Huini watched her carefully as she approached him for a closer look. "Its infected." She stated. Huini nodded solemnly. "The Medicine Man says he may need to pare away the flesh and remove more bone. He seems… Confident." Tehl looked from Huini to the wound and back again in rapid succession. "I wish I were half as confident." Said Tehl, taking a seat at a bedside stool next to Huini. He seemed to relax at that, like some dreaded hurdle had been cleared. The two sat there for a long while, sharing a silence the way only certain people can.

When the ebon calm was broken, it was with a question Tehl wasn't expecting. "Will you leave the Mec so soon again?" Huini asked quietly, as if unwilling to ruin their shared reverie. Tehl fiddled with a carved decorative fish on the bedpost. She could feel herself withdrawing again, both willing and unwilling to let it happen. "We all have our part to play. Mine isn't here." She said without looking at him.

Huini rolled his eyes. "The world is not a stage, Tehl… And your life is not a play."

Her gaze snapped back to his. "Then why are you always The Fool?"

"Me? Foolish?" He Scoffed. "You would choke on your hypocrisy, if it ever stopped dripping from your mouth."

The silence grew between them again, this time alongside a palpable tension that filled the room. Not a violent tension, or even one of anger - this was Frustration in it's most omnipresent form.

"What is my Tribe, Huini? If you think to know me so well, then name it." She asked, leaning forward to block him from looking anywhere but at her. "You are Khrote." Answered Huini. "Can you name mine?"

Tehl recoiled, her mouth falling open in surprise. How had he known? Noone had spoken the name Khrote since the Founding. "I…" Her mind raced for an answer. "I… You have no Tribe - You gave it up for this Moch!" She shouted, letting more emotion leak into her words than she meant to. Huini studied her for a moment. "I didn't. My Tribe is still remembered, even in Saskitchemoch." He reached out then and took her fiddling hand in his. It was cold and slick with sweat, yet filled her chest with a warmth not unlike the desperate screams of the prematurely entombed. She froze, breath caught in a throat that wanted too badly to whisper and scream all at once. Huini gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Dont go, Tehl. Stay. Enjoy what you fight so hard for, just once."

Tehl's mind raced like a flooded river after rain. But there was a Boulder in that flow, one that no amount of water could shift. An inescapable truth. There was always a thumb on the scale of Duty and Desire. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then finally spoke. "My Course has no partner. You know that. I told you that." She said, standing up and staring at her hand clasped in his. "I will never be what Xaliti was to you..." She whispered, pulling her hand away. Huini let it go reluctantly. "I never asked you to." He said with a voice thick with enough emotion to make Tehl wince. She took a few steps back towards the door. "Always the Fool, Huini." she said before turning away into the daylight outside, leaving behind the strangled emotions and the cloying stench of the Wugum behind.

She stormed off across the Moundtop, grateful that the gathered Warriors were too craven to meet her eyes - or else they'd see the tears welling there. Tehl wiped away her eyes with her flapping poncho as she mounted a platform at the corner of the Mound. There she strapped a hooked gauntlet to her hand and latched it to a rope above her. She lept forward and let the taught line zip her along to the Promenade Tower far below. From there she wandered the Mec in a fit of emotions she could never put into words, blindly walking from street to alley to burough and becoming more and more exasperated each time she had to wipe her eyes.

Finally she stopped at a large brick archway covered in flaking black paint. Tehl stared at that black Arch and set her jaw. How had she got here? The wind whipped her poncho around her, bringing with it the smell of filthy bodies pervading from the forest beyond the Arch. Distantly she heard the irate screams of some poor soul within. It was answered by a chorus of similar screams sounding back to the first, creating a haunted cacophony of insane grief and suffering. The Garden… She knew why her blind emotions had brought her here.

Taking a few steps forward, Tehl passed under the Arch and walked into the walled forest beyond, following a sunken tiled path that she knew well. It didn't take long to reach the first Wretch, this one a Woman. Her limbs were removed like all the others, her torso hanging from a harness attached to a tree. She swayed in the wind like a rotten fruit filled with maggots. The woman's eyes shot open and she screamed at the Warrior, that same noise of unknowable pain that they all echoed as they hoped to die. Tehl picked her way down a side path as all the Condemned around the Woman took up her scream alongside her, sending a shiver down The Warrior's spine. She quickened her pace and put some distance between them.

After some time she arrived at her destination. A secluded part of The Garden where a single man hung alone. His hair was patchy and unkempt, his eyes seemed to be crusted closed. A stabbing fear that he was dead shot through Tehl. She stood there staring at his limbless body, swaying gently in the crisp breeze. Her pack clanked to the soft ground, forcing his eyes tear open upon hearing her. His mouth opened wide enough to split his cracked lips, sending rivulets of blood down his chin. She didn't move when he started screaming incoherently, his cacophony joining the echoed chorus around them. She didn't move when he pissed himself in excitement, liquid streaming from what was left of his bug-eaten crotch to spatter into the growing pile of waste on the ground below him. She only stared, committing every weeping rash and oozing sore to memory.

"Hello Chief." She whispered, causing the hanging man to jerk sideways so he could point an ant-encrusted ear at her. He stared sidelong, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out who she was. Tehl watched a line of ants exiting his ear and travelling back up the leather harness he hung from carrying tiny specs of flesh. She shuddered. The Hanging Chief burst into motion, wriggling his lower half in an excited motion. "Blackwren!" He screamed at her. The name sent cold water down Tehl's back. She shook her head slowly at the limbless gyrating man. "No, my Chief. Thats not my name anymore, remember? They gave me a new name now."

The Chief continued to wriggle about in his harness, raining down ants and flaking skin onto the pile below, where another host of insects reveled. "Blackwrreeeennn! Blackwren Blackwren!" He babbled over and over. Tehl clenched her fists at the sight, it always wrenched her to come see him, but his condition had worsened in the months she'd been on campaign. "No. I am not the Blackwren. Chief - Please remember." She pleaded, choking back tears before trying again. "Chief Four Hawks." She said, waiting for a chance to be heard between his screaming.

Four Hawks stopped gyrating abruptly, leaving himself swaying side to side as he stared open mouthed at Tehl. She could see his bloodshot eyes slowly come to realization - what little there was left. The man looked her up and down, his filed teeth clenched. The same filed teeth that she had. "Where is Blue Winds? Where is my Son?" He asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his gravelly tone. Tehl let loose a long sigh.. "He… He's dead. They're all dead, My Chief. When you - we - refused to assimilate." The Chief seemed perplexed by that. His eyes didn't register anything as far as Tehl could tell. The hanging man's eyes went wide suddenly, like some thought had just struck him. "Where is Blue Winds?" He asked again. Tehl shook her head and rubbed her eyes before turning away to walk back down the sunken path. Why had she come? It always ended the same way. There was nothing here aside from the tortured memories of her past that so desperately wanted to be forgotten.

"Kill me."
She froze midstep and whirled around, heart erupting in her chest. She couldn't remember the last time Four Hawks had said anything other than his usual questions. Tehl bounded back in front of the Chief. "What did you say?" She asked, not confident that she hadn't imagined it. The man looked down at her, a strange look of clarity on his bird-eaten face. "Kill me, Blackwren. Flee this place. Go home and live with our cousins on the plains." He said in a too-calm voice. Tehl winced at his words, she didn't have the heart to tell him that their cousins, the Taowaho Tribe, were gone as well. Eradicated by Saskitchemoch for helping the Exodus - Another forgotten casualty in this contest of Men and Mochs.

"Blackwren. Look at me! They keep me alive, but I am dead already. You will be the last of us now. You will be Chief!" He said with a cough that left a dribble of brown saliva on his chin. Now it was Tehl who stared with mouth agape. She never expected to hear a coherent sentence from him again, let alone one like this. "If you can speak the words, I'll do it." She said, forcing the response from her throat like so many sands through an hourglass. Four Hawks jerked his head from side to side as if he were trying to knock thoughts loose from his half-eaten mind. "Khovawiyo…" he intoned, clearly having trouble remembering. She shifted from foot to foot as he began again. "Khovawiyo Attiwitialwa Unkhroteoialtio." He finished. Tehl flinched instinctively, looking over her shoulder and cursing herself for the habit. She had been savagely beaten upon Assimilation nearly every day until she finally stopped using the Khrote language. But he had spoke it, free under the Endless Blue Sea - the ancient whispered words of Death. Tehl drew her knife and a breath at the same time, feeling her chest tighten with a sudden obligation. She pressed the knife to his sunken chest even as he went back to screaming "Blackwreeeenn!" Over and over in an endless drone. "Khovawiyo Attiwitialwa Unkhroteoialtio." She whispered through her own sudden strangled sobs.
Do it, Tehl.
That little voice inside her insisted, and this time, she listened.

Can you provide a picture of where this is on the Candarian large map?

Previous Story- https://forums.candarion.com/topic/738/the-end-all-men-meet

Xaliti

She had heard of this land her entire life. Fractured stories from wandering traders and Hornbull nomads. Golden grass stretched across the horizon, challenging the sunset as the most beautiful sight eyes could hope to see. But this land held a brutality only the Sun Sons could understand, hidden beneath the shining facade. Only the desperate came here. Someone needing a place to hide, or needing hope - they would find neither. The desperate were fools, and fools never saw the trap until it was sprung. The Gold Expanse would make you into an effigy of what you once were, make you watch it burn to ash from behind glazed eyes. . .

Xaliti's eyes snapped open. She lay there staring at the ceiling of her canvas tent, the barest hints of pre-dawn light leaked through the open doorway. How long had she slept this time? A quarter-tide? Less? She sighed and rubbed her face, eyes still burning from exhaustion. With a grunt the Warrior sat up and took stock of her senses. Her back ached from another sleepless night on the hardpacked earth, she could smell a trace of smoke - the last watch? Xaliti pulled on a doeskin split kilt and her moccasins. She debated for a moment leaving the tent but decided to put on a tight linen wrap around her chest. She'd be on horseback today and would need it more than she needed reprieve from the wretched heat.

Exiting the tent and slinging her bandolier of knives around one shoulder, Xaliti surveyed the pitiful camp. Twelve similar tents were clustered around her's, with the Workers heaped in their sleeping bags behind a makeshift windwall made from the baggage. The edge of camp drew her eye, a small fire burned there with a figure leaned against a stone nearby. As she drew nearer it became clear that this wasn't some watchman, the silver haired warhawk gave it away - This was Rhotaro, her Second. The wizened warrior turned his ear at Xaliti's approach but didn't open his eyes. "Up early again." He stated, the words seeming to dredge up a coughing fit. Xaliti kicked a few rocks aside and sat across the fire from him. "Still can't sleep. What's your excuse?"

Rhotaro shrugged and turned back to the lightening dawn. "I took the last watch from Kaichiaxtch. He needs the rest more than I since you started him Pathfinding."

Xaliti rolled a bundle of gathered twigs onto the guttering fire. "Anything to report?"

"Two more horses died in the night."

"What caused it?"

The old man shrugged. "Hard to say. Dehydration I'd guess. Like the others." He leaned his head back against the stone and let out a sigh. "The ones still here won't do anything but walk."

Xaliti fiddled with the pommel of one of her sheathed knives, staring into the crackling flames. It took her a long moment to realize Rhotaro had opened his eyes and begun studying her. Mulling her thoughts over again, she cleared her throat. "Kill the remaining horses. Drain their blood into skins. They'll die today, or tomorrow. If we don't find something to drink then we'll be next."

Rhotaro grunted but didn't say anything. Xaliti knew him well enough to know that was an affirmation of agreement. She knew everyone in this expedition just as well - except the Workers of course. That made it all the harder to watch them suffer as they had. The expedition had been plagued by pitfalls since the day they'd left Kaiaomec. For sixty four tides they'd been travelling north, far behind schedule due to a herd of bison that took days to pass by. When they'd finally reached the Gold Expanse Xaliti had instituted water rationing after a Hornbull Raid, and now this slow death of the animals. Xaliti shook her head and matched Rhotaro's sigh. Despite her confidence of command, somewhere deep inside her that small voice still whispered aching truths - She had been given free reign to pick the members of this expedition. She picked her trusted friends and the most capable upstarts of her Crop. Was this the price of Loyalty to Xaliti?

Rhotaro leaned over and rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a small hemp-wrapped bundle and tossed it to Xaliti. She caught it deftly and unrolled it, smiling when she saw it was a few strips of gator-jerk. She'd thought they'd run out days ago. "Make merry, Xaliti. The Crop looks to you." Said Rhotaro, holding up a refusing hand when Xaliti tried to return the bundle. "You keep it. You're the last of us that needs to be downtrodden. Nobody watches me, I'm nearly Jerky myself in this Forgotten Sun." Finished Rhotaro. Xaliti attempted a smile but it was only on the surface. She nodded her thanks and tucked it into a spare sheath on her bandolier. "We've come too far to turn back now. We wouldn't make it back to Oniganche with the supplies we have, much less Kaiaomec. There has to be water somewhere… We'll keep following the Horbull Tribe until they lead us to it." Said Xaliti, waving a hand northward towards the wide tracks of a hundred Hornbulls plodding across the Expanse. Their deep footprints left behind pools of glistening shit filled mud reflecting off the coming dawn.

Rhotaro eyed Xaliti carefully. "So long as you keep the Pathfinders running out around us. We'll never know in this grass if we just missed a pond, or even a village of some-" Rhotaro coughed pointedly. Xaliti snapped her attention back to him and matched his crinkled gaze. He tilted his head, gesturing to the left. Xaliti looked and saw a small figure emerge from her tent and walk towards the fire on careful feet. She was dressed similarly to Xaliti and carried a long sheathed sword in her arms. The fire reflected in it's pommel of precious metals made to masterfully replicate a tortoise. A smile cracked across Xaliti's face. "Come, My Wake." She said, extending an arm to the girl. Khri took the last few steps and bowed slightly to Xaliti, then Rhotaro.

The girl handed the sword off to Xaliti and sat cross-legged next to her. Xaliti set the trophy sword aside and drew a knife, this one another trophy taken from the Brymoch. She moved to sit behind Khri, studying the sides of her head before setting to work shaving out the new growth there around her newly earned Warhawk.

The trio sat there in silence for a long while. Parts of the camp began to stir, but noone approached the fire. Whether they were preoccupied or respectful or fearful, Xaliti couldn't say. Finally the sun broke across the horizon, gold rays of dawn cascaded across the camp and every Ganche turned to gaze at the sun while it was still dim enough to allow it. There it was - their place of paradise that the Ganche were cast out of in the time before time, banished to wander the endless blue sea on the other side of the earth. Cursed to never look upon their homeland as it floated across. Only the souls of the greatest Chiefs and Warriors could escape the endless cycle of rebirth that was the Ganche's prison.

"Its so beautiful." Whispered Khri, her face sparkling with golden red light.
Rhotaro sighed and looked back to the fire. "All things lost and never found are thought of as beautiful."
That brought a frown to Xaliti's lips. She placed a hand on Khri's shoulder and squeezed. "Paradise is never lost." She said, eyes locked on the rising dawn. "It is simply out of reach."

Suddenly a low warble echoed across the Expanse from the north. That same deep, undulating reverberation that sounded at every dawn. At first Xaliti had figured it to be a beast of some kind, but now her scouts had reported that it was some kind of instrument used by the Hornbull Tribes every dawn. Long and loud, the sound could be heard for miles in all directions, subtley changing notes and pitches to create a sort of waving sound. Xaliti wasn't convinced that the Hornbull Tribes didn't use it as some kind of language similar to the Ganche Tiquini Whistle-Speak. Whatever it was, it swept a haunted energy through the camp. Every Ganche had stirred by now and every one was suddenly reminded that they were strangers in a strange land; This Dawn was not like those seen from the tops of great Mounds or the forests of Oniganche.

"I would speak clear with you, Xaliti." Said Rhotaro, breaking the eery silence that had fallen over the camp. Xaliti nodded for him to continue. The wizened Warrior looked at Khri then back to Xaliti pointedly. "Some words are only for you to hear. You may choose to tell your Wake, but that would be your decision."

"Khri. Rouse the Workers. Have them kill and drain the horses of blood. Have them set up drying packs for the meat. I want the camp to be ready to move by second tide." Said Xaliti, shushing Khri's welling protests. "Then alert the Pathfinders to spread out, relay reports when they can. Stay within Tiquini range." She sat back, watching the girl stand and gather her pack. "And fetch Kaichiaxtch. He'll be the lead Pathfinder today - He should be well rested." She finished. Rhotaro frowned at that but said nothing until Khri had left them.

"You understand that we're all going to die here?" He said flatly. Gaze leveled at Xaliti. The question took her by surprise, mind reeling while she searched his eyes for motive. "I… No, Rhotaro. Should I?"

"Yes. This expedition is a death sentence. We are lost, far from lands we know, far from water, and surrounded by enemies. We were never meant to survive, Xaliti." Said Rhotaro, sighing deeply. "We are victims of a political battle we could never truly understand. Tioteche's Folly - But we pay the cost in blood."

Xaliti narrowed her eyes. Was he right? She swept her gaze across the camp. At friends and allies that did not question her when they were chosen. Had she just condemned them all to die for the uncaring Chiefs? "No." She said, startling both Rhotaro herself with the icy resolve in her tone. "Tioteche wouldn't send us here for nothing."

Rhotaro grunted his dissent. "He would. If he had to. If he was forced to. Look around Xaliti. Already our numbers dwindle. We need to find water and we need to flee back to Oniganche… Every one of us that dies here cannot be returned to Twae'koa, Xaliti. You know that."

"I trust Tioteche!" She snapped back. "I am the Sum of a Thousand Lives. I am The Scourge of Bry. Who are you to question the Mochmaker when even I dare not?"

Rhotaro closed his eyes, the deep lines of his face catching dark shadows in the rising sun. "I am a dying man who needed to rinse his thoughts." He said slowly. Xaliti's eyes widened at that. "You're dying?" She said, anger suddenly washed away.

He nodded. "Yes. I have forgone my Water ration. And food. I give them to those more worthy than a withered warrior." His eyes shifted back to the dying fire as if staring in a mirror.

Xaliti snatched up her bandolier, pulling out the wrapped jerky and thrusting it at him. "Take this. Eat it, now. And drink the Bison Blood." There was a twinge her voice. An echo of something remembered but not recognized. "Rhotaro… Please. I can't lose you too."

Rhotaro didn't look up from the fire. His arms stayed resting on his crossed legs. "You will have to, My Wake." He said gently, using that term that hadn't applied to Xaliti for years. "I've felt the Withering inside me for many cycles now. I knew this would be my last journey. This may even be my last day."

"You shouldn't have come. Why did you agree?" Xaliti said softly. "You won't make it back. You won't be reborn… Your soul is wasted." She said, leaning forward on her elbow and covering her mouth with her hand.

"I came to counsel you. How could I turn my back to you?" Rhotaro coughed again. After spitting phlegm into the fire, he continued. "And so I have. Turn back. If you can't, then send others back. Go on yourself if you must. But know that this noose is tightening around you. Things will get worse and might never get better. You'll die here choking on sand and dust."

Xaliti didn't respond. The two sat quietly until the fire burned out. She looked up to see that Rhotaro staring back at her with precious moisture in his eyes.

A few hours later the camp was broken and loaded back onto the Bison Train. Meat was hung and blood was drank as the expedition continued stumbling north through the endless grass, following the winding shit-covered trail of the Hornbulls, still hoping they'd lead them to water. Kaichiaxtch called through Tiquini that he'd been spotted. He was never seen again. Xaliti hoped he deserted, but she knew better.

December 6th - God

The Ganche believe that long long ago they were cast out of Paradise (The Sun, which floats on the endless blue sea above) and cursed to walk this land they now do. They adhere to a set of beliefs/Philosophical tenants known as "Twae'koa" or Water's Wisdom. Each Moch (Tribal Federation) is said to have it's own Twae - A collection of Souls made up of the Moch Member's ancestors and their knowledge.

When a Ganche dies, their body is given back to Water in a ritualistic funeral that they believe returns the soul to the collective Twae of the Moch; They also believe the same thing can be achieved when sacrificing captives in a specific ritual, their Souks will become locked in the Twae as well. When a Woman Gives birth, they are pulling a soul back from their Twae back to live another life in the world they see as a prison.

A Ganche of great Renown is said to "Earn" their place in Paradise again, for them and all their past lives. Thus removing themselves from the cycle of rebirth within a Moch. A Ganche who adheres to the duties of their Caste is said to be reborn one Caste Higher in the next life, thus all the greatest Chiefs are said to have escaped this world long ago.

Previous Story - https://forums.candarion.com/topic/1128/friends-like-these-2

Huini

Huini lingered at the top of the tiled stone staircase for a few moments as Tioteche sauntered down. He couldn't follow. It wasn't his place to enter the main dais - and Huini didn't trust himself to navigate the steep staircase with a crutch and missing a leg.. Instead he circled around through a backchannel hallway clogged with servants and messengers running errands for attending Chiefs. He followed a series of wide stairs downwards, finally reaching the bottom floor where the dugout seating could be found. He circled around, passing archways leading to canopied rooms filled with the tittering followers of Kaiao and the hard eyed servants of Sipowae. He even passed Tio's cadre conversing quietly in their assigned dugout. No, he couldn't go with them. He needed quiet and concentration. Instead he went to a little-used Dugout that should afford him a wide view of the crowd. Just in case there was something to see.

He pushed aside the glittering beaded curtain hanging in the archway and shuffled inside the empty dugout crutch-first. It was shady and cool, canopied by striped canvas and dotted with padded wooden benches. The dugout sat about three feet or so lower than the stone dais and stage the High Chiefs sat upon. But there was nowhere closer to be during council meetings. Huini didn't sit, he didnt trust himself to get up fast enough should a situation require it. Instead he leaned forward on the front edge of the dugout, elbows resting on the stone stage. The Council Meeting seemed to be going well. Better than he had expected for the first meeting of Sipowae's return. Huini eyed him warily as the hulking warchief presented some new kind of Bolt-Thrower to Tioteche. Huini idly checked and rechecked that his bandolier of knives and tomahawk was still in place, despite the unlikely occasion of their use here. The device made Huini nervous. The Brymoch Warriors had used them to devastating effect during the exploratory raids Sipowae's War-Crop made into their territory. Even Kaiaomoch Warriors fell to them. What good was a lifetime of training in the Martial Arts of Twae'koa if a Farmer could kill you with one finger? The Brymoch hadn't escaped unscathed, and more than a few Bolt-Throwers had been retrieved and brought to Kaiaomoch's Artisans for study and reconstruction… This line of thinking always made the ghost of Huini's leg start twitching. It was a Bolt that had started him down this path he now walked.

"It seems honed minds think alike." A frigid voice said from behind Huini. A dread familiarity that sent an ice cold lance through his gut. He turned slowly to see Tehl standing in the archway. Her silken black hair was pulled back tight to reveal a face that would have been beautiful - if not for the multitudes of scars left behind from years of attempted scalpings. Huini found he couldn't move, thankfully, as he was torn between embracing or saluting the First Pathfinder. She studied him with glittering brown eyes - her gaze snapping from his clothes, to his crutch, to his missing leg, and finally resting on his new Chief Caste Marks tattooed beneath his left eye. She made the briefest gesture of salute, her fingers touching her own Warrior Caste Mark for a split second as she walked into the dugout. "Id heard that you'd done well for yourself after your… failure." Said Tehl. Huini winced at her choice of words. The end of his missing leg started throbbing, but he didnt reply. Instead he turned back to watching the High Chiefs. Huini remembered clearly what Tehl thought of his injury. He often recalled how she'd cast her vote that day in the Ghostwood - To kill him and leave him behind. Her allegiance to Sipowae had always came before him.

"Still. I figured you'd be Slave Caste by now." She scooted down the bench towards him. "Maybe Artisan if you were fortunate. But a Chiefling? Hmmm.." She purred. "I would ask whose pipe you smoked to get here, it the answer wasn't obvious." Said Tehl. Huini could hear the smirk in her tone. He shifted his weight from foot to crutch and back again.

Resolute as the Thunderhead.
Calm as Clear Water.
The Warrior-Turned-Chief thought, letting the decades of meditation training wash over him. "My station is none of your concern, Warrior." He said, his gaze not leaving the Chief Council.

A long pause of silence stretched between them. Huini wasn't ready for this encounter; He hadn't even known she was returning to the Mec. Tehl placed a hand gently on the small of his back. "Huini..." She said softly, her voice melting into that vulnerable, secret tone that had become so familiar over the months they'd spent together in the War-Crop. The same tone that reminded him that she wasn't just the killer she wanted everyone to think she was. Huini turned to look at Tehl suspiciously. The vulnerable tone disappeared with her next words: "You will not trust me." She said flatly. A statement. Huini let the moment linger, trying to discern the motives hidden in her frozen face. "I'd lay with The Great Boa before I trust another of Sipowae's war-bitches." Said Huini. He thought he saw the briefest flicker of emotion in her eyes before it was buried again. As if in answer, Tehl pulled a corn-paper bag from her satchel and unwrapped it. The crinkle of the bag tore through the silence, the smell of chiles and meat following the noise to fill the void. She looked up at Huini, smiling slightly - just enough to show her mouthful of filed teeth. "Sit with me Huini. If we can't be friends, then let's not be enemies." She said, patting the bench next to her.

Huini glanced back at the stage, eyeing Tioteche as he and Sipowae discussed something about the warfront while Kaiao looked on pensively. "They'll be fine. We're here as a formality, Huini." Said Tehl. Though he didn't particularly agree, Huini found himself drawn to the bench. Tehl smirked and rolled her eyes when Huini refused her offered hand to help him sit, instead lowering himself down slowly and purposefully leaning the crutch against the bench to separate him from her.

Tehl shook her corn-paper bag at Huini. He reached in, pulling out a few dog rinds: A smile spread across Huini's face after taking a small bite. "These are better than most." He said, noting the subtle waves of chile spice that enveloped his tongue. Tehl nodded, swallowing her own bite before answering: "Artisan."
"Artisan?" Huini Scoffed. "Street Cooks are not Artisans. And Artisans should not be Street Cooks." He finished, returning his last rind to the bag.

Tehl shrugged, taking another bite. "Who am I to sorry-soak about what some Artisan wants to call art? More chits to be had selling tastes of higher life to the Workers than there is in carving Olmas for Chiefs."

"Thats not the point. The Moch is stable only when each person understands their Role. The stream cannot find it's ocean home alone."

Tehl frowned at his tone, eyeing him sidelong. "Maybe."

Huini sighed. Knowing her dismissal was the end of this conversation. After all these months he'd almost forgotten how resolute she could be. "Maybe." He answered finally.

A silence grew between them, broken only by Tehl chewing dog rinds especially loud and passive aggressively digging through crinkling bag for more. Huini hadn't meant to speak that harshly, especially immediately after this fragile peace between them. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't find the words. Staring ahead, he studied the painted breastplate Sipowae wore. He recognized it, of course - it was one of the metal skins the Brymoch Warriors wore to battle. They were impenetrable, but Huini thought that their reliance on it made them weak.

"So." Said Tehl, snapping his attention back to the present. "Are you enjoying all of… this?" She asked, gesturing to the ongoing Council meeting.

Huini crossed his arms and leaned back against the bench. "I'm no Court-Creature. You know that."

"You are now." Said Tehl.

"I didn't have a choice."

"Stop pouting. You'd be dead, or enslaved - That was your choice. You chose to live. You could start your own tribe now if you wanted, Huini. You could go sit on that Council and govern." She said, jabbing a finger at the elaborately decorated theater of Chiefs. "I can name a dozen Warriors who would do anything to sit where you do, even if they were crippled."

Huini didn't say anything, he knew she was right. There were far worse places he could've ended up aside from in the personal cadre of their Moch Founder and Bloodchief. Tehl leaned over and shoved him gently with a laugh. "Douse it, Chiefling. Cheer up. Your life is clear skies and the smell of rain from here on out."

He smiled back at her, half sincerely even. "And not a Thunderbird to be heard." He said, reciting the customary response to her adage. He watched Tehl as her eyes flicked around the amphitheater taking in sights she'd probably never seen before. He answered a few general questions about the Council she posed until eventually her gaze stopped at Kaiao. "She's more beautiful than they say." Said Tehl, her voice harboring some strange emotion Huini couldn't place. He didnt respond. From a distance, especially with her face painted in that glittering sand, Kaiao was beautiful. But he had seen her those nights that she screamed herself bloody and tore at her face. Those long nights when visions plagued her. It took Huini a moment to register Tehl had continued speaking.

"But how much of that is from… well, you know." Tehl trailed off, eyeing him expectantly. Huini shrugged, shooting her a confused look. "What?" He asked. Tehl lowered her voice despite them being the only ones in the dugout. "Surely you've heard? The whole city is whispering. They say Kaiao is Harboring."

Huini nearly choked, sitting upright and coughing several times to catch his breath. The commotion drew depreciating glances from Kaiao and Sipowae, though Tioteche just continued talking to a Chief about requisitioning Slaves for the harvest. Huini hoped the Bloodchief hadn't heard at all. How could they have not heard about this, especially Tioteche? How did Tehl know after a few hours in the city? "She's Pregnant?" He whispered in shock. Tehl stifled a laugh with a grin and nodded noncommittally. "Thats what they say." Huini sat thinking it over while Tehl watched him carefully. He was about to ask another question when a series of Tiquini trills erupted from Sipowae.
Bring Him.
Its Time.

"Bring who?" Asked Huini. But if Tehl answered at all, he didnt hear. All his attention was arrested by the man being led into the amphitheater. A Bryman, with fiery red hair and a lasso around his neck. Huini shot forward and used the lip of the Dugout to pull himself upright, all other thoughts washed away as he focused on this new threat.
Presence of Rain.
Eye of the Storm.
He intoned, letting the lifetime of meditation training take hold. Time seemed to slow around him, voices and sounds stretching as his senses sharpened to a hyper-focused edge. He wasn't watched the naked and bound Bryman, no, his eyes were to the crowd. He watched as they hissed and crossed fingers over their mouths. Distantly he was aware Tioteche had spoke the Traitor-God's tongue, but that wasn't important now. The Twae'koa Trained Warrior's eyes drank in details, flickering over the amphitheater. The crowd was agitated, there was movement everywhere. Huini could hear nothing aside from the blood pumping through his body.

There! - Midway up the bowled walls of the theater, a young Chief started standing, too quickly. Huini had already launched himself out of the dugout, tomahawk and knife in hand as the Chief above threw aside his long wampum cloak to reveal a hidden Bolt-Thrower. The man saw Huini as he raised the weapon, panic cracked across his young face. The would-be attacker froze for a moment, but that was all Huini needed. The Warrior calculated the distance between them and firing archs, not with mathematics, but with years of practiced intuition. Huini's tomahawk was already reared back to throw as he landed on his feet-

Huini thought lightning fast, his mind racing as his ingrained training betrayed him. He had forgotten his missing leg - what would have been an acceptable landing now had him tumbling sidelong, unbalanced. He pushed conscious thought to the recesses of his mind and let his training take over, readjusting the trajectory as he fell sideways. The Chief above raised his Bolt-Thrower, aiming down at the dais as those seated around him gaped at him in horror.

From a nearly horizontal position, Huini let fly his tomahawk, his body clenching like a coiled spring to put as much force behind throw as he could from his disadvantaged position. Two heartbeats rang in his ears as the tomahawk flew. He watched the Chief glance sidelong at him, eyes going wide when he realized what Huini had did. The Chief's gaze snapped back to the dais, concentrating on aiming - his arms shaking in fear. He pulled the Bolt-Thrower's trigger the same moment that Huini's tomahawk struck him with a resounding crack. The Warrior couldn't watch the Chief, his eyes followed the Bolt.

The missle streaked through the air like a lightning bolt, narrowly missing the Brymoch Captive's head by a handswidth. Instead it flew past them, into the dugout packed with Kaiao's screaming attendants. The bolt struck one man in the shoulder, penetrated cleanly through and buried itself in the throat of a painted woman. Her scream turned to gurgle as Huini's body finally reached the ground. He rolled sideways with his momentum, coming to a stop in a kneeling position, his body weight supported directly on the stump of his missing leg. The sounds of bone scraping across stone filled his ears. Pain poured up through Huini like an endless deluge, breaking him from his medative state. Sounds and Time flowed back to him along with the pain, threatening to drown him. He began to swoon and would've collapsed if not for the strong hands of the towering Sipowae pulling him to his feet and supporting him upright.

Huini fought off waves of nausea, trying his best to take in events around him. He saw the attacker's body lying midway up the steep steps, tomahawk buried in his chest and blood flowing down the stairs. He heard the roar of a cheering crowd, amplified hundred fold by the acoustics of the amphitheater. Sipowae raised his hand in the air. Tioteche called for a Medicine Man. Huini looked down and saw a trail of blood leading back to where he had landed - and the series of deep scrapes in the tiles where his femur had struck the stone. As the pain became more manageable Huini took stock of his surroundings. Sipowae still held Huini upright while Tioteche knelt down to tie off Huini's bleeding stump. He got the Bloodchief's attention as Sipowae ordered Warriors out of their Dugouts to ring the dais, bellowing about their uselessness in the face of adversaries. Huini looked down at Tioteche and whispered:
"How bad is it?"
"Not great. You've splintered the bone."

Huini winced and looked around again, realizing he'd been leaned against the stone table. Sipowae and Kaiao were exiting the amphitheater through a side door while the gathered Chiefs filed up the various staircases. Huini looked back at his dugout, but Tehl was nowhere to be seen. "My Chief, there's something you should know. You'll hear it soon, so it may as well come from me…"

---

Tehl

Tehl watched as the crowd cheered for Huini, his hands raised by Sipowae. The sound of bone sliding across tiles made her teeth sting and dampened her smile - or so she told herself. In truth, there were a great many things dampening her smiles these days. Tehl rose from the bench, leaving Huini's crutch behind as she exited the dugout. Hoping to beat the rush of attendants using these lower level hallways, she worked her way through several beaded curtains and archways before reaching a vaulted exit chamber leading out to the grand promenade.

There she easily spotted Sipowae, standing a head taller than his followers. She made her way towards him through the crowds, but froze when she saw his companion. Kaiao stood with him, talking in hushed tones. She was recognizable only by her glittering orange face paint. Sipowae bowed his head to hear, nodding. The two High Chiefs shared a laugh like old friends. No, not quite like friends, Tehl noted Kaiao's hand lingering on Sipowae's arm as the Rainchief said goodbye, exiting off onto the promenade as Tehl arrived.

Sipowae turned and smiled wide at his Pathfinder. "Tehl." He said, leading her away from the gathered crowds and eager ears. "I couldn't see you during the Council… Did you manage to speak with one of Tioteche's cadre?" He asked, an eagerness glittering in his dark eyes. Tehl nodded, keeping her face blank, not wanting Sipowae to see the emotion roiling within her. "Huini. I told him what you ordered me to. He believed it, I think. Enough of it anyway."

Sipowae's smile widened even further than Tehl thought possible. "Amazing." He said, cupping Tehl's face in his surprisingly gentle hands. "The Bloodchief's personal Aide. You've done better than expected." He said, releasing her face as she took a step back. Tehl met his gaze, hoping her eyes wouldn't betray her stoic face. "Is it true? Is Kaiao Harboring?"

The Warchief grinned, spreading his hands wide. "If not already, she will be soon." He said with a wink.

I really enjoy this narrative style. Imagining reading this in some quiet corner of The Miktaban was great.