Author Topic: Land of Despots  (Read 18679 times)

The party sets up the downriver camp with no issues. The other advance team, tasked to setting up a camp upstream at the fork spot a group of scouts standing in the swamp rummaging through their supplies. One of them spots the group and alerts the rest, who become cautious.

They have enough supplies for 3 day's travel, 4 if they conserve i—what are those men doing across the river?

The scouts move back to the forest and observes them

Dolo, the leader of the advance team, squints out at the group from the edge of the camp they're setting up. The others are looking too, but he was adamant that they set up the camp first before anything. Dolo stares over towards the swamp, staring at the men before watching them begin to move back and out of sight before he turns back over to his men. "Keep provisions out of sight. Send down the signal to the other team that they know we're here."

Some of the men get to work while two others take a basket painted yellow and toss it into the river, letting the current take it downstream for the other guard post to spot and pass it further down. "Why are they--" begins to ask one before another shushes him, "They're strange men, that's why. Now help me put up the tent."

Watching his men do this for a moment, Dolo turns his head back as he stares back at the others, brows furrowed. Two tents are set up, and some others are taking the time to dig out some holes in the ground to fit in some thick, straight branches as posts. The beginning of making some defenses, it seems.

Another man walks up, two bundles of javelins under each arm, with one bundle being handed over to Dolo before he asks, "Should we say something to them?" Dolo shakes his head. "We're not supposed to. Either they come to us and talk, or they come to us and fight. We don't go to them." he says, as they begin their watch.

Per the go ahead by SWAT and grunter, I'll be playing as someone attached to grunter's tribe.
Name: Shef
   Physical Description: Above average height, very well built, disheveled but not long beard and hair.  Skin darkened from long hours of labor under the sun.
   Personality: Bubbly and slightly spastic, even under trial, to the extent that he seems unhinged to some (many, even).


Shef enters into Haluti lands, noting with immense joy the symbol of his tribe burned into his mind from before his capture so many moons ago.  He knows he may be unwelcome after being so far from the blessed sea for so long, sobering his usually sunny disposition significantly.  Not seeing or hearing anyone, he continues forward and finds the remnants of a camp, but runs past it to a beach.  For the first time in years Shef is at the sea, and he spends minutes playing in it like an oversized child before returning to the abandoned scraps of a Haluti camp and sees clearly that it has been a long time since any Haluti were there - the stones of a fire pit are only slightly darkened after months of weathering, and the footpaths are already encroached upon by vegetation.

Shef moves along the coast in hopes of reuniting with his long lost kinsmen.
« Last Edit: May 30, 2018, 11:14:29 PM by Plethora »

Shef enters into Haluti lands, noting with immense joy the symbol of his tribe burned into his mind from before his capture so many moons ago.  He knows he may be unwelcome after being so far from the blessed sea for so long, sobering his usually sunny disposition significantly.  Not seeing or hearing anyone, he continues forward and finds the remnants of a camp, but runs past it to a beach.  For the first time in years Shef is at the sea, and he spends minutes playing in it like an oversized child before returning to the abandoned scraps of a Haluti camp and sees clearly that it has been a long time since any Haluti were there - the stones of a fire pit are only slightly darkened after months of weathering, and the footpaths are already encroached upon by vegetation.

Shef moves along the coast in hopes of reuniting with his long lost kinsmen.

From the time it has been since the camp had any sort of life around it, Shef still manages to see the signs of the destruction that the settlers there went through. The shards of shattered pots, the dark burnt remnants of lashings, and half of a bedroll that's all but nearly submerged in light foliage and earth.

Within the first few hours and no sign of people, Shef realizes that his journey will definitely be a while. Had he a canoe, there'd be little issue- but as it stands he'll have to make due with his own two legs. As he follows the coastline, the familiar smell of the salt water pleasant to his nose after so long, it becomes noticeable that small islands are beginning to crop up in increasing quantity in the distance.

As the sun is an hour shy of beginning to set, and large jagged rocks jut out from the water, he notices an oncoming block in his path along the coast in the form of a herd of Walruses. Basking in what little sunlight is left, the sunbathing creatures are heard before they're seen, with the adolescents playing or challenging each other and the older ones taking the time to relax.

They have yet to notice Shef, and he's able to recall some knowledge of the creatures- enough to know that it may be within his interests to avoid getting too close, lest he be seen as a threat.

The scouts move from the forest as they are spotted, retreating back to the village to alert the Khan. The Khan in response mounts his horse and grabs a few warriors in the village to move to the swamp's bank. Once he arrives, he waves over to the men across the river, no weapons in his hand.

Shef dimly recalls being warned of the strength of these beasts and gives them as wide a berth as he can as he continues his trek along the coast.  Soon he is tired, despite his impressive strength, as it has been long since he ate or rested, and so, once out of earshot of the walruses, squats down in a shady place and tries to listen for water over the dull roar of the ocean and spy edible plants in the vegetation.  His knowledge of what plants are edible is limited, but he can still remember some of what his parents taught him on the subject long ago.

The scouts move from the forest as they are spotted, retreating back to the village to alert the Khan. The Khan in response mounts his horse and grabs a few warriors in the village to move to the swamp's bank. Once he arrives, he waves over to the men across the river, no weapons in his hand.

It seems that four tents have been erected in the time the scouts had returned to their village and with men working on some waist high 'fortifications' made from large branches, rocks and mud keeping it all together. One of his men spot the Khan and his men arriving at the swamps banks. The signal that alerts the camp is a shrill whistle, the echo of which is audible to the men at the fork in the river.

Dolo exits one of these tents, pushing aside some furs that make up the cover for the entrance as he peers across at the foreign men. His brows furrow and he claps his hands three times- with three of the smaller men moving to the fortifications, hauling small baskets of oblong shaped rocks and with plant-fiber slings in hands. Dolo steps forward, the other men leaving their tents or stopping whatever it was they were doing at that moment to watch as Dolo approaches the riverbank.

His brow rises as he sees the wave from the Khan. He looks back at his men for a moment or two before he returns the gesture with a slow panning from his palm in the air from one side to the next. The exaggerated movement gets some looks from his men, but they eventually just shrug at one another and go back to watching anxiously.



Shef dimly recalls being warned of the strength of these beasts and gives them as wide a berth as he can as he continues his trek along the coast.  Soon he is tired, despite his impressive strength, as it has been long since he ate or rested, and so, once out of earshot of the walruses, squats down in a shady place and tries to listen for water over the dull roar of the ocean and spy edible plants in the vegetation.  His knowledge of what plants are edible is limited, but he can still remember some of what his parents taught him on the subject long ago.

While moving along, Shef avoids attracting the ire of the herd, though he does seem to have caught the attention of a baby Walrus- who watches and seems is about to follow him along before realizing how far its strayed from its herd and heading back in a hurry.

The edge of the sun barely hangs overs in the sky, darkness creeping in to take the light's place. The sounds of the waves coming in and out with the tide is therapeutic- a sound so nostalgic, it's rather euphoric. It also helps remind him of the times he's had with his family and friends, and puts in the thought of the time's he may have missed out on with them- having been stuck inland for so long.

The growling of his stomach is what helps steer him away from such thoughts, however. The memories are admittedly a bit hazy, it's been more than a while since he learned about that and for him, it was never something that he really needed to know. Until now, of course. From what his mind can rack over, he manages to find a collection of taller grasses that stand where the edge. It's not the grass that's important, but rather the verdant green collection of leaves surrounding their base that he recognizes as edible. He's able to grab around a dozen of these leaves- they're medium sized, and leave a bit to be desired. Otherwise, from a look around there isn't all that much that has survived the harsh winter that the land shortly came out of that's edible and able to be found before the moon hangs high in the sky.

While better than nothing, Shef does have the option of braving the night to continue searching around for something more to eat. But choosing to eat the leaves he's got is there, though it may end up with a fairly hungry morning coming up.

"HELLO!", the Khan shouts in his hulking voice, testing the language barrier between them. The mounted warriors beside him look on at the camp, hands on the reigns of their mounts.

Shef eats what leaves he can find and looks for a comfortable spot to rest; the energy of the day's excitement is starting to war off, leaving him well able to rest.  He regrets not stealing firemaking tools from his former master's house, but there had been no time to lose.  In a few minutes, fire or no fire, he dozes off.

"HELLO!", the Khan shouts in his hulking voice, testing the language barrier between them. The mounted warriors beside him look on at the camp, hands on the reigns of their mounts.

Dolo tilts his head to the side, staring quizzically at the Khan from afar. After the awkward silence, it becomes obvious that there is indeed a language barrier. Though it also seems to extend to body language as well. Dolo peers at the men handling the reigns of their mounts- the furrowing of his brow a result of trying to make out exactly what the animal is.

Dolo looks back to the Khan properly now, squinting. He raises his right hand and gestures, and a man from the camp grabs a rawhide bag full of javelins and tosses it to Dolo- who catches it in his arms and then slings it over his shoulder, drawing one out and pointing off back in the direction the Khan and his group came. The gesture is obvious- he's telling them to go back.

One of them men watch Dolo, before looking to the man behind him. "Should he be doing that?" The other looks at Dolo and then back before shrugging. "I.. Don't know?"



Shef eats what leaves he can find and looks for a comfortable spot to rest; the energy of the day's excitement is starting to war off, leaving him well able to rest.  He regrets not stealing firemaking tools from his former master's house, but there had been no time to lose.  In a few minutes, fire or no fire, he dozes off.

Shef's waken up by the light growling of his stomach, as he fades back into the waking world the sound of the tide coming in and then easing back out as the sun rising up in the sky. It's morning now, and he seems to be all in one piece. There's a bit of soreness, having slept where he did, but it's better than waking up back there.

Yndrys


Population: 196
Apparent Ethnicity: Yndric (Khanty mixed with Koryak)
Mythos: The Yndric peoples believe in three great spirits, Okhna, father spirit of the sea, Khana, mother spirit of the land, and Awekha, spirit of the sky. The sea murmurs and roars, and the sky blows and storms, but the land itself is silent. Eons ago, the three spirits worked together to create life to fill the earth, land, sea and skies alike. And so, the earth became full with living creatures. Khana, however, received the greatest gift of all, humans, which were incredibly smart and felt great emotions. Awekha, jealous of this creation, stole the voice from Khana and gave it to all the creatures of the land, and gave the best of the voice to humans. Awekha, in greater jealousy, taught humans to till the earth, to kill other animals and to chop down trees, but even so, they still praised Khana as she continued to bring forth prosperity and life to them. She taught them to kill animals of the sea to then use the prosperity of Okhna for their selfish desires, but they then praised the sea for it's prosperity. Having enough, she then taught the humans to kill each other. The humans, then, rejected the voice of Awekha, rejecting her gift of enmity, and instead using the gift of voice and song to praise the land and the sea.
Culture: Because song and voice is so pivotal to the Yndryssians, they conduct every manner of ceremony with song. (Most of their culture is seen through their power structure)
Power Structure:
I. The Family
The family unit is an important part of Yndryssian culture. A family consists of individuals, or Kamek, who are led by a family head, or Kamek-li, who is the first available successor in a larger family unit, starting first with the male heirs in the nuclear family, then the female, then to the male first cousins, then to the female first cousins. If there is no one found in this group, then the title will go to the oldest in the family, regardless of love. The nuclear family and direct descendants of the Kamek-li are the Pa-kam, and siblings of the Kamek-li and their descendants are the Pa-kwey. Anyone of the Pa-kam who marry the member of another family's Pa-kam will merge the two families. The newly-merged family will be led by both Kamek-li until the most qualified and senior in order of succession can succeed as the new Kamek-li. Any Pa-kam who marries the member of another family's Pa-kwei will absorb the Pa-kwei and their direct descendants into the Pa-kam's family. Any Pa-kwei that marry another family's Pa-kwei shall form their own family unit, the husband becoming the Kamek-li.

II. The Leaders
The Kamek-li are granted rights above the rest of the Kameks, and form a council, or Ynyshu which helps to guide three political leaders of the Yndryssian people. The first is the Woshu-li, or the leader of the military who has earned the respect of the troops and approval of the Ynyshu. The Yaksha, or the spiritual and cultural leader of the people, serves for life, selecting their successor prior to their death or removal from office. If they have not selected a successor prior to being removed from office or death, then the Ynyshu choose a new Yashka. The Yashka is more or less the head of state, and leads all ceremonies of note. The third is the economic leader, who is elected from the Ynyshu by the Ynyshu to represent the tribe's economic needs.

III. The Destitute
Those who are orphaned, or the Kamek-kyo, are overseen by the Yaksha and the Ynyshu. They are raised independently until the age of ten, where they take part in one or both ceremonies to determine their path of life. In late spring, it's trials of spirits, they practice divination, making of salves and medicines, and ultimately try to enter a shamanic trance, where if they succeed, they may become a priest or assistant to the Yaksha. In the early autumn, the trials of war take place, where the youth may prove their aptitude in hunting and other physical challenges. Those that pass become hunter-soldiers. Those that fail in both areas are seen as a nuisance by society since they have no support except what small charity they might receive from the community.

Leader Name: Yaksha Tiwak te-Koh
   Physical Description: An old shaman, age clearly showing on his face, arms and feet—anything not covered by voluminous garments. He has a long beard and a nearly bald head, covered only by sparse, whispy hairs. He walks bent over and with a hobble-y gait, using his staff as support—a stick with a deer skull mounted on its end, feathers and beads adorning it. Only recently, the people have been noticing signs of tremors.
   Personality: Most of the kamek see the Yaksha as a kind and charitable old man, but those closer to him know that this is not the only dimension of his personality.

Men-at-arms: 58
« Last Edit: June 05, 2018, 06:26:21 PM by SWAT One »

The yaksha lets out a sigh, "So... Are you sure that other peoples had moved in?"

"Yes, Yaksha. Our scouts heard chopping of trees at the western river and spotted men on boats heading upriver," a tall, bearded man, adorned in furs, silver beads, and mixed leather and iron armor says, kneeling on a floor of stacked woven mats of grass.

The elderly man across from him, lounging on a bed of furs "How... how long ago was this?" His focus trails off at the end of the question.

"Eight days, sir," the man suppresses the sound of annoyance in his tone, but the emotion is clear on his face.

"I see..." There's a long pause, the elderly man staring off outside the tent, eyes vacant of focus.

"I'll be taking my leave, then," the man says, bowing before rising to his feet. He exits the log house, pushing aside a wooden door and allowing it to be pushed by the wind back into place, the yaksha's attention still focusing on some unknown point in space.

"General, General Tiyala!" A man's voice catches the tall man's attention. "Yes, what is it, Dhokem?"

The man, middle aged, stout and portly, signs of silver hair showing, and adorned in a fur coat and silk sash approaches Tiyala. Though through laboring breaths from his jog, he manages to speak in a hushed tone as they stroll through the village as the general looks onward, "How did it go?"

"Not well. He asked me four times what we found and five times when we found them."

"Do you think that it might be time to consider–"

"Wait." The general raises a hand in front of him, his eyes scanning his immediate proximity. "Let's take this somewhere private."

They walk to a larger yurt near the edge of town and sit down around a table. Cognizant of the thin walls, they continue in hushed tones.

"Tea?" Dhokem offers.

"Yes. Please." The general pauses and looks around the yurt. "It is time to consider bringing this to the Ynyshu, and soon."

"But–the Kaiyely is in two days," Dhokem takes a pot off from the stone stove, with water boiling in it and takes it over to a wood countertop, opening a ceramic container and scooping dried tea leaves into a tin cup, and pouting the hot water over them.

"I know..." he trails off, a hand coming up over his face, dragging down to reveal Dhokem setting the tea down in front of him. "Thank you."

Dhokem sits down across from him, sharing in a moment of silence between them, the wood of the fire crackling away.

"You know I cannot come to the Ynyshu-ka without being summoned," the General states, "But if they don't, I suggest you to advise them that they have a new yaksha in mind."

The two men continue on with their deliberations for a sizeable length of the afternoon. At the end, Tiyala stands and curtly bows, "Call the Ynyshu together, the spirits will make  this right. Thank for the tea. It was lovely as always."

Late Spring.

The snow has all melted and a rainstorm is on the way.

The Haluti camps along the river are completed.

The Yndryssians prepare for a festival.

The Khan gets the message, and retreats back to the village, now aware of the strange peoples near his village. He starts recruiting warriors to defend the village.