What Binds Us
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Rogued1 on 08-11-2014, 04:59:07</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>08-11-2014, 04:59:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size">What Binds Us</span><br>Freya and Rogued1<br><br>Characters:<br><br>World Building:<br><br><strong>Hadju (Easterners)</strong><br><br>Politics:<br>The Hadju are a fierce, proud people whose long history of tribal life makes other more developed nations regard them as savages. In reality the Hadju are simply a modern culture developed from long years of clan fighting, and as such most aspects of their life have roots in war, even though for the most part they are a peaceful people now. <br><br>The Hadju (which literally means united tribes, and can refer to either the nation or the people) are less a nation and more a collection of small nomadic bands who constantly roam the vast spaces of their country in a perpetual migration that takes them from the cold northern reaches of their territory to the sun blasted sands of the south and everywhere inbetween. While the east is a place of varying landscapes, the vast majority of it is a massive grassland populated by titanic herds of Ploic (large horned bovids) and other massive grazing fauna. <br><br>Trade with the west has opened up a unique opportunity for many of the Hadju people, who have discovered that things common to their daily lives, such as spices and pelts, are hot commodities in the west, and can be traded for vastly more valuable things. While most easterners have little use for gold (it being heavy and hard to carry around) they often trade pelts and spices for more practical things, like clothes, tools and weapons. <br><br>Despite the fact that the tribes have more or less ended their constant war, there is still plenty of conflict within the borders of Hadju. Bandits from the west and north are common enough that few people travel unarmed. Even worse, some tribes of truly savage Hadju did not join in the council of elders, and instead take out their fury at the changing world on anyone they encounter. Despite the lasting peace within Hadju, there is still plenty of opportunity for brave men and women to earn names. <br><br>Culture:<br>The Hadju have always believed that ambition and drive are more important than birth, and it isn’t uncommon for Chiefs to select non family members to succeed them if they believe it would be better for their people. Still, if there isn’t a named man or woman within a tribe, power usually passes to the eldest son of the former leader. <br><br>The highest honor among the Hadju is to be Named. Naming is a mark of true accomplishment. Often, but not always, because of skills in combat or war. Everyone is given a name at birth, a name which most people carry until their death. However if they do something extraordinary in life, they are given a new name to signify their deeds. An elder’s power within the council of elders is usually reflected by the number of named people in his or her tribe. <br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>08-11-2014, 05:00:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“I for one believe it’s an excellent idea.”&nbsp; Wheat-tongue smiled over his teat at his western counterpart and placed the delicate porcelain on the table. Oh how he had missed western tea. It was impractical stuff to carry around in the east, requiring too much effort to keep properly fresh, but here in the massive stone tents of the west, it was so common that nearly every household drank it. Wheat-tongue was named for his gifts with languages, when the war with the north began three years earlier, it was he who translated the conversation between the great leaders of both nations, and he who negotiated the lasting peace the two countries enjoyed now. <br><br>“I would normally offer my eldest son to your daughter, he has no wife either, but I would not do you the dishonor of offering my eldest son when my second born in a named man.” When the northerners had poured out of the gap in the mountains years ago, it had been this man, this westerner, who had opened the gates of his home to Wheat-tongue’s people. He had treated them as equals and not turned them away as other western cities had, and in return the Hadju had placed his name in the war cry as the poured from the city to tear into the northern invaders. Many had died, but that was ultimately the turning of the war. For the first time Hadju warriors and western soldiers had fought side by side, the Hadju’s ferocity a perfect match to the westerners organization. Perhaps now was another time to test the collective strengths of both ways of life. “That, and Whisper will make a considerably better husband.”<br><br>Wheat-tongue chuckled a little to himself and took another swallow of sweet tea, savoring the flavor before continuing. “My second son is… well, a breaker of traditions, if I’m perfectly honest. Not that he disrespects the past, he simply seeks to travel the road less traveled, and often that road is at odds with my people’s more… traditional people, such as his brothers. I believe the idea will appeal to him. I doubt he’ll admit it, even to himself, but I think this path will be one he ultimately enjoys.” The old Hadju chieftain settled back in his chair and stared out across the cityscape, the setting sun turning the white stone a brilliant collection of oranges and pinks. <br><br>“We are blessed to see such a possibility within our lifetimes.”<br><br>********<br><br>The pool was perfectly still, the murky water looked perfectly harmless save for the faint scummy layer floating at its top. An average person wouldn’t have noticed it at all. A better hunter might have been cautious about it, after all a pool of this size could hold some dangerous animals, but ultimately left it alone. Whisper however, knew the pool held dangerous secrets, and had tracked footprints through the boggy soil for nearly a day to discover that they ended here. He quietly circled the water, his bare feet parting leaves and avoiding branches with practiced ease, his dark skin splattered with mud to help him blend in. He bit his lip as he knocked the arrow, a bad habit his brother constantly nagged him about, but now was not the time to worry about bad habits, his prey was near. <br><br>He circled the pool for an hour, looking for any sign of movement, any sign of change, but it was still as death and quiet as the grave. This annoyed Whisper more than anything… it was cool here, this far west, far cooler than the grasslands and forests of his home, and much damper. The water didn't leave his skin immediately, instead it clung and chilled him, making his bare toes numb and his muscles stiff. This was no way to hunt, but he had spotted the tracks and knew there was no going back now, now without his prey. He was a named man for a reason, and would uphold that name. <br><br>Another hour passed and Whisper was getting impatient. The beast was here, he had seen the tracks, but it was lazy and unwilling to face him. Damn this cold. He considered jumping in with a knife drawn, but knew how impossibly foolish that idea was. If the tracks were any indicator, what was in there was one of the most dangerous animals Whisper had ever hunted. Another half hour however and he was sick of waiting. At this rate he’d be stuck out here in the dark, which was usually a terrible idea, and he’d be half froze. He imagined his brothers finding him curled up and stiff as tree branch, the only way to thaw him out being to stick a spit up his arse and roast him over a fire. <br><br>Whipser crept to the edge of the pond and drew back his bow. After a moment he dipped his toe into the water and watched the ripples spread out and away, the duckweed and pond scum jigging gently in time to the ripples, except just to the left of where he stood, where they moved out of rhyth. <br><br>“Shit.” Whisper flung himself back as a huge white shape lurched from the water and snapped a bear sized snout at him. It was White! The beast’s pelt was white! He kicked backwards with his feet as he drew the bow back and let loose an arrow, striking the monster in the nose and getting an enraged roar for his troubles. The creature clambered up after him, it’s slick white fur shedding water as its rodent-like paws dug for traction in the mud. The pool might have been a good place for a nap, but it was a poor place indeed for an ambush. Whisper knocked another arrow and fired again, this one getting the monster just below the jaw. He scrambled back further as it gained enough traction to haul it’s massive bulk up out of the water, and retreated to a tree as the monster reared up and tried to take a swipe at him. <br><br>He only had a few arrows left, and didn’t enjoy the idea of facing this beast with his knife, so instead of letting loose another arrow to draw it further, he took careful aim as it charged him and fired for the throat. Even Whisper had to admit it was a lucky shot, the arrow passing cleanly through its windpipe and severing its jugular. The monster took one last swipe at him, then pitched forward with a groan. <br><br>Whisper silently circled the beast for a moment or two while it struggled for breath, perfectly aware that it was still dangerous even in this weakened state, but eventually it gasped its last breath and lay still, its big eyes glazing over. Whipser allowed himself a moment or two of silent congratulations, the smile on his face so wide in nearly hurt, then pulled out his knife and set to work dressing the carcass for transport, which he imagined would be a truly momentous task. Perhaps he’d get another name after this…<br><br>Whipser had only dared to hope when he had first spotted the tracks. He had never even seen an Al-gui in person, only heard stories about the elusive beasts, but as his brothers often said, “Whisper of the Wind will chase a rabbit halfway to the north just to see what color it was.”<br><br>He didn’t disagree with them. Though they said it in jest and returned to their work after a hearty laugh, Whisper would wander off and see things, and the more he saw things, the more he knew how to do other things. And the more he knew how to do, the more the women looked at him with smiles and the more forced his brothers’ laughs became. Let them laugh at this. The Al-gui was bigger than anything he had ever heard of in the stories. The Hadju used Al-gui bones and liver to treat several rare diseases, but actually finding one of the beasts was hard, and killing it was even more so, so the demand for such thing was only really high when someone important was sick. Westerners however, coveted the Al-gui’s pelt, which was soft, strong and waterproof. Whipser had seen a westerner trade a ratty old Al-gui pelt for a horse the last time he had been in a western city, a good horse. A white pelt though? He could trade this for the world… He could trade for the fastest, strongest horse in the west. He could march up to the man with the big gold hat and ask for his chair in exchange for such a fine pelt. <br><br>What Whipser hadn't counted on when he had been tracking the Al-gui, was how he was going to get the majority of it back to camp, which was more than a day away by now. He gutted it and carved out the less useful parts of the monster, but still it weighed as much as he did. He cut more, but it was still way too heavy for one man. <br><br>Finally, with the threat of night creeping up on him he skinned the beast, cut the heart and liver out, pulled its teeth to give to the shamans, and left the rest of the corpse for the forest denizens to finish. Call it his sacrifice to the great sky hunter for such a rare beast. His howling children would feast well tonight. <br><br>It was midday before Whisper spotted the nomads ahead in the distance. They were on their way to a western city, the name of which Whisper had never learned the western word for. After the western chief had opened the great doors to Whisper's tribe when the Northmen invaded, the Hadju had always called the place Haven. They had even made the western chief a Named Man, and called him Gatekeeper, a name that hadn’t been used since the dark times before the council. Whipser’s father, Wheat-tongue, was friends with the man and went to visit Gatekeeper in his stone house for a few weeks every year. Whisper’s tribe would arrive a few days later and trade spices and pelts in town while Wheat-tongue and Gatekeeper did whatever chiefs do. Whisper often used the time as an excuse to go hunting alone, the press of the stone buildings made him claustrophobic, but not this time. This time he had a pelt to trade. <br><br>The caravan had stopped for the evening, giving Whisper enough time to catch up while being slowed by the pelt. As he struggled into the firelight, heads rose from bowels and conversation stopped as he flopped the pelt onto a blanket and flopped himself down next to it. “Whisper, what in the name of the gods have you killed this time?” Whisper smiled up as the tribe crowded closer and unrolled the massive pelt across the blanket. <br><br>“What is it?”<br><br>“By the great hunter, that’s an Al-gui! A <em>White</em> Al-gui!” There was excited chatter as the tribe pressed closer, all peering to get a better look at the huge pelt. Whisper passed the organs and teeth he had collected to one of the shammen and stretched out across the massive fur like a satisfied cat, basking in the glow of admiration from his people. <br><br>“When we get to the Western city, I’m going to trade this for a horse better than Black Toes’!” Black Toes was a favorite legend among the Hadju, a Hadju warrior who had gone to the north to fight, only to lose all her toes to frostbite. Instead of giving up like most might have, Black Toes learned how to fight on horseback and became a legend. It is said that she was the one who brought the secret of mounted combat to the Hadju. <br><br>Whisper was aware that someone was standing in his fame, and opened his eyes to see Tul-mar, his oldest brother, standing at the edge of his pelt, Whisper’s other brothers gathered around him like chicks around a hen. “Too bad Whisper, seems an eagle has a turtle for you!”(someone else has plans that will ruin the ones you've made) Tul-mar roared in laughter, and his brothers did the same.<br><br>Whisper gave his brothers an annoyed frown and sat up on his pelt. “Who’s this eagle?” <br><br>“Father, he send Gotro back with a message this morning.” Whisper sneered. He didn’t have anything against Gotro personally, but he was exceptionally jealous of Gotro’s horse, which he had stole from a Northern soldier during the war.<br><br>“And, the turtle?”<br><br>“Seems Gatekeeper needs someone to marry his daughter, and father thinks you’d look quite pretty all dressed up like a western gentleman!” Presented to him in another way, Whisper might have seen the merit in the idea. Presented to him by his jealous older brother, as the butt of a joke, in front of his entire tribe, Whisper was not quite so welcoming. Tul-mar caught a punch to the underside of his jaw that snapped his mouth shut and sent a painful shock through his teeth. He barely had time to get out of the way before another blow whizzed past his ear. Tul-mar threw a hard right hook, but Whisper, who had done a lot more fist-fighting, caught in and used it to throw Tul-mar off balance. <br><br>The tribe backed away from the two brothers, who fought often with words, and frequently with fists, and let them get to it. Eventually Tul-mar would land a lucky blow, or Whisper would wear his older brother down, or the two of them would fight and fight until neither one had the strength to stand. Whisper’s other brothers would sometimes intervene, but often times they simply stayed out of the way, and tried to keep the two from killing each other.<br><br>Eventually the fighting settled down into enraged insults flung across the campfire, then to nothing but angry snoring as the two brothers ran out of words and strength.&nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Valerie</strong> on <strong>15-11-2014, 13:26:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Dusk donned a sparkling dress of magic; the rising star gradually painted heaven’s canvas into life. Purple, crimson, peach, golden. The delicate rays of light clung to the soft wool high in the sky and when the sun finally crawled above the horizon, a new day would begin. One more day in the long book of life, and today would have followed the same pattern as any other day if yesterday hadn’t unravelled the way it had. The end of an extensive and rather tedious chapter had finally closed, and today marked the day for a new one; one Falena Mithanil (https://31.media.tumblr.com/6c6f5079d60a214095301f0dbf823be5/tumblr_nefgkykk581rnqt9wo1_500.jpg) was less keen on putting quill to parchment for. The warm sea of linen and silks the maiden rested in was far too alluring to even consider the thought of abandoning the bed. If she could have it her way, she would never leave it from now on. There was a prominent heaviness in her chest, a lump of ache that worked well with gravity and kept both mind and body completely still. <br><br>Yesterday had been peculiar in more ways than one. Not only had it been her twenty-first name day, but a day of great change. It had been a timid celebration, because she had since long crossed the fine line between young and old; and getting old wasn’t something to praise within their vain and number obsessed society. Twenty-one was close to ancient and it most certainly crossed her off any list a reasonable man would have in his pursuit for a wife. <br><br>The red head was envious of her married friends, and she knew that it was a horrible thing to be. But she couldn’t help it, and the bizarre announcement from yesterday had shattered the last picture she had made up in her mind. A delicate image built by hopes and expectations she had adapted and reduced as the years had come and gone. As a young naïve girl of fourteen she had hoped for a Prince of might and wealth; it had been the pathetic dream she had latched on to when she came of age. After a whole year of waiting; of getting her hopes up and always becoming dreadfully disappointed, she had reduced her image of the perfect man drastically. An honoured knight or a prosperous merchant would do; wealth wasn’t important for as long as they made each other happy. Then the war came and killed off any armoured men she might would have said yes to. She had reined in her expectations once again after that; she would settle with anyone and happiness wouldn’t matter either this time. And when no one appeared after six years of waiting, she had finally eliminated the last bit of hope and cranny of expectation. She had convinced herself hard-headedly that she would be fine on her own; that there was no room for a man in her life. But of course, such a conviction stung to embrace when there had always been the wish to have a family of her own. <br><br>She would have to leave. It was the single thing that ran through her mind like a frightened horse. The thought of having to leave the place the heart shouted home and her family that meant the world to her, had shaped up to the swelling in her chest. The mass of unshed emotions ached to no end, and the pessimistic part of her had been quick to dim all the positive lights of the arranged marriage. <br><br>From where she rested in the bed in between the city’s finest textiles, she had an excellent view of the birth of day. The thin screen of glass that separated hot from cold was uneven and blurry as the masters still was in the process of taming the beautiful art. The irregularities did not lessen the splendour though, and while she was too energized to sleep, but too drained to leave the bed, she studied the daily phenomenon with little thought of the coming day. How would she be able to live without her family? The issue didn’t reside with <em>him</em> – the man she had only heard so little of – but in the changes that had to be made.&nbsp; The eastern part of the world was… uncivilised if she dared to believe the rumours, and she doubted that she would last a day out there. How could she? She had been spoiled rotten thanks to her heritage and even a simple task as cooking was as unknown and foreign as her eastern spouse.&nbsp; <br><br>Two soft knocks on the wooden door suddenly tested the silence within the chamber, and in the following moment the hinges creaked loudly as the door slid open. The visitor was one of great familiarity; her beloved mother Sathyn who had yesterday cracked the news. Needless to say, it had changed everything.<br><br>“Good morning.” <br><br>“Morning.”<br><br>“How are you feeling?” Sathyn asked as she slowly seated herself on the bedside. Her pale lips wore a gentle smile and when the reply delayed significantly, she remained patient. <br><br>“I don’t know.” The confession was nothing more than a frail whisper. <br><br>“I think everything will feel a lot better once you meet him.” <br><br>Acting more like a twelve-year old then the young lady she was, Falena pulled the thick covers over her head when he was mentioned once again. “I don’t believe I dare to meet him.” Her words came out as a soft mumble through the layers of fabric. <br><br>“Oh, don’t be silly child.” Her mother snorted, as if she didn’t believe a word that fell from her daughter’s mouth.&nbsp; “Get up and get dressed; I have something to show you.” <br><br>Sathyn left her daughter alone with the words that she expected her ready sooner rather than later. When the massive door of dark oak closed and welcomed solitude again Falena thought about staying in bed despite her mother’s request. If she was lucky, then her body might take root in the bed of straw and then there would be no need for her to leave the citadel. <br><br>Knowing that wishful thinking wouldn’t lead her far, the ginger girl tossed away the comforters and dressed quickly in a long, blue gown fit for the early hours of day. She tamed the red tresses with the comb made out of whalebone and left the warm bedchamber to join her mother who she found in the Great Hall.&nbsp; Together they left the castle and its busy grounds behind, and to Falena’s discomfort, her mother answered very vague on every question she asked. Eventually she gathered a conclusion from her fruitless attempts and they ended up maintaining the silence as they walked and wandered, until they finally reached the familiar stables belonging to the fortress.&nbsp; <br><br>“What are we doing here?” Tossing her conclusion away, Falena broke the seal of silence as they walked through the iron gates and into the inner yard. The smell of horse, hay and straw clung to the brisk morning air.<br><br>“You will know soon. I think we are right in time.” A petite smile jerked on Sathyn’s lips while it infected her eager voice and she hurried her steps. Together they walked past the two rows of stable buildings, past the large inner yard and toward the first of many paddocks. They stopped by one of the smaller ones and just as her mother had predicted, they were right in time to watch how one of the stable boys released their crown jewel into the pasture. A whole night in the stall seemed to have done little in its favour as the mount exploded in energy the moment the halter came off. The esteemed three-year old was a spectacular being; a shimmering mirage of dark gold that flew across the paddock with a mighty gait. Stretching its black, slender legs by every long step and when it approached the sudden end of the enclosure the stallion would stop so abruptly that it almost sat down on its behind when it slid the last couple of meters until the full stop came. Then he turned around and moved with an equal speed to the other end of the pasture, before he repeated the wild pattern again. Anything to rid the tickling energy that seemed to drive him mad.<br><br>“Your father’s best colt since Maredon. I believe he possess everything the Hadju value; stamina, strength, speed.” Sathyn began after admiring the mount for long, and the gentle smile of hers had transformed into a canny grin. <br><br>“I don’t understand…” The smoky black Maredon had been the most fierce war horse ever bred in their stables, and while the beast was closing in on thirty now and had since long retired from the battlefield, the monster had a knack of killing off the stable boys. One thought that they should learn by now to stay cautious around the scarred mount, but last week’s tragedy spoke differently. At least the bay dun youngster did not seem to possess his sire’s aggressiveness. <br><br>“This will be your tribute.” Her mother finally revealed. It was an ancient Western tradition that the lady would gift her fiancée a worthy tribute for their coming marriage, and while ordinary men from the West would have preferred a chest of gold, Sathyn knew that a horse – not to mention one of the greatest horses in the West – would be better than any sum of gold for an easterner. “I have already spoken to your father about this and you have his blessing to give away the horse.” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>16-11-2014, 22:58:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				From the city, the approaching caravan might have looked like some massive herd of polic for all the dust poured into the air, but instead of the worry that might have been drawn from such a large gathering of the aggressive animals, there was anticipation and excitement as the gates were pulled open and the road to the fairground cleared of all obstructions. City guards stood at attention at every cross road and forbid anyone foolish enough to forget what time of year it was from straying into the main avenue. The arrival of the Hadju was usually a celebrated time. Where as before only a few easterners dared cross the boarder to do trade with their more domestic neighbors, now entire tribes would make the trek to reach this city or that, the possibility of profit, friendship and community a strong draw to many. <br><br>Nowhere was this more apparent than when Wheat-Tongue's tribe arrived at the gate of their closest ally's home. The three years of war with the northerners had changed many, many things. Where there had only been suspicion between the two groups before, now there were friendships grown through collective hardships, there were romances born of understanding, and businesses crafted of mutual cooperation. Merchants waited eagerly for their chance at the Hadju pelts and spices, friends waited eagerly to talk to their eastern or western counterparts, to show how their families had grown and to drink merrily and remember the fallen from those long years of war, and lovers waited eagerly to spend a few nights bridging the cultural gap between nomad and citizen. There was a festive feeling in the air, and as Whisper lead his people through the gate, a cheer erupted from crowds gathering to welcome the easterners into their home. The fairgrounds, usually home to tourneys or challenges during the rest of the year, was cleaned and groomed for the occupation of the Hadju. <br><br>Whisper admittedly was not in a festive mood, even with the weight of the Al-gui pelt across his back, he was having a hard time forcing the smile to his lips. Still, he had, if not found memories of this place, fond memories of it's people, and the atmosphere was infectious enough that he found himself waving to the crowds. After all, he was a war hero here, had earned his name fighting with these people. By the time the nomads had rounded the last street and were on their way to the fairground, Whisper was smiling and waving, tossing saucy winks to the western women and not caring a bit when the men on either side of them scowled. The fairground were green and pleasant, cleared of their usual trash and storage and laid bare like a blanket on a wedding bed. Whisper spent the better part of the day helping to organize the camp and making sure peace reigned supreme in this hectic time. <br><br>Most of the adults left immediately after staking claims to a spot for their yurts, in Hadju society, it was usually the duty of the children to erect the sleeping quarters while the adults prepared food or went hunting. Whisper was not spared the task of placing his own sleeping place, but instead of the large hide huts his people favored, Whisper preferred a simple piece of cloth hung between two trees and a bit of oil cloth above that to keep out the rain. While the Easterners had no name for it, he had heard Westerners call it a hammock. That task done, Whisper swept the camp to make sure everyone's needs were being met, helped a few of the younger children get their families home supported, found replacements for anything that had been damaged in the trip, and in general saw to the needs of his people. This was usually Wheat-Tongue's task, but with his father gone, Whisper took it upon himself to see the camp fully prepared before setting off. In truth, his father would likely arrive soon, and Whisper was torn between demanding an explanation, bargaining, or flat out refusing to go through with such a ludicrous idea as marriage. <br><br>"Yodiki-Gotdu-Garrama!" (Whisper of the Wind!) Wheat-tongue called out when he spotted his son dragging on a rope while a pair of younger children hauled a tarp into place. <br><br>"Shodi-Tal!" (Wheat Tongue!) Whisper replied and glanced up from his work. He waited until the two children had secured the tarp before turning to embrace his father with a big bear hug, the traditional greeting amoung Hadju. <br><br>"I hear you had quite the successful hunt on the way here." Whisper nodded and smiled. "It's a truly beautiful beast father."<br><br>"Indeed, if what your brothers say is true, then it will make a most fitting gift for your wife!" Whisper only somewhat caught the fact that his brothers had spoken a good word about him, most of the conversation collided with complete and utter incomprehensibility. <br><br>"G-Gift?! Father I spent two days stalking the Ali-Gui!"<br><br>"Indeed! What a dedicated husband you will make!"<br><br>Whisper opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to work out the words to counter his father's good nature. Wheat Tongue was rather good at leaving him speechless. "I... I cannot marry a Western woman!" Whisper finally erupted and stood glaring.<br><br>"Nonsense, they work just the same way our women do! With the success you have with our women, surely you'll figure it out with her."<br><br>"I, No! This is the most ridiculous scheme you've concocted yet! What good would a soft western woman do me?!" His confusion and disbelief had given way to anger, which made Wheat Tongue frown. <br><br>Whisper did not see the hand move until he felt it against his cheek, Wheat Tongue might have been old, but he was still just as capable as he had been in his youth. Whisper stumbled and stood, his hand cupping the red mark rising on his face. "Don't be childish boy!" Wheat Tongue roared, and the children Whisper had been helping fled from their chief's anger. "This is not about you, or your pride! This is about our people! This union will mean the uniting of the Westerners and the Hadju! You have always reveled in frustrating the traditionalists! Well here's you greatest revel yet!" <br><br>Whisper stood gawking with his mouth open, but in the face of his father's wrath, he couldn't find the words to protest. Wheat tongue always fought with words, and he always won by them. Had this been about hunting, or about hiding, Whisper would have been the victor, but he had been foolish enough to challenge his father at his own game. "Now, go get your pelt and come with me, I'm sure your new bride would prefer the blood cleaned from it before you drape it across her shoulders!" <br><br>********<br><br>Whisper found himself in a place that made his stomach crawl, a tailor's dedicated to the highest level of fashion this side of the kingdom. The man who stood before him was legendary for his skills with a needle and thread, a wizard of cloth, and perhaps the most flamboyant dandy Whisper had ever laid eyes on. Every move the man made was first to show the cut of his clothing, and second for actual locomotion. He wore powder and sky blues in such shades that made Whisper wonder if, at any moment, a cloud would float across his chest. His mustache was oiled out to points that stuck out so far from his head, Whisper wondered if he had to turn his head sideways to fit through the narrow doorway of his shop.<br><br>"Good evening gentlemen!" Whisper cringed, " Welcome to my humble little shop! What may I do for such a prestigious pair as the chief of the Hadju and his legendary son?!" Wheat Tongue was far from being the only chief of the Hadju, but he let this pass without comment.<br><br>Wheat tongue bowed to the exact angle necessary when greeting a man of this stature and stomped down on Whisper's foot when he did not do the same. Whisper fumbled a bow and straightened, tossing his father a dirty look as he said in perfect westerner. "Ah, good evening Master Demui're! We have need of a gift, an outfit fit for our rugged way of life, and yet comfortable and stylish, a blending of our societies if you will, cut for a young woman about my esteemed son's age." <br><br>Demui're smiled and nodded. "But of course! Has such a woman caught the eyes of the legendary Whisper?"<br><br>Whisper balked, and Wheat Tongue stomped on his foot again. "Erh, Yes, yes one has. A western woman, to be my partner in life." Whisper said in somewhat halting Westerner. He had spent enough time among these people to speak their language, but was at a loss as to express such emotions as Master Demui're did with even a single syllable. <br><br>This was really happening, he was to marry Gatekeeper's daughter. He was to marry a Westerner. A cold drop of sweat ran down his spine. Perhaps he had better request some time with his father to learn these people's way of life.<br><br>"I see! Such a lucky Woman no doubt needs the comforts of home, but the rigidity of something more... durable?" Demui're rubbed his chin for a moment, then moved to one of the tables of his shop and pulled a bold of cloth from it. "Perhaps a gown of Labrinsin Silk? Durable, and very comfortable." Wheat tongue shook his head. <br><br>"No, while I will never complain about the comfort of Labrinsin, it is hardly resistant to snags, and is far from water proof. The most treasured clothing of my people is made to keep the rain at bay." He nodded to Whisper, who reluctantly removed the bundle from his back and placed it on the table.<br><br>"Why, what is this?" Demui're asked, his curiosity genuinely attracted. Whisper untied the bundle and spread the pelt out across the table. It took up the entire table and spilled down the sides like a great white waterfall. <br><br>"Ohhhh." Demui're breathed and bent to stroke the pelt, his clothing demonstrating movements forgotten. "This is... this is a truly beautiful thing you have brought me master Whisper! This western madam of yours is quite the lucky woman. Yes indeed!" <br><br>"Could you fashion something from this? Perhaps a ridding jacket, breaches, boots, gloves, all the essentials of long travel. Perhaps... a bit of dye to give it a more natural coloration... While I would never suggest you undo such a beautiful shade of white, I'm sure you know my son's reputation for being a shadow. I'm afraid it will be hard for a woman to keep up with him should she be wearing bright white clothing."<br><br>Demui're ran both hands over the fur. He gathered a handful of it and brought it, still stinking of Al-gui, to his face and rubbed it against his cheek. "Why, of course. I shall have the best dyers in the kingdom set about making a pattern at once! There is however, the matter of price..."<br><br>Wheat Tongue gave his son a wink and turned fully to the master tailor. "Ah, and what would such an outfit cost?"<br><br>Demui're licked his lips, aware that he was dealing with the best negotiator in the east or west, and glanced down at the pelt. "Why, such an outfit would be... invaluable. Irreplaceable. One of a kind in even the most fashionable of cities. Envy of the Queen and every woman of court! Surely, surely asking to retain the remaining hide, after all accessories had been made of course, is not too much to ask?"<br><br>Whisper knew the value of even a scrap of Al-gui pelt, and even after such an outfit as his father was suggesting, there would be a fortune of material left over. Surely he wouldn't agree-"<br><br>"Done. Begin work immediately Master Demui're, we have a wedding to announce soon."<br><br>Demui're nodded enthusiastically and smiled. "Yes, of course! I shall place all other orders on hold. Even if the Queen threatens to throw me in prison, I shall have this outfit made!" Wheat Tongue made the necessary arrangements, sighed the appropriate papers, (Whisper would have to remember to have his father teach him how to do that) and bit the master tailor good day. <br><br>********<br><br>"That went very well I think." Wheat Tongue commented as they stepped out into the street.<br><br>"Well? Well?! You gave almost half of my pelt away!"<br><br>"And what would you do with half an Al-gui pelt?"<br><br>"I was going to trade it! I was going to trade for a horse! The most magnificent horse in the west! A horse to make Black toes' spirit weep with envy! And you just, <em>gave</em> it away!"<br><br>"Stop whining Whisper, for being the only named son I have, you can be quite the child when things don't go your way."<br><br>Whisper was stunned into silence, long enough for his father to launch into the next part of what Whisper was quickly beginning to think of as his scheme. "Now, you have yet to meet Gatekeeper's daughter, so listen closely. A feast will be held tomorrow night, one in which the two of you will be introduced. It will be a westerner's feast, so there are many things for me to teach you before then. Do not forget them. All of the city's important people will be there, watching you."<br><br>Whisper swallowed hard, suddenly wishing the Al-gui had dragged him into the pond and eaten him. <br><br>"Now, the first thing to remember about Western feasts is this: they use lots of little tools to take apart their food..." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Valerie</strong> on <strong>19-11-2014, 16:55:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“What do your eyes see, Lady Falena?”<br><br>Realising that she must have zoned out from both body and mind, the red head regained herself quickly. “I see my future.” After a long moment of consideration the soft words surfed out on a light sigh. She gathered the reins of her idle mount that was keenly devouring the leaves from a young birch. It was time to leave. <br><br>“Do you want to ride closer and catch a better glimpse at it?” suggested Maédóc Galarion kindly, her friend and loyal watchdog. The brightest hours of the day had gone by and the fairgrounds were blooming in life since the nomads’ arrival. Falena hadn’t meant to come here at all, but they had passed the field along the way and a tiny spark of curiosity had dragged them there. They had watched for a distance, looking aimlessly at the lively crowd that was settling in. <br><br>“No.” She breathed lowly and the blue scarf that covered her face fluttered. Silence established itself between the pair and she carefully turned to look at the middle-aged man.<br><br>Young children thought of him as scary, women saw him as monstrous and men would have taken the opportunity to spit on him if given. His dirty blonde hair was shaven on the sides and the long, thick tresses left on top of his head was gathered in a multitude of braids, which in turn had been gathered in a thick ponytail. He was blessed with a pair of stunning eyes and they were the bluest ones Falena ever had seen, but she knew it was a delicate feature many often overlooked. He was a marked man; a felon and his face was marred with the decoration of the red hand of caution. Any man that ventured too far beyond the boundaries of laws found himself being branded by the iron once caught. <br><br>The handprint-shaped scar covered his whole face; the healed skin was thick and bulging, and even after twenty years, the redness still hadn’t faded. Some declared it never would either, because the iron had supposedly been given as a gift from Remnon – the god of misdeeds and penalties. Even those condemned to rot until death finally came was branded, because if they ever managed to escape the iron bars the whole world would still see them for what they truly were.&nbsp; <br><br>Maédóc had trekked the road of redemption though. She remembered being thirteen the day she asked him about the mark and he had been quite frank with her, deeming her mature to hear the uncensored version. In a drunken haze he had struck and killed two men after they had sullied his little sister. Abandoned by their parents and slaving in the service for a foul cabbage farmer, there hadn’t been any funding to pay for someone to stitch her up. A month after the ordeal a fever had burned her from the inside out and she had departed to the afterlife. She suffered until the very end, Galarion had told her. <br><br>And then the stars aligned, the planets convened and the skies opened; the two men returned to the rural village a month after her death.&nbsp; Still wounded by grief and with liquor clouding every ounce of sense within him, he had killed them. Two men that stood under her father’s control and of course, justice had come for him a week later. They had dragged him all the way back to the great citadel to toss him in the dungeons without summing up all the facts. A month later, the Lord had become privy to the incident and the history that had led up to it. As a result he had plucked Galarion from the dungeons and her father had cut pride in half and apologised, because he had known of the unstable nature of the two soldiers. <br><br>Galarion had been offered freedom, but had instead asked for a purpose. Not having anything to tie him to the earthly life anymore, the Lord allowed him to join the ranks of his house. After close to twenty years of loyal service he had proved himself more than once to their family and Falena couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t been around to watch her whenever she ventured beyond their stone home. She knew already that she would miss him dearly.<br><br>“Have you met him?” She inquires after a while. They should leave, they really should, but there is something about the nomadic camp that keeps her idle and away from action.<br><br>“No, Lady Falena, I have not. Although birds do twitter…” <br><br>“I don’t want to hear rumours.” Falena cut in quickly and the haste turned the words harsh. She wanted to meet him without expectations. Rumours had the foul tendency to shape up a blurry and untrue reflection of the real thing. Not clinging onto a fantasised image of the man she would have to spend the rest of her life with was an act of mercy for herself; a way of shielding herself. If there was no hope and no fear when they finally stood face to face then there would be no fundamental reason to be disappointed. At the same time, there would be not be a thought restraining her if he did fit n the long gone and abandoned silhouette of the ideal husband. <br><br>“Understandable.” Máedóc murmured and hesitated, before launching a carefully picked question. “Do you know anything about him?”<br><br>“I’ve heard that he fought in the war, but that is all I know.” <br><br>Silence came again and crept in between them, and they continued to aimlessly watch until the camp seemed to have cooled down.<br><br>“Shall we perhaps take our leave? The day is fading.” His inquiry was met with a vague nod, before they turned their horses around and abandoned their place on top of the small hill that had given them a good, distanced view of the Hadju’s camping grounds. <br><br><br><div align="center"><strong>~</strong><br></div><br>Today is the day of the feast and the level of anxiety is well on its way to touch the clouds. There is a heaviness behind her blue eyes, one caused from all the sleep lost throughout the night. She had trashed and turned, flipped her comforter, quilts and pillows until no end, opened a window for fresh air and drunk some wine in the midst of hopelessness, but in all she had only managed to catch a few hours of sleep. It was far from the idyllic start for a day loaded with jittering nerves, and instead of lingering in the bed that offers her little rest, she decide to start the day early. She eats breakfast with mother and Ida, her father’s second wife, before spending the morning with the seamstresses to touch up the final details on tonight’s dress. <br><br>She is released from their needles and pins when the sun just crawled onto its highest peak. Tonight’s feast spurs the whole castle in a frenzy of preparations and she sick sacks her way through the corridors to avoid the multitude of rushing servants. She meets her father just outside the main kitchen, counting the barrels of wine and ale for the feast. There is at least a dozen of them and she wonders amusingly if he intend to drown the guests.&nbsp; <br><br>“Good day.” Kaived greets when she steps into his field of view. <br><br>“Greetings father. I can see that the preparations are coming along.” <br><br>“Aye, there is not much left to do. The kitchens are in full swing.” <br><br>“Hm, what’s on the menu tonight?” Falena asks politely although her appetite is hidden away with any excitement for the coming feast. <br><br>“There most thrilling dish on the table will be wildcat; a morveen.” Kaived announced, sounding proud; a strong tone that matched the smile his lips carried. Wildcat was a rather dodgy term for the real thing. Morveens could be found roaming in packs on the mountains close by and they didn’t exactly come in the typical street cat size. The largest one ever slayed had been three meters from short nose to sharp tail, but it was rare that they managed to grow that big. The typical feline creature reached the height of a large hound and they all sported a deep ash grey fur. A solid coloration that created quite the contrast toward the white mane the males often grew.<br><br>“And I suppose <em>you </em>take credit for this spectacular addition?” She speaks lightly, in a teasing manner and her father smiles fondly in return. The Lord of the castle was stuck in the old ways and stood by the ancient tradition that the host should bear responsibility to put the most extravagant dish on the table. <br><br>“What gave me away?” <br><br>She feels a bit lighter and the lump in her chest shrinks. Her father had always been a busy man, now more than ever when the nomads had come and it was moments like this that were precious to her. They share a small laugh, until there is a change of subjects and suddenly, she doesn’t feel as light anymore. “Are you excited for tonight?”<br><br>The smile of hers falters in an instant. “I don’t know.” The hesitance to her voice makes the lie more obvious; how can she be excited? “I am nervous… and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this nervous.” She can feel her heart rush a little faster and she takes a small, calming breath. She still have hours until the feast; hours before they have to see each other. <br><br>“There is nothing wrong with some dancing nerves.” Her father reassures gently. “But know this; he is a good man and there is no reason to harbour any fear.” <br><br>Falena had always been a careful and cautious individual; finding little thrill in the unknown and unfamiliar, which was probably one of the reasons why she enjoy the company of Galarion so much. They were cut from the same cloth and unlike her father, who is quite the adventurer, the watchdog knows the scare that comes from stepping beyond the boundaries of comfort. <br><br>What is there to say? She simply nods and leaves words out of it, because she doesn’t want to discuss tonight’s celebration or her mysterious spouse. The mere mentioning of him aids her nervousness further and she almost fears that these trembling nerves might shake the meat from her bones. Taking her escape sooner rather than later, she says her goodbye before departing.<br><br>“I should go father, I’ll see you tonight.” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>19-11-2014, 21:41:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Whisper had opted not to bother with sleeping, as he knew it would never come, and instead joined the city’s complement of scouts, who he had spent most of his time with during the war. Where they had once numbered almost a hundred competent woodsmen and spies, there were now only twelve. War was a hard time for everyone, but no one more so than the person who must stalk an army across the landscape and do everything in his power to avoid being caught. One pair of eyes praying it isn’t seen by ten thousand. <br><br>Those that had survived were hard, capable men who valued their solitude, but occasionally got together to raise a glass to those who had fought and died with them. The Hadju, normally non partisan to the idea of women doing what men did, would not allow women to be scouts. Wars were won and lost by good scouting, and a captured scout could expect to see the worst his enemies could offer in hospitality. After all, nowhere was it more likely that a single man could swing the tide of war one way or another. It was a fact they all knew, and a fact they all accepted. The Hadju had only seen three scouts survive the war, and while Whisper’s legacy meant that soon others would follow in his footsteps, for now it was only him, and a pair of twins named Objui and Yoncsta. <br><br>They had crowded into the Fairway Inn on the edge of the fairgrounds that was owned by one of the western scouts, a man named Brock. He had retired at the end of the war, bought the inn with his comission money, and married a Hadju woman named Kodju-Adani. In that time he had grown a massive belly that wobbled comically when he laughed, a mustache and beard that quivered when he chuckled, and a sense of humor that saw both of his physical traits constantly in motion. Whiper was having a hard time maintaining his somber mood with Brock’s constant laughing at his own jokes, and soon he was well into his cups with the rest of them, chuckling and cracking badly made jokes while Kodju-Adani brought them mug after mug of hot Hadju spiced wine. <br><br>The conversation had started melancholy enough, but with enough drinks in them the scouts fell into the swing of celebration and raised a glass at nearly every opportunity. <br><br>“To warm places to sleep!” Objui stood up and raised his glass.<br><br>&nbsp;Yoncsta stood and raised his glass as well. “To warm women to sleep with!” <br><br>The others stood, some on unsteady feet, called a “Hear Hear!” and drained their mugs. Kodju-Adani brought another tray of mugs, and as she turned to leave, Brock caught her around the waist and dragged her giggling into her lap.<br><br>“Warm women indeed!” Brock yelled, and his laugh sent his belly into a jumble of quivers that had Whisper laughing so hard tears ran down his face. His mood soured again though, seeing Brock and his Wife happily smiling at each other. They had married for nothing more than mutual attraction and general love. There was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t find either of those in his new wife. <br><br>“What’s crawled into your tree and died Whisper?” Alex, a relatively young western scout asked. He had been no more than sixteen when the war had started, but even now still looked a boy. His looks had served him well though, as he had managed to escape the notice of the Northern hordes several times by pretending to be a farm hand. <br><br>“Did’ya not hear the news?” Yoncsta asked, his Hadju accent, combined with copious drink, making his intonation bounce like a warbling bird. <br><br>“Whisper’s going to get himself a wife!” Objui interrupted.The table erupted into a clamor and Whisper sighed and put a hand over his eyes. <br><br>“That’s no such look of a near married man!” Kodju-Adani said with a smile and hopped up from her husband’s lap to head to the bar.<br><br>“Who is she? What’s she like?” The scouts implored, and Whisper gave a helpless sigh.<br><br>“I have no idea, I’ve never met the girl. She could be a polic in a babre (hadju female underclothing, very revealing, usually used for husband’s birthdays and wedding nights) for all I know. Wheat Tongue planned the whole thing. I had no part in it.” The celebratory mood dropped somewhat, and the men returned to their chairs.<br><br>“Erh, who is it then?” Dockson, a short portly scout who was missing most of his teeth, asked. <br><br>“Gatekeeper’s daughter. It’s some sort of political alliance.”<br><br>“Kaived’s daughter? You must mean Lady Falena!” There was a collective shocked silence as the others mulled this thought over. “Thats… very interesting.” One scout lamely concluded and fell quiet.<br><br>Whisper was suddenly morbidly cusious. “What is she like?”<br><br>The westerners in the room paused to consider this, then finally Brock spoke. “She’s, well she’s quite the beauty.”<br><br>“Great flowing red locks, bright blue eyes the color o’the sky.” Someone else added.<br><br>“Kind of a plain woman.” Someone added, and someone else cuffed him on the ear.<br><br>“She’s his second daughter, her younger sisters rightly hate her.”<br><br>Whisper started, suddenly worried. “Why do they hate her?”<br><br>The speaker put a finger on his lips. “Cause she ain’t married yet.”<br><br>Whisper felt he was missing something. “Yes?”<br><br>“It is a western tradition. For a woman to marry, her elder sisters must first be married.” Kodju-Adani interrupted as she set a blue glass bottle on the table and produced fifteen small crystal tumblers. She opened the bottle with much reverence and poured out the amber colored liquid into each glass. When each glass was full, she took the bottle in hand and smiled. “And it is a Fairway Inn tradition that the announcement of a marriage must be met with the best drink in the House!” She held the bottle up, and the others raised their glasses. “To Whisper and the Lady Falena! May you have many children, many good hunts, and many good years!” <br><br>The others gave a hearty “Hear Hear!” and drained the small glasses. Kodju-Adani drained whatever was left in the bottle, and the group fell about, smacking their lips at the tangy aftertaste of the most excellent spirit.<br><br>Whisper was in full swing of this conversation however, and did not allow the distraction to derail the topic. He was after all, a scout. Good scouting was the secret to good futures as far as he was concerned. “What is she like?”<br><br>“Erh, a pleasant enough girl, always polite, always well mannered. She doesn’t do much traveling like her father does. She takes more after her mother I think. Dunno, never see much of her.” Dockson admitted and set down his crystal glass. The others murmured their agreement and returned to their mugs. <br><br>“She spends a lot of time around that big fella, What’s his name? Criminal O’some sort, wears his hair like a northerner, carries Remmon’s mark. Galarion I think.”<br><br>“Oh, you mean the watch dog. Yeah, hear he did some sorta heinous crime out on the fields.”<br><br>Whisper was confused, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach was in no way getting looser. “Criminal? Who’s Remmon?”<br><br>Again, Kodju-Adani came to his rescue. “Remmon, goddess of punishment, like Kota’ but less fangs. I’ve seen him. He has a big red hand burned on to his face to warn people he has done something bad. Big man, he kind eyes. I do not know what he did, but if Gatekeeper lets him near his daughter, it must not have been too horrible.” The others considered this, and a quiet chorus of agreements followed.<br><br>Whisper didn’t know what to think of this, but Kodju-Adani was right. Gatekeeper had shown himself to be capable in all things he put his hand to. Why would raising his daughter be any different? Still. Whisper wished he could find someone to give him a better picture of this woman. Red hair and Blue eyes weren’t very much to work with. <br><br>********<br><br>The following day was a flurry of activity, only slightly ruined by the titanic headache last night’s wine had produced. Wheat Tongue came looking for him at dawn, and when Whisper wasn’t fast enough getting out of his Hammock, he Wheat Tongue flipped him with far more grace than should have been possible, and dumped Whisper into the mud with a grunt. <br><br>He spent most of his time in Wheat Tongue’s yert, the old chief cramming his son’s head with so much information Whisper was certain his head would explode as soon as he stepped through the gates. The headache wasn’t helping to dispel that worry at all. He learned how to bow, how to eat with all the little metal tools that westerners used, how to walk, how to stand, how to sit in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end, how to pretend that his eyes weren’t threatening to fall out of his head, and how to greet a westerner without looking like a complete idiot. Whisper avoided eating, it was considered rude to eat the day of a feast, especially if someone else was hosting it, and Wheat Tongue promised that Gatekeeper would put on a good display of food. Around noon they took a trip into the city <br><br>“Good Afternoon Gentlemen!” Demui’re called as Whisper and Wheat Tongue stepped through the door of the little shop. Whisper winced at the man’s voice, which made his head throb , and the riot of colors he was wearing did nothing to help. <br><br>“Good afternoon Master Demui’re!” Wheat Tongue replied. Whisper was certain the extra volume in his voice was for Whisper’s benefit alone. He bowed stiffly, to show Wheat Tongue that he had been paying attention, and straightened with a grimace. <br><br>“Come come Master Whisper, I have everything you need ready, I just need you to put it on and ensure it fits.” Whisper had no idea what he was talking about, but Wheat Tongue had sufficiently chastised him into compliance with the entire spectacle, at least for today. <br><br>Demui’re lead the two Hadju into the back of his shop, where several mirrors circled a small podium. Demui’re spent several hours prodding and arranging things, adding more room here, tightening here, until Whisper felt as if the scratchy clothing was a second, itchy skin. <br><br>********<br><br>Whisper had felt less nervous heading into battle than he did right now. As he and Wheat Tongue stood before the oak doors that opened onto the dinner hall, he felt as if they were marching to their dooms. Every Hadju had heard the old stories, of small bands on truly legendary heroes going into battle against impossible odds and monsters of old, to die in a glorious tide of death. Whisper had never liked those stories. He was not the sort of person to step into his own death if it could he helped. This felt very much like the beginning of one of those stories. <br><br>The Doors creaked on ancient hinges and the spill of light and sound that washed over what Whisper was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The room smelled of burning candle wax, people, and perfumes, the scents mingling together to form something that almost took physical form. The staggering number of candles overwhelmed Whisper, who had only just gotten over his headache an hour before, and threatened to bring it back. The other Hadju were equally overwhelmed, all save Wheat tongue, who sauntered into the hall like he ate here every evening. <br><br>The Hadju were the last to arrive, the guests of honor, and the man calling their names clearly had been saving up for this moment. So had the crowd, from the looks of it. The Hadju were a people of stories and feasts, surely this would inject a level of entertainment usually absent from these dry occasions. <br><br>“Wheat Tongue! Named for securing the alliance between the Hadju and our illustrious nation!” Wheat tongue stepped into the middle of the red carpet and bowed low, much to the approval of the gathered nobles. Wheat Tongue straightened and took up a position off to the side of the Hall, his back straight, his hands folded behind his back. <br><br>Wheat tongue had insisted on dressing as western soldiers did for formal gatherings, to appeal to the sensibilities of the western court. That soldiers had different clothes for special parties baffled Whisper to no end, but he had gone along with it nonetheless.<br><br>Finally it was Whisper’s turn. He adjusted his uniform fiddled with the mass of metals on his chest, and stepped into the room.<br><br>Whisper was a tall man of obviously Hadju parenting. He had the dark skin and dark hair of his people, but some quirk of genetics or some long lost western ancestor had given him eyes the color of sunlight filtering through the leaves of a tree. His features were also a little finer than the average Hadju man, perhaps another sign that somewhere in his ancestry was mixed heritage. <br><br>He wore a crisp white officer’s uniform with a mass of metals on his chest. Apparently they each represented something he had done in the war, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to actually ask what they meant. An officer’s cap was crammed down over his short black hair which, unlike most Hadju men, he kept short. Nothing was worse than getting your hair tangled in a branch when trying to be quiet. <br><br>Whisper stepped to the spot where Wheat Tongue had stood, bowed low, again the aristocrats applauded. Whisper wasn’t sure if this was the applause of a group of people welcoming another person to the party, or a group of people watching an exotic animal do a rather complex trick. He raised his head and straightened, and in that moment caught a pair of impossibly blue eyes staring right at him from the table at the head of the room. It was her, it had to be. A mass of scarlet framed her face like a wreath of fire, those eyes staring with intense curiosity and no small amount of worry. Whisper stared back.<br><br>&nbsp;She sat off to the left of her father, a man Whisper would have known in his sleep. There was an empty chair next to Gatekeeper, one surely reserved for Wheat tongue, and another further down for himself. Why had they not placed him next to her? What sort of awkward conversation could you have across the heads of four people? Oh that’s right, Western sensibilities. Women weren’t allowed to sit next to men unless they were married to them. Whisper congratulated himself on remembering this, then realized he was still halfway out of a bow. He quickly straightened and took up position next to Wheat tongue where they waited to be escorted to their seats. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Valerie</strong> on <strong>24-11-2014, 00:26:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				After parting ways with Kaiwed something closely related to an eternity was spent on reaching perfection for tonight’s banquet. A hot, almost scolding bath of rose water awaits her when she enters the echoing bathroom, and where wine had failed to ease her troubled soul, the sensation of being completely immersed in the warm water hands her a small measure of peace. She scrubs and rubs her fair skin until it almost blooms into the shade of her long hair and by the time she finally abandons the bath, the water has gone cold. The following hour is spent sitting wrapped in a pale bath sheet close to the chamber fireplace while her loyal handmaiden – Ava – tries her best to sort out the red disarray of tangles and knots. The old woman pulls and tugs on the long tresses with the comb and excuses herself once in a while when her handling earns her a low whimper. <br><br>Ava have never been one for words. She is of a quite nature and rarely asks any questions beyond the master and servant relation, and Falena cannot help but to appreciate it now more than ever. Everyone that had become privy to the fact that she was finally embracing life fully with a good man offered their mighty congratulations and of course, with all those years sitting around, waiting and only growing old while doing so, they only expected her to be happy as a flea in a doghouse by now. Finding someone that was willing to share life with her, despite being considered as old, is not something good – it is closely considered as a <em>miracle</em> within their western society. The thing is that she is far from happy and the miracle does not seem like one. There doesn’t exist any enthusiastic butterflies within her that tickles her insides with their fluttering wings; there is only sheer trepidation and angst leaking from the unravelling situation.&nbsp; <br><br>Finally the dress arrives. It is a doubled layered silk satin gown dyed into the latest trending colour; blue. The sleeves are short and don’t reach her elbows, but like the rest of the dress – they are loose and nothing squeezes tight and shows off what little curves she owns. The first layer of fabric reaches all the way down to the floor, while the second layer is made out of white lace decorated with crystals and cut just below the knees. Design-wise it is a quite simple gown, nothing too extravagant or out of the ordinary. Loose, long and straight dresses was the on-going fashion trend among the damsels. <br><br>After donning the dress Ava worked her miracle with Falena’s hair. Mixing sugar and lukewarm water in a bowl, she dips her hand in it and squeezes life into her frail curls, magnifying them. The final result is a simple dress and a simple hairdo – and together it is a far cry from the dress to kill motto her mother had tried to convince her to embrace for tonight.<br><br>A small piece of courage is found at the bottom of a large cup of wine. Falena checks and double-checks herself a thousand times in front of the mirror before deeming herself decent for tonight. When arriving at the great hall of the castle, she sees that the first couple of guests already had joined their company and was in full fling mingling with each other. She greets them all kindly as she pass them by, taking a good look at the hall as she went and realized that her father had certainly out done himself for the feast. Tonight the great hall lived up to its name with every right. <br><br>The builder of castle Kynos had been a man desiring something grand; something that would put the fortress on the map. According to the tale the architect had been given free hands, yet limited resources. The man had been a poor mathematician though, and several miscalculations had in the end left the great hall without a roof. Desperate to meet the end of the thirty-year long build, he made a gamble and struck a deal with a crystal miner from the mountains. They provided him thin yet sturdy, transparent slices of a rather common mineral and after a few trial and errors, the great hall got a roof worthy for its colossal size. It was spectacular during evenings when the moons and the stars would shine brightly and offer a cold light to illuminate the hall.&nbsp; <br><br>However in spite of the architectural beauty of the great hall the ancient castle was more known because of something else. Among common people it was called the Owlery, due to the grey hallow tree in the court yard that the castle had been built around. There was always a snowy white owl or two to be spotted there, watching from the barren branches and not minding the sparkle of activity that always surrounded them. <br><br>“Is he here yet?” She asked carefully once she met up with her father. Kaived only shook his head in response and Falena breathed a small sigh of relief. It would have been embarrassing if it had turned out that one of the guests she had greeted turned out to be him. Together they greet and applaud the men and women that arrive, all of them carrying some political importance within the city. Eventually they moved down to sit at the table, and she had just managed to seat herself when another round of applause echoed within the stone walls of the hall. Business and family rarely dined at the same table, and Falena had only met the chieftain enough times to recognize him and remember his odd name. It was not even him, and yet her heart took a frightful leap. She sucked in a breath and gazed over to the red carpet. Her brain had already made the connection that father and son most likely arrived together, and that fact scared her. <br><br>Judging by the way the man’s gaze stuck, it had to be him. Their eyes met and the breath she held was only released when he finished the small act of courtesy and offered her a chance to look away. Her heart was pounding wildly, acting as if she had just run to the shore and back with wolves at her heels. In the truth, she actually considers running to such a degree that she glances toward the door over her shoulder, but fails miserably to execute the spontaneous plan when the two nomads trekked closer. <br><br>She cannot think, she cannot process anything; she cannot take in the way he looks, the way he moves, the way he looks at her. Opinions turn up blank and she doesn’t know what to make of him. To her, he is only a bundle of great anxiety walking closer and closer. <br><br>Kaived had already risen from the chair to greet them more personally. “Welcome my honoured guests.” She heard him say as they shook hand and by the sound of his voice, it wouldn’t be a surprise if his smile reached from ear to ear. “Please, have a seat.” The Lord gestured to the two seats left to his right and after they seated themselves, he was glad to make the introductions.<br><br>“Wheat tongue, I know you have met my daughter before. However I know that the same cannot be said for you, young master Whisper.” Kaived began, his eyes resting on the young man. “I am pleased to present to you my beloved Falena.”<br><br>When their eyes found each other again and locked tightly, she willed herself to speak and it was a miracle that her voice came out so calm. “Good evening, master Whisper.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>25-11-2014, 21:21:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Whisper was almost amazed he made it to the wall without fainting. What an introduction that would have been for the bravest of the Hadju warriors; unconscious on the floor like some underfed dog. He only just managed to catch Wheat Tongue’s smirk before it flickered from his face, but he could easily tell his father was greatly enjoying his discomfort. Whisper had stepped into his world, a world of words and politicians, of political motives and world spanning schemes, and was finding he did not have a taste for the air here. <br><br>Their guide escorted them to the table at the far end of the room, and the closer Whisper came to his new bride, the more emotions warred inside him. She was pleasantly plain by western standards, her dress did not show off shapely curves, her face was not particularly pretty, but not ugly in any way either. She lacked the golden ringlets that were so popular among western nobles, instead she had a blaze of orange/red hair that had been set in a sensible, pleasant fashion. The only real shocking, or even remarkable features she possessed were her eyes, as shocking a blue as his were green, made even more so by her blue dress. He’d have to remember to ask Demui’re to add some blue accents to the Al-gui pelt. <br><br>“-And may I present my son, Yodiki-Gotdu-Garrama.” Whisper had been so focused on her that he had neglected to pay attention to the conversation Gatekeeper and Wheat Tongue had just had. He gave Kaived a nervous smile and bowed again, completely unnecessary for this stage of their greeting, but Whisper was too nervous to keep the order of greeting correct in his head. <br><br>He numbly took Kaived’s hand and shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing, “Ehr, Gatekeeper, Ehr, Lord Kaived, honored to be here.” Whisper’s accent wasn’t so thick that it was hard to understand him, but the sing-song, harmonic quality that marked Hadju language was clear in his voice. Several other people at the table turned to look at him as he spoke, clearly delighted, or at the very least curious, about the exotic way his lips shaped their words. <br><br>Whisper, for his part, was trying very hard not to sweat as so many eyes turned to watch him interact. Those blue eyes locked tight on his again, somehow cementing him to the spot. She had to think him a fool, standing so rigid and uncomfortable at a clearly formal occasion, his manner like that of a rabbit thrown in a wolverine den. “Good evening, Lady Falena.” His accent lending a musical quality to the name, along with an excessive amount of vowels&nbsp; “Fai’len’eia.” <br><br>With introductions exchanged and Whisper still on his feet, Wheat Tongue beckoned gently, but firmly to the empty chair reserved for Whisper and took his seat. Whisper carefully dropped into his chair, aware that the traditional Hadju method of falling into a seated position was not acceptable to Westerners. Whisper found himself seated between a grizzled old general named Count Corvosis De’fuega, and a middle aged noble named Barron Cabiano, whom Whisper had never met. The general, who prefered to be called General De’fuega, was someone Whisper was familiar with but whom he had never met. The man had clearly been elevated to this rank, not born into it. His hair was darker than most of the nobility, his face round and lacking the elegant curves of western aristocracy. His nose had also been broken several times throughout it’s history, and had that squashed quality Whisper associated with brawlers. It was also clear that this man was about as comfortable in this company as Whisper was. He had, however, a coping mechanism clearly in place, a large quantity of wine well into his system before the festivities had even properly begun. While he was far from belligerently drunk, he was also clearly just a little too friendly for such an occasion. <br><br>“Quite the collection of metal on y’er chest there my boy!” Whisper blinked at the man for a moment or two, then realized he was talking about the strange little pins stuck to his coat.<br><br>“Oh, yes… Erh, yes.” Whisper finished lamely and tried to think of something else to say. <br><br>“Earned them in the war with the north did you?”<br><br>“Uh, yes, I-”<br><br>“Cap off master Whisper, S’not polite to wear it at the table.” <br><br>“Oh, sorry.” Whisper quickly snatched the officer’s cap from his head and put it in his lap. <br><br>“Under yer chair, that way you don’t drop food on it.” Whisper was aware that he was flushing with embarrassment, and that he was being watched by most of the other people at the table. With a sigh he quickly pushed the cap under his chair and ran a nervous hand through his hair. De’Fuega was clearly trying to help, but his ill timed instructions were shaking the last of Whisper’s resolve.<br><br>“Could you, explain what some of these mean?” Whisper questioned.<br><br>General De’fuega gave him a soft laugh,“Why, you don’t know what earned yer own metals?”<br><br>“Ehr, no. The Hadju have but one honor, to be given a name. I’m unfamiliar with, how westerners give honors.”<br><br>De’fuega, clearly warming to the topic, grabbed Whisper by the chest and studied the collection of ribbons and medals for a moment, then sat back. “Well, that one’s for service and duty. Usually means you volunteered for something no one else wanted to do. That one’s bravery, means you fought against bad odds and won. That one’s for skills, mean you did something someone was really impressed with. The owl there’s for night, means you did something impressive in the dark.” The General raised an eyebrow with a smirk and continued, “The heart is for aiding a wounded ally, that yellow stripe down the middle of it means it was an officer, the little red dot in the middle means it was a noble, someone who appreciated it enough to put your name in to get it. That one’s for seige craft, everyone here’s heard the story o’you blowing up that trebuchet...&nbsp; And that one…” De’fuega squinted for a moment before replying. “I’ll be buggered if I know what that one is. Never seen it before.” Whisper looked at the one being indicated, a ribbon, solid black with two stripes of red and a stripe of purple. <br><br>“Civil Honor.” Cabiano said from Whisper’s left, “For those who have been injured while protecting civilians. Quite the honor Master Whisper. Very few Western soldiers have ever even see one.” The man cast a smirk over Whispers head at De’fuega, who was still sober enough to feel the insult.<br><br>&nbsp;Whisper rubbed the scar on his right shoulder and bit his lip. He had just been doing what any other reasonable person would have done. The fact that he had been unlucky enough to take an arrow for it hardly seemed like a fitting reason to be given a special reward. Really all of the things on his chest felt that way. They were simply him doing what needed to be done. His name had been a way of thanking him for his contributions to the war, but individual events hardly seemed worthy of special mention. that was the thing about being Named, you had to live it every moment of your life. With these things, they simply were given, and if you turned out to be a bastard afterwards, you still got to keep the shiny trinkets. <br><br>The conversation had moved on by the time Whisper surfaced from his deeper thoughts, and he found himself sitting quietly and listening to the idle chatter around him. He was aware of Falena somewhere to his left, but didn’t dare turn his head to look at her. He wanted so desperately to get a better measure of this woman, but this was clearly not the time. He also desperately wanted a meal, but clearly this was not the time either. They had been sitting for half an hour and not a single whiff of food had reached his nostrils. Gods he was hungry. In Hadju culture, you didn’t eat the day before a feast, all the better to stuff yourself sick during the festivities, but here this ideology was clearly working against Whisper now. There was a tall glass in front of him with some sort of long pistoned flower standing in it. Could that possibly be food? What had Wheat Tongue called it? A meal before a meal. A snack to keep people from launching themselves upon their meals like carrion birds on a ripe corpse. An… Aperture? Appetise?<br><br>Hunger winning out over common sense, Whisper gently plucked one of the flowers from the vase and brought it to his face. The smell was pleasant enough, something akin to Vanilla. Perhaps it was food? He plucked an experimental petal from the white bloom and popped it in his mouth. De’fuega and the noble to Whisper’s left watched with keen interest, so did a good deal of the table, all save Wheat Tongue and Kaived, who were having a heated conversation about the value of Saffron. <br><br>“Uh, that ain’t for eatin’.” De’fuega muttered as Whisper spat the chewed petal into his plate. <br><br>“More tasteful than your conversation I’d hazard.” The noble chuckled and watched as Whisper replaced the flower. “How was it?”<br><br>“Bitter.” Whisper answered, not quite sure if that had been the most intelligent thing to do. “It does not make a very good Aperture.” <br><br>The noble was clearly trying to contain his mirth, so were several of the other people at the head table “I would hazard not.”The noble offered, De’fuega simply frowned. Whisper ignored the two of them, somewhat aware that he was being made the butt of a joke, and studied the silverware on either side of his plate. There was an array of metal tools that had Whisper wondering what these people ate that could possibly merit so many little instruments. <br><br>Some were clearly knives, for meats, Wheat Tongue had explained. Hadju usually ate with knives, Whisper was familiar enough with this practice. Wheat tongue had warned him that using a knife to bring food to your mouth was incorrect. One was supposed to use the other tools for that. The knife was simply for cutting. Or spreading, if cream or something was offered for breads. Whisper wondered why there wasn’t a special tool for this. <br><br>Spoons looked like little curved mirrors on the ends of long handles, or very poorly designed shovels. Whisper owned a signal mirror, one with a concave side that focused the sun enough to set leaves alight, and a flat side for signaling other scouts, but this tool looked considerably more delicate, and wasn’t shiny enough to properly reflect with. He studied it for a moment, watching his reflection change shape in it, then set it back down. for scooping things, puddings and soups and such. In Hadju society, anything that couldn’t be handled with one’s hands was served in a mug or a bowel. Whisper wondered why the extra step. <br><br>Forks looked like little hay forks, with varying numbers of tongs. Whisper had spent a lot of time in the stables during the first few months of the seige, and was familiar with the use of hay forks. However, he had spent most of his time watching the great black beast they called Maredon cave in stable boys’ heads. Whisper had always wondered why they never sent people with quicker reflexes to deal with the animal. This was the tool for bringing food to your mouth, Whisper had practiced with it for almost an hour while Wheat tongue looked on and smacked him with a spoon when he did it wrong.<br><br>The others were, well Wheat Tongue had said they were just for show. Apparently having lots of little tools for eating made one look powerful in Western society. a couple looked like lock picks and had something to do with nuts, some had little swirly metal spikes at the end, for pulling something soft out of… something. A bottle perhaps, Whisper had seen Western wine bottles in action before. This looked like a miniature version of the tool for those. <br><br>Whisper studied them with curiosity, his natural tendency to explore overwhelming any sense of wrongdoing that might have otherwise warned him of the mild attention of aristocrats around him. He was not overly obviously with his curiosity, but instead ran his fingers over them and tested the edges of knives, the points of forks, the depth and broadness of spoons and other tools. <br><br>While it all seemed entirely pointless to Whisper, it was none the less a source of entertainment to distract him from his still empty stomach. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Valerie</strong> on <strong>15-12-2014, 01:52:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Yodiki-Gotdu-Garrama.</em> The foreign name echoed within the oval walls of her head. A silly fear blossomed within her, how would she <em>ever</em> remember his full name? Let alone pronounce it without shaming him in the process. From what Galarion had shared with her these last couple of days leading up to the feast, she had made herself wise to remember that being named was considered a great honor among the easterners. Her interest hadn’t exactly revolved around the nomads despite their significant and vital role in the war, and in the eyes of truth she had actually looked down on them, like so many other westerners in the beginning. Rumors had run hot about their uneducated and uncivilized says, their lack of obvious intelligence and how that they were bred solely for war. The world-wide conflict that had stopped the world clock from turning had left both her and the family utterly isolated for their protection. She had been so young back then, so gullible that she had found belief in the false words that came and went with the messengers from the outside. Prejudices that had lingered up until now.&nbsp; <br><br>Everything she had heard over those isolated years was perished in the matter of moments when Whisper stood before her. In one strange, yet comforting way it was very much like gazing into a mirror. The same troublesome nerves she had been battling seemed to be a divided fight. He was nervous and it was evident in the details; how he bowed one time too much. The way he seemed to lock up and freeze on the spot, together with the way his tongue gave her name an exotic touch.&nbsp; <br><br>Despite hearing her own heart battling to escape her chest, Falena dared herself to believe that she kept herself reined in better than her spouse; that her nervousness didn’t shine through her too much. She nodded politely to his greeting and offered him a genuine smile.&nbsp; <br><br>The table seatings made it painfully aware that any chance for a decent conversation was immediately ruled out. Kaived must have counted on her skittish nerves and on purpose added another body between them and as she sat down on her intended place, she felt both relived and a bit stupid at the same time. He was so close, yet far away at the same time. <br><br>Now more than ever she could have needed her mother’s calming words. Sadly, Sathyn sat at the other end of the long, red clad table and happily entertained the guests at her end. It left her alone with father, Wheat-tongue and a few other diplomats and old war heroes that she had met a few times before. The closest ladies that sat a few seats further away and on the opposite row was her two sisters that had decided to attend. Gynara and Vannel were the ones that were most keen to see her married off. If they could have their way, Falena was certain that they would turn this announcement feast into the actual wedding itself. This long and tiring waiting game had powdered down the last fibre of their sisterly bond and there was no love lost between them. Falena rightfully avoided them at any cost and luckily, the castle was big and it could be days before they spotted each other. Another stroke of luck was that their father was always in a hurry to get something done and often removed family dinners from his long list of priorities, leaving them to dine whenever and with whoever they pleased.<br><br>“Now where is Lady Ida?” inquired Erit carefully, a man famous around the city for his spices. In the war his produce had become vital when treating different injuries and diseases, as he claimed that a special mixture of a spice would turn death away. <br><br>“She could sadly not join us tonight, master Erit.” Falena replied since the question hadn’t been tossed out in the air completely without an ear to hear it. She had been sitting silent for some time and it was for the better that someone yanked her into a conversation. <br><br>Their discussion continued and stayed casual, and although the spice master was quite the colorful character with his many interesting anecdotes, the red headed girl couldn’t help but to eavesdrop at the conversation between Whisper and general further down the table. She only heard snippets since she had master Erit to verbally entertain, but she actually fancied the way he seemed to be… uninterested in the scrap metal strapped to his dress robes. He did not seem like a bandaged warrior that went around and bragged about his heroics for good measure; he had a kind of modesty not often found among western men. <br><br>The charm she found in her mysterious spouse did not last long though, and a flood of embarrassment rinsed over her at his little feeding frenzy. So much for civilized, the words echoed within her skull and she turned from watching down the long table as she heard the loud snickering from her sisters. Such a thing had of course not escaped anyone’s attention, and the little portion of calmness she had scraped together had slipped from her grasp. The very last thing she desired was that he fulfilled the prejudices that circled around the Hadju.&nbsp; <br><br>Lucky for Falena and for Whisper as well, Lord Kaived finally rose from his seat and the whole hall fell quiet within a few short moments.<br><br>“Welcome to my home my honoured guests. I am pleased that so many of you could come and guest my table.” He spoke with authority, he had the kind of voice you automatically would listen to. Not because he sounded strict or unpleasant, but because he sounded warm and inviting. “Tonight we will not only dine together for pleasure and good company, but for another reason as well…” He trailed off and his smile grew. “… however there is an old saying that one should never receive news, good or bad, on an empty stomach and therefore, I declare the feast started. Welcome once more honoured guests.” <br><br>The whole table applauded and thanked the Lord all while the servants were quick to begin to serve the starters. And all while the guests certainly seemed to enjoy themselves, Falena couldn’t help but to pray to the Gods that nothing far too embarrassing would happen again. He seemed like such a proper young man and he looked very regal in that uniform, but eating decorations? She didn't really know what to make of it. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: What Binds Us</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>29-12-2014, 22:33:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Whisper had studied the silverware to the utmost level of entertainment and was now casually listening to the conversations around him while amusing himself by imagining the best way to kill a man with each of the little tools of either side of his plate. Several lords were lamenting the rising price of nutmeg, all but insisting it was the Hadju’s fault for not bringing enough with them. A pair of ladies at one of the nearby table were having a somewhat loud conversation about how long skirts should be, to the embarrassment of another woman not far away wearing what was presumably a too short skirt. <br><br>At first it all seemed rather dull, like watching a collection of fish swim lazily in a shallow pond. There were none of the songs or dances that his people would be doing now, the bright swirl of colors, the flash of scarves and smiles that made up the Hadju’s festivals. Whisper had been preparing for a harsh clash of conversation like the tribe philosophers inevitably got into when more than one tribe met, but instead these people sat daintily at wooden tables and had small talk for hours while they starved you to death. Whisper risked a side long glance past Cabiano towards his future wife, who was having what appeared to be an entirely pointless conversation with a spice merchant who often cut deals with his tribe. Was every aspect of her as dry and papery as the people around him? <br><br>No, something in the way her head moved as she talked, like a deer using its mouth to eat and its eyes to watch. She glanced occasionally at a pair of women not far away, who were wearing matching dresses and shared Falena’s features, although softer in one and harder in the other. Sisters perhaps, but not loving ones. They had the look of scavenger birds, impatient, and unkind to the creatures impeding their future meal. Whisper sat up straighter and watched their hushed conversation out of the corner of his eye. It was the same as Falena, almost. Their words were making one sound, but their intentions were making another. Suddenly he realized why his father was so intrigued by these people, but it all made Whisper somewhat more uncomfortable. Doublespeak was considered the air of a coward to the Hadju, but here, in these halls, it was the way of power. While tribes maneuvered and jockeyed for power often, the fledgeling government of the Tribal Council had not had the time to develop such a deep political intrigue. <br><br>Whisper cast a glance down at his father, who was having an animated conversation about tea with a grizzled old watch captain, and immediately spotted the double meanings. One just had to ignore the sounds coming from the mouth and watch everything else. So that was why Wheat Tongue took such an active role in Westerner politics.<br><br>While he would have liked to dedicate more thought to the matter, Gatekeeper took that moment to stand and begin speaking. News, big news, oh gods he was going to be thrust into the fire at the end of the meal. The thought of all of these… people trying to talk to him tied his stomach in a knot that he wasn’t sure he was going to untangle before starvation won out over him. He took a conspiratorial glance down the table to his future wife and watched with anxiety spread across her face like an invading army. At first he was relieved to see she was also unable to hide her discomfort, but quickly the thought made him feel guilty, after all, they were both victims of unorthodox politics. <br><br>Still, the thought of food did wonders for his mood, and as servants streamed from a side door with platters in hands, their white uniforms trimmed with feathers, Whisper couldn’t help but feel saliva gathering in the back of his throat. He watched the servants strut about like wading birds, their platters covered with silver domes, hiding the meal for what Whisper assumed was some big revealing that would see the other dinner guests diving upon their meals like rabid wolves on a kill. Whisper certainly felt he was nearing that stage of hunger, but restrained himself for the sake of appearances. After all, he wasn’t entirely ignorant of western ways, or so he told himself. <br><br>He watched with anticipation as the servants laid out the trays before them and bit his lip as the man standing before him gripped the lid. Like warriors drawing their swords to the sound of a silent battle cry, every servant in the hall whisked away the silver dome with a flourish and stepped back. Whisper looked down at his plate and nearly dove over the back of his chair. Only a vague sense of duty and a chastising thought of ridiculousness kept him in his seat, but his discomfort wasn’t hard to fathom for the moment or two it took him to wrangle his emotions back in place.<br><br>There, glaring up at him like he had caused it some personal discomfort, he supposed he had, was a titanic red spider with a thick spiny shell and a pair of claws the size of the strange food shovels on the side of his plate. For a moment he was afraid that at any second it would flex is powerful, spine covered legs and dive for his face. The fear passed instantly, about as long as it took him to notice the steam rising from the creature’s shell, it had been cooked at least, but that did nothing for the sheer amount of revulsion at what these westerners considered food. <br><br>“Oooh, Shield crab, my dear Lord Kaived your cooks have outdone themselves this time!” Someone exclaimed from somewhere down the table, and Whisper shot a glance at the offender before returning his eyes to the most fearsome foe he had ever faced, the large steamed crab sitting before him. How did one go about eating such a monstrosity? Whisper selected the sharpest of the knives and considered stabbing it in the face just to ensure the creature was dead, but thought better of it and placed the utensil back in it’s carefully arranged rank. Instead he sat back for a moment and pretended to be admiring the monster, while secretly watching his fellow guests out of the corner of his eye. Cabiano seemed as reluctant as Whisper had been to tackle such a creature, but De’fuega had seized one of the claws and with a practiced twist, pulled it from the creature’s body and used one of the strange little nut tools to scoop out a white morsel and pop it into his mouth. <br><br>Whisper shuttered at the idea of eating one of the things, but was fairly certain that refusing food from your future father-in-law was considered bad manners. With a sigh he fought to keep from being audible, Whisper carefully grabbed one of the creatures claws and gave it a twist. Nothing, the shell of this beast was thick and bent with his twist. He tried the other way, but to no avail. Whisper selected one of the food tools on the left side of his plate and tried applying it to the creature. After a moment of struggling he was met with a satisfying crack, and another couple of twists had the limb nearly loosened from its crabby host. He twisted again and again, and eventually managed to tear the claw away, but had not succeeded in exposing the white meat underneath the shell. <br><br>He bit his lip and selected another tool, this one similar to a smith’s pliers, and set to work cracking the shell away from the claw. Once, twice, three times, finally the shell gave way and Whisper used one of the little lock picks to snake a bit of meat out and put it in his mouth. It had a surprisingly, almost worryingly sweet flavor to it, mixed with something akin to bird, and a distinctly fishy flavor. Whisper shrugged, deciding it wasn’t entirely inedible. He placed the pliers around the claw and gave a hard squeeze. <br><br>What happened next would go down as one of Whisper’s least favorite moments in life. The claw broke with an audible crunch, and some horrid little tendon Whisper had no knowledge of released its tension and sent the bottom of the claw spiraling into the air. Whisper watched with horror as the piece of horrid red spider sailed over the heads of Cabiano and several other guests to his right and bounced off his bride to be’s forehead before landing with a clatter on her plate. <br><br>Whisper bit his lip and leaned forward until they made eye contact. “Ehr, My deepest apologies… lady Falena.”<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>