1. Find strong woman, have son.
2. "Accident" smart/influential priests.
3. Execute other priests for polluting the purity of MOA MOA with their greed. Tell people to worship MOA MOA privately, as they feel it wishes.
4. Declare son to be our successor, with the mother as the ruler until he is of age.
5. Order warriors to continue training and protect son.
6. Die with dignity and grace.
EVENT
You leave your tent. Your warriors are gathered in the center of the village. The night is starry, and beautiful. You take a deep breath of night air and motion for your warriors to follow you. No words need to be spoken; they know. The whole tribe knows.
The priests have barricaded their hut. But it's weak, rotted wood, for all the good wood was taken from the stockpile by loyalists. The priests are huddled inside, wrapped in cloth, shivering.
Suddenly, one arises, tossing aside his cloth to reveal a wooden club, sharp stone sticking out every which way. He approaches you.
"You don't have to do this. Don't make me do this,
peasant."
You watch him silently and when he reaches towards you...
You slip under his reach and grab his arm. He twists away from your grip, bringing his weapon to bear, but you slap your palm into his abdomen and he drops it. You spin, adding momentum to your arm as you send your elbow flying into his jaw, shattering tooth and bone and spraying blood across the room in a crimson arc. A final strike as he falls jams his nosebone up into his cranium, striking him down before he reaches the ground.
The others rush you. You doge one mans swing, snapping your knee up and grasping his arm, snapping the joint. You lose no momentum, sending your leg flying further in a high kick into a mans face. As it explodes into a bloody mess, you drop down low, and your attackers fist rams into his friend. You kick out, bringing low one man, and as you arise you land a jab into another stomach. By the time you stand fully upright, your warriors have killed everyone else. You stomp and smash the last survivors head into pulp before heading out into the night to wash off the blood.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*->8<-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
You are buried in the center of town. The grave is unmarked; it doesn't need to be. You're certain everyone will remember where it is, and the thought of people treading on you strikes you as symbolic. You raise your people even in death, above the dirt.
Your son, Tsu Maga, will take over. At the age of 16, he is young, but he has watched you and is eager to continue your work.
What will the tribe do?
Author
Topic: Isle: Liberación! Liberación! La tecnocracia ha llegado! (Read 40350 times)