CLAN (CAMPED)
|CLAN RING|
Layleth Sunchaser find that most clanfolk, when approached by the Lesser Khan, express that they are quite happy with all goings on... though you
can see that they suffer silently. Practically everyone had some grievance, and when a clan has a problem, the Clan Ring is expected to act swiftly to resolve it. The particularly bold speak freely, without fear of reprisal, or perhaps blind to it.
An elderly woman pokes you sharply as she scolds you, "The Khan is a spoiled child, and you are only an extension of his weakness!"
A haughty magician grits his teeth as you approach him. "The Battleborn got us into this mess, and now they're everywhere. They'll kill the rest of us in our sleep if it suits them. The respectable Truthseekers and Wanderers are at the mercy of the Masters of War and Justice. They would sooner inflict fear than inspire respect!"
You even happen upon a man unafraid of declaring impiety. His face covered in ash, a sign of mourning. It's thick and cracked, he's worn the mask for quite some time. "The gods have abandoned us. We should seek new ones."
Nix Breathtaker runs into a more visceral form of subterfuge: Violent screams, those of men out to kill, overwhelm the din of combat drilling. A real fight ignited in the ranks of training soldiers! As Nix approaches, he sees an unconscious and heavily bloodied Battleborn laid out flat. Several older, more experienced Battleborn have restrained four men, three Truthseekers and one Wanderer. "They overwhelmed our brother before we could do anything, Master!" one Battleborn yells. Other Battleborn reach slowly for their real weapons, which invites the Wanderers and Truthseekers in the crowd to do the same. "Let us dole out justice!" one Battleborn declares.
Kron Breakspear sees a nimble warrior approach him rapidly while on patrol. Out of breath the man reports, "There is... a brother has been assaulted... the soldiers at the training grounds..."
Moreau Wildwalker focuses on contacting the disparate gods... but makes little progress. Their presence can be felt, but ever so slightly. If this is a test, the conditions remain unclear. Your meditation is broken when a godi is alarmed by a foreign presence.
A man, face thick with ash, dagger in hand, walks slowly towards the circle. "Stop!" a godi commands, "This is sacred ground, meant for seers alone!" This does nothing to sway the ashen faced man, who continues his lumbering approach...
Leon Roguehide, most of his tasks complete, watches over a group of fishermen as they set upon the task of adapting their methods for the ocean. Things go smoothly until one fisherman drags some strange creature from the water, mistaking it for sealeaves. The abominable thing leaps from his hand, floundering about the bricks of the quay. "I don't think that thing is edible..." one clanfolk mumbles as the others slowly back away. Two of your Munes knock their arrows, waiting on your command to kill the creature.
Ara Fox and a smattering of clanfolk listened closely to the Master of Tales,
Tyra Firescar, do what she does best. More and more clanfolk showed up for comfort, for togetherness, and to glean what wisdom they could. In these harshest of times, when kinstrife runs amok, the gods keep silent, and chaos consumes, the Ancestors and their tales alone remain as an eternal beacon of what once was, and what can be once again.
A young woman, a Wanderer, approaches the Master of Tales. "Master. I have an idea, if I may be so bold. The stars are gone from us... or changed somehow. I cannot find my patron constellation, and our old calendar is useless. Perhaps... It is time to begin a new era in the Tales, a new calendar to track our exile." This drew no great clamor, only the eyes of the weary to the present Masters.