United Tribes of Ejrahk (M)

Kresh

Gran sat on suitable hunk of boulder, watching his newest recruits train. Horses wheeled and Ejrahk shouted commands and orders in the skirmish. Some wore boiled leather stained blue, and others red. It was an effective enough method to distinguish between friend and foe. There was a clash and a scream as a girl fell off her horse, rolling and struggling to escape from the hooves as she to stand and find her mount. He rolled his eyes, but didn't lift a finger to help. It seemed this batch would take extra work, or they would never shape into becoming true warriors. After several more minutes he rose, his deep voice cracking across the practice field. "Halt! Pack it up, go water the horses. Come back to me and I will explain why all of you would have died."

The students cringed at his words, but nodded and quickly guided their mounts towards the stables. They were too fearful to do much else, as they should be. The girl who had fallen was allowed to retrieve her mount as things quieted, and Gran quickly crossed the distance between them. She didn't notice him until he was nearly on top of her. A heavy blow sent her to the ground, where she started to lift a hand then stopped, quivering. He nudged her with his foot. "To cleanse you of being stupid. Lose your seat, and lose your life. I counted five times you should have been brained. Maybe you will be next time, maybe you will not. Do not return back, instead go and practice staying on your horse." He drew back his foot and gave her an encouraging kick. She quickly scrambled to her feet and clambered up the side of her horse, riding off. He breathed out a sigh, seating himself upon his rock.

Eastern Border of Ejrahk

Rehal sat her horse, hands tightened comfortably on the reins. The Ejrahk spurned the concept of saddles, something they had seen once or twice from outsiders. Instead a woven woolen blanket protected her treated leather from the sweat and stink of horse. Her mount was ill at ease, as if sending the discomfort of the tribe around her. They've been drifting ever nearer to the border for days now, a bittersweet, strange sensation. She could feel her heart lift, to know she was days closer to where Chalava had handed the prophet her sacred words. She was bitter, to know those precious places were overrun and no doubt slandered by the birdmen. Now the steady sound of horses crossed the border, where she raised a hand and the tribe of some four hundred ground to a halt.

This was a trip of what could be historic retellings. It was up to her to make the stories favorable, and not of how the Ej'Matria had led her people into ruin. The way to their sacred places was not paved in blood, though she preferred it so. They'd been killing birdmen for centuries, and still the ways were blocked. Now she'd been sent word that they wished to talk, and she intended to make them pay.

-Gran instructs recruits on how to become soldiers
-Rehal, along with a tribe of 400, approaches the Ezrian border.

Kresh

Gran stood, a knife held loosely in his hand. On the far side of the field, a mounted warrior sat and stared at him, indecision lurking deep in his blue whorled face. "Are you sure, Gran? You may die." Gran laughed, and waved a dismissive hand. He'd been thinking long and hard, about his students, about the Ketar, and about the current Ejrahk fighting force. Thinking, praying, and sacrificing without ceasing. All the Ejrahk who could becoming fierce mounted warriors had done so. New graduates rode out every year, but they could only bolster and replace retired or dead warriors of existing shells. The Ejrahk needed a new way to fight, with both feet planted firmly on the ground. "I may die, true. Then you will replace me. Come, and see if you can become the new master."

The Ketar was handed from Chalava to Ydrek as a sacred, killing dance. It was effective in hand to hand combat, but a man with a fist against a sword would surely die. If a man with a knife could kill a man on a horse, then maybe the Ketar could be used to train Ejrahk into new, ground based shells. With a kick the mounted warrior went into a trot, a canter, a gallop. Gran watched, unmoving and relaxed. At the last second he moved to the side, leaping into the air with corded muscle built from years of hard training. He twist, and sent his knife dancing into the horse's jugular. The momentum of the horse ripped the knife out of his hand, but he pushed off of the shoulder and ducked under the warrior's own weapon and away.

Gran landed on his feet, but within a stride the horse's front legs collapsed and went down. With a cry of disgust the warrior leap free, but by then Gran was already closing the distance. He danced, and the warrior went down. After a second, breathing hard, Gran stood and helped his friend to his feet with a broad grin. "It worked. The Ketar can be given weapons and be made to dance death. I am not sorry about your horse."

The warrior grinned. "Watching you in battle is worth a horse. I will send word to my tribe to journey to the place of iron, to gather the metal and heat it into long daggers. We will arm the Ketar."

Gran nodded, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "That is good. I will start to train those who are useless with a horse today, using stone and sticks until we can make something better. The god will surely be pleased."

As the messy job of butchering and handling the slain horse was taken care of, a messenger was dispatched from the training grounds, riding for the Bear Tongue tribe.

Even as that messenger rode out, a new one rode in. A message was relayed to Gran, that the Ej'Matria required all the shells of warriors he could muster, and his own personal presence. He rode out that evening with a shell of warriors, and his new trainees for his experimental infantry.

Eastern Ejrahk/Ezrian Border

Rehal sat the border, mulling over her decision to aid Ezria. It was something rushed, and she was not happy she had been forced to decide without consulting her Matria. Now that the talk was over, it was time to gather the Matria and inform them what had happened and gain their support. It was vital to do so, so that the correct number of shells would be given to the Ezrians to fight the dwarfs.

The next day the first tribe appeared, and the first shell of mounted warriors were sent to the rallying point on the border. Over the next week, all of the major tribes had arrived and organized. They did so a day's ride from the border, far enough away so that the Ezrians would not be able to pry into their affairs. A sprawling tent city was made. Gran and his warriors had arrived, and with the strange new idea that shells of warriors could be made on the ground as well as on a horse.

On the seventh day Rehal stood on a quickly erected platform, standing below her was a sea of faces. The fifteen in the front were Matria, and it was them she needed to convince. The rest would follow, once they were swayed. The fifteen in the next row were priests, and a five foot space back were warriors and tribesmen. Politics among the Ejrahk were done in the open, where all the people could see. They would not contrive in the shadows.

Rehal cleared her throat and raised her hand for silence. Standing next to her, Graal cracked his whip made of rawhide and the sinew of sinners. The silence took hold after five seconds, and the only audible sound was the creak of leathers and the soft breath of her people. Once it was established, she began to talk. "My people. My Ejrahk. I have called this convention of Matria for a grave reason. The Ezrian, the sinners who stole our sacred places, have wished words. Their words were troubling. Dwarfs, the short men, now plague them. They threaten to overrun the Ezrians, and destroy them. Good, you say. Let the birdmen die. Let them become weak, and feeble. But this is not good. To this end, I have agreed to help them."

It was only the strict discipline enforced by a lifetime that kept the tribesmen from erupting, but displeasure was plain and gasps could be heard. One Matria shook her head, speaking. "Sister, you do us dishonor. Such a decision should be made from all of us."

Rehal nodded. "I feel sorrow, that I was pressed to make such without you. I cry out to Chalava, and beg to be cleansed. I have knelt under the whip and the rod for these past seven days unceasing while I awaited you arrival, begging for forgiveness and for clarity. And the answer has not changed. Demons have taken the dwarfs. They seek to destroy our sacred places after they destroy the Ezrians. Will we stand, idle, and hope the Ezrians will protect our god? They will not. If the Dwarfs destroy the Ezrians, then they are strong, and we may not be able to take back our places by our own might."

The Matria snorted. It looked divided. Several already looked in agreement with her, while three still looked angry. Those were the ones she had to convince. "My sisters and brothers. I did not give our might in battle for free. I made them give us what we have wanted for so long, and have only heard stories about. Once we cast down these demons, all the sacred places will be given back into our care. We can cleanse and worship where Chalava walked. Not only will we spill blood for the god, but we will made the Ejrahk sacred places Ejrahk once more. Is it a sin to battle by the side of Ezrian, or is it sin to let those sacred spots drown and be destroyed by demons?"

After that, the debate raged. Omens were taken, the Ketar was danced in earnest. Rehal pleaded, and it took into the night and well into the next morning for the votes and decisions to be cast. In the end, Rehal and Graal won out. The Ezrians would be aided, for the sake of preserving the history of Ejrahk and Chalava.

The final nine shells were quickly dispatched to the rally point, under the strict guidance and assistance of Gran.

Summary

--Gran fights a friend using a knife, solidifying his theory of using weapons and a form of martial arts to train new infantry units. He is then summoned to the Ezrian border.
--A messenger is dispatched to the Bear Tongue tribe, to mine iron ore and attempt to forge weapons for the infantry.
--A convention of Martia is called near the border and is held one week later. Rehal makes an empassioned speech. Eventually it is decided that Ejrahk will aid the Ezrians in their war, and ten companies of light Calvary are dispatched.

((sorry about the long ass post rofl I got excited))

Far East Ejrahk/Ezrian Border

Matria Narhin of the Ej'har tribe rushed to her feet at the first messenger. The girl looked panicked, standing next to her blowing horse. Another young herdsman quickly took the reins of the her mount, leading it away to tend to it before the beast collapsed. The girl quickly started to talk, her words stumbling over themselves. "Matria, Martia. Our watering hole, strange people occupy it. Their ears, they are pointed. They are many, perhaps six hundred, perhaps as much as twelve hundred. They look to be warriors" She swallowed hard, shaking her head. Sweat flew. "We did not approach, or talk to them. I sent my brother to Kresh for guidance. What will we do?"

Narhin rocked back on her heels. Stories had been told, stories that had been rendered old and near myth among her mother's mother, of a people with pointy ears. Some had even claimed to see them in Ezria. For so many to suddenly arrive from the east... It was surely an omen. Her mind raced. She patted the girl on the shoulder. "Go rest. You've done well, and earned it."

Once the girl was gone, she crossed their simple camp and entered into the tent of their priest. Huurn knelt in his tent. No ornaments adorned the walls, and the only object present within was a single layer of leather as a bed, his whip, and his rod. This was a man consumed by the god, and had no need of physical trappings. She could practically feel the god's presence as she stood in the doorway, but she refrained from entering. She pitched her voice softly. "Huurn. I need your council."

The priest turned his eyes upon her. "Outsiders have camped near our watering hole. If they persist, we will not be able to water our stock. We do not know what they intend."

Huurn slowly blinked. There was a slight glaze to them. Sometimes priests chewed the Huva root, to help clear their mind. A side effect was the slowing of movement and the eventual loss of eyesight. His teeth were stained red from the root. "Do not feel fear, you displease the god. Your weakness offends her." Narhin nodded. "I was wrong. I will beg forgiveness.

"Good. These outsiders, they are not Ejrahk?"

"No."

"Word has been sent to the Ej'Matria and the convention?"

"Word has been sent to Kresh. Warriors will be here with haste, perhaps." Haste was a relative term among the Ejrahk. If there was a true need was deemed, then maybe some would arrive soon. Otherwise, they would be left to their own devices. Huurn nodded. "I see. This is good. Tomorrow at dawn, we will attempt words. If these outsiders wish to come upon our land, they must be pure. Demons must not be allowed to enter. Send fifty. I will sacrifice."

The next morning his instructions were followed. The Matria and her priest sat at the head of the mounted column, and they were without weapons. While bloodshed was glorious, there was simply too many. Besides, many looked injured. It would be murder and not death in combat to sweep in and destroy them out. The Ejrahk had first smeared their hair, faces, and horses in white mud. It was a signal that they wished no harm, and only wished to talk. Whether these godless pointy eared outsiders would recognize it or not, they surely wouldn't feel threatened by a small contingent of horsemen.

Ejrahk/Ezrian Border

Graal sat in his tent, slowly chanting with his eyes half shut when the news reached him of the cougher. His heart felt troubled, to hear the accounting of a giant black cougher devouring seven warriors. The avatar of Chalava would only act for a reason. If it had been any other time, he would have dismissed the killings as the punishment for sinful men. They had been consumed by demons and he had failed to recognize them, and Chalava had sent her strong talons to rend them. It had been years since his people had even encountered one. The fact it was black troubled him. Demons were at work here.... but were they demons seeking to trick him, to blind his people's senses, or did the demons lurk among them?

Rehal had strayed, in her decision to alone decide for the Ejrahk. But the omens had supported her. Every sacrifice he had made from a week ago to now supported this choice. The sacred places could not be lost to demons. The birdmen would be forced to keep their word. He had personally purged her of her sin. Her back was reduced to a mass of welts and long cuts, several of which needed the healers. She had cried out her anguish, and her sacrifice had pleased the god.

A young boy sat by his tent, always ready to tend to the old man's needs. With a flick he ran across the camp, and soon returned with a middle aged woman. Graal nodded at her. "Warrior. Tracker. Surely you have heard of the attack." Her eyes became downcast as she nodded. "Yes."

"Good. My helper was instructed to find the best tracker among the tribes. That is you, because I do not think he is stupid. I task you with a job given from Chalava. Something is not right. She sends her avatar to try to tell us something. But only one man has seen the beast. He will die soon. Make him take you to where he was attacked, and track it. Find it, if you can. We must reach out and ascertain Chalava's will."

The woman nodded and stood, leaving without another word.

--A group of fifty Ejrahk are dispatched to the farthest outreach of the elven refugees to ascertain their intent and reason for being here. They wear white mud smeared across their faces and hair, a sign of parley.
--Graal, high priest, is deeply troubled by the attack of the cougher. He dispatches a tracker to see if they can find the beast and discern the truth.

Bear Tongue Tribe

The Bear Tongue tribe was one that had long roots in cultivation of the earth and exploration. It was them who had originally found and reported the veins of iron found in their homeland and winter resting ground. Kresh had instructed them to let the resources alone. At the time they had little to do with the metal. Now, the more recent innovation of heated clay ovens had made it possible to melt and shape the iron. For the time, the few privileged Ejrahk used iron for bits in bridles and everyday life. Warriors obtained spears tipped with iron as it was available. Weapons and armor were things that still were relatively new among the Ejrahk, and they found little use for armor. Boiled leather armor was all that was considered honorable. If you were truly skilled, you wouldn't have a need for such. As such they'd several times gathered the raw ore, but soon took back to the long path.

Now, a messenger had come and instructed that mining should continue in earnest. They immediately packed up and headed for the low gully that housed the cave where they had in the past mined. It was the work of a day to set up camp, and they got to work.

Ejrahk Matria Convention

The morning after Rehal convinced the Matria, the ten shells of ligh infantry were dispatched. They rode to the rally point, a seething army that cast the waiting guides distrustful glances. Within the hour everyone became settled, and they departed along the mountain trail. Largely self sufficient, for every two mounts they brought with them a packhorse laden with dried jerky, blankets, knives, and tents. They ate on the road rather than stop. Mountain paths are slow, but their horses were bred over centuries and were hardy. Still, there were very few opportunities to push into a trot or canter. It was for the best, they were determined to stay rested and arrive at war fresh and ready for blood.

--The Bear Tongue tribe reach the cave filled with iron, and begin to mine.
--Ten units of light calvary departed for Agrina directly after the convention of Matria.

Martia Convention
Graal anxiously awaited the return of the tracker. Her news deeply disturbed him. That it was hard to track, that was expected. From the stories passed down to him, these beasts were murderously hard to track. It was part of what made them so dangerous. The smell was obviously from spice... something that would greatly enrich the Ejrahk. It could be bartered and traded, or it could be used among them for a variety of things. But the cougher was formidable. Had it been sent by Chalava herself to lead them to this resource? The fact it lie beyond their border was merely a inconvenience. The Ezrian were fools, anyways. It had already killed seven men.... and Graal didn't wish to kill it. Not yet, when it was surely such a great sign. He prayed, seeking guidance.

As the convention continued, Gran was busy demonstrating his ideas. He'd formed up several new shells already, and had shown them off in skirmishes against mounted men. Bows had been commonly used among the Ejrahk for hunting, but now Gran turned them towards hunting men. Ejrahk wheeled, dodged, and dove as they fought. In the end his ideas were approved, and he was given leave to attempt to turn an idea into military might. Shells were formed, and riders were sent to encourage others to do the same and to send warriors to Kresh to again be trained for these new shells. Gran returned to Kresh, taking much of his newly trained infantry with him.

Far East Ejrahk/Ezrian Border
Narhin and Huurn listened to the elves with their men, taking in their condition. It was a somewhat pleasant conversation. At the end, Narhin politely excused themselves and rode back to camp, with the promise that they would discuss this and that it was not entirely their decision to make. An answer would come, but the elves would need to remain patient as it was deliberated on the time table of her people. However, they weren't left without aid. Spare blankets, tents, and the tribe's medicine man were dispatched to take a look at the wounded. He sewed wounds, made potions, and in a very polite gesture offered to tattoo the wounds in Ejrahk style. Food was sent as well. It was hardly enough to feed all the elves, but the Ejrahk spared what they could.

Messengers were dispatched to Kresh and to the Matria convention, and for three weeks the flow of riders in and out of the tribe was a near steady stream. Finally, Narhin again approached the general Silias. She sat across from him, legs crossed. She was bare to the waist as was custom, displaying her impressive array of tattoos. Fresh welts covered her back and arms. A long, stitched cut crossed on cheek as she'd been tasked and cleansed during deliberation. "We have reached a decision concerning your people. The Ejrahk feel sorrow for your plight at the hands of the birdmen. We, too, have felt their lash and been pushed from our ancestor's land. While this land is good, and is now our homeland, we remember our mother's graves and the places Chalava once walked.

"Your people are welcome here, to build houses and provide for your children. We understand you do not know our ways, and that you were not raised Ejrahk. However, if you build your homes and bury your dead under our eye, you are now Ejrahk. You will be given into a people of thousands of brothers and sisters. We understand that some have their own god, but our god must become yours as well when living in her land. You will be treated as children will in our ways. You will be given priests to guide you.

"Respect this land when you build. It is an honor that we let you stay, and let you build. It is an honor we will guide you as children and allow you your customs, rather than show you the fist of Chalava that is shown to adults. I hope we may walk together many miles."

At that she stood and made a fist to her chest. "You may have as long as you need to consider and accept our terms. If you do not, you will be given whatever time you need to heal your wounded and depart."

Kresh

In Kresh, the rise of budding infantry and the decision to war brought some joy. The new influx of wood allowed the citizens to improve their homes and quality of life being stuck in one place. A Town Watch is built, as a new place for priests to stay and task lawbreakers.

Summary

-Gran displays the power lurking in forming infantry, primarily in the bow and the spear. He forms several shells of skirmishers, spreading the word and returning to Kresh to continue to train warriors.
-Narhin gives an offer to the Thaedys'm Cal. They are welcome to built a settlement, as long as they respect the land and to some degree adopt Ejrahk customs and religion. If this deal is rejected, they will be given whatever time they need to leave.
--Town Watch is built for 15 EP

Kresh

Gran returned to Kresh in high spirits. With him traveled many of his new warriors. In a month he was of a mind to send units of his best shells to the front in Ezria, to see how they performed. Training for years was all very well and good, but he was Warleader and it was his duty to make sure the ideas he had were good. Ejrahk had always fought from the back of a horse, and it had worked. To do things differently would take time and a lot of trial and error.

The first thing he did was see to his trainees. It was a wondrous feeling, to be walking among the halls and skirmish grounds. His ears swelled with the noise of horses cantering, and men and women screaming their battle formations. His nose was filled with the scent of sweat, leather, and horseflesh. He couldn't think of a place he would rather be, then by and around his brothers and sisters. It made him happy, to know he had found places for the recruits who would never pass the tests to become a warrior on horseback. Normally they would leave Kresh in disgrace, their lives doomed to end within the year. No tribe would accept a failed warrior. Most warriors who were finally sent away unblooded killed themselves. It was a good way to do things. To give their life to Chalava, rather than spend it wandering the plains in exile and misery.

Gran walked to the crude structure that acted as their barracks. It was hardly adequate for their needs, and in the winter fire was disallowed in the premise for fear of burning the thing down. It reminded him of what he had given up five years ago to become master of the school. It was good, in that it reminded him of the god. But he was only a warrior, not a priest, and he longed for an improved dwelling. A sinful thought, no doubt. He would cry tears of blood later in repentance.

The master was halfway through the barracks and to his quarters when he paused by a half open curtain to a barracks room. A huddled form lay on the bed, shoulders shaking. Gran stepped inside the room, and drew the curtain closed to stifle the sound of her weeping. If a priest hear her, she would surely be whipped for her tears. Gran walked to the edge of the bed, and knelt, taking a look at the face of the would-be warrior. It was the young girl who had fallen off her mount during the last training session he'd been at. The one he'd so cruelly struck. Nuruk was her name.

Nuruk noticed him, and quickly sat upright, dashing water from her eyes. She struck a fist to her chest. "Gran Warleader." Gran waved a dismissive hand. "What brings you to such sinful tears, Nuruk? Do you fail in the path of the god, or are you simply tired?"

She must have missed the amusement in his voice, and she trembled Most Ejrahk had brown eyes and brown hair. Her eyes were a shade of green. Green was a good color, it was blessed. Blue eyed babies were killed, for they were demon lost. "I am always devout, Gran Warleader. I am frustrated, and weep to the god in it. No matter how I practice, I do not do well like the other warriors in training. I make mistakes and fall. It is only by Chalava's will I am alive... but I do not see why. I will fail the tests soon, and my life will end."

Gran felt guilty, and knew then his theories truly were Chalava's will. With a smile he put a hand on her head. "Do not weep to the god, she will probably smite you for it. Meet me in an hour. I will place a bow in your hands and see how you do. Perhaps you will not be a warrior of the horse, but a warrior of the bow."

Nuruk's eyes filled with tears, before she quickly fought them down again. "My heart is moved, Gran. But be careful, your kindness may been seen as weak. The priests will be upset."

He laughed then, a deep throaty laugh. "You will not think me kind an hour from now. You will curse my name and beg the priests to cleanse the demons from me." He let his hand fall from her head, trailing down her cheek. All his students were precious to him. With that he turned and left the room, spending a minute affix the curtain. He cursed these buildings.

His mind rolled. The birdmen were trading them wood now, and he knew they now kept people skilled in building inside Kresh. An idea formed. He quickly mounted after leaving the building, and rode through the blessed city. The Matria lived in a simple, but well kept and built home. It doubled as a place to receive visitors and hear complaints and requests the priests could not resolve. Alia was a tall, big boned women. She was young and fierce, and her eyes filled with displeasure at the sight of him. He clasped a head to his heart.

"Alia."

"Gran."

"Alia, the birdmen are trading us wood. Surely we can barter for some to make a real barracks. My warriors sleep on dirt, the wind sighs through the walls. Some days I think we should get tents, those would be better."

She breathed out a deep sigh through her nose. "That is much wood, and I must give them our coins to build. Many coins. Warriors must be strong, dirt will not kill them."

"You forget your time training. Dirt for warriors during war is a reality. My warriors in training need beds. Will you at least ask?"

She stared, and finally nodded. "I will consult with the signs and Brakthar. If the god wills it, we will speak with the birdmen about this new building."

Several weeks later

Alia sent for Gran, and an hour later he arrived. It was something that would have irritated the birdmen, or "civilized" folk, but Alia hardly minded. He was busy, and would come when he could. The Ejrahk put little stock into punctuality or promptness. Gran approached the Matria and clasped a fist to his chest. A new tattoo had been added in the past week, a twisting design over his nose, skipping across his eye and over his forehead. It gave him a rogueish look, and she hated him for it.

"Gran, the omens had spoken. It is not a good time to make deals with the birdmen. It is time for Kresh to move. Chalava does not wish us to stay."

He stared. "What? Are you sure?" She gave a long snort, and gave him a slap across the shoulder. "Do you doubt the words of your Matria? Brakthar and I have been sacrificing without ceasing for six days now. We have created rivers of blood. The signs are clear. Chalava wishes us to move. There is no point in building a barracks when we are leaving this place."

"Where will we go?"

"West, to the mountain range. There is a sacred place. I saw it in a vision by the Huva weed. Chalava wishes us to pay attention and learn from there."

"And the birdmen?"

"They are not important. We will leave without them."

And as simply as that, it was done. Nothing was permanent among a people of nomads. It took less than two days. The most interesting carvings were broken off and kept, and everything else was loaded into wagons and onto horses. Gran and his entire warrior school left on the first day. Foraging was a simple matter for them, and food was of little concern. To the birdmen, it would seem like one day they woke up and most of the people were just gone. On the second day, most of the buildings would also vanish, leaving the bones of what had once been a divine place.

Summary

Gran returns to Kresh. There he takes the young woman who had fallen off her mount and who he had struck under his arm for training as a skirmisher. Alia is introduced, Matria of Kresh.

The Ejrahk decide that the location of Kresh must be moved. They pack up and leave, leaving the birdmen's trade hall behind.