Cut scene

The candle flame flickered, illuminating a small patch of rock, as a tanned hand drew with the sacred ochre.

With quick, strong movements, demonstrating a confidence in the work and a faith in his task.

Sound filled the space; an incantation, a song that drifted between two planes…..Expending power from one to the other…..And summoning something from the beyond…..

The sounds change from human to that of an animal, large and snarling…..Driven by rage.


………

The Herd thundered across the plain….A stinking, mooing, pushing throng of massive beasts. And intermixed with their bellows, the voices of a hundred men and women singing songs of praise.

Praise to their Goddess.

Praise to their Ancestors.

And praise to their land…..

…………..

Far away where a river met the sea, amongst a wide mangrove filled delta, the sound of hammers and other songs filled the air, travelling far across the water, scaring all manners of wildlife for miles around.

On an island, wooden piles are driven deep into the mud and sand, strengthened by sturdy magic. Magic foreign to these parts, from over West, beyond the mountains, and given further strength by a Red Goddess, intent on settling her own roots into the barbarian soil….

Overseeing the work stood a man, tall and strong; at his side a proud looking woman….His wife, who leans close as he whispers in to her ear.

"The town shall bear your name……"



Elsewhere….

Bonfires were lit, illuminating old walls, about which many people went about their evening business, preparing food, settling beasts and calming unruly children.

Amongst them walked strangers, armoured and well armed. Foreigners but united with their hosts by a common bond.

Quivers full of arrows banged against metal clad legs and their spears were like a forest against the dark sky, their burnished points glowing in the firelight.

It had been a long journey, but now they were in the heart of it and the search could begin in earnest.

Cut Scene

In the distance is the red glow of a fire, barely visible through the howling dust storm.

"Look it's a fire"

*Smack*

"Ouch...What'cha do that for?"

"Because I can see that's it's a fecking fire, numbskull."

"What'll we do?"

"Go get the lads."

*Smack*

"And that one's just for luck…"


_____________________

An hour or so later….. 256 creepy crawlies

The thorny tree shook violently, accompanied by several loud curses , until eventually a small, tanned hand poked through the dry foliage.

"Got it"

The hand now grasping a bone fetish is followed by the shaved head of an Impala Brave, red feathers dangling from the bone plugs in his elongated ear lobes.

"Here…Catch" and it's thrown down to another waiting warrior, sat atop his war Impala, a freshly skinned dog lying across it's back.

"Sorted."

Then the bone audibly growled….

--------------
On the banks of a river…. off to see the shaman 792

There's the shuffle of protesting feet being dragged through the dirt, muffled curses and exclamations of pain. Magic flashes and the voices quieten down….

An officer, dressed in the regalia of the Marble Phalanx, steps forward issuing commands, a drum adding to his sombre voice.

And slowly, the crossed wooden beams rise to meet Yelm as he appears far to the East, his rays silhouetting the crucified men against the bright blue sky.

Not one of them makes a sound…At first…..But the screams come….They always do…..

"Rebel scum…" and the officer turns his back, facing the nearby covered palanquin, where a curtain drops back into place, it's masked occupant reclining against an embroidered cushion and humming a happy tune.

"Back to the city"

---------------
Hoeward bound 47

Elsewhere….

There's a cloud of dust from which elbows, fists and legs appear, followed by the thud of blows and spat out curses….

Whispers from the Sky is shouting, Long Grass is face palming and a large collection of heavily laden Bison and Rhinos look on whilst chewing methodically.

Kobal and Greeshar.

Toe to toe, Rhino to Bison….

—————————
Homeward bound 965
Skywalker, beloved of the Morning star and Bright treasure, pulled the reigns of his war ostrich so that it came to an abrupt halt. His red feathered cloak fluttered in the late afternoon breeze.
To his family’s horror he had decided to see the land of his birth once more, forbidden to him since the defeat at Moonbroth those few years past. From the wastes he had trekked, then snuck across the low ford and after a week of travel he was nearing his goal.
"Bastard Sables….Moon shaggin’ a’holes, the lot of ‘em….nearly as bad as them frigging ‘airy baboons…..bluuurg….Hey! Wass at?’
His flock continued feeding amongst the high cactus, as he shielded his eyes and peered at the fast approaching black cloud…
‘Mutha Ostrich…..wot the feck is that?’


————————————
A dangerous crossing 828.



"You see what I see Guv?"

"Yeah I sure do Geezer. It's our lucky night innit! Get the lads and send back word to the Queen."

"Poison?"

"Yeah poison, fuck being nice.”


—————————————
post 197 the earth temple
A huge tent, filled with men and women of the Red Thorns.

"I say we kill them all, take their beasts for our own. They are barely adults and think they can tell us what is what" the speaker is a fierce and slightly crazed Storm Bull of nearly forty years, his large Iron axe hung over a heavily muscled shoulder.

"I say ignore them, we out number them. The oasis is ours whatever they say" This from a grizzled hunter.

The conversations goes back and forth, from one spectrum to the other, with a small and vocal group calling for peace and time for negotiation.

"Be quiet!"

A sharp voice speaks over them his tone settling them into silence "Or we can just use them to our advantage...."

It's the clan's shaman, wearing a cloak of multicoloured feathers, totally covering his body beneath. His red dyed face is proud and ageless, though his long braids are silver. The air swirls about him, the other side undeniably close, as if something or somethings are trying to get out.


—————————————————————
364

I'm not a Harpy plucker, I'm a Harpy plucker's mate.
A flash of sun light as the canopy above is momentarily moved by the exit of something large. The flap of wings, slow and strong.

Down below where the tall trees spring from the fertile soil, the thick foliage of the Garden is still.

Impassable thorn filled thickets, curtains of hanging vines and ferns as large as houses fill every available space, the overall green of the Garden only broken by flowers of every shape, colour and size imaginable.

Flights of shimmering, long billed birds flit this way and that, chasing iridescent insects and butterflies as plates.

It's glorious in so many ways.

That is except for the gruff voices and the sound of cutting.

On the edge, where the trees are slightly thinner comes a band of Uz, axes cutting and heavy maces smashing. Having braved the daylight, sneaking through ancient tunnels, they'd made the vegetation without discovery....

Or so they'd thought.

Up above a score of humanoids watch, camouflaged against all discovery. With living bows they wait for the signal, all eyes on the leader of their war band

The Aldryami Lords.

Young warriors intent on following the footsteps of those that walked before.