This is no longer the tip of Vissio.

The Howling wastes have their own feel, and Gaja KNOWS when she has arrived on the ancient lands of her ancestors. The sun in the sky, and the shuffling of the sand beneath one's sandles is said to be the only companion a Howler needs.

Of course, it's also nice to ride a giant scorpion, instead. It leaves you to consider the fate of your people and the future, and all the bizarre adventurers that you have had and new powers weigh heavily on your mind. Whatever happens, you know you will face it with your loyal mount.

A snore from behind you reminds you that there is at least one other loyal companion with you. Loyal, but loud in this case. Sarnai has already grown acustom to riding on the giant scorpion. Earlier, she'd been practicing standing on the animal, developing her balance (and occasionally, falling technique). Between that and the desert of course, Sarnai was quickly wiped out by this fatigue: her people were hardy, but they were not bred for the desert, nor were they gods.

They were certainly bred for the saddle though, and Sarnai had no issue sleeping in the saddle, not even leaning on you particularly heavily.

You are deep in the desert now. There is said to be one of the larger tribes of the area in this area, certainly one of the ones closest to Vissio. It was just a matter of finding them.

(NOTE- Sorry for the delay, had to figure out what I was going to do with the tribe, but I think I have a good idea now)
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:08, Thu 04 June 2020.

  Nothing yet has managed to break Gaja's good cheer at the prospect of seeing her people again.  It won't be quite like seeing her family again, of course, but just getting away from the stultifying pettiness of Vissian nobles is like having a binding removed.  Out here, Gaja is the political expert who knows the terrain and the people and the customs.  It had been entirely too long, by her reckoning.

  But she is, sadly, not out on a social call.  She's not heading to a moot, either.  And she's not, despite even now having the right to, looking for a tribe to adopt her.  Gaja is looking for secrets no one is supposed to tell her, things it would be taboo to ask.  So she won't.  But she will ride into the territory of other tribes with the songs of the Shining Fifth filling the air around her for miles.  She will help herself to the small game and ripe fruit that a respectful visitor leaves untouched.  She will ride the high ground everywhere, to be easily seen—a lone rider accompanied by a chorus of hundreds.  She will make them come to her, and soon their secrets will be hers, and they will have to tell her.

  Sarnai shifts behind her, and Gaja pauses in her ruminations to cast an affectionate smile back over her shoulder.  Not lone, at that.  They had grown closer over several days of travel, both as master and pupil and as something approximating friends.  The girl's upbringing makes her a natural in the saddle, but her own nature makes her a natural for Gaja's philosophy of conflict.  They are two lost daughters of nomads, as much as nascent goddess and first disciple, and that is a companionship Gaja has not otherwise felt in close to a year.  It is a precious thing.  And so she smiles, and she directs the thousand voices of her ancestors into every ear that can hear except the two just behind her.

  Soon, the tribe will follow the trails she has left, come to investigate the field of songs, maybe spy the robe she wears, so close to the Keepers' as to be blasphemous.  Soon, someone will decide to check her defiance of rules she clearly ought to know.  Soon, seeing no war party, only two women navigating the blasted scrub, will encourage them to come headstrong and foolish.  Soon, Gaja will set terms, as the Challenged one.  For now, she remains still in a way no mortal could, and she leaves her companion to sleep.  They are traveling north.  The direction matters little, so long as Vissio is at their backs.  Soon, she will see her people again.

You're not really trying to hide your presence, and soon enough, you see a riding lizard in the distance, between two high dunes. The rider, wearing rather netural looking robes worn by desert travelers, with no colors, waves you over. They are of very high quality for fabric in the desert- possibly imported from as far as Dublinai if they are silk.

The lizard was a a common Howler mont, bred for speed, not war, and was fall smaller than your scorpion. It stoped and raised it's head cautiously as it spotted the danger from the scorpion.

At this distance, it's hard to see with the sun high in the sky and reflecting off the desert and the stinging dust that tends to blow in one's eye, but the the desert conspires to spare Gaja's vision. This is, after all, her place.

Howler's are somewhat territorial, even to other tribes. If a tribe is starving and moves into another area, wars and raids are a possibility. And of course, there is always the possibility of trickery from outsiders to draw entire tribes into slavery. There is also the possibility of trade and exchange of information, celebration - a vital part of howler culture.

So, the first meetings of travelers can be tense. Caution is the order of things.

Gaja knows distant handsigns and (most obvious to all, including outsiders) the calls and songs that mark her as Howler, who she is and what tribe she comes from, her condition and if she is being coersed. Of course, these can be duplicated or stolen from enslaved Howlers.

This rider may be here to test newcomers as protection, or lead them into an ambush. Or potentially be a slaver ambushing Howlers. There is no safety in the desert. The large dunes are one of the few areas in the desert where one can hide effectively.

They make sure they have your eye, and raise numerous handsigns. An outsider would probably just judge them as waves, but Gaja could make out the individual signs.

FRIENDLY GREETING
NO WAR/TRUCE
PLEASE APROACH, IT'S SAFE
TRADE/DISCUSS
SING YOUR SONG?

[EDIT - Sorry Gaja! I accidentally edited out your post and there is no way to restore.]

[In very brief, Gaja greeted the actual local in the same way one welcomes a junior or subordinate back from a journey.]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:20, Thu 11 June 2020.

The single form returns their own song, and the howl crosses the desert. It is good to hear it again.. so long as it's not 30 warriors co-ordinating your death.

Though you cannot make out the person, the voice tells you much. The voice is female: alto soprano to be specific. It is not developed enough to be a bard of your people, but the voice is clearly OF your people.

It is lovely to hear it, as it's been a while since you were able to howl. It is difficult to master, but difficult to fake, as well, and in the desert, it carries for miles outside a sand storm.

Your challenge, you judge, is received.

She responds with her own screeching howl, "You speak improperly. Know that you are in the domain of Stone Lizards. I am Inja, a trader. If you are a true member of the people, speak properly, call your name, role and tribe. I am WAITING for your response, 'sister'." "

There are some odd inflections in the speech. It is an invitation to invoke a howler chant that indicates one is being forced to act against your will.

Much is stated by her response. Clearly, this is someone who knows all the ways of your people. From there speech, it's clear there are others around, likely hiding behind the dunes.

Howlers might rob an outsider who came to trade, but this was rare as trade with smugglers from Vissio or traders from the Republic were not unknown. In times of desperation, some had raided other howler tribes. However, it was incredibly rare for a tribe to attack someone after a howl calling for trade. If word of it were to get out, that tribe would quickly become anathema to all other tribes.

  Gaja laughs merrily, translating again in a whisper, at the same time. She's been doing that more—speaking in multiple voices—as she grows accustomed to her Authority, and it teeters on the edge between uncanny and inhuman. The laughter itself carries impossibly well, as though she were standing right in front of Inja. It trails off, at the end into a trill that traces the coercion song backward. Nothing standard, but recognizable enough with a moment of thought.

  "I think I've annoyed her, Sarnai," she giggles, again using only the voice from her throat. She stands then, high up on her toes with the muscles of her calves flexing so precisely in time with Szkarik's movements, she is the anchor of the world, and he, affixed to her, pushes the dunes past them rather than carrying them over the uneven sand. With arms spread wide, she howls her reply, in a whistle that cuts through the air for miles, in a rumble like thunder that sends sand and rocks spilling down from high places, in a joyous coloratura that somehow carries gentle affection even over the din.

  I am GAJA, who bears blessing
  Peace chief of the Shining Fifth
  War chief of the Shining Fifth
  Shaman of the Wardenlands
  Mother of my sisters
  Grandmother of the Stone Lizards

  I come Home
This message was last edited by the player at 19:00, Sun 07 June 2020.

Gaja's words were perfectly formed speech, and declined coercion, but they were slightly mad to claim to be "Grandmother" of the Stone Lizards and a joint chief of another tribe (which was not how such things were done). Still, it seemed more playful than insulting, and there was clearly a story there.




"Your song is strange,
but I will not begrude you a place at the fire
Come forward, Howler.
We offer peace"

Inja stepped forward a bit, and made out the robes Gaja was wearing. She dropped from full howler speak to a more conversational tone.

"Ah, a priest of the old places!
What are you doing so far from the ruins?
We have long awaited your return!"

  "My song is strange. My story has been stranger," Gaja says with an easy smile as they approach. She steps lightly down from Szkarik before he has quite stopped and turns to gesture at the remaining rider.

  "This is Sarnai.
 She is mine.
I will pay her debts,
and I will answer any harm." Then she gestures for her companion to come close before turning back to Inja. "You can call the others forward. They heard me. I made sure of it. And they will all want to hear the answers to your questions. I am not yet who you think."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:14, Mon 08 June 2020.

Two of the "others" step out and wave and descend before returning to their positions. Now that you are closer you can see that there are about 10 of them with shrieker slings and other Howler weapons. A few have binoculars and shades scavenged or traded with the republic.

"They will remain and watch for outsiders.
We must always be vigilant against hubris."
An old howler saying.
"Though a few will escort us in once we are concluded trading.
But manners first, no doubt you are parched!"

Inja passes a waterskin to Gaja. The water is brakish, but this is not uncommon for tribes that have been away from an oasis or the shore for a while. At least you can taste the bitter tea herbs commonly used to filter and de-toxify water.

You trade a few worthless stones you have on you for this purpose for equally worthles stones. Once this formality is complete, she does show you an impressive selection of crafts that you'd have to actually trade for. There's everything from musical instruments to weapons to tacking (wealth 6 or 7, roughly, at least out here).

It was kind of odd for the tribe to have so much for trade, even if she was representing a large tribe, though that could mean any number of things, good or bad.

  It has been long enough that the meaty tang of the water only makes Gaja more giddy to be home. And in any case, she has almost forgotten the feel of thirst, by now. She takes a sip to be polite and begins to pass the skin to Sarnai as a deeply ingrained habit, but stops halfway. Her eyes drop to the waterskin briefly, then rise to meet the Toban's with a mischievous light, and then she raises the skin to her lips again. It takes several seconds more to finish draining it, and she makes a big show of smacking her lips and catching her breath when she finishes.

  "I regard your hospitality well, Inja of the Stone Lizards." Gaja crouches without fanfare and brushes a couple handfuls of sand away from a spot near her feet to reveal a quickly-welling spring. She pauses to rinse the skin out before filling it again. "And you have said nothing wrong. Your patience is something I think not all will posess. It will do well for your kin."

  The woman stands again and now passes the water back to her friend, giving the spring an offhand wave that ends its flow immediately. Only then does she return to browsing Inja's actual wares. "Tell me, this gujong, have you yourself heard it sing? It looks especially well-made."

"Ah, yes. Tula was a gifted maker."

She made a sign honoring those who had returned to the spirits of the land.

"Normally, at least some of the curing is done on the move, and that effects the construction, keeps the makers from focusing on the small details, embroiderments.. you know, all the little things you'd expect on exceptional outsider crafts."

The first rule for Howler designs was functionality and durability, and Howlers had very limited time for crafts due to how much they rode.

"But we've been stationary for nearly half a year, so have had more time to focus on crafts. I very much look forward to a tribesmoot."

That was VERY unusual. There were circumstances where hunting and water might allow a tribe to remain that long in a single area, but usually, tribes only deviated from their nomadic patterns when they were pressured by some outside force. The longer a tribe stayed in one place, the more it taxed the local game, flora for their beasts, and the local water supplies.

Six months without moving was a very unusual amount of time to wait. You also wonder if you had been an outsider, if the tribe would have been desperate enough to raid you. Possibly. You do not yet quite know how many warriors are concealed in the dunes.

"We are short on hides, foods and water. We have many small opals for trade. Useless for us, but pretty, and outsiders will trade for them."

There is something odd about that. If they are not ranging, how are they finding desert opals? Have they run into a mine or old cache? That might be worth investigating in the future.

She is quite willing to actually trade for any goods before she escorts you to the main camp.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:16, Wed 10 June 2020.

  Among the many alarming things that roll casually off the trader's tongue, what stands out to Gaja most is this: They had settled down.  And of course it stands out, because so had the Shining Fifth.  There is typically quite a lot of color in the Howler's cheeks, but it does a good job of draining away as Inja calmly explains her people's impending doom.

  And the other, perhaps the most alarming thing of the past several minutes, is what had not come from Inja's tongue.  They are short on food and water, she had said, but Gaja had conjured water from the sands only moments before.  And that hadn't seemed to startle the woman at all.  The Stone Lizards are apparently flooded with wealth but running out of time for survival, and this outrider pays no attention to a miracle happening at her feet?  The possibilities are too dispersed to sort out anything clear, but Gaja's guts turn to ice, in exactly the way they had been when the others made the poison deal with Laiser.

  She had been teasing, with her over-the-top braggadocio.  She wanted to improve Howler society, not take it over.  But at the reminder of her lost family—of her father's mistakes that destroyed them—something shifts in her heart.  And it's visible, too, in the solemnity of her expression, the intentionality when she straightens even taller, in stepping forward to put a hand on Inja's elbow just so, standing right where the Consoler ought, even if Inja did not realize her need for consolation.  Anyone with eyes could read Gaja's movements: She is no longer here to trade or to play.  She comes as a rescuer, now.

  "Thank you, soft-tongue, for serving your people.  You have found more than you can know, this day.  But what I have to trade, only the elders can accept.  Please, will you guide us to the fire?  I am come to bless the faithful." A breeze rises from the south and stirs the woman's hair into slow waves; it's an uncommonly cool one for this time of day.

"Of course!" The woman smiled, her eyes trying not to gaze at the water now streaming forth.

There is joy in her eyes, and hidden sadness at the miracle performed, but the lack of surprise is real.

"I should have known. HE said we only need have faith, and we would be rewarded. I am sorry for any of my doubts."

She would not meet Gaja's eyes after that.

You are lead back to the fire and the rest of the village. More questions are raised. There is an arnach roach burning on the fire.

It's HUGE, at least 10 times the normal size of the dog sized beast, and gives off an arid, disgusting smoke that is not normally associated with the tasty creatures.
Even from a distance, the smell is rather horrific.

No less than three men cook it, wearing filter masks and eye protection, carefully adding dried dung to the fire or pushing the thing's limbs so that they burned  more easily, with long metal poles.

The healer's tent is also larger and far more active than it would be in most tribes, and there were a number of graves that had been placed. Substnatially more than you'd expect from a tribe given that they'd only been here six months.

The people, while a little gaunt, and many sporting injuries, are not starving or quite destitute yet. Children still played, and many were crafting or singing here  and there. Most of the songs were more of the religious variety than her tribe, but this was not uncommon when the tribe needed spiritual help, and some tribes tended to focus more on the spiritual. Stone Lizard was known to be one such tribe.

Inja already had the eyes of the camp on her. Or more precisely, the eyes were on Gaja. She fell to the ground.

"The spirit speaker has returned. She opened the land and water came forth."

Open gasps from the crowd, and a few fell to their knees or began praising the spirits. One older man with unusual markings, clothing nd weapons spoke out "Well damn. Sonofabitch was right." in Vissian (of all things). He might not be literally worshiping Gaja, but even he looked impressed.

Slowly, a chant began to build "AS IT WAS FORTOLD" which gradually morphed
into an impromptu song, building into a crescendo of songs.

Sarnai whispered to Gaja "Is this normal?"

Out of one of the tents, a young man emerged. He was marked as the tribe's shaman, but it was hard to notice anything but his face and eyes, for he was painfully good looking, in a way that made one seriously consider that they might have some kind of inhuman heritage behind it. It reminded Gaja of the Fey that had freed them all and simply vanished, back on the island, though not nearly as pronounced.

He looked at Gaja, took in the priestly robes she wore. Though he did not smile, his lips locked into a solemn form, his eyes did. He raised a hand and the din was cut away.

He spoke. It was a voice of quiet compassion, but iron confidence, haunting and haunted. "You are not the one... but you must be one of his servants. I am Drune, Worldly Shaman of the Stone Lizards.

We wait, as instructed. None have approached the forbidden city. We have lost many tribesmen against the deadly beasts, and faced many challenges. Some of us have even shared doubts from the challenge, but the Stone Lizards are still ready to serve. Some have doubted in thought, but we have and will continue to remain FAITHFUL."

The word has power, and the tribe, except Inja and a few others, join in a chorus of affirmation, a wordless tone all Howlers know.

Inja, face silent, looks downward. A few in the crowd look guilty, and few looked angry at those individuals.

The man looked at Inja, and his thumb brushed her cheek "Inja. Face upwards! And those who look with hate upon our brothers, I bid you do not. Inja's way is to keep the tribe's body. This is not deserving of contempt. Your doubts.. all the tribe's doubts, were understandable. You did not see the visions as we did. You are not a shaman.

Let us all sing as one tribe, united. No anger. Not at those who did nothing but want to preserve the old ways.  No anger. No reprisals. The path was treacherous, but we have arrived.. together. Let this strengthen us: once more, let us sing the affirmation, ALL OF US."

The crowd joined into a great explanation of joy and affirmation. At this range, the urge to join in the infectuous chant was a palpable force. Tears formed on many cheeks, even Sarnai's eyes moistened, though she did not feel it appropriate to join in the chant.

As the tribe once again rose into wordless chorus, the man gestured with his hands. Any Howler would have recognized them as hand signs. Perceptive howlers would know them as spirit blessings, made only by shamans. But only a shaman would know exactly what they meant.. was he expecting a counter sign to return the blessing?

Uh oh.

Gaja was not a shaman of any kind.

  "Extremely not," comes the whispered response to Sarnai's question, but there is time for little more before the snake emerges from his burrow. Even the hair rising on the back of Gaja's neck is eloquent—something has interfered here. This is a perversion of what she hoped to find. She keeps her face locked in benign, aloof alertness for the moment, though.

  It lasts through the shaman's confusing dismissal and his assurances that he was leading the tribe in service to her master. Only one man had ever styled himself that, and she still savors the vengeance she has planned for him. Her eyes darken like a storm ready to burst, and the hint of foreign magic in the song—a song!—seals it.

  Gaja is not a shaman, despite her earlier boasting. And it takes a bit for her suspicion and anger to rise to a point where she is willing to challenge one, even one so compromised. But what they do to the kinsong is poison, is unclean. Gaja is not a shaman: shamans bargain with the ukthee. Gaja gives them commands.

  With a forceful cutting gesture, she silences the chant. All voices require her permission, she had explained to Vasati, and she revokes it for the entire tribe at once.  "Whose blasphemy are you waiting to complete?" she growls at the shaman, softly enough it would not have been audible but for the sudden silence.

The silence, turns around the village's mood in an instant. Howlers are a vocal people, and to be silenced is deeply concerning, particularly coming from a shaman.

The sudden errie silence is also distressing in general.

The odd warrior who spoke Vissian rises from his seat when he realizes what's going on, and taps his weapons to ensure that they are there. He doesn't draw them, though.A few guards exchange hand gestures, which you can pick up as "BE READY/ BUT NOT YET".The majority of the tribe are, obviously, scared of what is happened.

Drune (presuming you let him answer) responds.
"I do not understand. Is this a test?
Why will you not return the blessing?

We have not let any into the forbidden ruin.
We still await the return of our chief and the other aesthetics, who ventured into the forbidden area.
We have faithfully guarded the ruin against outsiders.

I have responded to the dreams the spirits have sent to us in time of meditation, and prepared for the new glorious age, as foretold. We have prepared the rites as requseted.

How have I offended the spirits?
Why have you struck my people's voices dumb?

And why have you not returned the blessings?
Or spoke of our chief and the priests who have left? "
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:42, Thu 11 June 2020.

  I will not bless the serpent
  waiting by the water, Gaja begins.

  She sings it. She sings it. Her increasingly sharp glare is reserved for the shaman alone, but her voice carries across the meeting-place.  With every word, she extends and enriches the harmonies with herself, filling the air much like like the kinsong had just. But where that song had been made into a force to bring the tribe into compliance, Gaja's holds no lure and no snare. If anything, it is antithetical to snares. She gradually releases her ban on the others as she continues.

  I will not praise the cuckoo
  who breaks the warbler's egg.

  I will not host the uncle
  who claims to be my brother.
  I will not tap the well
  that leaves the drinker dead.

  She ignores the guards for now, as well. If they set foot to stone, she and Sarnai will hear it before their second pace. The mysterious breaking of vital taboos proves to be much more concerning and holds her attention while she puzzles over the why of it. Of course, she is also making a point.

  Here, you wait, violate tradition.
  Blindest faith, the circle broken.
  No water, no grazing, no hunting, no guidance,
  just hollow greed, false prophet, your sores held open.

  "I am Gaja. I do come with blessings. But they are not from your lost chief, and they are not a reward for breaking the taboos! My gifts are for keeping the old ways! Only your doubters have shown wisdom!" By now, no voices are silenced except by fear, but a tight spiral breeze is lifting handfuls of sand in a halo around Gaja's ankles. If she had any intention of subtlety, before, it seems to be gone now. She stares down the shaman as though daring him to argue.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Fri 12 June 2020.

He doesn't try and match Gaja's singing voice, nor does he directly meet Gaja's gaze as the wind picks up. Instead, he simply speaks to the tribe. A number of the doubters do rise and stand closer to Gaja. At least they are netiher singing a song of praise.

"When the dreams touched us, we came here, the Stone Lizards heeded the call of the spirits, and we encountered the strange priests, who KNEW the secret priest blessings.

I am no outsider. You know me. Arnja, we played pebblestones in the sands at children. Raj, you remember our first night drinking fermented yabu fruit when we drank 15. Even then you could not hold your liqor. Yanik, I had the honor of presiding over your marrage.. and the horror of performing her funery rites."

He gave a look of empathy and compassion to the scarred man, who frowned.

"This Gaja.. she is not of our tribe, knows not our ways or troubles, only tells us that we blaspheme. An aesthetic priest, who knows not the blessings? Have you heard of such a thing? How do we not know that she is here to head us astray?

Are you willing to ignore the requests of the priests? Our chief, for whom we wait for his return? Our bellies are tight, but we do not languish. The beasts attacks have been daunting, but we have prevailed.

I am a shaman. I know not of cuckoos or uncles. I just know that the Stone Lizards have faith in the ways of the TRUE priests, the ones who know the blessings and the old ways. Not the ones who whisper to leave our cheif. To ignore our priests. do what is wrong. To do what is easy.

I cannot stop you from leaving. I have no powers over nature, no magic. Only the wisdom of our people. I trust in it. I have faith in the Stone Lizards. Do the Stone Lizards faith?"

More of the affirmative hums break out. Some do not join in, harboring their own private doubts, and the call is not as complete as before. Some of the doubters walk away from the throng. A few of the more zealous mark their weapons, but they are held back by others.

"No! Do not attack. Whatever Gaja is, it is a being of power. If it is a dark spirit, violence will not banish it. Leave! We will not be dissuaded by your songs."

A few villagers indicate with hand signs that they'd like to speak with you, away from the crowd. Notably Inja and a few others.

(OOC: Sorry if that feels cheap for a successful check, but this guy is literally their Shaman from their tribe, with the added advantage of damn near supernatural charisma. You'll basically have to work on figuring this one with some RP out first or use bigger gifts)

  If he doesn't want to be aggressive, there's no need to keep up the threat display.  The wind dies down as quickly as Gaja straightens and steps back.  By the proud smirk, you'd think she had just won that argument, never mind that the tribe carried on largely without change.  She turns to rejoin Szkarik and Sarnai, but pauses briefly when she faces the crowd to address it.

  "The Shining Fifth will not go to war with Stone Lizards.  Raise your spears if you are insulted so deeply.  I will temper my response to keep you safe.  Even him.  I have come to free you, not to strike you down."  And then she turns her back, almost inviting the attacks.  "This is... not how such meetings usually go," she says to Sarnai with an apologetic cringe as she leads out of the village proper and toward the nearest ridge, where approach would be obvious.  FOLLOW / SAFE TO APPROACH / SHELTER she signs behind her on the way.  Able to whisper a different message in every ear at once, she signs it, in full view of everyone.

  It's the shaman who gets her whisper.  'I do not know your game yet, but I have seen you play it now.  Your advantage will not last.'

He simply shakes his head sadly as several tribes people to to speak with you. There is a short prayer

Shortly afterwards, a small contingent of people follow Gaja to speak. There is Inja, of course, and a number of others. They are not, totally, on your side. You are still an outsider, but they are certainly willing to listen to someone who can lead them out of this predicament. You have no doubt that at least a few people will report back what you say to Drune.

The most notable citizens are Inja and the old warrior who had clearly spoken Vissian. He seemed neutral to both displays, though when you first used your supernatural powers, he considered violence for a moment.

Inja sighs, wiping away tears from her face as she approaches. She takes a draft of fermented agave to calm herself before speaking. "I was trying not to scream when I recognized your robes, when you summoned the river.

ARE you one of the priests who guard the old ruins?"

  Gaja takes a moment to look over the faces of those who came to speak, then sits down cross-legged on a rock that, by all rights, should be too hot even with the fabric beneath her. Before answering Inja, she sweeps another handful of sand out of the way of another fresh stream, then another and a third, such that their combined flow will be enough to reach the village below without issue.

  "Please, drink your fill. It will cool your hunger, also. I know you are not standing idle because you want to." She directs the message at all of them, then leans back and looks up at the sun with a sigh. "I was not taught to be. But the ground shook, and the spirits of the land joined with me, months ago. Not taught, but chosen."

  She whistles three quick notes, and the giant arthropod nearby comes close enough for her to run a hand over its mouthparts. "I am the last of the Shining Fifth. Our chord is broken. We lived to the east, near the oasis tribes and their brick mountains. Too close to Vissio, and too friendly, we built paddocks and hatcheries, and we bred more of our hunting companions than we could ride, because the city people would give us more for one scorpion than was needed to raise three to adulthood. We settled in place and thought ourselves very clever, and made art that we could not carry.

  "But the traders were our enemies, and they revealed themselves when they felt no more need of us. They raided us, riding the very beasts we had given them for feed and tools and finery. Now..." But she is obliged to pause, her voice choked off by emotion. Her eyes begin to grow red and puffy, but no tears fall, only a faint trickle of dust. "Now my lover is dead, and my father is a slave, and all the rest went those ways but I. And I would not have you risk the same.

  "And I fear it, moreso for having heard your shaman. I stole back these robes, and four more like them, from outsiders who had tortured the souls out of their captives with dark magic. I am traveling to find the holy Keepers and warn them, and ask about the other wonders I saw in that cave. But now I am here, and I find that strange priests have called for your chief to break the taboo of the ruins and for your tribe to leave its circuit. And they are trusted only because of their handsigns? That secret can be tortured out of someone, too."

The old, scarred warrior spoke up. No longer in the throng, you could identify his features as being closer to Patrian/Visian. Of course, the Howlers did accept outsiders sometimes.

"Sorry to hear that. Too many are lost that way. I wouldn't wish the life of a slave on anyone.. except perhaps a slaver. And piss on all betrayers!"

There were ascent and nods from the group.

Inja recounted the tale: "Many of the tribe had strange dreams that told them to come here, including Drune and Raj, our chief.

None of US had these dreams, but many have said that they were incredibly vivid. Both Raj and Drune said that the dream speakers were priests who needed assistance, and that they knew things that only chiefs and shamans should know.

When we arrived, we ran into two of the ascetic priests who made the proper challenges. There was an old law that was spoken of that allowed the chiefs to approach the forbidden places, if asked by a worldly priest.

Both the chief and the priests asked us to wait. Drune remained. The dreams continued for some time, with Drune's being the most vivid. There was talk of enduring a great trial, and that soon our mistakes would be forgiven.

Drune is.. very persuasive. And these were the last commands of our chief. None of us dare approach the forbidden sites. So we have done the best we can. The dreams faded a month ago, but Drune and most of the tribe is still convinced.

We Stone Lizards live close to the old places, more so than any other tribe. We have more dealings with the guardians of the old places, and trust their word far more."

Sarnai speaks up. "I don't get it. Why not just send someone to go and speak to your chief inside the ruins?"

There is uncomfortable silence as Sarnai reveals herself as the only true outsider here. No one goes to the forbidden places except the old priests. There is apparently an exception for Chief's, but it is unclear if this is something that's made up or not.

Both the guard and Inja looked uncomfortable "That is punishable by death."

  If they look "uncomfortable", Gaja looks stricken, but not on Sarnai's behalf.  The girl had chosen to follow, and she would learn eventually.  Gaja's distress is a bit more forward-focused: it is inevitable what would have to happen there.  The Stone Lizards slowly crumble, and if her suspicions are accurate, their lives are sacrificed to some dark magic or another.  Worse yet what the foreign mages might be doing to the chief.  Leadership has spiritual power.

  And yet, had she not just insisted she is there to preserve those traditions?  Is she not, in fact, there to honor those traditions?  Perhaps she is not what she had been.  Perhaps she is not even made of flesh and blood now.  It is possible the laws do not bind her.  But to declare that herself would invite chaos.  If only there were a shaman she could trust for guidance.  What she wouldn't do to have one of the real Seekers to speak to now.  But someone who is there now looks to her for guidance.

  "Yes.  Also for me," she answers, before there is a chance to ask.  The whole tribe at once couldn't actually enforce the law, if she fought back, but, "And I would accept it.  Traditions may change, as much as the herds may find a new path, or the land shift.  But the laws are above all of us.  They have kept us safe for a thousand years." She lowers her head, creased brow drawing her eyes closed in a mourning posture.  It would mean a terrible loss for the Stone Lizards.  There are always new kinds of predators to be wary of.  But even if they welcome her help, in time, what could she do?  She carries the last hope of her own tribe in her slowly-beating heart.

  She breathes in deeply, about to sigh, and then the pieces slip into place all at once.  Her head snaps up and she laughs abruptly, triumphantly.  "And I hear that the laws say a chief may be invited inside.  Let us make camp.  My friend will need a place to shelter while I prepare.  It will take days, I think, to draw their attention."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:11, Mon 15 June 2020.

If Gaja is not "welcomed" into the tribe, she is tolerated by the loyalists at Drune's insistence. It is not worth losing any more tribesmen over.

Drune and the majority of the other loyalists do not drink the nourishing water summoned by Gaja, but they are aided anyway: with the skeptics not relying on the tribe's water and food, it does improve the overall health of the band. One loyalist does try it, and reports back to Drune that they are unaffected.

Gaja effectively starts her own camp on the outskirts of the village. A few come to speak to her and ask questions about who she is and what she believes.  Many children are curious and sneak off: it has become impossible to keep the children focused given that they've been in one place so long.

Gaja receives Wealth 4 in offerings, mostly opals, which seem to be fairly prominent in the area.

Feel free to post day 1 of your attempts to contact the priests inside.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:10, Tue 16 June 2020.

  Gaja's explanations do not change, and she does not hold them back—her people broke their circuit, left the old ways behind.  And now the Stone Lizards have been here long enough it is hurting them already.  She doesn't explicitly describe herself as their savior, but she speaks of their situation as though it compels her choices directly.  As though she were responsible for them.  She never claims authority over the tribe, but the duty she speaks of is not a stranger's, and it is not any of them could be expected to do.  She stays and welcomes the curious for the first day, at her tent.

  But come evening, she makes her way down to the edge of the prohibition of the ruins.  There, she sets aside the robes she wore traveling and strips down to a loincloth before spending the last hour of light performing some kind of ritual cleansing.  With a pitcher of water from the small pool that had collected, back at the tribe's outpost, and handfuls of sand from all around, she scours herself of everything that may have come with her from the outside.  By the time she finishes, her skin is darker, fresher, less weathered by the sun and wind.  It should have been raw and bleeding, for the amount of time she spent at it.  She gathers scraps of wood, dung, dead scrub, whatever the desert will provide, and prepares a fire with it, laced with incense and scented rosins from among the offerings.  She lights it just as the sun finally disappears over the western horizon.  And then she begins to dance.  If she has music aside from the sound of her own movements, it's nothing that can be heard by others, but abandon carries her along regardless.

  At first, she follows old steps simply: welcoming the night, preparing for a hunt, homecoming and the promise of a feast.  She dances an introduction to the earth and sky, her own coming-of-age, and the birth of a child.  But she sustains each of them for at least a full trip around the ruins, even the most vigorous, as though the broken buildings and flickering lights were a campfire.  She has kept to traditional steps and rhythms, to the ways a mortal can move, but she is not one, despite her restraint.  She is rhythm itself, one with the world around her in ways the most devout dervish only begins to understand.  To observe her for more than a few minutes is to be overwhelmed by all the struggles and triumph and vibrancy of her people, all right there, all at once: a sudden immersion in the most beautiful parts of the Howlers' heritage.  It lasts until dawn without pausing; she arrives back at the fading embers of her fire just in time to welcome the sun back to the world.  And then she kneels among the stones, facing the ruins, to spend the day in softly-sung meditation.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:34, Sat 20 June 2020.

You dance, and some of the tribe watches from a (very) respectful distance, well back of where you are. There appear to be members of both camps.

Perhaps the loyalists watch to see if you break the prohibitions, perhaps to see if your dancing is going to bring down the wrath of the spirits or one of the gigantic creatures that are said to plague areas this close to the ruins.

Either way, there is no response from inside. The still sounds of the desert: the wind and the soft tapping of your feet upon the baking sand is your only reward for your performance.

It is odd: if this ruin is being guarded, certainly the priests would have seen you by now.