Campfire Tales and Legend

[Random_White_Guy]

Come evening at the encampment outside the Krak de Rose a campfire tale is shared. A towering figure in rusted and ruined metal garb. Days absent of a clean shave. Hair matted with sweat and viscera. Perhaps his stories are preserved by quill, perhaps they are lost among the sands. But by the fireside they are shared.

I arrived alongside an old man upon camelback. The water in my lungs aching still. As the storm struck it was enough though. It was enough water flooding the vessel that I could crack the planks and loosen the shackles. The Modani company transporting me drowned. I was, at long last, free. Free to roam, free to fight, free to taste blood of my choosing rather than the blood forced upon me in their pits. To gamble on if I would perish or not.

This made me strong. Stronger than their feeble "Game of Knives".

Perhaps you saw it this night just past the brazier, perhaps you heard the shrieking gasps. Outside the encampment where I raced through the sands.

The Melek was the first to die. Piercing its eyes while the horizontal slits did nothing to save it from thumb and nail as my digits burrowed into its jellied orbs.

The Archer next, Thousand Clan. Arrows piercing my shoulder, my flank. It did not stop my charge. The fear in its eyes. The ragged breathing as it attempted to clutch its own feeble spear. Skewered through the chest.

Its companion, one of the Unproven watched all this. Watching in awe before finding the nerve to charge. Perhaps my death will at last prove it. It only proved to dirty my spear.

This night I have tasted the poison in the blood of the Melek, its scales peeled off of its skull.

The Melek's hide used as mat upon  sands, where the Orctusk ground. Mixed with the Water of B'aara, the Blood of the Melek, and then snorted.

Those who do not know? I am Chraub.

And while they offer you promise of walls "soon", promise of security "In time", words of "One Million Dinar"?

I offer you skulls in trophy. The first three of many.

I offer you victory. The first of many.

[Random_White_Guy]

During the Adar 10th Ash Storm Ephia is thrown into chaos. Cries from the Palatial Pyramid of some foulness afoot. Apothar of the Astronomers calling mandatory summons of any available Janissary or Banda Rossa immediately. The Well Trembles. Woes within the Pyramid.

Outside at the Gate of the Rose - beyond the Shade where camps and barricades hold a differing tale. That through the windstrewn detritus and Pra'raj's baleful gaze... A towering man could be seen. His rusted armor ripped and burned away. Unrelenting as his spear ripped through the air and tore away at the crackling and rotting flesh of the Revenants.

Once the storm passed, when the tents no longer rattled by wind, when the danger subsides the visitor comes for a second night. Four massive Haunches of Desert Lioness, cooked and left by the fire. Any who would come for a meal he would share tale.

Few know fury more than the Desperate. The agony of uncertainty where next meal comes from. The worry of brutality and loss to the cruel. The disdain shown by the "Betters".

Gaze past the gate and they will tell you - "Beyond there are monsters".

Melek that will peel flesh. Beasts that will crush skull. Qa'mmi. Djinn. Pirate. Hundred Princes. Thousand Clans. Jackals that will feast upon your organs. Bugbears. Scorpionoids. More.

Gaze past the gate and they will tell you - "Stay here and you are safe".

Safe to be fed worm gruel and lies. Safe to be told if you earn 5,000 dinar you may find place. That if you find another 3,000 beyond that you may buy a home. More, and more, and more. And they will tell you with glee how sorry they are that your League has lost an Election, where 45,000 dinar spent. Then promise you walls for a million. words thrown as if they mean anything.

Anything but platitudes.
To placate you.
To cool your fury. To bridle your rage.

I tell you this: You keep your fury.
Let that desperation of an uncertain future numb you.
Let that fear of the howling winds and terrible ash bolster you.
Let that fury in your belly spurn you.

Face the challenge.

Perhaps you saw, perhaps you did not, as I tore my way through the wastes. From your encmapment's flapping tend and ruined buildings. Eyes I felt on me.

As the Zephyrs whipped around me.
I cleaved the first from sternum to groin.
Howling over the wind the next I crippled the leg of,
Before impaling the skull of the third.
Returning to the Second only to tear it down as its burned claws reached for my flesh.

The burning of the sun, the tearing of the sands, the wretched abominations. I spat at them.

For that my friends. That is the power that the City fears.
When you accept that this world is yours to carve as you please?
What need have you for the promise of walls. - It did not keep the Caliphate strong.
What need have you for the Astronomer's Shade - It did not keep the Giants alive.

A spear, cloth, and fury.
These have seen men and women through this Desert since time began.
Do not let the death of the Tonsured bind you to this place.
Fill your bellies, sharpen your steel, and feed your fury.

Watch how they treat your fellows.
Watch how they treat their own.
Watch how they treat those lesser.
Let it boil within until you can take no more.
Until you strike beyond with those you care for in search of more.

Four lioness pelts are left, be it for new Tent or as pleased. He finishes his haunch and wanders back southwards into the desert...

[Random_White_Guy]

Among the destitute it is commonplace, all too common place, to become numb to violence. Absent the protection of the ruling class a practiced apathy takes hold. To look out for one's self, to secure one's family, it brings with it a form of tribalism that the haughtier prefer keep from sight and mind. That is hard though when a madman with a greataxe storms through your encampment.

Returning with two freshly slain Collared Peccary did a towering figure witness the Ravager's machinations. There was no discussion between the pair. On a moment's shift did the axeman turn and charge. The pork was dropped. A stone-headed Spear was removed from the bundle on his groknakian back.

This was no Duello of the old outer rings, favored at times by the refugees outside the Rose Gate.
This was no Contest of strength and honor, favored at times by the Dwarves of Old Kulkund.
This was not gangland murder, or some Creep-dweller's rebellious action.

This was raw. This was instinct.

A Dune Ravager, the outland dwellers of ambushes and abductors. A predator.

...Not realizing a larger predator was near.

The Axeman had charged, shifting his attention from the locals. The massive axe came down on the large figure's shoulder. A silent second passed before a furious and echoing scream tore from his lungs like thunder. With the Axe still lodged in his shoulder he jammed the butt of the spear into the Ravager's stomach, sweeping him to the ground and skewering him through the gut.

In a matter of seconds the matter concluded. The smaller man lay struggling against the spear now pinning him, hemorrhaging and groaning in agony as his intestines and blood stained the sands. The larger figure turned away.

It was not malice. It was not gloating. It was simple fact. The sun sets each night. B'aara's water flows. Dunecats hunt. And some men simply Kill.

The large man turning and walking back to collect his two dead Pigs as the gasping continued. He took it to the nearby fire adjacent to the man's fading wails. He set them upon a spit. He sat. He sat and ate his pork, watching this Dune's Ravager bleed to death.

The rest of the cooked meat he left, beckoning to the nearby tents.

I have had my fill. You may have yours.

Eat. Fill your bellies with meat. Grow strong.

They will take. And take. And give nothing back.

You will need your strength to stop them or to leave this place.

I have eaten, I have slain, I am content.

At this he ripped the spear from the freshly killed man and walked back south towards the open desert...

The cooking meat left for any who had need and the fresh corpse left at the Camp's side to cook in the sun.