Peace and War: The Rise of Nations

Life and Death in the Desert

The Chief Scribe, Hakim ibn-Alim al-Atrevis, stared down intently as the foreigner began to swipe the brush against a rock. The scribes had a stack of papyrus sheets, but it occurred to Hakim that these people had likely never seen such things. The man continued to paint feverishly, producing what were unmistakably mangrove trees. To later observers from Eiselyna, it would appear strange that a desert-dweller so easily identified the tree, which is rightly associated with swamps. But those first Eiselyna to explore Ramleh, the land of the Kharouim and of sand, would be surprised to learn that quite a few species of trees made their home in the Northern Desert, and many more so in the River Delta. As a young man, Hakim had traveled to the vast mangrove swamp at el-Qurm. There, all manner of life flourished, some not too far removed from the jungle creatures Gojifa must have grown up with.

The scribes were murmuring to themselves as the man continued to paint, now drawing mounds of some sort. He began to alternate, pointing at the trees, then back at himself, muttering all the while. He then pointed to the mounds, which Hakim ascertained must be sand dunes, and over to the scribes. The Chief Scribe listened closely, making out the words the foreigner was speaking. He didn't understand them per-se, but he knew what they must mean. He shouted at his underlings to began writing. Translation onto papyrus was hard for the scribes, as the Kharouim phonetic alphabet was not capable of reproducing all the sounds of the odd language of these foreigners. But Hakim instructed them to produce more letters, modifying existing ones to accommodate the new syllables. The man had stopped pointing, and was watching with curiosity as the scribes scurried around, checking their work and arguing over the results. A perfect representation of these words would take some time.

Hakim looked back to his ward, who was sitting calmly at the front of the group of strangers, who had left their perpetual huddles and were inching closer to the mapmaker. Hakim studied the diagram, saw what could be waves...the sea? Underneath was some kind of writing, but he couldn't make it out for obvious reasons. He knew this would be a laborious process, but he was excited. Chief Scribe is not, after all, a title that is used lightly. Hakim pointed at the trees, "Shajarah" he stated plainly. He pointed now at himself "Hakim" he said insistently. The man nodded and began to reproduce the sounds. Hakim quickly turned back to one of the guards, "Fetch Prince Butrus!". Returning to his dialogue, Hakim repeated his name. The man across the rock from him nodded plainly. "Hakim" he said, pointing at the scribe; "Gojifa", he had pointed back at himself. Hakim smiled. This was just the start of one of the most important conversations in history.

Questions Asked, Answers Received

Prince Faisal and his guardsmen had been traveling for several days into unfamiliar territory, and were well aware of their vulnerability here. In his haste to see what exotic lands these mysterious dark-skinned foreigners hailed from, Faisal had neglected to send a messenger back to camp. No one there had any idea where he was, and the vast majority of his soldiers would be completely unable to assist him. Therefore, he made absolutely sure that his men were on their best behavior. They marched in box formation behind Faisal, following behind the foreigners, who were led by Daz, the man with whom Faisal had communicated at the Cataract. They walked several days through rough, rocky terrain before arriving at the strange stone temple greeted only by the whispers: Iz Untakin.

As Daz went up to hail the pile of rocks, Prince Faisal left his men at attention and followed up to the stone. The man that exited them was nothing like the Prince could have expected. He was much smaller than the other foreigners, but they deferred to him instantly. Faisal narrowed his eyes at the human skull on the man's staff. What kind of magic was this stranger capable of? He spoke to Daz in the foreign language, gesturing and rattling his many trinkets. Faisal waited behind, patiently, not knowing how he would communicate with this man other than through Daz. After some kind of pronouncement, there was a silence. Faisal spoke up, intending for Daz to make an attempt at translation.

"I am Faisal *pointing at himself* from the land of Ramleh *pointing the way they had come*. I have come in search of your people, but I know not who you are. Which Divine One is your father?"

Curiosity and the Cat

Daz had brought the foreigners to Iz, because he was following a well versed line of thought; if you do not know something, find someone who does. It was the same process he had taken with the thief he had found a few winters back, and Iz had taken the man in much like Daz had. The mans name was Immiad, and he hurriedly came from the innards of the temple when he heard a tongue he thought he would never hear again. His tan skin, strange way of dress, and ethnic diversities labeled him as one of the sandmen.

"Iz, Iz, what is this!? Who are these men? Where do they come from?" Said Immiad in a rush of grunts and clicks he had learned since his apprenticeship with the old man. A slight sent of an accent was distinguishable from Immiad. Still, he squinted his eyes as the darkness of dawn masked the men he beheld. Where they truly his people? Iz took control of the situation with a crisp series of clicks and whistles, which translated to Daz as, "Yu, have much explaining to do." What came next was a wonderful lesson in Ruk phonetics.

"Iz, these men, and Prince, came from far beyond the falls *pointing in the direction they came* where the sun is harsh*pointing at the morning rays*, the ground full of sand*kicking up the fine grit that was beat from the worn path*. They ask, who is our...'Father'. I could not sufficiently explain myself, so I brought them to someone that could. I fear they would like to meet our 'Father'..."

Iz and Immiad looked at Daz, before Immiad looked at Iz, who nodded his head. "Immiad, shall act as interpreter. I have much to say."

Iz Untakin took of his ramskull, then his hooded robe, leaving him clad like Daz in a simple loincloth like skirt and a tunic like shaw. His face was covered in many pale tattoos, many of them sharp lines that crisscrossed each other. He had a graying beard, and a head of hair that was of dreadlocks. He was obviously well seasoned, being presumably three score winters old. Still, he spoke in his light tone, one of knowledge and wisdom. Immiad translated for the Prince as he did so.

"Our 'Father', our offspring of a divine one you say, is the very heavens above. He has no name, for he is one and all. He is the lights of night you look at; Stargazer. He is the sun you bask in; Sunwalker. He is the harvest you work for; Farmhand. He is living, and he is dead. He is the day, ad he is the night. But there is one other that shares the name of 'father', or Allfather. He is a man. But it would be better if you stay far from this man."

Daz couldn't agree more, for the Allfather was a very...temperamental man. He was of the mortal realm, and commanded enough power to kill any man he chose. He lived far inland of Ruk, where the snow and the mountains were plentiful. All of Ruk was at the Allfather's whim.

The Will of the Allfather

The snow bit like nothing before it, and the hail that pelted the rough hide that served as the lone man's covering did little to halt it's velocity. He stood out infront of a high place building, a temple of sorts, gazing from high atop the mountain to the horizon as the sun rose. The weather was picking up, and the snowdrifts would soon be upon them. The wind was already becoming a nuisance and soon the man would have to return indoors unless he wanted to be frozen on the spot. He was very tall, and very muscle, as he turned to head back indoors.

It was he who ruled the land. He who had brought the waring tribes together for the benefit of them all, he who had made a pact with the lowlanders to stop the bloodshed between the two caste. He who and instituted a Hierarchy of a kingdom, of a council, of an establishment. No one could work and gain rank, the central power of He and hos followers serving as a court of the land. Ruklanders far and wide knew his name and bowed to his will, for it was he who had the knowledge of the stars, he who brought them the knowledge of when the harvest was most plentiful. But he had heard rumors circling about. How the adventurous Zoo had been lost to the land, and how the Falls were suddenly befallen with demons from the sands.

He would soon route out these rumors.

Wayward Bound

The various pastes would undoubtedly prove handy, if Zoo and his men remembered their respective uses that is. As the lithe woman spoke, his men were already at work getting to cart moving, and more importantly, in the right direction. Finishing fastening large waxed leaved to the wheels with a glue like paste, and numerous leather strappings, they took hold of the braided thick cord of the towline that was fastened to the front frame. Two men were looking over the map that had been brought back with much interested, peaking to each other in hurried excited tones, and making gestures toward the direction they should be going. Zoo, already knowing which way to go, having seen the map first and backing up his claims with his knowledge of the stars he had just seen high above the canopy, backed up the two men. Soon with a heave and a tug the cart was moving, Zoo leading the towline with a grimace on his face.

He took the time to look back at the two who had been so kind to him. Zoo waved in a universally known sign of goodbye, which his smile on his face doubled the effect. Soon they would be at the river again, and if the map was right, it was paralleled by a much slower moving and very much wider cousin; a bayou. The bayou followed the same route they needed to go, and was so slow moving that venturing upstream would be quite plausible. The of course once they reached the Ruk lands, they needed to make contact with fellow folk, who lead them back into the heart of Ruk, back to him.


Fireside Dealings

The taste of the newcomers food was excellent, and it was something that brought them great respect amongst the lowlanders. Jask could taste the bitterness of alcohol creeping into one of the drinks they had brought. The duck was superb as well, and the dancing of two cultures intermingling was a sight to see. By the small fire he called his own, Jask removed his bronze mask, and gave to his son to return to its place in the tent. He suspected the liquid would soon loosen both their tongues, he and the newcomers.

"There is much talk about you, as a people. We see you as we wander the land, always there, but never close at hand. You live in the jungle, were the land is muck, and the sun doesn't shine. While we live on the plains and the river, where there is plenty, and our sheep can graze. You seem to stay in one stop, while we move like the stars at night. We are different, yet we are similar too. By the Allfather, I think we might be friends after tonight!" He said with a cheer as he downed a flask of the strange drink they had brought.

Go away.

Gojifa felt some connection. Like he had desperately cast his line to catch one of the violent creatures of a seemingly stagnant bayou, and finally gotten a bite.

He started to speak a little more hurriedly, but stopped and remembered himself, trying to slow down and speak clearly. When he heard one of the men to the sides trying to pronounce the letter "j" and "ß" he stopped, pointing at them, trying to explain that "j" required palatalization, the tongue against the bottom teeth, raised to sharpen the sound, and "ß" required the tongue flex backwards, in a soft "sh" sound.

In a moment he was smiling. "Hakim" He said, occasionally with a slight accent, but getting better and better. He started to represent more abstract concepts. He would take the papyrus, and draw pictures of things that were related. Man and woman, up and down, from fruit to clothing. He would draw it, and then slowly pronounce it. First the word, then each part, then the word.

He would hand it to the scribes to write their transliteration for pronunciation, and possibly a translation if the image was more abstract. He would similarly listen to what they said when they saw the picture, trying to memorize it as best he could.

"Hakim. Go away. Gojifa, Eiselyna, go away. Go away towards trees." He said, after a long period of writing down concepts he felt could be displayed in a picture. It was when he heard his wife that he remembered his purpose for speaking to the scribe. She had groaned slightly, she had been bent uncomfortably against the side of the tent the entire time, highly uncomfortable, and even burdened with the woman's curse, that comes periodically and tries the souls of men.

Festivals Bring out the Best of Food and Men

Galno smiled, lifting up a twisted leaf-ful of Vthot, drinking it dramatically. It was a drink meant just for this sort of celebration, though more Eiselyna were trickling in, and they brought a much more potent release.

A black substance, thick like softened clay, and grainy. It was called "The Pitch" and was perhaps the most disgusting substance the Eiselyna had found. They tore off small chunks, and then, with no grace to redeem them, tried to choke them down. It burned, it bit, it was a horrible experience, but once they had done away with the pitch and gotten the taste out, they would sink into an almost rabid inebriation.

Thankfully only some Eiselyna partook of the hideous substance, most preferred an at least slightly sober night. The Eiselyna never let the food run out, but now were bringing more things like cloth, firewood, and hammocks.

The crowds began to speak and laugh and, as Eiselyna loved most, eat. They danced and in an hour or so all evidence of separation would be gone. The liquors would loosen those ill notions, and both cultures would have been but one great mass.

The Lowlanders were so liked, in fact, that parents pushed their daughters to seek out the men present. There was a growing daughter-preference in the Southlands. In the Jungles where they lived, the creatures were either tame or at least easily avoided. Women were light, fluid in motion, and easily traversed the great expanses. Even men, though muscled and strong, were thin, and had a womanly grace to them, attractive as young men, but a little soft when masculine duties are taken on. The Society was essentially maternal anyway, so daughters had always been prevalent, more were wanted, so more were had.

Of course, the various daughters might have been embarrassed, the intrigue of the foreigners had seeded the question already in their minds.

Farewell! Farewell!

Kolith waved happily as the group trudged back towards their home, she was holding back Nalima, who waved also, though she really wanted to go with them.

"Not now Nalima, we'll go back home first, you can tell everyone about this!"

"Will you say the parts I forget? I'm just too excited!"

Kolith looked off into the distance. "Yes... yes, now let's get back home." So the two pushed back into the forest, vanishing amidst its mystery and cool embrace.

Life and Death in the Desert

Prince Butrus ibn-Ghassan al-Jhilani burst into the tent at that moment flanked by a dozen guards, all with weapons at the ready. The Prince himself was brandishing a bronze hatchet. The men who had been guarding the tent fell back and made way for the new arrivals. The foreigners gave a collective shudder and huddled back into the corner. Hakim stood, flustered.

"My Prince. We were not expecting you so soon...and in such a manner as th..."

"Silence, scribe!" Prince Butrus bellowed. He was a large man, taller and thicker than his cousin, with a long, bushy black beard and obscured black eyes. "Have they confessed yet? Where is my cousin?"

Hakim dropped his jaw, scandalized at the outburst, but unable to do anything to prevent it. He didn't know how much of this Gojifa would understand. "My Prince, we know nothing of these people. We are only trying to establish communication with them. These people have nothing to do with Prince Faisal's disappearance..."

"Don't question me! Fool scribe! You know that these...creatures...are guilty." He spat out. It was clear he had nothing but contempt for Hakim's pupils. But what was the scribe to do?

"My Lord, let me talk to them. We need to talk to them..."

"These people come from the desert just as Faisal disappears. Do they not live in this place?"

Hakim saw an opening. "Actually they say they come from across these mountains. Somewhere wet, with trees."

Prince Butrus threw down his axe. It stuck ominously from the sands into which it had embedded itself. "Find out. You have a week. After that, they die..."

Questions Asked, Answers Received

Prince Faisal raised his eyebrow. His emerald eyes showed the spark of curiosity.

"Your Father sounds mighty indeed. Has he not risen from the stone? Does he not rule this place with a fist of iron and eyes of gold? We call this one Djebel, the Mountain. And that too is what we shall call this place, for this is his land. Also in the land of Ramleh there is worship of Djebel, we keep to the rituals of the ancients. I desire very much to go on a pilgrimage to the place where you honor your Father. I have come very far, from the land far beyond the view of this precipice. I have come to discover your people and land for the glory of my father, Chief of the Jhilani. You cannot refuse me this."

The Prince watched the old man very closely as Immiad translated his words into whatever tongue these people spoke. His desire to visit a temple of the god of this people, whom he assumed was Djebel, was born of more than curiosity. This man they spoke of interested him far more. As royalty, Prince Faisal was very rarely denied or cautioned against anything. Instead of being offended, as some would, Faisal took this to mean that this "Allfather" must be something of particular interest. How could his visit here be complete without an audience with this...whatever he was. Priest? Chieftain? It was all going to answered sooner rather than later, he surmised.

Oh innocence! Oh sweet ignorance!

The scribes hadn't explained how to say "die." When the Prince said it, the Eiselyna didn't even flinch. Their mortality now called up, they were little more than babes, they felt a disproportionate fear, fearing a stranger, not death.

The Prince was indeed, princely. He wore his title about him like some unseen, all-present cloak. His authority was paramount and obvious, and the Eiselyna feared a man so naturally superior.

Gojifa had only shrunk away, the other Eiselyna stopped talking with the scribes, but Gojifa had more courage. He did not move. The axe, however, gave him pause.

The Eiselyna had great knowledge of axes. The forest would die if trees were not felled, some areas laid out. The jungles and bayous were both their child and their parent. They tended to it and it provided for them. It was odd, however, to see someone holding an axe in a place so devoid of trees.

He kept his eyes averted from the prince. He shot a glance back at his wife, bent double in the corner. It killed him to see.

"We simply want to go" He said, still intrigued by the axe... had these people... cut down every tree? Did the roots all die, the water no longer held, the place dried out by the sun above, which seemed larger here?

"We do not know our way out" he said "out" as in outside, and indeed the Eiselyna felt that this sandy place was not truly a place, they were trapped inside something, and they wanted to escape to their homes.

"Surely we can pay for your guidance?" and Eiselyna barked out, admittedly they had no valuable items with them, but surely some deal could be struck upon their return.

The Prince had complicated the issue, and all the discomfort the Eiselyna felt was crystallizing, and little good would come of it.

OOC: Is anyone still here?

"Do not worry," Hakim cautioned the foreigners, hoping to use Gojifa as a medium. "Our leader is missing, lost in the mountains. The soldiers are very angry, some of them think that you are responsible. However, when our leader returns unharmed, we will be able to help you reach home, and possibly visit it with you. Do not be alarmed..."

Gojifa could only haphazardly translate.

"We not responsible! We never met any of your men before now! We have done nothing!" Were the cries of the Eiselyna.

Gojifa's wife lowered her head, "So we are prisoners"

Gofija did not care to translate their hissing and sputtering of Setishpa cuss words. Soon they calmed, or rather, their spirit died out.

Gojifa pleaded, so far as on his knees to beg, "Is there nothing you can do?"