The Waerd Chronicles

Pyrovia was awfully quiet this evening. This was the capital city of The Waerd, constructed by a great mesa fortress. The Citadel of The Familiar was formed from within; beneath the mazes and ancient ruins. Up and around the Citadel stood many sculpted rock houses. The stonework palisades and interior masonry was godlike; houses were triangular in design and difficult to destroy. Statues of both beasts and mann towered over every entrance. The upper flat surface of the exterior fortress was 70 feet above sea level; indeed the great mesa herself was fully defended with siege engineering and guards that patrolled the 19 mile radius above the kingdom.

Under normal circumstances, the feast would bring in a merry crowd of Capella chanters, while tepary bean stew simmered proudly in desert glass pots, and winter wheat bread was carefully baked in exotic style ovens that were years beyond common sophistication. When things had been at ease; one could hear the quartet songs singing of celebration in the mesa halls, thus tonight there was a tormenting silence. If a feather were to drop, every ear would have heard it. Children cried as if they had sensed the pain. Womenn were even aggravated and emotional about the recent events.

In the Royal chamber, the Elites circled around the community as a sign of strength and compassion.

"How many did we lose?" King Ra'Xa The Familiar asked while he puffed his weed pipe and listened to the witnesses come forth.

"Twenty. They were farmers, not fighters. Slaughtered and butchered like wildebeest. What made no sense was the maize crops left untouched. Instead they took the limbs, toes and scalps of our people, leaving all of our precious resources tainted in blood."

The crowd shuddered at the young mann's testimony. The Familiar patiently listened and considered the cost.

"We must have justice!" A womann cried out in the assembly.

"Quiet womann. May The Waerd know her place!" The King's Adviser said.

Nothing more was retorted amongst the civilians. Albeit, weeping was heard in the agonizing silence. Wives, Husband and Children all gathered together, along with the entire tribe, mourning the losses of the innocents.

The King turned to The Set. He was one of the last Qindred settlers of the Hot, a Waerd that walked with the Erishé; a true descendant of Erathor. Owafu The Set was one of the last leaders of nobility that came from old Antepyrovia.

"It is decided. We will avenge our blood. Owafu, send the Twelve." The King finished.

And so the tracking would begin. They had been several days out on the trail and had already discovered evidence of the offenders. The Janoa were a chauvinistic people, Owafu remembered. He could smell their foreign piss and poisonous waste as they did not bury it proper but left it for the flies to consume. They had one more day until the Janoa reached the Rainforest and if they succeeded the risk would be too great for his number. His twelve hiked beside him, the greatest assassins in the land; Nyssa, Lyssa, Meida, Al'faza, Tall-Paka, Lion'Eye, Ci'Pa, Olephia, Hept, Sun'God, Wamukota and Nyack Ecru. These were the famous Twelve, renowned as Owafu's best.

"My son...those savages took his tongue and his eyes and cut his heels so he could not run, scream or cry. He suffered, Owafu." Nyssa said.

Owafu swallowed but continued hiking. Nyssa took his arm, "Do you not mourn for him?"

"He was soft...Nyssa. Sometimes death is a reminder of your mistakes."

Nyssa aggressively removed her hand from him with a swift strike to his jaw. Owafu stumbled backwards with a grin. Nyssa took lead. Owafu chuckled. He wanted her to be angry; for it was a great emotion and a good advantage.

Meanwhile at the Janoa camp, nightfall had finally arrived. 150 warriors made up their number. They had horses for each mann and womann that participated in the Hunt. Most of them were Blooded, and the Elites who were Proven shared a tent together, eating meat and drinking wine. The Blooded could not do such. They had to stay sharp minded. But the Elites would socialize and boast about their kills. All accept Jok'na the Grand Proven who was not impressed at all, nor did he drink with his kinsmen.

"In the Hunt there are no regrets, but the consequences are not ours to decide."

"You sound spooked Jok'na. Are you paranoid by those black skinned savages? They can not face our number. You know all about their weak god's. They did not even send guards to protect their farmers!"

"Aye, but in the Hunt one must always ready himself for the good balance."

"I will ready myself for good wine and prepare myself for the beloved Rainforest." The mann sucked down his goblet.

A scream was heard from outside. Jok'na and his Elites stumbled outside of the tent. What they seen made all faces terrified. All of the horses were slaughtered by arrows. More arrows came down cutting menn and womenn asunder. The Janoa took guard, yelling orders of confusion. Shields were raised, but arrows tore through them; cutting limbs in the process. The incoherent Elites could barely stand but Jok'na unsheathed his blade and moved out to see the fray. He seen one mann who removed his mask and showed his face. Suddenly a circlet of fire sprouted up and surrounded the camp. Everyone who tried to run out found themselves stuck with spears; it was a thrust of unison that cut menn and womenn down by the dozen. Flying knives came through the flames cutting the necks and faces of those who fled back from the circling fire.

Once a fine part of the Janoa number was cut down, The Twelve moved in with curved oiled scimitars, now burning with searing flames. The parlay was brutal as heads and limbs were severed off by the burning steel. Many cried and dropped their weapons in fear, thus no mercy was shown to them.

"You! The one with no mask. Come and face me! Have you no honor?" Jok'na said.

Owafu turned to him with a smirk, "Honor? Like cutting the scalps of elderly womenn and filleting the cocks off little boys? Honor is for those who deserve it. Let this be a lesson to you in the Afterlife."

After Owafu's words, from behind, Nyssa brought her scimitar through Jok'na's throat and took the head from his spine. Shortly after, the silence had returned and there was no more screaming in the fray.

"Loot the camps and burn the bodies," Owafu ordered.

The Twelve went to work thus Nyssa stayed back to see Owafu.

"The Set, may I speak with you?"

"Speak, Nyssa."

"Beeko, he was your son. But I told no one. I refused to distract your position." She said.

"I always knew he was my boy. But when he chose to be a farm hand I wanted nothing to do with him. Forgive me."

"You were wrong. But I love you, my dear Owafu and I wish to give you another." She came into his arms and ran her sweet tongue on his neck.

Owafu did not refuse her, he lifted Nyssa up and carried her inside one of the abandoned Janoa tents. They would not waste time; indeed time in Elyria could not be recovered.