The Tribe Rides Again

[Watyll 1104]

THE TRIBE RIDES AGAIN

    It was a cold and grey day when the Daldriad left their beloved plains of Asulon. They had seen the signs of collapse in nature. Massive storms, floods, earthquakes. For the past month they had spent all their time building ships. They were poorly made atrocities, the Daldriad were not shipwrights. The tribe crowded their nervous horses onto the boats and soothed them with carrots and soft voices, before gathering onboard the ship.
    Mustang Ghora’Rama stood on a rocky outcrop, looking over his people. They were gathered on the seashore, scattered like leaves in the wind. Then the Mustang looked behind him. He saw the vast plains of his childhood, the place where he, his father, and his father’s father had been raised. His red tattoos stood out in stark contrast to his tanned skin.
    The Mustang stood their for a time, reflecting. Waiting for a sign from the spirits. When none came, he walked down from the rock and onto the windy shore. His Drel’Khamen fell behind him. Ghora’Takota, Bura’Ghali, and Oros’Tetulan. Their orange blended with his red as he walked by the ships and talked to each family. They were frightened, as he expected. No Daldriad had ever faced the open sea. He listened to their fears, and gave advice, before moving on. Eventually, his path brought him before the Drel’Ulicthr. Five of them there were that day, Bura’Atash, Lalan’Abra, Lalan’Yatar, Agar’Hachan, and Prolin’Bal. They greeted him with cold stares. He had never gotten along with them, and they thought this move was a mistake. Bura’Atash, the oldest and a woman, greeted him with an inclincation of her head.
    “Mustang.”
    “Grreetings honorrable Drrel.”
    “Therre is still time to take back yourr decision, Mustang.”
    “No. You of all should be able to feel the end, honorrable Drrel.”
    “We should not be so hasty. What if the storrms pass? What then, Mustang?”
    “Then I shall guide my people to safety, then rrid myself of you, and go to the side of the Grreat Spirrit.”
    “Verry well Mustang.”
The Drel’Ulicthr strode onto their personal ship, they politely refused to sail with the Mustang.
    Rama looked to his people, and then got on his own ship. At that signal they too boarded.
    Then the fledgling sailors hoisted the sails and the ships bore them away. Rama watched as his homeland vanished behind him.
    Days, perhaps weeks passed. Rama lost all track of time aboard the ship. He was often seasick. He watched the ship bearing the Drel go down in a storm. He watched two of his Khamen die of scurvy and dysentery. This he watched, and then fell into a silence. He waited, and prayed to the Great Spirit to deliver them from the wrathful sea. He and his brother Takota were the only leaders left. Then a shout came from the ship next to them.
    “LAAAAAAND!”
    The cry was taken up by the other ships, joyfully. They screamed until the wind echoed with their shouts. All of them grabbed for a look at the land, the land, the land!
    Hours later, the ships landed on Anthos. Many Daldriad got down on their knees and kissed the beaches sand. Many prayed, some cried. Then Rama got off from the ship, and looked around at his people, beyond proud. He smiled joyfully and climbed on top of a barrel.
    “Childrren of the Grreat Spirrit! We have made it to land! Look arround you! Hills, valleys, vast distances to rride in. I forrsee a brright futurre for the trribe!”
    The tribe nodded their consent, there were no cheers. Rama continued.
    “But...this voyage has not been without harrdship. We have lost valiant men and women. Ourr numberrs have been grreatly reduced. And still therre is harrdship ahead. We must rrestock the horrses, we must hunt. And we must build our camp again. With that the Mustang whistled for his horse, Kalabhora. Deftly he jumped on to it. The men and women did the same. Then he turned his head around to see his tribes, his herd. Their belongings were few. The ships they would leave behind.
    “Forr the trribe, and the Grreat Spirrit, we rride!”
    And the tribe echoed back. “We rride!”

[EmeraldStag 165]

Eshkan’Ishtar was in a happier mood. They had done, they reached land. He was about to converse with his mother, but remembered that they had died back in Asulon. His parents never made it to the ship in time and were killed by a host of monsters. The ships had been difficult to survive on, but at least they were finally in a new land. He mounts his horse Deity and grabs the reigns and road, a hard look on his face as his Mustang spoke. Along with everyone else he yells:

 

"We rride!"

[MrSyth 636]

Standing proudly beside her brother, Ghora'Makade looked over the lands grinning. They'd made it to the new lands, and the horses survived the travel. And now she stood there, with her brother. The new lands waiting to be discovered. Soon they'd settle, and she couldn't wait riding her mustang again. Soon...

"We rride!"

[ΩMercenΩ 67]

Takala'Sahkonteic weary, worn out, and despairing all due to the journey, listened to his mustang's words breath life into him once more. Along the sailing he had lost his trust steed, and felt a portion of his life be dragged away. He'd never forget the wave that hit the starboard of his boat, the terrifying shaking, and then nearly flipping of his vessel, and the short lived relief that followed. He had managed to grasp the rail, but others weren't so lucky, he saw several people sinking beneath the surface, and he saw several horses, including his own, follow suit..

 

When they arrived in the lands, he had to journey on foot to the camp, something that wasn't good for his one smashed kneecap, and his one freely 'floating' one, gifts of war.

[Spike823 90]

Tyagi'Kalla steps off the boat with caution and care, for he is new to these lands and don't know what they behold.  Kalla is a young boy who grew up as a small farmer, harvesting the crops for the village and his family.  Kalla loved being with his parents and enjoyed every minute of their company, but they soon died on the travel to Anthos and were thrown overboard as a burial.  Before they left they did one more harvesting of crops for the ride and the last thing Kalla did was pick potatoes with his parents before stepping on the boat.  Kalla mourns over his parents, but tries to show no emotion; his ceremony of colors is in 2 years and hopes to be different from the rest.  For now Kalla carries a potato wherever he goes and helps the village gather food for survival and the upcoming winter. 

[Thatpyrodude 2008]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.