They had been travelling for many weeks now, away from Blackwater; when the predator advances it is the fate of the prey to move on. A caravan of people was moving along the desert sand, shuffling under the heavy heat of the sun. As with any community of people there were many groups with in the caravan. At the rear there were three young men with the Elders mounted on their shoulder on strange chair-like apparatus that allowed the men to walk as though they had nothing on their back. There were two elderly men on their shoulders and one woman, their names were; Yecht, Sari and Dural. Yecht had once been the leader of this group of people and had once been looked up to as a fierce leader, and indeed still was by a select few within the tribe but unfortunately opinions of Yecht were as different to one another as the sun is to the moon. While some still thought him a mighty warrior others thought him an incredible fool and doubted much of what he said. These opinions sprang from Yecht's past leadership. The years had not been kind to Yecht, the years in the sun had made his skin dark and wrinkled but as he had lived his life he had taken the changes gracefully. As his cheeks became more striking and his chin protruded like a cliff he had grown a short grey goatee and groomed his long white hair carefully. He looked, now like a stern skull that was on the verge of laughing at any moment
The biggest threat that the village faced was a group named "Blackwater" a fearsome group that destroyed all that they touched. It was, and still is thought, by a few, that the men of Blackwater are the embodiment of evil and are unable to be killed by mere men. Others think that Blackwater are men that have forgotten all compassion and hope and are what awaits anybody who allows themselves to leave their humanity. There were hundred of ideas surrounding Blackwater that varied from tribe to tribe and from person to person between each tribe, but one thing was a constant; Blackwater are foul creatures. Yecht had once refused to be chased, once again, away by approaching Blackwater agents – which was the norm for a tribe that large – but instead stayed and fought. Yecht had received a staff in the time before the battle, a staff with the head made of a metal much stronger than even Blackwater had ever seen. The metal was the most gorgeous silver that looked cyan in the right light. It shimmered, with perfect hexagonal gleams and never blunted; this was the tribe's prized possession. Yecht had killed three Agents that day but had lost many men, since then the leadership of the clan was given to a different family least because Yecht had no children to his name. Their clan was treated like royalty for the years to follow but the story was just a pathetic glimmer of hope now and nothing more, the clan was simply known as "The Ones That Stood" (the story goes that Yecht's clan stood in a line for a few seconds before the battle began, but the story, so old and passed from mouth to mouth the events of that day have been thinned by time and are only fond fairytales now.)
Sari was another elder of the village though sat rather awkwardly on the shoulders of the man she was riding. She didn't much like being excluded from the group and especially didn't like being excluded from Tunara, Sari followed Tunara like a friendly pet, not that Tunara minded however.
Sari was found by the tribe many years ago in the most peculiar of circumstances, she was, what seemed the sole survivor of a Blackwater drowning; all of the buildings that surrounded her were flattened and people had been brutally murdered all about her. There skulls had been crushed like flat tires and the sand of the desert had hardened like dough, congealed with blood by the time the tribe had discovered the sight. They found Sari in a pile of rubble and had assumed she must have seen everything; her friends skinned and brutally dismembered all about her. They would have, of course, asked her but the whole ordeal had made the timid old lady forever mute and she didn't utter a word.
Her hair was frizzy like and orb about her head and when on the back of the men it seemed to drift about her head like tumble weed catching the wind. She wore, what many in the village thought was too much, with huge ribbons tied about her neck and shoulders, and pieces of material of every colour. They might have commented on her peculiar attire but Sari was a brilliant seamstress and made all of the clothes for the tribe. Each piece of clothing however was branded with a strange sigil; a sailing ship with a strange symbol along its hull. At first this was of much fascination to the people of the village but now, having lived with Sari it seemed too normal to kick up a fuss about. They thought she must have lived by the sea when she was younger and had seen this ship when she was only a child.
Dural was an interesting character too, he had short black hair and a pointed rat-like nose. He was on the shoulders of one of the smallest men in the group, Jonan and was giving him a long and lengthy tale about his interesting youth. Dural told some of the best stories in the village but almost everybody, apart from the children, took them as mere stories. He spoke of himself fighting off hoards of Blackwater agents, often said he was once part of Blackwater but had somehow found the good within himself to leave. Once or twice he talked of fearsome beasts that he had fought in his youth, dragon and giants that littered the land to the west, which was convenient because nobody knew what was to the west. Dural's stories, while amusing to some, often caused problems in the tribe as sometimes his stories started to involve other people in the tribe or struck a nerve with some of the other members. Dural had once told a mighty story about saving a woman named Xertia. Xertia was once the leader of the clan's daughter (the leader following Yecht, Hendax) she then married the current leader of the tribe, Lincoln, bringing him the power of leadership and also two sons before she died, days after he youngest sons birth. When Dural told his story about Xertia, he intended it to be a noble story of her life but unfortunately her still grieving husband almost killed him in a fight and would have left him in the sand to fend for himself if it wasn't for Tunara, Xertia's younger sister.
Leading the group was Lincoln and his son Timothy, a few strides behind them was Tunara and Cynodel, missing the company of Sari.
"Son we are heading to the basin, it is still a few days travel from here" Lincoln told his son, looking off to the horizon, silently ignoring his legs needing to stop.
"Yes father you told me yesterday, and the day before that." Timothy spoke with the slightest hint of pomposity that was almost immediately detected by his father.
"You know, you always think you have the whole world sorted out but one day you'll have to make the decisions for our tribe and I daresay you might need me to tell you things twice." Lincoln ruffled the hair of his son who winced, clearly not enjoying this at all.
Interrupting from behind sounded the voice of Tunara. "If I'm not interrupting a quality father and son bonding moment the people are getting tired and I think it'd be best for us all to find shade and take a rest." She pointed out to a huge dune that was casting a large enough shadow for the entire convoy to settle in. she waited barely a moment before she made the anticipated sarcastic remake "Or does our leader here, Lincoln, have a better plan." Tunara had brilliant sapphire eyes and grey hair that strangely made her look youthful, though her tired looking brother-in-law had had no such kindness; he had grown old with as much grace as toppling rhino. Where her figure stood as tall as ever Lincoln's back showed the first signs of a hum.
Lincoln begrudgingly turned to face her and said "nope that sounds brilliant I could do with some rest" he screwed up his face in the strangest of smiles turning his eyes into wrinkled messes and his cheeks rippled the begrudging smile outward like waves in water. His face almost immediately fell to his normal glum still impression. "I wonder why you aren't in charge Tunara." He said with a cheeky tone to end the discussion.
Tunara turned to the group, still walking, but backward now and flailed her arms in the air as though she was drowning, she yelled "We're just going to stop a moment to catch our breathe!" but not a single person moved an inch and those that looked up at her arm waving malarkey had continued doing what they were doing before she finished her sentence. There was a moment she checked that everybody had ignored her then on an off step Lincoln stopped. Tunara walked into the back of Timothy (Lincoln's son) but on that second that entire caravan had stopped and looked up to hear what Lincoln had to say.
It had been near twenty years since Xertia died and at the time she and Lincoln lead the tribe together. When she passed Tunara thought that she would assume command but she had no experience and thought too little about the tribe in general, and instead focused on every person individually. Those that followed Tunara followed her absolutely but Lincoln still was favoured by much of their clan. Whenever Tunara became too puffed up with steam and refused to function within the clan Lincoln decided to hold an election, but last time the votes were closer than he would have liked therefore there hadn't been such an event for months.
"We're going over into the shade," pointing over to the dune. "Tunara thinks we need a rest!" Some of the younger men made a sort of disagreeing grunt then started to walk over and soon everybody was walking over to the shade. Mockingly Lincoln turned to Tunara, "Oh that's why," feigning surprise.