The Sun Dragon's Steppe
Borlaaq Iloh, Azim Steppe - Othard, Nineteen Years Ago
"It's to be twins, then. Not surprising, given your origin within the Himaa." The Borlaaq munyeo (moon-yo) said to the very pregnant Xaela woman lying on the bed before her. Her expression saddened, then. "Let us hope they are both female."
The woman in question stayed silent, and worried. Her mate had been the pinnacle of everything a Steppe Warrior was supposed to be. She feared she was bearing his sons, which meant she would have to give them up, if she wished to stay with her new tribe. The remaining months of her pregnancy passed, and when her twins finally arrived on the Star, she despaired inwardly, as she was shown the pair of tiny and very much male, reproductive organs. They had obsidian skin, like their father, but their eyes were black like hers, and surrounded by dull crimson limbal rings, which neither of their parents had possessed. She'd have one year with them, before they were given up to the Iriq tribe, as was the custom of her new peers.
She spent much of that year in despair, but eventually, was able to rationalize that, in time, she would have other offspring, and with different males, they might even be female. She named the boys Varkon and Karkon, and when the year had finally passed, the Borlaaq sent a small group with her to meet the Iriq males who trailed them, and took in the male infants. Unfortunately for all involved, fate had other designs upon them. Unbeknownst to them, the Iriq had been followed by warriors of the Tumet tribe, spoiling for a fight. They got one, and emerged the victors, slaughtering every Xaela there that had not the sense to run, or simply couldn't.
The boys were claimed as an unexpected but welcome bounty by the Tumet, and so they were taken in, rather than slaughtered. This was not uncommon on the Steppe, and they were young enough to be molded to the Tumet's desires. Their childhood was spent beside one another, and eventually, around the age of four, they were taken from the other young of the tribe, and told their place. They were pieces of property, communally owned by the tribe. Their parents had been weak, and the Tumet had claimed them. They would spend their lives in service to the tribe, fighting as Steppe Warriors in skirmishes and the Naadam to bring them glory. That was their purpose, or so they were told.
When they were nine years of age, after a childhood of meager meals, grueling labor, and training with weapons neither one of them could wield, the twins were subjected to the growth ritual of the Tumet. The children of the tribe would be tied to a tree the Tumet considered sacred, and through the strength of their Xaela blood, would free themselves and return as warriors to the rest of the tribe. Karkon, the wiser of the pair, had learned that in these days, many children of important figures like the munyeo or the Khan were given aid to escape their bonds on the sacred tree. Some were actually tied to it, and expected to escape with their strength. These usually ended up as food for the fauna of the Steppe.
Karkon knew which category he and his brother would be put in, and while a few Xaela did manage to break free on their own, it was a rarer occurrence than the Tumet would ever admit. So, the clever boy stole a knife. Unbeknownst to him, it was a ritual knife, meant for channeling the aether of its kill into its host, to become part of them. Though it was quickly missed by its owner, the Khan of the Tumet, Varkon and Karkon were already on their way with the other children to the sacred tree by the time a search began for it.
The other children were simply tied to the tree, but Varkon, was searched thoroughly. When they made to search Karkon, he said, "Why do you search us for knives and not the others? Afraid you might show that they're cheating to the 'lesser' children? I can see them fumbling for their tools even now…"
This mouthiness had unforeseen consequences. While it kept them from searching Karkon, the orifice into which he'd shoved the knife did not react well when they brutally began beating him in the stomach, and then left him. Almost immediately, he knew the secreted knife was cutting up his insides, and his bonds were too much to break, as he began losing blood. One by one the others broke free with their secreted implements, and the cheaters tossed the items before returning to the tribe. None of them tossed them near the other Xaela on the tree, unable or perhaps unwilling to bear the shame, and soon, it was only Varkon and Karkon left. Every time one of the others broke free, and left them for dead, Varkon burned their face into his memory, and used his rage to strain his bonds.
Varkon, the more stubborn of the two, hadn't given up despite their increasingly dire circumstances. He could feel his bonds straining with every focused attempt to break them, and he was determined to be free. The process of straining and resting took hours, and eventually, he noticed his brother wasn't even trying. "Karkon…wake up. We can't die here."
His brother looked at him weakly, and then with his eyes gestured to the puddle of blood below him. "I'm…not going to escape this, Varkon…but…I have a…knife…i've been…trying to get it out…" Then, rather suddenly, it finally fell from the back part of his pants.
"Gross." Varkon said, straining his bonds again. Then, his eyes widened as he saw it was drenched in his twin's blood. "When they punched you-"
"It doesn't matter…" Karkon growled, kicking the knife over to him as best he could. More blood flowed from him in larger amounts, now that the only source of stoppage was gone. "I won't…survive this…free yourself…live…and avenge me…on this pathetic tribe of liars."
"Karkon!" His twin shouted, but the other Xaela was already unconscious. In the distance, Varkon spied a Baras, drawn by the scent of blood, to the Tumet's sacred tree. All the predators within five miles of the site were to have been slain by the warriors, but apparently, they hadn't bothered, or hadn't done a good enough job.
Now properly pissed off, Varkon strained again at his bonds, pushing harder as they tore at his skin, until either they gave, or he did. Finally, the rope snapped, as Varkon freed himself, and then his brother. It was already too late for his twin though.
Karkon looked at the Baras stalking towards him, and flinched, He'd always been afraid of those massive saber fangs the giant cats sported, of being their lunch. Weakly, he grabbed the knife, and offered it to Varkon. "End me…before that thing does…" Varkon started to protest. "But I ca-"
"Please, brother…" Karkon murmured. "I don't want…to see it eat me. It will...catch you...if you try to take me..." Glaring at the Baras, Varkon nodded, and raised the knife, which caused the beast to pause, and stalk towards them slower. It smelled death, but one stripling was yet alive and armed. Lucky for him, the sabercat was after an easy meal, today. Varkon stabbed his brother's heart, ending his tortuous final hours instantly, but unbeknownst to either of them, Karkon's aether joined his brother's, merging into one singular being. Though Varkon couldn't know it, and wouldn't see it for many years, his limbal rings became a burning crimson after this event, and could slightly light up a dark area with their intense light.
Varkon was in too much grief to even notice, as his emotions were a whirlwind. The only person he'd ever cared about was gone. His mother was gone because of some stupid rule her tribe had. He'd overheard the older warriors speaking of it when they mocked him and Karkon. Instead of staying with the safety of the Borlaaq, she'd exposed herself on the open Steppe to give them to the Iriq, and died for it. Now, yet another useless Xaela 'tradition' had taken his last remaining family, and left him alone. And for what.
He looked at the knife, and knew he could head to Doma, to learn to use it properly. To walk in the shadows and strike silently from them. He backed away from his brother's corpse as the Baras closed in. He kept the knife leveled at it, but the beast was more interested in the meat, and he grabbed Karkon by the neck, dragging the pre-teen's corpse away with him, leaving Varkon truly alone. Even the Steppe's predators didn't want him.
Varkon tossed the knife. If he was going to get revenge, it was going to be face to face, with a weapon worthy of him, meeting their gaze when he finally claimed his revenge. He knew no tribe would just give him a weapon, though. Worked metal was precious on the Steppe, but there was one tribe that would both take him in, and likely arm him. The Dotharl had recently met the Oronir in one of the larger Steppe battles to occur this year, and had lost. Hard. They were hurting for manpower, and now had plenty of spare weapons. He could join them, and likely acquire one.
Thus, he made his way to the more sandy part of the Steppe, in the shadow of the broken Dusk Throne, where the 'undying ones' made their camp. Dotharl Khaa. He arrived with bloody wrists, exhausted by the long walk, only to collapse before he could so much as croak a word.
When he finally awoke, he was in an unfamiliar bed, and a female with long white hair, a color unseen on the Steppe usually, was sitting on the side of the bed frame. She couldn't have been much older than he was, but her bearing was that of an adult in a position of authority. "So...you managed to live…" She said quietly. Her next words were louder, and had authority behind them. "I am Sadu, Khatun of the undying Dotharl! Who are you, to show up half-dead upon our land?"
Varkon explained his situation, and his needs, and Sadu agreed to bring him into their fold, so long as he pulled his weight, and fought 'like the demon hiding in his eyes'. She'd been fixated on his black orbs, now surrounded by an intensely glowing pair of crimson limbal rings, and after claiming she'd never seen such eyes, welcomed him into the ranks of the Dotharl.
She brought him to the weapon tent then, and bid him to choose one. "Most of our warriors know the bow." Sadu said, handing him one. "You may pick another for close combat. The closer they are to the entrance, the sharper they'll be."
Varkon tried several swords, but none felt right. The deeper he went into the tent, the more depressing the Dotharl's state of affairs seemed. The Tumet's weapon storage had been guarded, and well maintained. This, was a rusty pile of metal in a bug-eaten tent, some of which had a hilt attached.
His search for a weapon seemed fruitless, as none of the 'maintained' ones appealed to him, and the rest were in serious disrepair. Then, his eyes settled upon it. It was a weapon unlike any he'd ever seen. Calling it a sword was kind, as it was massive, and resting against the backmost corner of the tent. It was a jagged, bulky slab of black metal. It's edges were dull and worn, it's handle needed replacing, but the sword was ideal for what he had in mind. If one could call that oversized hunk of metal a sword.
He emerged from the tent, bow over his back, and dragging the sword behind him. "I will use this weapon...but it needs a handle that can support its weight. Also... the edges are dull."
Sadu looked at him incredulously. "You cannot even lift it. How are you to fight with such a thing?"
Varkon met her gaze evenly. "I'll be able to wield it once it has a handle that won't snap. Right now…if I tried, I would have no means of getting it to the smith."
"Sure." The Khatun muttered, chuckling at his apparent male bravado. "We shall see that it's suitable for combat. None here can teach you to wield it, though."
Varkon chuckled back at her. "It's a sword. You hit the enemy with the sharp part." He went off then, dragging the massive hunk of metal through the dirt until he found the 'smithy' which was just a tent with a coal-powered forge in it. The smith took one look at his weapon of choice, and laughed. Then, she claimed she couldn't even heat a weapon that size, let alone sharpen its edges. She could however, give it a new wooden hilt, at which point, Varkon spoke up with the obvious solution. "Wood is just going to rot and break. Could you make one out of metal? Preferably something Doman?"
Luckily, she had a few leftover chunks of Doman Iron, and out of that, fashioned a passable hilt, soldered it to the base of the jagged hunk, and even fashioned him a strap so he could wear it on his back. Then, it came time to lift the thing.
He knew he'd gained the entirety of the eyes within Dotharl Khaa when he'd dragged the sword through the center of the settlement, and even the partially buried statue of the Dusk Mother in the distance seemed to be watching him. He heaved then, willing the sword to rise, only to find it was much heavier than he'd expected. His first attempt brought laughs, but a few wiser heads were still waiting. "He has its measure, now…watch."
It took almost all of his strength, but Varkon eventually got it off the ground, and as the village cheered, he had to use the same force that had torn him from the Tumet's stupid tree to raise it high in the air.
He lowered it carefully into the new leather sheath on his back, and took out his bow, instead, approaching Sadu Khatun. "That was impressive, kid. None of our warriors were ever able to lift it, hence its disrepair. Its last owner was a mercenary from far off Eorzea, where apparently, such beastly weapons are commonplace."
Varkon noted that, keeping it in mind. If he ever wanted to perfect his mastery of the blade, he'd eventually need to travel west. "Thanks. But I need to practice with this far away from people. It will take some time, before I am ready to ride with the undying Dotharl."
Sadu looked him over again, and then smirked. "There are plenty of iron-men to swing it against to the south. Return once you are fit to fight. I look forward to seeing if you survive." She showed him one more trick, how to craft arrows of wood, or replace the Doman Iron heads on new shafts, and with his ability to hunt for food now guaranteed, as he'd hunted often throughout his early years under the Tumet, he set off from Dotharl Khaa.
It wasn't exactly hard to find an isolated part of the Steppe, though instead of south, he had gone north. More than a few Xaela preferred to hunt alone, but Varkon needed stealth, as well. He traveled into the mountains of Othard, though not very far, and eventually found a verdant valley, untouched by Man just north of the Steppe, and tricky to reach with a passage so narrow, he'd barely fit his weapon through. His cookfire smoke would be hidden, and it would be hard for any but Yol mounted warriors to swarm him. Game was plentiful, and within a week, he had a passable hovel put together. It had required making tools out of wood and rocks, but eventually his 'pickaxe' hit upon something harder. Obsidian. While it made a terrible pickaxe, it was decent for hatchets, so he'd focused on gathering wood, crafting a saw, also with obsidian, and eventually making a novice's best attempt at a house. It was awkwardly placed on a slope, the un-carpentered logs acting as his roof were too large and hung over the sides, but the thatching he'd used to bind them kept the rain out, and the interior, while still dirt, was protected, and kept his bedroll dry.
Fashioning a pickaxe was much harder, but he did eventually find a substance strong enough for it: Azurite. Typically used in jewelry or making stronger alloys, it created an average pickaxe, and got him a sizable hoard of iron ore. Unfortunately, a forge was beyond him, and having only seen an anvil once, he hadn't the faintest clue how to craft one. Nor did he have a hammer. His mining, he found, was more useful for collecting Steppe spring water, which is what he typically drank. Within one month, he had shelter, food, and water. Then, he began training.
It went slow, but after so much chopping and mining, he found his sore muscles had become hardened, and lifting the jagged hunk of metal the Dotharl had given him was easier. Then, he began swinging it, and realized very quickly that he needed leg strength, and core strength, not just arm muscle. He practiced his simple, but powerful swings until, after another month, he could fell a tree with a single strike. It only took two, because his weapon's edges were so jagged.
Around that time, a tribe of wandering Xaela came through the valley, and set up a camp just inside it while their horses stayed without. He saw their fire, made no effort to hide his, and eventually, they sent an envoy to treat with the 'hermit' they'd stumbled upon on their usual migratory route. What they sent, was a band of three Xaela, one female, and two males. The males soon left, once they saw Varkon was alone, and the female spent the night, once she found she fancied the obsidian skinned, red eyed male. Varkon was a novice to the subtle dance that was lovemaking, but he had a good teacher who was rather new herself, and good times were had by both of them. He didn't see her again once she departed in the morning, and three days later, the tribe's Khatun visited him. They claimed to be the Arulaq, which to Varkon's knowledge was a tribe long thought dead, or lost. They offered to trade him one of their portable kilns for ore smelting, in return for half his pile of iron ore.
He got them to add some charcoal in the deal, and both sides left with a satisfied trade concluded. He bid the Khatun to visit when she liked. She never did again, but his female friend did, and over the course of two decades, he looked forward to her visits. Over ten years, he made himself armor, and sharpened the edges of his metallic hunk of sword to proper sharpness. He even polished it, finding the blade to be as black as he was, with a shine to match obsidian. He had no idea what it was made of, but he soon found his simple series of swings more than enough for war. After that, he worked on moving quickly with such a burden, with enough speed to avoid horse-mounted warriors and their lighter weapons.
Ten Years Later… - The Azim Steppe
When he finally descended to the Azim Steppe once more, it was as a nineteen year old man, and beside a tribe long thought gone. They encountered the Mol on their way down, but even Varkon knew they were more like lambs than warriors. He parted ways with the Arulaq, bid them to use his cabin whenever they wished, and then never saw them again, as he departed for Dotharl Khaa. Fate had other designs on him, however.
As he crossed the plains towards the Nhaama Desert, he found himself surrounded by horse-riding Xaela from the Kharlu tribe. Upon learning he was essentially tribeless and alone, they 'convinced' him to join them for their annual contest with the Junghid tribe. They offered him a horse as well, which he could take with him, provided he survived and proved useful in the battle to come.
The battle was in a few short days, and he left the offered horse behind, when it began. The reason soon became obvious though. The Kharlu had asked about his massive, mysterious, linen-wrapped weapon, but he'd refused to bring it out for fun. The bandages kept it from rusting and needing too much maintenance, but as Varkon unwrapped and unsheathed it, he felt odd. The sword seemed light, and as he strode with it into the maelstrom of screeching horses and dying men, it seemed to sing in anticipation. He carved a name for himself within that storm of blood born from the dying Xaela around him. First he took their horses, then he took their riders with the next swing. He repeated this, until the Kharlu had claimed victory in their little contest.
They cheered, but all Varkon saw was a field of death. Hundreds of his people, slaughtered, so that some Khan that enjoyed the scent of his own feces too much could rule over a scrap of land for a single cycle, whence the next slaughter would occur. He declined joining the celebration of victory, despite the several eager females who'd wanted him. The Kharlu judged their warriors by who had the most blood on them not their own at the end of the day, and Varkon was covered in it.
He washed himself in a river not far from the Kharlu lands, when his horse was spotted by Junghid survivors. He warned them not to test him, but one of the hotheaded youths recognized his blood-soaked sword, and screamed about vengeance. Before his head left his neck. It was depressingly easy to kill his own kind, but Varkon repressed those feelings, burying them alongside the smoldering rage he had for the Tumet. Someday, perhaps, he would stop slaughtering his Xaela kin, but he knew he wasn't done yet.
He took the trio of fool's possessions, freed their horses, and again set out for Dotharl Khaa. When he returned to the edge of the Nhaama Desert, he met Sadu Khatun at the edge of the village. Much of his 'armor', such as it was, was still stained with the lifeblood of other Xaela. He had metal vambraces lined with fur covering his forearms, and knee-high almost gladiatorial-like boots, also lined with fur, covering his legs. His thighs were covered with slabs of iron he'd embedded into the short pants he wore for better movement and less chafing, and his 'breastplate' was also all but gladiatorial in nature. His shoulders were covered in simply crafted metal pauldrons, but much of his chest stayed open, namely because he needed to move freely, and because his giant sword was wide enough to effectively cover his core while in combat. Many had tried to slip past his weapon, only to be surprised at how fast it dismembered them, or broke theirs.
Black dye pigment had been all he had available in his little valley, and thus black was the primary color of his ensemble, though the lifeblood of Junghid warriors had turned the fur lined parts a dark matted crimson. Sadu looked him over as he returned, and freed his horse. "Varkon Blackscale. I thought we'd wasted a decent bow, letting you wander off to train…we assumed you were dead." It was at this point, Varkon realized Sadu had been barely older than him when he'd left. Her curves had filled out, but those manic eyes were still unnerving. She hadn't let something as trivial as age keep her from leading and fighting.
Varkon tossed the well-used bow at her feet, having long since run out of arrows, he'd eventually used his sword to kill prey. He hadn't needed to for some years, since a mammoth had bashed its way into his valley, and his meat stockpiled from its bountiful corpse still hung, smoked and dried in his cabin, left for who or what claimed it first. "You can have the bow. I only need this." Effortlessly, his now severely muscled frame lifted the once more bandaged weapon from its sheath, and swung it around. The other warriors murmured excitedly at the display.
Sadu eyed him with a look akin to a Baras hunting prey…or a mate… and then spoke. "You return to us in time to be of use…the Hotgo tribe has insulted us for the last time. Their Khan dies tomorrow. You will ride with us, and earn the price of that valuable hunk of metal on your shoulder."
Reluctantly, Varkon agreed, but very quickly realized he was not part of this tribe. He sat with a sizable gap to either side of him when they ate, no one spoke with him, and what attempt at conversing he made with the warriors was met with minimal words, and stony stares. Even here, it was clear he did not belong. Had he initially stayed, he might have gained a new name, learned their customs, and become a part of them. Instead, he'd wandered off into the wilderness, and returned a blooded warrior who'd fought under another tribe's banner. To the traditional but fierce Dotharl, he was little more than a mercenary.
The next dawn came, and with it, the Dotharl's rage. They swept into the Hotgo settlement like a plague of locusts, and Varkon was but one of them. He killed, he pillaged, and he even covered the Khatun's back when no less than three arrows came whizzing for it. They bounced uselessly off his weapon, and he stunned their owners by leaping several yalms at them, and tearing them apart with a cry worthy of a Dotharl.
When Nhaama finally began to rise, the slaughter was done, the Hotgo were all but destroyed, and Sadu was brimming with 'the flame of combat' or something. He was leery of her magic. Few on the Steppe could wield it, and he disliked that such a bloodmonger like her possessed it, but that was simply the way things were. She'd treated him fairly when she hadn't had to, and now he'd repaid the favor.
That night, the empty space around him at the cookfire was lessened somewhat. Many compliments were given to his sword, and more than one of the females marveled at how he'd managed to leap with such a weapon in hand. One female in particular gave him the same vibes as his first lover, and when it was time to rest, he stayed in her tent.
When the morning came, Varkon left quietly, to retrieve his sword. He'd left it by the fire, confident that nobody but he could lift it. Then, he visited the Khatun. He paused at the entrance as a woman emerged from the tent in the same moment, looking more sexed up than his own lover had. She mumbled something unintelligible to him, told Sadu she had a visitor, and then hurried off to a tent that he was fairly sure was occupied by the woman's mate, who'd fallen asleep very drunk, and had been carried home the night before.
"The mighty manslayer returns." Sadu said with a smirk as he entered her tent. She was barely clothed, but bade him enter all the same. She'd never gotten vibes of attraction from the now-muscled male, and while she could swing that way, the women of the Steppe were so much more fun, and frankly smelled better, than the males. "I can guess your intention in seeing me this early. Go on. Ask."
"I want vengeance upon the Tumet." Varkon growled, half from a dry throat, and half from his lingering, long-boiling rage. "Their imbecilic tradition took my brother from me. The Khan's offspring, and his ilk weren't even following the test. They cut themselves free from their little tree. I'm the only one who broke my bonds with strength."
Sadu's smirk faded as she heard his tone, and she shook her head at his request. "The Tumet are strong...we have not prospered since you left us. We are even fewer, after yesterday. It will be several summers before we can fight a tribe like the Tumet, and not be annihilated."
Varkon growled, but then forced himself to see the sense in her argument. He found it sound. In one or two summers, the undying Dotharl would again be ready, but not after their losses to the Hotgo. "I don't need many...I don't want many allies getting in the way of my revenge, either. Give me four warriors. I'll manage with that."
"Will you now." Sadu said, crossing her arms. "In what world are you qualified to lead my warriors? Unless you've bested Bardam's Mettle in your years away from us, you are not worthy. Neither are you Dotharl. I can forgive one of these things, for what you've done for our tribe. Not both."
"I'll face Bardam's challenge, then. And when I return, I expect some aid." Varkon growled, as he turned to leave.
"Take your lover with you. There are two others who need to test themselves as well. Bring them along, and try to stay alive." Sadu said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Varkon growled again, and then left, to gather his party.
Somewhere In The Sea of Blades, Azim Steppe - Othard, Present Day
The singing of Hingan styled katanas rang through the clear summer air of the Azim Steppe as Ken Himura once again met the much more physically imposing nineteen year old Au Ra he'd agreed to teach. They'd spent the last few weeks going over what he already knew, and Ken realized just how incomplete his instruction had been. He also realized that much of Tao's self-taught style seemed very similar to one of the Hingan styles of swordsmanship, one named for and inspired by the legendary scalekin of Dravania and Meracydia. Dragons were a relatively unknown plague in the Far East, but that hadn't stopped the ever imaginative people of Hingashi from making up their own stories about dragons.
Ken had done what he could with his apprentice's techniques, but a student of the dragon style he was not. Still, the nineteen year old Au Ra had proven a quick learner, and a natural swordsman, though whether that was due to his own skill or his ancient and clearly magical blade remained to be seen. As their blades screeched, and then disentangled, Ken paused, sheathing his weapon. "I think it is long past time that you learned the Yukikaze, or Snow-Wind Slash. With that, you will have the basics of your style to refine as you see fit."
The golden haired Raen tilted his massive horns, in query. "Is our time as master and apprentice to be over so soon? I was hoping to learn more."
Ken pondered for a long time before he answered his newest and only apprentice. "I will teach you what one at your level should be aware of, and if you remain diligent, perhaps I shall pass on the Shinsoku as well. It is the only technique from my style of swordsmanship I intend to pass on. You may yet prove capable of using it. But first...the Yukikaze. Watch closely…"
Ken demonstrated a perfect example of the Snow-Wind Slash, jumping up into the air as the aether around him turned cold. A diagonal strike from his top right to bottom center-left cut a cold trail through the air, before the Hyuran man performed a half counter-clockwise turn into a backwards stab that caused an explosion of ice magic where it stopped in the air. Tao watched with rapt attention, and was soon repeating his sensei's movements verbatim. After about the twentieth rep, he finally paused and asked a question. "I have the movements down, but I don't quite get how to make the Aether freeze."
Ken frowned, and tilted his head. "Did no one teach you how to infuse your Aether into your sheath? I've seen you use it before."
Tao gave the Hyuran man a humorless chuckle. "The people of my clan see using anything but White magic as a sign of dark bargains for power. Only our Samurai manipulated Aether regularly for combat, and they taught me none of their tricks. Any magic I have is because of my sword."
Ken sighed, as this was neither the time nor place to go into the history and subtle art of gathering, and more importantly maintaining one's supply of Kenki. He was about to suggest mastering the basics of Thaumaturgy to learn what he needed to learn, when an all too familiar shriek, to Tao at least, screeched through the area surrounding them. Ken frowned, as he recognized the Xaela war cry that followed the piercing din. Above them, eleven Xaela warriors, each of them riding on a Yol and dressed in yellow and black were coming in rapidly, weapons raised. "Oronir...wonderful."
Tao spoke, as Ken tried to remember details about the Oronir. "My mother told me once that she hailed from the Oronir tribe, before she met my father."
Ken looked up at his student, and then nodded. Between the scraps of useful info he had, and Tao's eyes, they might just come out of this without being robbed and killed. The two swordsmen eyed the Xaela, and crouched as they approached. One of the warriors dove for the Hyuran samurai, only for his eyes to widen as he lowered his weapon, and made his bird spin, barely dodging Ken's strike at the rider. For his part, Tao had no qualms about aiming for their Yol mounts, and after his first blindingly fast counter strike narrowly missed bisecting both bird and rider, the other Xaela did not approach. Instead, they began circling their prey from above, whooping and shouting as they bobbed their weapons in what Tao could only assume they thought was a threatening manner. Most of them were waving them around like clubs, but a few looked skilled enough to be a threat.
Then, his golden eyes were drawn to what had to be their leader. His Yol was larger than the rest, and like his rider, the bird's plumage had been dyed gold at the tips. The Xaela riding the beast was armed with a massive greataxe that seemed made from the earth, which he was carrying single handed as he flew. It seemed made of rock, but the light from within was more yellow than red-orange. The black scaled brute with two toned black and gold hair had been raising the equally unique weapon, as he saw his 'fearless' warriors pausing and whooping. He'd fully intended to have his Yol snatch the pair, fly up high, and drop them, before looting their corpses, as it had been a lean day for raiding the elusive Dotharl, but he stopped, as he saw the eyes of the blonde haired Raen guarding the Hyur's back. Not only were they very obviously like Magnai's own limned with Azim's gold, he recognized those features. They were too similar to his cousin's to be a coincidence.
Magnai brought his mount in a low circle around the pair, and hopped off the massive bird before approaching the Raen, within striking and speaking distance. "I am the shining Sun of the Steppe! Magnai the Older, Chosen of Azim and eldest son of the Oronir!" He leveled the greataxe at Tao, then. "You there...Whitescales...what clan do you hail from?"
Tao arched an eyebrow as he rose from his fighting crouch. Ken did the same, but kept a hand on his sword. Likewise, the Xaela riders circling above them held on to their tools of slaughter with a loose grip, but they no longer seemed ready to pounce on them. More than a few were insatiably curious as to why their leader had taken an interest in them, likely seeking a weakness they could exploit, they watched quietly taking in everything.
"If my clan even has a name, I was never taught it." Tao answered, "There aren't many of them. They reside within the mountains of the Fanged Crescent. One of many Raen clans that settled across Othard's mountains, when we left the Steppe." He was still trying to process how the Xaela were riding Yol of all things, when he noticed. These birds were smaller than those who lived in the mountainous peaks surrounding his home. That made some sense, for only the strongest cloudkin could thrive and hold such large territories. He also guessed that the monsters who prowled the skies around his old home were much older compared to the ones circling them. Little did he know those beasts had once bore Au Ra like these into battle, leaving for their own territory once their riders had passed into the aetherial sea.
His answer brought a chuckle from the Xaela warriors, and their leader's heavy brow furrowed. "You lie. None would be foolish enough to live under the Yol's territory. The birds in those peaks are akin to living hurricanes. Most of your people are in Hingashi, or Radz-at-Han by this point, Whitescales. The Raen left these lands long ago. As I have heard, the other races did not take kindly to them settling elsewhere in Othard."
Tao shrugged. "Our local Samurai took down several Yol...usually at great cost. They knew not to mess with us, but when times were lean, some would try. I was told that our people were good at adapting to the mountains, I'm sure there's more clans than you think. " For some reason, his words seemed to impress both the Xaela leader and his soldiers. Every Xaela that wasn't a fool knew to stay away from the Fanged Crescent's mountains. More than once had one of the massive denizens of those icy peaks been seen carrying off multiple horses like it was nothing, and if anything tried to steal their kill, it was torn apart with wind aspected magic.
"They felled Yol of that age and size? Truly? Hmm." Magnai pondered to himself. When a Xaela fell, typically their mount, assuming it did not also fall, either disappeared or chose another rider, if there was one who had lost their Yol but survived the fall. Such warriors were rare. Magnai changed the course of the interrogation. He was reasonably sure he was looking at his cousin's offspring, and while the scales were as white as his father's, the two tiny black horns jutting above his admittedly impressive set of white ones gave away his lineage. Magnai lowered his axe, and sheathed the heavy weapon upon his back. "Your mother's name...and yours. I would know them."
Unlike most, Tao's first instinct was not to defy, obstruct, or argue with the Xaela for such information. He had a feeling sharing in this situation was a wise move. Strong as he and Ken were, Oronir warriors mounted on Yol would press any force. There were only two of them after all. "I am Tao. My mother was…" He paused, glancing downwards as he realized he had to think back. To him, she had always been 'mom' and like most five year olds, he hadn't realized she also had a proper name. As he spoke his best guess, the look on Magnai's face implied he'd remembered correctly.
The burly Xaela approached Tao, and instead of towering over him, found they were the same height. The Raen was still lanky with youth, but already muscle had begun to grow in and fill out his seven fulm frame. Magnai placed both hands on Tao's shoulders, and grinned. "You are welcome among the Oronir, cousin of mine." There were a few quiet, racist grumblings from above following Magnai's words, but the Xaela was having none of it. He whirled to look up at his troops, who'd since stopped moving and held their circle in the air. "If anyone has a problem with that, I bid you look at the lad's eyes, and tell me he is not also one of Azim's sons!"
Tao glanced at the warriors then, and many had similar reactions to Magnai's once they got a proper look at his eyes. Up close, Magnai noted even his scales were more of a whitish-gold than the usual off-white or bone white most Raen scales were. Touched by the sun indeed. Then, the Xaela's attention shifted to Ken. "And why do You come to our territory, Hyur? Your kind is not unwelcome...provided tribute is given to your betters."
The elder samurai had been quiet as he watched the Oronir's Khan. He was trying to be intimidating, but Ken sensed he could be reasoned with, so long as they played to his obvious vanity. "I came with Tao to train him in the art of the Samurai, and to uncover his lineage. If you are cousins, it seems we have succeeded. Pray tell your men to stand down, I've no desire to quarrel with the fabled Sons of Azim, all but unrivaled upon the Steppe."
Magnai seemed to ponder for a moment, deciding between escalating the situation with violence, or simply tossing the little fish back into the river. "Do not think to command the Sun, Hingan. You will only be burned. I will show your apprentice the superior half of his heritage. You, shall give the Sons of Azim the respect we are due, and pay tribute to those above you."
Ken let out a heavy sigh as he eyed the Khan. "I owe you no loyalty, that I don't. But I will comply with whatever you demand of me…so long as it be reasonable." He kept his eyes on the Xaela as he fell to his knees and knelt in the Hingan style, which was more subservient than the Xaela and their single bent knee. "Teach Tao your dances. That will help him far more than any trial or training of the Steppe."
Magnai stroked his chin scales, which passed among the Au Ra as a beard. "Dancing, eh? Hmm…" He pondered again, and nodded. "Very well. If my first cousin can prove he has the mettle of a true Warrior of the Steppe under those pale scales, he will be welcomed in our khuaran as an equal!"
Tao chimed in then, rabidly curious. "And how am I to prove my mettle, cousin?"
Magnai simply chuckled, and placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting the Raen's gold ringed eyes with his own. "A test. One that every true Xaela takes."
Bardam's Mettle - Azim Steppe
"Thus spoke Nhaama: Hunters in whose veins flows moonlight, show me your mettle!"
Tao grimaced at the words coming from the glowing blue wall before him, but nevertheless raised his sword once more for whatever this trial had to offer. So far, it had been Steppe beasts and stone guardians animated by aether. As he progressed though, he continued to wonder about the Xaela, their current level of societal sophistication, and if they were truly the ones responsible for the construction of the more complex stone structures he'd seen on his pilgrimage to Bardam's Mettle. Ken had been assigned menial tasks to aid the Oronir, his 'supplication to the Sun' being surprisingly simple, in the end. He now waited in Reunion, with Magnai's blessing, and protection. Though they were not the current rulers of the Dawn Throne, few wished to test the Oronir. Every Xaela with more than twenty winters could see that the 'sons of Azim' were on a meteoric rise under Magnai Khan.
The evidently feminine depiction of what Tao assumed was a face lit up with a soft blue, and the two stone walls depicting Bardam's visage that stood before the glowing monument of stone hopped threateningly towards the Raen samurai. His brow furrowed, as he tried to figure out how one fought a wall, when suddenly, their mouths opened, and his warrior's senses told him an attack was forthcoming. His sword trailed low as he strafed out of the wall's path, and his instinct was rewarded when they did not turn to follow him, but rather stayed immobile, as they discharged their aetheric blasts.
With the air so charged with aether, the Raen focused, calling on his sword as he attempted the Yukikaze on one of the wall's backsides. Once more, nothing happened, and as the aether faded, the pair of walls once more turned, and hopped menacingly towards Tao. He frowned, and then used his Gyoten, or Dawn's Charge to unironically slip past the walls testing him in this 'trial of the Moon'. He looked at his sword, and his mind filled with thoughts of irritation. As it seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and the source of his frustration, the Raen froze, as did his surroundings.
Hear...Feel...Think…
His blade had pulsed gold uniformly with each word, and just as quickly, time resumed flowing. He dashed past the walls again as they turned, and prepared another aetheric discharge, and pondered the words he'd been given. He heard the energy being gathered by the stone automatons, he felt the air, practically buzzing with aether, and then, it all clicked together, as he leapt into the opening jump of the Snow-Wind Slash once more, picturing the cold within his mind, as he thought of nothing but a blizzard. They'd had more than a few back in his village, and more than once had they brought him close to death in his hovel outside the old man's home. His sword roared to life with the force of one such blizzard, and he spun, stabbing behind him as he hammered the backside of one of the walls, and blew out its front. It fell over, 'dead', but its partner continued to turn and malice the Raen once its own aetheric payload was gone.
Avoiding it was simple, and as it charged up again, Tao was behind it, sheathing his blade as he empowered the Higanbana. As he utilized the Iai strike, he hit the remaining wall of worked stone six times in the space of an eyeblink, before sheathing the weapon again. The wall fell into separate chunks of sliced stone, and Tao caught his breath, as he looked for the path forward.
The glowing blue wall that depicted Nhaama's visage fell over, and again, a voice rang out.
"Pass, blood of my blood, for you are of the Dusk and of the Steppe."
He continued on, found more violent denizens of the Steppe, and dispatched them with a series of well-aimed strikes on what he assumed were their weak points. Once they were felled, he came to a similar bottleneck as before, except this time, the stone face behind the not two but three stone wall automatons was glowing red-orange, and depicted Azim, as the Xaela could understand him.
"Thus spoke Azim: Warriors in whose veins flows sunlight, show me your mettle!"
Again Tao used his newest technique upon one of the walls, and again its face was explosively blown out, before it could discharge an aether beam. The next face fell to the Midare Setsugekka, and was cloven perfectly into three separate chunks. The final wall was similarly dispatched with his Gekko and Kasha, and as before, the glowing red wall fell backwards as a voice rang out.
"Pass, blood of my blood, for you are of the Dawn and of the Steppe."
Immediately beyond the door was a circular area, within which was sleeping a large, saber-toothed coeurl, something Magnai had called a Baras. Naturally, it was bigger than those on the steppe's plains. It's saber-fangs were carved with similar patterns to the ruins around them. It readied to pounce, as he entered its space, one hand on his sword.
"I don't suppose you'd just let me pass, so we can both move on with our lives in peace?" The sabercat snarled, in response. "I thought not. Still, worth asking." The Raen finished, through a heavy sigh as he resolved to end a life. He readied his weapon again, when a cry split the air. "Aiaiaiaiaiiiiieeee AHH!" A ball of fire hammered the Baras, and behind it came a burly Xaela warrior wielding what appeared to be a sword of some kind, though Tao had never seen its like. One could hardly even call it a sword, for it was more akin to a weathered slab of iron with an iron stick for a hilt. Yes the sides were sharp, the tip pointy, but it had to weigh a ton, and judging by how slow the warrior's follow-up strike was, it was quite heavy.
Behind him came a fierce and primarily blue clad female Xaela, the source of the fireball, as she readied another, and behind her, a small Hyuran female from Doma, wielding what seemed to be a staff with a flower on it. She peeked out from behind the fire mage, healed the warrior, and then went back to hiding. Her features were plain, almost typical of Doman Hyurs, black hair, brown eyes, small stature. The Xaela was far more attractive to Tao's eye, though as she caught him staring, she shouted at him. "Are you going to use that sword or stare all day!"
Tao blinked back to reality and then strafed around the occupied sabercat. The warrior was having entirely too much fun bashing away its claws, or just tanking them on his exposed chest that, somehow, was not immediately shredded by said claws. Suspecting magic was at work, Tao focused on the Baras' backside, as he readied another Midare Setsugekka, but before he could unleash it, the cat caught the warrior's blade in its jaw, and sent him flying, kicked the Raen with a back paw, and then roared at the two females. Other fauna of the steppe appeared, in the form of a pair of very pissed off mammoths. They charged the females, and Tao rose slowly, wincing in pain. The Baras had very much damaged his ribs, but he felt them mend suddenly as the pain faded. White magic flowed over and infused him, and then the warrior with the obnoxiously large sword as well.
For her part, the fire mage shifted affinity, becoming an ice mage, and surrounding both her and her healer with a wall of spiked ice that gave the mammoths a moment of pause, before their large tusks began swinging through it. Tao moved to help them, only to find his path blocked by the Baras, which snarled at him. Leaving the mammoths to the warrior, Tao dodged like he'd seen Ken dodge, and the beast's claws caught naught but air and his robe, sliding uselessly off the magicked garment. Tao spun into a leg sweep reinforced by his own leg and his tail, and used the momentary stun to ready his finishing blow. Ice formed around his feet, and his blade shone gold as he strafed to the side of the baras, and aimed for its neck. Three lightning fast strikes severed its throat, and sent it onto the aetherial sea.
As the beast fell over, the walls of ice erupted in magical flame, singeing the one mammoth that had stayed to savage the walls. The other, seeing its comrades dead, fled, easily outpacing the warrior. Or so it thought. The Xaela garbed like a gladiator shouted at it as it ran, "Oh no you don't!" Before he leapt surprisingly high, spun in the air and used the added momentum to bring his ridiculously large sword down on the nape of the beast's neck. It collapsed in a heap with a cry that made Tao's heart wince. The Xaela stood then, waving the sword at his Doman companion. "Look, Jin! We're having Mammoth tonight!" The shy healer nodded, fired off a healing spell at him, and then at the other two fighters who'd kept her alive.
Tao, for his part, was inspecting the Baras' corpse, and he was soon joined by the Xaela spellflinger. "Pardon me, Whitescales." She muttered tersely, before taking out a small knife, and dislodging the one saberfang that wasn't cracked. It was in that moment that Tao realized he'd never really been this close to a female his age before. On purpose. She smelled nice, like the air of the steppe, sweat, and another scent he couldn't name that tied it all together in an appealing aroma. That she was pretty, also helped. He also realized then, he had no idea how to talk to such a woman. Let alone what to say.
By the time he came up with something other than 'Hello there', she'd sighed, and walked off towards the other Xaela, who was carving up the mammoth. Tao took a last lingering look at the Baras, sighed again, and then started after the group. It took a while before they actually spoke with him, as he realized the Xaela were uniformly ignoring him. The Doman at least, was unfailingly polite.
"Those were some excellent Samurai strokes you used back there." She offered, and Tao gave her a simple nod in response. "I'm Jin. That's Varkon, and our mage is Mergen" She said, offering the chance to continue speaking to him.
He found Jin less intimidating to speak with, and realized he'd been an idiot earlier. Himura Sensei's wife had also been pretty, but he'd managed to talk with her. It helped that she'd been taken already, but, he realized, nothing would happen at all if he floundered every time he saw a pretty face, thus, he resolved to simply treat them as he would any other member of Mankind. Surely, that would work. "I am Tao." He said, bowing to the Doman. "My thanks for healing my ribs…I was not looking forward to sleeping on them. Your magic is…quite potent."
"My grandmother taught me. She came over from the west a long, long time ago. Back when Doma was still free, and grandfather still traveled. I didn't understand most of what she spoke of in regards to my spells, but I eventually learned enough to be useful to people like them." She answered, nodding at the pair of Xaela.
It was at that point that the female, Mergen, turned and glared at the pair. "Oi! Whitescales! If you want part of this, come help carve it. This teneg's blade sucks at it."
The male Xaela, Varkon, scoffed. "My blade is fine! It simply isn't a utensil for eating with. It's a weapon. One meant for a real warrior!"
Silently, Tao strode up beside Varkon, and drew his katana. Now getting a proper look at it, the party of three stared. It's length was impressive, and had the Raen been any smaller, wielding the blade would've been impractical. It seemed made to fit a being even taller than he, but none gathered knew of any such race. Except maybe Roegadyn. Even their tallest specimen would have a time of swinging this katana around though.
Varkon sheathed his slab of metal, and opened his mouth to mock the Raen for seemingly hesitating, when he struck the mammoth corpse. His weapon was faster than Varkon could follow, but when the mammoth stayed unsliced, he crowed obnoxiously. "See? Thin blades are inferior. You need girth." He was speaking mostly to Mergen who seemed amused by his obvious innuendo, and Tao simply snorted in response.
Mergen arched a scaly brow at Tao as he sheathed his weapon in the same smooth motion he'd drawn it with, and folded his arms in his Haori. He gave the corpse a kick then, and the skin sloughed off of it, before the meat similarly followed, sliced into perfect slabs for cooking. Varkon stopped crowing but Tao kept Mergen's gaze as he finally spoke. "I'm terrible at cooking things this large. Can your flames handle it?"
She nodded, and the party now comprised of four people gathered as much meat as they could. Tao noted that Jin and Mergen's bags were somehow bigger on the inside, and they managed to take most of the edible meat with them as they progressed into Bardam's Mettle. They cut their way through more steppe wildlife, until the sun went down. Varkon determined that the next stretch held the rest of their trial, and they resolved to tackle it in the morning.
The group chatted as they ate, and Tao learned that the Xaela, who were aligned with the Dotharl tribe, had hired the Doman healer, who they'd met at the One River after their first disastrous attempt at clearing Bardam's Mettle. It was weird hearing the river mentioned, as it was the only place outside of his village that Tao had gone, while he'd still felt compelled to live there. Mergen and Varkon were here to become proper Steppe Warriors, and while Tao had avoided flinching at the mention of the One River, when he heard what they intended to ride, he practically choked on his mammoth steak.
He then learned the specifics of the proud steppe tradition the Xaela had of riding Yol. He still found the thought of such a thing ludicrous, and the Xaela seemed amused by his apparent fear of the creatures, at least until he told them, roughly, where his village was located.
"The Yol of the Fanged Crescent are massive." Varkon said, with the confidence of one who knew of what he spoke. "When warriors of the Steppe pass on, their mounts often try finding a roost in Othard's mountains. Those who succeed, can live for centuries. I've heard of them hunting grown horses... but not Raen. Perhaps the beasts around your home have acquired a taste for Mankind."
Tao simply nodded, and barely contributed to the conversation for the rest of the evening. When it was time to sleep, only Jin seemed to manage it. Varkon and Mergen evidently had a relationship of some description, and sleep eluded the Raen as their noises echoed in his horns. At least until they were done.
When the morning finally came, Varkon took the lead to their next challenge eagerly, only to trot to a stop, looking around for an enemy. "Above you!" Tao warned, as a massive moving mountain brought a carved hammer down on their tank's head. The other three jumped back as it seemed to land directly on the Xaela's head.
"Varkon!" Mergen shouted, bringing up a fireball for the mountain to eat, and pausing as the dust cleared. The air around the Xaela was dense, and streaked with red aether, as his sword, and his knee, struggled to hold off the construct. Jin healed him, and with a roar, Varkon forced the massive hammer to rise, as he regained his footing.
A voice rang out over the circular arena then "A test of wit for those who would be Warriors of Azim's Steppe! How does one fight a Mountain?"
Mergen unleashed her fireball, and Tao charged the hammer, slashing at it with his long-perfected Hakaze. Jin joined in as well, but very quickly, Tao realized the damage they were doing was negligible. The construct would successfully crush Varkon long before they made even a dent.
"We're not doing anything to it!" Tao shouted, as he whirled away from a Midare Setsugekka that, while plenty powerful, had done almost nothing to the construct.
"I can't hold this forever…" Varkon snarled, but he didn't buckle to the pressure yet.
Tao looked at his allies then. Jin seemed depressed by how little she was doing, damage wise. Mergen was readying another spell, but almost seemed out of power. Seeing it was up to him, Tao took a breath and tried to focus his 'Kenki' as Sensei Himura had called it. "Mergen. Recharge your magic. When you see the opening, strike it." She nodded, and the air around her shifted to ice.
Tao used his Gyoten, after jumping, and zipped in a straight line through the air, before he landed on a carved ledge ringing the hammer. He briefly wondered who in the hells had made such a golem, before he began slashing at the rocky fingers holding the hammer down on Varkon. The creature roared, and dropped the hammer as Tao unleashed a Yukikaze on its fingers, and he held onto them as the golem reared his hand back, and roared at the party.
Tao leapt from its hand to its head, and slashed it horizontally before jumping slightly and stabbing his katana into the thing's head. Pink petals flew from each strike, and he dragged his blade down the golem's face as its other hand, still holding a hammer, rose towards him.
Rocks sloughed off the right side of its face, as the samurai descended, and action rolled into his landing, cushioning the fall, and popping up into his ready stance, as he shouted, "Now!"
Mergen opened her eyes, and the balls of ice floating around her shifted to fire. The other hammer came down on Varkon, who was shielded, healed, and ready for it this time. Regardless, it began to crush him, and Tao opted to help buy time, joining the Xaela under the hammer, as both of their swords stopped it. Varkon gave him a strained nod, and together the two held out as Mergen charged her spell.
Then, she unleashed it. A swirl of fiery balls left her staff, and soared up above the construct's head. Then, they rained back down on it in a hail of fireballs, directly impacting the ruined face of the golem.
"Well done…" It groaned, as it fell into a revealed canyon behind where it had stood vigil, taking its remaining hammer with it.
"Down we go!" Varkon shouted as he leapt onto a piece of falling golem, and cheered as he fell hundreds of feet, springing off of the falling limb, and landing in a roll as he did. He looked up to find himself surrounded by giant, and evidently angry butterflies. He began hacking at them, as Jin used her White Magic to levitate the rest of the party down along the cliffside.
As they reached Varkon, Tao looked ahead at their path, and gave a warning. "Giant boulder!" They split to opposing sides of the ravine they now found themselves in, and with Varkon's expert positioning, as well as the lack of intelligence from his butterfly opponents, the massive rolling rock came whizzing by, and took them out with it. They advanced then, stopping every so often to deal with more butterflies, some kind of strange, animated dolls, until they reached a larger area from whence the boulders seemed to keep coming. Seeing the remains of butterflies on one as it rolled past, obscuring his sight of Varkon who was now going head to head with a Matamata, some kind of draconic looking turtle creature, the Raen assumed the large rocks were on an infinite loop, and again wondered at who exactly was responsible for creating all of this.
As Varkon distracted the dragon turtle, Tao managed to slide in with a timely Midare Setsugekka to its throat, and without missing a beat, Varkon sprinted on towards what seemed to be the final stage of their arduous trek through the bizarre test that determined which Xaela were Warriors of the Steppe, and which were fodder.
They entered a new box canyon then, though it was circular in its edges, upon the walls were carvings of what appeared to be Xaela hunters, riding atop creatures that could only be Yol. Varkon's oversized sword was out, and ready, as he whirled and found nothing to face. Mergen and Jin were quiet, but Tao by far was the most on edge. Mostly because he, unlike his party, knew what was coming for them.
Then, they heard it. The screech of a massive Yol, though not quite as large as the ones Tao had seen his village contend with, it was more than large enough to be the mother of the hatchlings it sent to fly alongside the Xaela who wished to become warriors of the sky as well as the land. Its intelligent eyes searched each of them, and held Tao's gaze longest. He gave it a look of clear, undisguised hatred, and had every intention of slaying this beast. Rage clouded his thoughts, and he recalled the one time he'd seen a similar creature carry off one of his fellow villagers.
It had been one of the rare times the birds had intruded upon their actual settlement, just before his parents left. He snapped back to reality, as Mergen grabbed his ancient garment, and yanked him out of the path of wind aspected aether designed to tear him apart. "Wake up, Whitescales!" She shouted, before firing balls of flame at the bird. It batted them away with a gust of wind from its wings without any discernible kind of effort, and Tao growled to himself.
Varkon kept trying to get its attention, but it was floating out of his range. Jin was by a far corner, waiting to heal someone if they needed it, as she knew her own wind attacks would do little to this force of nature incarnate. As before with the golem, Tao realized it was down to him. As his hand pressed into his sword, he felt a magical hum that he'd never noticed, or drawn on before. As if he had stores of unspent power just waiting to be used.
Drawing the blade, it shone obvious with gold light, and drew the Yol's attention. Though its eyes followed him, by the time it reacted, he was under the bird, beside Varkon. Willing this newfound wellspring of energy to fill his legs, Tao leapt surprisingly high for a mortal, not enough to truly damage him from the fall, but enough to hit his quarry with a blustery Yukikaze. Ice froze over the creatures feathers, causing it to sink to the circular platform they were battling upon. Varkon got its focus then, turning the bird towards him as it struck his oversized sword with its talons, and left its back exposed.
Mergen hammered it with flames, Tao went through his usual strikes needed to build up power for the Midare Setsugekka, and even Jin contributed, hitting the Yol's wings with earth aspected magic when it tried to fly up and away from Varkon. Tao leapt again as that happened, and in the air, discharged his pent up sword's aether through his ultimate technique, following it with one that Ken had shown him, but he'd never had enough Kenki, until now, to use. Certain Kill: Deathblow, or Hissatsu: Senei, in the Hingan tongue. Both scabbard and blade slashed an X into the Yol's feathered back, and Varkon hammered it in its bird-like face as it landed, momentarily stunning it. "Finish it, Tao!"
The Xaela's shout was enough for him. Tao focused his aether into his blade this time, not his scabbard, and his entire form glowed with gold. He didn't quite know what he was about to unleash, but his sword seemed to know, and he followed its guidance. Multiple slashes, too fast to see, hit the Yol in its back, and Tao found himself finishing the move with a distanced slash that sent an arc of golden aether into the wounded creature.
Seeing the beast at death's door, Tao slowly sheathed his katana, and then crouched. As he made to land the final death blow, the Yol shrieked, stunning each of them via their ears, and began ascending, flying away from the group that had bested it. Three wooden flutes fell before Jin, Mergen, and Varkon, but Tao was too busy trying to think of a move that would kill his foe from a lengthy distance to notice he hadn't gotten one.
Jin put an arm on his Haori, and jolted him back to reality. "It's over, Samurai. That one is not like the Yol you know."
Tao stared for a moment, still glaring in its direction, and snorted. "I am done with this place."
Varkon and Mergen walked over to the pair, flutes in hand. "That's great. So am I. So." He said, looking between his companions. "Anyone know the way out of here?"
Several Hours Later…
After eventually escaping from Bardam's Mettle, Varkon, Mergen, and Jin agreed to accompany Tao as far as the Oronir's temporary encampment atop the Dawn Throne. Evidently, they were having a neutral party, one which welcomed all tribes under the banner of peace, as they celebrated the official rise of Magnai Khan. At least, that's what the guard at the lift had told them was going on.
Upon reaching the top, they found the Oronir huddled together just outside the gates of what Tao assumed was the Dawn Throne. He didn't recognize the symbol of the clan currently ruling over it, and Mergen made herself scarce, as she'd only hinder the end of Tao's quest with her presence as Dotharl in a camp full of hostile Oronir. Even when gathered under peace, she did not expect the prideful, arrogant warriors to restrain themselves from targeting a lone female of a hated rival tribe.
"Tao! Cousin! You return to us! And so soon. And yet…I do not see a Yol flute in hand. Was Bardam's trial too much for your Raen constitution?" Magnai began crowing as he stood, and greeted his relative in a rare display of compassion.
"No, cousin." Tao answered. "I defeated the Yol…though I know not exactly what move ended the fight, it stunned us and flew away before I could end it. I did not get a flute…and nor do I desire one. This here is Varkon Blackscale, and Jin, of Doma. They can vouch that we faced Bardam's Mettle, and survived its trials." Both of them held up their own flutes, as he spoke.
Magnai looked between the two, and focused on Jin, staring intently, almost curiously, into her eyes, only to crease them in apparent disappointment. "It is rare that outsiders are allowed to ride the Yol. She must have sensed your anger towards her kind. It is just as well, cousin. Such a mount doesn't suit one who had to live in fear under them for so long. Come, friends of Tao, eat and drink with us! For tonight, we celebrate the Rise of the Glorious Sun!" It took Tao a second to realize he was referring to himself, but Varkon was eager for drink, and Jin eager for food. They accepted his offer, and then, soon after the meal, the dancing began.
From the numerous camps gathered on the raised soil outside the Dawn Throne, came warriors, male and female alike, who created a bonfire, and began to dance around it. Each tribe who had bothered to show added to the pile of wooden logs, and Tao watched quietly from the long seating logs around the newly made bonfire, taking in the dancer's movements, and at last understanding what his Sensei had wanted him to see.
He lost track of his new friends in the festivities, and after a time watching the dancers, figured he out to join in himself. It was clear this was some sort of pre-mating ritual, one Magnai also watched, but made no move to join. Tao was focused on their movements, that is, until he caught the facial features of one of the Xaela. He didn't know her clan dress as Mol, and wouldn't have cared if he had. The woman was gorgeous in a way he lacked the words to accurately describe, easily the most appealing female he'd ever seen. Smooth, pale skin, soft, full lips, blue eyes and whitish blonde hair braided with flowers made up this pinnacle of beauty, and best of all, she yet danced alone, having just joined in.
Many males began moving towards her as she made one loop around the flames, but they were almost violently pushed away by the sizable bulk of Tao's frame as he stepped into the dance with her, and gave her a friendly 'Hello there.' as she took his hands. He found her name was Yuki, and she seemed as taken with the handsome Raen's features as he was with hers. When the dance ended, he was still paired with her, despite numerous attempts by several Xaela to cut in, his size and his tail, acting as a club of sorts, had kept the other would-be suitors away from the gorgeous Xaela.
Tao would remember that night for years to come fondly, as he and Yuki had descended from the Dawn Throne to the lakeside below, and there on the grassy shores she'd made him a man in the ways that mattered, educating him in the often lauded but rarely perfected carnal arts. She seemed sated when they finally finished, and after a few days of drinking, dancing, and even sharing Mergen in a carnal way with Varkon once Yuki and the Mol had departed, the young Raen returned to his patiently waiting master in Reunion, full up on stories of Xaela culture, and their myriad myths.