They walked and walked and walked, time started slipping between their fingers and their tails dropped as even the shine of S'rendarr could not penetrate the fog and re-invigorate them. “It is unwise to make decisions when one cannot see the full picture,” regarded Mata’ke and took to climbing a tree, above the fog, he could see the way to the castle clear as a day and so they took to that path.
Mata'ke lit a torch and threw it forward and it fell and fell and fell, he gazed and saw a giant pit that led into a spiked floor upon which the hunters would eternally rest. “Overconfidence leads to a fearless death, but to win one must stay alive,” he regarded in his wisdom as he took to his spear and quickly vaulted over the spiked pit.
At that moment the king boasted of his victory and Mata’ke quickly drew his sword, stabbing the king in his black heart who fell to the floor. “One’s temper dictates the battle,” said Mata’ke as he wept for his fallen battle-brother.
Mata'ke hung his head, nodding to her wisdom, so that she embraced him. “You are correct Marryam, my wife, being a leader does not mean one cannot take counsel from others.”
While tired, Rredouane was confident he could still win. But as he passed across the river, the Ratajani once again caught up with him, this time Rredouane could not muster the strength no matter how hard he tried and as they ran back around, across the river, around the great Ki’ih and back to the grow, he saw his loss.
“Not so fast,” breathed Rredouane heavily, “he cheated!” “Cheated?! How could you accuse me of cheating!”, yelled Quilix the Ratajani, in shock. “Right as they were stepping out to run, he saw Quilix leg it before the countdown ended!” Quilix cackled to himself, pleased by his own cunning. “Alright then,” he said, “we’ll make a blood pact then, you know I can’t break it!”
Rredouane’s voice never rang out as he ran out, to the Ratajani's shock, he was stuck there! Rredouane ran past the great Ki’ih and waited around the bend, as he saw a Ratajani running past he now knew it wasn’t Quilix at all!
Rredouane, having finally picked up all his gear turned around and smiled. “Not all victories are bound to rules and conditions,” and with that, he walked away. It’s said that Quilix is still stuck there in the woods still swearing and yelling, so don’t be spooked by every noise you hear as one of them might just be foolish old Quilix.
However, only a little while after Kraszar started [speaking], Derrkar arrived, fuming. “How dare he speak such stories?”, Derrkar started muttering, “those are only reserved for the ears of those in great tents, not for everyone to hear and blab about!”
“But Derrkar, wise elder, he didn’t mean to offend the people must know of the wisdom in these stories!” “No they will not, knowledge isn’t for everyone and if he cannot respect this then Derrkar will not tell a tale again!” Kraszar however was not satisfied and vowed to get the story any way he could.
Druzhmail cried out first, Mata’ke followed him and the rest of the village behind, but eventually, sadness turned to anger and Druzhmail’s was the greatest as he grabbed Derrkar by the scruff of his neck, his teeth bare. “HE! If he had just told the whole story, Kraszar would have never gone to the swamp and sunk!” But instead of spitting, clawing, and resisting, he saw defeat in the old man's eyes. “It is true, Derrkar was greedy and another paid for it, drown him for all he cares!”
“Derrkar will never keep any story to himself from now on, stories are here to teach, they’re not a currency to be hidden but meant to be shared.” And he was true to his word, for the rest of his short elder and peaceful life, Derrkar did tell every story he had in his sleeve and then passed on, peacefully knowing that Kraszar would continue to spread his story and his memory all throughout Adhomai.
In a day it became apparent that Dhrarmela was indeed [smithing] much faster than the journeyman, when the villagers came to tell him that he stuttered out a response, “I-it’s merely because she rushes, he takes his time.” When the villagers ran to tell this to Dhrarmela she simply smiled and replied, “A good worker knows how much time is needed for each piece of their work”.
On the second day, it became apparent that once again, Dhrarmela was the one making tools much greater and exquisite than what the journeyman could muster, and once again they ran to tell him of this, to this he replied with sweat upon his brow, “Beauty is not practical, you see.” The villagers once again ran to Dhrarmela to see how she would respond to this biting remark, she merely shrugged without breaking her tempo of work and responded, “What pride is there in ugly work?”
She instead took up a blade and quickly drew it across the journeyman's face much to the horror of the onlookers, but as he fell to the ground, his blood turned black and he reverted back to his form, one of Raskara’s minions. And so then on Dhrarmela was the undisputed master of smithing and the village understood that new does not always mean better.
So [Azubarre] questioned Ladya, “Tell me Ladya, why do you not wish to go with Kasabrr.” Ladya replied to Azubarre’s question, “I don’t seek a quick lover, I seek love.”
It was there that he met a hunter, a Zhan so handsome that perhaps even he would have fallen for him, yet no matter how many women hoped for his attention he paid them no heed, so Azubarre took to questioning the man. “Why do you refuse love young man, are none of these beauties enough?” The Zhan chuckled, “Oh they are enough, yet they’re not here for love, but for my looks.”
Soon enough all took to bickering amongst each other, then shouting, and then last, fighting. Azubarre laughed at this display as he spoke, “He may not understand love itself, but he understands that it is a bond between two people and has their own.”
The men had gathered beneath a great tree. They understood that there was no chance for life for them. But, they knew that there was no other honorable choice. Upon their Zhsram they charged. Each warrior prepared for death, but on their lips was the defiant cry: “Rredouane! Rredouane! Rredouane!”
Kneeling at Kraszar’s feet, the young woman fell into deep despair. Her heart cried as she did. “How can I learn it all? How can I become truly knowledgeable?” she begged the god. Kraszar offered a hand for her to raise herself. “Your life may end, but the knowledge you bring never shall.”
Before Mata’ke, each of the hunters fell to their knees in reverence. All except for one. Kalidr, a false hunter, a creature who wore the pelt of a Tajara as Tajara do unto animals. “Who are you but a fool?” it challenged. Mata’ke said naught. He raised his spear and brought its sharp head to cleave the monster. In an instant, its foul body turned to ash before him, and The Strange One rumbled in fury.
“Who am I now?” the blinded woman asked Marryam. Her bandaged eyes could not behold the goddess, so she did not know who this voice was. Marryam smiled still upon her. She brought a Makkra Baq into the hands of the blinded woman. “You are who you are, still. Play for me, and become more.” The woman began to play. And in time, her serenade would bring many from across Adhomai to this shrine.