Topic: Tribes Of Llothgar

Gracus u`Lor

Date: 2007-06-24 12:27 EST
At the end of the age of Var'Gus (Dark Sun), battles raged, pitting one tribe of Ekrons against the other. In those dark days, not even the children of each tribe could speak to one another, and marriages were forbidden. When the year came when battles no longer waned and peoples could not rest, a great sorrow rooted into the prideful breasts of all warriors and their families. They began to seek out a sign from their gods, to beckon and plead to them for one who would come and bring peace to their warring tribes.

What came was an answer in the eyes of all of them. A bastard among all of the tribes and one considered below the station of even a slave. Kinslayer by accident, in a matter that had been brought upon by the woman that had born him had labeled him as Shul ut'Vir -- Never To Belong (Outcast). By this name he was called when the dreams of the twelve tribes of Ekron began to plague him where he had taken refuge and made a home for himself in the mountains in the land of Brael.

It was a humble living, but never a restful one. He had taken a village girl, he called sh'spa, that would serve him and keep him company. She was not of the tribes and that much was good for Shul ut'Vir. It strengthened him for war to come and steadfast leadership to play out until he had passed the mark of a hundred years. When came his fortieth year, his fifteenth in exile, the dreams plagued him and drove him and hs vassal to find each of the tribes. A year of travelling and talks brought two distinct outcomes: Those who wished an end to sufferage brought from the onslaught of continous battling amongst themselves ... and those who would rather die than to drink from the same waterskin of one from another tribe.

Shul ut'Vir and sh'spa met with those who longed for peace upon the ancient meeting place of Ikoreth. Rolling foothills with the mountains of Brael standing harshly in the background to watch over the pending, great war to come that would decide the fate of all tribes.

Shul ut'Vir was not a tall or overly powerful man of brute strength, but he walked with wisdom and his eyes were keen to notice the smaller things. When talks had turned to weapons making and repair, when weapons were at hand and men stood ready the women who could not bear arms and servants that would be needed for later were send into the forest of Lethis (Shadows) to hide themselves and the children until all was over.

* * *


The hills were covered and blood -- the grass blackened with it -- and while the cries of lament rose with the acrid smoke the call to lead rang out to the one who had led them through battle amongst themselves and banded them together. The called out Llothgar, naming him for the mythical, twelve-horned beast that could never die. Llothgar took the place as Qelin Tor (Great Leader or King) over all the tribes.

The age of Var'Gus was over and Llothgar's had begun. Llothgar had died hundreds of years ago, and still the barbarian tribes who had followed him still carry his name though ages had long passed.

Gracus u`Lor

Date: 2007-06-24 13:05 EST
Wind was known to do damage, even to the harshest and strongest-standing of rocks to weather it down to nothing by pebbles and sand given enough years. And that same wind travelled from one place to another.

With the way of the wind, the tribes of Llothgar moved though tempered themselves from any haste in that movement. There was rarely cause for haste, even among those such as these barbarians.

Tents of varying sizes of animal hides were painted colorfully with animals, figures, and handprints to show to any that neared each of them who it belonged to. People were milling among them or crouched beside local fires to each or at the central firepit at the core of the encampment. Children ran and played, chasing each other and laughing.

From atop a small knoll, beneath an wide-girthed tree, stood a man. His long dark hair was unbound from the leather thong normally tied into it by one of those who served his tent. He hadn't wanted it after bathing that morning. Calloused hand moved over his mustache to rest against his chin, only to drop against the hilt of the sword that was rarely from gone from his side. Behind him, he heard the soft movement of bare feet.

When the form knelt beside him, he finally looked away from the numerous tents below to glance down at the woman upon her knees to his left. There was no smile to meet hers as he took the fruit that her hands had plucked from the tree. Teeth bite into the fruit as he turned back to the gathering of mobile dwellings, watchful of the activity in the shallow valley below.

Attention shifted towards movement on the horizon. Someone upon horseback and that pace was steady and swift to eat up the leagues easily. Silence held with the man upon the small hill until he saw that the other had ridden into the midst of those below and turned to cast a look his way.

"Come ghetra." Gravel was the tone of his voice, commanding without room for denial. Boots dug into the earth as he made his way down to where the others were, with the lithe woman with flaxe hair following in his wake.

Lengthy strides bore him towards the crowd that was slowly gathering near the central, large firepit. Logs were on it and stones about it well-tended.

"Gracus ... Gracus.. " He heard his name murmed and those of the tribes pulled back slowly so that his path for the man who had come could be easily reached.

Ghetra could not be found as she disappeared to get the man a waterskin of fresh water. When she returned with it in hand and left again to see to the mans horse, Gracus was already speaking with him.

"He travelled outside of the known-lands? Where exactly?" He motioned the man to sit upon a log beside the central fire.

"Your brother was seen travelling passed the Gates of the Gods."

Gracus continued to stand while the other sat and drank heartily from the waterskin. "How long ago, Hurs?"

Hurs swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, then shook his head trying to piece together what he knew. "Seven or eight months ago."

A nod towards Hurs and Gracus was quiet a little while more. "Yethren!" The name was bellowed and brought a burly man that was taller than Gracus away from his work with weapons. Trailing him was ghetra, in case she was needed as well by Gracus' tone.

Yethron threw a right fist against a leather vested left side of his own chest in salute. "Your want, Gracus?"

"You and I, and one from each of the other tribes, are travelling before the sun sets tonight. I must meet with some of the others. See that things are readied while I do. Ghetra!"

Ghetra stole into view out from behind Yethren, her blond hair tossed about by a bit of wind. "Yes, Master Gracus?"

"See that you help Yethren." Gracus paused to consider ghetra with a frown. "You, and not the others of my tent, will come with me. Send the girls into the tents of others to serve until my return. Hurry now." The latter said to both of them. Half the day would be wasted in talks, but it was the way of things. And there was no hurrying what was necessary. Seven months already passed, another several hours would not change matters.

Gracus u`Lor

Date: 2007-06-26 18:11 EST
Gracus stood when the talks came to an end and stepped out of the long-tent to meet each of them at the hide doorflap of it. Each was spoken to in low tones, directed to instruct their familiar and those of their Tent that there was no knowing how long the group would be gone. Each man was clasped upon the shoulder and given a light hit against the side of his jaw. It was a thing of tradition, like Outlanders who shook hands in agreement on things except that it disposed the person receiving it to gently remind them who was leader.

There had been words over the matter of leaving, that where they were going were not known-lands. Discussion continued on of good grazing for the horses and what to hunt. But in the end, what would be needed and not found upon the land would simply be taken. And only if that was necessary. Even among the barbarians, there were limits to be heeded and those limits were very carefully lorded over by Gracus.

The day had waned into darkness. Talks and activities had slowed to quiet tones and most withdrawing off to their own tents. Families spent time amongst themselves and those who had no family took with him that which warmed the furs of his tent. Morning would come swiftly and no moment was wasted upon sleep when there was talk to be had, family to visit, and weapons and supplies to see to. Gracus was no different in this, except that he took the time to make certain that every man had returned to the Tent he belonged to. Until he stood beside the central firepit with his back towards the light of it and his face in full shadow.

Behind him, barely a sound of it could be heard, but he heard it all the same. And the scent of flower-oil on the breeze told him exactly which of the girls among the entire encampment she was. Light touch of a much smaller hand than his own met against the crook of his arm and he looked down to find ghetra. The breeze played with her blond hair and swept it against her the ornately decorated leather about her neck. ?My son sleeps??

?Yes, Master Gracus. He was bathed and tucked into soft-pelts, then sung the song of Llothgar, but fell asleep before the end of it.?

Calloused fingers rested over those fingers of hers, but it was a mere thing that didn?t last long. ?The other girls have been sent to Tents that can take them without a burden on that Tent?s food and water??

?Yes, Master. Z?sir is most upset. She mourns your absence and you have yet to ??

Dark eyes took in the side of the ghetra?s face that the firepit danced light upon. ?Z?sir is young and still new to know her place at my feet.? There was understanding his words, his tone hushed as he spoke with her. ?Come. There are several hours left of the night. I want to watch my tent?s firelight on you as the furs are warmed by us tonight.? Though lowered voice of his was quiet, there was intent in the crevices of it. He made certain she felt the strength in his grip when it found her arm and took her with him, half-dragging her towards the largest of the tents that belonged to him. Despite, there was no need to really drag her. She was favored by him and ghetra served loyaly, and all knew it well. For as he stepped into his tent and the door of it was dropped closed, there was rich laughter on her part.

Sjira

Date: 2008-01-01 11:55 EST
January was the month those here called it.

S'jira knew it as the time when Master Kiroth has been killed. One year ago, The Barbarian had taken himself and S'jira into the lands of RhyDin and away from those who had wished him dead. There in RhyDin were those of all walks of life, all types and forms of creatures. There, Kiroth and the girl had found months of respite from those that hunted him. Kiroth would not have run from a fight, but his caring for the slave had faulted his thinking and took her into a realm he thought would keep her safe by removing himself as well from lands and the dark eyes of others that sought him.

The small one wake from dreams of him that morning and lay back in the bed weeping. She clung to the pillow and coverings of the bed that had been hers for over four months now. Cloth that encased the pillow dampened with tears shed. As she lay there, heart mourned him as she had in the past, but found the pain did not cut so very deep this time.

When tears had run their course, she left the bed. Bare feet met with the cold floor as she moved to the trunk and took out a shinlength underdress of thick cloth and a dark blue dress she had bought from one of the shops when Panther had taken her shopping months ago. The night's thinner, shorter shift was shed. Slender, long strip of cloth was wrapped about her chest to support the flesh there before the unbleached underdress was donned. The blue dress opened down the front with ties and toggles of wood and leather. She worked her arms into the long sleeves before she started to bind the leather ties of the dress up the front of the skirts; the cloth of the undress showing fashionably through where the ties were not. Toggles buttoned the top of it from her waist up to an inch above her breasts to completely rid any hint of cleavage.

It all felt too much and too heavy, but not as much as the first day she had put them on. One of thousands of things S'jira was coming to know in her time since being in the realm and since she had begun to walk the path in and out of Panther's shadow.

The bed was made with a care of those hands and a brush run through black lengths of hair until it shown. She did not hurry, but heart tugged for that visit. It was necessary in many ways.

S'jira closed the room and moved down the steps from the second level of the inn to the common room. At the door, to its side, moved to where she had left her boots. Little feet were put into each of them, her toes wriggled about in the warm wool inside. Then tugged the brown shortcloak from the peg to pull it about her shoulders. Hems of it only met thighlength but it would warm her enough.

Out into the cold of the day she went.. in the direction of the bridge and the graveyard. The walk in the light snow and barely blowing cold would have detoured some and encouraged others. For S'jira, the snow for the while went unnoticed except to put the small cowl of her cloak up over her head.

But it was not before a form in the shadows saw who it was that left the inn and move down the steps in the direction of the stone bridge. The form in his own cloak did not reveal himself to her but followed at a distance...

Sjira

Date: 2008-01-01 12:10 EST
"Master Kiroth, your girl is here."

It was how she had, many times, greeted him. Or where he lay beneath the stone slab within RhyDin's cemetary. To the bottom corner of the smooth stone, the small one sat herself. She leaned to touch the emblem of a hawk clutching arrows in its claws. But she did not lay against it mournfully as she so often had in the past. Less and less, she had done that.

She was unaware of the man that had followed her there. Nor did she know that she spoke within earshot of one of those who claimed to be of the Tribes of Llothgar, Kiroth's people.

"May you know great hunting and honorable war where you are, Master Kiroth." The greeting was given as she pulled the cloak back about her small form. "Please forgive.. it has been nearly two months since a visit to you has been made. There is much to say though. The bondchain is no longer served, Master Kiroth." Even then, she could not call him by anything but what she had for years. Her hand touched cold stone again before tucking in beneath brown cloth that she was wrapped in. Her head lowered but her words were soft and warmer than the air about her. "Mentioned before was one called Panther. It was within his service and shadow that one served these past months. He has done very well to protect this property -- " For herself, she corrected her words. "-- to protect this girl. These very hands gave back to him the pendant he had given to publically say what was his and guarded."

S'jira fell quiet and ducked her head more against the cold and onyx locks veiled her cheek. Snowflecks glittered and dampened her hair. "But no longer is he served, but it is thought that he still watches over this girl. He is certainly watched over." She had found herself doing that more and more. Despie the cold, her cheeks warmed. "Too much, it is thought. One will try not to do so much so openly."

When she stood, even then, she did not know or see that a shadow watched her. "May you hunt well, Master Kiroth.. " Said before she moved out of the area of the graveyard and along the road that lead back towards the bridge, and the other side of RhyDin where she was more accustomed to being.

Unbeknownst to her, that watching shadow finally moved, south to where the camp of Gracus u'Lor, brother of the late Kiroth, were.

Gracus u`Lor

Date: 2008-03-13 09:25 EST
The tents of the Llothgar stood another six days where they had been on RhyDin soil for a while now. Mood among them was sour and Gracus? blood still boiled with how the creature had snuck up on his men. It might have made some who didn?t understand the ways of the tribes wonder how the exchange had happened without bloodshed ? but even barbarians had their laws.

Panther had come to them to regain the girl in a way that amounted to a cue. He had entered into their camp alone, without detection, and without bravado of any kind. Trade had been offered to put in the place of the loss. In the eyes of Llothgar, this was acceptable despite the itch for the drawing of blood or the roiling in their blood to dance with blades.

The group moved about the area to finish bundling the leather canvas of the tents, iron stakes, pelts, barrels and pouch bags of other supplies into the wagon. More were added to a few pack horses and to the saddles of the mounts they rode. Except for the dormant firepits and where the tents refused the snow to the ground the area was otherwise undisturbed.

Ghetra emerged from the nearby woods. Her soft animal hide shift and boots were dyed black and contrasting against the snowy ground so that she was easily seen. The small, motley of pelts stitched together was her cloak against the cold. She smiled towards Gracus for a moment, but sobered to see that his mood was still sour. The girl had been more trouble than worth, she thought. With a determination to improve his mood as soon as the chance presented itself, she grasped his hand tightly as he hauled her up onto the horse to sit to leather and wood saddle before him.

Gracus hauled the hood of the animal fur cloak up over his head to keep the cold and flitting snow from it. Arms went to either side of Ghetra to grasp the reins before he nudged the horse into movement. It was a long way back to their lands and they were all in the mood for something other than pleasantries.