Tales From a Thousand Worlds

The gathering in the early light of the following morning was a sombre affair. Traces of mist wove about them, yet to be burned away by the rising sun. Nhaqosa, Abasan, Niati and Lakach carried their kit, ready to depart. Katako and the others who were staying behind had gathered to bid their farewells, and not a few of the villagers attended as well, led by Tolvir.

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A much larger group accompanied them on the return journey than had left two days earlier. While some of those freed had gone their own ways, seeking out family who had been captured and taken to other camps and villages that Keturhi had controlled, most followed Artor, wanting to see Keturhi pay for what she had done to them.

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The Loyal fell in around Nhaqosa’s band and escorted them back towards the camp and on into the village. They carried themselves with a wary cautiousness, their weapons never straying far from covering the band. Inside, Nhaqosa could see that whoever had once lived in the village had gone and the place contained only Keturhi’s warriors now. There were no women or children, only males of a fighting age. Some of the men had taken to wearing face paint akin to that which decorated the Painted Ones, grotesque images done in ochres. The Painted Ones, for the most, were camped in the village, and close by to the long hall that dominated it. Some of them stood guard at the entrance to it, their eyes cold and inhuman as they stared at the approaching group.

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When they had finished their lunch, after the snake had departed, and after the day had cooled down marginally, they set off again, along the route that Brelor led them. The journey that they had set out upon was not a short one and that night they camped out in the forest, before continuing on the following day.

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They didn’t leave the village until a couple of days after the battle, spending time to rest and recover from strains and injuries suffered. Tolvir had done what he could, but his strength was limited and had been strained tending to those most badly wounded, bringing a number back from the brink of death.

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The men from the village had gathered just outside of it, in the fields, carrying spears and knives with stone blades, and simple bows. With them were a number of the great cats that Nhaqosa had seen earlier, snarling creatures with their stocky tails slashing through the air. Nhaqosa took his band of hardened fighters and occupied the centre of the gathering. There, armed with weapons of steel and good armour, he felt they could do the most good.

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Nhaqosa and his companions followed Tolvir and Ashara as they crossed through the fields in the clearing and into the village. The man that Tolvir had called Barlor stayed behind with the other men, starting to work on the long task of skinning the crocodile and butchering it for its meat. The village had a rough and rustic feel about it, being comprised of a cluster of huts centred around one large hall at the heart of it. Alongside the hall a tall tree grew, casting shade over a grassy sward. Throughout the entire village there was no evidence of the use of any forms of metal, only stone and wood. Tolvir led the way towards the hall, and on inside it, through an entrance from which a hide hung as a simple door.

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