Yegin's Death-Song

[Gaius Hermicus]

In direct contrast to many events that had taken place in the past, the invitations to the conference at Zemena Lake had been delivered secretly and without much fanfare. Somebody in each country in Kiswa and the new continent of Sikar had received one, but the ones who had been invited were not necessarily the most powerful or prestigious in their country. In the Kiswan countries, invitations had been dispatched to the most notable Abiherists or, in places where the Way of Green or the Hozhisa religion predominated, members of religious minorities. In Sikar, invitations had been spread to malcontents and the successful low-born, with high-ranking nobility rarely finding themselves in knowledge of the conference. The invitations were written in the Blemmaic script on thin, flaking sheets of cured rawhide. The possession of one of these invitations granted the holder access to a secret conference that was to be held in the monastery near Zemena Lake in the Korebita Foothills, at which, the rumors claimed, the mythic hero Yegin Kw’Haleti was expected to breathe their last.

The route to Zemena Lake was long and treacherous. Located in the highlands of the Korebita, only a single trail led up to the isolated monastery. Steep and rocky, it was a difficult climb at the best of times, but with the approach of winter, ice and snow had begun to build up on the highest points of the trail. The best method of traversing this difficult path was with the aid of nimble-footed goats, which the highland blemmyae were only too happy to let foreigners borrow… for a fee, of course.

Finally, the dignitaries arrived at the top of the path, which skirted a narrow cliffside ravine before finally opening into the vast hollow in which lay the clear, cold waters of Zemena Lake. On the shores of the lake, built on top of and into the side of a thirty-foot high rocky cliff, was the monastery itself. Snow hung from the eaves of the building, and from beneath the windows hung coils of grey-green moss, twisted into decorative ropes. Lights shone through every window, reflecting off the snow outside and making the waters of the lake sparkle ethereally. The path led up to the outer palisade of the monastery, which, on closer inspection, was designed as much to defend against a military attack as to house a religious order. Two blemmyae guards, robed in feathers and hides, stood at the gate, but as the dignitaries showed them their invitations they were waved into the monastery with a grim smile.


Upon entering the largest building in the monastery complex, the foreigners were greeted with a blast of heat. A roaring fire burned in the hearth at the center of a great wood-paneled hall, surrounded by rough stone tables laden with food. Over the enormous bonfire, three goats hung from spits, slowly roasting, while three more already were already on platters. Bowls of scallions, ginger, hot chilies, honey, and tamarind surrounded the plates of meat, while stacks of yam bread were at every corner of the table to soak up the drippings. Monks bearing pitchers of snow-chilled palm wine scurried around the room, refilling every mug that ran dry.

At the very back of the room, a door hung ajar. Through the crack in the doorframe, one could see that it led out onto a balcony overlooking the steep cliff drop down to the waters of the lake below. In front of the door, seated in a rough-hewed flinty chair, was a young blemmyae wearing a cloak emblazoned with the symbol of a black swallow in flight. As the dignitaries entered, this blemmyae addressed them in a booming voice: Greetings, friends. I am glad you made this pilgrimage to witness such a momentous occasion first-hand. I am Kahin Kw’Mesihafi, the curator of this monastery. Please be seated and enjoy yourselves while we wait for the remainder of our guests to arrive. Have no fear, Yegin Kw’Haleti breathes still.

Zemena Monastery https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/753361828813471758/788045520068542474/Zemena_Monastery.jpg
Zemena Lake https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/753361828813471758/788045513546399794/Zemena_Lake_Winter.jpg

[JBarca]

As the time came for the delegation to be rotated out of their stint at the court of the Elves to the east, the Dolod scribes heard word of a great event in a faraway land, brought by an unofficial messenger from Nellen. A day was spent creating a plan, before the group split. Nine of the new scribes instead followed the directions eastward, while the rest settled in to begin their work. The replaced delegation headed for Nellen, intending to send replacements to the Nocturnal Hydra. Those who travel east do so without permission from the Quluq, but they know they are adding memory and thus cannot be faulted.

The journey is long and not altogether pleasant, but the Dolod hardly seem to care - they are witnessing people, places, and things that have no current place in memory. Their excitement only grows with time, rather than being dampened by the road. When they arrive, all nine are struggling to carry their packs as their larger hands refuse to stay still. For those unfamiliar, it may seem like nervous fidgeting, but it soon becomes clear that the Dolods' larger fingers move about rapidly when they are joyous.

As the group approaches the first set of guards, they split. Three move to the fore, leaving their packs with the other six. They each rub their smaller hands together briefly in greeting as they stare, wide-eyed, at the blemmyae before them. As they are gestured in, each trio does the same.

The heat is a welcome relief, though the closeness of the air is certainly less than pleasant. It takes hardly a second, though, before the assembled Dolod are addressed and forget their complaints - the sweet and spicy scents, the new people, and the new rituals and cultures were far too important to miss over something as indulgent as comfort.

The same three Dolod move forward, rubbing their small hands together, to greet the curator, Kahin Kw’Mesihafi. They introduce themselves as Ulu, Risislsisir, and Ullenmirimnellu.

"We are pleased to receive your invitations, curator. We are now farther from home than any other Dolod are, and we are excited to witness and learn." Ulu speaks through their translator.

"We are hoping that you will accept what small gifts we are able to gather with little time, as thanks for allowing us to witness."

Two packs are opened, revealing a few small containers. Several clay pots, each carved with a jumble of events, are on display. One by one, they are opened. Ulu explains each of the offerings, gifts from Sikar all: dried seeds for flavoring or preserving food; small pieces of silver woven into a simple necklace, shining in the firelight; and a small amount of kelp oil.

Finally, a third pack is revealed to have been a simple wooden cage. A fat, furry creature glares out from behind its bars.

With the leave of the curator, the Dolod move back into the room, eager to meet any new arrivals.

[Frostwander]

Bundled against the cold in cloths of white and gray, Shire ('Shih-ray') is barely visible against the snow-covered trail until she comes to the opening into the hollow. Gray-blue hair peeks from beneath the edges of a cowl wrapped across her face; pale colorless eyes examine the placid setting of the lake and monastery before she approaches the guards. The rustling of cloth is the only sound as she takes her invitation from beneath the wraps and holds it up to them.

Entering the building, the Ahra flinches at the sudden heat of the interior. She pulls the cowl down and loosens her outer wraps as the chill of the journey burns away, revealing white skin striated with gray wispy lines like flowing winds. She untucks from beneath the cowl a small copper pendant with a simple Abiherist symbol, arranging it to rest on her chest. When Kahin makes his announcement, she nods in simple acknowledgement, finding a place in the room. She accepts a mug of palm wine, and a bowl with yam bread and honey, and sits quietly observing as she eats.

The Dolod in particular attract her watchful gaze. Shire watches their movements, mismatched pairs of limbs, oversized heads and too many teeth. Sikarian foreigners, she thinks to herself. Tales of them continue to grow, and yet new strange varieties keep being found. These seem polite, eager, and curious. Dangerous.

https://i.pinimg.com/564x/34/6c/22/346c221305459691cc8dcdd3db24084c.jpg

[Gaius Hermicus]

The Dolod

Kahin smiles warmly at Ulu. My friends of Sikar! I thank you for these gifts, and for making such a long journey to witness this historic moment! They look cautiously at the furry creature in the cage, tentatively sticking a finger between the bars to stroke its back. An interesting animal, this. Are such creatures common in your lands?


Shire

Upon the Ahra's entry to the hall, the Curator stood from their table to greet her. A Vygra at our celebration? And an Abiherist Vygra too! This is a surprise. Kahin crosses the room to shake Shire's hand, blinking respectfully to recognize another of their faith. You will not regret making this journey, I promise you. The death of one such as Yegin Kw'Haleti will be more consequential than any of us can imagine.

[Frostwander]

Shire

Upon the Ahra's entry to the hall, the Curator stood from their table to greet her. A Vygra at our celebration? And an Abiherist Vygra too! This is a surprise. Kahin crosses the room to shake Shire's hand, blinking respectfully to recognize another of their faith. You will not regret making this journey, I promise you. The death of one such as Yegin Kw'Haleti will be more consequential than any of us can imagine.

The Ahra seems a little surprised by the gesture, but takes Kahin's offered hand, and blinks in response. She gives a thin smile; it is not an expression that seems at home on her features. "Most Vygra would prefer to look forward, and walk away from the past to a better future. I'm one of those who still keep the ancestors' memory, as your people taught. Who knows we are where we are because of those who came before. I've heard the tales of the great deeds of Yegin Kw'Haleti. They deserve to be remembered."

[Gaius Hermicus]

The doors to the monastery once again swing open, allowing a gust of snowy wind into the feast hall as the new arrivals enter. They are many in number, the flickering light making them appear like an army of silhouettes in the frosted courtyard outside.

At their head, in a cape of feathers wrought from gleaming copper, is the King of Kings themself, Wenid Kw'Muketi. The normally kindly monarch now appears nearly deranged with anger and frustration, melting snow dripping from every inch of their freezing body and their nose bright red from the cold. Behind Wenid, the remainder of the party is equally uncomfortable. Not one of them is adequately dressed for the altitude. On Wenid's left is the human Gusuhaz Kw'Sewi, shirtless to reveal the scars of the wounds inflicted on them by the former Warcaller... and to flaunt their muscular chest in front of their wife, Arrēsa of Faranandūll. Arrēsa glances around the monastery curiously; the Zemena monks had become isolated and refused visitors before she had married Gusuhaz. On Wenid's right is a blemmyae bearing a distinct resemblance to the King of Kings, albeit only as tall as their hip and some fifty years younger. This was Lisiy Kw'Muketi, the seven-year old heir to the throne of the Korebita. Lisiy, too, had never been to Zemena Monastery, due to their youth, but they had been well coached by Wenid and bore themself respectfully in spite of their age. Behind the noble attendees was a line of guards, outfitted with spears and axes, nearly twenty in number.

For a moment, the hall was silent, as both those already present and the new arrivals stood motionless in anticipation. Then, abruptly, Wenid took a step forward. Kahin, they said grudgingly. I must say I am disappointed to find out that you were the one behind this criminal behavior. I had my reasons for wanting Yegin Kw'Haleti removed, and I would have thought that you would have had the sense not to question me. Kahin tried to speak, but Wenid brushed them off. But no matter. According to these letters you have been dispersing, the traitor's life is nearly at an end, so all is forgiven. They scanned the room, apparently confused. But where is the former First in the Realm? Have they expired already?

Kahin said nothing, merely glaring at the King of Kings. Slowly, surely, they turned their back on the new arrivals, their footfalls echoing on the tiled floor as they walked to the balcony door. In one swift movement, they spun on their heel, flinging the door open and returning their hateful gaze to Wenid.

A flurry of snowflakes rushes into the room as the howling wind moves through the doorframe, dissipating at last to reveal a hunched figure leaning against the railings of the balcony, overlooking the void and the moonlit waters of the lake far below. Covered as they were in ragged cloths, the figure was unrecognizable. Ignoring the cold, all those in the hall crowded toward the door to inspect the huddled figure. Kahin, standing over the lump, offered a hand to whoever was beneath all those blankets, pulling them up to a seated position and revealing their face to the crowd. And lit by the moonlight, it was indeed Yegin Kw'Haleti's face that was on display, pallid and gaunt. It was their bloodshot eyes blinking in the sudden exposure to the wind, their skin, nearly translucent, stretched across atrophied muscles and brittle bones, their once-boastful tongue lolling from their slack-jawed mouth.

Gusuhaz, said Wenid coldly. Kill them. The human warrior took a step forward, gripping their spear in both hands, but stopped suddenly as Yegin stood abruptly. Despite the obvious horrific pain wracking their body, they managed to support themself against the railing of the balcony.

And then Yegin screamed. Such a cry had never before been heard, and may never be heard again. Louder than the cry of a thousand carrion crows swarming upon their prey, louder than the roar of a bull elephant as it fends the hyenas away from its young, louder than the crack of thunder from Dumuzi and the kingdoms of the stars above. Gusuhaz dropped their spear, collapsing to the ground as their eardrums shattered. From the roof of the monastery, tiles fell, knocked from their places by the force of Yegin's scream, and shattered upon the ground below. If one looked down from balcony, they would see a ripple forming in the waters of the lake, rushing out in an arc from the balcony, whipping across the moonlit surface. Yegin's body slumped, breathing no more, against the railing of the balcony, but the scream echoed on, neither fading in volume nor intensity, as the westward wind hurled the final breath of Yegin Kw'Haleti, First in the Realm of the Korebita, hero of the Battles of Kincany and Wogir, slayer of Rosie MacGill, raider of a hundred temples, inspiration to thousands, greatest of all heroes since the False Dawn, out across the Korebita and to the lands beyond.

[Frostwander]

Shire recoiled at the arrival of the monarch and his retinue. She shivered, not at the gust of frigid wind, but at the bitter coldness in the tone of the blemmyae king. Even though the leaders paid her no mind, flattening herself against the wall behind the feast table did not keep her fully from the eyes of some of the guards, much as she wished she could be as thin as air now. There was nothing to do but to watch the scene unfold.

Her apprehension did not wane as the king mentioned "all is forgiven" - that statement could mean very little, and she knew little of blemmyae justice. As Yegin Kw'Haleti was revealed, pale and gaunt and covered in rags, though, the ra's expression turned to shock, and then to sorrow. That such a hero would come to this state ...

Any further coherent thought was cut off by the force of Yegin's outcry, and Shire fell to her knees clutching at her head. For she knew not how long, the sound echoed, pounding in her head as it did across the countryside and beyond.

When finally lucidity returned enough to allow her to raise from quivering on the floor, two thoughts coalesced:

No one will forget them.

And looking to the others, particular the king, What will they do now?

[Moriko]

Dra Ranu had always followed the ancestors' guiding lights in her darkest moments, it was to no one's surprise she received the invitation to the monastery. Under normal circumstances she would relish the challenge of climbing the frost covered trails in the Korebita but not this day. On the back of an Elk she arrives at the foot of the trail and she approaches one of the highland Blemmyae who are offering the services of their goats. "Greetings my dear Blemmyae friend I wish to hire one of your goats for the journey to and from the Monastery." She drops a pouch of small Aquamarine gems in his hands. "And if you would be so kind as to stable my Elk until my return." she drops another pouch in his hands. As she waits for the goat to be prepared she looks up and says a quick prayer to the ancestors.

The journey up to the monastery was cold and narrow but the goat knew the path and she had faced tougher challenges. Compared to the exploration of the Gluttonous shadow infested lands together with Oyem and that other adventurer this was nothing; what was the name of the hot headed adventurer again? This question quickly left her head when she saw Zemena Lake and she took a moment to admire the natural beauty. A little while later she stood in front of the doors of the monastery and she walked inside.

"Greetings Kahin Kw’Mesihafi, I am Dra Ranu here to pay my last respect to Yegin." she looked around the room and saw only a handful of other followers of the faith. She sat down and only ate and drank lightly, this was no time fore celebration but she found comfort that Yegin would continue to look over them with the other ancestors.





The doors to the monastery once again swing open, allowing a gust of snowy wind into the feast hall as the new arrivals enter. They are many in number, the flickering light making them appear like an army of silhouettes in the frosted courtyard outside.

At their head, in a cape of feathers wrought from gleaming copper, is the King of Kings themself, Wenid Kw'Muketi. The normally kindly monarch now appears nearly deranged with anger and frustration, melting snow dripping from every inch of their freezing body and their nose bright red from the cold. Behind Wenid, the remainder of the party is equally uncomfortable. Not one of them is adequately dressed for the altitude. On Wenid's left is the human Gusuhaz Kw'Sewi, shirtless to reveal the scars of the wounds inflicted on them by the former Warcaller... and to flaunt their muscular chest in front of their wife, Arrēsa of Faranandūll. Arrēsa glances around the monastery curiously; the Zemena monks had become isolated and refused visitors before she had married Gusuhaz. On Wenid's right is a blemmyae bearing a distinct resemblance to the King of Kings, albeit only as tall as their hip and some fifty years younger. This was Lisiy Kw'Muketi, the seven-year old heir to the throne of the Korebita. Lisiy, too, had never been to Zemena Monastery, due to their youth, but they had been well coached by Wenid and bore themself respectfully in spite of their age. Behind the noble attendees was a line of guards, outfitted with spears and axes, nearly twenty in number.

For a moment, the hall was silent, as both those already present and the new arrivals stood motionless in anticipation. Then, abruptly, Wenid took a step forward. Kahin, they said grudgingly. I must say I am disappointed to find out that you were the one behind this criminal behavior. I had my reasons for wanting Yegin Kw'Haleti removed, and I would have thought that you would have had the sense not to question me. Kahin tried to speak, but Wenid brushed them off. But no matter. According to these letters you have been dispersing, the traitor's life is nearly at an end, so all is forgiven. They scanned the room, apparently confused. But where is the former First in the Realm? Have they expired already?

Kahin said nothing, merely glaring at the King of Kings. Slowly, surely, they turned their back on the new arrivals, their footfalls echoing on the tiled floor as they walked to the balcony door. In one swift movement, they spun on their heel, flinging the door open and returning their hateful gaze to Wenid.

A flurry of snowflakes rushes into the room as the howling wind moves through the doorframe, dissipating at last to reveal a hunched figure leaning against the railings of the balcony, overlooking the void and the moonlit waters of the lake far below. Covered as they were in ragged cloths, the figure was unrecognizable. Ignoring the cold, all those in the hall crowded toward the door to inspect the huddled figure. Kahin, standing over the lump, offered a hand to whoever was beneath all those blankets, pulling them up to a seated position and revealing their face to the crowd. And lit by the moonlight, it was indeed Yegin Kw'Haleti's face that was on display, pallid and gaunt. It was their bloodshot eyes blinking in the sudden exposure to the wind, their skin, nearly translucent, stretched across atrophied muscles and brittle bones, their once-boastful tongue lolling from their slack-jawed mouth.

Gusuhaz, said Wenid coldly. Kill them. The human warrior took a step forward, gripping their spear in both hands, but stopped suddenly as Yegin stood abruptly. Despite the obvious horrific pain wracking their body, they managed to support themself against the railing of the balcony.

And then Yegin screamed. Such a cry had never before been heard, and may never be heard again. Louder than the cry of a thousand carrion crows swarming upon their prey, louder than the roar of a bull elephant as it fends the hyenas away from its young, louder than the crack of thunder from Dumuzi and the kingdoms of the stars above. Gusuhaz dropped their spear, collapsing to the ground as their eardrums shattered. From the roof of the monastery, tiles fell, knocked from their places by the force of Yegin's scream, and shattered upon the ground below. If one looked down from balcony, they would see a ripple forming in the waters of the lake, rushing out in an arc from the balcony, whipping across the moonlit surface. Yegin's body slumped, breathing no more, against the railing of the balcony, but the scream echoed on, neither fading in volume nor intensity, as the westward wind hurled the final breath of Yegin Kw'Haleti, First in the Realm of the Korebita, hero of the Battles of Kincany and Wogir, slayer of Rosie MacGill, raider of a hundred temples, inspiration to thousands, greatest of all heroes since the False Dawn, out across the Korebita and to the lands beyond.


Dra Ranu watched as Wenid entered but had no time or will to deal with political turmoil at this moment. When Yegin was revealed she looked on with sadness in her eyes to what remained of such a great hero and when the weapons were drawn she got ready for a fight, it was at this moment she saw Yegin stand up and could feel the intensity of his aura; then the scream happened and she knew this would have consequences far beyond what could be seen here. Go towards the ancestors of old dear Yegin and may you guide us in the darkness that is to come. she whispered as the life faded from Yegin's body. She re-sheeted her short swords and watched what those gathered here would do now.

[Gaius Hermicus]

As the last of Yegin's death-song faded into the background, a chilly silence filled the hall. For a moment, it looked as though Wenid would like to kill Kahin themself, but at last the madness passed.

Right then, I guess that's done with, they said, turning on their heel and walking out the door of the monastery. Gusuhaz, still bleeding from their ears, looked confused, until their wife took their hand and led them out after the King of Kings. Only Lisiy, still staring wide-eyed at Yegin's body, remained, ignoring the guards' commands to leave the room. Cautiously, the child approached the corpse, now covered in a thin layer of snow, and knelt to pay their respects. Then, finally, they left the way they had come, with the last of Wenid's guards abandoning the monastery.

Kahin, after ensuring that the King of Kings' retinue had left for sure, stepped onto the balcony and lifted Yegin's body into a seated position. Behold, all you people. A great hero has perished here today. May their name never be forgotten.

May their name never be forgotten, chorused the assembled monks. Then, one by one, they approached the body to pay their final respects to the one who for so long had inspired them all.

[Frostwander]

"May their name never be forgotten," a whisper among the chorus. Shire joins near the end of the line, and kneels silently, hands splayed to her sides and forehead nearly touching the floor, hair slowly drifting. Then she stands, and with only a small bow to Kahin and the monks, she departs.