7th Winter, 513 A.V.
Zukwa let the cool mud slide through his toes as he made his way, barefoot, down into the ever bustling array of warrior amenities that made up the military complex of the Taloban Army. His bow was slung naturally over his shoulder and a full quiver of arrows poked over the opposite one. He peered through dark eyes over the black cloth he always wore over his face when walking through the more populated areas of Taloba. His shame allowed no other course. He would deny his past identity until he had crafted a new one. One with honor.
The sky was dark, though it was mid afternoon. The cloud coverage was heavy and threatened rain for the third time that day. Zukwa was not concerned with the rain, he did not mind the cool water on his skin after a day of hard work. He had much more real concerns, like his future in this city. The Myrian youth shrugged his armor into a more comfortable set on his shoulders and leant forward into his stride. Confidence counted for everything here. The young would-be warrior knew that it was one of the few things he would have going for him walking into this place.
A female walked past him, scarred and vicious looking, and did not even grace him with a glance. she wore a twin set of kukri and carried a spear in her hand in the manner that begged for something to comfront her. Zukwa was used to this level of arrogance, being raised in the Poisoned Arrow Clan. But here he would have to work past it, he needed to speak to someone about where to go.
The Myrian spun on his heels and hailed the female. "Greetings, warrior. I need to find the recruitment office, could you instruct me?" Zukwa was not one for wasted words and hoped that the female would appreciate his expedience. Otherwise he might be in for a beating.
She turned only her head, braided hair pulled back in a fierce tail and dark eyes judging. She let her deceivingly delicate lips pull down into a frown, clearly not satisfied with what she saw. "Over there, tent with the blood red canvas." Her spear cut through the air with an audible whoosh and pointed further down the path he was traveling, next to the wide open arena.
Zukwa nodded in thanks and turned back towards the tent. "Hey you." Her voice rang out once he was farther away. Zukwa heard the blades of a few nearby warriors stop, their attention obviously on the female. He turned around to face her once again.
"Call me Tokoh, or else I'll gut you." Her smile seemed so pleasant, as if the mere thought of killing him was enough to brighten her day. Zukwa nodded again.
"Of course, Tokoh." Zukwa intoned, keeping his voice level and his gaze on her. Confidence...
A few warriors snickered, but said nothing. Such reprimands were common amongst Myri's warrior race. This was the fiercest group of fighters under Syna, and they were not pleasant.
With a newfound motivation to one day possess the warrior swagger that that Tokoh did, Zukwa stepped through the mud to the tent. He pulled the flap and stepped into the semi-open tent. He nodded to the two warriors sitting down in front of him. The male looked up at him, whilst the female continued to run a whetstone slowly across the edge of her gleaming blade.
"What do you want, pup?" The large, bulky male asked. One of his eyebrows was badly mangled and he was missing two fingers on his left hand. Zukwa did, however, notice the man had no less than seventeen large fangs dangling from a leather thong around his belt. Seventeen dead Dhani. Zukwa stood to his full height.
"I want to serve."
