4th Day of Fall in 514 A.V.
Seku had been charged with providing three of her Fang to guard the city gate since most of the best warriors were elsewhere, battling the flames that had plagued the city for days. She had sent Kisin, with his massive spiked club, Xopapan, commonly called Pap, and Zukwa. The triad had been standing guard for nearly three hours so far with nothing more to do than question the occasional cart driver bringing supplies for those fighting the fire inside.
Zukwa wondered why Seku had sent they three. Kisin, Zukwa, and Pap were amongst the three least talkative of the Fang. The product was that not a word had been said between the lot of them save for when Myrians wished entry into the city. Zukwa may even be the most social of the three, which was saying something. Kisin only ever spoke to Seku or Chuc at length, and Pap rarely spoke to anyone at length. She was not close with anyone, save perhaps Muluc. But Muluc was new blood as well, so that didn’t get her anywhere.
Kisin had Chuc, and both were veteran Rekruts waiting for their chance to be promoted. He had his place in the Fang well established. Zukwa was by no means a veteran, but had been around for a bit and earned at least Seku’s confidence in his dependability. And he had Kish as a good friend. Pap’s reverence of Seku and even Inka at times was a subject of much teasing in the Fang, but she did not venture to get close with anyone in particular.
Such aloof behavior could be harmful to the Fang, though she probably didn’t know it. Zukwa decided he would engage her today, for the good of the Fang. Seku had probably intended for them to warm to each other when she made this obscure assignment. The Tokoh would not particularly care if they were all happily friendly, but she did care about their compatibility in combat. The two were deeply correlated.
“Pap, how goes your training?” Zukwa dipped his head at the bow she held lazily at her side.
Xopapan looked at him with her stern, dark eyes. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it was reined back into the usual smoothness. She gave him a shallow grin. “Well. I have sisters who continue my training along with Tokoh Seku, though they have finished their time in the Army.” She was polite. Though as cocky and self-assured as any Myrian warrior, Pap was respectful of others, especially those in her Fang. Even the males.
“Sisters are a blessing.” Zukwa said softly. Pap only looked at him. Kisin had been leaning against the damp wall with both palms resting on the massive club, he shifted his gaze between them without saying a word. Zukwa was left fumbling for words. He would not let his attempt be turned into a spectacle of tomfoolery. “The bow is such a fine tool for the slaying of things, why do you think Kisin chose not to wield one?” His tone was light and conversational, a sure omen of a joke coming. He saw Pap’s eyes gleam momentarily.
“I would not venture to guess as to his motives.” Her words were neutral. She was going to let Zukwa do all of the theatrics apparently.
Kisin fixed his gaze solely on Zukwa. He remained tantalizingly silent.
“I think he didn’t have the…” Zukwa plucked an imaginary arrow from his quiver and pretended to hone in on Kisin with it. “Finesse to cut it.” He released the invisible bowstring and grinned. Pap laughed softly from behind him.
Kisin, Zukwa thought, knew what he was doing. He slid from the wall easily, his massive shoulders shifting with the effort. He walked up to Zukwa with a stern face. No, little Poisoned Arrow.” Kisin hefted the club in front of both of them and inspected it closely. “I just wanted to be close enough to really feel my enemies die.” He tapped a finger against Zukwa’s temple lightly. “You know, really watch the brain go everywhere.”
Zukwa grinned after a moment and let out a laugh. He turned back to Pap and said conspiratorially. “He couldn’t cut it.” He was lifted easily from his feet from behind. Kisin had grabbed him with his free arm and squeezed. Zukwa was having trouble breathing. He struggled against the bigger man, his futile endeavors availing him nothing. Kisin groaned with mock effort while Pap laughed evilly.
“Mercy Kisin, a caravan of tskannas approaches.” Pap said after a moment.
Kisin dropped the young archer and hefted his huge club onto his shoulder. “Can you tell who they are?” He asked as he stepped up to stand next to the female Rekrut.
Meanwhile Zukwa was straightening his armor and collecting his bow. He glanced down at the approaching caravan and he felt the light mood leave him, sapped away and replaced with a dark storm.
“I do not know.” Pap was craning her neck.
“It is the Poisoned Arrow.” Zukwa said quietly from behind them. The young warrior could not keep the darkness, the sadness, from his voice. Almost without thought he reached up and made sure the black cloth was over his face.
Seku had been charged with providing three of her Fang to guard the city gate since most of the best warriors were elsewhere, battling the flames that had plagued the city for days. She had sent Kisin, with his massive spiked club, Xopapan, commonly called Pap, and Zukwa. The triad had been standing guard for nearly three hours so far with nothing more to do than question the occasional cart driver bringing supplies for those fighting the fire inside.
Zukwa wondered why Seku had sent they three. Kisin, Zukwa, and Pap were amongst the three least talkative of the Fang. The product was that not a word had been said between the lot of them save for when Myrians wished entry into the city. Zukwa may even be the most social of the three, which was saying something. Kisin only ever spoke to Seku or Chuc at length, and Pap rarely spoke to anyone at length. She was not close with anyone, save perhaps Muluc. But Muluc was new blood as well, so that didn’t get her anywhere.
Kisin had Chuc, and both were veteran Rekruts waiting for their chance to be promoted. He had his place in the Fang well established. Zukwa was by no means a veteran, but had been around for a bit and earned at least Seku’s confidence in his dependability. And he had Kish as a good friend. Pap’s reverence of Seku and even Inka at times was a subject of much teasing in the Fang, but she did not venture to get close with anyone in particular.
Such aloof behavior could be harmful to the Fang, though she probably didn’t know it. Zukwa decided he would engage her today, for the good of the Fang. Seku had probably intended for them to warm to each other when she made this obscure assignment. The Tokoh would not particularly care if they were all happily friendly, but she did care about their compatibility in combat. The two were deeply correlated.
“Pap, how goes your training?” Zukwa dipped his head at the bow she held lazily at her side.
Xopapan looked at him with her stern, dark eyes. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it was reined back into the usual smoothness. She gave him a shallow grin. “Well. I have sisters who continue my training along with Tokoh Seku, though they have finished their time in the Army.” She was polite. Though as cocky and self-assured as any Myrian warrior, Pap was respectful of others, especially those in her Fang. Even the males.
“Sisters are a blessing.” Zukwa said softly. Pap only looked at him. Kisin had been leaning against the damp wall with both palms resting on the massive club, he shifted his gaze between them without saying a word. Zukwa was left fumbling for words. He would not let his attempt be turned into a spectacle of tomfoolery. “The bow is such a fine tool for the slaying of things, why do you think Kisin chose not to wield one?” His tone was light and conversational, a sure omen of a joke coming. He saw Pap’s eyes gleam momentarily.
“I would not venture to guess as to his motives.” Her words were neutral. She was going to let Zukwa do all of the theatrics apparently.
Kisin fixed his gaze solely on Zukwa. He remained tantalizingly silent.
“I think he didn’t have the…” Zukwa plucked an imaginary arrow from his quiver and pretended to hone in on Kisin with it. “Finesse to cut it.” He released the invisible bowstring and grinned. Pap laughed softly from behind him.
Kisin, Zukwa thought, knew what he was doing. He slid from the wall easily, his massive shoulders shifting with the effort. He walked up to Zukwa with a stern face. No, little Poisoned Arrow.” Kisin hefted the club in front of both of them and inspected it closely. “I just wanted to be close enough to really feel my enemies die.” He tapped a finger against Zukwa’s temple lightly. “You know, really watch the brain go everywhere.”
Zukwa grinned after a moment and let out a laugh. He turned back to Pap and said conspiratorially. “He couldn’t cut it.” He was lifted easily from his feet from behind. Kisin had grabbed him with his free arm and squeezed. Zukwa was having trouble breathing. He struggled against the bigger man, his futile endeavors availing him nothing. Kisin groaned with mock effort while Pap laughed evilly.
“Mercy Kisin, a caravan of tskannas approaches.” Pap said after a moment.
Kisin dropped the young archer and hefted his huge club onto his shoulder. “Can you tell who they are?” He asked as he stepped up to stand next to the female Rekrut.
Meanwhile Zukwa was straightening his armor and collecting his bow. He glanced down at the approaching caravan and he felt the light mood leave him, sapped away and replaced with a dark storm.
“I do not know.” Pap was craning her neck.
“It is the Poisoned Arrow.” Zukwa said quietly from behind them. The young warrior could not keep the darkness, the sadness, from his voice. Almost without thought he reached up and made sure the black cloth was over his face.
