Flashback Cursed seed - Part I

[Wikus]

23rd-Winter-496
Dawn

Always wishing to beat the sun, he was always the first one to rise in the Pavilion. Not even the only rooster the pavilion owned was awake for his morning call when Wikus was already dressed for the day. The leather armor was in place when the colossal tent opened up, the breeze kissing the young man’s flesh with its frozen affection as the snowflakes, light and thin, fell into the grave of those whom came before. The silence combined with the darkness of that morning was almost hypnotic, only leaving the sounds of the wind’s whistling for the lone man to hear – and he was listening, indeed, for it had even managed to freeze the wide agenda he wished to perform throughout this day. Winter always brought this somewhat melancholic atmosphere, smothering the daylight and instead imbuing everything in the long nights that, in consequence, smothered the joy and laughs for this silence that took over everything. Maybe this happened to everyone, and upon feeling said stillness they fled it and instead spoke loudly just to feel once again in control. Or, perhaps, this feeling only stayed with the man whom watched the snow fall.

Not a chime later, the feet broke the perfect layer of snow that, although thick, was rather weak to the touch, the boots perfectly making it through. A quick round around the camp was the man’s self-given task, to check the animals, the stock, the wagons and the reserves. Someone would have done it, but he preferred to do it himself. Not once more they’d take him for lazy. For a moment, he contemplated the possibility of ringing the bell that stood just inside the clothed door he came out of, but upon second though the decision of starting the extinguished fire that lied dead in the kitchen of the pavilion. With a couple of animal oil on top of some tinder, the wood logs he planted above would eventually grow into the warm flame that would surely greet the rest of the pavilion. A couple of more drops of animal oil were added before the man made his way towards his bed.

There laid his wife, deep asleep and surely unaware of the harshness of the weather outside, perhaps even ignorant of the presence of the man’s hand upon her belly. That belly, so full and swell, so warm and so still was the place his first born was resting. The man had the obsession of running his palm over it whenever his woman fell in the clutches of the night, whenever she was not aware that he was awake. That obsession was manifested a few nights a week, yet every single morning he beat her in waking up – which was always. Sometimes, she came to him throughout the day to grab his hand and place it upon her belly, smiling widely as she joyfully described the restless kicking of their kin, but he never gave his attention as he gave it throughout his secretive visits in her sleep.

There was no doubt for anyone that said woman only had eyes for Wikus, even if he didn’t knew it. Everything in her life revolved around the man she had once misjudged, yet now she held in the pedestal he deserved and earned throughout relentless effort. As for her husband, his opinion of her was so far away from her own – she was just his wife. There was no love from his part, at least not yet, but only the care for bringing an heir into this world. Things would change, thought Wikus occasionally, once everything falls in its place. And only then.

Not wishing to disturb the sleeping female no more, instead he returned to the kitchen in order to prepare the materials needed to ignite the morning – all thanks to a breakfast that was to be prepared after the fire stove roared with anxiety for the ingredients.

[Wikus]

Early Morning.


The heat of the roaring fire and the gentle smell of the food slowly brought up the sleeping back into their feet, the walls between tents opening as the inhabitants answered the call of the morning. Wikus found himself surrounded by a small crowd as helping hands came from all directions, all taking a hold of a task or a recipe that quickly depleted the vast ingredients rations, until once again he was left with the usual task – vegetables. Everyone specialized in the preparation of something different, be it meat, soups, snacks or stew, yet the salads and green appetizers were always left to him. While the task was not as prestigious as preparing the meat, for it was always that the main plate, the vegetables were close behind it. Far away from doing it for competition, it was a somewhat passionate task for one to perform – from the moment one collects the ingredients, to cleaning them, to mixing them and eventually bringing them together in a way that one’s senses couldn’t describe the ingredients one by one, but instead feel them mingle and mix to create a flavor that has its own voice.

The life was slowly resurrecting as the work continued, the first laughs of the day slowly spreading throughout the families, the first games for the young being halted by the occupied parents. Those brave enough to leave the mobile home retuned shortly after, as the cold was certainly nothing to be faced with an empty stomach, and immediately approached the kitchen to check on the progress and, unfortunately, distract some of the cooks. Meanwhile, Wikus was slowly preparing his recipe.

The idea was about making something with spice, with the hopes of giving a bit of heat to those stomach whom were to travel throughout the coldness that awaited outside, and enough energy to keep them all awake and alert to face the dangers that lurked outside. He finally settled for a recipe based around black beans and different peppers, all mixed up with condiments and sour fruits to increase the taste. Retrieving some of the tars of black beans from the reserve, he’d quickly mash them until they became nothing but a thick black paste. He’d add the smooth result into a lightly fried onion, adding some garlic to the next pan and, meanwhile beat eggs that would top it all. It was clear that his recipes were way too complicated for such swift people, and it took away much space to prepare a simple plate. Nevertheless, the result was always appealing, even to those whom protested against his overcomplicated cooking.

Once the egg was beaten and added atop the mixture, a couple of limes’ juice served to add a bit of power to the taste, while condiments such as cumin and coriander were generously spread before mixing it all once again, some flour being added to increase its density. The hot sauces, which most of them were bought from traders and travelers to Endrykas, were also added. The result was a thick, bland, dark spicy paste. But this wasn’t its final form. Dicing it with care in order to make the paste into strips, these were lightly fried with some olive oil – which was extremely rich in flavor and price alike. The crowd of cooks quickly became a legion of stewards, whom carried plates and utensils, cloths and glasses to the tables that were being set just in the center of the now enormous pavilion. None slept anymore.

The paste strips quickly turned golden brown, and once removed from the pan, were now bathed in a mixture of tomatoes, more lime juice, and some more cilantro before he gave the order to that anxious legion, which quickly transported the big plates to the already congested table. Before taking his seat, the man would quickly was both hands and face in the large pot that stood close to the exit. An irregular and light stubble had formed across his face, not enough to be seen but only to be felt with a hand, for the blond teenager did not seem prone to grow a beard – yet. Despite a full beard being something considered something ugly and badly seen, he was eager to grow one.

Perhaps one day.

Returning to his seat, to the left of the Ankal, and to the right of the smiling woman whom watched him tenderly as he served himself a variety of meals that he’d devour with haste, but in silence.

[Wikus]

Middle Morning

There was an unspoken rule every winter: none could ever stand from the table until the food was all gone, and nothing else shall be done until then. It was a barrier sometimes, as there was always something to be done for the common good, yet nobody protested. Truth was, the winter is hard for those whom roam the lands without ever settling in. Leaving the food to be eaten later or, worse, to be thrown, was an offense to the efforts taken to prepare it. Eating something cooled down meant being a savage, a beast, which only consumed the bodies of those weak enough to fall in the harsh climate. A family must always ensure everyone is well fed, or even overfed, if that meant a little reassurance of their safety out in the cold. Everyone sat, some talking and some lost in their minds, as those still hungry cleaned the simplistic plates, and those bloated struggled to devour the tiniest of portions.

It was way earlier in the winter for snow, yet this year it happens that the weather skipped a few days before delivering his white gifts. Snow meant cold, and cold meant struggle. The biggest struggle would be for the cattle and animals in general, whom now had to graze amidst the sleet in order to avoid the early depletion of the reserves, for winter was long and the snow and climate would only get worse. They always did. Endrykas, the moving tent city became a caravan exodus whenever the snows became graver – there wasn’t room for all. While the city continued gathering in its usual way, most of the pavilions were not directly connected, instead being somewhat scattered around. It all came down to the livestock, for as the feed was harder to come by, they needed more space in order to get a proper nutrition. Some pavilions simply begin putting them down and feeding on them instead, in order to continue flowing with the hub and promote their businesses.

The Diamond Clan, in general, didn’t believe in an easy way. As soon as the last spoon dropped, someone’s clap became the announcement of a day’s beginning. Like lightning, all stood up, some commanding while others listened amongst the loud voices, the chores suddenly piling up on the day’s agenda. All the plates and utensils used in the breakfast were gathered within seconds, the young piling them up in the kitchen, the teenagers packing beds and possessions, the warriors dressing multiple layers of fur before going outside. Wikus was, of course, amongst them. Above the armor, his wife wrapped him in a thick bear cloak before she extended animal grease over his features – neck, face, ears, and nape – as the winds can damage one’s flesh within minutes if unprotected.

The weather had improved in a way, the sun’s heat already being felt even its light was hardly present. The snow was still persistent, still falling, yet there was a chance that perhaps a bit later into the day it would melt. Hopefully, that would be the case. Meanwhile, the whole camp must be brought down and arranged into wagons for its transportation, as the pavilion had to keep moving if they didn’t want to neither be left behind nor be stuck in a white moor to die. Those outside, despite being submissive to the weather, did not halt their chores. One moved to bring the wagons closer, another to scout the area, while Wikus proceeded to check on the stock as usual.

The horses were, of course, perfectly fine. Few times they slept in shambles, instead getting the most elaborate and comfortable barns even if those were moved every day. The beef cows were also fine, their hair was enough protection against such light chill. The goats were alive, their temporary barn being sufficient to keep them alive even if they were attempting to ram it down in order to begin the grazing for the day. The hens were intact, too, as they had made sure to cover every cage in their excrement. Collecting the eggs of this morning in a small basket, the teenager would move to check on the final member of the animal – the rooster.

He was always separated from the hens, for obvious reasons, but always made to face them from a cage. It was somewhat cruel, now that Wikus thought about it, for he was always alienated from his own species, bound to watch how he was unable to procreate kin as every morning, those eggs that should carry his scions were taken away from him. The reason why today nobody heard him is because he was dead – his head sticking out of his cage, hanging clean, with the beak wide open and the body stiff and frozen like a rock.

Wikus watched him for a chime, taken aback by the apparently brutal death the animal had experienced. Finally, when the sense of hurry returned, he’d open the cage and retrieve the cadaver. A quick inspection revealed the lack of any wounds or blood, and his short age wouldn’t be the cause of death, so finally he diagnosed the frostbite to be his killer. He too went inside the basket to be taken inside the pavilion.

After all, the difference between rooster and roaster was a single vowel.

[Wikus]

Late morning

It was surprising what a battalion of twenty Drykas could do in barely two hours. The wagons were fully packed, the carts filled with energized youths, and the horses were fervently trotting around the white fields. It did help to have most able hands eager to aid in the pavilion’s sojourn, and on this day the drawbacks were not many. No frozen tarps, no missing pieces – everything was in its right place for once. That was one of the huge disadvantages of never settling in one place, forever – the constant fear of leaving something behind and never again seeing it. In a way, the Drykas weren’t truly migratory, as their location was always within the Sea of Grass, yet still many items were left behind to forever remain lost. But then again, who would want to wake up in the same place and see the same landscape?

Wikus was in charge of the cattle, making sure it kept up with the rest of the horde that was slowly advancing through the snowfields. The task, although a bit resented by him at first, eventually came through naturally in spite of the family history around it. There was no denying that his predecessors were purely pathetic: a mother, whom died as she gave birth to her first son, and a father whom shortly after was murdered by a bull’s buck directly in the forehead. It was no wonder why at first he showed rancor as his elders assigned him this task, as if provoked to follow the same deplorable fate as his useless progenitors in order to cleanse once again the name of the Diamond Clan that took in such miserable, rotten fruit of worthless Drykas. But now, it had become a pleasure to be watching over cattle.

This was finally the good life. Work and sweat earned him a place of honor in the pavilion, a name to be whispered amongst the Clan as a rising arrow that never seemed to slow down. In his sixteen winters alive, he had managed to overthrow the poor legacy left to him and instead erase it with his own hands, piece after piece, to finally ascend amongst the few respected. He would have surely found a wife without much trouble, as his fame was enough incentive for meetings and last chime shindigs settled to pair him with richly adorned daughters of greedy fathers. But none were of interest but his current wife – the first daughter of the Ankal himself. It had to be her, and only her. She was the one who would one day give him the right to claim the pavilion as his own, she was the one to spawn him descendants in order to build the legacy he never had. Yes, it was a matter of pride, but that was all he was left with in the first place. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, he’d have it all, and the past would forever be erased.

A smile broke across the greasy features as he attempted to crack the whip just behind one of the cow’s rear. Confused at the lack of the characteristic blare, he inspected the instrument before realizing the reason – the cold had somewhat crippled the leather’s flexibility, and therefore, its ability to become the flashing stab that it was meant to be. After a few failed attempts , the hardened leather slowly softened, the stress slowly fading, and eventually the loud cracks returned into the fields with a roaring echo as the man continuously waved it in the air, eventually the well-known motion of the overhand flick, a technique that used the full length of the whip to deliver it's crack, and which he used to thoroughly dispose of any coldness that crippled the leather instrument. The cattle picked up the pace indeed, almost leaving him behind if it wasn’t for the gluttony that eventually set their focus once again between the partially hidden foliage. The caravans advanced, the ridden horses protected its perimeter, and the cattle followed shortly after. Wikus was, once again, the last one of them all.

Yet that mattered not as, instead, he was rewarded with the blessing of solitude. Being alone both physically and mentally was a gratifying blessing, especially under such moderate silence as present in winter. None realized how quickly can songs and laughs get boring if repeated every night, like queued in a schedule composed for a monotone existence. One could only think when nobody was there to give their opinion or irrelevant insight. But the true beauty of it all was the possibility of doing what he loved most – scouting for flowers.

Perhaps it may seem unrealistic to those whom watch from the outside, yet there was nothing the teenager loved most than gathering flowers. Not hunting, not mounting his wife, not riding his horse, but instead spend time looking around for the prettiest flower of the day. It was bizarre indeed, for such a respected hunter to prefer the company of flowers instead of whines from his prey, though no matter what task he performed it was collecting and pampering flowers what truly brought joy to him. It surely started when he was younger and not so capable, when petals looked like tears and stigmas seemed like faces, some blue and some yellow, others red, and most green. This passion was of course hidden from the others, even if they were his family. None should ever know how dearly he held every single flower in spite of seeing them for the thousand time or the first one. Those whom bloomed alone were always his favorite, for even without the help of nobody they became beautiful and enchanting. An example to live by.

Still, winter was in charge now. The snow had set time in hiatus, freezing every plant’s growth until warmer times came and took the flakes away. And, obviously, that was the reason Wikus’ mood turned morose and aloof, being unable to show his true self to the beings that gave him meaning, but didn’t give reason to wear a disguise he slowly grew out of. It was something he had to clear from his mind every winter for it slowed down his rhythm, and such shouldn’t happen even if the fields were set afire. But, perhaps out of chance, or out of fate, a lilac color suddenly appeared amongst the distant grass the cows were traversing. Be it worry or curiosity, the whip quickly came forth in a sidearm flick to crack upon the nearby animal’s side, instantly punishing it with a sprout of blood and pain which sent the hurt cow forth in a hurry, slightly limping from the dripping wound. The whip was not meant to hurt the cattle, but to scare them with their cracks, yet it was also a good weapon that can certainly cause grave damage. He was right; this was certainly the good life, as that lilac color was indeed that of the few rare winter sprouts one rarely spotted. An Iris, alone in the fields after all its sisters had withered just beside it, stood tall proudly. Perhaps one of the biggest and certainly most beautiful flowers one could ever find in winter, it was almost a heavenly gift to be awarded with its presence.

And who would reject such blessing? Kneeling careful before it, he’d lightly pick her up after cutting its pedicel with the aid of his fingernails, whom pressed together to create a small clipper that would certainly save both flower and man from loneliness. They now had an entire day to enjoy each-other’s presence, before the flower withered and its owner released it once more in the vast grassland that was its home.

Next part -->

[Tribal]

G R A D E S

Wikus

Experience

• Observation: 2
• Scouting: 1
• Wilderness Survival: 1
• Logic: 1
• Cooking: 1
• Organisation: 1
• Animal Husbandry: 1
• Philosophy: 1
• Weapon, Whip: 1
• Botany: 1

Lore

• Observation: The howl of the wind
• The cold of an Endrykas winter
• Wilderness Survival: Animal oil to feed the fire
• The kick of a healthy baby
• Cooking: Working with spices
• The uses of trade and travel in Endrykas
• Culture: Food, nothing wasted
• Wilderness Survival: Animal grease to protect skin from the wind
• Medicine: Frostbite
• Drykas: Hard working team players
• Wikus: Both parents dead
• Endrykas: The Diamond Clan
• Location: Sea of Grass
• Wikus: Forging a life worth living
• Observation: The crack of a whip
• Wikus: Holds flowers above all else
• Botany: Lilac

Notes

I know you said this wasn't so much for skills as it was story and lore, but I have a few tips for future writing. You mentioned that his cooking was quite skilled and above a lot of his pavilion member's heads; just be careful of this in future because Wikus doesn't actually have any skill in cooking on his CS. Also a lot of the time you listed things and then said something like "Of course Wikus was..." Listening, doing, etc; if you want the points he has to be actively doing things, you can't just mention it as an offhand sort of thing. Besides that, beautiful flashback, man, really interesting insight into his past which I enjoyed reading and grading for you. Enjoy the rewards, looking forward to seeing part two!