Author's Note: Last introductions before the story starts off again. All the key players are introduced and chapter 17 will see the Ebon Masters with the Tigers. Armet is pretty important, but I can't help but laugh at how disgusting she is. The first part is rather hilarious, but then again its a culture gap.
On to the story!
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Chapter 16
Leaving the three kingdoms of Belrin, the largest and most dangerous land of Gyudin lies in the untamed northeast. Echos of civilization are scattered throughout rolling mountains and vast stretches of impassible jungle forming a barrier for the mineral rich floodplains of Xepalane. Xepalane, the vast floating city of Gyudin's heart was a thousand square mile stretch of buildings encompassing a dead sea and a large fresh water lake nestled between the ore rich Gyudin Mountains. Possessing industrial might larger then the combined kingdoms, Gyudin tribes competed against one another for territory and wealth, but by this time in history all of Xepalane was united under a single fearsome woman named Armet.
A fat disgusting war pig, Armet was a 250 kilogram behemoth who's girth was larger then that of the three kings. Not a day over twenty three, her rule was solidified under harsh military law enforced on murder and torture to achieve results. From the age of thirteen, Armet's hand subjugated the elders with a salted earth campaign with a single philosophy, join us or die. Unable to flee and unable to win, Armet conquered all of Xepalane in six years, becoming the ruler of some twenty million people. Arising to the status of Great Chief, her rule was second only to the Jungle Warlord Umil-Somil in terms of manpower.
Upon a throne of bone, Armet slathered herself in greases and oil with the help of a dozen maids. Her massive belly was decorated in war paint and boar's blood. The rest of her bloated figure rapped in the hides of four black bears, further proclaiming the absolute power she holds. Her face was bloated and stretched to the limits, covered in hundreds of pimples, blemishes and sick matted black hair, drenched in sweat. A mighty flap of chin fat extended around her face, which trembled with each deep voiced order she gave.
She ate at all hours of the day and abstained from alcohol, which she reserved for matters of war. A meaner drunk was never known in Xepalane, her war time rulings massacred entire families and clans for the slightest infractions and crimes. With such a wonderful reputation of violence, strong arm and figure it made her into the most eligible woman for marriage, suitors from all over Gyudin desperately fought to win her affections by offering everything they had to even speak with the sexy war god of the dead sea.
“Tehri!” Armet roared as she awoke, “Tehri! Tell me why the sky is so bright.”
The light from Cardinal Belrusi's blast had filled the night sky with a second sun only moments before, the flash disturbed her as she sleep upon her throne within her shack of a palace. The young advisor quickly ran to her side, half asleep and frightened by what phenomena filled the night sky.
“I am sorry, but I do not know.” Tehri quickly answered.
“Are we under attack by Umil-Somil?” Armet strained her neck up to peek out the window and over the innumerable wooden houses of Xepalane.
“We are not under attack, the light is from far to the south. In Fegorian land.”
“They don't invite us to join in war? Fah!” she thrust her arm in the air in anger, “They disturb us with battle in the dead of night and don't even care to warn us. Tell that spineless bastard Pinel I will cut off his head and eat his heart if he disturbs us again with firefare.”
“Firefare...” Tehri thought out loud.
“War at night,” Armet swung her fat arm at him, throwing an empty wooden bowl of fish bones at the man, “They have no respect for Xepalane! He must be informed of our discontent.”
Such a violent and unusual response was normal of Armet, and even pacifistic compared to a drunken command. The conflict with Umil-Somil started over a friendly dinner where he excused himself after burping at the end of the meal, an insult to Armet's legion of cooks. Attributed to irreconcilable cultural differences the two have been feuding for two years and cost the lives of some fifty thousand people. Such petty reasons of honor were acceptable and critical to public appearances. Matters with the kingdoms always ended with their policy of appeasement, allowing the violent tribal leaders anything they wanted to prevent war. So long had this policy existed, that the tribal leaders did not care or desire anything from such a weak people and instead focused on the internal conflicts which raged on and on.
“Yes,” Tehri bowed to Armet, “I shall write the message personally.”
Retreating from the Great Chief, Tehri cast his eyes out over the calm waters of the dead sea and the mucky creatures that inhabited the water. A large black catfish floated near the surface, waiting for the scraps of Armet's meals and Tehri found a strange bond with this creature, feasting off scraps and knowing any mistake could end it all.
“I know your pain little buddy,” Tehri thought to himself, “You got to deal with all the screaming and sleepless nights just to keep food in your belly.”
The fish seemed to look up at him from below and quickly dove under the pier to safety. Tehri let out a soft sigh as he walked down the pier, the midnight sun making the trip easy. The torches that lit the way where too far between and the uneven planks were treacherous, but he had not fallen yet. Only two meters deep, the water was a perfect moat and height for Xepalane's construction. Since the unison of the tribes and clans, forming a large city, attacks have proved useless. Large enough to be the capital of a united Gyudin, this floating city was impervious to fire, siege and attack. Holding all of Xepalane made Armet powerful simply because of this, she was nothing compared to the warlord Umil-Somil and his fierce warriors which bordered Xepalane.
The glorious Tiger Warriors were a warrior caste unlike any other in Belrin were fearless, barbaric and honorable warriors of the jungles and mountains. They crept up on unsuspecting enemies and struck with the precision and power of an assassin. Whether it be a single poisoned dart, a lone razor-bladed warrior or any number of legendary skills the Tigers were said to possess. Unwritten law forged in blood demanded absolute obedience and sacrifice to the warlord, always a monster of a man, with Umil-Somil in the current position.
A giant standing somewhere over three meters tall, he towered over all in his presence. If he sat upon the ground he would be eye level with his men while they stood. The hide of a black bear was stitched into his flesh freshly to clothe his frame, and the skull of the noble animal covered his face. It was a personal shame that he could not wear the hide of a tiger and instead chose that of the second most powerful creature, but his young wife wore for him what he could not. Umil-Somil's wife was Patil-Cil, the daughter of the last warlord and taken as prize when Umil slaughtered her father in a bloody personal battle to prove his strength.
Patil-Cil was only ten or eleven and quickly became the symbol of the Tigers under Umil-Somil's rule. Considered too young for battle, it was Patil's unique desire to be seen and heard that would forge a new path for women in the Tigers. She wore the hide of a large tiger around her form in the same fashion of Umil-Somil, the skull of the beast becoming an embodiment of her being and the mask of a warrior, not a mere woman. Since Umil took power when she was just five, no man has ever laid eyes upon the young woman's face, but rumors persisted she had become one with the Tiger's skull and its hide had become a part of her own body.
Belrusi's blast disturbed them in the same way it had Armet, stirring the two from a light sleep high up in the trees. Umil-Somil's blood red eyes opened to see the light and let out a beastly roar, which echoed through the trees and gathered the elite guard to his side. Raising his right hand to grab the branch with his bear claw, a razor sharp katar, his deep voice filled the cool air, “Our brother returns to us, guided by the light of the Immortal.”
Asran-Tohan's eyes fell upon Patil who gazed out from the top of the tree, she could not see her returning brothers-in-arms, but Umil-Somil was keenly aware of the unseen and spiritual world which enveloped all things. Jumping down to her husband's side, Patil glared at Asran, “You seem to be troubled. What concerns you?”
Attention turned to the bulky Asran whose thick build was rare amongst the Tigers, but his ferocity and power more then made up for his size. A walking arsenal of weaponry, Asran's tiger hide was lined with several dozen sacred blades he wielded in battle in a flurry of bloodshed in a strange form called hyperviolence. As he clashed with enemies, time would seem to stop for him, each moment elevating his senses to superhuman quality. The poor bastards he faced never had a chance as six blades would hack and slash their way into his flesh. Asran was a cold-blooded killing machine and second only to Umil-Somil, his presence electrified the men and terrified his foes. Competing for kills the two often went into battle together, racking up fifty, ninety, even two hundred or more kills in a single battle. Leaping down from above and directly into concentrated forces, the two would create chaos and lead the way for the Tigers. The only thing which struck fear into these two demons were threats to the entire clan.
“That light, is it a weapon?” Asran looked to Umil-Somil nervously.
“No doubt the power of their God,” Umil leaned over the side of the tree more, his claw stripping the bark from the branch above, “We have greater power still, we just need to ask for it.”
