Cold, sturdy, and unforgiving. These are the qualities that qualify you as a member of the Khanate. Life breeds where it can, however not everyone is created equal. Those birthed with imperfections and disease are a plague to the blood that courses through our veins. One man stood righteous and refused to allow the goddess to leave such a child upon us. This child: from the thin hair that topped his head, to the hump lying rigid on his back, a sign of sins committed. 

The goddess demanded atonement by polluting our blood and strength. Raised in secret and hidden from the rest of the world; the Hopnits protected it from danger and the eyes of those from the surrounding tribes. As it grew, the child became more curious about the outside world. One dark winter night, as the cold breeze ravaged the tree tops above, it ventured forth. The sound of snow crunching beneath it’s stumped feet echoed in the silent night. 

It ventured further into the wilderness so from home, knowing nothing of how the land was divided between the tribes. Keep walking. A skull cracked along the cap marks the tribal boundaries. The Bone-Shriekers. One of the fiercest tribes, many a poor soul has lost their lives trespassing onto their lands. 

Its breath grew heavy, never before having walked so far and seen so much, but there was no time to rest. In the distance a light pierces through the treeline. A small hunting party sits by a fire, retelling stories of old that hold pride and glory. It crept closer, entranced by the stories and unaware of its surroundings. 

Chills fled down its curved spine, chased by a cold wind carrying the promise of snow. A heavy crunch catches the ears of the hunters. Its eyes lock with the mighty band, sending howls echoing through the night. It soon finds itself being watched from the distant treelines. A thousand piercing gazes that send fear and terror coursing through its small and twisted body. 

The night once again quiet and serene, the blood curdling screams and cries of pure terror sinking to the memory of the land. They ripped its flesh from the bone, too hideous to consume. A thick hide lay cast aside, the mark of the Hopnits deer antlers slick with blood. 

Morning sunlight fell upon a crying mother and whispers of chiefs. The walls that once protected the Hopnits now held a bitter enemy eyeing the people with disdain, stalking their newest prey. The Hopnits prayed to the goddess asking for her divine wisdom, for death had come into their village. 

Inside the chief's tent a large man sits upon a chair made of human bone. Black hair drapes his scar ridden face, a stern expression etched across his face. His voice deep and grizzled like thunder on a cold rainy night, he stared uncaringly at the severed head lain before him in the damp dirt. 

With a long sigh the silence broke. 

“Kill them all,” he barked, “Burn down every home. Eat none.” 

A decree sealing the fate of an entire tribe. 

Screams from the elderly and cries of the babes carried throughout the day and a chilling hush followed the night. Embers warmed the bone and flesh of the Hopnits, their bodies undeserving of a proper burial littering the blood soaked snow. 

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

A dreamless night and endless journey home, the Chief hears a voice calling from the distance echoing throughout his mind. Soft spoken words sweetly fill his ears, 

“Why have you done this? Why have you killed your kin? Why did you butcher my child?”

“Those creatures,” he spits, his reply swift and heartless,  “They were no kin of mine.”,

Storms shook their journey as her wrath began to bare its teeth. The coldest winter took its toll on the tribe, but he remained steadfast and uncaring 

“Let the weak be purged from our blood.” 

A single statement inspiring his people to strive for more. To not be left behind in this frozen wasteland. It fell upon them regardless, the remaining tribes lined around their encampment, demanding  his head, for she rained wrath upon them all for his actions. 

Alone he stood, armed with only a single dull knife; a gray wolf’s pelt wrapped around his neck protecting his back from the punishing cold. His voice boomed across the field of snow, piercing the ears of everyone around. 

“Goddess you have tried to ruin our lineage and kill us for protecting it. You are not worth serving or praying too! I challenge you. Let all of your children see who is to blame for the loss of their kind.” 

Silence fell as the storm's relentless assault ceased, as if an answer to the man's challenge. Before them all appeared a woman, beautiful and delicate, a seamless floral dress cascaded down to her knees. She walked elegantly, with every soft step leaving the snow undisturbed beneath her bare feet. 

“And here I stand before you,” she spoke softly, “Yet you say and do nothing, it would appear you are all talk and no bite” 

Her words rang in the ears of every onlooker. 

With a furrowed brow the man howled, a sound like a cornered wolf cracking sharply across the divide. He advanced steadily, stepping with every breath as the snow crunched underfoot. A smile gleamed across her face as she spoke. 

“A mangy mutt howls and screams as it charges to its own demise.” 

A blade of pure sharpened ice arose from the snow at a snap of her fingers, held softly in her small hands. The swift stab that pierced his heart was quiet, without hesitation or remorse. 

“A mutt is just that, a mutt. See how quickly it falls.” Her voice rang once more, soft and merciless. 

His hands wrap around her frozen blade as his own voice booms across  the field. 

“Bathe in my blood for I am mighty. Eat my flesh for it makes you fierce. Strike down the goddess for she sows weakness in the blood.”

From behind, the encampment’s howls rang through. Louder and louder  they grow as the tribes begin to join in. His breath huffs weak and slow, his knees shake and tremble, yet he slides the blade deeper and deeper, stepping ever closer to the goddess. 

Two arms away, now one, and with an unshaken will he raises the knife. With a ferocious howl he plunges it into the throat of the goddess. Their eyes close with their final breath as the tribes swarm their bodies like hungry vultures. They began slicing his flesh from his bone as they feast upon his body. 

His bones were shared between the tribe chieftans to signify their new union. The goddess was left to rot upon the snow for the wild’s many creatures. 

“Thus was born the Khanate, now Rudus.  Tasha it’s time for bed now, go sleep for it will be a long learning day tomorrow”,