Old Woman Alma, stood on the topmost branch of the tallest tree in the area. Fretting and worried. Winded by her climb, like she’d not felt in the longest time, because the lack of her divine spark, meant that that old agitator time, could now slowly wear her down.
In hindsight, she couldn’t help feeling that this, the clamor and noise below, was the most likely of results. Even though she had done her utmost as her tribe’s wisewoman, the other tribes had their own wisewomen and shamans as well. The bigger ones generally had more than one.
It was only natural that if ‘she’ could hide her people, there’d be others who could find them. And after decades of playing ‘hide and seek’ they all had gained quite of practice. Becoming skilled when it came to the task of tracking her people down. Alma had know it was so, she’d been well aware of it, when she sold her people for their own sakes. Now she could only hope, that her actions were not for naught.
*****
Alessa was the daughter of Ronan, who was the great -to the fifth degree- grandnephew of the tribe’s Ancestor. Green Grandmother Alma, who always smelled of wind and medicinal herbs and could always be known by her striking green shawl.
If her talents weren’t so similar to those of her father, her temperance and even-keeled nature would have almost definitely led to her being made her Grandmother’s heir.
Making poor Alessa one of the old woman’s biggest disappointments, because having watched her grown up had filled Alma with hope for her tribe’s future.
Unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be, and so, on this particular day when the Aria Tribe’s enemies finally came to find them, seeking them out in the Gray Lord’s Glenn where they’d been, young Alessa was with the other young warriors. Guarding the children and women folk, alongside those who were similarly either too young or too old to fight. Instead of standing on the front lines with the old Wisewoman.
Alma stood with a spear in one hand and a hatchet in the other. Pretending that her heart wasn’t in her throat as she heard the bestial shrieks and growls of the approaching enemy. Out in the night, far behind the curtain of smoke and darkness, more than forty thousand voices called for her blood. Aria Tribe blood.
Considering they were thoroughly outnumbered, this should have been the point where someone called for a retreat. Unfortunately the Aria tribe had run out of place to run, ages ago. Which was why they were in that glen to begin with. Besides they were surrounded, to flee they’d have to fight their way out which meant that many would die just for running sake. A death that would viewed as pitiful by Barbarian standards. A dishonorable and indecent death.
*****
They say ‘no good deed ever goes unpunished’, but people often forget that bad deeds that are remembered can earn some very swift and brutal recompense as well. The Aria tribe were a proud and handsome people with a very ugly past. And if fact they weren’t always called the Aria tribe.
There was once a clan of the wastes known only as the Gregory Clan. Founded by a demi-god and one who was kin to fallen angels. In their heyday, in the days when they still planned to either strike back at those who pushed them into the hinterland or to take the hinterland for themselves.
They gathered a certain sort of people. Those who were born of the earth giants and frost giants. Those who called dragons kins. Children of demons. Children of angels. Peoples who were beloved and blessed by the elements. Some came willingly. Some didn’t know what they were. Most of were captives. Slaves.
Used for work and pleasure. With the goal going back and forth between the development of superior beings and simple old fashion dominance of their neighbors.
Of course all this was across the span of centuries and in recent times their ‘antics’ weren’t quite so nefarious. In time they became just another semi-peaceful tribe. But then Dorga, the old chief, another grandson of the Green Grandmother came and ruined things.
The actions of his heirs didn’t help. A series of failed attempts at supremacy woke an ancient beast. Waking ancient grudges. Reminding the tribes of the hinterland of what they, the Aria had done before. One thing led to another and ‘that’ led to this. Them hiding, trembling in their boots. With nine-tenths of their number lost and all the tribes of the Katia Wood out for their blood.
*****
“Tribe of the Aria~! Singers of the Bloody Song! If you aren’t all cowards and trash and horsefuckers, then come out and fight as your forefathers would have you do!” bellowed a voice. One filled with a deep and imposing amount of aura.
The speaker was a man known only as Angelo. Until recently he’d just been a peddler. One of the few brave enough to wander in the hinterland and the only own of his trade who did business with ‘all’ the tribes.
All the tribes except the Aria. Which they’d never thought anything of because there were quite a few people who refused to associate with them. Even when they weren’t at war, they were something like pariahs.
Anyway, though the man named Angelo looked like a man in his thirties, the tales said he was even older than Grandmother Alma. Some tales said he wasn’t even a man at all. Just a watcher, who’d set to wait for a certain ‘something’ to come.
Perhaps in another life he was some young hero from the forgotten age, or perhaps he was another refugee from the walled cities and wastes. Whatever the case would be, whatever it was the Aria tribe did to him, whoever they took, since the facts were that they’d taken plenty, the man had kept a grudge. Nursing it as he watched them.
Perhaps if he’d been remembered then the past chiefs wouldn’t have been so foolish. As the last time his ire had been brought, the tribe had been brutally beaten. With the man named Angelo joining the other tribes together beat the Aria back. Killing every single one of their warriors. In fact the Aria ‘should’ have been wiped out right then. But he took pity and he let them go.
That was generation ago of course and it seemed that there was some special breed of over ambitious stupidity and greed that seemed to always pop up. Since not long afterwards, a few generations passed and the pain of that period was forgotten their chieftain were soon back to their old nonsense.
*****
“Nh….Annoying.” said Billy. Watching the gathering warbands from up above. Looking down at the smoke covered wood while using a spell to negate gravity’s hold on him.
If he had his way, he’d just fly away from here, and leave the hinterland tribes to settle the issue on their own. Unfortunately old Alma was fairly good negotiator and the terms had been too in his favor for him to reasonably turn her down. So here he was.
If old Alma’s tales were to be trusted, the Aria tribe’s real problem lay in the hands of its wisewomen. While the Chiefs were all unfortunate fools, it was the wisewomen that held double blame, for A) letting things get out of hand and B)not letting things reach their natural conclusion.
The true misfortune of the Aria tribe was that they could be considered a tribe of ‘noble’ losers...contenders. Frequently beaten but always possessing just a little more in them. If one took into account their grandiose ambitions and considered the fact that they “weren’t” currently the most dominant tribe in all the hinterland, it was the only assumption that could be made.
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They made big plays but those plays didn’t pan out, and so they were losers. However they weren’t complete losers. They were in fact generally just successful enough to be thought of as formidable. Combine this with their tumultuous history and past of constantly having to rebuild and constantly being oppressed and what you got was a people who would always eventually reach for more.
With their leaders having a penchant for getting overly confident and reaching for too much at once. Whenever that happened the next course of action would be annihilation of their line, as was the general practice anywhere else you went in Monde. Wars and settling of Grudges were generally family undertakings, thus when you lost, it was often the case that your whole family lost with you.
Unfortunately for the peace of the Hinterland and the Katia wood, the Aria tribe’s Wisewomen had all been far too competent, at least on ‘that’ measure. Always managing to save just enough of their people for the tribe to rebuild. Which would mean decades of hardship, which would in turn lead to decades of want, which would mean some bright eyed, bravehearted man of the Aria wanting to somehow rise above it.
Usually relying on brutal means, to better their fortunes and reclaim ‘what they’d lost’. Be it esteem, or territory or people. A process that would move forward semi-successfully until it suddenly didn’t.
At which point the old Wisewoman would have already absconded with all the mothers, young women, and children. While the warriors of the tribe died deaths the stood somewhere on the dividing line between the brave but meaningless and the stupid and pitiful. With the process repeating in another three decades or so, depending on whether the old chieftain's future heir had stayed with the escaping tribesmen, or died with the warriors.
“Tch….What a pain.”
Billy looked at his debilitated limb, the bones had already started to grow back but it still hung at his side, simultaneously wizened and weeping a red and gray ichor. Ultimately still useless. He ‘really’ found himself wanting to leave this situation alone. A part of him was aware that Old Alma was already at the end of her rope having run out of tricks that could help her save her people. If he abandoned them, that would be it for the Aria tribe.
Having knowledge of that, and having some fairly graphic understanding of what would await the little tribe if he left them to their fate, did surprisingly little to change his feelings on the matter.
The real reason, and in truth, the ‘only’ reason that he was still there, was because that wiley old woman had made sure to come bargain with him. Intruding on his lands and then entreating with him for her people’s sake. Offering him something that could potentially be useful, in exchange for having him take on roughly sixty-five tons of deadweight. The rough guestimate for the weight of the barely five hundred tribesmen, minus their equipment and livestock.
Still Billy had accepted the bargain. How could he not? The old woman had more or less gone out of her way to make it as flexible and advantageous on his end as possible. As if sensing that it’d take frighteningly little for Billy to decide that it was all not worth his effort.
In any case, he was here now, he’d taken the deal, and if there was one thing that Billy held, it was that a being should keep their words, promises and contracts. Or rather than a belief, it was more sort of how, the magically inclined were. Becoming more and more hesitant to lie or break their agreement the more potent their magics became. Becoming more careful of what they say and how they say it. The subtle and not-so-subtle fusion of objective and subjective reality innate to their beings requiring that they do so.
*****
“Aria Bastards! Gngh….! Come out! Do you think you can hide forever!? There’s a debt of blood that you curs have yet to repay! The Katia demands. ‘I’ demand it!” bellowed Angelo. Standing at the forefront of the barbarian horde. His sword drawn. A massive blade of blue steel that made the air tremble with its aether.
“Hmph...Not coming out? Fine then. In which case, we’ll come in and pull you filthy beasts out into the day! Either way you ‘will’ pay what you owe!” said another man. One of the Chieftains to another tribe. The Aurochs, named after the legendary thunder-horn Aurochs that lead their people to this wood. A group that interestingly enough had ‘not’ been directly victimized by the Aria, due to their relatively immensive size. With the Aurochs tribesmen making up roughly fifteen thousand of the forty thousand that were currently gathered around Billy’s lands.
The Aurochs Tribe’s chieftain Clement was here because the destruction of the Aria was highly popular and very good excuse to gather all the local tribes under his banner. In other words, it was an opportunity. While after everything was said and done, most would go their separate way, a few of the weaker and smaller would stay. A few of the stronger and more affluent might leave with good impressions of Aurochs. Impression that could lead to intermarrying and trade and eventually a merger by way of their bloodlines. A clever plan, but one that Billy wouldn’t be allowing to come to fruition.
*****
Just as Clement, chief of the Aurochs was about to call for a charge, a figure dropped down from the sky. Falling like a bomb. Falling with enough force to make the earth shake and instantly flatten a fair number of trees and men. There were gasps and cries of pain. Exclamations of awe and fear and confusion.
Then when the air cleared all that could be seen was either, a comparatively petite young woman, or positively puny young man. Dressed in a gray hooded coat, with one hand in his pocket while the other was simply gone. The sleeve of that arm hanging mostly. At his back appeared a wall of bright gray light. A ward of aether that rejected all that came in contact with it. From his shadow crawled, ‘things’, a myriad group of creatures that varied from humanoid masses of shadow, to amorphous, tentacle laden blobs.
“You...what manner of nonsense is this? Are you with those Aria curs?!” blustered Clement. Voice filled with indignance.
Angelo stood behind the Auroch’s Chief. A cautious look on his strikingly handsome face. His expression growing increasingly dour.
“Nh….And if I said I was?” said Billy. His tone more bored and slightly irritated, than anything else.
“Then you can die!?” said Clement’s son, Leron.
The young man gallantly leaping, saber in hand. Ready to cut down this fool who stood in the way of justice.
Billy sighed. Watching it all happening as if it was in slow motion. He gave a silent order to his shades, who hissed and tittered and cooed at his back. They lunged forwards and leapt on the young man. A handful of feathery winged, flutterers and spike limbed, skitters, pulling him from midair and tearing him apart. The poor boy screaming as the dark creatures feasted, though ‘those’ soon fell quiet.
“B-, Bastard!”
Clements cry was pained, and filled with fear and grief. He watched his son and sole heir fall, and charged forwards without a second thought. Seeking to save him, or at least save what was left. His honor guard charging with him.
Billy’s new tail struck out like a lightning bolt. Rather than a tail, it could be called a tendril of shadow and nothingness and iron, that just happened to be attached to the base of his spine. It morphed in mid-air. Splitting. Becoming a number of psedualimbs that ended in hands. Grabbing the charging barbarians. Snatching them up, mid-charge, tossing them up into the air and then smashing them down with enough force to turn them bodies into mash and make craters in the earth.
There was an audible gasp from the rest of the horde, a mixture of complaints and invectives and threats. Yet no one else was so foolish as to charge blindly. Aside from Angelo. The Auroch’s chief and his accompanying honor guard had been one of the strongest of their number.
“You. Are you taking up their cause now? Are you truly defending those dogs in human skin? Do you know what they’ve done?” said Angelo. His every word filled with venom. For all that his tone stayed even and calm.
“Nh...Rather I’m their new babysitter. While I don’t intend to accompany these kids in any more mischief. So long as they keep their noses clean and stay on my lands, they’re under my protection.”
“Oh...is that so?” said Angelo. The handle of his blue steel blade, groaning and creaking as his grip grew increasingly tight.
Billy released a bit of his aura, the sky growing eerily calm, the heavens starting turn just a little bit plain and flat. Just a little bit...monochrome.
“Yes...That seems to be the gist of things. A certain someone just wouldn’t let it go unless I adopted them you see. And as these folks now belong to me, I’d hope you be kind enough to refrain from trying to break my things.” said Billy.
His tone flat as ever, though his aura continued climb. The sky growing gray and increasingly empty. Several of the weaker barbarians growing faint. Keeling over and passing out.
“Kuh-...If you say so. Just know that if they start anything” said Angelo.
“Then that’s between them and you. I’m not a co-conspirator. I’m a babysitter.” said Billy. Scoffing, at the man’s idle threat. His expression unperturbed.
“Hmph…Whatever, I need a drink. ” said Angelo. Grumbling to himself. Disappearing in a bright flash of red light, a burst of feathers and the sound of flapping wings.
Billy sighed, in relief as he watched the one person in the horde that could have actually been a problem, make an exit. Then he looked to the rest of the group, almost surprised that they’d still stayed. Though honestly they still had eighty percent of their number remaining.
“Nh...Okay folks. Hello. I’m the new and current lord of the East Katia. You’re all trespassing. All ‘this’ has given me a headache and I’m in very bad mood. So here’s the question. Do you want to leave in peace? Or….Do you not want to leave at all?” said Billy. His voice echoing through the wood.
There were a few growls, a few swears, a few people asking, who the hell he thought he was. Suggesting that they charge him now. A few that either couldn’t quite tell his gender, or simply didn’t care making some very vulgar promises.
They were barbarians, courageous and stubborn by nature. So even if the more seasoned of their number could sense he was stronger than they were, they weren’t just going to break and run. Billy sighed and then he used his good hand to point up towards the sky. Casting a spell that brought great pilled of ice and stone falling from the sky. Followed by a rain of explosive fire and nothingness.
Giving the order to attack to his shades, giving them permission to cut loose and kill. Sending them after those who’d managed survive the bombardment by his spells. Using his tail to defend against the few impressively hardy individuals who managed to charge towards his position. Changing the tip of his tail into a sickle and reaping lives like wheat.