Ten Minor Cycles Later, Noped Forest, New Gabinak Refugee Camp.

Looking down I inspected the swirling liquid with interest, the contents of this crudely manufactured cup intrigue me. The black liquid seems rather unappetising, yet the aroma it exudes is quite delectable. Despite the vision of such a beverage, I drink it immediately. With a short sip, the taste is strong and bitter. Coffee can be bitter and sweet but whatever this is made of, makes coffee seem tame. With a sudden jerk of my neck, I began coughing intensely trying to keep the liquid down. My actions provoke raucous laughter from the surroundings.

Raising my gaze to survey the surrounding denizens, the visages of the tribal council become clear. Every single one of them has a smile on their face. I engage in another coughing fit before passing the cup to my left. Pok who is seated there grasps the cup with two hands, and sip's the drink easily and without fuss before passing it on. I would honestly be jealous of that if I naturally cared. Yet the ease at which he completes that action is rather unnerving.

The situation I find myself in is what can best be described as a meeting of councillors, along with a festival of triumph. Oddly they have council meetings amidst festivals or perhaps they made an exception. The meeting is referred to as a Kunihera, the best translation is a meeting of the council. It is usually done after a battle is won when multiple tribes participate. We are all seated outside on small leather-bound pillows stuffed with feathers. They are from the Hehei, some sort of bird-like creature.

We are arranged in a circle surrounding a roaring bonfire, the bonfire has significance not just for light but is key to the meetings. Every time a member of this council wants to speak, they throw various plants into the fire causing smoke to rise. The meeting has been assembled with the representatives or leaders of each tribe including myself who represents the outsiders or Tangato as they call us.

The current representatives are Jenateri of the Gabinak tribe, Gord of the Zagargodian blood kin, Uhorde and Leskia of the Oghalan tribe and myself representing the Tangato. Oddly enough the proceedings have been quite cordial as Leskia explained the customs of the tribal meeting. How these proceedings are carried out, each party is provided leaves from various strains of plants. When set alight upon the meeting pyre, the smoke changes to a distinct colour.

In a sense, the fire dictates who may speak their peace during this meeting. The Oghalan specifically Chief Uhorde throws his leaves upon the pyre turning the smoke a dark red. With the fires decree, he speaks in his native language which is intern translated to me via Pok, seated to my left. Zatrophos did not even consider attending this meeting, instead, he is now quite inebriated and I think dancing around another bonfire.

Glaring at the drunk Wokans and Garudan I find this situation very odd. But who am I to judge others' cultures, instead I turn back to the meeting. Uhorde had just finished speaking, prompting Pok to translate. He expressed his gratitude to us for our aid in repelling the invaders. He then further stated that this meeting is to determine the stance of each party, on the Uhuran invasion. With the translations complete, Uhorde opened up the pyre for all present. As the sound of drinking and dancing permeated the far-off surroundings, the sight of thick purple smoke expresses from the fire.

That colour is associated with the blood kin and naturally, his thickly accented voice comes about. I couldn't understand his meaning, the dialects of the north are foreign to me. But the fact that his voice is overly loud and he is waving around a plundered laser rifle. I can surmise his words are of a hostile nature. His antics don't last long as Leskia immediately interjects.

I can understand as she admonishes his brutish actions before glaring at his pilfered weapon. His ferociousness vanishes like a roaring fire doused by a waterfall. His weapon now carefully placed on the ground beside him, I lean over to get Pok's translation. He explains that Gord of the blood kin as he calls himself is calling for war on the Uhurans.

I personally have little impression of this Zagargodian tribe but at an obvious glance, they seem quite eager to fight. His ranting dies down, yet I can still hear faint rumblings of dissatisfaction. I turn my gaze to Jenateri who throws her leaves upon the pyre. Producing a thick white smoke before she says her peace. Her words seem to ignite the situation, and Gord appears to be livid. I wait patiently until Pok translates; she apparently criticised his entire people as a bunch of backward savages who only know how to swing a sword. Further detailing their inept past at war as apparently strategy was not their key focus.

According to her, the Zagargodians relied on brute force and swift brutal attacks to inspire fear and confusion. Lightning warfare albeit a primitive and crude application of it. Still in my opinion an effective strategy against ill-prepared enemies. As expected, he returns fire with his own counter-criticism. Truly a long-range barrage between these two sides reminds me of trench warfare. Neither getting close but firing cannons at each other. Gord apparently stated that the Gabinak are a bunch of cowards hiding in their forest.

The argument when on for some time before I decided to intercede. Throwing my leaves on the pyre and producing a thick black eye-catching smoke. The action draws all party's eyes to me and for once silence seems to pervade, minus the party going on around us. I think I spot Zatrophos dancing around another pyre with some Garudan refugees. He is pouring some drink over them. I decided to disregard the somewhat vulgar behaviour going on over there.

Gaining everyone's attention I speak in a southern dialect. "Please there is no need to conflict with one another. We are all allies of convenience as the situation demands it." Luckily my words were conveyed by Pok, I am most thankful for his skills in the northern and southern dialects. After he finishes translating my words I continue. "The enemy to the north is a threat to all the tribes. I have no connection to your people for I am an outsider and have no desire to interfere in your culture neither lord over you." I drop my tone to a softer and more low pitch before continuing. "I simply desire to aid your fight against our common enemy and propose a union between us to combat this threat." It is a bold move I admit but uniting these tribes together would prove useful now, and perhaps in the future.

The translation of my words ends, and all sides remain in stunned silence until both Jenateri and Gord yell angrily at the same time. Both yelled at the top of their lungs that the Gabinak will never work with Zagargodian savages and vice versa. The two sides were clear opposites, one proud and barbaric another introverted and cunning. Would make quite the convincing to get both to trust each other, more so tolerate each other's presence.

Whilst the two are bickering the voice of Leskia resounds, with the custom of the pyre seeming to go by the wayside. "I agree with the outsider, uniting is the best option for us. The outsider has the same weapons the Uhuran's have, weapons we cannot contend with." Her words were indeed true and the expression she exuded was firm. She glanced at me before casting a gaze towards her Doamori. He replied with an unfamiliar hand gesture. Placed his hands in a triangular shape and presented them to her, she smiled as a result. Hopefully, that is a gesture of agreement in their culture. If not, well these proceedings may continue for a while.

Now the custom of throwing the leaves apparently been forgotten. Gord ascends furiously to his feet and raises his laser rifle above his head. His voice boomed in a loud scream, causing the men and women of his ilk to scream the same words in the background. His gaze turns to anger and casts upon me, continuing his rant. I waited patiently, unfazed since I had no understanding of his northern dialect.

Pok manages to translate and his words are not favourable. The gist was his opposition to uniting and working with tribes his people have been at war, for many grand cycles. Apparently, his conflict with Gabinak is of particular note since a former leader was killed in the Reporak forest, Gabinak domain. Though it sounds more like he invaded, it seems like his death was brought on by himself. Of course, I have come to know that history books are written by the victor; they do tend to vilify the opposition.

Regardless of the truth, this path of conversation is not constructive so I chose to intervene. I grasp the leaves to my side and quickly throw them at the pyre. I grasped a large portion, so the pyre inflames brightly, and a large mass of smoke pervades the air. Quickly the surrounding members quiet down and cast their gazes on me. Gord looks livid as always, he scowls angrily. Jenateri seems mildly annoyed and the rest gaze at me curiously.

With all their attentions firmly placed upon me, I collate my little inspiring speech and proceed to deliver. Well, I am not actually the one who will convey the words, my trusty confidant Pok shall translate for me. Hopefully, nothing gets lost in translation. I rise from a seated position and cast a wide gaze upon all members of this council meeting. Eyeing Pok who immediately nods in affirmation as I begin my speech. "Tribal leaders, I implore you to not let yourself be weighed down by past grievances." Sweeping my arms across I attempt to act out my words with some physical gestures. I am not sure if it will have any effect.

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The words flow out, and Pok translates to the leaders present, allowing me time to continue. "I understand that there is bad blood and I will not ask you to forget those that have died, merely to think of those that yet live." Translating my words, I intern cast my gestured hand across my surroundings, emphasising the abundant liveliness of our surroundings. Each leader turns and takes in the surrounding atmosphere.

Around us is of course the boisterous nature of a festival, with many Garudans and even some Wokan all drinking, laughing and singing. The environment is nothing but joyful, a victory even small is enough to ensure hope and joy. With my palms still gesturing I continue my words. "Their lives are the priority; indeed, pride is important, but it is nothing if there is no one to be proud." Gesturing my hand towards Gord, the translation shows to have some impact. His eyes turn stern and contemplative. He grips his weapon before turning to the surroundings. His eyes gaze upon a female Garudan wearing similar tribal attire, made from animal fur. The female Garudan meets his gaze and smiles along with the child held within her arms, being fed from her breast.

The sight was clear to most and the effect was profound, Gord's stern gaze softens and turns downwards. I then turn my own gaze towards Jenateri and proceed to speak. "I understand your grievance, they were once the enemy and your people have kept to themselves for as long as you remember." Of course, I knew my words would not have any personal weight. Understanding and sympathy have been key components in many past speeches, to rally conflicting sides. Diplomacy is still not my forte; I much prefer the battlefield but one could say this is merely another form of war. A war of words if you will, locate the target, ensure appropriate ammunition and attack with subtlety.

Yet still, despite my own lack of personal investment I strive on and continue my rallying speech. "I do not claim to know your customs nor your people, but I understand war and the toll it takes on citizens." I glance towards our surroundings, and gesture for them to cast their gazes along with me. "Look at your people, surviving in the face of adversity. This can indeed only be accomplished together." I clenched my fist and nodded to each side before allowing my words to set in. The meeting quickly turns to contemplative silence.

I understood that words alone are not enough, actions tend to speak louder. So, the best method is actions and words. I had from an immodest point of view saved them from an invasion. Actions and words have been performed and it is left up to each individual leader's decision. Silence persisted before both the Oghalans rose from their seated positions. Immediately they threw their leaves upon the pyre. With the smoke of the fire transitioning to their colour the two turned to me and expressed their decision to side with us. I nod in response prompting their confused expressions, luckily Pok explains the gesture.

Satisfied at having at least one side's agreement, I am pleasantly surprised with the pyre's transition to the Gabinak colour. Turning to face Jenateri I notice a solemn expression; she turns to the refugees behind her. They are all grouped together, away from the festivities, silent as a grave. The sight was a stark contrast with the boisterous nature of the festival, yet I had expected it. Their people are isolationists and likely not the chatty type with other communities. Her action seems to prompt a rise from one of her people, a tall yet skinny Garudan with tribal tattoo's all over his body. He arrives beside her and whispers in her ear, she listens for a time before replying.

Time moved by yet a stillness was strangely noticeable, until her private chat ended abruptly leaving me in suspense. She turns to me and speaks in her unique dialect, precisely afterwards Pok translates and her words are exactly what I require. "We of the Gabinak have lingered in isolation for far too long. It is time for us to unite, I agree to the union." With those words translated I can foresee a change in the times on this planet. Where the people are no longer divided, though it may be far in the future I can still see the spark of something.

I then proceed to thank her for her agreement before casting my gaze upon Gord, who is scowling at me. I don't expect much from him, likely he will pull out of these proceedings, pride seems to be a flaw of many species. Yet against my expectations, he tosses some leaves on the pyre and begins to speak. "I do not like any of you outsiders, especially the red creature. But if together we may crush the enemy, then we shall fight!" Immediately he raises his weapon high in the air and lets out a loud battle cry. Prompting his cohorts to do the same. Though I did hear some slurred words, likely his fellow tribesmen are having fun with their libations.

Despite that, the situation is well within parameters and I couldn't be happier. I then proceed to cast my leaves upon the pyre and with the new colour engulfing the smoke, I proceeded to speak. "I welcome all of you to this new era of cooperation. I declare the formation of the Garudan Tribal Union, together we shall never fall." Raising my fist in the air, Pok translates and the rest proceed with the gesture. With that, these proceedings come to a close and a new era begins.

After the council meeting, every leader arrived at the centre of the festivities with a piece of parchment made from animal hides. The Oghalans had apparently developed their own alphabet and had begun spreading the concept of reading and writing. The small wooden stool in the centre of this wide-open space surrounded by many joyous onlookers is a sight to see. The parchment is greyish in colour, with several runic symbols that Pok managed to translate for me. Honestly, Pok never ceases to surprise me with his skills, apparently, such a runic language is common in the south. The concept of parchment and ink had been spread south by Oghalan travellers. One such individual taught our dear Pok to read and write.

Apparently, the parchment explains the agreement between all participating tribes. To agree to a cease of hostilities and an alliance with myself as a member of the declaration. I was written down as being the leader of the sky apparently. Something I think we may need to revise later on. The four leaders then proceeded to cut their fingers with a ceremonial dagger and dripped the blood upon the parchment. Each bloodstain represented a member tribe, once all four had finished, they handed the blade to me. I glanced down and glared at my name as translated by the Oghalans. The sky emissary is apparently the term for me, I personally am not a fan, but I suppose it's an apt term for now.

I grasped the dagger in my left hand and quickly sliced my index finger, a small droplet of blood poured out and landed on the parchment, sealing the agreement. Everyone immediately erupted into cheers and what followed was pandemonium at least from what I could see. I moved away to the side and sat next to Pok and Zatrophos. The rest of the Garudans and Wokan all partied like there is no tomorrow. I had learned that the tribes of the central continent had very little issue with outsiders. Rather contradictory since several are isolationist societies.

From observations and history lessons from Pok, these tribes had been heavily influenced by outside societies. In turn, they spread some of their ideals south and north. Of course, these attempts to contact other cultures lead to conflicts. Over time the central continent developed into divided tribes. They were intent on being left alone from the rest of the world. A sad concept in my opinion but understandable. The more I learned the more I wished to know, so I decided to observe as much as possible before the grim future arrives.

Seated on some sort of animal hide stuffed with feathers I watched the festivities with keen interest. Before us in the centre of the masses, were several female Garudans, dressed in feathered outfits of many colours ranging from red to purple. They moved in near-perfect unison, extending their arms towards their compatriots and moving in a spiral formation. The spiral of Garudan's swayed and swerved around the centre, akin to a flower blossoming.

The movements are mesmerising and alluring, I can't seem to take my eyes off this intriguing event. Suddenly fire sprouts from the centre of the spiral and the dancers began circling the newly appeared male covered in black ash. A lit torch appears in his right hand, waving the fire in the air. His presence appears from an outside observer, to be a single lit flame in the centre of a spiralling whirlpool.

Suddenly several denizens appear from the surrounding crowd, covered in that black ash causing their figures to blend into the night. They all surround the spiral and raise their arms displaying their own unlit torches. Immediately black fire blossoms from their raised arms. Waving the black flaming torches, they began to surround the spiral of dancers. Their voices pierce the night air with a humming sound leading to a rhythmic beat. The performance seems to engorge as the movements became more voracious and rapid. The surrounding Garudans began to swing forward with their torches. It looked like a tidal wave of shadow descending upon the spiral.

The performance continued as my intrigue reached its peak. The spiral of female dancers moved rapidly from left to right, expanding outwards. The surrounding ashen men seemed to flinch away from the spiral. It was as if the very sight was too much for them. The spiral expanded and the ashen figures continued to wave their torches as if to dissuade the expansion. Without fear, the spiral of dancers continued along with the central figure rising above. Revealing a larger bright flame and smoke. The spectacle continued just as Pok leans in and explains what I'm witnessing.

As he explains it, this spectacle represents their origin myth of the world around us. The depiction of the flame of life, in the centre of the blackened sea. The fire at the centre represents the great life core, that existed at the centre of all life, even the world's centre. The spiral of female dancers represents the endless cycle of life and its eternal battle against the blackened sea. From how they depict these events, it seems similar to how a planet is formed. With the fire depicting the planet's core, the spiral is the formation of the planet and the black fires the void of space.

I wonder how such a myth came about, given it's somewhat accurate in regards to celestial bodies. These aliens do indeed surprise me at every turn, primitive yet enlightened. Curious events surround me, yet I turn my thoughts to the future. Withdrawing a datapad from my pack, and accessing its notation function, I start outlining my plans. From what I have learned the main threat to the central and southern tribes is the Theocracy to the north. It would be irresponsible of me not to help them, especially since I convinced them to unite.

The main points are to maintain this alliance and provide sufficient aid to ensure their survival, less another invasion occurs. Entering the data into the pad I outline some ideas and plans for how to deal with the northern threat. Right before I finish, I notice a blinking light on my helmet, laid down at my feet. Grabbing the helmet and placing it on my head. I access the interface and realise it is a communication message. Reading it I learn that the engineers who received the needed part have finished repairs on the ship.