Weapons Operative Gelly Drop awakens to find his new body servant standing attentively beside his bed. Drev performs his racial equivalent of a smile and a bow, which causes Gelly to begin yet another day in a foul mood.

If you can call it a day, thinks Gelly. He hasn't seen the sky once since arriving at the base camp. The entire camp fits inside the massive cavern, and he has yet to find a good enough excuse to go off exploring. With a long-suffering sigh, Gelly rolls out of the uncomfortable military cot. It provides support in all the wrong places, just like the ones his own people employ.

The tentacular being helps Gelly into his armor, and the Operative notes that the energy reserves had been refilled while he slept. Must have been that Zek, decides Gelly. Without the suit, he would be forced to communicate in the tribal argot, a proposition neither he nor his hosts desire.

Drev shadows him out of the tent, silent save for a slight rasping as his tentacles writhe across the cavern floor. Gelly holds out one gauntleted hand and his rifle is placed within it by the devoted soldier. He slides it into the holster on his back.

He sees Mos Bruen already awake, standing around a table covered in maps with the others of his order. Bruen stands out as the youngest there. Robed figures hover around the edges of the small crowd, darting in occasionally to see to the needs of one of the camp's leaders. When Bruen notices his arrival, he is waved over to the group. Drev stops several paces away, with others dressed in undecorated soldiers' tunics.

A tentacular creature so covered in scars that he seems almost albino greets him first. The others wait in hushed stillness as Gelly takes his place.

"Mos Riyl, thank ye for the welcome," Gelly says with an unpracticed bow. He hopes they won't know the difference.

The old one nods in reply. "We've gotten word back from Mos Gol. She's putting your conveyance to great effect. The messenger reports that her band has already rooted out two groups led by adolescent chiefs."

"As such," another of the battle-marked elders declares, "we feel it necessary to honor the agreement between you and her."

"The problem," Riyl continues with a pointed glare at the old warrior who had spoken, "is that the route back to our territory is currently occupied by tribal groups."

"Yes, and we lack sufficient thaumatists here to attempt to create a new portal," adds a third elder, ignoring the way Riyl jabs at her with his upper tendrils.

Their behavior reminds Gelly of his own experiences with the bickering of Grand Matrons and Patrons, and he carefully keeps his facial expression blank. If they think he's laughing at them, their help would dry up like spilled juice in a desert. He uses this time to memorize the various alterations and scar patterns of the elders.

The argument dies down when one of them decides it's time for a meal break. Platters of fruits, nuts, and raw meats cycle between the generals. Gelly grabs a few less off-putting morsels. The long thin berries are much more sour than he expects, but everything else he tries is at least tolerable.

A commotion rises near the edge of the camp as he enjoys the flat savory nuts that practically melt in his mouth. He pops one more into his mouth before looking around. A newcomer strides through the camp, pausing occasionally to shout, "Bruen!"

A young, well-groomed individual makes his way to the gathering of leaders. This youthful warrior practically shines in the runelight. His uniform tunic is spotless and his carapace is without blemish. At his side he clutches a barbed spear that releases a nearly inaudible whine. This figure marches up to the taller Bruen and suffers from the comparison; not only is Bruen taller, but he also out masses the newcomer by nearly a fifth.

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"Bruen, I have come to claim what is mine, brother." The last word is dripping with contempt.

"Einiss." Mos Bruen almost sounds bored, looking up only briefly from the maps spread across the table. "Go back to your manor, before you soil your fine clothing."

"You bloodless upstart! You stole my birthright, and I will prove my worth." Einis punctuates his words by gesturing wildly with his spear. To Gelly's experienced eyes the young warrior's movements lack coordination.

Soldiers clear away the table and its contents silently. A ring of bodies forms around the two youths, with one of the elders pulling Gelly to the side. Gelly stands beside Riyl and the other elders, watching the confrontation.

"Yes, of course," Bruen states calmly. "The worthy Einis, scion of my adopted house." He straightens his posture and glides smoothly into the clearing that opens up around them. Elegance and confidence cover him like a mantlet. "I offer you one final chance to continue your easy life. Walk away, brother."

"I will not cede my rights to you! You weren't even trained at the academy," Einis blusters. "You'd like me to let you keep your stolen status, but I will have my rightful place."

"The academy. There you were taught to use your weapons so efficiently?"

"Do not mock me, casteless drone." Einiss puffs up his body, trying to look larger and more impressive, but to Gelly his posturing seems desperate. "I was trained by the Enslian master, Shiant."

"Scro's daughter? Mos Denn couldn't find you anyone better?" Bruen then turns to face his new companion. "Merchant, lend me your blade. I shall make this quick."

Gelly pulls his knife from his belt and tosses it to his friend. "Don't knick it, or I'll be a mad at ye."

Mos Riyl raises his many thin appendages high, gaining the attention of all around him as he steps between the two angry youths. He speaks and his voice booms out into the cavern. "Stakes of blood are wagered. You are now to discover here through strength and skill which of you shall yield to the other. You are witnessed, begin." Riyl then glides back to the edges of the circle, reclaiming his place beside Gelly.

As soon as the elder steps aside, Einiss lunges forward, fully committed to his spear thrust. Bruen holds his ground until the last moment, then twists to the side. The spear passes him harmlessly, leaving trails of light from the glowing runes inscribed on the weapon.

Bruen leaps above the sweeping tentacles Einiss uses to try to knock him down, then steps back. The borrowed knife he holds close to his thorax, biding his time. Einiss stabs again and again, each attack coming faster, but Bruen leans and sways. Always he avoids the deadly spearhead by the barest of margins.

"Yield, Einiss, before I must act in my own defense."

"Don't be afraid, brute. I'll make this painless."

Einiss lunges again, his spear aimed at the center of Bruen's thorax. Almost languidly, Bruen rolls to the right and under the attack, then whips his tendrils, and Gelly's knife, up in a blur. The spear, as well as three of Einiss' appendages fall to the stone. Blue drips from the neatly severed stumps. The twitching filaments release the weapon and it slides across the floor to stop at Gelly's feet.

Einiss reels, perhaps finally realizes what was obvious to all the others watching. Bruen far surpasses the pampered Einiss in both strength and skill. "Your bravery does you credit, brother, and I would proudly have such zeal bred into the next generation. Accept things as they are."

White foam drips from between Einiss' madly twitching pedipalps. Lost to reason, the wounded aristocrat charges again and flails his remaining tendrils. The air shrieks from the fast-moving whips, and a dark aura seems to cover him, shadows cast by his own rapid movements.

The elders around him frozen, tensely watching the duel, Gelly is unobserved as he levels the warrior's spear and hurls it with servo assisted might. Unobserved by all but two beings, the first being Drev. The loyal soldier watches both the fight going on as well as the object of his devotion but makes no move to stop him.

The spear flies over the head of Einiss, who flinches from the wind of its passage. Bruen, aware of the Operative standing so close to his honored elders, snatches the missile from the air with many long appendages, and using the weapon's momentum, spins it around himself. The motion ends with the spear's tip just piercing Einiss' carapace under his throat.

Einiss sinks fractionally further onto the deadly implement before he can halt his charge. His tendrils drop lifelessly around him, and he shrinks visibly. The clicking sounds that suddenly surround Gelly causes him to recoil slightly, before he realizes that the sounds emanate from the rest of the observers.