# Scars of Khan- Unbroken



## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

The Empty Quarter- a vast sea of lush grasslands that stretches from the roots of the Khum Karta mountains to the dense forests of the ancient Palatine's empire that boardered the turquoise blue of the salten sea to the golden-hued burning sands of the Kuzil Quan desert. The roaming tribes of the steppes boast a fiercely savage bloodline, for life in the Empty Quarter is an unforgiving test of a man's strength of body as well as the cutting edge of his wisdom and will to overcome the dangers lurking in the wind-swept grasses.

It is from this bloodline that all of you hail; sons of the wandering tribes that Chogorisian legend holds are borne upon the very backs of their swift and wiry horses. Each phase of the moon saw the tasks set by the Stormseers more brutal and trying than the last, culling the weaker and least capable from the drove of aspirants with each pass like a pack of laughing lyon-dogs running a herd to the point of exhaustion. The paths that led each of you to the shadow of the Khum Karta are as numerous as the hairs in a sabre-lion's mane and of the nearly 200 young warriors who entered the Trials a full moon-turning ago... barely two dozen remain.

-

The full moon hangs at its apex in the star-jeweled sky, its cold light bathes the steppes and endless expanse of oceanic grasses moving wave-like in the ever present winds. Dark storm clouds huddle low upon the edge of the horizon, moon-light edging them in silver-white and lightning tracking jagged paths under their bulks; so distant that their voices of thunder never reach your ears above the crackle of the fire-circles. It has been a long and trying day for all of you, though you are sure that tomorrow will be even more so.

Tanai, Drogo, Yesugei, Ganzorig, Khasar, and Subutai sit around a fire near the edge of the encampment eating thick, highly spiced grass-hare stew from shallow glazed pottery bowls with torn strips of unleavened bread as spoons. A short distance away you can see the fire-circle of the Stormseers upon a natural rise in the land. Two of the four that have been present over the entirety of the Trails sit silhouetted against the glow of the flames. Their deep voices are like the distant thunder on the wind's back as a third figure strides from the darkness of the over-sized yurt nearby. You recognize this warrior as the one that is new to the group of Riders, only just arriving before the last colours of sunset bled from the sky. The arrival of this new Rider has peeked your curiosity despite being thoroughly exhausted from a long day that involved stalking and killing a wary mature prong-buck as a hunting party including the young warriors of the nearby fire-circle and with chimes bound to your ankles and wrists using strips of leather cording at the demands of the Stormseer called Ris'hi.

This new Rider is slighter than his warrior-kin and doesn't seem to carry the trappings of the Stormseers though his arrival was greeted with the easy comfort of camaraderie, but it is _*How *_he arrived that really has the fire-circles abuzz with whispered words. His mount sits silent now in the lee of the yurt, the white plates on its flanks gleaming softly in the light of the full moon.

[What could the arrival of this new Rider mean and just what was that... *mount *he arrived on? _(note- none of you know what a Bike really is or have seen one this close before other than Ganzorig )_ And speaking of Ganzorig- it was his lucky bow shot that finally brought down the prong-buck after it was spooked into flight before the hunting party was ready by Cheng's ankle bells when the young warrior mistakenly stepped into a hidden grass-hare's den.]

Bidziil, Chang-Jian, Dalar, Cheng, Daaruk, and Dulai sit nearby around their own fire-circle having already finished eating when a small pebble comes sailing through the air and into the fire sending sparks flying. Following the path of the pebble you meet the hard glares of the youths sitting at the fire closer towards the center of the encampment. It seemed that the mature prong-buck you managed to take was being hunted by more than one group of warriors and the other group is less than happy at having to settle for a much smaller juvenile prong-buck. The leader of the other group is a fierce youth with murderous eyes and a top-knot of glossy black hair bound in a blood-dyed bone clasp. He bears a jagged scar that starts at his hairline and cuts down his left cheek through his eyebrow.

[The young warrior's name is Amar and rumour has it that he strangled another youth with his bare hands in the first round of the Trials when the offending boy's mount spooked at a busting covey of steppe-quail and danced into the path of Raj'nish- Amar's vile tempered blue-roan stallion. Do you ignore the implied threat and focus on the newly arrived Rider or meet it with one of your own?]


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## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

He had been looking at the others around the fire in front of him. He knew their names for the most part but nothing about them other than the fact that they had all made it this far through the trials. Some were better at hunting than others, he could already tell. Each one was from a different tribe, naturally. Regardless, they all seemed to have _something_ going for them. 

Bidziil had little understanding for unmitigated threats. What reason was there to be mad over nothing? His eyes squinted when the small stone whizzed past his face, his nose crinkeled and his full haired head cocked back slightly, looking over to the other circle whose group was led by the one named Amar. 

Seeing Amar's glaring face is what confused him, for he had done nothing to the other boy. He must ahve come from one of those foolish Steppe tribes his elders had talked about, fighting and dieing all the time instead of living to prosper, just plain stupid. Amar was marked with a tough looking scar and a discomforting rumour, but it was of Bidziil's strong opinion that personal, individual strength could only get someone so far. It was tactics that won a fight. 

He turned his head around at a sudden proding thought. Now facing the trophy of the hunt, the remains of a large prong buck, he realized what the mitigation had been. he gave a curt laugh to himself, _"Hmph, babies."_

At that very instant, Bidziil turned back to the fire with his face halfway in his bowl that smelled and carried the taste of clay despite the stew's presence. He gulped down the last bit of the hot liquid just as he heard the rumbling thunder of something new. He wiped the drops of stew from the corners of his mouth woth a bare hand, turning and standing in the direction of the Stormseer he had never seen before, and the large strange growling steed that he rode upon.


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Tanai*

The stew was thick and warm, filling and refreshing after the hard day, Tanai wolfed it down with little ceremony, dipping the thick strips of bread into the bowl and scooping out great gobbets of spiced liquid. But he wasn't concentrating on his food, not when there were such wonders to marvel at. The great stormseers who provided over the trials were seated at their own fire, a deep rumble, almost like that of a distant storm, rippled out from where they talked, their figures casting great shadows behind them as their own fire crackled sullenly.

They were joined by a third Rider, somewhat smaller than his companions but still head and shoulders above any mortal man. His clothing, that strange hard material that moved with him like a second skin, was pure white, the edges of his bulky shoulders red while other edges shared that same colour. His left shoulder bore a strange symbol, a bolt of lightning spearing a yellow bar, it wasn't simply painted on, but stood proud of the rest of the surface, blazing a fierce pride out to the harsh uncaring skies of Chogoris. Unlike the other two stormseers, this one did not bear the symbols that the others did, there were no strange amulets around his neck, nor the other strange trappings that almost seemed to characterise the others, perhaps the most notable of this was the aura of barely restrained power that hovered around the others. This one radiated a sense of instant death, like them, but something about him seemed more... more... natural than the others, he did not bring unease like the presence of the others did.

But the mere fact of his arrival was as nothing to the manner of it. His mount still rested in the lee of his shelter and Tanai felt his eyes being drawn inexorably back to the mighty beast. He, along with all the others had gaped as the warrior had rode into camp, his mount roaring like some caged animal. It was like no sound he had heard before, something between the mighty rumble of mighty storms, and the roar of the ferocious and deadly grass cats. It's skin was the same white and red as the giants, with a single great eye, one that burned brighter than the largest bonfire, closed now as the beast slept. It's lines were at once, harsh and angular, and beautiful at the same time, murmuring of a strength beneath that armoured form that Tanai could only dream of...


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## CattleBruiser (Sep 3, 2011)

Chang-Jian looked at the others sharing the fire with him. These young men had earned his respect time and time again during the course of the trials. Still, he knew not all of them could be completely trusted, such at Amar (Assuming rumors are to be believed). 

Chang-Jian kept one eye closed throughout all of dinner so his night vision wouldn't be completely ruined. He also kept his ears pricked, just in case Amar was going to try and sneak and try something less harmless than throwing a stone into a fire. Although as time passed and Chang-Jian heard nothing he found himself staring at the new rider among the stormseers.

The new rider appeared to be extremely bulky with bone white skin. Armour, Chang'Jian guessed, for he assumed that no man could naturally have skin that pale and edges that sharp. Due to his bulk Chang-Jian's first assumption was that the man would be clumsy. This notion, however, was quickly dispelled after seeing the man astride his mount and knowing that he wouldn't have passed these trials if he truly were that bulky.

The rider's mount was also white as the pale moon with sharp edges. It appeared to have one large eye in the center of it's head and dulled horns going straight sideways. The beast also appeared not to have any legs, in their place it had black things in the shape of the full moon. 

"Strange", Chang-Jian said softly to himself, thinking that he much prefers his natural stead to this....horse.... no, horse is the wrong word.... Moonstrider, that's what I'll call it. The name made perfect sense, the beast ran on legs in the shape of the full moon, had armour the very colour of the moon and gave off white light from a great eye in the shape of the moon.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

He was at one with the darkness, at one with the whispering of the grass, at one with the clouds that hung low and menacing above them, their swollen bulk a mass of shrouded mist, illuminated by jagged flickers of white lightening.

His eyes were closed drinking in the very air over the slurp of stew, the steady rhythmic creaks and groans of jaws as they sunk teeth into juicy meat. Meat earned and won, meat fought for in the steady battle to remain amongst the chosen.

Their numbers dwindled, a great crowd that had swelled around the stormseers on the first day now dwindling to but a few handfuls, two dozen mounts stood, tethered around them, tossing fine heads, manes swirling through the air even as they returned to their grazing.

Kelun let out the lowest of contented snorts, the noise enough to give him an idea of her presence, the slightest turn of his head bringing the mare into view, her head proud and upright, coat gleaming a luminescent white in the moonlight, her poise dominant even amongst the mass of stallions.

His gaze softened from thoughtful poise to gentle affection even as he turned back to his own bowl, a deep gulp bringing a chunk of meat upon his sharp incisors and he sunk his teeth into it with a grateful snap.

They had been lucky to have meat at all tonight, a careless step and a bow shot either of great skill or tremendous fortune sending the beast to its knees. His eyes fell upon the bowmen head tilting as he considered the boy before him, perhaps a summer older than, a single ring glittering below blunted squashed features

What are you boy, a natural with the bow or one who rode upon the winds of chance as the sun eagle rides the winds of the plains.

His eyes became light and warm once more his head rising to stare around the fire with the smallest of secret smiles, as he relished in the camaraderie even in silence. There was a kinship their, even above the chasms created by competition and ambition, that they had lasted so long held them together.

So similar...his eyes moved across the fires to the rise upon which a pair of stormseers lingered....yet so different to the bond they held. Theres a deep bond, the result of years held them together, their voices rumbling and deep, their figures a shifting maze of talismans and trinkets, seeming to fall silently against their towering forms, forms that whirred and groaned with noises that set his teeth on edge then seemed to move silently as a ghost.

They must think him slow, for his mind boggled when he looked upon them, struck silent by the sheer size of some of those fangs, too big for the jaws of any creature he had ever set eyes upon. Then his eyes fell upon the casing beneath his intelligence cast upon the winds as he studied the movements that seemed too graceful to be possible in such a bulky casing.

One of them shifted, flecks of gold sparkling in the firelight, the shimmering metal streaks the feathers of the sun eagle, the sight of which had set his lungs aflame, his breath catching in his throat. To bear the feather of such a creature was an honor, but to bear many was a prize beyond comprehension. Aye the stormseer bore the honour of the sun eagle in flight, its likeness cast in thin white scars around eyes that held and bound, froze his ligaments like a hare spooked by the eagles shrieking call. A crying call that seemed to echo deep within the deep rumbling of thunder in the stormseers voice.

It seemed it was this one that watched over them in particular, often the cloaked figure appearing as if he had fallen from the skys to cast veiled words upon them all and Dulai fixed him with a questioning glare.

Do you see potential in me eagle, or do i linger upon the precipice?

The dark eyes flecked with gold turned and Dulai's eyes followed his gaze to seize eagerly upon another figure more recent to the group, his trinkets more sparse, his gaze just as judging as the stormseers yet more poignant, distorted by something he could not quite comprehend, its familiarity shrouded by the rolling mists of another emotion.

His eyes twitched to the roaring beast that had sparked so much talk amongst the aspirants as the warrior had careened towards them, astride the metal beast legs clamped around it like a horse.... yet.... yet it roared, belching a thick acrid mist even as it tore across the dunes, eating up the earth like a starved sabrecat.

His eyes lingered hungrily upon the beast, the sheer speed it promised making his tongue flitter across his teet, his gaze suddenly tinged with shock as sparks flew, a pebble skidding across the fire and into the darkness. H twisted slowly tracing the motion back to its source to find a group of surly disturbed youths glaring in their direction, one amongst them, held his head higher than the others, his scarred features the source of rumour and intrigue, one look into those blood thirsty eyes affirming his suspicions.

A murderer, not a warrior.

He met the murderous gaze and held it, held it a second too long then lingered a little longer, his lips pursed, eyes cold considering the other boy. The slightest toss of his head and roll of his eyes dismissed the murderer even as he turned back to the fire, hearing a growling laugh from a light skinned wiry boy about his own age a grunt of dismissal slipping from between gaped teeth.

His gaze fell upon the fire, though the murderous eyes still seemed to flicker before him glinting in its rippling orange depths, his heart beginning to pound even as his legs shifted, slowly uncoiling like languorous serpents.

He could feels others shifting around him, limbs stiffening like beasts with the scent of intruders upon their nostrils and Dulai let his eyes close for a second, the deep brown orbs flashing open even as his own body tensed

I am at one with my body....


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

*Cheng*

Cheng`s usual outspoken nature had received a dose of humility earlier in the day, a stupid mistake almost costing the group their prize. Though it was Ganzorig whose shot had brought the beast down, Cheng did make light of the fact that it was in fact _he_ who had scared the beast into the path of the arrow. 

Now the trial had come to a close and the party had come to rest and eat around a campfire. It was a simple enough gathering, theirs and other parties of aspirants had all participated in the trials and even now the other groups sat around their own fires and talked among themselves. All in all, it was a fairly enjoyable gathering. 


Until one fool from one of the other groups tried to break the peace. The pebble whizzed past them into the fire, disturbing the flames and causing Cheng`s eyes to burn with the sudden output of heat. 

Cheng recognized the boy from his reputation. it was Amar, supposedly a particularly violent individual who had killed one of his fellow aspirants for ruining a previous hunt. Cheng could not deny that a part of him wanted to take the bait, to step up and make a fool of the arrogant bastard to put him in his place. But even Cheng held his tongue, humility was one thing but being humbled in front of everyone was another. Fortunately a suitable distraction presented itself in the form of a new arrival only moments later. 

The stormseer was impressive as he right well should be, but equally astonishing was the massive steed on which he arrived. It was a beast like no other he had seen, though he had heard the legends of these thundering metal steeds the chosen one made use of. Cheng found himelf wearing a massive grin at the thought of one day riding into battle atop one of those marvelous things, and wondered to himself how difficult they were to tame? 

'That is one hell of a steed.' Cheng said softly to the other youths, his grin not subsiding. He ignored the gloomier faces of some and instead turned back to face the newcomer, wondering what his arrival meant...


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Bringing the stew soaked bread slowly to his lips, Khasar pensively ate. Sitting here in front of a fire, eating, and with nothing but the blanket of stars above him and warriors beside him, the youth was reminded of home and family. If he were home his sister would no doubt by combing her hair by the fair, softly singing an old song. Her’s was a voice that could make a man weep he fondly remembered, a slight smile splitting the aspirant’s lips. 

His grandfather would be dozing quietly, his snores blowing his whiskers about. The fire had long since burned from his wizened limbs. Sure as the sun rose each day though, the old man would wake as soon as his twitching nose picked up whatever was cooking over the fire and he would rouse, loudly grumbling that in his day a warrior did not need to spice or salt his food but ate the meat raw and drank the blood from his horse. That of course had never stopped him gustily eating whatever was placed in front of him. 

Leaning back into the grass, his arms crossed behind his head, Khasar closed his eyes as he thought further of home. A home, he sourly realised, that he would never see again. He had heard of no man simply walking away from the Rider’s trials, nor would his pride let him. He may not have intended this path but he would see it through or die. If the legends spoke true here was his chance to ride among the stars, as a warrior without peer. The night sky would be his pastures and the Rider’s his tribes brothers. Khasar could scarcely believe the thought. 

His mind occupied with such thoughts he glanced towards the darkened yurt some distance away from their fire. That was where the [_thing_ was kept; he strange mount of the new Rider. It was unlike any horse Khasar had ever seen. It did not neigh but whined and growled with throaty rumbles that set the youth’s bone’s vibrating. Its flanks gleamed white with glints of metal. It did not seem alive at all, unlikely as the thought of some artificial horse was. It must be sorcery he decided, who knew what powers the Rider’s had at their beck and call. 

Casting his curiosity aside Khasar’s thought returned to his sister and he began to softly hum the tune to the songs which even now he knew she was singing, somewhere out there across the plains.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

A sigh rippled through Yesugei's heavy frame as he felt the soreness and stiffness in his muscles begin to fade. For months he and his fellows had been tried by the Stormssers, each task more brutal than the one before it. He had watched as aspirants had fallen to exhaustion, the predators of the plains, and it was even rumored, much to his disgust, to other aspirants. Of the hundreds that had made their way into the hands of the Stormseers to participate int he trials, just over a score of the youths remained, Yesugei the only one of the handful of boys from his tribe. He felt alone amongst the group of young men that he now sat with, their ways and appearances strange and unfamiliar to him. Though he had formed bonds with some of them over the course of the trials past, they were not his friends from home. He felt that his home and his family was now something out of reach, something long since gone with no physical connection to that life remaining. He now longed to complete the trials, longed to find a new place to belong. Looking around at the faces of the young men that shared the fire in front of him Yesugei wondered if any of the others felt the same. 

Tearing off a chunk of unleavened bread and scooping out a large helping of stew upon it, Yesugei smiled as he thought of the meal. The heavily spiced grass-hare stew was delicious, full of flavor, but there seemed to never be enough food for the growing young men of the party. They worked themselves to exhaustion each and every day, untop of the fact that they were teenage boys, hunger always seemed to be knawing at his belly. It was an effort not to just indulge himself by wolfing down his helping. He ate slowly, methodically, savoring each bite, as he thought back on the challenge of the day. 

He had been shocked when Master Ris'hi, had tossed each of them leather strips for their wrists and ankles, each with chimes and bells sewn into the heavy leather. He had then told them that they were to hunt and kill one of the wary prong-bucks that frequented the grass lands. For hours the young men stalked silently through the plains finally coming upon a prize worthy of their attention when a loud jingle and a quiet curse spooked the beast into flight, Ganzorig was able to get off a lucky shot that ultimately felled the creature. Yesugei had congratulated the young man for making the kill, and though he had been irritated at Cheng for spooking the beast by falling into the hidden grass-hare den, he realized that it was a mistake any of them could have made, and his accidental discovery of the lair had led to the delicious stew that they were now enjoying. But his thoughts strayed from the events of the day as his eyes found the fire of the Stormseers. 

Sitting on a natural rise in the land, the mighty warriors were silhoutted against the night sky by the glowing flames of their own fire. The spoke quietly amongst themselves, their deep voices rolling over the plains like a heavy thunder. It was the new arrival that had caught Yesugei's attention. The new comer stood a bit smaller in stature than the Stormseers and he did not bear all the trappings and totems that they did, though they greeted him as a friend and comrade Yesugei could tell that there was a subtle difference that held them a part. It was the new warriors mount that fascinated him, and he could tell, had done the same to his companions. 

Yesugei had gone for his weapons when the thing first approached their camp, its echoing roar akin to the crashing waterfalls he had found on his trips into the mountains. Its single great glowing eye providing illumination for its rider as it streaked across the plains toward them in a cloud of dust and acrid smelling smoke. For some reason Yesugei wanted to tame such a beast, take one and have it as his very own. The smooth contours for its hard white metal hide and odd means of locomotion calling to some primal part of him that recognized the beasts power. He wondered what the creature was and where the rider had found it. He also wondered what the new arrivals presence might mean for him and his companions.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

He was sitting, quietly, a cloak of grass-cat fur pulled tightly around his broad, sloping shoulders. Warmth radiated along his back, accompanied by the gentle crackling of flames, breaking the solemn silence of the plains. 

His eyes were narrowed, glittering orbs of violet, staring intently at the twinkling stars. The moon hung heavily in the skies, casting her light across the flat steppe, illuminating the oceanic expanse of grass. On the horizon, distant, a mass of storm-clouds crept closer, pregnant with rain. They were chased in silver-white, scintillating a wonderful shade of blue with each flicker of lightning, groping the grassland with electrified appendages. 

_‘Do not look at the fire,’ His father had said, one night, shaking his bearded head, his hair wet with blood-wine. ‘It diminishes your night-sight, numbs your senses. Only a fool openly stares into the light.’ _

And so, Subutai obeyed, facing away from the others. He had unlaced his topknot, the raven-dark hair flowing freely down his back, stirring in the wind. In his hands, glinting ferociously, was his bone-and-iron dagger. He pricked each of his calloused fingertips, twirling the blade adroitly, until a blossom of claret grew around it. 

Subutai’s eyes slowly drifted along the landscape, ascending a natural rise, to where a pair of Riders sat. Both were immense, in their alabaster-white and blood-red armour, contrasting heavily against coppered skin and dark, wild hair. 

A third had arrived, today, atop a mount that caused Subutai’s heart to race. Smooth and elongated, armoured and menacing, asleep. A hell-beast, summoned from the darkest depths of Chogorisian culture; fit for the handling of Gods. The sound which it made, a susurrus of violent growls and whines, had caused Jelme to whicker and stamp nervously, until Subutai rested a calming hand on the ill-tempered stallion’s head, whispering a gentle word into his ear.

The trials were punishing, dwindling away the number of aspirants, until barely two dozen remained. Subutai was determined to outlast each and everyone, rise above the challenge, distinguish himself. These others, most were worthless; sure to die. Some had the mindsets of survivors, most he mistrusted greatly, keeping a weapon close-at-hand, lest they try something foolish. 

If they did, - He would gut them like a pig.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

The stew was hot and heavy in his mouth, the spices doing their best to hide their being less meat within than should have been. It could have very easily have been no meat in the stew at all thanks to that youth Cheng, blundering into a grass-hare’s den and spooking the buck just before he had taken the kill shot. Whether by instinct or luck, Ganzorig neither knew nor cared which it was, he had been able to check his shot and adjust in time for Cheng’s blunder. _“Better than nothing, still not much; and he doesn’t even suffer for it.”_ Ganzorig murmured to himself, letting his eyes wander over to the other fire. Cheng should not be eating the food he had very nearly cost them all, but somehow his protest was in the minority. 

Another of the Riders made his way to the Riders who called themselves Stormseers. His mount, if it could be called that, made a mighty roar as it had come from across the plains to stand stone still while its rider dismounted. It was like the mount from the Rider he had seen those weeks ago before coming here, but he had not heard the noise that one had made, and this one seemed slighter, smaller maybe. Returning his thoughts to the others around him, Ganzorig became aware that he had begun to scratch at the scar again. The thing did not hurt, not anymore at least, but whenever he found his eyes wandering to the Riders he began to scratch almost out of habit. Remember the creature that had caused the wound, that filled his chest with pride to know that he had killed it, the same had happened earlier with the buck though that was not nearly as impressive.

That’s when Ganzorig noticed to where the others had cast their own eyes, all except for that one Subutai. No you could see the killer in his eyes, and not even the mount of the third, slighter Rider was enough to draw away his attention for long. _“A score left of a great ride.”_ He said, throwing a twig into the flames and breaking the silence around the fire. _“Who will be taken next? Which won’t see the next falling of the moon?”_ He asked, feeling that of everyone around him, the murderer Subutai would not be dead, nor likely the big one Yesugei. Tanai was a different matter though, he seemed more taken in by the third Rider and his mount than any other around the fire.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Dalar sat next to the fire and idly jabbed it with a stick. He was thinking and so it came as a surprise to him when a stone thudded into the fire and knocked a few sparks onto the back of his hand. He looked at them and wondered why it didn’t hurt. Then the pain hit. His reaction was barely noticeable, just a slight narrowing of the eyes and clenching of the jaw. He turned slightly and glanced at the direction from which the stone had come and saw another youth glaring at them. It was evidently a threat and Dalar’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Then he recognized the boy and his left hand suddenly curled around the hilt of his dagger that was out of view of the boy. The youth’s name was Amar and there was a particularly nasty rumour circulating about the lad that he had strangled a fellow aspirant in anger. However it was not the rumour that had Dalar tense, for he placed no trust in such talk, but he had always been a good judge of men and Amar more or less radiated malevolence and barely contained rage that merely needed a target for it to explode.

Dalar shook his head in disgust before turning away, a calculated move designed to cause anger for being ignored so. This was an unusually subtle movement for him but he had no wish for a fight so late at night and so had settled on a symbol of disgust rather than verbal confirmation of it. As he turned away his eyes rested on Cheng. He considered the youth critically. He was a good man but his moment of carelessness had almost cost them the meat they now sat eating. Indeed if it weren’t for Ganzorig they would have no meat that night.

A roar draw Dalar’s attention and he gripped his dagger but relaxed when he saw it was kin to the Stormseers. He was slightly smaller and his armour was less impressive but he was still a fearsome warrior. However it was the steed that carried him that drew Dalar’s attention. It was coated in white painted metal, more metal coated it than Dalar had seen in any one place in his entire life. There were 2 bars sticking out to either side with talismans clasped in place above them.

It was mounted on huge, black wheels and purred idly like a sleeping grass cat. When it moved the sound was like the roar of the thunder. Dalar smiled slightly and hoped for a day where he would be able to ride to war on such a steed…


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The grass stretched on as far as the eye could see, which on Chogoris really meant something due to its natives having commonly excellent eyesight. The full moon in the sky only made the sight more amazing, the grassland lit up by the pale glow of the moon and its corona of stars, casting the entire field of view in a frame that highlighted the wind rustling through each blade. The sound was like a whistling bird that carried across the entire plains to reverbate in the ears of the warriors that camped in the steppes.

Drogo listened attentively. His years in exile had taught him much, one of the best ways to examine the environment was to stay still and listen; block out all distractions and simply hear the world around you. By doing that you could learn more about a place than by simply blundering in on horseback for scouting as many tribes tended to do. Drogo preferred to simply listen and let the world tell him what he wanted to know. And it worked. He could hear the birds chirping and could tell which kinds they were, whether they were hunting, feeding or mating. He could hear the prong-bucks grazing a good distance away from them, with good cause since the group had hunted one earlier, Ganzorig getting the kill. It would have been Drogo's but Cheng fouled the stalking when his ankle-bells gave them away.

Taking another mouthful of his grass-hare stew Drogo's attention was mainly focused on their wardens. The Stormseers. Each one was a giant of a man, Drogo was used to being the tallest man in his tribe and most of the neighbouring ones, and even he only came up to the bottom of their chests. They were covered in armour, something that most men of the steppes did without since it hindered their ability to strike fast. That was far from the truth with these titans, every move they made was as graceful as a rock lion on the hunt. But as mighty as each of these warriors were, it was the third giant that had Drogo enraptured.

This one was different to the others. Slighter yes but he bore the characteristics of a man who spent his life in the saddle. The swagger when he walked, his legs kept a bit wider apart than most, and the slight sense of unease that Drogo sensed from him that he was not riding. Though that might have been his own feelings impressed he acknowledged to himself. Drogo was a rider born and bred, he had been on horses his whole life, he had ridden his first horse alone at four winters and learned to ride properly by six winters. But even this fellow rider paled in comparison to what he rode. It was a strange iron horse that bore rubber wheels rather than legs. Drogo had heard legends of the mounts that the Great Khan's sons rode, they were thunder and lightning given mortal form. They raced across the steppes with speed that no horse could match, and their metal skin could withstand harm that would destroy even the hardiest warhorse.

The rider had ridden it here, the saddle was clearly visible and Drogo could see how one would sit to ride this iron horse. But how to actually ride it? He could see no way to get it to move, kicking its sides would likely only hurt and the rider had seemed to push something on it to silence its ferocious rumbling. Drogo was tempted to approach and examine it but he dared not, such a thing would be a grievous breach of trust between he and his hosts. There would be time for that later. Returning his attentions to his stew Drogo stared at the grasslands and swore an oath to himself.

He *would* ride one of those iron horses one day.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Ganzorig’s attention, and though he was eager to see what the others about the fire would say to his own words, he was also curious as to what had just happened. A slight distance away one of the other fires flared up ever so slightly and a number of those gathered around it were staring at something. Or rather, they were staring at someone; following the direction of the stares Ganzorig found their target and he could not help his own eyes from turning into a glare.

If Subutai had the look of a killer in his eyes, Amar wore it like a cloak to hide from the heat at the height of the day. While some stared at him, he cast sheer malevolence back upon them; his stare marking Cheng out above all others even in the bare light of the moon high above. Pressing his hand down onto the ground, Ganzorig balled it into a fist, dragging up grass and dirt to spill between his fingers. He had picked up a stone with the dirt as well, and without really thinking about it Ganzorig stood up and hurled the stone at Amar. 

He lost the bit in the darkness, but if luck was still on his side the stone would connect with some part of Amar. They had all heard the rumours, that Amar had killed another in a fit of anger; and for all any of them knew that could have been nothing but a lie. Ganzorig hoped it was true, and he hoped that he hit Amar, that’s why he did not take to his place on the ground for a few moments, wanting Amar to see that he of all had the courage to act against him. _“Let him come, one less killer to worry about.”_ He growled to no one in particular before finally sitting back down.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

_"A score left in the great ride,"_ Ganzorig said, breaking the silence, the twig he had tossed in the fire popping and snapping as it took flame._ "Who will be taken next? Which one won't see the next falling of the moon?" _

Yesugei tought about the man's querry and wondered the same thing. Each day had seen another aspirant fall to the challenges of the trials and inevitably more would fall before they reached the end of this road._ "It could be any one of us Ganzorig. One never knows what the next day holds,"_ lowering his voice so that only those around their fire could hear him, _"though if I had to choose one, I would wish Amar gone."_ They had all heard the rumors about the youth, and Yesugei felt his fists clench in seething anger at the thought of the boys rumored acts. There was no place for that kind of treachery, he would not tolerate it. 

Yesugei watched as Ganzorig reacted to something that he had missed, but he followe the other boy's gaze and saw that the other cook fire appeared to have been disturbed by something. Ganzorig's gaze hardened into a glare as he stared off into the night and squinting to see past their own fire, Yesugei's expression soon matched the younger man's. Ganzorig's gaze was locked on Amar, his fists clenching in the dirt below him. Suddenly Ganzorig stood and hurled something in Amar's direction, remaining standing so that he could clearly be seen, as if challenging the other youth. As Yesugei had assumed Amar remained in his seat... he was a coward and a traitor. Hiding in shadows. 

"_Let him come, no less killer to worry about," _Ganzorig growled as he flopped back down next to the fire. 

Taking a large bit of his stew, Yesugei nodded his head in agreement. _"Aye, let him try something and yours will not be the only blade he will need to worry about," _Yesugei said.


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

All- The grass-hare in the stew was surprisingly filling, though the heavy spices that the Stormseers have been putting in the once daily meals leave a strangely metallic taste on the back of your tongues. The wind brings the pungent scent of where the meat of the prong-bucks taken by the group is drying into jerked strips over a low, smoky fire- the Stormseer Ris'hi having taken them from you upon arrival back at camp. Though you all come from lives where hard work was the law of the land, the past moon turning has seen your lean bodies become even harder in tone and strength though lately you can feel a new ache permeating deep into your bones.

Ganzorig, as you cast the small stone in the direction of the other fire you are rewarded by a hiss of pain as the glowering youth seated to the right of Amar flinches then starts to clamor to his feet with a snarl on his face. He is halted by Amar's heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him back to the ground as the vicious warrior rises slowly. His darkly threatening eyes scan over you and the others in your loose group around the two fire-circles.

All, The tension in the air becomes sharp and thick like the press of a storm about to break; all noise from the two fire-circles at Amar's back ceasing as the young warriors in his hunt-group cast knowingly veiled glances between one another, hands straying ever so slightly nearer to the hip-sheaths of blades. After a leaden pause that seems to draw out far longer than it truly does, Amar's lips draw back into a leering grin of superiority as he hacks a wad of spittle into the trampled grass that separate the two groups. 'Was that meant for me, cur?' A heartbeat later the youths at his fire-circles burst out into cruel ranks of laughter.

Amar's voice is a low, drawn-out growl, 'What did I tell you, brothers... he couldn't hit the ground at his feet with his own piss if it wasn't for the fact he has to squat to make water! Mere luck that the prong-buck shied into his arrow!' The scarred warrior's words are undercut with the nodding of heads and catcalls of agreement to which Amar licks his bared teeth and gestures towards your fire-circles with a haughty bravado, 'A sorry bunch of whores and curs aren't they? The mark of a slave, a mare-rider, and one even sings like a woman! Such a pretty voice...' 

The group's laughter and taunting take on a decidedly lurid tone with Amar's last words but the young warrior waves them into silence again as his eyes single out Dulai, narrowing ever so slightly like a predator that has found decidedly choice prey, 'Tell us, Mare-rider, did your sister help you tame such a fearsome beast? Perhaps I will let Raj'nish mount her so when you ride home in failure your clan will at least have some proper steeds for real warriors in the future.' With a dark grin Amar turns and swaggers off in the general direction to where Dulai's mare Kelun is staked out, though the direction of the latrine pit is also not far off his path as well truth be told.

(Well now, that was a fair bit more biting than a tossed stone wasn't it? The young warriors in Amar's hunt-group are all still chuckling as they cast glances your way, a few cracking their knuckles and licking their lips suggestively. With Amar included, their hunt-groups' numbers are equal to your own- and there is no question that Amar is the unrivaled leader of the other hunt-group. Are you going to shrug off his words or prove them otherwise? 

Reminder- physical interaction with npc's needs to be ok'ed beforehand.

For those who were watching the Stormseers by their camp, you saw Ris'hi turn his head towards where you sit right before Amar stands to begin his taunting. He rises to his feet, but then pauses and cocks his head at something you cannot make out that is said by the new Rider who comes over to stand beside him and watch the events unfolding in the camp.)


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## CattleBruiser (Sep 3, 2011)

Chang-Jian watches the exchange between Ganzorig and Amar with one eye still closed. Chang-Jian's hand was on the hilt at his belt, wondering who will try to end Amar's life first. Amar could never be trusted with so much power as we were all trying for. 

If there is a god, Amar will be dead before the end of these trials. Immediately after thinking this Chang-jian remembered that the gods normally require mortals to do their work, so Chang-Jian amended his thought. If there is a god, Amar will be dead before the end of these trial, but not by my hand.

As soon as he finished this thought Amar taunted Dulai as well. What had Dulai ever done to Amar? Why did Amar choose Dulai? Chang-Jian decided if a fight broke out he'd stand with Dulai. There's nothing wrong with killing during battle.

Chang-Jian turns to Dulai and says, "Are you going to attack him? If you are then I'll fight with you. But fefore you decide, remember that in a fight you're going to get injured. In my clan we have rules of life, First Rule: never risk what you can't afford to lose."

Right after saying this Chang-Jian realized that a part of him wished the entire group around his campfire would attack Amar and his group now, instead of people attacking on their own. After all, First Rule of Life: Strength in unity.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

As he began to sit Ganzorig was rewarded with a yelp of pain and Amar starting to rise from his fire. Or rather he had hoped it was Amar, but the pale light finally revealed otherwise as Amar stopped the warrior next to him from leaving the fire. Cursing under his breath, Ganzorig realized that the darkness and his haste had played against him and he had missed Amar, though he had still come close for it. All noise vanished from the air, the mounting tensions between the warriors around Ganzorig and those amassed around Amar readying to snap.

“Was that meant for me cur?” Amar said, and Ganzorig could all but feel the mocking hidden within the tone. A moment after, the others gathered about Amar laughed, though it did not look as though the one he had hit had joined in. ”What did I tell you, brothers... he couldn't hit the ground at his feet with his own piss if it wasn't for the fact he has to squat to make water! Mere luck that the prong-buck shied into his arrow!” Amar growled on, his eyes casting about all of the warriors at Ganzorig’s fire before he continued further. “A sorry bunch of whores and curs aren't they? The mark of a slave, a mare-rider, and one even sings like a woman! Such a pretty voice...”

That was enough for Ganzorig, many of those words were not just meant for him but damn them if he didn’t defy this whore-son first! _“Aye the stone was meant for you, its just to bad you were busy cowering behind someone else. Still hitting the man in front is closer than a fire away to the side.”_ Ganzorig hissed through clenched teeth, rising to his feet but only watching Amar move. His back was arched slightly and his arms loose at his sides, though the hands were clenched into fists. 

_“You speak so much of women Amar, but I have heard it said your clan can’t tell them apart from the men. No wonder you think the voice of anyone here is the same as a woman, probably blind enough to think half of us are women as well.”_ He said with a sneer, but then noticed the direction Amar was traveling to and his one hand unclenched so it could grab hold of the handle of the blade at his side. Others whispered of Amar being many things, but no true rider went after the mount of another while its rider still lived. But again, Amar was many things and if Dulai did not act, Ganzorig definitely would; you don’t threaten, or even joke about threatening, the mount of another without the desire to see blood spilled then and there.


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

Cheng was hardly the most enlightened of individuals and would never boast of being the strongest, but he`d be damned if he was going to ignore this new threat. Ganzorig had not succeeded in hitting Amar with his stone`s throw, and the other boy had reacted typically of his pig headed kind. But that was not what had caught Cheng`s attention. No, he had followed the stomseer`s gaze as they had begun to take notice of the groups, and observed the readiness in the other groups` stances and eyes. They were ready for a fight. 

Cheng breathed deep, ignoring the chill bite on the air as he started to take notice. The rival group were all well built and well suited to combat as one would expect. 

'Was that meant for me, Cur?' Amar shouted back at Ganzorig before adding a plain insult to the boy`s aim. He then continued to insult another of the group, Dulai, because he rode a mare rather than a stallion. Ganzorig`s retort was lost on Amar as he set off cockily towards where the latrine was located. 

But also the steeds... Would he really go that far? Ganzorig seemed to think so, and though Chang-Jian was giving council to Dulai, the boy himself had yet to move. 

Cheng made his decision right there. The reaction of the stormseers seemed to him to be one of interest. So if Amar and his group really were looking to somehow prove their superiority, it seemed fitting that they be beaten at their own game. It seemed wasteful, but at the same time it almost demanded to be done. 

Cheng stood, following Ganzorig`s lead. He sorely wished he had a real sword as he placed his hand on the meager blade sheathed at his waist. Nonetheless his skills were nothing to be ashamed of. 

'It wouldn`t do to have such a disgraceful individual as him among us.' Cheng said plainly. 'I for one wouldn`t be sad to see him gone.' He took a step forward, ready and willing to back his own group up as needed.


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## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

"*In my clan we have rules of life, First Rule: never risk what you can't afford to lose."*

Said the boy named chang-Jian.

Bidziil had just finished putting the last gulp of soup into his mouth directly from his bowl when he heard this. He made loud noises with his lips still sealed, like a child eagerly raising their hand with something to say but not wanting to speak out of turn. Though, Bidziil didnt say anything only because he needed to make sure he swallowed the last bit of his meal rather than accidentally spew it on the fire in front of him. He agreed full heartedly with this statement and wanted nothing more than for his agreement to be known. It lit up his world to know another here had been raised on tactics rather than brute strength.

As the one who took down the buck, Ganzorig, stood to confront Amar and then Amar's response, Bidziil successfully swallowed, wiped his mouth on his bare arm, slapped off some dirt from his shirt, and finally turned to have a better look at the situation. After turning he saw the silhouette of the stormseer still mounted on his curious steed, which now was completely silent rather than the starkly contrasting opposite it had been moments ago with its godly grumble. 

His attentions became utterly sidetracked for a moment, noticing the faint dance of firelight shuddering over the stormseer's stone-white armor. Insults were being thrown in both directions now, how exciting. But still he couldnt break his gaze form the stormseer, well, untill people started moving.


Bidziil quickly looked back over the escalated situation. Amar was heading toward Dubai's horse. Everyone knew that horse because of its obvious difference from the others. Bidziil did not know its name, but he knew it was the mare and who it belonged to. Ganzorig and Cheng held their blades now.

Bidziil let his young voice ring out, "_Wait"_ he called, quickly grabbing hold of his bow and, here was an act he had down countless times, took a risk and strung it in a hurry. His hand reached behind him bringing about one of his six iron tipped arrows resting in his quiver. He pulled the string back to the natural anchor point alongside his right cheeck. He followed the arrow's length with his eyes to the pointed tip that was still reflecting the light from the fires, despite still being a bit dirty after he had wiped the soil off. 

"_Don't be fools, friends. Ranged attacks, always first. Go hand to hand if that doesnt work for some reason. One arrow through the jealous one's head; done. No harm to anyone else is even possible. Its like you said Chang-Jian, why risk anything if it can be avoided? Also, groups are good,"I] he spoke now to all at his fire and Ganzorig's, though changing audience in his voice, his aiming eyes never left their mark and his hands moved only to follow Amar's head, "More arrows pointing at him will only further secure our position, but even more so, a few aimed at his own friends before they aim at us." his voice took an almost complete turn around in tone going from unconcerned, normal-everyday speaking to complete seriousness, "Please, now, before they aim at us."_


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Pale eyes stared at Amar, fingers flexing with murderous need. The youth stood there, grinning, the scar upon his face gleaming a dark, malevolent red in the firelight. His eyes locked with Subutai’s for an instance, a pair of killers staring one another down; one brutish and dimwitted, the other fast and sly. 

‘The mark of a slave,’ Subutai whispered, hatred dripping from every vowel. His left hand fingered his shoulder, where his scar was, almost dismissively. The right twisted upon the leather-bound hilt of his blade, twirling it dexterously. ‘I..’ 

_The chains tightened, clattering musically. The Khan thrashed violently, boiling, misted water spilling over the iron-skinned washing vessel. Subutai smiled heartlessly, watching fingers claw frantically at thick, looping fetters. 

‘Subutai,’ The old man rasped, a pained, strangled gurgle. ‘You do-’ 

The youth twisted. There was an ominous crunched, as the trachea caved in. Lips began to darken in asphyxiation, muscles tearing in tremendous effort to keep the Khan shackled. 

With a vehement chuckle, Subutai uncoiled the chains; watching as the Khan slipped beneath the shimmering surface, eyes staring upwards in a raw mixture of shock and hate. _
‘..Am a slave no longer,’ Subutai snarled, lurching to his feet, leathery lips peeled back over pearlescent teeth. ‘Nor, do you, Amar, have a right to declare otherwise.’

‘You are nothing more than a vile bully,’ The boy said, jabbing an angry finger between the two. ‘Without your little gathering of half-women, you would be nothing. Nothing.’ 

‘If you are but an inkling of the man you claim, face me, here,’ He looked back at the others. ‘War is never fair, remember that. Feather him if he attempts anything.’


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

Taking another mouthful of the grass-hare stew Drogo savoured the taste for a moment before swallowing it. There was a strange taste, almost like metal, that lingered on the back of his tongue for a moment. The Stormseer was doing something to the food Drogo was sure of it, he handled the meals first and he had taken the meat from the prong-bucks away, Drogo was not sure why but it was the men around him and himself that made him suspicious. Their bodies had changed, were still changing. Any child of the steppes was strong and lean from a life of riding, fighting and hard-work, but they were all more so than even some of the strongest Khans out there. Something was happening to them, Drogo had his ideas but until he knew more making a guess or asking would be foolish.

His thoughts were interrupted as a youth from one of the other fires, Amar, launched into a tirade of threats against the youth Ganzorig. Most were meaningless but the remark about his mount stoked Drogo's fire, to make such a remark was enough for a fight to break out anywhere on Chogoris. In the Dothkal tribe, Drogo's tribe now deceased, such a remark would have earned you death. Subtly Drogo turned his gaze to Ganzorig to see how he would react, no man could call himself a man and not pay Amar back word for word. Drogo was not a man of much words, but even he had to respond to this blatant insult with the response it deserved. It was the talk of stealing horses that made Drogo let a gentle hiss escape from his mouth, this youth-bastard Amar had gone too far.

As Ganzorig spoke a small ghost of a grin broke out on Drogo's face, so the youth was a man after all. And one clearly worth standing with against this impetuous bastard. Drogo rose up to his full height of six heads, imposing with lean muscle. He stood taller than Ganzorig and most of the youths here, even the largest ones were only equal to him in his height. Folding his arms and fixing Amar with a eye-locking star, the challenge in his eyes evident, Drogo spoke for the first time since he had joined the group.

_"In my tribe such a remark earns you death."_ Drogo's voice was deep and baritone, almost like the rumbling the earth. He kept his gaze locked with Amar even as the bastard turned and went for the youth Dulai's horse. Drogo tensed himself and prepared to act, to steal another man's mount was the most heinous of crimes, a man who would commit this crime deserved only death, and if for some unthinkable reason Dulai did not react, Drogo would.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Yesugei had to restrain himself from licking the bottom of his bowl. The stew was delicious, filling, and fragrant. He was unsure as to what the Stormseers put into their seasoning, but he loved it, despite the strange metallic taste that it left. His ever hungry stomach rumbled once more as his nose caught the scent of the strips of prong-buck meat that was smoking over a low fire near Ris'hi's tent. He longed for more food, but other things occupied his mind. He felt strange. Over the past moon, the youths participating in the trials had grown harder in muscle and form. He felt stronger, swifter, but there was a resounding ache in his bones. It was as if some great force was stretching and pulling him. He was used to the soreness of a hard days labor, but this was something different. Something deeper. 

His attentions were brought back to the fires as a yelp of pain resounded from the fire where Amar and his cronies sat. It appeared that the stone Ganzorig cast found flesh, though not the mark that the youth had intended. The offended young man seated next to Amar lurched to his feet, anger in his eyes, but he was restrained by the murderer, held in his place as Amar rose slowly to his feet. Dark eyes full of malice, threatening violence with every darting movement. As Amar rose his group of slack jawed hangers-on rose with him, they passed looks and smiles between them as calloused hands hovered over knife hilts. "So the bully has come to play," Yesugei thought, "though he lacks the stones to persecute his trade alone." 

As Amar spoke, insults rolling from his lips as lies do from a serpents tongue, Yesugei watched the group of hunters he sat with. He watched as those around him sprung to their feet, raging against the empty words. He stiffled a chuckle at Ganzorig's retort, the words causing Amar's face to pull back into a rictus snarl of rage. Amar continued to speak of Dulai and Subutai, the later jumped to his feet, sharp retort upon his tongue. Others of his group went for bows, decrying that they should loose shafts upon the other group. Yesugei felt none of these things. 

"It is Dulai's, Subutai's, and Ganzorig's honor that has been impuned," he said, "Let them challenge the cur to right the slights against them." 

He looked around to his companions, "Though should any of the murderers cronies attempt to interfere, proving that they themselves have no honor, it is well within our rights to disuade them." He stood, his girth and size outlined in the fires light. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, Yesugei readied himself for the confrontation that seemed inevitable.


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Tanai*

The odd metallic taste was still hanging at the back of his mouth, a result of the strong, heavy spices the Stormseers had been adding liberally to their food over the last few days. He had just finished the last of the stew, and paused to lick the bowl clean. He'd always been scrawny, but even his stubbornly frail form was beginning to fill out from the intense activity and nourishing food. He suspected that whatever was in those spices had something to do with it though. but not only that, a deep, aching fatigue had penetrated his body, moving on fro his muscles almost into his bones, the non-stop work was taking it's toll and although he was bulking out, he could feel a deep seated, dull ache near-constantly.

The tone around the fires was hotting up as Ganzorig's stone found a target. Amar began to cast insults and the air around their groups fires was tense as the murderer picked out certain members. 'A sorry bunch of whores and curs aren't they? The mark of a slave, a mare-rider, and one even sings like a woman! Such a pretty voice...' Tanai felt his jaw tighten a little and reached out to pull his knife closer. But he kept his head down, he wasn't going to provoke a psycho like Amar. But he couldn't leave his group to face him and his cronies alone.

He tried to distract himself, looking up at the Stormseers by their fire. One had stood and was watching the confrontation, his massive form outlined by the fire, the rest of him in shadow. He cocked his head as one of those still sitting said something, then stood and joined him, they obviously intended to allow the confrontation to reach it's natural conclusion...


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Khasar's tune stopped as heated voices were raised in anger. Opening one eye he gazed over at the other fires. At the closest a group of young riders had stood, looking ready to spill blood. The target of their ire was Amar, who even now was swaggering off into the dark in the direction of both the horses and the latrines. Would this reputed killer truly be so bold Khasar pondered, or was it simple bravado, knowing that his actions would rile the others. 

Yesugei then broke the silence of their camp fire, cautioning restraint. "It is Dulai's, Subutai's, and Ganzorig's honor that has been impuned," he said, "Let them challenge the cur to right the slights against them."

Looking around the fire he continued, "Though should any of the murderers cronies attempt to interfere, proving that they themselves have no honor, it is well within our rights to disuade them." 

"Yesugei speaks words of wisdom" said Khasar, nodding in agreement to the stocky youth's words. "Only a fool looks for danger. If one leaps before they look they are liable to land in a grass lions den's."

Despite such words the tall youth was tense, ready to act if the situation demanded it. Uneasy, he looked about nervously for the Rider's huge presences, the situation was fast spiralling out of control.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

A stone flashed across his vision and once again his eyes traced it back to its source, the one that had felled the deer sat hand aloft even as the stone clipped a boy next to the one with the murderous eyes. A whimper of pain was crushed by the murderers low snarl forcing the other to the ground even as he found his own feet, uncoiling like a viper fangs bared.

His words slapped at Dulai, eyes filled with malace as he spoke of his mount, cried shame and vulgarity and though his back stiffened the young boys eyes never left his face, cold and considering, even as war raged within him.

Anger bit deep yet he controlled it, forced it away and held himself within the void, a tinge of shame dulled by knowledge, he was not ashamed to sit astride Kelun, she was put an extension of his feet, with him for so long.

Around him others sprung to their feet, weapons appearing in hands, cowards drawing bows, such eagerness a blood thirsty desire rippling through the group, even as the murderer wandered towards Kelun. Would he dishonour himself, no warrior of the Stepes would do something so unthinkable as to touch anothers mount, did this warrior have no honour.

Did any of them, those that spoke of bows, that goaded with a hand ready to pull shaft from their quivers, was this truly the best that the Steppes could offer, cowards and murderers?

A low voice came from beside him, eyes not unkind, the purest statement of the facts

"Are you going to attack him? If you are then I'll fight with you. But fefore you decide, remember that in a fight you're going to get injured. In my clan we have rules of life, First Rule: never risk what you can't afford to lose."


He met the boys gaze for a moment and smiled,

"Your support is welcome friend, but what use is a healthy body if the soul it holds is without honor."

He stood unfurling slowly he pushed to the front of the group, a snarl at the young one that had an arrow knocked his hand placed briefly on the arrows shaft

"Place you arrow back in its quiver, weapons are not needed here. Would you place a shaft in the back of an unarmed man? Perhaps Amar is right, perhaps their are no warriors here, only cowards."

He rounded upon the boy that walked away striding from the group to stand between the two fires

"Luckily for Amar, he will fit in well with those with livers as white as milk. In my tribe there is a saying"

he paused eyes boring into the boys back with hard intensity his stance open his mind ready

"A warrior fights because he must, a fool fights because he can. Yet as of yet we do not have a name for a man that fights to cover for his own failures. Aye i ride a mare, yet who leads the herd, not the stallion, nay he follows where the mare leads,"

He turned eyes warming as he took in the white mare teathered head raised as the sound of his voice,

"i see no shame in being mounted atop a leader."

his mouth twitched in a smile

"Perhaps it is good you ride upon such a fine stallion, perhaps what swings between your horses legs helps to cover up the obvious deficiency between your own"


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## CommissarHorn (Apr 14, 2008)

That day was a good day, thought Gadil-Nuur. 
Riding through the steppe with his companions, hunting like a pack, becoming closer to his fellow warriors and relishing every bit of prevailing unity, Gadil was in high spirits. It was a good spot of luck that Cheng had spooked the Buck, and an even greater one that Ganzorig had felled the beast with his arrow. And after much preparation, it was finally time to eat. The camp fires were buzzing with whispered curiosity, admiration and fear of the white beast one of the Seers had ridden into camp, if 
that even was a Seer as he seemed different from the others Gadil had seen before. So, having congratulated both members of his camp, Gadil had set about slowly eating his soup, a technique the Elders had taught him that would trick his body and make him feel fuller from the meagre meals he was expecting to consume. 

Lying atop the grassy ground, warming his feet by the fire, Gadil stared up at the stars, comfortable, content and curious.
‘Hmm’ Thought Gadil, ‘Today has truly been a goo…’

Before he could finish his thought, something small seared through the air, landing into the fire and lifting his head, Gadil-Nuur could see that everyone was staring at another one of the warriors he did not recognise; A violent looking one, highlighted by a jagged scar crossing his eye and cheek, a proud scar. Sitting up on the ground cross-legged, Gadil ruffled his long hair and watched a serious confrontation unfold before him.

The sneering youth, along with his friends were making fun of those at Gadil’s camp. ‘Why?’ Gadil thought aloud to himself. ‘Because they’ve hurt each other’s pride? Haha, I guess that makes sense.’

Standing up, Gadil rolled up his long sleeves and stepping beside the alert-looking Cheng, flicked his head from side to side, watching those around him prepare for what appeared to be a battle. 'I for one wouldn`t be sad to see him gone.'

“You wouldn’t be sad to see him gone?” Smiling, Gadil clasped his hand on Cheng’s shoulder. “Why, who is he? He’s wronged you before brother?… besides the current taunting ofcourse.”

The pain in his bowels re-igniting, Gadil remembered why he had stood up and moving past Cheng, he made his way to the latrines. All the while, curiously watching Ganzorig and the mean looking instigator of the commotion. 

Gadil knew what was going on and was worried the camp could flare up into a bloody battle, possibly… no, most probably taking several lives in the combat. Still in high spirits from the hunt, the casual warrior appeared cheerful… but he really didn’t know who the Pebble Tosser was, and… still really needed to visit the latrines.

“Ah” The sloven youth briefly stole a glance of the watching Seers, “It has been… going to be, an interesting night.”


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## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

Bidziil looked around, still no one was joining him in his plan of action. This was just before Dulai told him to put his arrow away.

_"Would you place a shaft in the back of an unarmed man?"_ Dulai had asked him, before calling him a coward.

Bidziil turned away from Amar, staring at the side of Dulai's face across the fire while the other boy made his verbal defense against the aggressor. He unstrung his bow after slipping the arrow back into its quiver. He did all of this without looking at his hands, still looking at Dulai. 

Amar was far from his thoughts, now. When Dulai was finished Bidziil spoke again, "Hmph! If that unarmed man was my target, of course I would place a shaft in his back! Whats the defintiion of a warrior then hmm? I'm sure you think it has something to do with _honour_ or some other kind of foolishness. Honour is stupid."

He sat back down in a flash, arms crossed over his knees and whispering to himself, "Bickering bastards. Think they're all wise sages and warrior leader-heros all in one. My way would have ended the silly dispute immediately, without question, but nooo they all want to do it the hard way. We're all going to die."


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

*Unbroken- update #2*

All- Tension rises between the two sets of fire-circles as members of your hunt-group spring to their feet and lash back at the biting words of Amar with threats and mockery of their own, drawing low hisses of scorn and the flexing of hands over blade hilts from the young warriors of Amar's hunt group. Though the moment that Bidziil stands and draws an arrow on Amar's back the mood changes from one of implied threat to that of the sudden silence that precedes enraged bloodlust. It is that, more than any of your insults, that causes Amar to halt his stride before rounding back towards the fires with a look of hate so brutal and cold it would cow a charging sabre-lyon. A look that Bidziil himself misses as he turns towards Dulai and begins to unlimber his bow.

*Everything seems to happen at once*- the youths seated around Amar's fire-circles surge to their feet as a group, the snick of blades being drawn punctuating their movements as the group nearest your fires lunge forward with high-pitched cries of murder-lust. Out of the six young warriors still around that fire: Bidziil, Chang-Jian, Dalar, Cheng, Daaruk, and Dulai- only Cheng and Dulai are on their feet when the chaos erupts and have a chance to draw their blades fully before the other group is upon them; Bidziil having been caught returning to his seat and focused on Dulai, Gadil-Nuur having just gotten up and walked away from the fireside, and the others never having left theirs to start with.

[Cheng and Dulai- you get to meet the attack head-on and with blades ready. You each face off against a single opponent- Cheng against a lanky, cagey youth named Nergui and Dulai against a grinning, wild-eyed warrior named Vinh. Nergui is temperate young and ordinarily soft-spoken, what could have transpired to force him into a group with Amar's lackeys? Perhaps the purpling evidence of bruises on his face and the freshly scabbed busted lip might have something to do with it as he comes at Cheng with a wary stance, blade held forward. Vinh, on the other hand, is known for his vicious hand-to-hand skill with a blade and advances on Dulai aggressively; flashing blade held in reverse and a sneer marking his sun-darkened features.]

Dalar is taken by surprise by the sudden attack, having seemingly dozed off in the warmth of the fire, and is knocked sprawling by a solid kick to the ribs. Chang-Jian, on the other hand, is fully aware of the events unfolding around him and manages to dive away from the youth that had picked him as an easy target- lashing out with a sweep of his boot and catching his attacker in the ankle.

[Dalar, it might be good to get up and figure out who it was that kicked you like that. When you manage to roll back to your feet you will be facing off against a hard looking young warrior with twin scars cut across his cheeks. His name is Mitul and he has sheathed his blade to come at you bare-fisted. Since you dozed off you have no idea why he attacked you or what is going on, might be good to figure that out and fast. Chang-Jian's attacker, on the other hand, finds himself dumped headlong into the gleaming coals of the fire and his screams take on a decidedly different note as he staggers back to his feet and charges. His name is Anil and he is exceptionally enraged... and slightly charred.]

Bidziil, as you drop back onto the ground muttering to yourself the sharp cries of attack don't come as a blatant shock to your ears; however the knife that whizzes past over your head where you were standing not a heartbeat before does cause you to pause, as does the sudden weight that slumps against your back. Shrugging off the weight and surging to your feet, you glance behind you to see Daaruk laying slack-jawed on the ground- the firelight gleaming off the polished horn grip of the knife lodged to the hilt in his left eye socket.

[Bidziil- That blade was meant for you, but the winds of Fate seemed to have spared your life in exchange for Daaruk's. How does that concept sit with you? You won't get long to think about it, however, as the young warrior that threw the knife barrels into you with the force of a stampeding plains-yak; sending you both to the ground in a hard grapple. You know him as Mahavir and he is unarmed, having thrown his blade already, but he is a burly warrior who has at least three years and a good two stones of mass on you. You have your own knife half drawn, but Mahavir is reaching for it as well- might be a good idea not to let him get his hands on it.]

Gadil-Nuur, as you cast a glance towards where the Riders stand outlined by their fire you note the smaller of the two, the Rider that arrived just at sundown, start to walk unhurriedly down the hill towards the main camp. However, the commotion behind you serves to bring your attention back around and thankfully so, for the flash of the blade that would have bitten deep into your back now only grazes a relatively shallow line across your arm as you bat it away on instinct. Amar spins with the strike, opening space between you for a brief moment before pressing in again with a series of slashing attacks.

[Seeing as you walked away from the fireside and in the same general direction that Amar was headed, placed you perfectly in position as his first target. Lucky you. He faces you now with dagger drawn in reverse grip- when it catches the light you can see the blade is blood-red obsidian knapped to a wickedly serrated edge... an edge that is far sharper than any iron-bladed dagger could ever be as the blood dripping down your forearm attests to. Amar is a highly skilled killer and Gadil-Nuur is going to be hard pressed to merely keep the killing edge of Amar's blade from tasting more of his blood.]


Those of the group seated at the fire-circle closest to the Riders have a moment longer to shake off the surprise of the attack before the second set of Amar's warriors charges by those already engaged at the other fire and bars your path to lend your hunt-brothers aid. Drogo, Yesugei, Ganzorig, and Subutai are already on their feet and ready for a brawl, but Khasar and Tanai are still seated and looking back towards the Riders when the attack comes. Khasar and Tanai get to see the new Rider start towards the main camp; however, he does not seem to be in any rush to break up the fight that is unfolding.

[Khasar and Tanai, do you get up and enter the fray... or wait to see what happens when that unknown Rider gets down to the camp? He is about thirty meters away as you make your choice.]

Drogo, Yesugei, Ganzorig, and Subutai start forward only to find their way blocked by six youths, four with their blades drawn and two who have left their daggers sheathed for now and seem content with using their fists. It is difficult to see past them and pick out the details going on in the brawl at the other fire-circle, however you can see Gadil-Nuur facing Amar off to the side, and the warriors you face seem content to force you to have to come at them instead of the other way around. 

[The six warriors you face are- Tomor, Karan, Ivot, and Fehi with blades drawn; Dihj and Mukul are the blood-brothers that are built like a pair of sabre-lyons and prefer to fight bare fisted. For the moment you are outnumbered, that is provided Khasar and Tanai don't get up off their arses and come help you. The warriors in front of you are more or less your equals one on one and you will note that I have not paired off a target for each of you- that choice is up to you. Although, I will note that anyone attacking either Dihj or Mukal will be facing both as they fight as a pair and if any try to break off and go after Amar you will be attacked and forced to face one or more of the warriors blocking you.]

{ALL- You will *not *get past the warrior(s) your character is facing in a single update and the choices you make _are _going to have their consequences... for good or ill- so think upon them carefully. Do not speak for the npc's you face, but I am allowing some minor control in their actions/reactions regarding your own actions- remember that their skills are on par with your own character's in this regard. If your character wouldn't fall for an obvious feint- neither will the npc's you face. If you have a question on anything PM me first before you post- I am far more likely to work out permission for the interaction (or a modified version of it) than to grant forgiveness.}


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## CattleBruiser (Sep 3, 2011)

Chang-Jian starts to spin around to face his attacker again almost before he hits the dirt. He opens both of his eyes now, glad that he could see people other than those right in front of the fires. Before getting up he grabs a handful of loose dirt in his right hand. 

Chang-Jian stays in a crouch as his burnt attacker charges, and when the attacker is right in front of him Chang-Jian hurls the dirt into his attackers face, finishing the toss with his right hand outstretched and his left hand chambered. Without waiting to make sure that the dirt did anything, or even got his opponent's eyes Chang-Jian springs up and, pivoting his body, upper cuts his attacker. A face full of dirt, a body full of burning wood and charcoal, and a jaw that's been upper cut with all the force of Chang-Jian's pivoting body and spring upwards left the attacker momentarily stunned. Chang-Jian takes this opportunity to knee his opponent in the balls as hard as he can.

Chang-Jian skips away and draws his knife instead of continuing to press the attack. To his credit, his opponent managed to stay standing after being hit fully in the balls. If he continued to attack his opponent might have gotten a lucky shot at him. This way his attacker was hurt and Chang-Jian got a knife in his hand, instead of just having his attacker hurt. First Rule: When you get ahead, get more ahead.


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

*Cheng*

Cheng had started to worry that the series of threats would amount to nothing, but the moment Bidzill stood and drew a bead on Amar with his bow, that all changed. Amar stopped where he was and glared back at him, turning to face the group with a look of hate Cheng had rarely seen in a man, let alone a boy. At some unseen signal, Amar`s group surged to their feet and charged. Cheng was barely able to finish drawig his blade before he was attacked by a youth of lanky build and cautious expression. Cheng blocked his initial strikes easily enough, but his opponent easily managed to block or dodge the hasty strikes Cheng sent back in return. 

Breaking in the fight for a moment, Cheng had a moment to wrack his memory and bring the youth`s name to the fore of his mind. 

'Nergui isn`t is?' He asked with a grin, feinting with his blade to try and throw Nergui off guard but the boy held his stance and gaze, not fooled for a moment. 'You`re pretty good, but obviously you`re not the best with a set of bruises like that.' 

Cheng half grinned half smirked as he eyed the bruising Nergui sported around his face and the scabbed over cut on his lip. The boy struck again with a quick combo which Cheng was able to keep up with easily enough. Nergui seemed mediocre on the attack, at least by Cheng`s standards, but his defense was impressive as he managed to parry or duck almost every strike Cheng tried to send back at him. At the same time however, he seemed... not afraid, but he had an air of submission. 

'What are you trying to prove?' Cheng asked suddenly. 'That you can fight? If you ask me, you`d be better off proving that to him rather than to me.'


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## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

Bidziil looked down at what had been a rather fair face, not that he would have ever spoken such a thing out loud. Either way, it had been obliterated in an instant....not to mention the boy's life; Daaruk, who had been sipping down stew beside him moments ago. The darkest thought crossed Bidziil's mind as he was putting together what was coming next, and the fact that the knife lodeged in Daaruk's eye socket was meant for him. Bidziil had thought, that the most unfortunate circumstance about daaruk's death _was_ that stew. That could have been more for himself.

He turned only to be met by a boy from Amar's group, who trampled into him. The back of his fluffy haired head slammed into the dirt ground, sending a cloud of the stuff into the fire now beside his face. He could feel his left leg still slumped over the log he had been sitting on.

He very much wanted to make a comment to his attacker, something about how bidziil's own group was just as dimwitted. Mahavir and his frieds for being beaten into submission by Amar, and Bidziil's comrades for not listening to him when he aimed his arrow. However, he was not blind to the fact that this was no time to speak. A boy much larger than him was on top of him, had the advantage, and by the looks of the corpse next to him the intent was to kill. 

He should have just shot Amar while had the chance, then maybe his followers would once again think for themselves and not care to back up their wretched leader's pride. 

Finally his fingers curled aroudn the hilt fo his knife, but after merely an inch or so of being drawn he felt another set of fingers do the same. He managed a glance down and saw Mahavir trying to take the iron blade from him. Bidziil started to feel a strong sense of panic approaching. Somehow, he had ended up in one of the few situations where brute strength and thick headedness came in hand. Despite thirteen years of being taught to avoid situations like this, here was in dirt, face next to a fire about to be stabbed in the gut. Where was the strategy here? His mind raced. What strategy could get him out of this now?

Once he tracked his brain to the path it was familair with, plans started coming together. The knife was currenlty useless, simply a stalemate. Other means fo attacking were needed. In just a few tiring seconds he chose a cours eof action. He looked into Mahavir's eyes and spit as much saliva as he could muster into his opponent's, his mouth thankfully still wet from eating. At the same time he used his free hand which was the closer one to the fire and reached into the fire. He would grab the first object his hand came into contact with, be it a stone or stick or something else that was used to build the fire. It would hurt, burn his own hand for sure, but whatever it was he would swing into the side of Mahavir's face, still trying to hold onto his blade with his other hand.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

It didn’t happen to fast, nor end so abruptly that Ganzorig was unable to follow. No, the very sight of what that idiot Bidziil had thought to do, it was of such dishonour that it wouldn’t be a surprise if someone took his life. But then another spoke before Amar, or anyone else with some sense about them, and Bidziil turned away while unlimbering his bow. So intent was he upon Bidziil and those around him that he missed the surge from Amar’s group. He did see something fly through the air and glint in the firelight, just barely missing Bidziil when he dropped back to the ground and find purchase in the face of another, Daaruk if he remembered right, and who fell atop Bidziil like a useless sack.

Then he realized there was movement, and a lot of it. Taking his eyes off the fallen Daaruk with Bidziil beneath, Ganzorig finally saw what was going on. The others gathered at Amar’s fire had gone from on their feet and waiting like carrion-birds to lunging out like the feline’s who stalked preyed amongst the plains. His eyes darted then from those near the fire to Amar himself, and Ganzorig’s eyes went wide. The boaster, perhaps even killer of plainsmen, was stabbing for that lazy good for nothing Gadil-Nuur. He had just enough time to see the younger rider barely miss a slice for his neck before a wall of flesh barred Ganzorig’s sight.

Before him and the others from the fire who had recognized the threat of Amar were the rest of the bastard’s cronies. Already Tomor, Karan, Ivot and Fehi had knives drawn while an even greater threat, the twins Dihj and Mukul stood ready to fight bare handed. A quick glance to his sides let Ganzorig know that the killer Subutai, the big talker Drogo, and Yesugei who it felt right to trust, were themselves on their feet and ready to act as they must. He felt no love for the likes of Cheng and his rash actions, or Bidziil and his lack of honour, or Gadil-Nuur and his lack of drive for glory or much of anything, but Ganzorig would be damned if Amar and his ilk outnumbered him.

Tearing the rough iron dagger from the animal hide sheath at his side, Ganzorig turned his sights on the pair of Dihj and Mukul. Each one was a hulking mass of bone and muscle compared to Ganzorig, but he had not come this far by letting everything bigger than him be the ruler of his life. _“So which of you is gonna be the tougher fight I wonder?”_ Ganzorig wondered aloud, thinking long and hard over this himself. Dihj was the real talker of the two, maybe even the smarter as well, while Mukul generally kept his words to himself; in a fight though it was anyone’s guess who was the better though there was little chance anyone else here was better than them as a brawler, especially when they fought together as they tried to do so often.

With no clear choice either way, Ganzorig charged at Mukul, his dagger held low and in a reverse grip. He tried to kick a clump of dirt towards Dihj, maybe even get him in the face if he was lucky. Before he could close much of the gap, Mukul was moving to counter him and Ganzorig had to dive away from a blow or take a fist to the face. He rolled in the ground, lashing out with the dagger in the hope of making contact with flesh. _“Always liked you better anyway Mukul, best end it that way if it has to.”_ Ganzorig muttered, trying to get back on his feet and put some distance between himself and Mukul, hoping many hopes that the dirt had hit Dihj and the brute wasn’t about to blind side him or worse.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Dulai spoke words that cut deep indeed and he saw Amar tense at the sudden insult. Yesugei could feel the tension in the air. A palpable feeling of electricity that sparked between the two groups. Where Bizdil, the youth who had so inadvisably drawn his bow, rankled at Dulai's chastisement, Amar's face was full of hatred and rage. The silence was deafening as the two groups just stared at one another, barely restrained violence clear on each of their faces. Time seemed to slow for Yesugei as Amar returned to the fires, the feeling of some sort of release surging through the warriors of Amar's huntgroup, and with howls of rage and blood-lust they surged, as if one being, across the open area, blades clutched in clenching fists. A whistle of movement and a flash of light reflected from the fire and Yesugei watched as Daaruk, one of his own group, fell dead. Wordlessly sliding to the ground with a dagger in his eye. Yesugei instinctively moved in his direction, but movement out of the corner of his eye stayed his pace only just too soon. 

He felt the wind of the strike fly past his nose. He could smell the oiled steel and musky scent of the youth who wielded it and jumping back he drew his own flint dagger from its sheathe. Another flash of movement came streaking at him, this time he was set, his stocky frame held rigid in a wide fighting stance, and he brought his dagger arm up to block. his forearm smashing into his opponents, batting the strike away long enough for him to plant a meaty fist into the nose of the youth that assailed him. A cry of pain and surprise met his ears and for the first time since the skrimish began he was able to see who it was he fought. 

Tomor, one of Amar's lackeys, stumbled back, blood running freely from his nose, but he quickly righted himself and brought his weapon up in a reverse grip. The two began to circle one another, trying to get a measure of the other. Yesugei noticed that where Tomor had several inches of height on him, he was lean and lank, giving Yesugei the weight advantage. If he could just get inside the other youths reach, he would have the advantage. Sending a flashing strike at Tomor's face, Yesugei watched as Tomor moved to avoid it, and he tried to get in close, but Tomor was faster than he had imagined. His ambition was rewarded with shallow cut along the outside of his forearm as Tomor lashed out in defense. Sucking in a breath and gritting his teeth against the stinging pain, Yesugei once more began to circle his opponent, watching for any openeing in his defenses.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Dalar woke from his half sleep when a brutal kick caught him in the ribs. He rolled to his feet and surveyed the situation. While he had been gazing into the hypnotic dance of the fire all hell had broken loose, starting with Bidzill's drawn bow. Dalar inwardly groaned. The fool evidently had no experience when dealing with people like these who viewed anything more than silence as an insult and a provocation to fight. Still, he would probably have done something similar in the end. But enough of that.

He turned his attention to the man who had kicked him, Mitul who now charged at him with fists raised, intending to beat him to death. Dalar had no such qualms about the use of his blade and drew it. He circled Mitul, not looking at anything his body was doing but staring into his eyes, waiting for the indication that he was going to attack. Mitul swiveled his head and turned around in a circle, keeping his gaze fixed on Dalar's prowling form. They both leapt forward and Dalar ducked a punch, lunging with his dagger for Mitul's ribs. The youth dodged his lunge and grabbed the dagger, ripping it out of Dalar's hand. He roared with hate and Dalar smiled faintly.

"I know why you're doing this," he said with a grin "it must be hard, being so ugly." He ducked another swing and tried for a strike but Mitul blocked it. Dalar stepped back and continued speaking "children crying, women screaming." Mitul roared in impotent rage as Dalar danced around him. They were of similar builds but while Mitul possessed massive strength Dalar had spent more time honing his speed than strengthening his muscles and so he danced around the slower youth, all the while keeping up the stream of insults, hoping Mitul would make a fatal mistake allowing him to finish the fight...


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The tension he had tried to diffuse, the dishonour that stained their souls even as the conflict was held on the precipice of testosterone, teetering, the weapon drawn sending it toppling into wild eyed blood lust, blades sliding from sheeths as the group pushed forward with snarls and howls of anger.

He sprang aside, his own blade rising even as others pushed forwards and he heard a cry as a blade flashed across his vision lodging in the eye socket of one so close to Bizdil. The body slumped, face suddenly turning towards him and he let out a low growl onf anger as he recognized the fallen boy. Innocent, struck down by chance and he let out a low snarl towards Bizdil, though the words were lost amongst the howls and scrapes of metal upon leather

"His bloods stains your hands, bear the shame" 

Around him the squared off, chargers meeting half prepared defenders, eyes locking with eyes as man after man met his target, knew his adversary. 

Wild eyes locked with his own calm features, aggression tearing tanned skin into a leering sneer of condescension, the blade swining across, a slashing reverse grip and Dulai slid away, slipping seemlessly into a defensive stance, blade rising as he recognised the perverse grip, the whiplash quality of the deadly slash.

Calm eyes narrowed as he recognised the reputation, a deadly bladesman, banished the fear that lodged in his gut and embraced that once again he fought for his life, that mortality lay poised on the edge of that swinging blade.

He was facing an agressive man known to be deadly with a blade, best solution remove the blade. He opened up his body, his own blade twisted in his right hand his left ready fingers flexing. The boy was agressive, would attack his open side, knock the blade aside with the knife, lock the blades if possible, attack the knee with the right foot, grab the wrist with the left, aim for the pressure point on his wrist, press hard, the fist opens and knock the blade away with the left foot.

He set his feet even as the wild eyed boy stepped closer, the sneer widening


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Tanai*

Tanai sat, wracked with indecision as the two sides squared up to one another. Half drawing his knife, he waited to see what would happen, then, as it erupted into chaos he glanced around to see the Rider's reaction to this. One of them had started towards the camp, but not in any rush, he seemed content to watch the scene unfold as he strolled comfortably down the slope.

Tanai, looked back to the melee, the boys of his group were outnumbered for now, but if he and Khasar joined them they could balance the combat again. Biting his lip, Tanai looked back to the approaching rider, then with a snarl of frustration stood up, pulling his knife free, "come on", he said to the still sitting Khasar but without waiting for the boy's response he turned and plunged into the fray.

Almost immediately he tripped and stumbled, crashing into one of the boys, fortunately a young warrior from the other group. They grappled on the ground, a punch thundered into Tanai's face and his head spun falling back a little from his fallen opponent. The boy began to stand but Tanai swung a kick into his gut, bouncing off hard muscle but winding him and slamming him squarely onto his backside. Tanai rolled back, scrabbling in the dirt for his dropped knife. He couldn't find it! No! Then an overwhelming feeling of relief swept over him as he felt his fingers close around the cool, familiar hilt.

he scrambled to his feet almost at the same time as the other boy. In the struggle in the mud and with the flickering firelight Tanai had been unable to make out who he'd stumbled into. But the grinning youth he stood opposite was head and shoulders taller than him and bulky with muscle. Tanai cursed his luck and gracelessness, winning the fight was no longer on his mind, it was merely the not dying that worried him.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

‘Hm,’ The Chogorisian, tall and sinewy, muttered as he twisted his blade in one, long-fingered hand. Subutai was stalked forwards instantaneously, a cruel smirk parting his thin, saturnine features. ‘Come.’

The sand-dweller, Karan, squared off against him. He was shirtless, his torso glittering artistically in the firelight, orange-yellow dancing off an intricate, sea-blue tattoo that twisted over his shoulder and onto his chest. His hair was ostentatious, bound into host of small, serpentine braids; the sides of his head completely bare. His eyes were a dull, mud-brown, reflecting the light. 

His lips were peeled back in a dull, languid smile. In his left hand, a dagger shone bright, a flicker of movement as Karan displayed his dexterity. Subutai grunted his acknowledgement, tapping his palm in a mocking applause, tipping his head slightly. 

Subutai knew little of Karan and cared less. He was one of Amar’s whore-men; no better than a slave-boy. And yet, Subutai circled wearily, eyes fixated on Karan’s movements. They were surefooted, though they mirrored Subutai’s reluctance; unwilling to commit to the act of combat first, wishing for Subutai to fall into his ploy, and onto his blade. 

‘No.’ Subutai grumbled, lashing out with his knife. Karan slipped back, effortlessly, torso twisting nimbly away from the other boy’s strike. ‘You’re fast,’ He chuckled, launching another strike, a baleful backhand which would split Karan’s face atwain. It glided past, eliciting a grunt of annoyance from Subutai. ‘But I’m faster.’

With his left foot, Subutai kicked into the ground, sending up a gust of dirt and sand particles. Now was his opportunity. 

He darted forwards, chuckling all the while.


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

(ooc- All I can say is that I'm sorry for the delay on this update, I posted it late last week only to just find out that it didn't go through. :blush: That was my fault and I apologize deeply for not following up to check.)

All- The adrenaline rush of combat takes hold of each of you, narrowing down your thoughts and actions into the deadly dance of survival. Your focus becomes the pounding of your own heartbeat within your ears with each breath that fills your lungs and the slightest shift of your opponent's stance that would betray his next actions. There is no time for circling or testing; only your choices of actions and reactions could see you through the next moments without your lifeblood staining the edge of another's blade.

Bidziil, you struggle on the ground against Mahavir's superior strength, the older warrior's hand slowly pulling your own blade out of its sheath despite your efforts to stop him. The look in his eyes is one of murder, that is until you gain just enough wind to spit squarely into them forcing him to flinch away with a snarled oath of rage and releasing his grip on your off-hand arm though his grip on your knife remains like iron. For a brief moment you are able to fling your newly freed arm back towards the fire, groping around frantically your fingers close around something smooth, weighted, and scalding hot from where it was partially knocked into the fire's edge as Mahavir curses your bloodline and makes to pry your other hand away from the stopping him drawing your blade.

[And your improvised weapon of choice is... your soup bowl. It is a heavily glazed ceramic and weights about a pound and a half; however it is also exceedingly hot from being tipped partially into the fire's edge so keeping a grip on it for an extended period of time is going to be fairly painful.]

Dalar, you sway back from a brutal strike with another taunt ready to leave your lips but without warning Mitul drops his shoulder and charges, catching you on your heels and unable to twist aside. You hit the ground hard, and the upper-hand you thought you had now becomes a desperate rolling tussle. There is a berserk rage in the warrior's eyes as he snaps his head forward to send stars dancing before your eyes and blood pouring from your nose, only just managing to get your hands around Mitul's wrist as he tries to plant your own blade into your open chest.

[Perhaps Mitul is not as slow as Dalar might have thought or wish him to be... or perhaps the taunting worked in a way other than intended- either way, I would suggest that Dalar think fast to avoid being gutted with his own blade by a near-frothing mad warrior.]

Cheng, the muscles along Nergui bruised jaw flex as he flinches at your first words and his eyes narrow as a dark look passes through their depths before he attacks again with heightened aggression. You see the blow coming before Nergui steps into your guard and move to grab his wrist while his free hand locks around your forearm. For a moment you are face to face, both fighting to gain the upper-hand in the grapple. 'Perhaps you would fare better when your so-called brothers who are supposed to be watching your back on a hunt instead waylay you from behind and beat you while the others look on just for their own amusement!' His words are a harsh whisper between clenched teeth as he releases your arm and shoves himself back from your reach.

[As Nergui steps back he stumbles slightly over one of the many over-turned bowls that are scattered about the fire, opening his upper chest and neck to your blade. Will you take this opportunity to strike or perhaps try to subdue Nergui as it is clear he is only attacking with his own circumstances in mind.]

Yesugei, you throw a series of punching blows that force Tomar back on his heels, opening up his guard for that brief moment you were looking for. Dropping your shoulder you barrel into the surprised youth, lifting him clear off his feet and sending him to the ground nearly two meters away with you seated firmly on his torso- meaty fist locked in his hair and blade to his throat. His own blade was lost when you knocked him from his feet and lays glinting in the firelight out of immediate reach.

[Tomar's life is completely at your mercy. Choose wisely.]

Dulai, dropping your guard you open your flank to entice Vinh to attack, which he does so with the speed of a striking grass viper. At the last heartbeat, however, he seems to realize what you mean to do and attempts to twist wildly aside to keep his blade arm out of your reach. He is not quite fast enough though and your hand clamps down on his forearm right below his elbow. His own hand whips out to try and catch your own blade, but in the struggle he misjudges and earns a bloody gash across his palm from the biting edge before his hand locks around your wrist.

[You are now locked in a grapple; though you are able to keep Vinh's blade away from your flesh your grip on his arm is far from ideal and he is surprisingly strong for his lean frame. The grip he has on your wrist is being increasingly impeded by the fact that his own blood is making your arm fairly slick... a fact that you perhaps could use to your advantage.]

Chang-Jian, your blows find purchase with a satisfyingly solid crunch and you dance quickly back out of reach. Anil takes one wavering step after you before stumbling and sinking to his knees to vomit in pain. You have an unexpected moment to glance around and take in the other fights before movement beyond the edge of the firelight catches your eye. The Rider who arrived just before sunset is striding forward with a quality of fury hanging around him that would stop a charging sabre-lyon in its tracks. 

[It does not appear that Anil is in any shape to continue fighting as he is currently purging the last remnants of the stew from his stomach into the dirt. What are your actions- do you try to warn the warriors of your fire-circle or do you take this time to finish off Anil while he is unable to fight back?]

Tanai, your lack of balance seems to somehow work out in your favour as you go blundering into a surprised Ivot, knocking him in turn into Fehi and sending all of you to the ground in a thrashing pile of limbs and curses. You manage to free yourself and get to your feet once more, only to be faced with Ivot as he delivers a vicious kick and curse to the still prone Fehi before turning towards you with his teeth bared in anger. He will only get a single step your direction before Fehi rolls to his knees and sinks his dagger to the hilt in Ivot's thigh, bringing a howl of pain from the larger warrior before he pounces on the smaller Fehi. For a second your path is clear and you look up just in time to see Amar spit on the unmoving form of Gadil-Nuur before turning towards the fires.

[It seems that these two have somewhat of a personal grudge that has come to the fore at the moment, leaving you free to slip away if you wanted to- but where would you go? Do you challenge Amar as he leaves Gadil-Nuur unmoving behind him in the dirt, assault the two warriors who are trading blows before you while their attention is focused on each other, or do you go to the aid of another warrior of your fire-circle?]

Ganzorig, your charge stops short as it is met with a thundering punch to your jaw that seemed to come out of nowhere. The ground under your feet suddenly seems to tilt on an axis before rising up to add insult to injury with a solid impact with your arse. You try to shake off the blow as your head spins, only to feel rough hands grip the front of your tunic and haul you back to your feet as your vision starts to come back into focus. Mukul draws you in close for a moment, a thin line of blood running down his forearm where he must have batted aside your blade, 'Do not dishonour yourself. The Stormseers eyes are on us.' His words are a low growl as he shoves you away again and crosses his thick arms over his chest, his eyes dropping to the blade still held in your fist as Dihj moves to his side with a scathing look as he scrubs at the remaining dirt in his watering eyes. 'You aren't the only one to want a piece of Amar's hide, Gan, but it is not worth the risk of dishonouring yourself.' Dihj lowers his voice, 'Not while They are watching...'

[Not what you were expecting I would bet! Mukul and Diji seems to be awaiting your response and though they are not advancing on you, they also are not backing down from your path. Choose your words with care is all I can say.]

Subutai, you kick a spray of loose dirt and sand into the path of Karan only to watch as the son of the sand-sea simply shuts his eyes and parries away your blade with a quick twist of his wrist before delivering a stinging backhanded blow that sends you staggering backwards while he shakes his head and spits on the ground between you, 'I was borne in the middle of a storm of burning sand... you will have to do better than that, little grass-hare.' He pulls a second blade from the small of his back and advances smoothly with a stance you have never seen used before, blades held reversed with left low and away from the body and right at chest height close in.

[Sand doesn't seem to disturb your attacker in the slightest, though that stance of his is a bit worrisome he appears to think he has the upper hand in this fight and is looking to draw you out- might want to show him you are just as tough as you look! But be warned, he is quite fast and very nimble!]

All- In the chaos of the individual fighting both Drogo and Khasar seem lost and stunned into inaction, those who have a moment to glance around will see the new Rider advancing on the fire-circles: Now that he is closer, however, you can see that the trappings he bears are somewhat different than those of the Stormseers you have had contact with so far- overall his regalia is lighter and slimmer. Instead of thick plates on his legs he wears what could be pants made of some type of heavy cloth or leather. His movements are powerful but with an underlying grace, giving his steps the air of a predator that favours speed over brute strength. The new Rider is only a few meters outside of the firelight and his ground devouring stride is making short work of the remaining distance; to say he looks displeased is an understatement in the extreme.


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

*Cheng*

Cheng's words seemed to strike a chord with the boy, but whether he had hit a nerve or simply angered Nergui was difficult to tell. The answer remained elusive as Nergui renewed his attacks with increased ferocity, causing Cheng to wonder if some punishment awaited his rival if he should fail. They exchanged a few more swings of weapon and fist, Nergui's determination was not enough to overcome Cheng's skill with a blade and at length they broke again.

Now his rival's aggression seemed to heighten further and he readied a blow that would carry more power than his previous ones had. A brief moment of wonder crossed Cheng's mind as he pondered whether the boy had been holding back some private hurt. 

The thought preceded the predicted attack and Cheng stepped easily inside his guard and caught the swing by Nergui's wrist. His own counterattack was similarly blocked as the two came face to face. A look of surprise crossed Cheng's face at this unexpected show of ferocity.

*'Perhaps you would fare better when your so-called brothers who are supposed to be watching your back on a hunt instead waylay you from behind and beat you while the others look on just for their own amusement!'* Nergui spat. Moments later he sought to broke the stalemate and heaved Cheng back, losing his own anchorage in the process and stumbling back himself. 

The opening was clear and deadly, Cheng could end this fight in a moment with the runt's death. But on a quick second thought the boy had proven himself capable in a fight up until this point at least. His death would be senseless, but perhaps further "education" would waylay this misplaced hatred and enmity? After all, no matter what rivalries separated them at the moment, in the end they would all be fighting on the same side. 

Cheng stepped forward, the blade in his hand sliding back as he prepared to hammer the pommel down on Nergui's chest. As soon as the boy dropped to the ground on his back disarming him would be as easy as a flick of the wrist...


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Like a rabid dog the boy lunged for his open side, unaware of the lure placed upon his frenzied soul and Dulai felt the briefest flash of distaste twist his lips his teeth baring into a bitter snarl. To be controlled by ones emotions, to be pulled along like a dog on a leash, it was not the way a warrior lived. 

A flash of intelligence burned in those eyes even as his arm reached out to grip the wrist of his foe but the knife was fading away. He stretched desperately, feeling his nails dug into skin, fingers scrabbling for a hold on his opponent clenching around the bare forearm. forcing his blade away. He llanced out with his foot but his opponent forced him off balance and he reset himself, right foot planting the dirt as wiry strength pushed him backwards. He lashed out blindly with the knife, brief resistance suggesting he had found flesh even as a low hiss carressed his ears, fingers grabbing his wrist.


They were set, grappling, struggling, strength matched against strength, muscle to muscle. His hand clenched tight around the straining muscle of Vinh's forearm, thumb pressing desperately holding the silvery blade steady even as it quivered before his eyes.

He could hear Vinh wheeze. spit flecking against his chest as he scrabble, hot liquid flowing down his arm as he deserpately tried to hold his grip and Dulai doubled his efforts feeling Vinh shift his balance to hold the knife in his right hand back away from his flesh. He allowed them to teeter in equilibrium his biceps screaming in agony as he held his poise as long as he could bear the anguish.

Then he stepped away, tearing the slippery flesh of his arm upwards til feeling Vinh's grip slip away as he stumbled forwards, the resistance suddenly removed the full force of his desperate exertion throwing him forward. Still clinging desperately to Vinh's other forearm, he aimed a vicious right elbow downwards towards the side of Vinh's temple hoping to knock the animal to the ground.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Dalar was just about to begin another tirade of insults when Mikul suddenly threw himself forward. Dalar tried to hurl himself to the side but was a fraction of a second too slow. The other youth tackled him to the floor. The slow circle that had been maintained earlier was now a desperate wrestle in the grass. Dalar was just managing to turn the knife away from him when Mikul butted him in the nose. There was a berserk rage in the youth’s eyes as he plunged the knife down. Despite the blood pouring from his nose and the stars dancing before his eyes Dalar still possessed enough special awareness to stop the blade millimetres from his chest by gripping Mikul’s wrist.

He felt desperation as the knife began to creep slowly closer to his heart. That desperation gave way to rage and hate and the anger in Mikul’s eyes suddenly seemed pathetic when compared to the rage coursing through his mind. He took a risk and let go of the youth’s wrist with one hand in order to send a thundering punch towards Mikul’s face, at the same time bringing his knee up between his opponent’s legs…


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

He had managed to avoid the first punch but was to slow, to much a fool, to think it would be the only one. And so without any chance to block or dodge, a fist connects with Ganzorig’s jaw with all the strength of a mad bronco’s charge. It took the strength from his legs and threw him down onto his back and it was all Ganzorig could do to keep the stars out of his eyes. Something strong grabs him by the shoulder and Ganzorig tries to fight it off, swiping wildly with his blade only to have the limb batted aside before he is hauled back to his feet.

Opening his eyes, Ganzorig is greeted by the face of Mukul, one hand holding him by the cuff of his hide tunic. Grabbing Mukul’s arm, Ganzorig feels a warm liquid run down from his fingers and though Mukul does not let an ounce of pain show, it is clear the wild cut had indeed found its mark. _'Do not dishonour yourself. The Stormseers eyes are on us.'_ Mukul growls out, his breath washing over Ganzorig’s face and forcing his eyes to water at the smell.

Without further preamble, the larger youth shoves Ganzorig back and it takes a few backward steps for him to regain his balance. In that time Dihj lumbers closer, the gamble with the dirt had in fact worked, and even now the twin was scraping the last of it from his vision. _'You aren't the only one to want a piece of Amar's hide, Gan, but it is not worth the risk of dishonouring yourself.'_ He says, and Ganzorig bares his teeth to him. Some called him Gan, possibly meaning it as a good thing but he never thought so.

_“Don’t give me that look Dihj, y’can’t say you wouldn’t a done it in my place. Not when your both in my way.”_ Ganzorig said slowly, his free hand rubbing the bottom of his jaw as if to keep it from falling off. _“Get Amar’s dog’s off the others, my blade has a meeting with his heart, just not this moon.”_ He said at last, replacing the knife on his belt and looking about to see which fight, if any, he could put an end to for now. 

His eyes chance beyond the fires, to the advancing for of the newest Rider. Though looking through the flames plays with his sight, there is no mistaking a number of details about this one. He is clad in hard war-plate, but nothing like the other Riders. His is lighter and takes up less of his body, the rest covered in some sort of cloth likely of greater quality than what he and any of the others wear. He is smaller for that, but even from a distance there is no mistaking that he towers over anyone at these fires, even Dihj and Mukul would be small in comparison. And that look on his face as he continues towards the fires, it is nearly enough to stop Ganzorig in his tracks; one of anything but happiness. Now more than ever Ganzorig looks to find a fight he can break up, and is more than just glad he had chosen to put his knife back.


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## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

His fingers found purchase, his eyes still staring into the sweating throat of Mahavir, still trying to pry the knife into his advantage. All of Bidziil's energy went into this one action: gripping his fingers around the object and swinging into Mahavir's temple. It burned hot upon touch, was smooth and curved. Only when it smashed into pieces agasint the side of Mahavir's head did he realize it was his soup bowl, having been knocked into the fire when he was tackled to the ground. Becuase the bowl shattered his hands were free of the bowl amost instantly but the tips of his fingers still felt as if they were blistering. It worked well enough for him to get a good punch in next with the same hand, landing his fist into the same temple he had alreayd struck. Being smaller in size he was able to slide out from beneath Mahavir after delivering some pain. Most importantly he did so while keeping his other hand still around the short hilt of his blade. He stood and laid a kick into Mahavir's side and rested the other on his throat. He didnt make any further unnecesary moves. He used this moment to look around at the situation. 

His eyes immediately shot for the powerful, long strided figure quickly approaching the campsite. The unfamilair stormseer.

He looked down at Mahavir in case the other boy was planning on continuing his fight and said simply, "One of the Riders approaches."


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

All that Yesugei could hear was the thrumming of his heart, drumming in his chest. He had eyes only for Tomor, his opponent, who at this very moment was staring him in the face, looking for an opening in his defenses, his eyes flashing with the murderous intent that had started the conflict to begin with. Yesugei feigned, drawing Tomor to the left with a back handed strike of his dagger, oddly the youth fell for it and was rewarded with a heavy fisted strike across his jaw. Tomor flailed wildly, lucky that Yesugei had to jump back to avoid being skewered by his opponents dagger. Quickly they both fell back into a circling pattern, but Yesugei had had enough. Rocketing forward on his muscled legs, he sent a combination of strikes, fients with his dagger, and punches at Tomor, several finding purchase, though none drew blood. He was careful to keep his dagger from finding Tomor's flesh. But the attack had its intended effect, Tomor stumbled back, arms flailing wide, giving Yesugei the opening he had been looking for. 

Rushing forward he drove his shoulder squarely into Tomor's gut, the youth's breath rushing out in a grunt of pain and surprise. Tomor flew backwards, feet flying in the air, Yesugei following him. Amar's lackey landed hard on his back, gasping for air, trying to move, but he found no purchase. Yesugei leapt upon him, hips straddling Tomor's chest, muscled legs holding his opponent's arms to the ground. Reaching back, running his fingers into Tomor's thick hair he wrenched at Tomor's head, exposing the taller boys throat, his flint blade pressed slightly to the boy's skin. _"Do not move,"_ Yesugei quietly said to the prostrate youth,_"I have no quarrel with you save your associations. I will not take a life that has given me no cause to extinguish."_

Raising his gaze as hushed whispers began to replace the sounds of combat, he saw that one of the Storm Seers was approaching. _"I leave your fate to the Storm Seers."_ He got up slowly, backed away from Tomor, until he found the youth's dagger, the piece of steel that had sought his throat, and picking it up he tossed it into the shadowed fields as far as his strength would allow. Sheathing his own weapon as the huge warrior approached Yesugei took in his appearance. The trinkets that adorned his armor were different. He wore heavy breeches, instead of armor on his legs. However it was not the warriors garments that were captivating his attention, but the expression that this warrior wore. Displeasure and rage adorned his features and Yesugei wondered if the events that had just transpired would be enough to fail them in the trials.


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## CattleBruiser (Sep 3, 2011)

Anil vomits up what seems to be a week's worth of food. he does not look up, doesn't move, just keep's on vomiting, clearly in no position to keep fighting. Chang-Jian whacks him on the temple with the hilt of his blade, hopefully hard enough to take him out for the rest of the fight. Chang-Jian then relaxes his guard, keeping his ears and eyes peeled for anyone else coming to attack him.

No one was. His efforts weren't wasted however, he did notice the tall rider marching toward the fight, and he did not look pleased at all. This can't end well.......

Dulai! where's Dulai?! Chang-Jian just remembered his promise to stand by Dulai should a fight break out. I guess that this would count as a fight... Chang-Jian scans the crowd, looking for Dulai, but having difficulty distinguishing between the warriors in the darkness and flickering firelight. slowly, methodically, Chang-Jian searches the group, one by one, looking for Dulai.

There! He'd found him. He looked like he was gaining the upper hand against his opponent. Still, he would go and help Dulai, as he promised. Slowly, going around fighting groups and scattered bowls, Chang-Jian starts to make his way towards Dulai. "I promised you support, and I'm going to make good on that promise, rider or no rider"

As Chang-Jian comes to within a few metres of Dulai he backs up to avoid a fight, stumbling on a fallen bowl behind him. As he's regains balance he sees movement from Dulai's arm coming out of the corner of his eye, as he turns to look he hears the hard thump of an elbow striking.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The sand hung in the air; glittering artfully in the moonlight, enshrouding Karan’s menacing figure, one hand ending in a hooked, barbarous blade. Subutai was like quicksilver, shirt fluttering in the wind; dagger intent on Karan’s heart, a cruel smile separating his narrow, aquiline face. 

His opponent grinned mordantly, hand shooting forth. The two Chogorisian’s blades kissed, with a scrap of metal-upon-metal, a ear-splitting rasp that broke the surrounding din. Subutai stumbled, overstepped and on the defencive; as Karan struck out. The back of his hand slapped noisily on Subutai’s cheek, sending the slave-prince away.

‘I was borne in the middle of a storm of burning sand..’ Karan said, his accent clipped and guttural. His eyes were dark, narrowed, malevolent. His lips were peeled back, in a perfidious grin; as he drew a secondary dagger from behind his back, a twin to the jagged one he already clutched, bone-hilted and iron-bladed. ‘You will have to do better than that, little grass-hare.’

He was crouched low; like some contemplating, apex predator. When he advanced, his steps were confident, his stance odd, unknown. 

Subutai ran a hand through his silver-white hair, snorting pitifully. He stood to his full height, breathing deeply, purple-blue eyes wide and understanding. He would gift this sand-eater one chance, a final moment to admit his wrongs and surrender.

‘Relent, or I shall gut you.’ He said, a cruel smile tugging on his lips. ‘I offer you honour in defeat or death, Karan. You chose.’

The warrior said nothing, merely launching forth, blades twirling. 

Subutai ducked, twirled and rolled. Karan’s flurry hacked away at the air, and he grunted ashamedly, before spinning. His advance continued, inexorable, the murderous glint never leaving his eyes. 

‘Like I said, desert-rat, I’m faster,’ Subutai flashed a grin, laughing sardonically at the look of annoyance upon his opponent’s face. The Chogorisian displayed his nimbleness, arching back; feet darting up, meeting Karan’s chest. 

He grunted, tumbled, before regaining his feet and dashing at Subutai. The youth was taken aback, for someone who had been brought up amongst an ocean of grains, Karan was remarkably fast. 

His blades were extensions of his limbs, glittering and flashing in the starlight; angling in on Subutai. The slave-prince was watching, learning, letting Karan come at him - His every senses heightened with adrenaline, - Focused on holding back the sand-dweller’s impressive attack, rather than launching his own. 

And then, he saw it. An overextension of Karan’s left leg, leaning forwards; loosening up his gait. Beneath his breeches, Karan’s thighs were taut, large. A perfect target. If - And only if - Subutai could get behind him, he would hamstring Karan and drive his blade into the man’s spine. 

His right leg flashed out, intent on his opponent’s side. In his hand, his blade felt impossibly heavy. These next moments meant life or death.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The sudden rush of action caught Drogo off-guard. He had been so outraged by the insult done to his fellow aspirant and the speed with which the violence exploded into a full-fledged battle that was raging across the camp had shocked him. Cursing himself for his inaction, the only thing worse than a wrong action was no action at all, Drogo prepared to leap into combat and aid his fellows in punishing these arrogant upstarts. He caught himself just in time as one of the giant's began to advance towards the group.

The new Rider was different than the others that called themselves Stormseers. He bore less ornaments and trophies than them, and what he did bear was smaller and lighter, easier to move at higher speeds with and less constricting to one used to reacting quickly. He wore pants made of a heavy-looking cloth, possibly leather but it was difficult to tell at this distance. It was how he moved that told Drogo the measure of this individual, he walked like a predator. Like the plains lions he moved with a grace that belied his size, he was actually taller than one of the Stormseers and built bigger to boot, and yet Drogo could tell it was speed that this warrior favoured rather than brute force. He reminded Drogo of many of the old riders from the Dothkal tribe, they had a similar gait and stance though to compare them to this giant was almost absurd, they would never have been able to match this rider.

Drogo stopped himself from entering the fight with great distaste at the unpleasant duty. The new rider's anger was evident, and Drogo had no wish to provoke him. Only a fool would exacerbate this situation any further, and those who were already fighting were bound to feel this Rider's wroth. Drogo wished to aid his fellow aspirants badly, but to do so would be to incur this Rider's anger and he had no wish to do that. Drogo made his choice, he stood back and straigtened himself, awaiting the Rider's condemnation on them all.


LotN


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