Nishiphur was uncertain about this land. The river here was wild and dangerous, and the land hilly and broken, but it was as far from the lands of the dead priests and the lands of the demons, so it was as safe as they could find. There was evidence of other people living further up the valley, hence why they had not pressed their luck and continued on. There were distant tales of strange people in these hills, but Nishiphur's clans had come from the southern part of the dead lands and had been avoiding outsiders, lest they draw the attention of the dead priests, so he knew little of who might live in these parts. With any luck they would be primitives who knew nothing of farming and thus could be driven off with numbers.
Still, for all that he hoped for safety, this land was not good, and farming it was going to be hard. Getting through the badlands between the dead lands and here had been a hardship, and while they had some reserves since when they had broken off from the last community, they needed at least one good harvest or this was not going to work out.
It was thus with a sinking feeling in Nishiphur's heart when someone called out that strangers were approaching. Grabbing up his demon club from where it lay on the floor of the hut, he rushed outside and saw that there was a large group of men approaching from upriver, the ones in the lead clearly armed, and the ones in the back leading some sort of strange contraption like a square canoe on potters wheels hauled by aurochs, which if he was not seeing it with his own eyes he would have proclaimed an absurdity if anyone had told him about it. Still, as the women screamed and fell back Nishiphur managed to try to rally the men to form a proper line of battle to screen from the newcomers.
Eyeing up an appraising these men, Nishiphur had a mixed opinion of them. The ones in front, the warriors obviously, carried themselves well and were distinctly larger than the ones in the back, but their equipment was distinctly primitive looking to Nishiphur, the designs of the clubs and spears not particularly advanced - although he did note a proliferation of spear throwers and bows over slings. As the strangers came to a halt well away from the village, he did notice the warriors on the opposing sides were eyeing up the larger weaponry he and his men had available to them, although the brightly coloured cloth the enemy wore was also causing his men to shuffle worriedly. Finally a single man dressed in splendid clothes and wearing a bull horn headdress decorated with shells and black feathers came forward, out of the group and half way across the gap. Evidently he wanted to talk.
Everyone looked to Nishiphur expectantly, and after a moment he tamped down his nervousness with his courage, and strode forward. Let not the gods call him a coward when confronted with the end!
The foreign chief watched him carefully, his eyes clearly watching the demon club bouncing on his shoulders. When he was within a few strides, the man held up a hand to gesture to stop, his face wary but passive. When Nishiphur did so, the man then laid his staff carefully on the ground next to him, although curiously enough he had it pointed towards the village rather than lengthwise, separating them. Nishiphur wasn't quite sure what to make of this, although from the man's gesturing he was hoping that Nishiphur would do the same.
The warrior patriarch was torn over what to do. On the one hand, this disarmament screamed at him that this man was weak and foolish and he should take advantage to rush forward and smash his skull in... but on the other, this man was clearly not foolish enough to not have a skirmish line backing him up and Nishiphur would surely die in the action. Evidently he wanted to talk. Still... laying down his club...
Nishiphur took his club from off his shoulder and planted it upon the ground, his hands resting atop the hilt but not actually around it. He fired his face to hardness, but made no further move to advance. While obviously perturbed, the foreign chief nodded after a moment and then began to talk. It was awkward and pantomiming, but he obviously had some experience with this as his point started to get across. Well, mostly, since Nishiphur soon grew confused. He got the idea that this chief considered this land theirs, and that they considered Nishiphur's clan intruders, but... Nishiphur was sure that he had to be confused. These people wanted to teach his people how to farm? That didn't make a grain of sense!
Seeing the confusion, the chief gestured for some of his warriors to haul something off of one of their land-canoe-things, which turned out to be an actual canoe. Another man who appeared to be some sort of subordinate of the chief stepped forward along with a team of rowers, and the chief stepped forward with his hands close together. Blinking a few times, Nishiphur realized that they wanted him to go with them, and were offering their chief as a hostage to demonstrate good will. Again, his brain tried to work out why all of this was a thing, but he came up blank, other than they wanted to take him somewhere to show him something. Lightly, he licked his lips and wondered at what to do, before he gestured for how long this was to take. The foreign chief considered for a moment before he gestured from horizon to horizon and then held up ten fingers. Ten days? Yes, he seemed to be say ten days, and after some clarification, it was demonstrated that this was ten days there and back.
That was... Nishiphur almost shook his head no, but instead something compelled him to agree. He quickly returned to his own people and told them that they would be taking this chief captive in exchange for his own safety while he went and saw something that they wanted to show him. They weren't to mistreat the man, but if he wasn't back in ten days, they were to execute the man and then try to drive these people off. Once all that was sorted, he returned to where the chief was and made sure that he got those conditions across, to which the man just nodded. Returning his club to his people, Nishiphur surrendered himself to the waiting subordinates, who quickly loaded him onto the stocked canoe and began the task of rowing upstream at a high clip. By the second day they saw signs of the land being distantly managed, the subtle border that Nishiphur and his people had avoided when they had originally pushed into this valley system.
By the third day they reached the outlying farms and Nishiphur's eyes went wide. He suddenly understood what these people meant about "teaching" his people, as their farms covered the landscape and ran up the hills and were blended with nearly ordered trees and zigzagging paths up the hills held in place with stone and in general everything was neatly laid out and the crops looked fuller and healthier than any he had ever seen in his life. By the end of the day they had reached the village proper, which sat atop a hill within the flat basin of the valley and teemed with people, at least as many as the dreaded home of the dead priests. With a sinking feeling, he realized that even if they saw off the group that had come with, these people could simply drown them in bodies... and it wasn't like they seemed particular slouches in the war department, even if Nishiphur judged them not as good as the finest the deadlands or the demons could offer.
On the fifth day they took him on a tour of their village, laid out like their farms with neat rows and irrigation ditches and brick and stone walls, and even up into the hills where they had aurochs grazing in empty fields, before they took him back on the canoe and sent him back downstream. Most of all though, he got the feeling that these people had very distinct feelings about how one should farm and that they were not going to take 'No' for an answer. Given the choice between learning how to grow crops better and more successfully and being driven out because the neighbours didn't particularly like the fact that his people weren't nearly as good, it really wasn't much of an option.