18.1 Ways Before War
[X] Plan Learn Our Ways
-[X] [Salt] Yes
-[X] [Teach] Have teachers take apprentices by finding promising children, like the Holy Orders do. -> Formal Apprenticeships
-[X] [North] Put the People's shaman in with the Northlands as advisers or leaders to their new High Shaman.
-[X] [Action] Expand Agriculture (Quinoa) -> Organized Plots LOCKED IN
-[X] [Action] Trade (Mountain Clans)
-[X] [Admin] Manage Forests (Sugar) -> Spigot Collection
-[X] [Martial] Raid (Enemies of Peace Builders)
-[X] [Art] Raise Temple (Crystal Lake) -> Decorative Pillars
-[X] [Tribute] War (Train Warriors: Warriors -> One Handed Wicker Shield, Holy Orders -> Bone Armour, Horns)
-[X] [Automatic]: Expand Aquaculture (Rice, Fishing), Manage Hunting (Dogs), Prepare for Ordeal, Trade (Arrow Lake, Island Makers, Pearl Divers, Northlands)
Twirling his fingers, Priit sighed at what he saw; grey hairs already graced his temples. His father was still alive, over sixty winters in age, and his shock of hair maintained all of its sunny colour. It was rare for any of the People to go grey. Those that did were universally ancients, perhaps only a few years from death. A decade at most.
To the petitioner kneeling before him, he probably looked close in age to Aeva, even though she was close to twice his age. She was weathered and shrunken, skin wrapped loosely around stick-thin limbs. But her eyes... they maintained all of the bestial cunning and savage wit that marked their line. It was impossible not to look upon the grandmother-but-not and recognize the power that rested there.
The third Big Man completing their triumvirate was an old sack of bones. An old man that had been forced into the position while those younger than he competed over it viciously. He was a placeholder and it was likely that he knew it. Priit had only paid minimal attention to the silent struggle for support — just enough to plan for the future campaign in defense of the Peace Builders — but he expected that one of the young warriors competing over the prize would win it.
The petitioner spoke brokenly through two translators; one of the People who could speak the dialect of Arrow Lake and one the Mountain Man's own who could speak the 'Cursed Tongue'. He had come back along with a small party; only four people, all of whom were clearly expendable, after the People's traders brought them baubles and other trade goods. Those were mostly ignored, it was the stores of food that the caravan had brought for themselves that the Mountain Clans literally fought over.
It was... wretched listening to the elder speak.
"Most wise elders of the Twin-Souled Clan," he spoke. "This lowly dirt-walker would ask for a moment of your time. A consideration fair of the words which I am about to speak to you. The Mountain Men of the south are a people adrift, fleeing starvation. War. Slavery. We are weak and you are strong. As a father teaches his children and as a mother shepherds hers, we would ask that same benevolence."
The man spoke at length, his plea cut down several times between the two translators he spoke through. Priit could speak the tongue of Arrow Lake and knew a smattering of the Mountain Clans' grunting speech. Both the Mountain Clans' and the People's translators added flourishes, slightly altering the meaning. The gist was there, but the shear degree to which the elderly petitioner debased himself was lost. He praised the People, emphasizing how high they were in the sky, while also claiming to be mud they could find underfoot.
"We have always known a harsh existence. The stone mountains of our homes rise high, thrust up into the sky. They rise so high that, in places, they remain uncrowned by soil and plants. Scalped of life. Between these mountaintops are countless dells and other, hidden places. But they are small, unsuited to the great fields that the Mud-Mired Tribes use to grow food. We do not know how to tend to endless forests to make them yield up grain and succulent fruit. The ways of hunting are different down below, and the waters do not yield fish of the same type. Things have changed and they can no longer be as they were."
Mud-Mired. It was a term that Priit had heard before. The Mountain Clans believed that the lowlands around their mountain homes weighed down the spirits of those that dwelled there. Only the thin soil and hard rock of their homelands could support the immense weight of a proper spirit. He wondered how the Island Makers took it; the soil in their homes was thin, less than the distance from the end of a man's hand to his elbow before solid bedrock was struck. Where did they fit in among the soulless hierarchy? It must burn the old man something fierce to come begging of those they though soulless.
"We would join you now by the warm fire as distant kin. We are refugees such as you had once saved in the time of Kaspar-In-Flesh. This is a foreign world for us, one to which our lowly knowledge is ill equipped. If things do not change, then the Mountain Men shall cease to exist. Your knowledge and your magic is known to all. Your halls incomparable, a wonder to all the world. The spirits have touched you, entrusted you with great boons and endless bounty."
The old man slowly stood before lowering himself to his knees and pressing his face directly to the floor. "We ask humbly that you share this bounty with us. Share with us the blessings we would need to survive in this harsh world. The knowledge necessary to grow crops and thrive." His speech done, the elders words echoed in finality in the temple at the Cave of Stars.
Priit glanced over at Aeva. Her gaze, as always, was unreadable. Her dark eyes stared pitilessly at the grandfather sitting before the triumvirate. He wondered what numbers beat through her brain, the calculations on how to make this work and turn to the People's foremost advantage. Not that the decision was really hers to make; the Fingers was closest to the Mountain Clans while Crystal Lake was far away. It was her right to speak first, as the leader of Crystal Lake.
The moment stretched uncomfortably.
Slowly, Aeva raised and hand and split the air with a snap of her fingers.
Immediately, the beat was taken up by the shaman surrounding the delegation; pounding their staves against the stone floor of the temple. Drums were brought out and bundles of tinder affixed to staves and lit into impressive torches despite the daylight. Every corner of the temple was filled with light as soft orange flames cascaded across the faint, glimmer mica ground into the walls. Flutes started to whistle near silently and Priit relaxed as the beating of drums reached deeply into this soul.
The wizened elder from the Mountain Clans had sprung to his feet at the sudden cacophony and the young translator at his side thumbed through his belt for where a knife would normally be kept. Straining muscles and darting eyes slowly relaxed as Priit called for calm in the young man's tongue. All of the shaman around the Cave of Stars were skilled warriors, trained obsessively to guard the entrance to the spirits' home. They were safe as could be anywhere within the People's lands; both the People from the Mountain Clansmen. Star Shaman wouldn't brook any violence upon the temple's stones, regardless of who started it.
Two of the Star Shaman walked the length of the temple, one of the oldest women that Priit had ever seen and a young man, little more than a boy. There was supposed to be some symbolism in that, a spiritual significance; whatever it was, Priit hadn't a clue. At the Ivory Door, the two of them reached into pouches simultaneously, and smeared sacred oils across the door. They traced each of the spiritual totems; bear, orker, wolf, caribou, rabbit, and bird. Below them were the spirits of the ground and above, the sky. Each was anointed in turn.
It had supposedly taken the better part of a decade for the door to be carved and fitted together from over a hundred tusks. It was a monumental tribute to the spirits; worthy of guarding their home.
"You have asked for the wisdom of the spirits," Aeva said. "It shall be provided. In full. After you receive their judgement."
On cue, the Ivory Door split open and the gaping Pit at the Heart of the Cave of Stars was revealed.
Priit shuddered at the sight. Inky darkness reached into his soul.
The two shaman flanking the door flinched before their torches flashed; gouts of flame reached high enough that they scorched the ceiling before being extinguished in an instant. A ghastly cry echoed throughout the temple.
Priit hesitated. Something gripped his heart, crushing it within his chest. His vision blurred. Stopping and starting, everything moving before freezing as if everything was replaced by statues. A grinning face learned down at him, hand stroking along his cheek. Laughter echoed through out the temple; high and haunting, low and guttural both. The sound intermixed; growing in intensity.
The images started to flash faster and faster and faster. A shaman collapsing to the ground. Aeva, seated in her throne of stone, her eyes rolled so far back in her head that she was clearly seeing her brain. The young man from the Mountain Clans standing before them seized up, his muscles becoming rock hard as everything spasmed.
Stars felt to earth, emitting flashes of blue and white and orange to beat back the encroaching darkness. The air itself seemed to shimmer, light wavering and then merging with the darkness in ways that made Priit ache. From his brains to his marrow, all was pain.
As he crashed to the floor, Priit could barely keep a single eye open: his other was ground into the stone below. As the dark encroached and took everything, a single image burned itself into his eye. An orb of gold, clasped in talons three.
Everything after that was reduced to a collection of images. Sounds. Sensations. A woman's laugh. A man's scream. A child's cry. Blood dripping off an obsidian edge. The clash of flesh on stone. Wood and rock. Oblivion.
When the world finally made sense again, Priit found himself staring up at the sky. Above him, the spirits danced in the sky, broadcasting their emotions and joy for all to see. Streaks of green, yellow, and purple danced in between the stars. The presence was undeniably felt. It was already night, Priit wondered? When had that occurred?
Priit felt a small, final weight leave his shoulder as a near silent click cut through the air. The Way to the Heart of the Cave of Stars was now shut.
"The spirits have spoken," Priit mumbled. He glanced over at the trembling, collapsed forms of the Mountain Clansmen. Now, if only they could keep the two negotiators from bringing back tales of absolute terror regarding the People.
The spirits have obviously spoken in favour of supporting the Mountain Clans, almost egregiously so. How should that occur?
[ ] [Clan] Provide the Mountain Clans regular supplies of food until they find their feet. (-2 Econ tiers)
[ ] [Clan] Teach the Mountain Clansmen the ways to grow food.
[ ] [Clan] Provide the Mountain Clans with a detailed understanding of The Hunt megaproject.
[ ] [Clan] Solve whatever it is that's driving the Mountain Clans from their home?
After the clansmen were sent away, loaded with enough gifts to help them in the short term, Priit's attention wandered back to matters closer to home. The Ember Eyes had been busy among the Pearl Divers, building more Salterns. It had been the work of two generations so far, but by their best estimates, all of the possible sites for Salterns would be fully constructed in another generation.
Spiritual Advisors Triggers: A Word, A Bond -> Blood of my Brothers
Apparently their efforts among the Pearl Divers had fermented rich rewards. Ideas from among the People and the Northlanders had flourished among them. The Pearl Divers valued, quite intensely, the fact that an adult should be willing to stand by their word, even to the point of death. It was similar to the People's own value on oaths binding individuals together as family. After all, wasn't in the nature of family to support each other in everything? It was considered crass, at best, to keep track of favours and debts among the closest of friends and family. There was a certain acknowledgement if one was a wastrel and should not have trust extended, but family were those people whom you know would have your back the second that you needed it.
Family would not betray you. For everyone else, could you really be sure? The Pearl Divers had betrayed the People, at least in part, when they refused to come against the Northlanders. There was an undercurrent of doubt among the youngest Pearl Divers in the worth of their bond given that realization. The People came to help the Pearl Divers, but did they help in return?
No.
Their honour impinged, the young cast off the old and tired value of their fathers and mothers, following instead what felt right. What their fathers and mothers had actually done. They recognized the People's wisdom and taught it to their own children in turn.
In recognition of the gift of wisdom, the Pearl Divers had responded with several generous gifts. The first was a small pot of singing sand. It no longer sung, but for a while, the red sand babbled like water whenever Priit held it. It was... strange, and the realization had made many shaman uncomfortable. Still, the sand was so far east and south that it took the better part of a year to travel there and back. Whatever magic could be found in the Singing Sands, it was beyond the People. The mystery of what made the magic vanish would also go unknown.
As for the second gift...
"Auk!" the creature chirped, happily munching on a few smaller fish. It had mystified Priit when he first saw it: small, black and white; the thing looked like a bird, but lived like a fish. It made no sense, but Priit could admit that watching it waddle back and forth on the floor of his longhouse was entertaining. It was surprisingly fast for its small size! His children and family had loved the little creature.
It was a curiosity, Priit admitted, but seeing the small flock they'd captured... softened something inside him. There were nights in the heat of summer and in the depths of winter where he'd found himself with a smile bared for all to see. Nothing like the baring of fangs that was he was capable of normally.
But speaking of the Fangs... it would be time for them to head west soon, to Hill Guard and then south to protect the Peace Builders.
A few years of seasoning had done wonders for the People's warriors, bringing their strength up greatly. They still weren't as numerous as they had been at the beginning of their war with the Northlanders, but their numbers had greatly increased. The drive to increase the number of warriors had, however, discovered something of interest: if a warrior was killed in battle, it was extremely unlikely for any of their children to grow up to be warriors themselves.
It took a bit of investigation to find out why, but the problem was rather obvious in hindsight: dead men received no pay. A warrior was richly rewarded with meat and grain for the risks they took in the forests of war. They were allowed to eat twice as much as normal and received twice over that in goods to trade for the weapons they used. Some of that excess had a tendency to end up within the stomachs of a warrior's close family and friends. They also had a strong tendency to train their children or their friends' children in the arts of war. Combined, those two advantages meant that the choosen children would grow up to be exceptional warriors.
If the warrior died, his family and those they patronized would not be able to grow in the same way.
Many were troubled once they made that realization. Priit knew that warriors fought for their friends and their families first. It was a good life, if dangerous; but it also served to keep everyone and everything you loved safe. If your death meant that your loved ones would suffer and not have the opportunities that they should have had, how could you be asked to die on behalf of the People. It was... wrong.
So Priit would not let it stand.
How do you address the issue of widows and orphans of fallen warriors?
[ ] [Fall] Set aside extra resources for the families of fallen warriors.
[ ] [Fall] Increase the prominence of Holy Orders; their training is taken care of by shaman, not other warriors.
[ ] [Fall] Reorganize the warriors into groups to build bonds between them and teach the fallen.
[ ] [Fall] Allot formal apprenticeships for those who want to be warriors.
There was one final thing that had to be addressed: the Northlanders. The shaman sent by the People had been well received by the tribe. Apparently, they had even won the recognition of their spirits; the lights of blue, green, and purple that dueled in the night sky had surged at the People's presence. It was auspicious, many of them thought and it was enough for them to allow them to work with and train their High Shaman.
A very distant sworn-blood relative of the long dead Ivory Blooded Chief, the girl was nothing like her infamously bloody ancestor. She was quiet and almost sullen, divorced from the physical world and drawn into the realm of the spirits deeply indeed. Her training went well, if unexceptionally, until a relatively new shaman fresh from the Cave of Stars was introduced to her. It was like the sun broke out on the girl's face the very moment that she met him. She was smitten.
It was a promising sign. The representative of the Northlander's spirits instantly fell in love with someone who trained in the heart of the People's spiritual domain.
The growing positive feelings between the People and the Northlanders was going to cause problems, however: the Northlanders wanted to march to war alongside the People and they were not going to take no for an answer. Everything that Alloo whispered in Priit's ear and all of the advice the shaman sent back warned him that refusing their offer of aid would be a terrible idea. The Northlanders were well on the way to considering the People sworn-blood. To reject their offer of aid would be a grievous insult.
The issue was that even a minimal level of help was likely to break the Northlanders. Their warriors were hunters and herdsmen; if they went to fight, then that meant that the tribe would be gathering significantly less found than it normally would. Even the two dozen Horn Riders that they planned to send would mean that some of the tribe would starve.
How should the People respond to this damaging generosity?
[ ] [Give] Provide the Northlands with enough food that they won't be in danger of starving. (-1 Econ tiers)
[ ] [Give] Allow the Northlands to come. (A few Northlanders starve.)
[ ] [Give] Forbid the Northlands from coming. (Noticeably damage relations)
[ ] [Give] Send some of the People's hunters and other skilled workers to help them meet any shortfalls.
[ ] [Give] Given the Northlands knowledge of The Hunt.
[ ] [Give] Begin trading preserved food so they can buy if needed.
AN: Moratorium until the vote is unlocked. Map will be updated tomorrow with more information on what's south of the Peace Builders.
-[X] [Salt] Yes
-[X] [Teach] Have teachers take apprentices by finding promising children, like the Holy Orders do. -> Formal Apprenticeships
-[X] [North] Put the People's shaman in with the Northlands as advisers or leaders to their new High Shaman.
-[X] [Action] Expand Agriculture (Quinoa) -> Organized Plots LOCKED IN
-[X] [Action] Trade (Mountain Clans)
-[X] [Admin] Manage Forests (Sugar) -> Spigot Collection
-[X] [Martial] Raid (Enemies of Peace Builders)
-[X] [Art] Raise Temple (Crystal Lake) -> Decorative Pillars
-[X] [Tribute] War (Train Warriors: Warriors -> One Handed Wicker Shield, Holy Orders -> Bone Armour, Horns)
-[X] [Automatic]: Expand Aquaculture (Rice, Fishing), Manage Hunting (Dogs), Prepare for Ordeal, Trade (Arrow Lake, Island Makers, Pearl Divers, Northlands)
Twirling his fingers, Priit sighed at what he saw; grey hairs already graced his temples. His father was still alive, over sixty winters in age, and his shock of hair maintained all of its sunny colour. It was rare for any of the People to go grey. Those that did were universally ancients, perhaps only a few years from death. A decade at most.
To the petitioner kneeling before him, he probably looked close in age to Aeva, even though she was close to twice his age. She was weathered and shrunken, skin wrapped loosely around stick-thin limbs. But her eyes... they maintained all of the bestial cunning and savage wit that marked their line. It was impossible not to look upon the grandmother-but-not and recognize the power that rested there.
The third Big Man completing their triumvirate was an old sack of bones. An old man that had been forced into the position while those younger than he competed over it viciously. He was a placeholder and it was likely that he knew it. Priit had only paid minimal attention to the silent struggle for support — just enough to plan for the future campaign in defense of the Peace Builders — but he expected that one of the young warriors competing over the prize would win it.
The petitioner spoke brokenly through two translators; one of the People who could speak the dialect of Arrow Lake and one the Mountain Man's own who could speak the 'Cursed Tongue'. He had come back along with a small party; only four people, all of whom were clearly expendable, after the People's traders brought them baubles and other trade goods. Those were mostly ignored, it was the stores of food that the caravan had brought for themselves that the Mountain Clans literally fought over.
It was... wretched listening to the elder speak.
"Most wise elders of the Twin-Souled Clan," he spoke. "This lowly dirt-walker would ask for a moment of your time. A consideration fair of the words which I am about to speak to you. The Mountain Men of the south are a people adrift, fleeing starvation. War. Slavery. We are weak and you are strong. As a father teaches his children and as a mother shepherds hers, we would ask that same benevolence."
The man spoke at length, his plea cut down several times between the two translators he spoke through. Priit could speak the tongue of Arrow Lake and knew a smattering of the Mountain Clans' grunting speech. Both the Mountain Clans' and the People's translators added flourishes, slightly altering the meaning. The gist was there, but the shear degree to which the elderly petitioner debased himself was lost. He praised the People, emphasizing how high they were in the sky, while also claiming to be mud they could find underfoot.
"We have always known a harsh existence. The stone mountains of our homes rise high, thrust up into the sky. They rise so high that, in places, they remain uncrowned by soil and plants. Scalped of life. Between these mountaintops are countless dells and other, hidden places. But they are small, unsuited to the great fields that the Mud-Mired Tribes use to grow food. We do not know how to tend to endless forests to make them yield up grain and succulent fruit. The ways of hunting are different down below, and the waters do not yield fish of the same type. Things have changed and they can no longer be as they were."
Mud-Mired. It was a term that Priit had heard before. The Mountain Clans believed that the lowlands around their mountain homes weighed down the spirits of those that dwelled there. Only the thin soil and hard rock of their homelands could support the immense weight of a proper spirit. He wondered how the Island Makers took it; the soil in their homes was thin, less than the distance from the end of a man's hand to his elbow before solid bedrock was struck. Where did they fit in among the soulless hierarchy? It must burn the old man something fierce to come begging of those they though soulless.
"We would join you now by the warm fire as distant kin. We are refugees such as you had once saved in the time of Kaspar-In-Flesh. This is a foreign world for us, one to which our lowly knowledge is ill equipped. If things do not change, then the Mountain Men shall cease to exist. Your knowledge and your magic is known to all. Your halls incomparable, a wonder to all the world. The spirits have touched you, entrusted you with great boons and endless bounty."
The old man slowly stood before lowering himself to his knees and pressing his face directly to the floor. "We ask humbly that you share this bounty with us. Share with us the blessings we would need to survive in this harsh world. The knowledge necessary to grow crops and thrive." His speech done, the elders words echoed in finality in the temple at the Cave of Stars.
Priit glanced over at Aeva. Her gaze, as always, was unreadable. Her dark eyes stared pitilessly at the grandfather sitting before the triumvirate. He wondered what numbers beat through her brain, the calculations on how to make this work and turn to the People's foremost advantage. Not that the decision was really hers to make; the Fingers was closest to the Mountain Clans while Crystal Lake was far away. It was her right to speak first, as the leader of Crystal Lake.
The moment stretched uncomfortably.
Slowly, Aeva raised and hand and split the air with a snap of her fingers.
Immediately, the beat was taken up by the shaman surrounding the delegation; pounding their staves against the stone floor of the temple. Drums were brought out and bundles of tinder affixed to staves and lit into impressive torches despite the daylight. Every corner of the temple was filled with light as soft orange flames cascaded across the faint, glimmer mica ground into the walls. Flutes started to whistle near silently and Priit relaxed as the beating of drums reached deeply into this soul.
The wizened elder from the Mountain Clans had sprung to his feet at the sudden cacophony and the young translator at his side thumbed through his belt for where a knife would normally be kept. Straining muscles and darting eyes slowly relaxed as Priit called for calm in the young man's tongue. All of the shaman around the Cave of Stars were skilled warriors, trained obsessively to guard the entrance to the spirits' home. They were safe as could be anywhere within the People's lands; both the People from the Mountain Clansmen. Star Shaman wouldn't brook any violence upon the temple's stones, regardless of who started it.
Two of the Star Shaman walked the length of the temple, one of the oldest women that Priit had ever seen and a young man, little more than a boy. There was supposed to be some symbolism in that, a spiritual significance; whatever it was, Priit hadn't a clue. At the Ivory Door, the two of them reached into pouches simultaneously, and smeared sacred oils across the door. They traced each of the spiritual totems; bear, orker, wolf, caribou, rabbit, and bird. Below them were the spirits of the ground and above, the sky. Each was anointed in turn.
It had supposedly taken the better part of a decade for the door to be carved and fitted together from over a hundred tusks. It was a monumental tribute to the spirits; worthy of guarding their home.
"You have asked for the wisdom of the spirits," Aeva said. "It shall be provided. In full. After you receive their judgement."
On cue, the Ivory Door split open and the gaping Pit at the Heart of the Cave of Stars was revealed.
Priit shuddered at the sight. Inky darkness reached into his soul.
The two shaman flanking the door flinched before their torches flashed; gouts of flame reached high enough that they scorched the ceiling before being extinguished in an instant. A ghastly cry echoed throughout the temple.
Priit hesitated. Something gripped his heart, crushing it within his chest. His vision blurred. Stopping and starting, everything moving before freezing as if everything was replaced by statues. A grinning face learned down at him, hand stroking along his cheek. Laughter echoed through out the temple; high and haunting, low and guttural both. The sound intermixed; growing in intensity.
The images started to flash faster and faster and faster. A shaman collapsing to the ground. Aeva, seated in her throne of stone, her eyes rolled so far back in her head that she was clearly seeing her brain. The young man from the Mountain Clans standing before them seized up, his muscles becoming rock hard as everything spasmed.
Stars felt to earth, emitting flashes of blue and white and orange to beat back the encroaching darkness. The air itself seemed to shimmer, light wavering and then merging with the darkness in ways that made Priit ache. From his brains to his marrow, all was pain.
As he crashed to the floor, Priit could barely keep a single eye open: his other was ground into the stone below. As the dark encroached and took everything, a single image burned itself into his eye. An orb of gold, clasped in talons three.
Everything after that was reduced to a collection of images. Sounds. Sensations. A woman's laugh. A man's scream. A child's cry. Blood dripping off an obsidian edge. The clash of flesh on stone. Wood and rock. Oblivion.
When the world finally made sense again, Priit found himself staring up at the sky. Above him, the spirits danced in the sky, broadcasting their emotions and joy for all to see. Streaks of green, yellow, and purple danced in between the stars. The presence was undeniably felt. It was already night, Priit wondered? When had that occurred?
Priit felt a small, final weight leave his shoulder as a near silent click cut through the air. The Way to the Heart of the Cave of Stars was now shut.
"The spirits have spoken," Priit mumbled. He glanced over at the trembling, collapsed forms of the Mountain Clansmen. Now, if only they could keep the two negotiators from bringing back tales of absolute terror regarding the People.
The spirits have obviously spoken in favour of supporting the Mountain Clans, almost egregiously so. How should that occur?
[ ] [Clan] Provide the Mountain Clans regular supplies of food until they find their feet. (-2 Econ tiers)
[ ] [Clan] Teach the Mountain Clansmen the ways to grow food.
[ ] [Clan] Provide the Mountain Clans with a detailed understanding of The Hunt megaproject.
[ ] [Clan] Solve whatever it is that's driving the Mountain Clans from their home?
After the clansmen were sent away, loaded with enough gifts to help them in the short term, Priit's attention wandered back to matters closer to home. The Ember Eyes had been busy among the Pearl Divers, building more Salterns. It had been the work of two generations so far, but by their best estimates, all of the possible sites for Salterns would be fully constructed in another generation.
Spiritual Advisors Triggers: A Word, A Bond -> Blood of my Brothers
Apparently their efforts among the Pearl Divers had fermented rich rewards. Ideas from among the People and the Northlanders had flourished among them. The Pearl Divers valued, quite intensely, the fact that an adult should be willing to stand by their word, even to the point of death. It was similar to the People's own value on oaths binding individuals together as family. After all, wasn't in the nature of family to support each other in everything? It was considered crass, at best, to keep track of favours and debts among the closest of friends and family. There was a certain acknowledgement if one was a wastrel and should not have trust extended, but family were those people whom you know would have your back the second that you needed it.
Family would not betray you. For everyone else, could you really be sure? The Pearl Divers had betrayed the People, at least in part, when they refused to come against the Northlanders. There was an undercurrent of doubt among the youngest Pearl Divers in the worth of their bond given that realization. The People came to help the Pearl Divers, but did they help in return?
No.
Their honour impinged, the young cast off the old and tired value of their fathers and mothers, following instead what felt right. What their fathers and mothers had actually done. They recognized the People's wisdom and taught it to their own children in turn.
In recognition of the gift of wisdom, the Pearl Divers had responded with several generous gifts. The first was a small pot of singing sand. It no longer sung, but for a while, the red sand babbled like water whenever Priit held it. It was... strange, and the realization had made many shaman uncomfortable. Still, the sand was so far east and south that it took the better part of a year to travel there and back. Whatever magic could be found in the Singing Sands, it was beyond the People. The mystery of what made the magic vanish would also go unknown.
As for the second gift...
"Auk!" the creature chirped, happily munching on a few smaller fish. It had mystified Priit when he first saw it: small, black and white; the thing looked like a bird, but lived like a fish. It made no sense, but Priit could admit that watching it waddle back and forth on the floor of his longhouse was entertaining. It was surprisingly fast for its small size! His children and family had loved the little creature.
It was a curiosity, Priit admitted, but seeing the small flock they'd captured... softened something inside him. There were nights in the heat of summer and in the depths of winter where he'd found himself with a smile bared for all to see. Nothing like the baring of fangs that was he was capable of normally.
But speaking of the Fangs... it would be time for them to head west soon, to Hill Guard and then south to protect the Peace Builders.
A few years of seasoning had done wonders for the People's warriors, bringing their strength up greatly. They still weren't as numerous as they had been at the beginning of their war with the Northlanders, but their numbers had greatly increased. The drive to increase the number of warriors had, however, discovered something of interest: if a warrior was killed in battle, it was extremely unlikely for any of their children to grow up to be warriors themselves.
It took a bit of investigation to find out why, but the problem was rather obvious in hindsight: dead men received no pay. A warrior was richly rewarded with meat and grain for the risks they took in the forests of war. They were allowed to eat twice as much as normal and received twice over that in goods to trade for the weapons they used. Some of that excess had a tendency to end up within the stomachs of a warrior's close family and friends. They also had a strong tendency to train their children or their friends' children in the arts of war. Combined, those two advantages meant that the choosen children would grow up to be exceptional warriors.
If the warrior died, his family and those they patronized would not be able to grow in the same way.
Many were troubled once they made that realization. Priit knew that warriors fought for their friends and their families first. It was a good life, if dangerous; but it also served to keep everyone and everything you loved safe. If your death meant that your loved ones would suffer and not have the opportunities that they should have had, how could you be asked to die on behalf of the People. It was... wrong.
So Priit would not let it stand.
How do you address the issue of widows and orphans of fallen warriors?
[ ] [Fall] Set aside extra resources for the families of fallen warriors.
[ ] [Fall] Increase the prominence of Holy Orders; their training is taken care of by shaman, not other warriors.
[ ] [Fall] Reorganize the warriors into groups to build bonds between them and teach the fallen.
[ ] [Fall] Allot formal apprenticeships for those who want to be warriors.
There was one final thing that had to be addressed: the Northlanders. The shaman sent by the People had been well received by the tribe. Apparently, they had even won the recognition of their spirits; the lights of blue, green, and purple that dueled in the night sky had surged at the People's presence. It was auspicious, many of them thought and it was enough for them to allow them to work with and train their High Shaman.
A very distant sworn-blood relative of the long dead Ivory Blooded Chief, the girl was nothing like her infamously bloody ancestor. She was quiet and almost sullen, divorced from the physical world and drawn into the realm of the spirits deeply indeed. Her training went well, if unexceptionally, until a relatively new shaman fresh from the Cave of Stars was introduced to her. It was like the sun broke out on the girl's face the very moment that she met him. She was smitten.
It was a promising sign. The representative of the Northlander's spirits instantly fell in love with someone who trained in the heart of the People's spiritual domain.
The growing positive feelings between the People and the Northlanders was going to cause problems, however: the Northlanders wanted to march to war alongside the People and they were not going to take no for an answer. Everything that Alloo whispered in Priit's ear and all of the advice the shaman sent back warned him that refusing their offer of aid would be a terrible idea. The Northlanders were well on the way to considering the People sworn-blood. To reject their offer of aid would be a grievous insult.
The issue was that even a minimal level of help was likely to break the Northlanders. Their warriors were hunters and herdsmen; if they went to fight, then that meant that the tribe would be gathering significantly less found than it normally would. Even the two dozen Horn Riders that they planned to send would mean that some of the tribe would starve.
How should the People respond to this damaging generosity?
[ ] [Give] Provide the Northlands with enough food that they won't be in danger of starving. (-1 Econ tiers)
[ ] [Give] Allow the Northlands to come. (A few Northlanders starve.)
[ ] [Give] Forbid the Northlands from coming. (Noticeably damage relations)
[ ] [Give] Send some of the People's hunters and other skilled workers to help them meet any shortfalls.
[ ] [Give] Given the Northlands knowledge of The Hunt.
[ ] [Give] Begin trading preserved food so they can buy if needed.
AN: Moratorium until the vote is unlocked. Map will be updated tomorrow with more information on what's south of the Peace Builders.
