Later that night we had all drunk our fill and I was heading to my clutch’s area to go to sleep when everything went dark. I heard a loud thunk and then everything went black.

I awoke later and found myself buried to my neck in the sand. Having learned a way out of this earlier in life I began twisting and turning and slowly worked my way out. A little sore and tired I pulled myself away from where I was buried. Gathering my strength I took a good smell of myself and my surroundings and recognized the scent of my tribe’s guards. Guess this was payback for killing their buddy. I probably missed the ceremony. Great, more trouble for me, wonderful.

So I got my bearings and headed toward the oasis, arriving a day late for the ceremony. I was still dehydrated and drained from my ordeal and not in a good mood. I was branded which while an honor hurt like hell; further “improving “my mood. Then I headed toward my tribe’s area and found my clutch; my weapons and gear were laid out at my pallet. I grabbed up my gear and equipment, took a sniff of my gear and looked around. Just as I finished equipping two guards came running in to where I was with weapons drawn. Immediately there after a group of shamans came behind them yelling to sheathe their weapons.

Violence at the Gathering is not tolerated, plus as mad as I was right then I was sure I would have killed them both. I was glad to be leaving the tribe at this point.

Two shamans herded the guards away before violence ensued, while three more came toward me to speak with me in hushed tones. They detailed what had happened and why, in their opinion, and then said that it was good that I was selected as leaving would be good for the tribe. “Ha”, I laughed and said “why afraid to lose more guards to the freak?” They were not amused, but for once appeared to understand my sentiment. No rebuke was made, and they wished me well and also gave me a small sack. They said it was from the head shaman and would be needed on my quest. I shrugged and said thanks, thinking it was probably poisoned or something. As soon as I shrugged the sack wiggled. I looked down and noticed we were all surprised. Whatever was in the sack was alive… ooo lunch! I was also given two skins, one of water and one of Brudmed for the journey. Then the three of them blessed me and wished me luck in my travels and future. Then turned and left. A few of my clutch mates gave me small goodbyes, a wave here, a nod there. Then I was gone, off to find the others. I decided to take a sip of the Brudmed as it had been a really crappy week! And that was the last thing I remembered was an odd taste to the Brudmed before I awoke in an underground room… in the dark.

Now I sit here and wonder what I did to upset the Creator in this way.

Wish I knew where the hell I was… and why I was so hungry… and thirsty…

I thought I heard combat nearby, but I cannot find a door or opening out of the room, except straight up and it is an odd black circle. The only other things in the room with me are some sand where I appeared to have landed and a small trickle of what I hope is water running down a finger sized crack in the wall.

The great bonding ceremony was only four days away and we were stuck in a sandstorm. All buried at this point and waiting it out, but oddly enough it seemed to stay with us for much longer than a usual storm. During the storm I heard odd noises from my tribe, squeals and then coughs as they choked on the sands, very unusual. This continued throughout the storm and the day that it had us in its grip. When it finally passed, we had lost one young warrior; we only found his weapons and backpack. Although throughout the day the shaman and chief watched closely as the search parties looking for the missing warrior returned. The tribe waited until it was too late to continue as one search party had not returned. Throughout this day I had noticed small groups of the eighty tribe members having discussions, and I even saw that each discussion was heated.

The lesser shaman’s were moving through the tribe quelling arguments, and I approached one humbly to ask what the fuss was about. He was not very forthcoming, but was quite interested in the fact that I did not know what was going on or what had happened that everyone was talking about, except that I thought it was the missing warrior. His last words were, “interesssting” and then he walked away, but not the way he had been going – he headed straight for the head shaman. A shiver ran down my spine.

I went back to digging out my tack (aka gear) and preparing for my evening meal as I am pretty much always hungry and I hadn’t eaten since early the evening before due to the sandstorm. I told my clutch my plans and as usual was given a nod and no more, for years they spoke to me less and less. In silence I grabbed up my weapons, gear and a few sling stones from my pouch and left camp to hunt a little. We weren’t near any oasis, so my chances weren’t very good. Or so I thought, after about 20 minutes of walking I saw some tracks, and began following them. Another 20 minutes of stalking and I still had not caught site of my quarry, but now I could smell blood. I decided to swap weapons and put my sling away to grab my spear. I did a couple of Master’s breathing exercises and began heading toward where I thought the scent of blood was coming from.

I crept quietly as possible and low to the ground toward the top of the sand dune. I could not hear any sounds but the smell of blood and fear was strong. As I neared the top of the dune I began crawling on my belly toward the top. It smelled as if someone had killed something large considering the amount of blood I smelled.

I peered over the top and was so amazed I almost spoke aloud. The entire side of the dune for fifty paces was coated in blood; it looked like a small trading party had been ambushed. By what I couldn’t say as I had never seen so much blood sprayed around. There was little flesh left, and what blood was left was already dried from the sun. One odd thing I noticed right away (that should have warned me away) was that there were no scavengers, no vultures, no desert rats, no flies, no bugs, nothing. I was pondering that when I heard or felt a rumble below me. I froze. A minute went by and I heard nothing but still did not move. After nearly a half hour, my arms were tiring but still I wouldn’t move. Then below me I noticed the bloodied sand was moving, or more specifically parts of it were. Then I felt fear as I had never known before. I was so terrified, that I almost lost my bladder, but knowing that would draw attention to me my body wisely held out.

It was huge, whatever it was. It looked the size of a wagon, but with odd scales all over it. It rose up and it looked like an armored beetle the size of a wagon. It shook itself and seemed to sniff the air, then literally dove back under the sand. The bloodied sand covered its back and as it disappeared under the sand, another appeared and disappeared just as quickly. At this point I did lose my bladder, but thankfully they did not come back. I stayed there for at least an hour, before I stood up and slowly went back the way I had come. I was in such a daze that I barely noticed when I came upon and walked into where our camp was. I collapsed at my pallet and passed out, not my finest moment.

I was rudely awoken some time later by a clutch mate kicking me in the back. I quickly swiped a claw in his general direction and was rewarded by my hand smacking a shield. Then I heard a throat clearing and looked up into our shaman’s eyes, and almost groaned. Apparently I was in it deep. What I did not know was that my chest was covered with blood from the monster’s feeding site. I was pinned down by a guard quickly and the shaman spoke before I struck the guard.

*Shaman*: “Let him be! You, Kan’Vi’Don Lu, how come you by this blood that covers you?”

I replied, “What blood?” and was struck again. This time I snarled at the guard and my skin hardened. He made the mistake of stepping back, and I leapt to my feet. There were 4 more guards, with spears. But my point had been made and I won the small intimidation match. I looked down at myself to see this blood and then saw I was covered in blood and sand. I looked up and said to the shaman, “This is blood from a feeding site I stumbled upon while hunting a few hours ago.”

*He then asked for the story, “Tell us.” The guards backed up, but still kept their weapons ready. I related my tale, except for the bladder control problems.

Then the shaman told me to wash up and report to his tent.

It seemed my life’s torment was to continue, so I did as I was bid minus the guards who wisely left in a group. I cleaned up and gathered my gear. As you never knew when you would need to have it or leave. Then I went to the shaman’s tent and was told to wait.

I waited most of the night, catching naps here and there, while I watched our chief, war leaders, and lesser shamans come and go all night. They all glanced my way when they left. Come sunrise I was called in.

I entered the tent and was asked to sit; I was a little worried as they did not ask me to remove my weapons. I sat and relayed my tale again for them all. I then drew out the size of the creatures using fire wood. They were very unbelieving. I was told to leave, while they argued it out. I went and slept outside until I was awakened around noon.

I was told to stand and listen, as my judgment was passed. I immediately demanded to know what I was being accused of and who my accuser was. The guard who had struck me earlier stepped forward and pointed accusingly at me and said I killed his sibling during the sandstorm. I was dumbfounded, and replied immediately, “Any of the people fresh out of his shell could tell you that had I been the one I would have had the blood on me before I went hunting. You are a liar and a pawn!”

He stammered and then challenged me to an honor duel, to the death. I groaned and turned to the chief, “are his lies to guide us in this?” Only my black scales saved me at that point from my disrespect as the chief would never speak to one of my kind. He nodded. It was settled; I turned and walked outside the tent, where all of the tribe that had traveled with us was already gathered in a circle. I put down half my gear and took only my spear. As I crossed the circle and took my place, I became resigned to this battle and then my focus was on my opponent. It truly wasn’t a fair battle, but then again life isn’t fair and I don’t appreciate false accusations.

He immediately attacked thinking to intimidate me, and I was prepared as Master had attacked us whenever and wherever he wanted. I parried and parried and occasionally attacked until I found his rhythm. Once I found his rhythm I worked in a few openings and scored a few small cuts, taking quite a few more than I expected in return. Finally I saw him glance away and try to distract me; I feinted and left an opening. He leaped toward me as I rolled to the side already anticipating his attack; I continued my turn and stabbed toward him. He jumped right into my spear and impaled himself. At this point he was savable; I held my spear out of habit. He began pulling himself toward me on my spear; at that point I noticed that his eyes were red and wide with fear. He pulled himself all the way to me and reached for my throat, I shoved my spear forward and him with it.

He fell and as the spear planted in the ground he slid back down it. He was dead before he hit the ground. I turned to the chief and shaman and bowed, and said by his death I proclaim my innocence. No one spoke. I moved to the body and removed my spear and took a handful of his blood, speaking the ritual words of praise to my opponent and drank of his blood. His body was removed and I was summoned inside the tent again.

At this point I did not know what to expect. I was told that it had been decided that I would go with a war leader and his band to show them the feeding area I had found and further prove my innocence.

So we grabbed our gear and left, I traced my steps there and showed them what remained. Some of it was covered by fresh sand but most of the blood was still there, in a swath as wide as our shaman’s tent. They were amazed as well and began searching for tracks. I stayed back and watched from the top of the dune for the creatures.

I saw something in the distance and called the war leader over to show him. The sand was moving in small waves. He dismissed it as heat waves and said I must still be dizzy from my fight, and to go down and help search. I did as I was told and began searching where he pointed. A short while later I felt the ground rumble and a roar erupted from one of our warriors, then the ground exploded and we were in a fight for our lives. Two large brown creatures like I had seen were attacking. Between the eight of us we were able to kill one, after it took all eight spears and numerous arrows and slashes. The other escaped with one of our own. We all drank of the dead one’s blood and then lashed it to our spears and drug it back to camp.

I had my proof and was cleared of the accusations in everyone’s mind, plus we had brought back lots of meat. After the tribe ate, we immediately packed and left, not stopping until we reached the oasis.

We went to our campsite and began telling tales.

Region Type:

Tribal Structure:

Tribal Races: Mostly Sol’Kal, but other races are represented.

· Soul Eaters: The Anch’udran Tribe believes it is disrespectful to a dead foe’s spirit to not eat of their flesh and thereby add their soul and strength to the victors! This belief is seen as repulsive to some peoples, but figures into the tribe’s belief that a part of everyone can live forever. And the strongest and best should continue to make the people strong and rebuild the shattered world. As such, if an Anch’udran tribe member does not eat of a fallen foe’s flesh he believes he will be haunted by the spirit.

· The Anch’udran tribe believes that if one does not eat of a fallen foe’s flesh he will be haunted by the spirit. The spirit’s mostly just appear and look disdainfully according to legend, but some have claimed that the spirits spoke to them and chastised them or gave them quests to ease their spirits. The quests are normally dangerous and nearly suicidal but if accomplished the legends say the spirit will be appeased and leave the Anch’udran.

· The haunted ones talk to their spirit companions about plans and consult them when they perceive the spirits are around. They seek their approval in an effort to get rid of them, or assist them in finding peace of their own. This is done through whispers or normal speech depending on the situation as the spirits hear well enough.

· This belief has made trade difficult at times as trade disputes become quite bloody, but most of the surrounding tribes now know how the Anch’udran are and take that into account when trading with them for their mead. What they don’t know is that the Brudmed is brewed with fresh blood and the creature type it comes from determines the quality or taste depending on whose opinion is taken. Brudmed is a rough translation from old stories of Foe’s Blood, which was a potion made from a worthy opponent’s flesh and blood that granted strength and courage to the imbiber.