Ash & Her Embrace [Ready for BoT]

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Jacurutu
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Ash & Her Embrace [Ready for BoT]

Post by Jacurutu »

Ash and Her Embrace

I.

It was the Ashkhan’s custom to pay homage to the burial sites of his ancestors during the third week of Frostfall. As that time approached, he spent more and more time watching the falling sun, seeking the counsel of the wise-woman, pacing without purpose, gazing into the sky’s little lights. His very essence seemed to be pulled away from this place, as though he yearned to simply walk away into the night. The time of his pilgrimage consumed him.

On one of these occasions, I stood watching him from the door of my yurt, my hand resting on one of the poles. The Ashkhan looked almost mournfully at the stars, watching them in silence. “You could grant his wish, Ashudipat,â€Â￾ my wife, Ralna, said quietly into my ear as she placed her hand lightly upon my shoulder. “He longs for his wife and children.â€Â￾ Ralna had been raised as the daughter of the last Ashkhan. It had been a blow to her when her own brother had been passed over as the heir to leadership and the current Ashkhan took power. She had remained bitter all these years.

Nearly eight years ago, in the middle of the month of Frostfall, a rogue group of Telvanni warriors had descended upon the tribe’s camp when most of the men, including the Ashkhan himself, were out on a hunting expedition. They attacked the unsuspecting people; some escaped them, some did not. The Ashkhan’s family did not. The Telvanni beasts raped and murdered the Ashkhan’s wife. They hanged his three young sons from the rafters of the yurt watching as they suffocated. The Ashkhan’s oldest son had been no more than five.

However, as the Telvanni rogues finished their work with the camp, the hunting expedition returned home. The Ashkhan saw her body.

The battle was over quickly. The Ashkhan slit the drunken Telvanni’s throats, not even bothering to ask them why they had committed their atrocious crimes. He left their bodies to be eaten by the ash.

As soon as the last blood had touched his blade and the last body had fallen to the dirt, he moved to her. He held her tightly in his arms, whispering curses and prayers almost all at once. He gave tears to her corpse, wrapping his arms around her and hoping that, somehow, his embrace might be returned.

Finally, he released her, now looking to his three hanging children, now looking to their haunting, open eyes. He looked mournfully from their bloated feet to their pallid faces. He slowly untied each of them, bring their bodies to their mother’s. The rest of the tribe could only watch in grief as he kissed each of their foreheads and closed their eyes.

That night, as the last fires of the funeral pyres burnt out, the wise-woman found him with a knife pointed inwards toward his chest. No one knows what she what she said that stayed his blade; the words were meant for his ears alone. However, the wise-woman convinced the Ashkhan to keep on living that night.

And so, eight years later, I watch him gazing at the stars from my open yurt door as I listen to the words of murder from my wife.

II.

Ashudipat needed to be reminded of his heritage, and of mine. He was born to a strong family, a family with power and with influence in the Urshaliku tribe. Ashkhans had been born to his family, and it was now time for him to take the reign of power in the name of his ancestors. He owed it to them. Ralna herself was the daughter of the previous Ashkhan, a man of strength and honor; she had hoped to establish a family dynasty of rulers after his death. Her brother, however, had exhibited certain mental infirmities which had prevented his ascension to power. Instead, the current Ashkhan came to power, assuming the role that had been meant for her family and dashing her hopes of a solid family line of Ashkhans.

"You could end his grief, Ashudipat," she whispered to her husband again, measuring his face for any reaction to her words. "Just look into his eyes. He gazes into the skies in despair, forever waiting for his time to come. You know that when the wise-woman prevented his suicide, she merely delayed the inevitable."

Ashudipat turned to her and softly said, "I will not kill him. I will not take his life merely to appease your hunger, Ralna."

"It is not only my hunger, Ashudipat," she responded, pulling him away from the door so that none would hear her scheming words. "I know that the same desire burns within your veins as well. Your blood requires that you take what ought to be yours. It is your duty to your ancestors that you claim what is yours by birthright. You cannot deny your duty, what is owed to your father and his father as well. For years, Ashudipat, you have stood aside as opportunity has passed by you. No longer. Now is the time to take what is rightfully yours."

"I will not kill a man who has provided such bounty and peace to our people! He is a man of honor, a man who works for the benefit of the tribe!" Ashudipat cried, still trying to keep his voice low. "He does not deserve to be killed, Ralna."

"Ashudipat, do not be a fool!" Ralna laughed. "You’ve seen his distraction in these weeks for the last eight years. He pays no attention to the needs of this great tribe. Why, you could slay an innocent traveler or even a neighbor right now, and he would not know what to do. He would idle, perhaps even forget. We could even be thrown into war with another tribe, and he would be of no help. All of the Urshaliku could be wiped out before he even focused on what was happening. He is selfish, Ashudipat. He would kill each and every Urshaliku if it would bring his family back."

"How dare you Ralna! It is your ambition..."
"My ambition?" she growled. "My ambition? Were it not for my ambition, you would be a slave to the lowliest tribesman of the Urshaliku! Do not be a coward, Ashudipat. Before the ash has consumed the remnants of his body, you could be named the next Ashkhan. You have the strength, Ashudipat. Let my motivation guide you to greatness!"

"Ralna, I will not resort to murder for such a small thing as being named the next Ashkhan," Ashudipat replied tiredly.

"Do not concern yourself with the means, Ashudipat, for they are not so important. It is the end result that should be your concern. As long as you are the Ashkhan, that is what matters. If the allure of power matters not to you, think at least of your son, Sul-Matuul. She glanced over to their young son, who lay quietly sleeping on a floor mat on the far side of their home.

Ashudipat watched their son for a long time before responding to her. "Very well, I shall do it," Ashudipat said quietly. "For him, I shall do it." Ralna reached her long arms around Ashudipat’s body and embraced him. He returned her embrace only reluctantly.

That night, Ralna smiled as she watched Ashudipat crafting a new short sword. She knew that her lineage was destined for greatness, that her son would one day lead the tribe of the Urshaliku. Such thoughts warmed her heart, and she weaved her new rug with quiet thoughts of victory.

III.

Ashudipat realized that Ralna had manipulated him in order to climb the social ladder of the tribe. However, he himself felt that it was time to prove himself to his distinguished ancestors. Ashudipat’s great-grandfather, Arshal, had been one of the strongest ashkhans in the history of the Urshilaku. He was killed in battle when he refused to back down to a group of Temple Ordinators. Arshal had been alone in the wilds – as was his custom – when he discovered five of the Temple’s warriors violently harassing an outcast woman. Although she had left the tribe and abandoned all ties to its people, Arshal felt that it was his duty to defend her; he thought of any Urshilaku, past or present, as family. When the Ordinators commanded him to leave, he instead drew his great bow, Gahmakhetos. This bow was enchanted with the ability to eat away the flesh of the enemy and to grant an incredible boost of strength to its bearer. Arshal fired an arrow as the first Ordinator recklessly approached; the arrow knocked of the Ordinator’s arm completely. The man dropped to the ashen ground in agony, and Arshal granted him an alleviation to his suffering with another arrow to his head.

The other Ordinators rushed in a ferocious rage towards Arshal, who calmly fired another arrow into an oncoming Ordinator’s stomach before casting aside Gahmakhetos and withdrawing his dual short blades. The outcast woman watched Arshal kill two more Ordinators with unrivaled grace and power before the last Ordinator managed to put a blade through his chitin breastplate. The Ordinator smiled malevolently, thinking that he had won the battle. Arshal feigned to slump forward, but then swiped his blade viciously, cutting the throat of the final Ordinator. However, the Ordinator’s sword had been the ashkhan’s end, and there was no magic that could save him from his wounds.
Before his death, the ashkhan asked the outcast woman to return his bow, Gahmakhetos, to the Urshilaku tribe. The outcast woman agreed to this man’s dying request, knowing that returning to the Urshilaku could mean her own death. She held the fading ashkhan in her arms as quietus moved across his body as though she could protect him from mortality; he took his last breath in the warmth of her arms.

The outcast woman brewed a potion of strength before going back to the Urshilaku camp. After drinking her elixir, she hoisted the body of the ashkhan and put the bow into a carrying pouch. She knew it was not her place to use the power of the bow, for it was not hers and it would be disgraceful for a mabrigash to use the ashkhan’s prized weapon. She carried the ashkhan’s body back to the Urshilaku knowing the agony that the sight of his body would bring to the people, but she felt that she had no choice. Arshal had given his life for hers, and the outcast woman knew she owed it to his tribe to tell them of the ashkhan’s fate.

She bore his body back to the Urshilaku that night and was greeted with pained cries and weeping misery. It is said that the tribe mourned this loss for a full moon after his funeral pyre’s last embers were extinguished. For the duration of that time, the returned outcast remained with the tribe, learning the value of the man who had been lost. She became more and more awed that he had sacrificed himself for her sake.

The new ashkhan of the Urshilaku was named at the end of the mourning period; it was a crafty warrior named Salmel, great-grandfather of Ashudipat’s wife, Ralna. The old ashkhan had left two daughters, and so a new ashkhan had to be chosen from amongst the tribe. Salmel won a competition of speed, strength, and guile in the ruins of Lost Kogoruhn and was named ashkhan based on these merits. He ascended from the rank of gulakhan and granted his old title to the loser of the competition, masterfully solidifying his position and preemptively quelling any potential dissent that comes with a shift of power.

The outcast woman stood before Salmel as he made his decision about what to do with her. “You have returned to the camp of the Urshilaku,â€Â￾ Salmel said in an enigmatic tone. “And you have returned bearing the body of our leader, to whom you now owe a blood debt. I could have you executed for returning to the tribe from which you were exiled, but Arshal gave his life for yours, and it would be a disgrace to his spirit for me to kill you now. Therefore, I have contrived a better use for you, one which will benefit your own savior. You owe Arshal your life, and so you shall give it to him. Take his ashes to the holy and sacred lands of Necrom and bring his noble bow, Gahmakhetos. Build a tomb for Arshal in Necrom and place his ashes within that tomb along with his bow. You and your children and their children shall protect that tomb and its contents until the end of time.

“One day, the Nerevarine will come to your descendants. The must tell the Nerevarine of Gahmakhetos and grant him passage to the tomb of Arshal. Until that time, none may touch the bow of Arshal. Now go.â€Â￾

Ralna’s words had awakened Arshal’s blood within Ashudipat, and he reveled in it. He felt his great-grandfather’s strength pulsing through his veins, almost bursting from his very flesh. The awakened blood seized his mind, driving him into a frenzy of training. He trained with knife and shield, spear, bow and hand-to-hand combat. Bringing the Ashkhan’s death became his very life, consuming his being.

Ashudipat knew, however, that the title of ashkhan could not be won merely by conquest. Killing the current ashkhan was only the first step to conquest; the next step would be to build up support for his claim, regardless of circumstance. Ashudipat sought alliances amongst those who could easily be persuaded to join his cause, those who would gain by the passing of the ashkhan. Most of them were either too wise or not greedy enough to be approached for a blatant alliance against the ashkhan. Ashudipat merely secured promises that there would be no direct intervention should something unfortunate happen to the ashkhan and Ashudipat claim power. But there was one who could be solicited for such a coalition. Ershuli. Ashudipat had watched him over the years as he looked enviously at the ashkhan and his gulakhans. Furthermore, Ashudipat realized that Ershuli could be managed like a trained guar; he could easily be controlled as long as he was promised power.

Ashudipat approached Ershuli late one evening as the thief’s sign ascended the darkening sky. “Greetings, Brother,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said to Ershuli as he walked up next to him and looked into the night sky.

“Welcome,â€Â￾ Ershuli replied after glancing over his cloaked shoulder to check who was coming. “What is your business?â€Â￾

“My business is business,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said furtively. “I have a proposition worthy of your consideration, although I must ask that you never speak to anyone about this, regardless of the conclusion of this meeting. The topic of this conversation is meant for your ears only; even you ancestors ought not to know.â€Â￾

Ershuli was bright enough to immediately realize the importance of this meeting. He hesitated before speaking. “What’s in this for me?â€Â￾

So like Ershuli, Ashudipat thought. Always seeking to know the profits before the costs; this aspect of Ershuli’s nature will serve me well. “I offer you power and prestige, friend, something no man should turn away.â€Â￾

“Ha! You are in no position to offer me such things. Your tribal status is hardly above my own; how could you offer power to me?â€Â￾ Ershuli scoffed.

Fool! Has he no sense? Ashudipat thought. He’s nearly offensive enough to make me turn away from this deal, but I cannot. “This is the crux of the proposition, Ershuli,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said, maintaining his calm. “You see, I would like power as well, but one cannot simply take it. The ashkhan still lives, and he does not appear to be dying of his own accord soon. Therefore, the process must be sped up a little bit . . .â€Â￾

A look of comprehension fell across Ershuli’s face. For a moment, he looked at Ashudipat with an expression of horror and fear, but that look was quickly replaced with one of consideration. He had to decide whether or not this was actually plausible. “What assurances do you have of success?â€Â￾ Ershuli asked at the end of his thought process.

“A supportive net of tribesmen who will accept my claim and my own strength,â€Â￾ Ashudipat responded definitively.

Ershuli knew that this new confidence and assertiveness was not like Ashudipat; he was not one to conceive such plans of his own volition. Ralna’s hand had to be behind this; she was Ashudipat’s wife and he taste for power had to have forced this idea into Ashudipat’s mind. Ershuli was silent for a very long time before he finally responded. “Very well, you have my support, Ashudipat. Once the Ashkhan has fallen, I will fight to defend your claim to his old position.â€Â￾

“And so you shall be rewarded,â€Â￾ Ashudipat replied. “You will be made gulakhan as soon as my place has been solidified.â€Â￾

Both mer stood silently for a long time, feeling the wind as its strength grew; a lone cliffracer was battling against the wind as it tried to push its way through the coming storm, but each man knew that it was doomed to disease or death. Ershuli was the one who finally broke the silence. “A storm is coming, Ashudipat. A storm is coming.â€Â￾

Ashudipat merely nodded.

IV.

Ralna watched in mute apprehension and delight as Ashudipat prepared for the fast-approaching overthrow of the Ashkhan. He was gathering allies about himself like a protective net, but his true investment was in his own strength. Ralna witnessed as his new-found strength descended upon him along with a strange calm, as though he viewed the world from a step above the rest of its people; it was as though he had already become ashkhan. It was an incredible metamorphosis, one of which Ralna had not thought Ashudipat capable.

However, the Ashkhan was not physically weaker by any measure. Ashudipat would need every possible advantage to have a chance at defeating the Ashkhan in single combat. The Ashkhan had faced one challenge to his authority in his time as the ruler of the Urshilaku, and the foolish challenger had been slain with ease. Ashudipat had a number of advantages, though: he planned to fight the Ashkhan at a time when the Ashkhan was not himself, a time when he would be distracted by his time of mourning; the Ashkhan would not expect this move by Ashudipat and would be caught unprepared; and Ashudipat would have weapons suited for a battle against another mer whereas the Ashkhan would bring weapons meant to defend against the beasts roaming the wilderness.

As Ashudipat had moved through the camp securing alliances, Ralna had created poisons. Ashudipat’s weapons would be graced with death-bearing lacings of blood-draining and strength-stealing crafts. The Ashkhan would meet his end at the edge of her toxins. The final brews were done by the time the Ashkhan began his pilgrimage; Ashudipat would catch him at his family’s burial tomb.

As Ralna finished preparing the last of her poisons, Ashudipat opened the yurt’s flap and entered. “Are you finished yet, Ralna?â€Â￾ he inquired.

Ralna added the final ingredient, a pinch of ash which she mixed very slowly into the potion, before replying. “This is the last one. Your weapon’s touch will be as death, dearest one.â€Â￾

Ashudipat smirked and sat down next to his wife, looking at the wall of his yurt through the pot’s rising steam and seeing his home warped by the vapor. He quietly observed the dancing background, waiting as Ralna’s concoction thickened as blood drying in the sun, robbed of life by the ash’s infection. Inadvertently, his hand tightened around the blade at his left hip as his thoughts drifted to the Ashkhan’s burial ground.

Ralna read his expression and said, “Bring Ershuli with you.â€Â￾

Ashudipat looked up at his wife in surprise. “Bring Ershuli?â€Â￾ he asked. “Ershuli is greedy, not to be trusted. If the opportunity presents itself, especially if I am drained from my battle against the Ashkhan, Ershuli might try to kill me. I will not risk my ascension to his wickedness.â€Â￾

Ralna chuckled at Ashudipat’s concerns. “Ershuli is too great a coward to try anything like that. His lineage is not a proud one; there is no bravery in his family. Were it not for you, he would remain a low-ranking tribesman for the rest of his life. He will not risk his new rank by betraying you. Besides, if he believes that you trust him enough to bring him along, he will grow loyal and complacent; if he needs to be . . . removed at a later time, he will be caught off-guard, just like our dear leader.â€Â￾

“I still do not trust Ershuli,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said.

“If he shows any disloyalty, you can catch him now and kill him before he gains prominence. This journey can serve as his test.â€Â￾

Ashudipat paused, considering Ralna’s words. “I suppose you are right. I will bring Ershuli, as a safeguard.â€Â￾

The potion finally thickened, the steam ceasing to rise. Ashudipat dipped a piece of cloth into the poison and glazed the edge of his knife. As he finished coating his blade, Ralna wrapped her arms around Ashudipat’s chest and kissed his neck. Then his cheek. Then his lips. They made love that day before Ashudipat left to slay the leader of the Urshilaku.

V.

In the soft light given by the tomb’s flickering torches, the Ashkhan sat cross-legged gazing at the small marker of woven twine and unburied roots draped over the traditional urns surrounded by various offerings placed in years past. At the base of this sparse shrine, the names of his dead wife and sons were inscribed into the stone foundation which supported their remains. Aelsha. His sons, Reyhud and Illubanari. The Ashkhan clutched a black rose tightly in his left hand, so tightly that a little bit of blood fell from his palm atop a dark, brownish stain which had accumulated during the years.

He placed the rose gently next to the remains of other roses now wilted and decayed, petals and stems dried and broken. Then, with his bleeding hand, he touched the ceremonial urns of his family; each already bore the signs of other such rituals, and they seemed to embrace his touch. At each urn, the Ashkhan’s hand remained for a very long time, his glistening eyes closing as he breathed deeply once and again. At these times, it was as though he could feel the pulse of his wife and children, pulsating through the ceramic casing their bodies inhabited.

Finally, he rose from the ground, wiping his eyes with the shoulders of his deeply dulled and travel-worn cloak. He glanced around, reorienting himself with his surroundings which, in his meditation, he had left for happier planes. Such a lonely tomb, he thought, was unfit for those he loved so dearly.


Ashudipat came to the entrance of the burial shrine, breathing the rank ashen air with a wince or cough. He was here with only purpose. His very blood seemed to be aflame, his heart pounding the fires through his veins furiously. He stepped quietly through the entrance of the tomb.

For a moment, however, he paused. Indecision suddenly racked his mind. The ramifications of this murder could potentially tear the tribe apart, perhaps even result in civil war and the destruction of his own people. Was this worth all of that? Would it be better to simply turn away, to leave the shrine and return to the comfort and safety of his old, to grow old peacefully and merely observe his people until his last breath?

Ashudipat did not turn away. Perhaps he decided that it was worth all of the pain and suffering, that the power of the Ashkhan outweighed any risk. Or perhaps he feared what Ralna would do or say upon his return in failure. Who can say?

Reaching his hand forward, Ashudipat pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the gloomy shrine, his spear clasped tightly in his hand.

The Ashkhan whirled towards the entrance of the tomb at the sound of the opening door, fully expecting to see a would-be tomb robber. In the unfamiliar light of the door, he couldn’t make out the appearance of the entrant. With his hand raised to shield his face from the brilliance around the darkened creature at the door, the Ashkhan inquired loudly, “Who dares to step on to this hallowed ground? Answer, or you shall suffer my wrath!â€Â￾

“I shall suffer no wrath,â€Â￾ the figure responded lowly, striding quickly into the shady tomb. The Ashkhan recognized the voice: Ashudipat.

“Ahsudipat? What is your business here; why have you come?â€Â￾ the Ashkhan asked in a bewildered tone. Why would a fellow tribesman disturb his pilgrimage? “Has anything happened back at the camp?â€Â￾ The Ashkhan could not help but be reminded of the Telvanni assault on his defenseless home so long ago.

“No . . . nothing has yet happened to the camp,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said softly, almost melodically. The Ashkhan’s eyes had by now adjusted to the outside light, and he beheld a very strange smirk on his fellow tribesman’s face. It was a dangerous smile, especially coupled with the spear bearing a glistening edge at Ashudipat’s side.

The Ashkhan spoke now with a layer of caution laced into his voice. “Then what business do you have with me, Ashudipat? . . .â€Â￾ he asked, peripherally watching the spear-carrying hand as he intently watched Ashudipat’s eyes, which seemed to flicker with a light of their own.

Ashudipat merely smiled even more widely than before. He stepped forward again, his weapon held at waist level, the sharped tip extended forward. The Ashkhan understood. He withdrew his blade, a chitin short sword enchanted with flame.

“He catches on quickly,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said almost joyously, his smile now growing to an atrocious and almost disgusting width. Suddenly, with speed the Ashkhan had not seen in this mer, Ashudipat lashed forward with his cruel spear; the Ashkhan barely managed to block the incoming strike, but Ashudipat viciously swung right and struck his foe’s chest bluntly. The Ashkhan staggered backwards and smacked heavily against the thick stone wall of the tomb. Ashudipat realized and quickly took advantage of the position; he spun around in the direction opposite of his first blow and tried to land a finishing attack to the Ashkhan’s face. The Ashkhan, however, barely maneuvered away from the attack as the blade scratched a thick line on the tomb wall. The Ashkhan then charged forward and tackled Ashudipat, who was sent reeling. He stayed on his feet, though, and countered the charge by spinning and hurling his enemy against an urn with his own momentum.

Even as Ashudipat countered, the Ashkhan realized what evil was about to transpire here. In the heat of battle, he had neglected to consider the positions of his cherished family’s remains. As Ashudipat spun away, he saw his wife’s urn directly in front of him; he didn’t even have time to shout “noâ€Â￾ as he flew. As he crashed through the ceramic urn, his face filled with her, and her memories and spirit filled his mind. He lay amongst her remains, too stunned by the sacrilege which he had inadvertently committed to notice his own approaching death.


Ashudipat also knew what had just happened, and he knew his victory had finally come. He calmly removed his own dagger from his belt and stepped over the Ashkhan’s shaking form. He knelt down beside his fallen enemy. “Goodbye,â€Â￾ he said quietly, sinking his blade through the Ashkhan’s spine. He stayed this way until the Ashkhan’s shaking had ceased, and he left the tomb for home.


VI.

Outside the darkness of the tomb, Ashudipat heaved a great sigh. He was one step closer to his ultimate goal, but what remained would be perhaps the most dangerous part of this foul task. The end, however, stood like a great beacon, tempting and drawing him along this path. This business would end soon enough, and he would have his desired power.

Ashudipat had commanded Ershuli to wait for him in a clearing not far from the mouth of the tomb, and he had done so - obedient little creature. Ashudipat had brought this weak mer along solely to placate Ralna; Ershuli was by no means necessary for success here. His true duties would begin once the two conspirators had returned to camp. Ashudipat returned to the clearing over a small hill, halting for a moment at its crest to survey the land. Ershuli sat at the base of the hill on a large rock embedded by the sweeping dust holding a long piece of wind-dried trama-root below what appeared to be a short writing:

“May his name have not memory and words
in eternity,
and may his lament be
short-lived.â€Â￾

“The winds will take this,â€Â￾ Ashudipat said, looking towards Red Mountain as it bristled in the ancient rage of the Devil. Dagoth Ur seemed to seethe restlessly in his slumber, awaiting the time when once more he would awaken, as if the recent death had incensed him to consciousness.

The two mer watched silently for a long time, neither of them wanting to think of the trials ahead. Finally, Ashudipat solemnly said, “It is time.â€Â￾ Ershuli arose, and they set their path back to the camp to deliver the news of the Ashkhan’s unfortunate demise.


A meeting was called upon the return of Ashudipat and Ershuli to the Urshilaku camp; the people, now leaderless, had to decide what to do. In the din of the gathering, one of the tribesmen finally stood atop a table and shouted, “Ashudipat, you must tell us what happened, how our leader was slain!â€Â￾

As the clamor subsided, Ashudipat began the speech rehearsed so many times. “Ershuli and I set out not long ago on a hunting expedition, seeking food for the well-being of the tribe. As we tracked our prey - a beast of considerable size - our course happened to take us to the very tomb in which the Ashkhan paid blessed homage to his fallen family. The day grew dark, and the track of the beast was becoming harder and harder to follow, and we were weary from a day’s hunt without fruition. We thought that perhaps our brethren would dwell within the tomb and that we could console him and lighten his mourning pain. Were he not there, we could at least find a haven in the protecting watch of our ancestors. However, upon entering the tomb, we discovered a most gruesome, most horrific sight! There lay our sweet Ashkhan, a fell blade protruding from his back. He appeared to have been praying over the remains of his beloved wife when he had been murdered. The foul killer had even desecrated the tomb, shattering the urn of the Ashkhan’s wife! His body had been looted and left by some low, shameless thief; we tried to find a footprint, a track, a trace, but the Ashkhan’s spirit had long since abandoned its dwelling, as had the murderer, and the wind disguised his path. Alas, we could not trace the murderer through the lands cleaned of his course. â€Â￾

Ershuli cast an approving glance towards Ashudipat at the end of his speech. Ashudipat gave a nod ever so slightly which went unnoticed by the crowd rising with dismay.

“But why did you not return with the body of our leader?â€Â￾ one cried from the crowd.

“We thought it best to return with the ill news as quickly as possible. Besides, it is better to perform the sacraments with his family he loved so dearly,â€Â￾ Ashudipat responded. Some in the crowd nodded in agreement. Others remained unsure. The tribe disassembled later that night still without a new leader chosen; Ashudipat made sure that they didn’t do something they would later regret.


During the night, Ashudipat and Ershuli moved about the camp speaking with their fellow tribesmen, subtly working to show Ashudipat’s ability to lead telling stories in the guise of praise to the late Ashkhan. Their tribesmen listened as Ashudipat’s name dropped into the conversation now and then, and many minds turned that night. The spirit of the fallen one would not find peace that night. By the time morning broke on the ash laden sky, Ashudipat’s new position was all but assured.

The vote never came; Ashudipat was named ashkhan by the month’s end.
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