Out of the Frying pan...Part 3

Posted on 31 Oct 2013 @ 7:17pm by Commodore Da`nal of the House of Varal & Lieutenant Naja Jas & Ensign Morag NA

1,677 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: M10: Divine Intervention
Location: On the Surface...Vershani Encampment

[Tent of the Lord of the Tribes]

Hahranhah had nodded solemnly as the woman from the strangers agreed to the terms of the trial by combat. Behind his impassive look his mind raced as he watched Braegor from the corner of his eye. The Prophet had at first glared when he heard Hahranhah officering the challenge, then just as the High Lord had suspected, the Prophet's face turned sly and cunning. The Prophet would try to turn this situation to his advantage and Hahranhah would strive to outmatch him once again.

Hahranhah gestured for one of his retainers to escort the strangers to to another tent where they could prepare themselves and after they had left he turned to Braegor. "Prophet, you may choose a suitable warrior from our ranks who will be your champion against the strangers. Let the Goddess decide upon their fate"

Braegor poked again at the fire with his staff then turned and smiled. "Of course High Lord. However, since you chose not to follow my instructions that the strangers should be burned, it will be known throughout the camp that you are tainted by these Djinns. I shall choose a warrior whose heart is pure and who is a true servant of the Goddess"

Hahranhah snorted softly "My heart is not as tainted as some Prophet, I am and always shall be loyal to the Goddess. Now select your champion"

Baegor drew himself up to his full height, still some two hands shorter than the average man of the Vershani and began to move amongst the assembled Chieftains and warriors. Some ignored him but others stood proudly, hoping to be selected. The Prophet took his time, enjoying the attention. Eventually he selected three men, having them step forward. Braegor had made his picks seemingly at random, however Hahranhah new the Prophet had chose three minor chieftains who were loyal to the priest and envious of his own power. He smiled inwardly, Braegor had just identified three enemies to him. Men who would collude with the priest to undermine the High Lord's position.

"These three may be worthy" Braegor announced "I shall consult with them to determine their faith and pray with my acolytes to for guidance from the Goddess" The Prophet led the three warriors and his cronies to a far corner of the tent and they huddled in muttered conversation.

Hahranhah waited patiently, occasionally drinking his ale, and sending retainers to bring refreshment to the other chieftains while Braegor played out his pageant. The group began chanting, droning away in the priests tongue while Braegor conferred with each of the warriors in turn. Hahranhah smiled, it was a simple method of covering their speech from the rest of the tent.

First one, then the second warrior was dismissed from the group of priests, leaving the final chieftain as Breagor's champion. The group parted and Braegor led the man forward. Hahranhah was not surprised, though his heart was saddened. The warrior was Tarforth, he was the youngest son of an old comrade of Hahranhah's, a good and brave man who had long since gone to the grace of the Goddess. Tarforth as youngest son, with three elder brothers, had little chance of inheriting. He had become a drifter in the camp, it was said he had debts and he was regularly involved in brawls and scuffles. He was also a skilled fighter and would match his gamble his steel for money in the combat pits.

"Tarforth has been chosen!" Braegor announced "He shall smite the strangers! And then they shall be burned! As I ordered in the beginning!" The Prophets acolytes cheered raggedly and Braegor continued "Taforth's courage shall show the way to those who were weak! "

There was a sudden silence in the tent, all eyes shot to Hahranhah. The High Lord turned slowly and focused on Braegor, he would have killed any other man who called him weak. The Prophet paused, realizing that perhaps he had gone too far and could not meet Hahranhah's gaze.

Eventually it was Tarforth who rescued the Prophet "There are no weaklings here Prophet!" All Vershani are strong! It is just that not all of us hear the Goddess as clearly as others"

Braegor's relief was evident and he seized on the words "Of course! For the Goddess knows all! Come, we must prepare you to do Her bidding!" He moved towards the entrance of the tent, his acolytes following on.

"At dawn!" Hahranhah announced "The combat shall begin at dawn, in the central combat pit"

Breagor and his cronies hustled Tarforth from the tent. The other Chieftains began to drift out, leaving Hahranhah alone.

The High Lord sat thinking for a while before eventually retiring to his bed.


[Stranger's Tent - shortly before dawn]

Shortly after they were brought to the tent one of the guards had opened the tent flap and informed then crew of the time of the combat. Now the rain had stopped and although the sky was still dark there was a thin weak light growing on the horizon.

Blanra closed the flap to their tent and stepped back as the guards entered with a set a set of basic armor and other articles to choose from. There was boiled leather chest and back plate, chainmail, leggings, bracers, plate, and various pauldrons to choose from. She looked to Morag, "Its time to get ready."

Morag woke and arose from his meditation and rose, "I am... ready!" He said, "Suit me up!" He looked over the armoring before him. Usually a real Klingon fights without armor. Morag decided to make an exception in this case. "Wait I am not familiar with these things. Can you help me choose?"

Lodi stepped up as he exam the armor and weapons. he place his hand on to his, her, chin as he thought. Doing a quick thought exercise, as he rubbed his hand on the armor and weapons. before looking to the Klingon, which, as he smiled.

"Chain mail is one of those type of protection that can stop slashing and blunt attacks, at least up to a point. Stabbing and jabbing, well, not so much." Lodi in the voice Naja stated as she gestured to the armor that had a well balance of plate, chain, and leather "This armor, I believe well be useful, which, from the look of it, is made with the same metal that Most space faring cultures use in hauls. Also, I think some of these plates, were once pieces of ships, that no doubt fell out of the sky and our friends here, felt that these plates had some sort of tie to their gods"

Morag looked them all over taking the plate mail. He picked up the sword making sweeping maq'toh motions. It felt good in his hands as he swung it. "This will be adequate," he said, "But I wish I could have my Bat'leth and meq'leth." Morag parked the sword in its sheath and put it around his waist and grabbed a nearby shield. It felt as tough it was made of tritanium.

"Not a problem. May I also suggested using that sword nearest the armor, sir" Lodi stated "For that curve looks like a piece from an Warp Engine, which,once again, our friends might see this as a sign or something like that?"

"Indeed," Morag replied, "This is just the thing." He made sure everything was secure and tested for a moment.

The tent flap parted and one of the guards stuck their head in "It is time, the sun is coming. We will take you to the combat pits"

The guards stepped back and waited for the strangers to join them outside in the chill dawn. The rain had left and although there was still a cold breeze, the sun was slowly rising over a distant range of mountains. The surrounding camp was stirring, women tended cooking fires and children stood sleepily wrapped in furs against the morning chill. The men of the camp were collecting in groups, words of the arrival of the strangers and the morning combat trial had spread quickly, it was the topic of choice in the discussions.

One of the guards walked up to Morag and inspected him. He reached out and tugged on the Klingon's chest plate, then snorted "That is too loose, tighten it!" he said gruffly. Next he took hold of the shield and gave it a tug, nodding when the Klingon held it firmly. He lifted it a couple of inches "Keep you shield high Djinn, Tarforth likes to strike for your neck!" he laughed cruelly, "Hold it low and he'll slit it open on the first swing!"

Next he lifted the sword Morag had chosen "Hmmmm, a fair choice, if you know how to use it" The guard walked around Morag completing his inspection, he slapped the Klingon hard on the back with a big fist and snorted again "Well you look the part Djinn! Maybe you'll last a while..."

One of the guard's companions joined in with a retort "A gold piece says Tarforth guts him in the first round!"

The guard stood back and looked over Morag again, scratched his chin looked back at his companions "Make it two! I say the devil lasts until round three"

"Three and he's gutted in round two!" came back the counter offer

"You have a bet!" Both guards smacked their fists together and gave their money to a third who would hold the stakes. The guard leaned into Morag "Don't you die on me Djinn!" and laughed.

"Come devil strangers, to the central pit!"

The group was led through the camp, passing tents, wagons and lines of draught and cavalry animals. As the passed the tribesfolk stopped their morning work to watch and point. Soon people began to follow on and as they made their way towards the eastern side of the camp a large group of people trailed along with them.


TBC

 

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