73rd of Fall, 516 AV
20th Bell
The third Zith attack had been brutal. Lives were lost and people were taken but there was something more to it. The winged beasts had been a nemesis of the horseclans since their inception but this season had shown more than just aggressive hunts. The raids were organized, well-planned and displayed among other things- patience. There was a lot one could say to describe the Zith but patience rarely came into that conversation.
Cyrus Windreaver stood near the Wind Knotted Gates and looked around as more and more people drew into the spaces between the pavilions. As those in attendance grew in number from dozens to hundreds, the ankal dispatched one of his watchmen to fetch a wagon that he could use as a platform. The Sayeth was used to giving speeches though he couldn’t recall a time when the Drykas clung so desperately to the words of one man. Normally, clan leaders and ankals would address their own people but given this season’s attacks, it felt like the whole of Endrykas had shown up to hear what their leaders had decided to do about the Zith threat.
Chimes went by and more people crowded the area until it became cumbersome for the members of pavilion Windreaver to get the small buckboard up near the gates. Cyrus eventually made his way towards his people which helped a great deal to achieve the common goal. With powerful legs, the salt and pepper haired man climbed up onto the wagon and stood to his full height. The silhouette he struck against the reddening horizon was imposing, powerful and one that created a wave of silence which spread outward until only the slight whistle of Zulrav’s breath could be heard. The light eyes pierced every gaze they met as if daring someone to speak out of turn yet that was not the mind behind the man. Cyrus raised his hands to finalize his position at the center of attention then spoke in a powerful baritone that boomed over the grasslands.
“Children of the wind,” his hands twisted into the sign for family. “You come her today looking for answers.” He signed the words future, security, revenge, loss and questions. “I stand here today proud.” His fingers continued to mix in signs such as strong, devout, persistent, loving, and honor while the speech gained momentum. “We Drykas have been through so much that our grief has felt endless.” Signed words like sickness, division, violence, disaster and war emphasized his point. “I have lost and I have cried out to the gods for help like many of you.” His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as anger, doubt and loneliness formed and faded. “But we are Drykas and we are semekhe.” He signed the word for powerful. “As a people, we exist among the world not to tame it but to experience the wealth that it offers.” He signed the words for peace and enlightenment. “There are forces that would deny us our birthright and try to destroy what we have- what we are.” His fingers made the sign for zulkina; godsend.
By this point the crowd had fully taken in with the direction of the address. Head nods, murmured agreements and even the occasional shout began to rise up like the tension in the wind just before a storm. Syna sank lower along the grasslands and turned the green setting into a blood sea that spilled over the Tent City and bathed all in attendance with her crimson rays. Cyrus felt the stirring of Zulrav and it swelled his barrel chest with fire. As he continued, his own volume grew as it was spurred onward and upward by his god and by his people.
Cyrus made the gestures for brothers and sisters as his speech resumed. “We have been wronged!” The calm was gone in his pitch and in its place was an edge like a whetstone. “We have been hunted in our beds!” His hands made signs for outrageous and never again which drew cheers and the thumping of chests. “If the gods set the world upon us, we will survive and seek to redeem our station.” His hands lifted to the sky and his eyes closed as the wind slipped through his fingers like silken scarves. “But should man or any other race set their eyes to take from the clans,” his fingers twisted the words villains, cowards and thieves. “They shall find a people ready to devour their ambitions! A people ready to give their lives for each other and that,” his hands formed and held the word for reason. The crowd was chanting, singing and praying as well as cheering for the words of one of their leaders. The mob had taken upon life as an entity unto itself. Cyrus saw this and paused then used his hands to calm the Drykas by pushing his palms towards the ground. “That is why I am here today.”
Once the area had grown silent, Cyrus turned in a slow circle with the red glare of Syna’s dying flames on his tanned skin. “In times like this where the Zith pursue us and pirates invade our lands, we must look to our own for answers.” His hands signed the phrase as one. “We cannot depend solely upon clan and pavilion to right the wrongs committed on such a massive scale. We must act as one people.” His hands repeated the phrase as one. “With that, the Conclave unanimously decreed that there will be the Ba’san Zerutsa.” The words meant Vengeful Sky and Cyrus created the hand signal above his head for all to see.
“Any soul may volunteer should he or she possess the right skills.” He signed fighting, tracking, riding and others. “In a few days, we will take the fight to the Zith. Should you wish to be a part of this, inform your ankals. They will know what to do.” The crowd erupted in cheers but was silenced by the muscular arms of Cyrus. “We go for revenge but we also go to retrieve our brothers and sisters who have been taken.” He signaled priority. “The Ba’san Zerutsa will look to deal a crushing blow to the colony that plagues us.” More cheers filled the air while swords, axes and spears clanked as they were hoisted as well. “From this day on-“ Cyrus was intentional in breaking each word into its own space. “The Drykas will answer violence with violence, blood with blood and leave those who seek to destroy us in a pile of ash.”
Cyrus stared out in silence for a moment as the sky began to darken. The rumble of the mob dimmed, waned and then died as everyone waited to hear what was next to come. They all watched the Sayeth with pained interest. His voice had returned to its normal speaking tone. “No one fights alone ever again. We are family.” His hands formed the symbol for their race. “We are Drykas.” Without words, many began to hold the sign up above their heads as well until it was all Cyrus could see. Young and old, warriors, hunters, healers and craftsmen of every clan unified under the single image of their people. The lines of race, clan and class had vanished.
NoteFeel free to post and gather any skills you wish. This could become a social thread if people so choose or it may just be a stand alone post. I felt it necessary to generate this announcement in an IC form.
20th Bell
The third Zith attack had been brutal. Lives were lost and people were taken but there was something more to it. The winged beasts had been a nemesis of the horseclans since their inception but this season had shown more than just aggressive hunts. The raids were organized, well-planned and displayed among other things- patience. There was a lot one could say to describe the Zith but patience rarely came into that conversation.
Cyrus Windreaver stood near the Wind Knotted Gates and looked around as more and more people drew into the spaces between the pavilions. As those in attendance grew in number from dozens to hundreds, the ankal dispatched one of his watchmen to fetch a wagon that he could use as a platform. The Sayeth was used to giving speeches though he couldn’t recall a time when the Drykas clung so desperately to the words of one man. Normally, clan leaders and ankals would address their own people but given this season’s attacks, it felt like the whole of Endrykas had shown up to hear what their leaders had decided to do about the Zith threat.
Chimes went by and more people crowded the area until it became cumbersome for the members of pavilion Windreaver to get the small buckboard up near the gates. Cyrus eventually made his way towards his people which helped a great deal to achieve the common goal. With powerful legs, the salt and pepper haired man climbed up onto the wagon and stood to his full height. The silhouette he struck against the reddening horizon was imposing, powerful and one that created a wave of silence which spread outward until only the slight whistle of Zulrav’s breath could be heard. The light eyes pierced every gaze they met as if daring someone to speak out of turn yet that was not the mind behind the man. Cyrus raised his hands to finalize his position at the center of attention then spoke in a powerful baritone that boomed over the grasslands.
“Children of the wind,” his hands twisted into the sign for family. “You come her today looking for answers.” He signed the words future, security, revenge, loss and questions. “I stand here today proud.” His fingers continued to mix in signs such as strong, devout, persistent, loving, and honor while the speech gained momentum. “We Drykas have been through so much that our grief has felt endless.” Signed words like sickness, division, violence, disaster and war emphasized his point. “I have lost and I have cried out to the gods for help like many of you.” His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as anger, doubt and loneliness formed and faded. “But we are Drykas and we are semekhe.” He signed the word for powerful. “As a people, we exist among the world not to tame it but to experience the wealth that it offers.” He signed the words for peace and enlightenment. “There are forces that would deny us our birthright and try to destroy what we have- what we are.” His fingers made the sign for zulkina; godsend.
By this point the crowd had fully taken in with the direction of the address. Head nods, murmured agreements and even the occasional shout began to rise up like the tension in the wind just before a storm. Syna sank lower along the grasslands and turned the green setting into a blood sea that spilled over the Tent City and bathed all in attendance with her crimson rays. Cyrus felt the stirring of Zulrav and it swelled his barrel chest with fire. As he continued, his own volume grew as it was spurred onward and upward by his god and by his people.
Cyrus made the gestures for brothers and sisters as his speech resumed. “We have been wronged!” The calm was gone in his pitch and in its place was an edge like a whetstone. “We have been hunted in our beds!” His hands made signs for outrageous and never again which drew cheers and the thumping of chests. “If the gods set the world upon us, we will survive and seek to redeem our station.” His hands lifted to the sky and his eyes closed as the wind slipped through his fingers like silken scarves. “But should man or any other race set their eyes to take from the clans,” his fingers twisted the words villains, cowards and thieves. “They shall find a people ready to devour their ambitions! A people ready to give their lives for each other and that,” his hands formed and held the word for reason. The crowd was chanting, singing and praying as well as cheering for the words of one of their leaders. The mob had taken upon life as an entity unto itself. Cyrus saw this and paused then used his hands to calm the Drykas by pushing his palms towards the ground. “That is why I am here today.”
Once the area had grown silent, Cyrus turned in a slow circle with the red glare of Syna’s dying flames on his tanned skin. “In times like this where the Zith pursue us and pirates invade our lands, we must look to our own for answers.” His hands signed the phrase as one. “We cannot depend solely upon clan and pavilion to right the wrongs committed on such a massive scale. We must act as one people.” His hands repeated the phrase as one. “With that, the Conclave unanimously decreed that there will be the Ba’san Zerutsa.” The words meant Vengeful Sky and Cyrus created the hand signal above his head for all to see.
“Any soul may volunteer should he or she possess the right skills.” He signed fighting, tracking, riding and others. “In a few days, we will take the fight to the Zith. Should you wish to be a part of this, inform your ankals. They will know what to do.” The crowd erupted in cheers but was silenced by the muscular arms of Cyrus. “We go for revenge but we also go to retrieve our brothers and sisters who have been taken.” He signaled priority. “The Ba’san Zerutsa will look to deal a crushing blow to the colony that plagues us.” More cheers filled the air while swords, axes and spears clanked as they were hoisted as well. “From this day on-“ Cyrus was intentional in breaking each word into its own space. “The Drykas will answer violence with violence, blood with blood and leave those who seek to destroy us in a pile of ash.”
Cyrus stared out in silence for a moment as the sky began to darken. The rumble of the mob dimmed, waned and then died as everyone waited to hear what was next to come. They all watched the Sayeth with pained interest. His voice had returned to its normal speaking tone. “No one fights alone ever again. We are family.” His hands formed the symbol for their race. “We are Drykas.” Without words, many began to hold the sign up above their heads as well until it was all Cyrus could see. Young and old, warriors, hunters, healers and craftsmen of every clan unified under the single image of their people. The lines of race, clan and class had vanished.
NoteFeel free to post and gather any skills you wish. This could become a social thread if people so choose or it may just be a stand alone post. I felt it necessary to generate this announcement in an IC form.
