Had to switch up
As Rice and Darius rode across the endless expanse of the Great Plains, they quickly realized just how small their understanding of this world had been. Pillaris, the city they had worked so hard to establish, was nestled on the western fringe of the plains. What they had assumed was the heart of the region was merely its edge. Now, with each passing day, they ventured deeper into the true heart of the plains—a sprawling, unending sea of tall grasses and wildflowers, undulating softly under the wind's caress.
Verrik, riding alongside them on his gray-speckled steed, gestured broadly to the horizon. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice carrying over the rhythmic hoofbeats. "The plains stretch further than you can imagine, almost forever. Long ago, there was one massive tribe—the Clawbound —that ruled these lands. They were mighty, united, and unstoppable, but over time, greed, ambition, and disagreements fractured them into the smaller tribes we know today."
"Like the Blood Talons and Stone Hoof Tribe?" Darius asked, steadying his brown horse with a firm hand.
"Exactly," Verrik replied. "Those are just two of the splintered groups. Some are hostile, like them, but others have chosen to live in peace."
Verrik nodded ahead. "We're heading to one such tribe's territory: the Iron Fang Pack. It's Morana's home tribe."
Morana, riding slightly ahead of the group, turned her head briefly, her face unreadable, though her grip on the reins seemed to tighten.
"The Iron Fang are loyal and fiercely protective of their friends," Verrik continued. "If we're going to build any kind of coalition to stand against tribes like the Blood Talons, they're our best bet."
Darius narrowed his eyes at the horizon. "And the other tribes?"
Verrik nodded, his expression growing more serious. "There are others to keep in mind. The Ash Coil Tribe is as cunning as a pack of snakes. They'll twist your words and make deals that favor them, but they're not inherently malicious—just… opportunistic."
Rice, always eager for a bit of drama, chimed in. "Sounds like we'd better not play cards with them."
Verrik smirked but pressed on. "The Storm Scale Tribe is another major faction. Proud, disciplined, and honorable. They value strength and integrity above all else, but don't mistake their pride for arrogance—they won't ally with anyone they don't respect."
"And the last tribe?" Darius asked, leaning forward slightly in curiosity.
"The Thunder Strider tribe, their warriors are the fastest on the plains," Verrik said. "They're small in numbers compared to the others, but their speed makes them formidable. They've mastered hit-and-run tactics that leave larger tribes struggling to keep up. Together, these four tribes—Iron Fang, Ash Coil, Storm Scale, and Thunder Strider—maintain an uneasy balance in the central plains. we should be able to find them easily."
The journey deeper into the plains was both awe-inspiring and exhausting. The grasses grew taller, swaying like green waves in the wind, while wildflowers in vibrant blues, yellows, and purples dotted the landscape. Herds of wild animals, including sleek antelope and shaggy bison, roamed in the distance, their movements like shadows on the horizon.
The five travelers often stopped to tend to their horses, the animals panting lightly after long rides. Darius, ever practical, checked the hooves of his horse, ensuring no stones were lodged. Rice, on the other hand, took a different approach.
"Time for some magic," Rice declared one evening, pulling out a pouch of seeds he had brought from Pillaris. As the others watched, he scattered the seeds with dramatic flair, muttering nonsense words for effect.
"What are you doing?" Verrik asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rice turned with a grin, still tossing seeds. "Spreading awesomeness. These plains could use some flavor."
Rice took on cooking duties, whipping up delicious meals from their dwindling supplies. Roasted meats, seasoned vegetables, and even some simple flatbreads became staples of their journey. Despite their hardships, laughter often filled the air as Rice joked about everything from their growing familiarity with horse care to Darius's gruff but meticulous nature.
As the weather began to cool, the plains took on a crisper beauty, with frost lightly dusting the grasses in the early morning. Each breath left visible puffs of mist in the air, a reminder of the changing seasons.
After a few days of travel, they began to see signs of the Iron Fang Pack's territory. Stone cairns marked the edges of their land, standing sentinel like ancient guardians. The travelers exchanged glances, their anticipation growing as they approached the tribe that could be their first ally, or the final nail in the coffin.
The group of five approached the Iron Fang Tribe as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the vast plains. The settlement came into view, nestled within a shallow valley surrounded by rolling hills. Unlike the Stonehoof Tribe's oppressive, utilitarian layout, the Iron Fang camp radiated a sense of community and joy.
Simple but well-crafted huts made of woven reeds, clay, and wood formed neat clusters, their walls adorned with painted symbols of wolves and fangs—likely totems of protection and strength. Smoke rose from central fire pits, where villagers worked together to prepare meals. Children ran about, playing with carved wooden toys, and their laughter filled the air. Warriors patrolled the edges of the camp, their weapons polished and ready, but even they exchanged smiles and waves with the workers.
The sight of Morana brought an eruption of cheers and cries of relief. Villagers flocked to her, embracing her tightly, some with tears streaming down their faces.
"She's alive!" someone shouted, and the crowd swelled, each person wanting to touch or see Morana to believe it was true.
Morana smiled, though her eyes occasionally darted away, her expression flickering with a trace of unease. She accepted the embraces and joyous greetings, but her posture was slightly tense, as if something weighed heavily on her.
After the initial commotion settled, a group of warriors led the five travelers toward the chieftain's longhouse, situated on a slight rise in the center of the settlement. It was the largest structure, adorned with banners made from dyed hides, each bearing the sharp fang emblem of the tribe.
Inside, Chief Torran stood near a large fire pit, his broad shoulders silhouetted by the dancing flames. His face was a mosaic of stern lines and battle scars, his hair streaked with silver but still thick, and his beard was neatly braided. His piercing gray eyes softened as soon as he saw Morana.
"My sweet daughter," Torran said, his voice trembling with emotion. He stepped forward, his hands outstretched, pulling Morana into a tight embrace. "When we heard your hunting party was attacked by the Blood Talons, I thought I'd lost you. If not for my advisors holding me back, I would have charged into their territory myself to avenge you."
Morana closed her eyes briefly, leaning into her father's arms, her voice steady but heavy with emotion. "I thought I would never see you again, Father."
Torran stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders. "What finally brought you home, sweet child?"
Morana gestured to the group behind her, her voice strong and resolute. "I stayed to save the rest of my party, but Father I come with urgent news, the Blood Talon Tribe and the Stonehoof Tribe have allied. The Blood Talons send their captives to work for the Stonehoof Tribe in exchange for tools and food. Our people, and so many others, are trapped in their camps, living as slaves."
Gasps rippled through the room as Torran's jaw tightened.
This was big news, the Blood Talon tribe was already a menace indiscriminately killing any person they came across, but allied with the stonehoof tribes, one of the richest tribes was a calamity.
"These people," Morana continued, indicating Rice, Darius, Verrik, and Slynn, "brought me back here. They saved me. But we must return and free our friends. If we don't act soon, more lives will be lost, and our people will remain in captivity."
Torran's expression grew grim, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He began pacing near the fire, his heavy steps echoing in the longhouse. "If what you say is true, this alliance between the Blood Talons and the Stonehoof Tribe is a danger not only to us but to every tribe on the plains."
As he spoke, Torran's commanding presence filled the room. His muscular frame, built from years of battle and leadership, seemed to cast an imposing shadow. Despite his stern exterior, his eyes revealed a depth of compassion for his people. He wore a thick fur-lined cloak over his leather armor, and a ceremonial spear, its shaft carved with intricate runes, leaned against the back wall.
He paused, turning back to Morana, his voice softening again. "If they have taken our people… then we will not let their suffering go unanswered."
Rice opened his mouth to say something—likely a quip—but Darius nudged him sharply, keeping him quiet.
Torran turned to the group. "Thank you for bringing my daughter back to me. Your courage will not be forgotten." He then addressed Morana. "If we are to act, this cannot be the Iron Fang's fight alone. I must convene a meeting with the other tribes' leaders. Perhaps together we may be able to stand once again"
As he spoke, Torran's commanding presence filled the room. His muscular frame, built from years of battle and leadership, seemed to cast an imposing shadow. Despite his stern exterior, his eyes revealed a depth of compassion for his people.
"Morana," he said gently, placing a hand on her cheek, "rest now, I understand the emotions you must be feeling, but do not allow the responsibility to crush your spirit"
As the five left the longhouse, the air outside felt heavy with anticipation, the Iron Fang Tribe's resolve hardening like tempered steel.