Prelude: Homecoming

[Bitom]

It's been three months since the brothers were home. It's been a hard few months, assisting and guiding a group of French dwarves with a special allowance from the NAN ruling councel to perform mining operations. The job was particularly difficult for Speaks-with-Ravens, who had the dual task of guiding the dwarves and controlling how much impact they had on the surrounding nature.

The dwarves, of course, just wanted to dig everywhere. Eventually, the brothers found them their place to mine and left them to it amid many promises that they would limit their activities to the one small external hole, branching from there. When the two men left, the dwarves were already making plans to ship the plain stone they extracted east to the American cities, so a spot-check will no-doubt be in order before long, but that will be someone else's job.

Knowing they are close, Raven and hunts press on past sundown. It shouldn't be long now.

OOC

Welcome to the game, Trog and V. Please describe the home you're expecting in your posts, but don't arrive yet... there will be some changes

[Vardaen]

Hunts-by-Scent, or Wanasa pi es Omna, is the younger brother of the two Lakota Souix warriors. Like all of his family he is tall and muscular, his dark 'red' skin is typical for his kin, and the long black hair, braided down his back, with a few leather thongs and eagle feathers, leaves no guesswork as to his heritage. He wears a traditonal warshirt right now, the leather shirt bares a row of ermine tails across the front, while strips of white beadwork race down the arms inset with geometric designs. Leather leggings cover his legs, while a woolen breach clout hangs down in front and behind his private areas decorated with ivory buttons and brass sequins taken in trade. A hatchet hangs from his belt, a long bow and a quiver are slung over his back. A pipe bag, covered in procupine quillwork hangs from the otherside of his belt. Patially beaded moccasins cover his feet that dangle off his horse. For he rides a calico pony, painted with white hand prints. No saddle is on his horse, but a set of bags hangs over the sides of the horse, camping gear within. Laying across his lap is a long Remington Rifle. With slow speach the guide, tracker, and scout finishes his story, "...what else could I do but run out of her lodge as fast as I could as her Hi (husband) woke up!" He laughs at his own tale as his horse moves along at a slow walk looking over at his brother Iya Kagi Taka, Speaks-to-Ravens.

[Trogdor]

Speaks-to-Ravens can't help but laugh at his brother's story. 'œA good story, '˜nasa,' he says, smiling. 'œAnd it may even be true,' he adds, 'œwhich makes it even better.' He flashes his brother a sly grin. 'œBut either way, a good story. More important, it wasn't a dwarvish drinking song. If I had to hear Dorkan sing one more of those, well, I might have put a scorpion in his boot, and our fee be damned.'

Raven, or Taka, as he was often called for short, is dressed similarly to his brother, though his leather shirt and leggings are of darker leather and much less adorned than Wanasa's ' only a few patches of beadwork with a handful of dark buttons. His hair also falls in two braids, rather than one, with raven rather than eagle feathers in them.

He rides a sleek black horse by the name of Nagi, 'œshadow' in the Sioux tongue. Raven had raised Nagi from a colt, earlier even, since he'd cared for the horse's sire and been there at his birth. The shaman rode Nagi bareback, a set of saddlebags and a sheath for Raven's rifle being all that restricted the horse. Nagi was very well trained and had no need for saddle or bridle.

'œI'm looking forward to some time at home,' he says, changing the subject. 'œIt's been too long since our last visit.'

[Vardaen]

Wanasa taps his temple with his pointer and middle finger of his right hand, a gesture he makes often, and a gesture their father used to make before he...

"You are wise kola, but a rattle snake in his boots would have worked better. I hear these dwarves are hardy folk when it comes to poison, but no one can resist the bite of a rattle snake." He clicks his tongue and pushes his horse forward a bit more. The calico responds, the bond between the man and horse is as strong as his brothers, perhaps only slightly less, but that makes his affection for the calico no less true.

"Once we reach home, we must be some fry bread and wasapi, I am tired of this dry buffalo." Hunt difts off thinking of home, the sprawling indian encampment is a typical lay out of tipis. The various families vie all season long to be given the honor of hosting the 'fangs', the two areas on either side of the offical entrance to the camp. The largest tipis of the family would stand like watch towers and proudly proclaim their achivements. Around them forming a circle of lodges the other families will have their tipis spread around the central area of the camp where bonfires, drying wracks and other such things are kept inside the saftey of the warrior lodges. Each of the lodges reaches 16-22 feet into the air, but can be broken down and packed in a matter of minutes by the woman who own them -- for none of the househould property belongs to the men of the camp. The men own the herd of horses that is grazing in a pasture down the hillside near the river that the camp overlooks. The herd is a sizable one, the tribe not doing bad considering the events of the recent past.

"We should see campfire smoke soon. I wonder which family controls the fangs this season..." He rides on.

[Bitom]

Before long, there is indeed smoke on the horizon. It seems that the wind had been blowing it against the mountainside. The pair come over a ridge and see their villiages current incarnation, right where they anticipated it. The treaty has limited the tribe's range some, but there is no more worry of the white man limiting it further, so the Lakota have learned to make do.

As the pair approaches, it becomes clear that something is wrong. There's nobody moving, no sound of voices, and the smoke isn't coming from a campfire, but from one of the lodges, which is still smoldering from having been burnt clean some time ago.

Aside from these clear signs of trouble, there are no other indications. The tipis are standing as they should, the herd is nearby and appears untouched. All is quiet.

[Vardaen]

Wanasa looks to his brother and then back at the camp. He draws out his rifle and kicks the flank of his horse riding hard down the ridge toward his village. He does not shout out, or give a war cry, he simply gallops down toward the front lodges that would mark the opening of the camp. His eyes scanning the landscape for signs of life, or of attackers until he reaches the camp.

[Trogdor]

Taka follows his brother's lead. His own rifle comes out and his horse follows Wanasa with only the slightest of a nudge from Taka's knee. One of Taka's hands moves to the pouch on his shoulder where he keeps his most powerful charms. But he takes no more action there. Now is not the time for spells. Time enough for that later, once they know what troubles they face.

[Bitom]

The two brothers pelt down the hill and into the village, meeting no resistance on their way. The silence continues. Nobody is there. Meals and jobs lay half eaten and half done. It is as if the people simply dropped whatever they were doing and left.

[Vardaen]

The younger of the brothers rides into the middle of the camp and pulls his horse to a stop. He jumps from its bare back and pats it on the side, "Stay here my friend." Almost without thinking he begins to inspect the various tracks left by the villagers. He begins to sniff the air, as if he might learn something from the smells that linger. Rifle in his left hand, held by the center of the barrel he begins to investigate the camp seeking tracks or other signs of what might have happened. He espically looks to follow one set of tracks around until it either disappears or leaves the camp.

[Bitom]

Many of the tracks lead out of the village at a run, most originating from where weapons are kept. It seems clear that the warriors went off to fight something, but there are more tracks. The women and children clearly remained behind. But their tracks become confused, as if they, too were involved in some kind of fight. There are several impressions where bodies might have fallen, but there are neither bodies nor sign of them being removed. If there are tracks of attackers coming into the village, they are lost among the other tracks. The people have been here for some time, and only Hunts incredible skill allows him to gain this much information. A lesser tracker wouldn't have a chance.