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AR Chapter 354
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 04:00:09 +0000 UTCIn my sixth entry, I called one of the people who live here in the Empire a “Kha shepherd”. Though I wasn’t incorrect in calling him as such, I have since learned that such a form of address was, if not disrespectful, somewhat misleading. To explain myself, I must better explain what my error was at its basest level.
The Kha are, so far as has been explained to me, those who are still what are called keelish outside of the bounds of the Empire. It has been of particular interest to me to learn that the rulers of the New Empire have taken special care to delineate the differences between castes. Different from most other nations, there are obvious differences between those in power and those not. The Keel are monstrously large, some nearly as tall as the smallest indlovu, though never even close to as heavyset. Those largest are the Hak’Tal, those that parents and soldiers tell stories about. Then there are the elegant Sou’Tal, the quick Sik’Tal, the wise Kou’Tal, and the adept Kha’Tal. Of course, there are the Zak’Tal, but I have not been permitted to see the Zaaktif nor his family.
Below the Keel stand the khatif, which also have grown to the level of possessing a caste. So far as I know, there are no Zak’Tal khatif, but there remain khatif of every other caste. They are smaller than the Keel, but more than that, they do not stand straight upright. If the Keel are the aristocracy of the New Empire, then the khatif are the citizenry. Or, in less nebulous terms, the Zaaktif stands as the head of the body of the New Empire, the Keel the torso, and the khatif the limbs. They manage much of the holdings of the country under the supervision of the Keel. Then, to extend the reach and control of the khatif stand the Kha, or keelish.
The Kha are the fingers to the khatifs’ limbs, and they happily serve as the base of the Empire. There is no insult or frustration in being a Kha, but that village leader was, in fact, a smaller Kha’Tal khatif. That I referred to him as a caste lower than his own was an insult to the strides he had taken to evolve to his level.
Frankly, little of it makes sense to an ursine beastkin like myself, but the lesson was appreciated, once I was made to understand my error.
-From the tenth entry from the epistolary travel journal of Kayuktuk the Landlocked.
“Shiny slayer! Shiny slayer! On ground with shiny slayer!”
I patted the head of one of the keelish nearly worshipping me as I passed. He nodded and bowed as I acknowledged his presence. When I passed, he turned and hissing celebrations exploded into existence behind me as the others from his pack congratulated him for garnering even a fragment of my attention. We were growing nearer to New Nievtra, though another week remained before I suspected we’d grow close enough to even see the shadows of its walls. More than to find every keelish possible, we’d been relegated to the mountains as the shadow wyrms grow more and more active in the valley to the east. Thus, we traveled onward.
Days had passed and become weeks as we found a dozen more little enclaves of keelish. That they’d never interacted between themselves was initially surprising to me, but as I realized exactly how limited they were, it didn’t surprise me any longer. These keelish were limited to about a mile in any direction or by any large clearings in the tree cover. Each individual pack of keelish couldn’t support numbers of more than 50 at the outside, though most numbered only 20 or so.
As we gathered more keelish of the same general intellectual level, the new keelish better understood how to explain my “miraculous” powers. When they saw my [Murderous Melody] in action, what little resistance remained was swiftly washed away. What made me laugh was when they started to call me “shiny slayer”. If I wasn’t mistaken, Farahlia had encouraged it, changing “killer” for “slayer”, and though it was a little silly, I enjoyed the title and how easily the little keelish shrieked it at me as I walked past. That I’d given them the ability to walk freely on the ground was a boon they never forgot, often stomping their feet whenever I was near.
“What is that, Zaaktif?” Krotom asked me as we walked. Every word was deliberate, and he spoke slowly to ensure he didn’t misspeak. One night, he’d evidently evolved, but not quite to the level of becoming khatif. How much he and the other keelish in the mountains had been stunted in growth was an affront to me and I swore to wrest full control of the Shandise for my rule. I pulled myself from my future aspirations and looked where he pointed up the mountain, where, near the peak, a markhor stood, watching.
“It’s a goat called a markhor. They’re much more common this high up the mountain.” I explained. “Pretty good food, but they tend to stay out of the forests except to eat. I’m sure Foire would be better able to explain their habits. Silf would know more than I do as well.”
“Are they… predators?” He struggled with the final word and I nodded reassuringly at him to confirm he pronounced it correctly.
“No. They can be dangerous because they’re a fair bit larger than you are, but they do not prey on us. They are the prey.”
Krotom flared his frills in assent. He continued looking everywhere, and I noted that he continued practicing with his magic as I’d commanded him, sparks consistently flying off of him whenever he turned his head quickly. I smiled, approving of the curiosity.
“Zaaktif.” Silf interrupted as he jogged up.
“Silf.” I flared my frills. “You have news for me?”
“Yes. We’ve seen why the wyrms are so much more active, there’s a new creature beginning migration through their territory.”
“Another predator?” I mused. “How does this land support them all?”
“No, prey.” Silf corrected. “They’re… I can’t say if this is correct, but I think they’re birds that run, about the same size as the terrorbirds that we hunted back at our original home. Maybe larger? I can’t say, because, frankly, I don’t remember that time too well. But they don’t have the large beaks that the terrorbirds do, and they’re running in packs instead of pairs.”
“Are they as large as I am now?” I asked, a little worried that they might actually be predators. If so, they could be domesticated and hunted, but there needed to be something to feed so many creatures, and it just didn’t make sense how they all survived.
“Smaller, maybe the size of Sybil or Foire.” Silf reported. “I haven’t seen any up close yet. They’re traveling as fast as they can while the suns are still up.”
Before I could answer, Chjell spoke up. “If I may be so rude as to interrupt thee, Lord Ashlani?” I waved for him to continue. “These sound to be thickfeathers. They are a large, migratory bird that comes to the north when the days grow shorter and the heat fades nearly to a chill. We only rarely see them within several days’ journey of Tala, but I suppose that, were they to dwell elsewhere, they may number so high as you have seen to be traveling through the valley below.”
I flared my frills in acceptance and dismissal. The male realized as much and pulled back with a bow.
“Do you want us to go hunt some of these thickfeathers?” Silf asked, his tone eager.
“Not for now.” I clacked my teeth. “It’s better that we return to New Nievtra as soon as possible.”
“Very well.” Silf bowed. “I’ll return to searching for any remaining packs we’ve missed.”
I waved a hand and dismissed him, and he walked away. Then, the last week passed and New Nievtra was in sight, and what a sight it was.
“That… is not normal, is it?” Asked Krotom hesitantly.
“No.” I replied, wondering what had happened.
Comments
No_Creative_Name
Wonder how that happened...
Veldorn
Literally the first letter is not in cursive.
