The Ux of the Matter

[St George]

It was not something that had been seen before. For the Leonin tribes to call a fourth Crucible in a cycle was unheard of, never in a thousand years or more. But three times this year had the Crucible met, and every time all those attempting to join the ranks of the Mane had proven weak, and mewling. Not a single one had met the standard.

None had proven worthy.

And so, upon consulting the Temple of the Trunk (in private, for to make such a thing public would shame the Leonin leadership), an unprecedented fourth Crucible had been called. The tribes would meet again.

The queues to sign up for this fourth Crucible were not as long as they had been for the others, Khenra Betrest noted, in silent communication with her twin. The dark skinned feline watched the lines of Leonin youth from afar, forbidden from anything but observing by the covenant that bound the Khenra to the Ux Martivir.

I don’t know why you watch them so, sister.

Well aside from it being required of us, Sabaf, surely you can see what’s happening?

Khenra Sabaf said nothing, and Betrest took delight in her brother's ignorance. Her lilting, mocking laugh filled his head and he growled in return. She could feel him looking at her from across the square.

Look at the little lions, brother. The crowds are packed, but there are so few actually involved in this Crucible of theirs. Methinks they are scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Khenra Sabaf pondered her words, and a mood of deep satisfaction washed over him. He had always found the Leonin, especially the paladins of the Mane, to be arrogant without cause.

Perhaps their… exacting… standards have not been met by this newest generation. Perhaps the blood of the Leonin has failed.

Betrest didn’t reply, keeping her full thoughts to herself. Tactical appraisals of the Leonin were only part of her interest, but Sabaf didn’t need to know that the rest of her interest was more primal. The little lions were pretty in their own way.

In the square below where Betrest was perched, the queue moved slowly onwards, as the crowds pondered if anyone might prove themselves worthy this Crucible.

Dawntale was not a name easily forgotten by the tribes of the Leonin. For as long as the Crucible had existed, so too had a Dawntale found their way into the testing and more often than not, they had proven worthy. Irus Dawntale had led the Mane. Gorious Dawntale had held the bridge at noontide for 100 days. The chronicles of the Leonin, and all of the Ux, had Dawntales intermixed in all its greatest stories.
So it had been met with much consternation that all three Crucibles had passed without so much of a whiff of a Dawntale. There were rumours, spread by the ambitious and unworthy, that the line of Dawntale had failed. That the latest spawn of the tribe were themselves unworthy - and even worse - unwilling to be tested. When this fourth Crucible was announced, the tribe Dawntale had one more chance to present a candidate.

When a candidate for the Mane signed up in the queues, they were required to announce themselves. Most of the time, such announcements were met with polite applause or throaty approval if a member of the crowd nearby heard a member of their tribe announce but it wasn’t often that the crowd did a collective double-take.

“C-cala Dawntale.” The official showed no recognition they had heard the small voice of the person before them, so they repeated it louder and firmer.

“Cala Dawntale.”

Some in the crowd laughed. The tribe Dawntale - victors of a thousand battles, heroes of the Ux - had not sent Mox Dawntale, recently returned from adventure abroad, as expected. Instead stood before the official was a lithe female of less than 20 summers. The official said nothing, but murmuring in the crowd spread quickly, something Khenra Sabaf noticed.

Even Dawntale blood fails.

Ignoring the attention, Cala Dawntale stepped forward to be tested. The sun was high in the sky by the time Cala Dawntale stepped out of the Crucible, smiling from ear to ear. She had the marks of battle upon her, and as blood dripped from one of her ears, the crowd looked to her as he raised her mace high and heard the telltale boom of distant thunder and saw that she was worthy. Excited chatter broke out amongst the crowd, with a few taking large purses of gold from friends who had bet against Cala Dawntale. She strode off to the side, where members of the Mane greeted their new compatriot. Some of these she had fought, and she had bested.

Perhaps tribe Dawntale is not finished yet, brother.

Khenra Sabaf bristled.

Or perhaps her name was enough to arrange an exception.

Betrest sighed to herself. Contention was the plight of a Khenra and she had learn to pick her battles.

With attention on Cala Dawntale, no one was watching as the latest applicant stepped forward to the official and gave their name.

“Beor.”

The official looked at. “I need your tribename.”

“With regret, I cannot tell you.”

A raised eyebrow, and some in the crowd started to take note of the exchange. “And why not?”

Beor shuffled on the spot, briefly consternated. “I do not know my tribe. I may not have one.”

The official huffed. “What kind of Leonin doesn’t know their tribe? This is not the time for jokes, young one.”

“And yet it is one life played on me. Your guess is as good as mine.”

The Leonin behind Beor was growing angrier as they listened to the exchange. He pushed the shoulder of Boer. “Just tell them your tribe, fool.”

Boer turned and was met by the frame of a much larger Leonin. His brain unfortunately didn’t process this information fast enough as he spoke hotly. “If I knew I would, halfwit.”

The larger figure stepped into Boer’s personal face. “If you don’t know your tribe, you must be a whoreson or a half breed.” He said loudly. The crowd’s attention was firmly on this exchange now.

“And a whoreson will never be worthy to join the Mane. Get out of line, whelp.” Before Boer could reply, he was sent stumbling by a backhand from the other Leonin. Roaring in anger, Boer went back at him and the two were soon grappling - Boer headbutted the other male, drawing blood, but found himself being squeezed by the stronger opponent. Boer felt himself getting light-headed, but managed to free his arms and clapped his elbows around his opponents ears. Discombobulated, Boer’s assailant let him go and Boer went to follow up with a knee when he found himself with ringing in his ears and on the floor.

Biox Brightroar stood between the two, hammer in hand. “Stand, if you can, but the next one of you to throw a blow faces me.”

The Crucible quieted at his call. It was not often that Brightroar spoke up and when he did, you listened. He had earned that right long ago.

“A fourth Crucible!” He shouted into the silence. “And this is what they bring me?” He pointed at the large Leonin. “You. The hulking idiot. Who are you?”

Anger darkened the features of the youth. “Kagtun Wildshadow.” He growled. Brightroar nodded.

“Wildshadow. Your father was an idiot as well. Coward too, he ran at Grond. I cut him down myself. You’ve already proven yourself half his son. Step forward, be tested and we’ll see if you’re anything else.” He pointed towards the shadowy buildings where Leonin were tested.

Saying nothing, Kagtun stalked past both Boer and Biox Brightroar, as the paladin turned.

“And you.” Brightroar spoke softly, causing some in the crowd to ask what he said, only to be shushed by those around him. “You have no tribe. You cannot be worthy. Testing will only bring further scorn. Be done with this.”

Boer closed his eyes at words that cut like daggers. He stood his ground. “It is my right, as Leonin.”

“Do you think you can beat your stars?” Brightroar glared at Boer. “There has never been a tribeless member of the Mane.”

“Those that join the Mane renounce tribal status.”

Brightroar laughed. “Aye, supposedly so. And yet, what do they call me?” His voice rose as he addressed the crowd. “Who am I?” He called and the crowd bayed and answered with a shouted “BRIGHTROAR!”.

“We may renounce our tribes, but the tribes don’t renounce us.” Brightroar told Boer. He took a step towards him. “But I tire of this, and if you wish to disgrace yourself, I won’t stop you.”

Biox Brightroar turned to the official. “Mark him as Boer Noname. He will be tested!”

Boer grimaced at the name, but said nothing and followed Biox into the building as the crowd erupted, and as Boer entered the building, it seemed like both the sun and moon disappeared from the sky.

Hours later, Biox Brightroar led Kagtun Wildshadow and Boer Noname out of the Crucible, and the thunder that followed told the crowd that both were worthy.

Khenra Sabaf looked incredulously towards where his sister was sat leisurely watching proceedings. He hadn’t felt her move, and she couldn’t have seen him, right?

Betrest… what did you do?

Khenra Betrest waiting a long moment before replying.

You. First.

She took off into the evening, cackling in Sabaf’s brain as he cursed his twin.

 

[St George]

“When you said this job would be easy, you undersold it.” Rill grumbled, countenance rippling in concern.

“Under…sold? No… lied.” Calu intoned deeply. The tortle was glaring at their groups leader, a sheepish looking satyr who quickly busied themself with checking how the fourth member of their group was doing.

“How’s it going, Kenku?” He asked. The Kenku ignored him. It can only remember so much after all. Most of what thought it was allowed to possess was taken up by picking this lock. It was going poorly.

“You said the Kenku could pick locks.” Rill’s complaining continued. “We only have limited time before the guard changes, Crux.”

Krux ignored her, focussing on guiding the Kenku through the process. In truth, Krux knew very little about lock picking, only that it was a matter of leverage. His presence and aura did give the Kenku some calming influence, though it didn’t help all that much.

A clattering from far away left both Rill and Calu unnerved. They kept glancing back at Kenku and Krux, Rill’s liquid form turning purple. Rill stepped off to the side, extinguishing the nearest torch, and waited, hidden. Calu stood at the foot of the platform the safe was on, quarterstaff in hand. Despite appearances, Calu moved with a grace and assurance that belied the stereotypes of tortles.

The sounds of movement from afar seemed to be getting louder, but if they got the safe open it wouldn’t matter - Krux’s gate scroll would get them to an unguarded side door and out into the night. If they got it open.

“C’mon Kenku.” Krux murmured, to a soft caw as the Kenku concentrated and tried again. The Kenku tried… but the door didn’t budge, drawing a frustrated noise from both of them. The sounds were very loud now.

Calu murmured a few words and a rough wall of stone suddenly appeared at the main door of room they were in. Rill nodded in approval, but wished they had a wizard with them who might lock that door much more securely. She made a note to suggest this to Krux, if they got out of here.

The sounds were very loud now - marching soldiers, perhaps a dozen in all. The entire team tensed up, before Krux forced himself to concentrate, and gave the Kenku some more words of support. Kenku, for their part, repeated what they had been shown and surprising even themselves… the safe clicked loudly.

For a few moments all was still and silent, before Krux pushed Kenku out of the way and dragged the door open. There wasn’t much in the safe, but what they wanted was there, and Krux quickly picked it and the rest of the safe’s contents up and placed them in the deep pockets of their jacket, open and sleeveless. The shirtless satyr fished around in the jacket, with pockets seemingly deeper and in larger numbers than you could realistically get and pulled out a scroll.

“Get over here!” He called to his companions as the door at the far end opened and the guards were met with a wall of stone. They begun trying to push or break through but Krux’s party were already moving. They reached their leader, who activated the scroll, and they reappeared at the door out. Quickly opening it, the four ran out into the night…

And found themselves held in place, unable to move. In front of them, standing with a score of glaring Leonin, were two tall, dark-furred Khenra. The male said nothing, but the female eyed them maliciously.

“Oh dear. You are in trouble, aren’t you?”

The group found themselves floating along after the Khenra, Leonin flanking them, as reality around them dissipated and they found themselves in a dark room, alcoves in front of them lit up in an eerie blue light. None of them where exactly they were, but Calu recalled a story told to him by his old master - a story of one of a multitude of committees that had been left to run the Ux Martivr in the absence of the wizards that formed the empire, after they had withdrawn to their ‘contemplations’.

The group currently regarding them looked officious, though they wore no markings that could be recognised. The middle alcove was occupied by a hulking Loxodon, big even for their race, one tusk little more than a stub. To their left stood a stone genasi, stout and rocky, though when they moved it became clear that they also had a fire genasi heritage, for steam and heat emanated from the crevices fissures of their skin.

On the Loxodon’s right stood a Tortle, passive and entirely uninteresting. She was flanked by satyr, sprawled across a couch, watching proceedings lazily. This group was rounded out by a kenku, eyes dark as their feathers, wearing the robes of a monk - hooded and looking anywhere but at the other kenku in the room.

The Loxodon spoke. “Let them down.” The bindings on the group fell away, and Krux gingerly rubbed his wrists and was about to speak, before being interrupted. “I did not say you could speak.” A small moment passed before they continued. “Krux, Calu, Rill and unnamed Kenku, you have been captured attempting to flee from the Vaults of Acursus, no doubt having attempted to steal treasures from that most sacred of places.”

Krux went to speak but again found himself interrupted. “If I could expla-”

“You have already been found guilty.”

“Oh.”

“But,” Came a voice from behind him, “whilst the sentence would normally be death,” the female Khenra stalked passed him, her twin alongside, “exceptions can sometimes be made, in times of great need.”

The genasi raised a rocky eyebrow, and if steam coming from a canyon along the body of a being made of stone could ever be expressed in a sceptical fashion, it was.

“Khenra Betrest, should exceptions be made?”

The Khenra bowed low, her brother with her but unknowing of her plan.

Betrest what are you doing?

His twin began to explain but found herself suddenly cut off for the first time in her adult life.

Sabaf… are you there?

With no reply, she tried to cover her rising concern. It was unheard of for a Khenra to be cut off. It shouldn’t even be possible, even in death.

“I believe these can be useful to our aims. It recently became clear that those who would hoard certain items of great worth or interest to us had found ways to keep members of my community away from their vaults and so alternative measures need to be sought out and nurtured.”

Betrest regarded the group. “With a little prompting and some reshuffling of faces, I believe Krux’s party could be the group we need.”

Both the satyr and tortle were now paying much closer attention. “Yes,” began the Tortle, “perhaps this is exactly what we need.”

The satyr agreed, “Let the games begin, Khenra Betrest.”

The Loxodon remained unconvinced. Huffing, they brought attention back to them. “A price must be paid for their crime. Employment in our name is barely that. The laws require death”

The Genasi, most likely to agree with the Loxodon normally, spoke. “They do, but they do not require four deaths.”

The satyr seized on the opportunity. “The laws are clear - should a communities representative object to a sentence, it shall be revoked, with an alternative agreed upon.”

The Loxodon shifted in place, annoyed. “Then we vote on each sentence. In the case of Krux, found guilty of violating the sacred vaults - sentence of death.”

The satyr objected. “We object. Let them be Betrest and Sabaf’s plaything.” Krux really didn’t like the way both the satyr and Sabaf looked at him then.

The Loxodon barely managed to avoid rolling their eyes. “In the case of Calu, same crime, same sentence.”

The tortle objected. “We… object. Alternative… Khenra.”

The theatrics were perhaps even more annoying than the clear undermining of the laws of the Ux to the Loxodon, who was barely maintaining their composure. “Rill, guilty of the same, death the sentence.”

The genasi spoke, “We object. They can be used by the Khenra - with our support.”

With three objections it was pretty clear what was about to happen. The Loxodon spoke again, “The laws are clear. The guilt is clear. A death is required. Unnamed Kenku, guilty of violating the most sacred vaults, a sentence of death is pronounced.” The Loxodon, to the surprise of many, continued. “Unless an objection from the Kenku community is heard?”

All eyes turned to the Kenku, who Betrast realised had focussed in on her, its dark eyes on hers. At the Loxodon’s words the Kenku’s head inclined slightly, as if considering the prospect. The satyr snorted.

“Does our friend even understand the prospect? If they object it’s because they’ve mimic’d the word from us. We should proce-”

A sound half between a caw and grunt came from the Kenku, cutting off the Satyr. They stared the satyr down before, for the first time, looking at the other Kenku in the room. A long moment passed, before the Kenku pulled their hood snug over their head and turned away.

Betrest felt her twin's presence returning, and the panic she had felt subsided. Her twin felt it and snickered in her head.

You missed me.

Betrest bristled.

Not now. Something is happening here.

The Loxodon was the first to speak as the moment passed. “And so we have unanimity - the Kenku will be executed for their crime, to be held publicly on the new moon. Khenra Betrest and Sabaf will take the other three and fashion them into our implements, an extension of our authority. Let it be done.”

Krux, Rill and Calu released from the risk of imminent execution, realised what this meant. Krux went to speak, but Betrest stood in front of him, blocking the council from view.

“It’s this or you all die, by my hand. Move.”

The three exchanged glances, but under the gaze of the two Khenra and their Leonin guards, they turned and followed them out of the room. The Loxodon went to speak again to dismiss the council, but noticed one of their number was missing - the Kenku monk had already gone, disappearing into the night.