The Clans, Their Leaders

A rundown of the most powerful Ellisian tribal leaders goes as follows. The installments will go in order of overall influence and military strength.

Orit Gilead Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Headmistress" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "She-Wolf" (Otherwise)

Matriarch of the Gilead Clan, which controls roughly half of the old city and a third of its underground routes into the Ascarlin Mountains.

Holds higher rank over her two sons, Erasimus and Tasroah ("Raz" and "Taz"), both of which have assembled respectably large clans. Under their mother's rule, the two act in unison as one especially large Ellisian tribe. Highly militaristic and especially hostile to outside humanoid factions. The Gileadites have waged war for control of the Ascarlin Mountains for decades. Overall population is well over one thousand functional adults.

Stands 6'1'' tall, only average by Ellisian standards. Avoids hunching as many of her kin do, makes her appear more imposing by comparison. Has maintained a strict dietary regimen for many years. In her advanced age of above 71, this has only begun to have a visible effect of enhancing her physique for combat. Often wears military garb, but occasionally takes on formal appearance, thinking to assert authority over her counterpart clans. Pale skin, very long dark hair, used as a sign of age. Thick accent, draws out long vowels excessively.

Had held a command role during a number of campaigns under the unified Ellisian warrior caste, when it used to exist. Tactically proficient in underground combat in the mountain halls and caverns. Spends significant stretches of time designing a training program for her own clan's war-maidens. Constantly in conflict with her neighbors and local predators, in her lifetime has gained a disproportionate amount of combat experience. As a result, her war-maidens are trained far more rigorously than those of any other clan. Incidentally, her stock of supplies is more than adequate to cope with the size of her standing army. Many other clans cannot boast the same. Moreover, she isn't at all shy about asserting her dominance on any front.

Diplomacy between the Gileadites and any other group is nonexistent at best. Being in a position of supremacy over her peers, and one of utter hatred of other societies, she sees no reason to even consider negotiating in the first place. Being in control of even a tiny portion of the ascarlin mines has put her faction in possession of liability. Often this leads to other factions attempting to drive her out by force, and inevitable conflict. She is unwilling to simply give this away, even if the resource itself is of little use to her.

Overall personality is driven by a seething hatred of all of the foes who incessantly test her patience. She longs for a day when her forces are so badly feared that none of her neighbors would dare to challenge her ever again. This is directed particularly towards other humanoids. Even more so to the other Ellisian tribes. By her logic, they are the most familiar with her superiority, and therefore the most foolish for confronting her. Foreigners cannot be as easily blamed for simply not knowing what they're getting themselves into by doing the same. Ironically, her position is the most lax towards the deadliest predators. As she sees it, by mere eventuality they've caused far more damage to her opponents (everyone NOT a member of her clan) than to herself. In light of this, their presence is in fact, beneficial. Few things would bring her greater amusement than to hear that half of an enemy tribe had been snatched up by Crisis.

For the few moments that she isn't busily orchestrating her troops, she passes the time with a number of hobbies. With such an inflated ego, she can't help but be fascinated with the task of collecting old manuscripts and documents preserved from the old city. The ones that chronicle her clan before the empire's split are her most valuable treasures. Still bearing a few cultural remnants from the old society, she has also taken to perfecting incense mixtures as well as they used to be made in a time past. Tending to foul moods often, she can be regularly found in her den's antechamber, burning incense over a fire or brewing old tea recipes for stress relief. Most of her time is spent going through the routines of looking over tactical maps and ordering her two sons to issue new troop deployments to the clan. Having been a soldier in her own youth, she takes a great deal of pride in personally overseeing her war-maidens and their progress. Her moments of happiness are often found in having trophies from recent engagements being brought right into her waiting hands to be added to the collection.

Ezra Hebron Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Pretty-Boy" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Casanova", "Slim" (Otherwise)

Patriarch of the Hebron Clan, in control of roughly a fifth of the old city and the southwest mountain slopes leading to it.

Has risen to being the second most powerful clan lord by perfecting the arts of breeding his clan at a very rapid pace. His clan's total population of several hundred was achieved in the span of time that most other lords could have used to have only produced a mere handful of offspring. He guards the drug formulas responsible for this superhuman feat very dearly. The other clans could not possibly imagine that his women undergo a complete pregnancy in only six months, and their children reach an age suitable for combat (and further breeding) whole years sooner than their counterparts.

Hebron is obsessed with his own appearance, and thoroughly grooms to emphasize his features. Unlike most of his peers, he keeps his face shaven clean and deliberately exposes himself to enough sunlight to avoid the paleness common to his race. His figure is very light, even frail. He spends a great deal of his resources to procure clothing of high quality fabric to further his vanity, a luxury his clan has difficulty affording.

His most important responsibility is in mass procreation of his clan. The rumors spread of him often claim that he has hundreds of wives and thousands of children, and though this is a gross exaggeration he does go to great lengths to expand his harem, and for the most part is profoundly successful. How this is done remains something of a mystery, even to him. His persuasion is augmented by an exhaustive regimen of bathing in animal pheromones, plus further drug enhancement. Nary a soul can be certain how much of an effect these have had, though he insists on continuing these rituals to keep his chances high.

In fact, his astounding rate of reproduction has produced so many male heirs that often they quarrel for position. He had long since given up on trying to amass harems for his sons, and as a result now fears that they would end up stealing from his own harem. Many of his princelings are so low in his clan's hierarchy that they abandon the notion of inheriting his rule directly. Most end up being press-ganged into the role of officers for his own caste of war-maidens. Hebron himself is a shoddy military leader at best, and leaves combat planning to his sons, a few of which are quite cunning.

With his population rising dramatically, getting ahold of enough resources to support them all has been difficult. Most of the vital parts of the old city are under other clans' control. Gilead in particular has been the biggest roadblock to his advances, sporting a military caste far superior to his own. Hebron knows full well that even if his population exceeds hers, he'll still have little chance of dislodging her. He's often turned to unconventional means to gain the upper hand, trying to manipulate other clans into working towards his goals, or even soliciting the help of other races. His clan is usually the most diplomatic to outside factions. He's sent emissaries far and wide, advertising the riches of the west ascarlin mines. He hopes that large foreign armies will eventually arrive to clear out Gilead and give him a foothold in her place.

His attention is most usually focused on his harem, both adding new women to it and servicing them as often as possible. He suffers very badly from exhaustion and insomnia, though the use of drugs, pheromones, and native herbs mitigate this to some effect. He's particularly interested in foreign women, both for his own tastes and as a means of preventing inbreeding. He spends an inordinate amount of resources in keeping his harem comfortable, much to his neglected war-maidens' chagrin. The "sows" as they're mockingly called by the warriors are held in a position of extreme privilege, and can have any whim fulfilled so long as they continue to produce offspring at a blistering pace. Likewise, the "piglets" as they're mockingly called by the consorts serve mostly to defend the harem and collect all of the various dalliances demanded by both Hebron and his many consorts.

Militarily, his large numerical advantage is beset with poor logistics and low supply counts. Only a fraction of his war-maidens are armed with rifles. Most end up staging ambushes bare-handed, or using only simple knives and daggers. This being the case, his clan is particularly vulnerable to attack by predators. Without the wicked long rifles to prod the predators away, they find whole squads turning up missing on a regular basis. The situation sometimes becomes so desperate the Hebron's sons occasionally attempt to pay local predators with the lives of a few of their own troops. Still, in time his numbers have risen to a degree that in spite of these limitations he can utterly overwhelm smaller clans.

Hiram Azaryah Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Archbishop" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Geezer", "Whitebeard" (Otherwise)

Patriarch of the Azaryah Clan, in control of the remainder of the old city (less than a third of it) as well as the eastern slopes leading to it.

The third most powerful clan lord, one that has inspired fear by the threat of using what could only be described as 'mystic powers'. For ages he's been fanatically devoted to reviving a lost art of channeling fate manipulation through the use of a perfect vestal priestess. He believes that the only candidate acceptable for this position must be entirely unblemished. What's more, any pigmentation in the skin is one such blemish that renders the candidate invalid. Long since before the collapse of the old empire he's been trying to breed an acceptable priestess, and has yet to stumble onto albino offspring.

Azaryah himself is by a wide margin the eldest living Ellisian, nearly two centuries old. He's spent whole decades at a time underground, and both his skin and hair are especially pale, even by the standards of his kinsfolk. He particularly detests the sun, thinking of it as nothing more than a curse to blunt his efforts. As expected of a clan lord, his hair and beard have both gotten long, acting as a symbol of authority and age. Following his trend of seeking purity, his only wears white cloth and insists that his clan does the same. This is a stark contrast from other clans' more typical dark grey and black.

Though his rituals themselves haven't yet produced any useful results, the ether generated in the process happens to be a potent fuel, often ending up as propellant for rifle cartridges and the payload for a number of explosives. Having a great abundance of the chemical on hand has allowed the Azaryites to stockpile some of the most lethal incindiary devices. Flamethrowers, for starters, as well as incindiary shells, rockets, mines, grenades, and every other delivery system imaginable. In fact, because the Azaryah clan uses incindiary weapons so often the rumors of having supernatural powers has been believed by other clans in the first place.

The whole Azaryah Clan often participates in the daily ceremonies to collect and refine the holy ether, and for them this is a deeply religious experience. They'll often cover themselves in prayer hoods while chanting hymns as they perform their duties under small swinging incense burners. And if disturbed (an inevitability in Felarya) they fall into fanatical need to ensure the rituals go on as needed. Combined with their use of terrifying incendiaries, intruders have often learned the hard way that his territory is a particularly bad place to trespass.

Having been around to have witness countless conflicts and societies having come and gone, Azaryah is gifted with intense wisdom. However all the time he has spent around the ritual ether has had a similar effect as inhaling mercury vapor. Though Felaryan healing keeps the damage to his mind in check, every now and then he falls to fits of utter derangement. Because of this, his own clan has learned to be especially careful around their leader. Other clans likewise find his antics disturbing and unpredictable. Most parties are completely at a loss when deciding how to approach him at all.

I like how diverse you made them.

Arloh Gamaliel Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Highlander" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Wanderer" (Otherwise)

Patriarch of the Gamaliel Clan, in control of the slopes and woods north of the old city.

Overall, he controls a greater square footage than any of the other clans, however his tribe is nomadic and only occupies a small portion of his territory at a given time. Having been deprived of a foothold in the old city and little access to the mountain passes as well his tribe has adopted a far different lifestyle than their peers. They are primarily hunter-gatherers who have made a living in the mountainside forests and jungles pursuing animal herds. Overall population of a scant few hundred is still enough to put the Gamaliel clan on the map as the fourth most powerful.

Gamaliel has been the victim of a large number of physical losses. His clan had been forcefully evicted from the mainland by the other clans, and the man himself sustained many wounds. Stress of this level has caused balding, and he appears much older than he actually is. In spite of this, he has quickly learned from his mistakes and avoided the other clans to the best of his ability. Having come to accept the nomadic way of life, he and his clan often wear animal pelts to resist the more dangerous climate further up the mountain.

By far, his clan is the most skilled at dealing with the local wildlife. They soon learned to adapt their previous skills as warriors to the new purposes of hunting, and avoiding being hunted themselves. They've built a reputation for having strange ways of placating the local predators, even domesticating a few of the smaller species. In particular, great efforts have been made to breed domestic Kenshas as an asset to the clan. This process has been difficult, and in doing so Gamaliel has suffered some of his worst scars yet. In one attempt his left arm was horribly mangled and has yet to be fully healed. It likely never will be as strong as it used to.

His clan has also come to make an artform of learning local plants with medicinal qualities. Liquors and pipe tobacco mixes assembled by the Gamalielites are rumored to be legendary prizes to anyone who could get ahold of them. Some attempts had been made to leave part of his clan in one position to start farming these goods in the jungle, but it was soon learned that having one distinct settlement made it much more difficult to avoid threats. All the same, the concepts of land and territory are incredibly precious to the Gamaliel clan. Though they have a great deal of flexibility to roam freely, having territory taken away is to them a catastrophic loss.

They likewise avoid encounters with other races, fearing it to be a liability. However they are certainly not above setting ambushes on intruders to steal precious and desperately-needed resources. They do have a strange fascination with the giant predators, having tried to use animal pheromones and herbal concoctions to indirectly lead them to either avoid their own clan, or into a hostile settlement. They haven't yet conceived of the notion of communicating directly with the predators and offering them physical offerings as the Hebronites do. They see this as utter foolishness.

The personality of Gamaliel is one far more calm and detached compared to most of his peers. Since he isn't engaged in constant warfare over the old city, he has the freedom to focus his attention on other matters. He is often deeply worried in being sure his clan migrates at the right moment, and to the right place. His peoples' wanderings is sometimes guided by a bit of paranoia of being sandwiched between two of the other warring parties. Procuring resources is likewise a concern. While the other clans can simply pilfer what they need from the old city, he's had to improvise. But in spite of the problem, his clan has adapted well to gathering from the woods instead. He enjoys tending to the domesticated creatures within his clan, and in practicing craftsmanship in fashioning improvised tools from wood or stone.

Saadi Helon Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Iron-Lung" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Wheezer", "Humpback" (Otherwise)

Patriarch of the Helon Clan, in control of the slopes south of the old city and the lower gate to the mountain passes.

Closely related to the Hebronites, the Helonites tend to act as a buffer to their kin and are usually the first line of defense to the other clans, a role they've come to despise. Constantly having to repel northbound threats, the Helon clan has been worn thin over time, and has been relegated to being only one of the lesser Ellisian tribes. This said, their sheer stubbornness has done them credit, and the south fortress has often been described as utterly impenetrable. Over the many decades, its earthworks and minefields have sprawled to gigantic size, though only in recent years their upkeep has waned.

Lord Helon himself is a disturbing figure to behold. Having been nearly chewed in half by a harpy, he walks with a shuddering limp. His legs have been braced with struts to keep its shape from the crushing wounds. It is a feat unto itself that he is capable of walking, albeit slowly. Worse still, his torso had been twisted out of shape by the encounter, and his lungs collapsed. One fragment of the harpy's fang is still embedded in his shoulder, as his clan simply lacks the medical expertise to remove it. His most defining feature is the rasping wheeze that can be heard as he speaks. During the encounter, the tale of which has risen to legend, he fired a rifle shot right up the nostril of the harpy who had been busily gnawing on him. Both are claimed to have kept the wheeze for eternity.

Having close ties to another clan, the Helonites have the unique benefit of open trade with someone other than themselves. It isn't terribly often that they get ahold of something valuable enough to trade for supplies or new war-maidens, but without any outside help their clan would have surely been eradicated by now. Still, dealing with Hebron is sometimes challenging and the threat of the two clans breaking their truce is a far greater threat to the Helonites than to their counterparts. The common rumor of simply being Hebron's pawns is likewise troubling.

Still, having the south fortress in their hands has given the Helonites some degree of protection. When trouble arises the entire clan of well over one hundred members can easily seek shelter within, and optimistically simply wait for the threat to become bogged down in the sea of land mines. The fortress had been equipped with a number of large caliber long-barrel cannons, but the ammunition stocks for these has been shrinking drastically as time has passed. Lately the Helonites have become wary of using these at all, fearing they may be needed for larger threats.

Resentment has been building in both Helon and his clan, realizing that their numbers will continue to shrink under the present conditions unless something drastic occurs. He desperately wishes that one of the neighboring clans draw hostile attacks away from him for a change. He had even begun contemplating elaborate schemes to swap territories with one of his neighbors.

Vividly remembering the pain of his battle with the harpy, he especially hates all winged creatures. He dislikes even the thought of hunting birds for food. He would say such an end implies that they have a valid function in existence. Physically impaired, his role in the clan had shifted to being an icon of morale. Children of his tribe are brought to be told of his exploits in person many times over their lives, and regularly at formal meetings he's looked to as a herald and chronicler. Often he simply says, "If I can go through that and still walk, then surely you can meet Crisis and walk away from it alive."

Roeh Uzziel Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Golem" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Lurch", "Spider" (Otherwise)

Patriarch of the Uzziel clan, in control of most of the Ellisian-held fringes of the far west ascarlin mines.

The Uzziel clan is entirely subterranean, completely cut off from any access to outside world. They live deep within the mountain, blocked on one side by Gilead, and on the other with the dangerous caves and mines. At one point long ago their clan was numerous and mighty, and waged direct warfare against Gamaliel. The two sides fought for years until both had grown weak and were suddenly driven to the far corners of the map by Gilead's invasion of the old city. Gamaliel was forced into exile atop the mountain slopes, and Uzziel banished underground. There he waits, massing up resources slowly and deliberately.

Uzziel himself is a giant of his race. Well over seven feet tall, with particularly long limbs. He hunches over far more than his peers to conceal his unique stature. Its often said that he doesn't walk or run, rather that he lunges on all fours like a monstrous insect. In truth this is the ordinary result of someone of his size simply trying to negotiate the rough cavern walls and stony outcrops of his new homeland. Though he looks awkward, he's surprisingly agile. Few have adapted so well to their climates.

Having long since realized the gravity of their situation, the Uzzielites have consolidated what little they have left to rebuild their clan. So far cut off from outside contact, their rate of population increase is a mere trickle, and subject to terrible inbreeding. Moreover, great effort has been invested to keeping the population hidden. In fact, these efforts have been so successful that many other clans believe the Uzzielites have gone completely extinct. This has allowed them the time and energy to gather up precious minerals from the mountain in large quantities. So large, in fact, that they plan on someday migrating through the maze of underground passes to the other side, having enough to simply buy a new homeland when they emerge.

Typical life for the Uzziel clan is an exercise in being careful and slow. The last thing they need is any other group finding them and their treasures ahead of schedule. They rarely speak, as any sound would be greatly magnified against the echoing cave walls. They've adopted an impromptu sign language to stay quiet when not within the safety of insulated shelters. They've also deliberately slowed their metabolism to near standstill. The adults seem to move almost as if in slow-motion. The children haven't yet been given the same treatment, and seem to zip around their elders like hummingbirds. Needless to say, a great amount of worry is put into their games and mischief.

Above all, they value patience. They can seemingly wait for days in the same spot for fungi to grow, or for giant cave crickets to fall into their traps. They have yet to see any real combat in their new setting, but their sheer staying power would have made them remarkable ambush fighters. With metabolisms so slow, many natural predators crawl right by, never even noticing them. This is to them a simple matter of order. A calendar had been assembled, stating a precise time in the future when the clan is to make their voyage. Every birth between now and then, counted in advance. Every ounce of precious metals, estimated ahead of time. And somehow they match every figure exactly as the almighty calendar had predicted.

Rivkah Tarfon Ha'Amazonai

Common Aliases: "Vixen" (Negavian and Deluran Databases) "Venus Man-Trap" (Otherwise)

Matriarch of the Tarfon Clan, which controls the northeast approach towards the old city.

The survivors of a collapsed clan, the few remaining Tarfonites struggled to keep their identity. All of their former tribe's men had been systematically wiped out in the wake of the warfare between the mainland clans, and only she and a scant few dozen war-maidens remained. Desperate to regain legitimacy (and breeding rights) she and her 'amazon tribe' have taken to using their charms and wiles to capture, seduce, and ultimately dispose of other clans' precious few male heirs. Though the odds aren't favorable, in time they may eventually give birth to a male heir of their own, and once again count as a proper Ellisian clan.

Mistress Tarfon is striking in just how delicate her features are. She has an uncanny talent for using her stature combined with deception and manipulation to inexplicably appear in the way of wandering eyes, seeming to be little more than a lost traveler, or just another clan's misplaced war-maiden. One must be especially cautious when she turns to the tactic of bathing in natural mountainside hot springs. To stumble onto her then is certain death. Her voice is soft and graceful, and she's a master at masking her intentions with innocent conversation. Many a scion and princeling have ended up meeting a cruel fate at the hands of her treachery.

What's more, the women of her clan share a very tightly knit bloodline, granting them many of the same charms. At any point that a Tarfonite has been captured, precise identification is near impossible. Even a DNA test would prove inconclusive. And every last one are entirely willing to act as her decoys, rendering her famously elusive. Many of the other clans' egotistical lords and their equally egotistical sons take it upon themselves as an exhilarating challenge to get ahold of the famed Lady Tarfon for themselves. The so-called "foxhunt" is perhaps the one sport the clans have in common. And Tarfon very much supports the practice, as it gives her the opportunities she needs to breed her own clan.

But for those who wander too close the result is far from sporting. Once the victim has been surrounded and captured, the rest of the procedure is quite mechanical. The subject will be rendered unconscious, and as many of her maidens as possible will use the poor fellow for breeding, and he'll quickly be discarded. If he's lucky, the end will be a simple gunshot or knife stab. If he's not so lucky, he may be left to the local predators for live disposal. Tarfon herself takes an especially disturbing pleasure at seeing these men being savaged by the wildlife, and moreover how the predators seemed to have done little more than take her art and perfect it. She particularly admires the naga Vivian, and looks to her for inspiration in setting new traps.

In light of the threat she poses, every clan lord very thoroughly tries to instruct his sons on the means of outwitting her, or at the very least resisting seduction. Hebron is the one exception in that he has so many sons to spare (and so badly wants Tarfon to be the newest member of his harem) that he seems to toss them after her in droves. Many have failed spectacularly. In fact, the young Hebronite princes so regularly pursue her that they've been mockingly called "foxhounds". Tarfon, it seems, is so flattered that she occasionally takes pity on the younger ones. Once in a while, she'll even send one back home alive to spread even wilder rumors than before. To even think that one may have laid hands on her silky thighs is an enraging taunt to any Ellisian man, and Tarfon relishes these mind-games.

As far as military strength goes, the Tarfon clan essentially has none. Their population is far too low to survive in a direct confrontation with any real clan. Her strategy has always been to lure given figures away from the protection of their maidens and then strike when the target is defenseless. Clever as they come, she knows better than to linger in one place long enough to be tracked. A number of clans have at some point vowed to utterly destroy her and her whole tribe in vengeance for lost sons, but thus far none have succeeded. And yet, the foxhunt goes on.

Eliram Nadiel Ha'Ellisi

Common Aliases: "Jackal" (Negavian and Deluran databases) "Saint" (Otherwise, and with very great sarcasm)

The one remaining male heir of the Nadiel Clan, lives in the forest south of Negav.

Had long since lost interest in rebuilding his clan in any of the traditional (or not so traditional) means and instead focused on simply gaining riches and power in other ways entirely. He's taken up residence in an elaborate den carved from a gigantic tree stump, disguised to appear as little more than a shop to court the myriad of treasure hunters coming to and from Negav. Hidden in the basement, Nadiel has set up a functional armory and has stockpiled numerous crates of weapons. Many are his own creations. Most of his business dealings are in selling these to just about every armed group in the region.

The man isn't quite six feet tall, making him notably short for his race. Though he goes to great pains to better blend in with a foreign crowd, his skin is still pale and his accent, conspicuous. His beard is trimmed short, making him better resemble a scion than a full fledged clan lord. Often needing to spend time outdoors and take long trips, he covers himself in his old combat cloak to keep from being singed by the sun, or simply operates during the night hours.

A number of the other Ellisian clans have been his buyers, and he's managed to keep their interest by offering them exotic foreign military equipment that he's come across. However he's universally despised for often being the one to arm their rivals as well. The same rule applies to other races equally so. He's gotten into a number of altercations with Negavian authorities not only for breaking their laws, but also for owing them thousands of skevols in unpaid sales taxes. But considering the very dangerous nature of Felarya, his business is booming. One would have to be insane to go out into the wilderness without a weapon.

Perhaps even more troubling, he's learned that he can make up for his lack of a clan by simply buying mercenaries in large numbers. Worse, he uses these to incite conflict to boost his weapon sales. Most come and go (usually based on the thickness of his wallet at a given point in time) there are a number of them who work directly for him on a more permanent basis. Jokingly, these had been called the 'Nadielites', though he was so amused with this that he allowed the nickname to stick. The other clans, however, are less than amused at his mockery of their way of life. Gilead in particular often makes a point of killing as many of his mercenaries as possible, trying to properly educate him in raising a proper clan. She honestly believes to be doing him a favor.

By strange and unforeseeable circumstances, his shop had also become a common gathering point for many of the region's lost orphans. Why Nadiel allowed them to stay is beyond any rational explanation, though it is widely guessed that he means to have them grow up into little more than the next wave of mercenaries. He's often very harsh and bitter with these children, as if trying to toughen them up for troubles ahead. Managing both an armory, a mercenary outfit, and an orphanage all at the same time has been difficult, and this has led to Nadiel becoming a grumpy, cynical man. Keeping the children clear of his stock of land mines is a daily test of his nerve (more for the sake of the land mines than the children). He often claims that the gods are toying with him.

His shop has also become the home of several other unexpected entities. For starters, a small colony of Neeras have taken up residence in his basement. Just as with the children, he only appears to tolerate this because he believes he can make use of them, perhaps as tiny spies or scouts. He keeps a small lot of livestock for practical reasons, a coop of imported egg-laying birds for food, and a litter of four domesticated kensha pups gifted to him by Gamaliel (who didn't have money to pay for a weapon shipment at the time). Keeping the two separate is just one more of his daily trials and tribulations. These were formally named "Oroo", "Taati", "Palai", and "Maya", though often being quite angry with their antics he usually instead mockingly calls them "Wingus", "Dingus", "Smokey", and "Smelly".

Over the course of his many travels he's had an unusual amount of exposure to the region's predators. His journeys are often long and treacherous, very typically he'll strap munitions to the backs of the four kensha pups and lead them to a distant buyer to manage the great weight. He's come up with elaborate tricks to avoid being picked off by nagas, even going so far as to hide in the kenshas' fur, or strapping himself to their undersides. He's also conducted numerous experiments with jumbo ether flares, pheromone stink-bombs, and substitute morsels to inflate predators' stomachs ahead of time. He's hellbent on eventually devising the perfect weapon to put the dreaded Crisis in her place.

There's the Nadiel that we've all been waiting for! Or should I say, Eliram. XD

Hahaha there he is! XD

On a more serious note, a million skevols is too much for simply owing taxes, and its also a lot as well, I suggest lessening that amount by quite a bit.

Then there's giving someone baby kensha's in exchange for a lack of payment. Kensha's would be amazing pets if you could make one a pet in the first place, and then there's hiding in the mouth of one. I imagine they wouldn't eat you if they saw you as their "owner" or whatever, but I still doubt that whole kensha part. I'd say even two kensha pups would be suitable.

Of course a lot of it is just funny, especially the Crisis part

(Thanks for the feedback, a few minor details were tweaked.)

The next installment- Lost Clans, extinct or otherwise.

The Akiva Clan: Had made a reputation for having accumulated many veterans of conflicts against predators, and stockpiles of large purpose built anti-pred weaponry. They claimed to be able to slay any of the worst monstrosities Felarya could possibly produce. At one point they began a campaign to destroy every famous predator who dared to challenge them. Their clan was last seen moving northwest into the forest of whispers.

The Yesod Clan: With resources running thin in their homeland, they wandered far to the east in exile. They sought refuge among other cultures, working as one large mercenary corps. Had been in the employ of the Miratans for several years, well adapted to their mountainous terrain. Fearing betrayal by their new masers, the bulk of the clan seemed to suddenly vanish in the midst of a large storm. Their fate is unknown.

The Gideon Clan: In the midst of the schism and the forming of individual clans, the Gideonites had been closely related to their cousins, the Gileadites. However they refused to follow the rule of the latter's rising matriarch and rebelled. Less than amused, Mistress Gilead personally led a punitive war of utter extermination. The Gideon clan was slaughtered down to its last child. Their resources and territory were confiscated, and their corpses piled into a gigantic mound in the center of the old city and burned. This incident would be later referred to as "Gideon's Torch".