In The Lands of Stone, a Warrior once said that if you hear a commotion in a distant forest, you should run as far away from it as you could.
It could be a treasure.
Or it could be a Primal Beast.
Why take the risk when you would lose your life for either possibility? The treasure would attract others stronger than you, and the Primal Beast would simply devour you where you stood.
Stay away from commotions, and you may just live longer.
This was wisdom earned through blood and burial. Through watching braver men rush toward sounds in the dark and never return.
But wisdom, like everything else in these cruel lands, sometimes had to be set aside.
---
Damian followed Uncle Adam with heavy steps as they went past the farmlands of the Purple Stone Tribe.
The huts of the tribe rose before them like huddled creatures seeking warmth from one another. They were simple structures of woven branches packed with mud, their roofs thatched with dried grass that rustled in the morning wind.
Some were little more than hide-covered shelters stretched over wooden frames. Others were more permanent, with walls of stacked stone at their base and timber supports holding up roofs that sagged with age and weather.
Smoke holes dotted the tops of the larger dwellings, thin wisps still rising from cooking fires that had been abandoned mid-meal. Hide-covered thresholds hung open, flapping in the breeze like the tongues of dead things.
The whole place smelled of hearth smoke and fear.
Multiple farmers scampered about as the sounds became louder and louder. They passed the huts in growing numbers, their faces tight with the particular terror of those who knew they could do nothing but flee.
Damian saw some Tribesmen running away from where they were going.
They had better sense.
If he could also turn around, he would. Regardless if someone called him a coward. But sometimes, one was forced to make choices contrary to what they believed.
This actually violated the Third Doctrine Uncle Adam always spoke about.
Nothing good came from going towards trouble. The Warriors who lived the longest were the cowards, while courageous Warriors... you could find their blood basking across the sharp and endless Lands of Stone, their carcasses chewed on by Primal Beasts just the same.
But...
"Aah!"
The screams became even heavier up ahead.
Going against their own Doctrine, Damian and Uncle Adam came upon the gory scene that awaited them.
The center of the tribe opened before them like a wound in the earth.
A great fire pit dominated the space, its stones still warm from last night's gathering. Normally, this was where the tribe came together. Where stories were told and meat was shared. Where children played while elders watched with knowing smiles.
Now it was painted in death.
More than a dozen bodies lay scattered across the packed earth, and not one of them so much as twitched. Some were Warriors, their muscled forms still clutching weapons they had never managed to swing.
Stone axes lay beside fingers that would never grip them again. Spears pointed at nothing, their owners staring with empty eyes at a sky that did not care.
But even more of the fallen were common Tribesmen. Those who had likely stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong moment. Those whose only crime was being too slow to run.
Blood pooled between bodies, seeping into the earth that the tribe had called home. The vibrant soil that had nurtured their crops now drank something far darker.
Damian's gaze became even heavier.
He saw Elena's figure rushing even faster toward a distant Warrior who grasped a heavy stone sword while clutching his injured side.
The Chieftain of the Purple Stone Tribe.
Chief Ayala.
He was a broad man whose age had not yet stolen his strength, though today it seemed like Existence was trying to take everything else. His hide armor was torn in multiple places, and the wound at his side leaked crimson through his fingers. But he stood. Even now, even bleeding, he stood.
A few Warriors of the Purple Stone Tribe surrounded him in a desperate formation. Five, maybe six. All of them injured. All of them afraid, though they tried to hide it behind clenched jaws and white-knuckled grips on their weapons.
And opposing them...
The forces of the Golden Tribe spread across the center of the village like a plague given form.
Eight Warriors stood in a loose semicircle, their bodies draped in furs dyed a sickly yellow that marked their allegiance. Bone ornaments hung from their necks and wrists, trophies from kills both beast and human.
Their weapons were well-made, better than anything the Purple Stone Tribe could craft. Stone blades with edges that gleamed. Clubs studded with teeth from creatures that should not exist.
But it was the figure at their center that drew the eye and held it with cold dread.
The Butcher of the Golden Tribe crouched like a predator deciding whether to play with its meal or simply end it.
He was not the largest man Damian had ever seen, but size meant nothing when power radiated from every inch of flesh. His body was wrapped in layers of treated hide reinforced with bone plates at the shoulders and chest, and dark stains marked the leather in patterns that told he had worn this armor through many such encounters.
His arms were bare, revealing muscles that coiled like serpents beneath scarred skin.
His face was almost handsome, which made it worse. A strong jaw. Sharp features. Eyes that held nothing resembling mercy or remorse.
And in his hand, a serrated blade of yellowed bone curved like a smile. The edge was notched with countless cuts, each one a life taken.
He looked at the Chieftain with a devilish grin that promised more bodies before the day was done.
"Man... why all this drama and blood?"
His voice carried across the carnage with casual ease.
"Do you know how easy this could've gone? I come in and tell you all hey, I need a few women from this tribe to be paid as tributes to the Golden Tribe's Chieftain and I..."
He gestured with his bone blade, the motion almost friendly.
"And you all could've simply said... yessir, understood!"
The grin widened.
"But no... no. You had to go Ohh, you can't do that! That is my man, my woman, this is my daughter!"
He swept his blade toward the bodies on the ground.
"And now... multiple Warriors and Lesser Things lie dead, while I will still get what I came for."
He tilted his head, as if genuinely confused.
"Why don't you all sometimes think so that we can all escape this bloodshed?"
A sigh escaped him that was theatrical and mocking.
"Ah. A fucking shame."
...!