But this is not justice
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This is the main thread of the raid, where the attackers are arriving. No proper action or fighting will be played out in this thread (obviously you can clash a little, but don't execute your plots here) - you have the sub-threads for that. We'll be somewhere between 30-40 characters posting in this thread, so it'll result in death by forum if you try to properly fight here. For this reason, too, please post twice here, maximum. Those who have more than one character are welcome to combine it all into one post, should they want to. It's fine if you don't post, too, but of course we recommend you post! Let's make a proper monster war-thread here.


AniWayans are prepared for the coming forces, having seen them (they are so many!) coming via scouts and patrols.


Free post order. Have fun! Big Grin


Hover the AniWayan language for translation.


Weather:
Periods of rain ending in the afternoon then clearing (10 to 15 mm). Fog patches dissipating in the afternoon. Wind ranges from 20 km/h (12 MpH) - 50 km/h (31MpH). Temperature high: 15 C (59 F). Monday night: Clear. Temperature low: 8 C (46 F). Thanks Micki for this idea!




The chill of winter was not yet here, but it was arriving. Slowly, it crept into the area, sometimes visible in hints of frozen dew in the coldest hour of the night. It snaked towards them, much like the fog that lay on the ground just then, as Maska stood by the Great Fire and studied the skies and fields beyond the vegetation. When would they come? How many would there be? He'd previously addressed the warriors of the tribe, gathered them here where he now stood before them on foot, and he was satisfied with their forces. So many skilled warriors - some atop mighty war-horses, some on foot. Some were wielding longbows that should scare the best of warriors, and some held their heavy metal weapons with such strength that the crude tools of war appeared to have no weight at all. Maska almost shuddered as he waited, drawing the cloak closer around him. He turned to gaze at his forces instead, finding comfort in seeing their numbers, their muscle. They were an impressive crowd - no doubt unlike anything this place had ever seen. This was the splendor of AniWayan determination, and now these coyotes, dogs and hybrids came to ruin it with their envy and lack of morals. It was a mystery, to him, which feelings they had that he had wounded so deeply, that they would come in such numbers as the scouts reported. He hoped the scouts were wrong, that the tales were exaggerated, but he wouldn't know until he saw them.


He'd dispatched Guardians to protect the prisoners' cabin, but otherwise they were all gathered here, in the Village center. For all Maska knew, they could decide to put out the Great Fire itself - they certainly did lack any idea of justice, and he wouldn't put it past them. He'd come here to right things gone wrong, and yet they would not accept justice when it was handed to them with silken gloves. His thoughts circled past events, wondering what he would do once this battle, too, had been won. Sikyatavo sat at his feet, bristling with excitement - or was it fear? It was hard to tell in a hare - they were always shaking. In Maska, there was a certain element of sadness: blood would be shed, more blood, and for what? He had not come here to kill, and yet so many had died already. For a justice the inhabitants of this place did not understand, nor would they ever. He stood with his warriors and tribesmembers (equipped as best they could manage) and spoke to them one more time, his voice, albeit frail, flying with ease over the foggy, hushed morning landscape. Or was it still morning? "They are coming. Vtla nasgi duyugodv!". He struck the ground with his left hind paw with force - it was all he could do to emphasize his message, lacking a weapon. Continuing to chant his slogan, some of the Guardians picked up on it, and these words were the sounds that were there with them. Turning now, he could hear them coming, smell the multitude of their mixed scents creeping in with the fog. He couldn't know how long it would take, but it was soon. This was it.


#548

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