NationStates Jolt Archive

[This story was played-out on regional boards some days ago, introducing The Glakatahn and giving Andaman and Nicobar a way out of the region]

Three months in the saddle left Morgan straining for some action. The trek from Hia-Itakchi’s thronging little streets to the very shores of the continent had been -while not totally uneventful- somewhat tame by Glakatah standards. Nobody had been eaten, no major cities had been sacked, and most of the party took sight of the Indian Ocean though so many eyes as they’d watched their homeland fade. It was high time that something got pillaged, thought Morgan, and he was far from unique in arriving at this conclusion.

The afternoon had begun finally to sap the sun’s intensity as the sprawling horde collectively patted fifty thousand bellies and various parties squabbled over whether to rest a while longer to digest their catches or to move on with the heat’s passing. Morgan wanted to put his foot down, but within the rigid structure of the clans he, a peasant whose claims to noble relation were dubious and given little credit, had no authority to rouse his party from their near slumber. His comrades in arms grunted as still lower-downs scurried about amongst them, picking bones and skins of potential merit from amongst the embers and pots of a lunch well enjoyed. Of course the bone matter was no longer of quite such importance as in the generation of Morgan’s great grandfather –the man he claimed lead the now greatly reduced Lordosh clan- but there was still a place in the modernising horde for glues and decoration. Morgan himself had his rifle stock inset with several pieces of ornately etched bone both animal and human.

[To be continued, shortly]

That weapon Morgan slung over his shoulder while loading his steed with water, munitions, and some other fairly modern equipment. The clansman seemed to go from ground to saddle in the blink of an eye, shifting his rifle and geeing the beast into motion in the same instant. He departed almost without notice, as warriors and hunters were quite free from obligation save for any imparted by the erratic wrath of noblemen or established heroes. Morgan may not have been either of those things, yet, but neither was he slave, underclass, child, or woman. He rode off with some purpose in mind, and would not be seen again for about two hours when he rejoined the horde, which was by then just about under way again, apparently alerted to a much nicer location at which it might bed down for the evening. Morgan had other ideas that would change all this and do away with idleness...

Appearing atop a low rise on the coastal plain Morgan spent several moments bellowing calls to arms and shrieking war cries before anyone really paid him much notice. A handful of warriors belonging to his party and amongst those least experienced and most keen to cut their teeth in combat steered their horses up the rise. Morgan swung his rifle from its position over his head until it pointed the approximate direction of the target he purported to have discovered. It was finally noted that this was not in fact his rifle, but a weapon alien to Glakatah eyes. An M16A1 variant of Nicobarese construction, not that anyone on hand knew that, exactly. Other clansmen, seeing Morgan’s find attract a response, began to follow on and soon the bulk of the horde was breaking into a canter, the attached underclassmen struggling to keep up with their over-laden animals.

Little more than two miles’ progress had been made before the former owner of Morgan’s new rifle was encountered hanging upside down from a small tree. Stretched to an obviously painful degree with his hands tethered to a metal stave near the tree’s base the large, pale man had died, apparently bleeding to death after being shot. Morgan had killed him from almost a thousand yards, and then, with similar efficiency, dispensed as well with his three associates.

An extreme outpost of the newly arrived Nicobarese colonials had been destroyed by a horseman with a decorative bolt-action rifle, and now a horde fifty-thousand strong rode on the next and larger establishment...

The clansmen were a little disappointed by their failure to kill absolutely everybody at the promised target before the pioneers escaped out to sea, but Morgan's reputation was secured by a significant bounty none the less. More than a few slaves were secured, though nobody was overly impressed by how pampered they seemed to be. Their weapons and tools though were quite something, those at least that could be understood and made to work. The prizes would spread Morgan's fame through the Shifting Empire on the horde's return to distant Hia-Itakchi, where Morgan would be proclaimed Kiba, and his ambition would infect the Glakatahn.