The canoes drifted quietly in the water, lines being cast in hopes of catching fish. The men in the canoes were of the Mesaqoo tribe, expert sailors and fishermen. They halted along the river, thinking the spot a good place to fish. One man smiled and shouted to his friends as his line got pulled further and further beneath the water. The others dropped their poles and turned to the lucky fisherman as he battled with what could possibly be supper.
Finally, the other men grabbed the fisherman and pulled with him, hoping their combined strength could pull the fish out of the water. And they were right, for the managed to heave a massive fish into their canoe. They joked about it weighing so much they might sink as they went back home. Little did they know they were watched by a pair of yellow eyes, hidden in the bushes.
“What do you have to report Jifken?” Kimtumeh asked his lowly spy.
“The river running north is filled with massive fish my lord,” Jifken said, his voice wavering.
Izawau stepped out from another section of the hut, Iptsima standing closely behind him.
“Is this all your scouts do Kimtumeh?” He asked with a snobby grin. “Looking for fish? What a waste of time.”
“Silence you monster!” Jifken hissed, his hunched form shaking with anger.
“Silence!” Kimtumeh shouted. “Jifken has been searching for a possible place for a new town. His work is vital to my plans, and I will have no insults thrown at one who has served me so loyally. Already I see you have taken an apprentice without my approval.” Kimtumeh’s hand motioned towards young Iptsima.
Iptsima cowered behind Izawau, a look of sadness in his eyes. Izawau looked at his upset pupil and shot his glance back at Kimtumeh.
“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” he said, although a tone of anger could be heard in his voice. “Ipstima. Come. We must train for 3 more hours before heading to the west. Good bye lord. Good bye Jifken.” Izawau left the hut, taking his pupil with him. Jifkim leered at him, his fist clenching tight.
“And I will have no servant of mine insulting the shaman!” Kimtumeh shouted at Jifken. “He might have killed you, had I not been in the room. Now, what else do you have to report?”
Jifken cleared his throat and gave his tale about strange people to the north, who were far better organized than the tribes that had been met thus far. Kimtumeh listened to every detail as Jifken made infinite hand gestures and made perfect descriptions of everything.
“That will be enough Jifken. These northerners sound powerful. But they still pale in comparison to our might. I will consult my warriors on this matter, and an appropriate plan will be made to deal with these outsiders.” Jifken nodded and ran out the door, understanding that he must now contact the warriors.
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“Do not let lord Kimtumeh bother you,” Izawau said. “He is quick to anger, but rarely means what he says.” Izawau looked at his pupil as they walked along the beach. He knew the words he was saying were false, but he felt the need to comfort his pupil.
“Master Izawau, why do we listen to lord Kimtumeh?” Iptsima asked, his wide eyes staring at Izawau.
“Because he controls the tribe. He has all of the power.”
“Why don’t we take the power?”
Looked, stunned at his innocent apprentice. He had never expected such words of treason to some out of Iptsima’s mouth. They stopped walking, and Izawau’s mind started to race. He himself had planned on eventually corrupting his pupil and having him help with the take over. But now, things were different. His pupil was already willing to take the rule of the tribe away from Kimtumeh.
“Why would you suggest something like that my pupil,” Izawau asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“I see Kimtumeh boss people around,” Iptsima said. “He hurts people. Makes them cry. He is a cruel man, like the ones I hear in those stories. The ones that always get defeated by the big hero, and everyone lives happily ever after. Could we be heroes Master Izawau?”
Izawau thought. They could be heroes. But they shall not be. Iptsima would be his puppet, through which he would control the tribe, and with it, all the power of the island. His plan would come to fruition, and he would sit on a throne of greatness. None would challenge his terrible will, as thousands of slaves toil in intense labor to please him.
“Of course we can be heroes Iptsima.”
OOC: Abaddon, is it possible for a shaman to also be the tribe leader? This is kind of important, as my story hints at.