FREE USE in Primitive World

Veylara finished giving a final set of instructions to a pair of squad leaders and returned to them.

The rare, unshielded smile she had shown Sol had settled into something more measured, but the pride in her eyes had not faded.

"We will rest here tonight," she said. "The Marauders will be secured and counted. The wounded among us... what few cuts and bruises we took.. will be tended to. And tomorrow we will begin the return. A garrison will remain here. The rest of us go home."

...

The morning sun rose over the Marauder settlement, casting long golden beams across the conquered stone shelf.

Following Warchief Veylara’s orders, a garrison of thirty seasoned Veynar warriors, under the command of an experienced line captain, was left behind to hold the Marauder stronghold, oversee the disarmed giants, and secure the mountain paths. The rest of the expeditionary force formed into marching ranks.

Of course, they also loaded themselves with the finest spoils... rare mountain minerals, thick cured pelts, and ancient dried herbs.

The return journey through the southern pass was completely unhindered. No beast packs crosded their path. Nor did they encounter anything strange.

The march home was entirely unlike the tense, silent advances of the past two days.

The warriors walked with heads held high, chests broad, and weapons resting easily against their shoulders. Word of their unprecedented, sweep-through conquest of the three hostile domains had already raced ahead via swift-footed scouts.

By early afternoon, the towering ironwood gates and high watchtowers of the Veynar valley appeared on the horizon.

Long before the column reached the outer boundary, the sentries atop the high spires spotted the dust of their march.

HOOOOONK! HOOOOONK! HOOOOONK!

The deep, resonant blast of the tribal horn rolled across the entire valley, its rhythm triumphant and unhurried.

Unlike the tense, somber reception of their previous return... when wounded warriors bled on litters and the shadow of the siege still hung heavy over the huts... the gates were thrown completely open.

Hundreds of tribespeople... elders, apprentices, women carrying children, and the recovering wounded... had poured out beyond the wooden gates, lining both sides of the main dirt avenue.

When the vanguard entered intp their view, led by Warchief Veylara and Sol walking beside her, the crowd exploded into a deafening roar.

News of the swift, total conquest of the Zharun, Zerith, and Marauder tribes had already reached the valley through the early runner. The entire settlement was in an uproar of unbridled joy.

Horns blasted in long, celebratory rhythms. War-drums hammered from the high watchtowers. People beat wooden ladles against bowls, tossed fragrant flowers onto the dirt path, and shouted the names of the warriors at the top of their lungs.

"THE WARCHIEF!"

"THE CHAMPION!"

"VICTORY TO THE VEYNAR!"

As the column entered the grand central plaza, the entire population of the Veynar tribe gathered around the elevated stone dais. The sheer sea of faces... roared in synchronized adulation, their voices echoing off the Spires.

Veylara stepped onto the platform, raising her spear high into the air.

The roaring crowd fell into a hushed, reverent silence, every eye fixed on their sovereign leader.

"People of the Veynar!" Veylara’s voice rang out, amplified by the esonance of her Layer 4 essence until it washed over every corner of the valley. "Previously the Coalition marched with five thousand spears, seeking to burn our huts, enslave our children, and erase our lineage from the Great Orrath!"

A collective murmur of fierce anger and bitter remembrance swept through the crowd.

"Today, that Coalition is no more!" Veylara’s tone rose, fierce and unyielding. "The Zharun are absorbed! The Zerith are broken! And the Gray Marauders have surrendered! Their warriors are disarmed, their vanguards are destroyed, and their granaries are ours! From this day forth... the Veynar are the absolute rulers of the entire northern expanse of the Great Orrath!"

ROAAAR!

The settlement erupted into deafening, ground-shaking cheers.

Elders wept openly, pressing their trembling hands to their chests. Veteran warriors pounded their shields until the wood groaned, and women embraced their children with tears of sheer, overwhelming relief.

For decades, the northern clans had pressed against their borders like a pack of ravenous hyenas, slowly bleeding the Veynar dry. To see the tables completely turned... to go from the brink of total annihilation to the absolute masters of the entire northern region... was a triumph beyond their wildest dreams.

Veylara lowered her spear slightly, letting the cheers wash over the stone platform before raising her hand once more to quell the noise.

"Tonght, we celebrate! We celebrate the dawn of our new era, Veylara proclaimed, her deep blue eyes softening with solemn reverence. But we do not merely celebrate our conquest, we honor the brave souls who gave their lives defending the tribe, whose blood bought the ground we stand upon!

Let every hearth be lit! Unseal the winter storage caves and bring out the finest smoked meat, the aged drinks, and the marrow roasts! Tonight, the Veynar will hold the grandest feast in the history of our ancestors!"

"HAIL THE WARCHIEF! HAIL THE VEYNAR!"

The plaza erupted into chaotic, joyous pandemonium, scattering across the plaza with renewed energy to begin the preparations.

As the crowd surged forward in wild celebration, Veylara, Zephyra, Sol, Kira, and Zeyra made their way through the sea of cheering people.

Tribespeople reached out, eagerly brushing their hands against Sol’s black carapace armor with expressions of profound, near-sacred reverence. Sol gave a few faint, polite nods, letting the sheer warmth of the crowd wash over him as they pushed toward the quieter paths of the upper platforms.

Reaching his dwelling in the Feline Spire, Sol stepped inside, leaving the roaring noise of the plaza behind.

He stripped off his blood-stained tunic and heavy blackhorn armor, setting the Dreadwing blade and the Mountain-Marrow Stone securely on the low table.

He washed away the grime, peat mud, and sweat of three conquered domains in a massive wooden tub of clean, steaming mountain spring water, already been prepared by the lodge attendants.

Slipping into a clean, loose dark linen tunic and fresh trousers, he sat on the edge of the layered furs, feeling the tension finally melt out of his shoulders.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

A.N: Guys the month is about to end, and we still haven’t received any Super Gift *SAD NOISES*.

And maybe it’s because we have changed the cover, our daily collections have really taken a hit.

So, a super gift to simulate the collections would be greatly appreciated.