Chapter One
The Malqir Tribe
The weariness of a restless night began to leave her, replaced with the energy of her activity. A quiet rhythm of rain tapped against her window. It was a soothing sound, one that filled the otherwise dead air of a night far too close to becoming morning. The room was empty save for her, the bed, and the tome she was writing in. A smile grew on her lips as her mind drifted back to distant, and warmer memories.
  The Othard steppes were home to dozens of Xaela tribes, all of which had their own traditions and ways of living. The tribes are too numerous for me to recount in this tome, but suffice it to say that existence on the steppes was anything but peaceful. The tribes went to war with one another as often as the wind itself changed. Most fought for their survival and for limited resources on the steppes. Others did it to satisfy their thirst for blood, or to seek retribution for ancient and forgotten wrongs.
  Among these tribes was my own. The Malqir tribe was similar to any other tribe except in one respect: we valued intelligence and cunning above all else. This shaped how the Malqir approached life on the steppe. Every decision was measured for its strategic value. The collective wisdom of the Malqir lead the tribe to prosper in situations in which others faltered. Few other tribes dared to challenge us, nor did we seek to provoke them.
  Life in the tribe was peaceful. I grew up as the youngest daughter of a tight knit family. My mother and father were steadfast in their devotion to each other, and their family. My eldest sibling was my brother, Megetu. Following Megetu were my two sisters, Yesui, who was the eldest sister, and Mide. My mother favored me above my siblings, who she saw as capable of taking care of themselves. Megetu was nearing the age of adulthood already when I was born, and spent time with my father preparing himself for the responsibilities he would have to take up for the tribe.
She paused and lifted her pen, her eyes leaving the page and glancing upward towards the patchwork wood ceiling. The memories that flooded her mind were pleasant and soothing, like a warm blanket on a cold evening. She hesitated. Part of her almost believed that if she withheld her pen, and stopped writing now, it could somehow stop the events that followed from ever coming to pass. It was a foolish notion, one which she, after some deliberation, eventually dismissed. With a heavy sigh, her pen made contact with the page again, and she continued.
  While I was my mother's favored, my sisters were not left wanting, for they shared my mother's affection for me. I had no shortage of guidance during those early years, as they dutifully taught me how to cook, sew, and gather food. My brother found the time to teach me the very basics of self defense and warfare, although that duty was left, more often than not, to the men of the tribe.
  One of my more poignant memories was my brother's challenge for leadership of the tribe. Kharaqiq is a test of patience, wisdom and cunning, and Megetu was adept at all of these. Much of the tribe was gathered around the board that night, watching nervously as the game played out between my brother and the chieftain. Yet in the end, Megetu could not best the chieftain, and he was soundly defeated. Despite his loss, my sisters and I welcomed him home with a grand feast in celebration of the attempt. It would have been some time before he could make that challenge again, but we felt certain that he would be well prepared for his second attempt.
  Late in my thirteenth summer, the Orthard steppe was invaded, and war was waged against the Xaela tribes. While the Xaela were hardened by centuries of warfare between the tribes, and harsh conditions on the steppe, we were no match for the Magitek war machines of Garlemald. Our primitive weapons and magic proved useless. Every tribe that was found by the Garleans was summarily defeated.
  The Malqir tribe was no excepti~-
She lifted her now trembling hand. Recounting this portion of her tale was always going to be difficult, and she knew that before she even began writing. A crash of thunder rattled the windows in front of her, startling her. She gazed out the window with wide eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced, as she desperately tried to calm herself, speaking words of encouragement in her head over and over again. Despite all of that, she could not force herself to calm.
She eventually rose from her chair, and began to pace around the room. Every moment away from the tome only caused her anticipation, her nervousness to grow. The very act of delaying this moment only made it worse. Beads of sweat trickled from her forehead, down against the dark scales covering the bridge of her nose. It was only then that she discovered her answer once more.
Rage. Her red ringed eyes glanced at the nearby candle flame. She pressed her fingernails into the wood of the desk, the nails digging in too deeply.
“Write.â€
Anger. She felt the familiar fire burn in her chest. Amidst all the destruction this moment left on her, she found solace in these feelings.
“Write.â€
Hatred. Despite all of the despair and sorrow she felt, her anger over her helplessness, her rage against the injustices she had suffered, and her hatred of those who perpetrated her suffering were stronger still.
“Write!â€
When she returned to her chair, her hand was no longer quivering.
  The Malqir tribe was no exception. The tribe fled from the Garleans when they found us, and scattered to prevent the tribe from being slaughtered completely. In this matter, the wisdom of the Malqir prevailed once more. The losses we suffered were less than any other tribe I know of. Despite that, I was not spared from suffering.
  My family was one of the few who were hunted down. My memory of those moments is hazy at best, with only a few images truly vivid. The most vivid image is that of the blood of my brother and sisters as they laid atop me, to prevent the Garleans from seeing that I was still alive. It is that image, above all others, that is irrevocably burned into my memory. It is that image that has shaped me to be who I am today.
  I spent a full day and night hidden beneath them, covered in the dried blood and rapidly cooling bodies of my beloved siblings. I lived that day in a cocoon of sorrow and anguish greater than anything I had imagined possible. When I finally emerged, I was no longer the child my parents and siblings had raised me to be. What kindness I had in me had been forever washed away.
  I began my fall into darkness. In the days that followed, I left my humanity behind, and became nothing more than a beast.
She raised her quill, and averted her eyes from the page. With a rough sigh, she stood from her desk, leaving the ink to dry. She walked to the middle of the room, and fell to her knees. The voice had spoken to her again. If she were to continue, that voice needed to be silenced. The second chapter could wait.
She doused the flames of anger in meditation. The constant pattering of rain slowed, and eventually became silent.
(To be continued)
The Malqir Tribe
The weariness of a restless night began to leave her, replaced with the energy of her activity. A quiet rhythm of rain tapped against her window. It was a soothing sound, one that filled the otherwise dead air of a night far too close to becoming morning. The room was empty save for her, the bed, and the tome she was writing in. A smile grew on her lips as her mind drifted back to distant, and warmer memories.
  The Othard steppes were home to dozens of Xaela tribes, all of which had their own traditions and ways of living. The tribes are too numerous for me to recount in this tome, but suffice it to say that existence on the steppes was anything but peaceful. The tribes went to war with one another as often as the wind itself changed. Most fought for their survival and for limited resources on the steppes. Others did it to satisfy their thirst for blood, or to seek retribution for ancient and forgotten wrongs.
  Among these tribes was my own. The Malqir tribe was similar to any other tribe except in one respect: we valued intelligence and cunning above all else. This shaped how the Malqir approached life on the steppe. Every decision was measured for its strategic value. The collective wisdom of the Malqir lead the tribe to prosper in situations in which others faltered. Few other tribes dared to challenge us, nor did we seek to provoke them.
  Life in the tribe was peaceful. I grew up as the youngest daughter of a tight knit family. My mother and father were steadfast in their devotion to each other, and their family. My eldest sibling was my brother, Megetu. Following Megetu were my two sisters, Yesui, who was the eldest sister, and Mide. My mother favored me above my siblings, who she saw as capable of taking care of themselves. Megetu was nearing the age of adulthood already when I was born, and spent time with my father preparing himself for the responsibilities he would have to take up for the tribe.
She paused and lifted her pen, her eyes leaving the page and glancing upward towards the patchwork wood ceiling. The memories that flooded her mind were pleasant and soothing, like a warm blanket on a cold evening. She hesitated. Part of her almost believed that if she withheld her pen, and stopped writing now, it could somehow stop the events that followed from ever coming to pass. It was a foolish notion, one which she, after some deliberation, eventually dismissed. With a heavy sigh, her pen made contact with the page again, and she continued.
  While I was my mother's favored, my sisters were not left wanting, for they shared my mother's affection for me. I had no shortage of guidance during those early years, as they dutifully taught me how to cook, sew, and gather food. My brother found the time to teach me the very basics of self defense and warfare, although that duty was left, more often than not, to the men of the tribe.
  One of my more poignant memories was my brother's challenge for leadership of the tribe. Kharaqiq is a test of patience, wisdom and cunning, and Megetu was adept at all of these. Much of the tribe was gathered around the board that night, watching nervously as the game played out between my brother and the chieftain. Yet in the end, Megetu could not best the chieftain, and he was soundly defeated. Despite his loss, my sisters and I welcomed him home with a grand feast in celebration of the attempt. It would have been some time before he could make that challenge again, but we felt certain that he would be well prepared for his second attempt.
  Late in my thirteenth summer, the Orthard steppe was invaded, and war was waged against the Xaela tribes. While the Xaela were hardened by centuries of warfare between the tribes, and harsh conditions on the steppe, we were no match for the Magitek war machines of Garlemald. Our primitive weapons and magic proved useless. Every tribe that was found by the Garleans was summarily defeated.
  The Malqir tribe was no excepti~-
She lifted her now trembling hand. Recounting this portion of her tale was always going to be difficult, and she knew that before she even began writing. A crash of thunder rattled the windows in front of her, startling her. She gazed out the window with wide eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced, as she desperately tried to calm herself, speaking words of encouragement in her head over and over again. Despite all of that, she could not force herself to calm.
She eventually rose from her chair, and began to pace around the room. Every moment away from the tome only caused her anticipation, her nervousness to grow. The very act of delaying this moment only made it worse. Beads of sweat trickled from her forehead, down against the dark scales covering the bridge of her nose. It was only then that she discovered her answer once more.
Rage. Her red ringed eyes glanced at the nearby candle flame. She pressed her fingernails into the wood of the desk, the nails digging in too deeply.
“Write.â€
Anger. She felt the familiar fire burn in her chest. Amidst all the destruction this moment left on her, she found solace in these feelings.
“Write.â€
Hatred. Despite all of the despair and sorrow she felt, her anger over her helplessness, her rage against the injustices she had suffered, and her hatred of those who perpetrated her suffering were stronger still.
“Write!â€
When she returned to her chair, her hand was no longer quivering.
  The Malqir tribe was no exception. The tribe fled from the Garleans when they found us, and scattered to prevent the tribe from being slaughtered completely. In this matter, the wisdom of the Malqir prevailed once more. The losses we suffered were less than any other tribe I know of. Despite that, I was not spared from suffering.
  My family was one of the few who were hunted down. My memory of those moments is hazy at best, with only a few images truly vivid. The most vivid image is that of the blood of my brother and sisters as they laid atop me, to prevent the Garleans from seeing that I was still alive. It is that image, above all others, that is irrevocably burned into my memory. It is that image that has shaped me to be who I am today.
  I spent a full day and night hidden beneath them, covered in the dried blood and rapidly cooling bodies of my beloved siblings. I lived that day in a cocoon of sorrow and anguish greater than anything I had imagined possible. When I finally emerged, I was no longer the child my parents and siblings had raised me to be. What kindness I had in me had been forever washed away.
  I began my fall into darkness. In the days that followed, I left my humanity behind, and became nothing more than a beast.
She raised her quill, and averted her eyes from the page. With a rough sigh, she stood from her desk, leaving the ink to dry. She walked to the middle of the room, and fell to her knees. The voice had spoken to her again. If she were to continue, that voice needed to be silenced. The second chapter could wait.
She doused the flames of anger in meditation. The constant pattering of rain slowed, and eventually became silent.
(To be continued)
