A History Through Blood

Victoria's initial assessment of the village after arriving was that of general negligence. Earthen homes that had initially been crafted with care, now sat crumbling after seasons of neglect. Fences, animal pens and other such infrastructure shared a similar fate, having long ceased holding purpose once the animals had become too few in number. Even the dirt pathways were being reclaimed by various resilient weeds that no one made the effort to address.

Observing their arrival from the relative shelter of their disheveled homes were the residents, watching them with signs of hesitancy. The brief glances revealed that Most of the village appeared to show signs of deep internal cuts, similar to the child from earlier. The incisions were unlikely to have come from the feral animals they would likely encounter*, instead it shared the jagged marks left by a rough blade. A cursory assessment from a far showed that supernatural means had been used to prevent the victim from fainting due to blood-loss. All of this was assumed from the superficial glimpses of unnatural scaring visible on their bodies.

Jaali had spotted an abandoned home on the outer reaches of the village; it was overgrown with malnourished weeds and much of the roof had already collapsed. Adjacent to the building was the remains of a covered stall, large enough to shield the horses from the worst of the rain. “Unless it is occupied, we will be staying here.” Jaali declared, ignoring suggestions from the strange child to select a spot closer to the village centre.

Their arrival summoned the disheveled masses from their homes, slowly stumbling over the weeds and broken barriers to reach their wagon. None seemed fully aware of their surroundings, only responding to the presence of the outsiders. A few shouts came from the gathered villagers, each alerting those in the far reaches of the town to the arrival possible trade goods. None seemed to have much in the way of currency, either gold dust or shells traded from the coastal cities. Their hands were filled with damaged farm tools, mouldy produce or similar offerings.

“Jaali!” she called out, knowing the sound of his name would alert them to the incoming crowd. Soon the wall of men kept back wave of 'potential customers,' save a few children who had slipped through the gaps. Julianna and Kahina were however quick enough to stop them from rummaging unchecked through their stock and supplies unsupervised. Attempts to rebuff the aggressive villagers were generally successful, with losses being overall prevented.

From her position at the wagon, she could freely assess the clientele. A majority of those present were women, with only a few men and children present in the crowds. Every villager had deep scarring that had healed far quicker that what she had seen from previous patients. The cuts differed from person to person, with minimal uniformity. Traces of lingering inflammation and irregular tissue reformation were present on all of the surrounding villagers.

What concerned Victoria most were the eyes of the villagers that surrounded them. Each one held half-vacant expressions, as if a haze had fell over their consciousness. She could see faint traces of lingering magic coming from the sealed wounds, something which took a intense degree of concentration to identify. The mystical energies did not seem to have the usual hall marks of curses or coercive behavior, rather lingering traces left over some unknown exchange.

When Victoria was able to get close enough to assess the pupils of the seemingly afflicted villagers, she was unable to differentiate them from the mercenaries she had hired. While there was minor discoloration, there was nothing impairing their view beyond minor obfuscation. The eyes were reacting to nearby stimuli, such as thunder in the far distance, but were more focused on getting fresh food and other supplies.

The cause of their peculiar mannerisms could not be determined, but magic was unlikely to be the primary agitating factor. It was more likely that something in the village center was drawing their attention as many would sneak hesitant glances towards the main village, as if afraid of whatever lay there. Even the energetic children, who were now under strict supervision, were withdrawn. A stark contrast to the strange boy situated at the outskirts of the settlement.

In terms of currency, the settlement had little in the way of payment. No one held much in the way of the traditional trade mediums, such as shells or gold, that were the general standard for the region. The gathered villagers held little in the way of salt or crops that could be used to barter for other items. What little they did have was unusable and mostly damaged beyond the point of salvage. Given their lingering injuries, she did not wish offer her usual substitute for payment. Either it would exacerbate whatever the cause of the incisions was or it might be seen as stealing from a local deity.

There was one thing the village had in abundance: various fresh herbs that seemed to grow in abundance on the surrounding jungle. Vines, bushels and other such medicinal plants could readily be seen from the cover of the old farm yard. Years of inattention had let them spread unchecked and the proximity to the settlement only served to dissuade the skittish herbivores from culling the rampant overgrowth. With some effort, she could convert them into various cures and incenses for both types of regular clients.

A standard price was quickly decided and called across the assembled masses, barely being heard over the sounds of the ever-increasing downpour. It did not take long for their cart to be filled with uprooted vines, leaves, tubers and bark shavings, taking the place of cured meats and produce that were now in short supply. Converting them into a usable state could be done at a later date, far from the village limits under dryer conditions.

-

“Ambonisye! Ambonisye!” cried out a damp child, rushing into the elder's tent lacking any manners or respect for the inhabitant. “What is it Kosoko?” sighed the middle-aged spiritualist, examining a honey badger skull under the light of a small fire. “Visitors are here, Ambonisye! Strange merchants!” Kosoko continued, voice heightened with excitement. “They came from the south! Full wagons!” It had been a fair while since the last merchants stopped by their village and their Neighbours had begun to avoid them since he was made their leader.

Ambonisye stood up, straw woven-skirt rustling with the sudden movement. He stood unevenly favoring his left-side, with his head remaining focused on the animal skull as he rose. Various mystical trinkets and gaunt idols hung from his elongated next, dangling down in time with his lanky arms. The top-knot of his thin black-hair brushed against a dangling collection of animal teeth, rattling them as they settled down. As he placed the skull among the many masks that adorned his walls, he paused on Kosoko's words.

“Strange?! What do you mean by Strange?” he asked, rounding on child. “The world is full of strange men? Are they physically twisted? Abnormally cruel? Followers of rejected gods?” With each demand for clarification the spiritualist's head turned until it rested nearly upside down. Kosoko just stood there, trying to find the right words for the visitors. Unable to quite place what made them unique. “Perhaps I expected too much. What do they look like?” Ambonisye asked, throwing his hands in the air.

“Half of the group have pale skin!” he declared, somewhat proudly. “That is not that strange, many have gone across the desert and have seen pale skins.” Ambonisye replied, wiping some dried blood from an old mask with a wet thumb. “No! No! They are pale like the zebra... well there is no black and its slightly red. But white!” This brought pause to Ambonisye's thoughts. Something new had entered their lands, far different than what could be considered the norm. “What did they wear? Who do they worship? Can they speak our language?” He asked, mind now filled with questions. “No, no, no. I should meet with the strange folk to see myself, no? Where are they now?”

“That is a problem...” the young boy started, hesitancy already creeping into his voice. “They are unusually cautious. Initially they tried to pass by, but the weather forced them back to us.” His contracts with the local spirits were probably responsible for bringing them back to his village, summoning the chilling downpour outside. Usually, the sight of an injured child brought some measure of sympathy from passing merchants, but on this occasion nothing of the sort happened. “What were you doing when they approached the village?” Ambonisye asked, suspicions growing in his mind. “I was playing with some bones.” Of course, the child's more obnoxious habits would have to be on full display when new arrivals, and possibly new villagers, were nearby. He could still sway their visitors, if given the chance.

As Ambonisye was approaching the entrance way, a swarm of beetles landed on the window-ledge. The insects were a gift from Akake nla**, tiny messengers that could provide some level of reconnaissance where he could not freely visit. It appeared that one of the pale-skinned individuals had managed to locate several of the insects. While the small creature lacked the ability to comprehend their words, they likely were able to sense their magical properties. Each one reported some variation of sacred auras being cast from their bodies, likely blessed by other gods.

Such guests would make excellent sacrifices to their local spirits, far greater than the innards of his own tribe. Separating one or more would be a difficult task, even with their heightened awareness and possible spiritual attunement. “Come young one” beckoned the Ambonisye. “We have much work to do. We must not keep our guests waiting. No?” With the aid of his staff, he left the shelter of his home. Rain easing with his departure.