NationStates

"The Great Spirit is in all things, He is in the air we breathe. The Great Spirit is our Father, but the Earth is our Mother. She nourishes us, that which we put into the ground she returns to us..." — Big Thunder (Bedagi)

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Concho Plains, 1861 (mod. cal. 2011)

The wind swept the sandy plains as the band of Lipan Apache struck out through their old haunts at the eastern edge of the federal reservation. The warriors belonged to the Western Lipan Apache, a tribe that once stood as the largest tribe in the reservation. Under constant warfare with their enemies however, the Chiricahua Apache the tribe has been reduced to a small village, over a thousand in number.

Recently, the White Man has begun to rapidly colonize fringe areas of the Reservation and frequently send missions by merchants, frontiersmen, missionaries and the dreaded Texas and Arizona Rangers. Last moon a grand war council was called and the three largest tribes of the Reservation gathered at Bigotes's camp on the Llano River north of Lipan hunting grounds in the Concho Plains. A war was declared and the tribes spread out across the Reservation, moving camp and attacking White settlements and camps across the Reservation border.

A band of Lipan Apache began to form as terrorists across the border, sneaking into camps late at night, killing and scalping and stealing. They became 'Red Sticks', from the blood red war clubs they used in battle. On the top of the hill, the rest the warriors clamored to a stop near their chief. He was deep in thought, staring at a large plum of smoke coming from the convoy of trucks just over the next ridge. He looked back at the faces of one-hundred-and-fifty eager warriors.

"Ey-hee! The Palefaces are on the move! Little Bear, decoy your warriors to attack them over the ridge, I will move with the rest of the band to the city, we're going to show them their mistake. Hoppo, Hoppo!"

The war band split and the chief quickly collected his warriors and rode off towards the west, quickly disappearing in between the ridges an draws of the Concho Plains. Little Bear nodded to the remaining warriors and kicked his horse into full speed, quickly rushing down the small hill and up onto the ridge over looking the traveling convoy ahead.

"Brothers, we will soar like the Eagle," Little Bear raised a painted red shield upwards to the heavens, a sign of battle. He kicked his horse forward and it ran quickly down the hill toward the convoy, banging his rifle on his shield and screaming all the way. "Hoka Hey! Hoka Hey! Hoka Hey!" the rest of the warriors followed, firing their rifles and arrows at the convoy, screaming all the way down.

Big Whiskey, 1861 (mod. cal. 2011)

"Look, thar Thomas. Them Repulaeans ah can't believe they're hole'in up in the 'embassy' past the bank." The two men rocked back and forth on the patio of the town's saloon, smoking tobacco pipes. "Reckon I see it. Should be some interesting thangs goin' on with them Dudes rollin' intah town." The first man chuckled and knocked his pipe on the banister.

"Some, thing those Dudes. Came in right quick, like a bat outta Hell - You seen the Sheriff, Bosco?" The second man - Bosco - shook his head and rocked back and forth. "Nooo sir. Not sence last night, when alls us played bridge." The first man stopped rocking and whipped the ash off his coveralls and stood up. "I'm gonna see him, gonna find out what this all means." Mr. Bosco nodded and said his farewell. He went back to silently smoking his pipe. "Ah shit... I'm running outta chaw."

The Sheriff beat the wooden pegs into place, one-by-one. The roof was slowly forming, one board at as time. Rain clouds on the horizon told the old man ominously that a storm would come in a few days. The Sheriff's house was only half complete. The-Man-With-The-Pipe slowly walked up, the tobacco smoke from his pipe obscuring his face. "Little Bill! How's that work on your house?" The Sheriff looked up from his board and squinted his eyes, "Oh Mr. Sank, how are you today?"

He let go of his tool and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Ah, I'm doin' fine Sir. Ah got a question fur you, though." The Sheriff nodded his head and sat on the edge of his shoddy roof. "How may I be of survise to ya, Mr. Sank?" The-Man-With-The-Pipe looked up at The Sheriff and puffed on his pipe, "I wanna know more about them Repulaeans. I figure 'em could be immigrants, o'ha just tourists. What're they doin' in Big Whiskey, Little Bill?" The Sheriff moved around on the roof, a loud audible creak rang around in his eardrums.

Outside the town, the Chief and his warriors rode in silence. The sun was growing tired, falling closer and closer to the horizon as they hours wore on. By the time they reached the southern edge of town, night was on them. They dismounted and moved towards the town, fanning out as they went. The Chief, armed with dynamite crossed through the deserted main street, past the loud, rambunctious saloon and up towards the low wall surrounding the three story hotel building, now converted into the embassy of Repulaea. The gate was locked, guards were patrolling. "White Elk, set these there, light the fuse."

The Brave grabbed the dynamite and crouched towards the side of the white stucco wall, attaching it to the wall, "Ready, Chief." He nodded and waved several other Braves towards him. "We move inside after the explosion. We have them by surprise." They nodded and drew their weapons. Bows and arrows, knives and rifles. The flame on the dynamite burned and burned, quickly eating away the fuse, eventually reaching the dynamite itself. The stucco wall broke apart in the explosion. It left behind a plum of smoke, disguising the Apache Braves as they slipping inside the compound's courtyard.

One-by-one the assembled braves clamored inside the compound, firing off their weapons and crying out. White Elk slipped inside and swung his bow in all directions as he rushed towards the building itself. "Inside! Kill them where they sleep!" Several broke off from the courtyard and followed him onto the patio, firing into windows and through doors. "No mercy!"