Claanyad wrote:Azi Altul wrote:Azan smiled at the foreigner's request, but Raull remained wary, his brown eyes darting from each enemy man to another. The man wanted a feast, and he desired a drink. The Altan people were heavy drinkers, of course, and were known to outdrink any heathen man, but there wouldn't be much of a party if the large black Vaethis devoured the man's intestines, so Azan placed on a hand on the wolf's head, and whispered the calm command. With this, Raull's eyes gained their warmth back, and he ceased bearing his teeth. Azan laughed, and the great wolf sniffed at the foreign man's hand, licking it when he was finished, wagging his massive tail.
Azan's men cheered, and the foreign men popped opened their drinks, and the two civilizations feasted and drank and laughed, not as enemies, but as friends. For the next few days, they would share their stories, to allow a more suitable, holy fight, appeasable in the eyes of the Rider.
Of course, Getúmen was intrigued by this 'Azan' fellow. He had never seen a larger man in person, and the way he held himself was admirable. And he was definitely honourable, perhaps even honour-bound. The way he looked after his large wolf, apparently named Raull, was admirable. Though Getúmen knew that he was very likely going to die at this conflict, or at least return home with many... changes, he still wanted to enjoy the experience in the camp of the 'enemy. And to be honest, he did not find the Altans to be enemies after a while. Learning their customs and drinking with them had almost removed the sense that they were at war. It intrigued Getúmen.
Finally, at some point, he approached Azan, drinking horn filled with Clányan Śwod in hand, and his tacal still close to his person. He had never let it go since he arrived in the camp - he felt it made him more respectable. He knew that the Altan people were a lot larger built than Clányans, so he needed all the help he could get in looking masculine. His tacal had always made him feel more respectable. But he approached Azan anyway, and bowed to his soon-to-be opponent.
"May I sit, R†hul?" he asked, hoping to sound honourable as he said it.
Azan laughed, and opened a spot next to his new acquaintance. The Altans had a word for people like him, that was not a word found in any other language, to Azan's knowledge. The closest meaning Azan had found was somewhere between friend and enemy. It was a word used to describe one's respected equal, but was not quite a nemesis, nor was the bond defined as friendship. The word was chall. This man was Azan's chall, and it had been many years since he had found a suitable chall.
"Sit, chall. How have you found our people so far? A bit different from your civilization, I assume."
As he said this, two younglings had started a brawl. They used their fists, as they were not yet old enough to have been given a fascis, or taken one from a fallen warrior. Their vaethis pups were pacing around one another, their backs arched and their ears pressed to their heads, growling defensively. This was expected in Altan feasts, as the men, especially younglings, were even more territorial drunkards. The older on, a child by the name of Clut, had instigated the fight with the younger, more spritely youth named Bath, over the attention of a young girl. Bath, being the more intelligent, quick witted one, had Clut in the mud within minutes, and the men around the camp roared with laughter, and the young girl graced Bath's bravery with a kiss, leaving him red faced.
The Claanyan men were mildly more hesitant in the partying, but could hold their drinks well enough. Raull himself was courting a shewolf, nudging her neck with his powerful face and pouncing playfully on her. She seemed to reject his advances, but the shewolves always made their mates fight for their affections. Azan took a deep drink from the Claanyan horn, which left an enjoyable aftertaste in his mouth. He was enjoying himself, with his new chall, and was almost sad he'd soon have to kill the man.