Old Ways Shone Anew

The sound of quietly chuntering voices filled the air all around, each voice added a new hum to the ever growing winds of words that whipped through the air, each punctuated by the sounds of fires, bubbling pots of food and those resting beyond view snoring in their tents. With every step forward this gentle deluge of sound wound its way around each tent and through every fold until it became an ever present sound that brought calm to those that knew how to attune themselves to the living beat at its heart. With one change to this chorus an alarm could be raised in moments or joy brought to those that passed through its embrace through the simple change of the tone of the words that washed over those walking by. Pausing for a moment to listen to the ‘family winds’ as the refugee family dubbed them she could feel the calm that had fallen over the great camp, each season had brought a palatable tinge to the words that swept by, some hot with anger and war, others choked with sorrow and worry, now the cool calm settled over it all masking the scars that had come before she thought to herself. With the Last voice slowly regaining its lost numbers they may have a chance of at least standing on their own two feet once more after the calamities of the previous year  and a half. Pausing for a moment she lent on her cane as she watched one family sitting quietly as they prepared a meal, two of the younger members sat playing some form of game involving drawing circles and crosses into the dirt  whilst their elders chatted, one dozing with their head resting in the lap of their partner. She smiled as one of them noticed her and waved calling over to her to come and sit by the fire with them. She waved back before setting back onto her original path she had been following with a quick thank you to the family for their invitation. This scene had repeated itself many times as she had made her rounds of the refuge, some families would simply wave, others offer her a rest and a simple meal whilst others yet would often join her walking the bounds of the great camp before disappearing amongst the sea of tent flaps and shelters. She had often thought over the years how apt a mental image if gave for the lost as a people, spread out all over but welcoming and warm to those that past by their way. She couldn’t help but let the smile spread across her wrinkled features as she pushed onwards, the steady sound of her light foot steps and the tap of her walking cane drumming out a rhythmic beat. In her younger days she had heard families could tell the time of day by the sound of her foot falls on the rockcrete surface as she passed by, her cane then still connected to the rest of the spear she had carried on her circuits of the boundaries of the camp. Her passing by had become almost a ritual in of itself for the families that camped by the edges of the sea of tents, each day they would see her pass in the morning and then at night, each time wishing her a good morning or a good evening as she went by, in this way she had seen many of the young grow and each family she passed come and go with the passing of the years until now though she had slowed each family she passed seemed like an extension of her own family amongst the lost. Stopping again to let her aching knees calm themselves Phara thought to herself who would take up the roll when she finally passed on, now more than ever the lost needed to protect those close to them after the disaster with the mutants to the south, the strange goings on in the green dome and near war with the cellborn. At this she felt a pang of sadness, for decades they had been friendly with the cellborn to the south but this had been ruined. Only the cellborn present in the green dome had stayed the fall of the blade at a cost to the red veil family as was their way she thought as she adjusted her cloak. Now as each of the great cultures of the ruins postured and made their presence felt more and more through the ruins  the Lost were still hemmed into the refuge and the small camp the last voice had established to the direct east. Something had never truly felt right about what had happened to her when she had heard the words during a family meet amongst the first families to discuss the issue. Mistakes could be made by those inexperienced or accidently ignorant, but with the attacks on the hides that had been carried out well at the same time as the incident over the CellBorn's supplies occurring well before any peoples made themselves known in the green dome some of her old instincts flared at the gut feeling she could feel forming, she trusted this feeling more than anything as it had served her well as a boundsmen of the refuge for years, and now amongst this calm as the thoughts of each family turned to next path they would take the twists and turns the lost had gone down felt more and more like they had been lead down by an invisible hand to her than anything else. Relaxing her shoulders she stood herself straight and with the gentle echo tap of her cane began to head for the central tents of the first families, an idea beginning to gently form in her mind as her old boundsmen instincts began to pull every piece of information she had heard together to try and form a pattern she could follow. If their truly was something else behind these happenings then she wasn’t for one going to allow it to slip by in the shadow of the dark if she had any say on the matter. Setting a steady pace she could feel the air around her change and shift as those families that saw the normally kindly old boundsmen pass by their tents raise to their feet as they saw the look set on her face. A number of younger boundsmen that would accompany her from time to time were soon following in her wake as they pressed onwards into the centre of the camp, the gentle hum of words slowly shifting and forming something entirely knew as the curiosity of what had set the old boundsmen off tugged at the minds of all those that saw her pass.

Military Campaign Progress
Hope and despair, two of the most defining features in the course of human history sit like matched shadows cast by the fire light in the low eve. From the very first steps of man kind beyond it caves into the valley just over the next ridge crest the hope of a better tomorrow has driven the progress of those that would come to define their era, their greatest achievements bringing humanity ever closer to a new age, whilst following behind has come the despair that would often destroy the fabric of their existence but in turn through its actions drive the next generation onwards along the path of time, further progressing the evolution of a people into a culture that would stand the tests laid before it. With each passing of this cycle these new cultures in turn would birth civilisations steeped in the hopes & dreams of the new age set into their very being, whilst at the same time the dread and despairs of those that came before would teach far reaching lessons to these new sculptors in turn. This constant dance between the light of hope and the darkness of despair would touch every corner of humanities reach as it spread across continents of their cradle world, moving from one culture to the next as each in turn spread their legends and stories of the light & dark to one another, before carrying it with them in to the stars above, the tales of ancient heights and darkest lows driving new dreamers to take that one step more into the unknown. These ancient fears and dreams would in their own way inspire new hopes of what the next day could bring, whilst others would see the shadow cast long into the dark kept just beyond the fire light of civilisation and in turn come to their own understanding as the cycle past onwards once more.

For the nomadic culture that is the Lost this dual sense of balance between the sense of hope and fear of despair is often seen as a symbolic tale of their very being, a people born from despair in the dark given new life and the hope of a better tomorrow under the grasp of their own hands from the end of a previous cycle. This constant feeling of duality permeates every strand of life within the lost across every family as they make their own way through the ruins along the paths laid by their forbearers. For some this very act represents the very birth cycle being re-enacted and through it their hope renewed as they tread the ruins towards the darkness and back out of it towards the light that their succession and foundation has come to be in the centuries since. This in of itself has given way to the lost’s famous sense for what they see as fair play in all things, be it a happen chance deal, an agreement between families or decisions undertaken on a far larger scale, the lost’s mind always on the hopes and fears inherent within their action making them seek the middle ground as to balance the scales for both sides in the hope of fostering the beginning of a light as they see it. In more recent times this ability to see both sides of a situation has come to be something of a dual edged sword for the lost as they slowly begin to find their feet once more after passing through the recent shadows of the ruins. With the disastrous conflict with the mutant swarm and the narrowly avoided conflict with the cellborn both leaving their marks for all to feel and see some of the families of the lost have found their thoughts turning to how they ended up in this position, and whilst most would find those wisps of thought blown away by the requirements of the day to day, a few have grasped hard on those strands of thought and begun to follow the trail that their minds have begun to piece together.

The first few days of the new season would see the last voice nestled into its first true acquisition in months, for most the memories of the first days out from the refuge during the beginning of the march that would see them clash with the mutant swarm that had harmed them so badly flared in their minds eye, nervous glances and short tempers catching at every face involved in that ill fated march, whilst those new faces amongst the army in turn would develop their own nervous twitches from their fellows as the army was forever glancing over its own shoulder. By the end of the first week this semi permanent state of nervous paranoia  has seeped through out the last voice until even the most logical and steady of boundsmen elders found arguments rising in their throats at the slightest provocation as they met to discuss  what they should do next. The army itself had formed a tight column upon first entering these lands, following its scouts lead in the previous season as it pressed through the shadows of the forest of towers that seemed to fill the territory for as far as their eyes could see through the ever persistent gloom. Now the army sat coiled tight around itself with ever shifting pickets of the most vigilant families keeping  their gaze locked firmly on the darkness around them just in case. By the end of the second weeks fifth day however even these dutiful watches began to lose patience with themselves as the expected threat failed to ever emerge from the shadows that the army’s elders had so feared would spring to life at the first chance it saw. Come the morn of the second day of the third week an order was passed from family to family from the last voice’s leadership, each pair of eyes that read the small slip of paper would blink and after 6 months of what felt to them as unending tension would slump into tired relief. Calling together every elder from every family present the last voice as one would breath a sigh of relief at the words that graced their ears, those scouts that had pushed further on still after the army had encamped itself in the ancient stadium it found itself in had finally reached the far corners of these new lands, silence came from the north, to the south a old collapse had sealed a once enormous transit route and to the east the furthest scouts had made out the signs of habitation, the tell tale dirty white coats and neon lighting rigs had answered as to who was living in the lands beyond these, the ever sly company. For the first time in what seemed like an age luck had been on the lost’s side, other humans even if politically motivated ones like the company where encamped to their east, with all other routes sealed bar the one leading back to the refuge meant that the prospect of them coming under attack were minimal at the least. By the midst of the final week of the first month the entire army would physically have slumped into rest, finally able to let barely healed wounds begin to rest properly as the lost families present took chance to sit and let themselves catch a moments breath.

The dawn of the second month would pass to the sounds of an army finally at true rest as the days slowly past by, each would see another band of boundsmen begin to rise come the morn and make ready to join the slowly growing force of able bodies amongst the last voice once more. Alongside this the tradesmen of the army would begin to truly take stock of the army once more, true new families had joined to reinforce them in the season past but the army was still far from truly back to what it had once been as they made their rounds. Over the next few days the central camp of the last voice would be an ebb of minor activity as the army began to attempt to shift the dread that had taken grip of it in the light of the glimmer of hope that this seemingly quiet piece of land had given them. By the end of the second day of the second week the elders would come to meet in the low eve, each leader of each major family and war band amongst the last voice would sit quietly as each arrived and took their position in the circle of leaders, the empty chair of the Vas-shah remaining silent as the final member entered the warm confines of the tent. Sitting with the low mummer of noise from the rest of the camp slipping into the tent the last voices shah’s would spend the next few hours discussing openly the choices laid before them, some would voice their want to return to the refuge whilst others still would call for the army to be given the chance to settle in these new lands, whilst a couple of others would seek to press on further in only to see how far the companies grasp truly reached into the territory beyond. A series of running debates would last well into the midst of the night before some form on consensus would be reached by those present, for the time being the army would rest where they were, recouping more of its strength before pressing onwards. This decision would soon ripple through out the last voice by the end of the week as the more families were stood down and allowed to settle themselves, come the morn of the third week this decision would prove to have an additional boon that few had been expecting.

During the midst of the week a small caravan arrives at the edge of the camp, consisting of a couple of families and a few sled carts of supplies the caravan rests in the shadow of the army’s camp, members of the last voice visiting their fellows for an hour or two for news from the refuge and from the nomad’s paths. What they find is that whilst one family consisting of a small band of simple scavengers their kin in the other family were travelling entertainers of sorts, selling their trade in music and dance in return for credits where they visited. A small stage springs up in the eastern edges of the last voice camp with simple dangling glow lights ringing a raised podium  wide enough for about 4 people to dance upon. Soon entire families and war bands were perching themselves around the small stage watching dances and listening to tales from around the ruins that brought smiles and laughter to their faces, genuine happiness spreading from face to face with each show until the entire army found itself lifted on a spirit joy from the little family’s impromptu shows. Sadly the travelling entertainers and their scavengers companions would begin to move on again as they made for the refuge but they would leave a far more content last voice behind them for their simple act.

The final days of the second month would pass by alongside the opening dawn of the third month of the season as the last voice enjoyed the simple pleasure that chance had given them, the sound of amicable contests running through the tent city of the army’s encampment once more. By the end of the fourth day of the first week you would be hard pressed to army’s mood to what it had been but a few short days before hand, to top this off shortly into the third day of the second week scouts watching over the roads back towards the refuge would notice a large column of families heading towards them. The first of these families would halt upon seeing the scouts, a slightly lanky boundsmen presenting herself to the scouts as they came to investigate. After a few moments conversation between the scouts and the lanky boundsmen they were waved onwards, a few of the scouts jogging a head to show the way to the last voices main camp as the column followed behind them at a steady pace. Arriving at the camps gate the guards would stand surprised for a moment as the scouts repeated what they had been told by the columns leader, one dashing off to find a shah as the column entered the camp proper and began to set up their tents and family standards. Returning a few minutes later with one of the more taciturn shah’s in tow the lanky boundsmen would greet the shah with an open hand before offering to sit, the shah would cock an eyebrow before asking who they were and their presence here. The response they received which had caught the scouts attention some hours before hand was as simple as it was direct “We are here to reinforce you and settle this land for good” the lanky boundsmen stated to the shah as he stood blinking. In all the column made up some 500 lost in total, 300 had come to join the families of the last voice whilst the remainder were families that had volunteered to help settle this land and begin construction of new hides as well as a small permanent camp of sorts  in the very stadium the last voice had come across and now nestled within.

The next week would pass by in a flurry of activity as the reinforcement families began to integrate themselves into the last voice, volunteering for scout assignments alongside joining patrols around the perimeter of the army with a determined edge to them. The settling families would establish themselves in the far end of the stadium as they set up their own separate camp in the large empty storage spacing under the stadium, some boundsmen would remark  after visiting the settler families that the tinge of the refuge had followed them, the smells of fires and the sound of home ringing in their ears as they passed by the entrance to the camp. Come the eve of the month the last voice would find itself somewhere a few months ago it would not have believed possible, happy, content and regaining their strength month by month with the hope of home following in their wake.

Summary:

The last voice has remained nestled in the territory it secured last season,  further investigations have confirmed the territory as a Secondus classification habitation zone devoid of much beyond the occasional band of unaffiliated and loners picking through the silent tower blocks and abandoned hub markets found within the territory. A luck break for the last voice as further reinforcements have joined the army bringing it back upto almost full strength, though the discovery of the territory further on already under occupation by forces from the company has caused some alarm. (NOTE: Standing strength of the last voice is currently at 2690/3000)

Through the Smoke and Haze
The recent seasons have been some of the roughest for the lost as a culture, with the war with the mutants proving so disastrous for them alongside the lose of hides across the nomad’s path and the narrowly avoided conflict with the cellborn the lost find themselves hemmed into a literal corner  not of their own making. Amongst the various families present within the refuge the elders hold countless meets to discuss the ongoing situation whilst boundsmen hold their own councils in the fire light of the low eve, both a mix with whispers and tales following back and forth as each in their own way attempts to find truth in what has happened. During one eve a elderly boundsmen is found by the families of the refuge waiting with a small band of followers waiting from them at the entrance to the tent for that nights meeting. They welcome her and her followers to join them as they all take their seat, each with an expression of interest in what the elderly lost has to say from the fire that sits behind her eyes. Initially they spend their time carefully recounting over the actions and happenings of the past year and a half, at each major point she pauses and seems to make a mental note as her followers check their won notes and tales they had brought with them. The elders of the refuge family take their own note of this as it repeats itself regularly as they move from season to season, after 3 hours the elderly boundsmen turns to her followers who pass her a small mountain of papers that they had been working upon before in turn she begins to filter through them, selecting certain pages and balling up others until she is left with a small clutch in her possession. A couple of elders from one family at this point get up to leave in annoyance from what they perceive as a boundsmen too wrapped up in her own thoughts, they are told to firmly sit down by the elderly women as the boundsmen continues to arrange the papers. The two elders sit with stark looks to one another as the hardness in her voice catches at them as in turn the elderly boundsmen begins to talk, pointing to happenings and timings. Each page seems unrelated until she begins to talk as if they were part of some incomplete pattern. By the time she is done speaking and hobbles back to her feet the assembled elders finally see what this driven old boundsmen had spotted and been driven to speak to them about. Laying at their feet connected by simple pieces of paper a pattern of actions is placed before them that severs long established ties and isolates the lost from those around them in a web of actions that without a grand view would seem unrelated but when brought together forms one concrete answer, some one is trying to strangle the lost from existence...

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