Birth of Revelation

The smells came from every direction, intermixed into an almost indistinguishable mass with no clear sign as to where one smell would end and where the next would begin as it almost physically slammed into his nostrils. Here the tinge of fire smoke would collide with the wisps of cooking food, there the pungent whiff of oil would ride through the ozone of sparking cables layering over the ever present undertone of human sweat. In some ways it was like the smells of home with the onslaught of different tones and colours to it, but all again it was totally alien as the owners and creators of those smells couldn’t be more different to those of his home tribe. Everywhere he looked Hunters clad in long coats made of a coarse material  marched about like every step of land was their personal property, metal wide brimmed hats perched atop their heads with brightly coloured arrows sewn into the coats material on the arm or shoulder. Every so often a more elaborately dressed hunter carrying a sword by their side would march through and the other hunters would throw one of their hands up to the side of their head in some acknowledgement of some sort as the fancily dressed one walked by, some returning the odd gesture, others sneering as the coarse coat clad hunters. In his home tribe hunters would carry bows, spears, swords and the occasional rifle or hand gun, here every hunter seemed to carry a rifle with a knife attached to the end, some carrying hand guns on their waists as well when they had more arrows sewn onto their arms. He was smart enough to recognise this was some form of seniority or ’rank’ as the brass hunters called it. Those with more ’rank’ would commend younger or less experienced hunters in ’squads’ and there were several squads to a hunting party or ’platoon section’ as one of the more amicable brass hunters had told him as he sat patiently waiting for his chief to return. For a hunter of the Peoples  the fight against the all surrounding darkness was something between a calling and a holy duty, clashing face to face with the spawn as they raided into the ruins all around their home lands. The Brass hunters though fought from afar he noted as he watched a large group of them get called together by one hunter with four arrows on his arm, after a few second the 30 or so warriors had formed 2 neat lines and at a barked order the frontline knelt down with the rear line levelling their rifles in unison as the front line held theirs like spears, forming what the peoples would have called a spear wall but in this case it was made up of rifles. A moment later another barked order would see a cacophony of sound as the rifles of the back line barked in rippling cohesion, another barked order and the front kneeling rank would level their rifles and repeat the move as the rear reloaded their weapons. It truly was an alien way of making war to the young hunter as that single ‘platoon’ of mech-corp soldiers had more firearms at their disposal than his entire tribe could muster if they borrowed from friends amongst other tribes. “Still watching are we?” a thickly accented voice came from above him, causing him to jump momentarily as he looked up. Looking down at him the friendly brass hunter from earlier grinned at him, age lining every inch of his face like the war markings of his fellow hunters. “I just don’t get how you fight like that” Solemn shook his head “We would face the darkness with spear in hand and run it down like the beast it is” He patted his spear that was lent against the tent wall beside him, “Yet we would mow it down with little care in a blast of rifle fire” the old soldier smirked as he gently sat himself down next to the young people’s hunter. “Exactly old one” Solemn nodded, noting how the old soldier smiled when he called him ‘old one’; “You treat the darkness as if it is simply something to shoot and then move on, no care, no cause to be bothered by”. The Old mech-corp soldier pulled out a pipe and said nothing for a minute as he filled it with something a lit it, the tinged smoke floating away into the air above them “Maybe because we don’t fear it like your people do, its just another thing to defeat and get on with trying to rebuild something worth rebuilding” He said thoughtfully “You have your spirits you believe look out for you right?” He raised an eyebrow at solemn who nodded “Ancestors” he corrected “But yes Old one”, “Well we don’t believe in spirits, or ancestors or anything like that” the old soldier took another puff from his pipe “We have just us and our squad mates out here” He looked serious for a moment “And if we let ourselves be scared by some mutie making us jump like scared kids we’ll die, and our mates will die and that’ll be that, and we can’t have that so we have to kill the brutes and move on”. The old soldier glanced over at the young hunter as Solemn thought about what the old mech-corp soldier was saying, “And you can’t stop calling me Old one, Names Whittler, or Whit for short” the Old soldier smirked at Solemn through a grubby beard. “I meant no disrespect” Solemn said, genuinely worried for a moment, Whittler chuckled and patted Solemn on the head “Non-Taken youngster, but got a rep to maintain with the young troopers” He nodded at the bunch training in the middle of the company mustering yard. Solemn raised an eyebrow which made Whittler chuckle more “If more of them think they can get away with calling me Old they’ll never stop” He grinned mischievously “Besides I’m only fifty two for guilds sake” Whittler beamed at Solemn’s confused expression. They sat quietly for the next few minutes as the platoon of mech-corp militia troopers  ran through their firing drills time and time again until they were broken up by squad and each in turn was put through its paces, a small knot of officers watching them as the young hunter and old soldier sat beside one another in the midst of the mech-corp regimental camp. “Here’s a question” whittler finally spoke “I know there’s all those rumours flying about that your lot had something to do with Morsville” Solemn looked over at him “And you’ve finally turned up to hold up your end of whatever bargain was struck by the expeditionary force” Solemn nodded as he knew that much from his chief, “But why when you’ve got those two burly beggars over there does your section chief need you waiting here?” Whittler gestured at the two well armed and more armoured hunters stood by the other side of the tent, waiting as patiently as Solemn was. “Every chief has their own guards when visiting other camps” Solemn explained, “Alongside this they usually bring a younger hunter to teach or act as an extra set of eyes” Whittler raised an eyebrow. “In my case I couldn’t get out of what my sister says to do” Solemn lowered his voice to a whisper as the old mech-corp soldier burst out laughing, almost dropping his pipe “Family sure is a pain in the neck” He beamed….

Military Campaign Progress
Truths and lies have been a part of human society since the very first tribes lived in dark caves, huddled together around simply camp fires the eldest would tell tall tales of the dangers beyond their valley that would keep the younger generations close to home and tribe. Eventually these tribal truths would be tested by one with the bravery to question why no one ever put these tales to the test and discover the lie told to so many as they came to the end of the valley and found a whole another world waiting for them to explore and claim as their own. Their own new truth brushing away the old lie with but a simply act, the first revelation in the course of many as humanity would grow from those simply cave dwellers into the first villages, towns and eventual cities that would cover continents in their influence. These new truths would in their own way be tested time and again as new ways of thinking would emerge and spread, bringing the first sparks of light from the knowledge of science as it cast the now old truths to be lies from its long shadows. For the now wide spread cultures of humanity each would find their own answers to old questions drawn from the way their society had grown and blossomed until some would spawn a movement that would have fair reaching consequences for the first true nations of the world, brining true revelations that would accelerate the progress of mankind from simply existing within the world to truly beginning to master it for their own purposes. This spark of revelation would see truths established and new answers sprouting from the understanding brought by these set facts, even as others would decry them and try to rally against them as lies simply because they countered their held beliefs. This very cycle would be what drove humanity to found empires and wage wars over false truths, until it eventually sparked innovations that  would see humanity into the stars themselves, with old lies and old truths shattered in one simple act.

For the numerous tribes that make up the culture known as the Peoples, this cycle of truth and lies is centric to their very birth as a society in the crucible of the fall, and the bloody aftermath that would see them sundered and split as they were founded and their erstwhile brethren would disappear into the darkness to be born anew in turn by the simply act of a truth and lie, and the shadowing of both by the fires of a belief. For the mass of normal tribe members that make up the populace of the peoples each day is defined by a simply truth and an equal lie, that there forefathers beliefs that their way of life would never end was the lie that encompassed them all and that their belief in the ancestors has seen them through the worst in the last 300 years, the only singular truth that any of them have really known. For the shamans of the various tribes this cycle presents a different light that is still defined by its revelations, that the new truths of this ruined world are harsh and unyielding, yet the lies are far more worse and a single misstep can spell doom for those un-careful enough to tell where one begins and another ends. For the Hunter the ability to tell friends from foe, and know when to strike and when to fade away into the ruins forms the truth for them each day, whilst those that wonder from their duty in the guise of curiosity at the world that was once before is the siren song of the lie that battle against as they teach the next generation to come of the world that is, and to shun the world that was. For the gatherers of the tribes this cycle takes on its own façade that defines their very lives, as the known truths of this new world moulds every day and their acts to ensure the continued survival of their tribe, whilst the lies that would creep in like a malign beast to twist them from their tasks constantly pull at them like an ever present shadow as they battle against the entropy of the ruins.

The first few days of the new season would pass much as those in the final weeks of the previous had, the quiet step finding itself still encamped around the border of the mech-corp settlement town that it had been stopped at during the previous season. Pairs of scouts would be dispatched each day to watch the ‘blockage’ to see if it had been removed and in the evening each day it would return to the war camp to report that the group of brass gatherers and hunters were still impeding their progress forward, much to the annoyance of some of the more temperamental hunters. Each day the collective chiefs of the warbands and hunting parties that made up the quiet step would gather with the warchief of chiefs to discuss the ongoing situation and each time he would call for calm and patience as he had done before,  telling of his hunts in the green land and the brass tyrants chief there sending hunters to remove the brass tribesmen that blocked their path. Some chiefs come the end of the first week were privately beginning to wonder if they had been tricked by the brass tyrants warchief as they sat patiently waiting. Come the midst of the third day of the second week this feeling of impatience had begun to take hold in more and more of the army as each time the scouts would leave the camp a few more hunters would follow them up to where they had established their watch camp. By the end of the sixth day what had been a small handful joining the scouts has grown into a full hunting party sat watching the barricade lines of brass gatherers and hunters as they jeered and through debris at the encircling line of brass hunters from the town. For the most part these hunters kept apart from the peoples, some giving them judging looks or making quiet remarks to their fellows, pointing and gesturing at the peoples war paint and weapons. In turn a number of the hunters raised eyebrows at the strangeness of the brass hunters garb and overreliance on guns that every brass hunter seemed to carry with them everywhere they went. Here and there though during the start of the following week the odd brass hunter and scout from the quiet step would hold small conversations caused by their constant proximity, each discussing the situation from their own view and expressing their own annoyance with the riotous crowd. These small points of contact between the quiet step and the towns garrison would cause an unexpected revelation to spring about the quiet step when their scouts returned that night. It seemed unlike with the peoples when a tribe lost its land and was taken in by another, in the Mech-corp society they were called ‘refugees’ and the town here, named Silesia; was almost overrun with them, barely able to handle the influx of people and this group of ‘rioters’ the brass hunters called them. This lack of support was why it was taking so long for them to be moved, some of the town elders wanted to just shoot the rioters but higher ups had apparently sent someone to come and deal with them and take them away, which was what the brass hunters were waiting for. This simply truth of the matter was something even the most jaded hunter amongst the quiet step could understand, and some began to suspect that was what the warchief of chiefs had known all along. By the end of the third week this sliver of information had made its way truly round the army and a few less hunters each day would accompany the scouts to watch the rioters as the Silesia town brass hunters seemed to join the scouts at their watch camp, though not overly friendly with one another they both shared their joint annoyance and in some cases out right anger at the rioters as the final days of the month began to pass them all by.

The dawning of the second month would pass to the sound of jointly muttered insults thrown at the rioters by both the towns garrison and the scouts of the quiet step. Through their mutual annoyance at least for the time being some common ground had been found in the midst of the mess that they were both stuck handling, by the end of the fourth day of the week this new common ground had at least settled some of the more conservative members of both sides, both sides taking stock and thanks for what little extra peace they could meek out. The next handful of days would pass much the same until during the 2nd day of the next week the scout pair that had elected to watch the blockage that day returned early from their watch camp, a slightly out of breath brass hunter accompanying them bearing different markings from the town garrison that the quiet step had become accustomed to dealing with. The hunters on the gate looked suspicious until one of the scouts explained the brass hunters presence with them, at this they waved them past and quickly disappeared off themselves to locate the Warchief as the brass hunter followed closely behind. Locating the warchief In his tent in the midst of a meal with his own warband the scouts and brass hunter apologised for the disturbance as a few of the warchiefs’ warband scowled at the intrusion, presenting himself the brass hunter explained he was a forward scout from the Brass tyrants warchief’s own personal warband in between panting breathes as he tried to slow his breathing. When asked what he was doing here by the warchief directly the scout managed to pull himself together to add that the rest of his own warband were at present either removing or arresting every rioter with assistance from the brass hunters war-scout, and that come the days end the blockage that had been holding them here would be gone, leaving the quiet step free to head onwards to meet up with the brass tyrants further on. At this a low smile crossed the Warchief’s face as he took a sip from his drink before ordered the patiently waiting people’s scouts to locate every chief in the camp and bring them to him immediately. The two bowed and rapidly sprinted off into the greater camp, calling and shouting as they went to each band and hunting party as they passed, the brass scout slumped to the floor as he lost all composure and began to pant, trying to catch his breath. A gatherer nearest to him offer him a bowl filled with cool water, suspicious initially the scout took the proffered drink, nodding in thanks as the rest of the people’s present finished their food and began to pack things away. Standing once he’d finished the drink the warchief beckoned the brass scout to follow him as he headed out into the camp, asking questions as they walked the scout relayed what little he’d been told about the situation further north alongside what bits of rumour and hearsay had managed to slip down from brass hunters on the frontline. Thank him for his timely arrival the warchief let the scout begin to make his way back to his warband, detailing a young hunter to make sure he made it back safely. Over the next few hours the quiet steps war camp would slowly disappear as tents and shelters were pulled down, supplies repacked and weapons readied, each warbands chief presenting themselves before the warchief as each hunting party and band pf hunters became ready to move. The warchief would issue one order as the last arrived and knelt ready, “We march north”.

The following days would see the army fully mobilise once more and begin its aborted trek northwards once more as the army formed a long column of various warbands, the leading scouts forming into hunting parties leading from the front as the assembled mass of tribals made for the tunnel entrance so previously blocked. Now in place of the barricade and jeering crowds of brass gatherers and hunters a clear road with a secure check point manned by the Silesia garrison waved them on past, a small group of dejected looking gatherers clearing up the last bits of debris as the first warbands passed by. A couple of the scouts that had got to know some of the garrisoned brass hunters managed to get out of them what had exactly happened as the quiet step passed by, apparently when the brass tyrants warchief’s personal hunting party and warband had turned up a lot of the gatherers had gone home with out fuss, a few had argued before being dragged off after having guns shoved in their face which got the message across pretty effectively. There had been only a single actual incident of violence when one gatherer had drawn a handgun and clipped a brass hunter, the accompanying war scout had gunned them down on the spot, the remaining trouble makers surrendering their and then at that. After this the garrisoned hunters from Silesia wished the few people’s scouts they had got to know luck northwards before the army had passed in its entirety into the tunnel and disappeared to the sound of marching feet and tribal war songs. It would take until the end of the week for the army to fully pass through the junction tunnel and assembled on the other side once more as they came into what all knew was an actively hostile land filled with spawn ready to kill the unwary. Forming up with a tight screen around the army the quiet step pushed onwards into these dangerous lands and over the next few days of the third week they would make their way through the maze of rusted out and half demolished buildings until they encountered the first of the brass tyrants army rear guard. Setting up camp near to this rear check point the War chief would lead his personal guard and the assembled leaders of the quiet step into the brass tyrants main war camp, presenting themselves to the war chief of this army as was tradition In a great sea of ready faces and readier weapons. The next couple of hours would pass with members of the brass tyrant’s army looking on at this gathering of tribal warriors and chiefs as the quiet steps war chief and ’General’ as the brass hunters called him of the brass tyrants  met to discuss the situation and lay their plans for war against the mutant spawn.

What was exactly said in the meeting few of the chiefs would know but when the warchief returned a grim expression had covered his features as he returned to the quiet steps new war camp, talking with a few of his closed advisors from amongst the assembled warbands as they walked. Apparently the Brass tyrants had been engaged in an extremely bloody gruelling war of attrition with the mutant spawn for the last six to nine months, losing nearly 1 in every 2 of the warriors they had marched in here with. A few of the younger chiefs amongst the quiet step gawked at this information as the mental image ran through their head of the heaps of dead from both sides, what concerned the warchief though was apparently full hunting parties had been dispatched over the last handful of weeks forward of the brass tyrants lines as the swarm they had been engaging had pulled back suddenly during the end of the last season, little sign had been found of them beyond the odd corpse by the hunting party’s much to the concern of the chiefs of the brass tyrants army, and the ‘general’ himself. The more seasoned hunters amongst the chiefs of the quiet step understood this concern all too well as their years of hunting through the ruins had taught them, swarms only withdraw for one of two reasons, they were practically wiped out which seemed far from the truth considering what had been described to the warchief of this swarms nature, or they had gathered enough raw material to begin to try and spawn a new, infecting the territory like an infectious growth. The latter was truly concerning if this turned out to be true every chief knew as the quiet step began to deploy itself in accordance with the drawn up plan over the next two days. It would take until the final days of the month for the army to begin to carry out its own sweeps into what was supposedly enemy territory, but as they did the findings of the people’s own far more experienced and skilled scouts seemed to vindicate the findings of the brass tyrants own hunting parties, what little seemed to remain of the swarm was old corpses and signs of battle which bode ill for them all.

The first week of the final month of the season would pass by to the sound of baited breath and wary foot steps as both armies began to slowly but surely press forwards into the darkness of the ruins around them. For the quiet step this would be done in great waves of hunters following behind cleared paths by scouting parties that ranged ahead, warbands clearing buildings and old warehouses with suspicious eyes as the army as a whole swept forward into the territory before them, to the northward flank the brass tyrants would begin their own slower but well judged push forward behind interlocking lines of rifle wielding hunters that treated any suspicious noise with a rapid and violent response, the detonation of explosives and rifle massed rifle fire clearing buildings as brutally and effectively in equal measure as both armies press onwards in search of there illusive enemy. This pattern of clearance would continue on well into the next week as the days rolled together with the armies beginning to eat up the miles through the old manufactories and storage, each checking in with the other as the closet units began to checker their sweeps to inter lace together as they pushed through similar territory, the keen eyes of the peoples clearing hidden spots and gaps that the brass hunters would have ignored, whilst the fire power and brutal approach to clearing removed blockages and stomped on anything that they fought could pose a potential threat, in one case a scouting party from the quiet step found a series of tunnels leading away into the basement and subsurface of what had once been a factory of some sort, a nearby section of brass hunters stopped the scouts from descending to explore it as they gathered together a series of explosives and in a loud denotation levelled the old structure on top of the tunnels entrances, sealing them with the weight of debris as their chief, or ’officer’ as they called them; pushed them further onwards in line with the rest of their troops. It would take until the early hours of the third day of the second to last week of the month for any true sign of the swarm to be positively identified and even then it was sporadic at most. Here and there moulds of pulsing flesh were found seemingly covered in thick ichor of some sort that caused the discoverers to feel nauseous, the only saving grace that the quiet step thanks the ancestors for was the irregularity of this pulsing finds. What they were none were too sure as the army continued to move forward, now at a slower pace as these finds made their way back to the war chief from various leading warbands and scouting parties. By the last day of the week and the dawn of the final week of the season these irregular finds would expand in scope and regularity as great piles would be found in old storage silos, tendrils covered old cabling hung between buildings and spread to surrounding areas. The constant smell of rotting flesh was unmistakable as the quiet step and the forces from the brass tyrants army came to a halt as they sent back reports to their own leaders before in couple of days later receiving answers to those very reports. For the Brass tyrants this was something completely knew they’d never encountered before and only had second hand accounts off, for the most seasoned of the quiet step they had there own stories of these things and the revelation of their discovery vindicated those stories and thoughts from the weeks previous. The swarm had pulled back to begin to try and spawn, infecting this part of the territory like a disease, knawing into the very bones of this land to spread its tendrils like roots as it began to grow and make ready to bathe this territory in a sea of mutated ravenous fang filled mouths…

Summary:

The quiet step has managed to finally make the rendezvous with the meh-corp army, The Old Guard; after the morsville refugees blocking their path were removed by a combined effort by the mech-corp expeditionary forces intervention. The swarm they were expecting had withdrawn they found from the old guard prior to their arrival, but after spending over a third of the season hunting for them they have discovered the swarm had entered into its spawning cycle, ready to spread like a disease across the territory. This nightmarish revelation has come with a silver lining that no hunters from the quiet step have been lost so for another season at least the army remains at full strength, ready to face the darkness to come.

Quiet around the camp fire
With the new found food supply secured during the previous season the various tribes of the peoples have begun to steadily stockpile food carefully to help in the situation where they once more face starvation. The shamans of every tribe hold benedictions of thanks to the ancestors for their guiding hand as each tribe offers there own thanks over the days and weeks that pass by. The Shamans of the Iron tree hold a very public and open series of prayers in support of the tribal shamans across the home land and newly settled territories, whilst the tribes find themselves able to focus more of their time and resources to supporting local activates, be that building new tents, setting new watch camps, or exploring their new lands more thoroughly as the days pass by. In the background She-Who-Sits continue her rhetoric of whipping up those more fiery of the peoples into a fury as she passes from tribe to tribe gathering a few more followers her and there, some note that before long she will have a small force of some 500 following her temper filled words though the shamans of each tribe she visits managed to for the time being dissuade the more skilled hunters and gatherers from joining her ranks. The various tribal elders note though they are unsure for how much longer the younger generations will listen to the words of caution from their shamans as the passionate filled words from She-Who-sits echo in their ears. One thing that catches at the more venerated shamans ears however are the words carried by the hunters in the northern most settle lands that border the lands occupied by the war-kind of the Hive-Sec. From what they could observe from their watch posts and extremely limited looks into the territory itself it seems a flow of supplies has been making its way to a central structure of some kind with a small trickle of warriors coming to and from the structure before heading back to the east. The few traders who the peoples trust that have visited the area tell of the Hive-Sec stopping traders from crossing the land as they engage in something they call ’Offensive operations’. Clearly the Hive-sec war-kind are engaged in some kind of war but with who they are unsure, what this bodes for the tribes in that land is unknown as the build up and military activity causes a wave of worry to cross over the tribes from that area.

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