For a week they would travel southwards, from the first rays of dawn until the last sparkles of dusk. The wind favoured their march, a northly breeze of comfort; in very few places would one be able to gaze at the night sky of the northern hemisphere like in here. Although at hemiboreal latitudes, the lack of light pollution and the relatively low albedo of the planet's ring allowed for the tapestry of the universe to be fully revealed at night.
From hilly forests they soon arrived at the central plains, a massive swath of steppe covered in lakes and shadowed by the Great Range, which had its tallest peaks near the area. By the seventh day a small cloud of dust could be seen to the south-east in the exit of a passage from the hills before the mountains, but it was moving. From the expressions of the dze one could guess what this cloud was, it was the Tsotʿaan.
As the two parties got closer, horns were blown by the two sides, signaling their encounter. The Tsotʿaan was accompanied by a sortie of guards and his daughter and nominal heir to his title. If the dze were usually very tall, the Tsotʿaan was a prime example of their species, standing at 2.17m and with a surprisingly muscular body for a dze of his age (95), his eyes were his most defining feature however, standing out for a reason not yet visible, however an eerie feeling surrounded them. Once they encountered they would all dismount, with Quṕyċun and his entourage bowing, the Tsotʿaan answering in reciprocity, then the two leaders embraced in a friendly hug like longtime friends and began to speak to eachother.
(OOC note: text in italics means it's in a dzenic language)
Tsotʿaan Xanaaq̇ut: I see the trip was quick.
Quṕyċun: Quite so, though we had to start slower to accustom the foreigners to the pace. -signaling at the two Zÿwahlr with his hand- These two agreed to come, while the others remain under the custody of my people.
It was then that the secret of Xanaaq̇ut's eyes was revealed, unlike the starry glow of the average dzeii eye, his were devoid of such, shrouded in an impenetrable mist which hid his thoughts yet would penetrate the heart and mind of anybody looking at him. He would quickly glance at the Zÿwahlr and then continue speaking.
Tsotʿaan Xanaaq̇ut: They are smaller than what I had thought...¿what language do they speak again?
Quṕyċun: Skimtari.
Tsotʿaan Xanaaq̇ut: I would've hoped for a less...rugged tongue, but oh well.
As their entourages began setting up the camp in where they would all reside for the night, the two dzeioi leaders would then turn to the foreigners, with Quṕyċun offering to help them get off the Moxun as he spoke to them.
Quṕyċun: "Once you get off the Moxun, bow slightly and we can then begin talking properly"
