Uknown Lands

Flying_Tonk

Leaving the tent of the sickly child, Ńṭhuuḿ would then turn to Zenio once more.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "I must say, for a first time you are not bad at handling this kinds of things. You are of acute memory it seems, good. As the days progress you will learn more but for now the sun has long since passed over the ring of mid day. I will leave you to your affairs" -before leaving, he paused his words and then continued talking after a few seconds- "you might want to tell your people of your choice to stay here. They will return by nightfall at most with their things"

After saying those words, he would then begin wandering towards the woods, apparently neither seeking to find something or get away from anything, simply walking into the undergrowth, being lost in his thoughts and observations.

Balco

After Old Mist left, Zenio sat down against a tree trunk in the nearby clearing and began writing as if there was no tomorrow, entering a state of complete writing frenzy. He thus wrote down his experiences in those unknown lands in extreme detail, starting to write books of an encyclopedic nature on a vast range of subjects and punctually continuing his personal diary. He would then roam the surrounding territory and observe the landforms of the region, also making his way to the top of the high hill visited the day before to sketch a basic topographical map.

However, due to all that writing, the last amount of ink for his pen had run out. He therefore returned to the camp to ask around the Dzes if any were by any chance available. The first individual he gestured to was someone who appeared to be a blacksmith, hopefully awaiting his response.

Flying_Tonk

The blacksmith took the pen, observed it and shook it a bit, hitting it with one finger to feel if it was hollow. After that a small rumble would follow, drumming the ears of Zenio, and the blacksmith would then take a small piece of metal, light gray in colouration and would then begin smelting it, putting on a mask and gloves beforehand, handing an extra mask and gloves to Zenio, ignoring him as, in his curiousity, he began to work trying to replicate the pen. These gloves were of padded leather on the outside and of wool inside, reaching up to the elbows and the mask allowed for safe breathing without fumes getting in the way, these instead going up through a metal cylinder upwards through the roof towards the outside.

As the blacksmith worked, a second Dze would arrive at the tent, it was the shaman, who brought with him a casing with two ink blocks on the inside, handing them over to Zenio while covering his mouth and nose from any potential fumes. The blacksmith would then quickly take out a piece of charcoal and draw in treebark the design of the plume, afterwards handing it over to Zenio and indicating where to leave the mask and gloves once he left the tent.

Balco

Zenio warmly thanked the shaman with a reverent nod of the head, and following the blacksmith's instructions he took leave of the two Dzes.

However, out of the tent, the Khijovian felt a sudden, excruciating pain in the chest. He then began to cough terribly, afflicted by a thick and deep thoracic sting. He scrambled breathlessly for a moment, then fell to his hands and knees, gasping in intense pain. Zenio heavily whimpered, and then, struggling to repress the absurd twinge in his chest, he looked up and saw the little Dzes he'd met before staring at him in bewilderment. Shortly after the aching man managed to get back on his feet, realizing that, somehow, the illness had subsided considerably, but that he was now struck by an uncontrollable trembling; in fact, Zenio had always suffered from a chronic essential tremor. The children approached him as a sign of genuine solidarity, dumbfounded by what had just happened to the human. He looked at them with a bitterly sad smile, clearly forced and full of pain; from this moment on, Zenio would always suffer from a latent chest pain, which daily manifested itself as a slight oppression - at times excruciating - and which, in totally fortuitous and random moments, reached agonizing paroxysms.

The Khijovian expeditiously greeted the little Dzes and headed towards his tent with a limp step, still pervaded by a soothed chest pain. Trembling, he placed the donated ink containers next to his backpack and, pained, lay down on his back. However, he couldn't help but notice a disturbing detail: somehow, his musket was missing.

Flying_Tonk

As noon became dusk, the horn to signal the arrival of the tʿaan and the search party would sound, for the dze would not stay in a full moon searching in the shore. Meanwhile, Ńṭhuuḿ would look for Zenio in the camp, stumbling upon the children who informed him of the whereabouts and condition of his disciple. He carried with him the musket of the Khijovian, having been found and taken by one of the warriors of the camp, for no foreigner may be allowed to carry weapons, and after a qiŋul conversation with the tʿaan it was agreed that the musket would be returned, but the gunpowder and bullets would be held until all foreigners were in one place.

Zenio looked at the craft of this weapon, a long wooden stock and a metal rifling, an interesting design indeed, akin to those the shamans and gunsmiths had shared with him a while back, the dzeii arquebuses that had made the Battle of Ürol so infamous. He thought of keeping the gun, but the tʿaan would handle that for him. The health of his disciple was his main concern.

Before going to Zenio's tent he would go first to the tribe's shaman and make sure he went with him, mayhaps a diagnostic by himself alone would not be enough. The two elderly dze would pick their instruments of work and go to Zenio's tent, where Ńṭhuuḿ would knock on the wooden door that characterized these designs, waiting for permission to enter.

Balco

Zenio heard someone knocking on the door of the tent, after which he gave permission to enter. As he struggled to his feet he suffered another temporary twinge in his chest, then saw Old Mist and the tribe's shaman enter with apparently diagnostic instruments.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Zenio, how are you feeling? I learned from the children that you suffer from an illness."

The Khijovian answered yes feebly, then showed with his hand the affected part of his chest. Old Mist asked Zenio to take off his shirt, and came over with a tool in hand to examine better. Now bare-chested, the human again pointed to the source of the pain.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Hmm, I see… There is a barely tangible swelling at the dermal level: the whole chest seems to be inflamed. What do you feel?"

Zenio: "..a constant chest pain, mostly light, but sometimes it manifests itself in severe twinges that even afflicts my shoulders."

The Dze nodded slowly, then began to feel Zenio's rib cage with varying intensity; the human moaned slightly at the touch of the instrument.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "It doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

The Khijovian shook his head, then Old Mist turned to the shaman to consult briefly, and finally reported his diagnosis.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "We believe that it is not an illness related to the skin, but that it directly affects your ribs¹. This inflammatory pathology is probably due to an excess of physical effort, therefore you should stay in bed to rest for a few days."

¹ Zenio suffers from an acute case of chronic Tietze syndrome.

Flying_Tonk

The two dze would ponder and talk for a second in the native tongue of the area and the old mist would go to get something whilst the local shaman, an old member of his species known as Ŋ́ynł̣oq́, would keep an eye on Zenio. A few minutes would pass before Ńṭhuuḿ returned with a hot water bottle made of hardy smooth-bark wood covered in a soft cloth that allowed for safe transfer of heat.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "This is beyond our capabilities to heal on our own, but we can contain it to the best of our skill. Re-fill it with warm, but not boiling, water whenever you feel acute pain, it should help deal with it"

As night fully set in and the arrival of the tʿaan and the rest of the khijovians the two dze leave the tent and Zenio, however Ńṭhuuḿ would quickly turn before exiting.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Your people have arrived, but don't get up until your ailment has improved. I will check up on you later"

Balco

Scatevrio warmly thanked the T'aan and soon the Khijovians separated from the Dze party to arrange the recovered belongings at their tents. As his men got to work, the captain was about to enter his tent when he came upon Old Mist exiting. Scatevrio excused himself with a respectful nod of the head, stepping aside to allow the old fellow to pass.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Greetings, you must be the Khijovian leader."

Scatevrio jerked slightly: he had spoken in Solaren. The Khijovian smiled a little, then extended his hand.

Scatevrio: "Correct, I'm Captain Scatevrio. Who are you?"

Ńṭhuuḿ: "My name is Ńṭhuuḿ, Old Mist."

They shook hands with each other, then the Dze pointed inside the tent.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Zenio is suffering from a chest pain, there is something afflicting his ribs. He must rest for some time; I will come back later for further examination."

After which Old Mist took his leave, and Scatevrio entered the tent. Zenio tried to get up to greet the captain, but immediately lay down again in pain.

Scatevrio: "Sit down, don't strain yourself. How are you?"

Zenio: "I'm fine, I'm fine… It's just a chest pain, nothing serious."

Scatevrio: "Careful, you mustn't underestimate it."

He took off his hat and sat down opposite the second lieutenant, then showed him the bag full of his manuscripts. Immediately Zenio's eyes lit up, filled with subdued euphoria.

Zenio: "Oh God... They survived!"

Scatevrio: "A true miracle. After I found them I put them to dry under the sun."

Cheerful, Zenio picked up a couple of sheets, then laughed as if the pain in his chest had vanished. The captain nodded, leaning forward to feel the other's forehead with the back of his hand.

Scatevrio: "You've got a fever again… Zenio, I forbid you to leave this tent for at least two days."

Zenio started to retort annoyed, but was immediately silenced. The captain's expression was now grave and inscrutable, like that of a parent disappointed by his son's behavior.

Scatevrio: "You have to take care of yourself, this carelessness of yours is unacceptable."

The captain softened his face, an aura of clemency pervaded the scene, then asked the following to change the subject:

Scatevrio: "Anyhow, who was that old man? N-Nth… Old Mist? Is he the village sage?"

Zenio: "No, he told me that he's a wanderer. He's only staying here for a while. He's my mentor now."

Scatevrio: "Oh, mentor?"

Zenio hesitated thoughtfully, uncertain whether to reveal now to the captain his radical decision to stay in Dzeia forever as a student of Ńṭhuuḿ. So, overwhelmed by a sudden anguish, he abruptly looked away and stared at the void as if paralysed, reliving the same feeling of deep inner conflict that he felt when he declared to Old Mist that he wanted to become his disciple. He pondered again whether he should change his mind or stick with his initial proposition. He thought of his future with the remaining Arcadianauts, of Captain Scatevrio himself, and of his older sisters to whom he had promised to return before the year was out. Zenio suddenly shook his head as if dejected, sighing with a huge effort to finally speak.

Zenio: "Captain, I will stay in these lands. I don't intend to leave again for Khijovia."

Scatevrio fell silent, an indecipherable expression painted on his face, then finally cleared his throat.

Scatevrio: "Are you... really sure of this choice of yours, son?..."

The calmness in the captain's composed voice greatly struck Zenio, who remained silent not knowing how to answer. A sense of pleasant stoicness hovered around Scatevrio. Zenio nodded and muttered something faintly, which sounded unintelligible to the other's ear. The captain rubbed his mustache gravely, then stood up and prepared to leave the tent.

Scatevrio: "Rest, Zenio."

Leaving the tent he saw his men sitting around a fireplace while enjoying the twilight together with some Dze. Ignoring them, Scatevrio walked to the T'aan's tent and on his way he once again saluted the blacksmith. Accompanied by a guard, he was allowed to speak with the chieftain.

Scatevrio: "Forgive my inconvenience, I came for a proposal."

Qiheetś nodded solemnly, curious.

Scatevrio: "As a token of our deepest recognition and gratitude, I am willing to offer the assistance and manpower of my men in any eventuality."

Flying_Tonk

The tʿaan would look at the tall foreigner, first one ever he can look at the eye level, amusingly, before pausing to consider the offer...they did have food reserves from the winter left and since the spring rains had begun to calm down, the only inconvinience would be the extra tents. But that wasn't a deal-breaker for him.

Qiheetś: "Very well, you will be provided tents, food and clothes. Beware however that we do not settle, we are soon set to move through the fjords from this protected area into a river valley where our herds will have ample food. ¿Are you sure of the willingness of your people to no longer settle if for a brief time?"

Balco

Scatevrio smiled benignly, then rubbed his bearded chin.

Scatevrio: "We are proud Arcadianauts, we have always faced myriads of vicissitudes and misfortunes, and we have overcome all of them!.."

After those words, the captain stopped and suddenly became gloomy, then sighed clemently.

Scatevrio: "...almost all of them. Besides, what's a little nomadism going to be, eh? My men have faced much more arduous experiences, right."

After a handshake and a series of pleasantries, the Khijovian took leave of the chieftain and went to sit with his men around the bonfire, clearly lost in his thoughts.

He reflected at length on the serious matter linked to Zenio, and although he was stoic by nature, it had afflicted him deeply. If Zenio were to actually remain in the Dzeia forever, the captain would not have simply lost a mere member of his dear crew, it would have been like losing a son. Scatevrio was in fact an indispensable father figure for Zenio, whom many years ago, at a tavern in the Axiomian port, he had discovered, welcomed with open arms into his crew and had raised him during the following years as an expert explorer and nautical cartographer.

Scatevrio sighed tormented, then slowly rubbed his mustache. After some time, he noticed someone approaching Zenio's tent.

Flying_Tonk

While the night set, Ńṭhuuḿ would take Zenio's rifle to the local blacksmith, alongside the ammunition and the gunpowder, letting the craftsman whilst he and the local shaman took care of Zenio's strange chest pain, however after leaving he would quickly return to the blacksmith's tent with the local shaman, the three taking seat around the brazier-stove, tea cups in hand.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "We have finished attending Zenio."

Qudlał̣: "¿How's the lad?"

Ŋ́ynł̣oq́: "He has a strange pain in the chest, we cannot figure what it is; we can contain it."

Qudlał̣: "Well, he won't die at least. In other news, I have figured how to disassemble and reassemble the foreign rifle...it is a strange mechanism. Our own designs are much slower and cumbersome compared to it, but the powder is the same as the one we use, though it is placed in the bullet."

Ŋ́ynł̣oq́: "¿How is that possible?"

The blacksmith would show them one of the rifle's bullets that he had disassembled along the now reassembled rifle. Curious gazes dominated the scene.

Qudlał̣: "The bullet is longer and has a casing with the powder. It consumes much less too."

Ńṭhuuḿ: "¿How many can the wrights at Ƚysxḿo'niq produce do you think?"

Qudlał̣: "Barely any, the design is too complex for what we can make for now. The bullets seem easier to make but we will not be able to use this to improve our own weapons, of which we only have a few thousand"

Ŋ́ynł̣oq́: "We may need to ask the foreigners for more of these then...I don't like the idea"

Ńṭhuuḿ: "The tsotʿaan asked of us to improve our weapons to the best of our abilities. We already triumphed using (hand) cannons (and arquebuses), if this design is better then we will need it"

Ŋ́ynł̣oq́: "I will tell the tʿaan of this"

Qudlał̣: "I will try to replicate the metal components; Ńṭhuuḿ, I trust you will tell the tsotʿaan of all of this"

Ńṭhuuḿ: "You can count on me for it"

Having finished the conversation, Ńṭhuuḿ would then go back to Zenio's tent, bringing a metal kettle to renovate the hot water bag with him, and knocked on the door, first tuning his hearing to check if Zenio was still awake.

Balco

Zenio unconsciously shook his head and snapped back to reality after hearing the knock on the door, almost displeased to have to interrupt his train of thoughts. He allowed the individual to enter, and was relieved to see his old mentor.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "I have come to renovate your hot water bag."

Zenio tacitly nodded, and Old Mist immediately got to work.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Tell me, has the pain subsided?"

Zenio: "Fortunately yes, my chest feels less oppressed than before… Anyways, where are the others?"

The Dze examined Zenio's chest, noting the evanescence of the earlier blush, then finished the renewal operation.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "They are all around a bonfire having dinner. You better rest some more, they will bring you the food. I am going now, have a good night."

For about an hour Zenio would have remained alone inside the tent contemplating the void lost in his thoughts, while the rest of the Arcadianauts would have spent their time in refreshment and conversation among themselves, basking around the fiery heat to protect themselves from the night frost. Eventually they all returned to their tents and Scatevrio took care of feeding Zenio before going to sleep.

Upon awakening Zenio found himself alone again, and after ascertaining that the chest pain had decreased considerably, he established that he was able to go in search of his companions without fearing further thoracic twinges. To avoid overexertion, he only brought with him a single book and a pen, finally refilled with the ink supplied by the shaman. Once out of the tent he somehow discovered that the Arcadianauts had gone together with the chieftain and his men for some vague task near the sea that he did not fully understand, therefore he went to find Old Mist for the day's lesson.

Flying_Tonk

The old dze was packing things into his lequn and moxun, for the next day he was to ride towards Ƚysxḿo'niq with urgency...in his mind doubt crossed if Zenio would be able to accomany him there due to his health, but the word of the Tsotʿaan was final: the foreigners were to come, with their weapons intact. He would spot Zenio looking about and waved at him to grab his attention.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "Zenio young lad ¿what are you looking for?"

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