To carry. Part 1.

Atlas.

The city in the mountains.

The land of the Bear.

Atlas wasn't just any ole average mountain-bound town.

It was more of a... well, reservation of sorts. One whose people were born and raised among the jutting cliffs and crags that composed the Southernmost expanses of the Great Beirklou Mountain range.

The Gregrin people numbered just over 40,000. Their simple yet sturdy homes dotted the South faces of three tall and intimidating Mountains. A fertile yet wild stretch of land known to most around the world as "The Jaw"

But to the people of Atlas, it was simply called home.

With the Spring would come the Great Melt.

Waves of hot air would roll up from the expansive deserts that made up the Suidian Coast that lined the Northwestern foot of the mountains, driving the snow into the southwest-flowing river called Salu.

With Summer came the Hill Bloom, a period of immense growth and fertility among the flora and fauna, and with that, the awakening of the the Great Ashen Atlas bears.

This was the creature for which the Gregrin had named not only their city but their very Tribe.

The Gregrin very much loved and respected these massive Bears, having lived among and even beside them since they, as an originally nomadic tribe, had settled in the great range of mountains some four hundred years ago.

Give or take.

And the bears were very much acclimated to their presence.

The people would share hunts, relocate from homes that were too close to specific territories, and most importantly, raise and care for any and all orphaned bear cubs.

This mighty creature was their chosen Totem.

Atlas was many things.

Most prominently,

An isolated, and hardy settlement.

Its walls stood at just over seven feet tall. Not so high by design.

There was not much need for such defensive barriers so far up into the mountains.

It's people, tribal by nature, and loyal to their own to the one.

Bound they all were, not only by blood, but by centuries of war among the mountain-bound tribes, and day-to-day survival on the often frigid, and never-forgiving range.

Among the four great mountain tribes, Atlas was second only to one other:

The Sogladites of Vanta.

This Tribe -whose Totem was the crow- had deep and historic roots. The many avian branches of this nomadic tribe, who roam the land to this very day, are said to be the direct descendants of the founders of Crowhaven. One of the five legendary schools of great study located far to the North and West at the Grounds known as Garth Verlore.

After the Gregrin

came the Asvol. Their Totem is the rather daunting Cape Vulture.

The Asvol of the Black Mountain (A large cluster of blackened peaks that made the Beirklou Mountains' Eastern edge) was known for mostly just two things:

Their mercantile prowess, and the VAST amounts of cobalt that they mined and sold almost EXCLUSIVELY to Magic wielders, Tinker-Kin, dwarfs, and the sorts. Cobalt was a highly sought-after and key ingredient in the construction and operation of automatons of all shapes and sizes. Mighty and at times, tiny forged gears, screws, and cobbled-together plates of varying types of metals.

And after but in no way lesser than the Asvol people, were the Gabeen of Ahdor.

Ahdor is just as, if not even more secluded than its immediate -and most oft traded with- neighbor, Atlas.

The Gabeen people were known far and wide as Diamond Smiths, and they took much pride in their levels of unequaled skill, and even more pride in the quality of their works.

Soft-spoken.

Shy.

And reclusive by nature, just as was the Great Gaboon.

The mountain serpent that which was their chosen Totem and guardian.

The Gabeen people lived inside of their caves unlike the other three tribes who chose to live on the surface -Contrary to the rumors that surround the Sogladites- They and they alone were truly Troglodytes.

Not keen on war or violence unless absolutely necessary, and content to be left to their own devices and deep, dark diamond mines. While Ahdor WAS actively trading with its immediate neighbors, one would be hard-pressed to spot any of these people nearly any place else in the world. Such was the potency of their hermit-like cultural mindset.

To be "Gabeen" meant to be only of the purest Gabeen bloodline. This Tribe consisted of several smaller clans who based their titles on the Gaboon snakes that were native to their neck of the forested mountain region that was their territory. This was to the South and East, where the foot of the mountains faded subtly into forest, and then sharply from forest to sea.

In no order, the clans were as such:

The Wa-Gabeen: Of the Seaside.

The Ma-Gabeen: Of the Mountain.

The Fe-Gabeen: Of the Forest.

The Da-Gabeen: Of the Deep Caves.

But enough about those other tribes for now.

Our story brings us to the front gate of the great and sprawling city of Atlas.

And our man of the hour.

The morning sky was dark.

The rising of the sun would not be far off now.

The air was damp and heavy.

Vander Himeng stood at the ready, or as ready as he could possibly be.

As a War Monk of Atlas, it was his duty to keep peace and order in and about the territory that the Gregrin had claimed as their own.

He loved every second of his job, well... mostly.

While battling the Goblins, Orcis, and Trolls, OH! and the occasional Ogre never bothered him in the least.

Rain did...

It ALWAYS did.

The rainy season only came once a year to these parts of the mountains.

That once-a-year event had been long referred to as "The time of the drench." or more simply put: Deadrenkeh -as was the local terminology for it.-

Vander was not happy. 

His platinum armor was already heavy enough as is, but when water soaked its fur-lined interior, it became not only heavier but uncomfortably soggy.

He may have to put up with this for the greater part of the day he surmised, as a glance upward told him that the rain would most likely linger for the better part of the day at least.

"Ah to the Hellz with it!"

He grumbled to no one in particular, as he was alone in both his mission and his misery.

He very quickly concluded that he would rather expend a bit of his stored Aether than continue to be so uncomfortable. With a flick of his wrist and a few short mumbled words, he could feel a faint warmth begin to soothe the skin inside of his armor as the low-magic spell took effect.

Heat began to slowly gather inside his armor, and within a few minutes, both he and his armor were as dry as a bone.

There were no onlookers, but had there been, they would have seen quite the sight.

A semi-dome of pure Aetheral heat hovered just above the Monk's head, rain drops popped and evaporated as they drew close to the magical barrier or made contact.

"Much better."

He said, again to no one as he basked in the heat and let it seep into his cold hands and toes. Vander had been assigned to a very...difficult task this morning, and he would rather go about it with as little discomfort as possible.

What he had to do was hard enough... It was one of many roles and responsibilities that the title of War Monk came with.

A role that he had completed a dozen times at least in his 42 years of life, half of which were done in his late teens, back when his War Monk rank and title were still freshly gained.

This day, he would be off to his 15th Rusaltide, a term that roughly translated to "Ever Rest"

Every so often, one of the Ashen Atlas bears would reach an age that was more...detrimental to the environment around them than helpful.

It was at this point in their life that a War Monk would be summoned to its last known location to see that the bear was felled swiftly and with mercy.

Atlas bears had few if any predators in the Beirklou Mountains, so they tended to live for quite a long time indeed. Some as old as 120 years have been spoken about and written off over many a generation of all of the mountain-dwelling tribes.

When an Ashen Atlas reaches their 100th year -for it is then that they are considered an Elder- it falls to the War Monks to tend to and keep watch over them, for they are prone to fits of mania, confusion, and fatigue.

A combination of things that leave the poor bears not only frightened most of the time, but also easily flustered and roused to anger, and therefore violent and oft fatally aggressive.

When these higher ages are reached, it seems as if some sort of natural switch is flipped. A change that is both internal and external ensues.

The Elder Ashen will seek out a deep cave to spend the rest of its days or years in. Though typically docile by nature, an Elder Ashen Atlas bear will charge and attack on sight.

They have a deep and passionate connection to not only life but the land itself.

So to die...to leave? well, they are known to fight to the death in the event that their final resting place and time is disturbed.

So what was Vander's role in all of this you ask?

He was to be the one, and the one alone, to perform the Rusaltide. He would lay low the Elder with his own might this day.

He would help the natural cycle along its way.

To the Gregrin people, the Ashen Atlas was praised and worshiped as their guardian deity.

Animals were often taken as Totems by newly formed clans, and it would be that animal's traits that dictated the way of the people who chose it and chose again to follow.

Totem animals were blessed and amplified in their natural abilities by the massive influx of Aether that they received via the passionate worship from humans and humanoids alike.

These chosen few would stand among the rest as not only ambassadors but symbols of the peace and balance between man and nature.

All of that being said, today this: Outside of the Rusaltide, it was a crime punishable by death to harm even a single strand of fur on the ass of any Ashen Atlas.

Unless of course, you were the sanctioned War Monk.

The creature he was to lay low was an Elder Ash of some reputation. It was a unique case this one.

In its elder years, it had begun to wonder instead of settling down as almost all of the others before it had. Needless to say, a roaming 800-pound, confused, chronically tired, and easily startled Elder Ashen was not to be left to its own devices.

Vander was off with the first rays of the sun as it finally peaked over the mountains to his back, alighting the many paths that would lead him South and East of Atlas to a tiny village called Hillside.

Hillside was a relatively new settlement that the Gregrin people had allowed to set up within their borders. A rarity this was. The Gregrin were very much of the Gregrin.

"Bone and bone, Blood and blood"

was their saying. But things had been a bit different as of late. Although anyone of foreign blood was not allowed within the walls of Atlas, the Gregrin weren't nearly as reclusive as their neighboring tribes, and if a people came to their lands with no ill will, they were given a chance.

But only one.

You don't want to know how the eviction process goes.

Alas, to Hillside he would go.

To investigate the latest sightings, and gather an idea as to which direction from there he would be heading.

It would be a long trek.

It would be a good trek.

At least he had hoped as much.

-------------------

Likosplitz dived to the side just as the massive and deadly clawed paw of the beast slashed viciously in his direction.

He didn't care to die this day.

Heck! he didn't care to die any day!

But today of all days was his birthday...

He hit the ground hard in his haste, he had acted before he could look.

A few bruised ribs were fine in place of losing ones head.

The Elder Ash growled and grunted in annoyance then shifted to a bipedal stance.

An impressive 8.5 feet in all of it's terrifying glory.

It looked about confused, swinging it's great and heavy head from left to right, then yawned and seemed to attempt to shake away it's drowsiness. It only took a second for it's eyes to lock on the skittering, small man, and rage filled it's mind.

"RAAAAAAAAAOOOOOooooWOOOOOooooo!"

It's roar-like howl was deafening.

It's pure anger radiating from it's eyes, ears, mouth and nose in visible waves of faint but very palpable white flame.

Likosplitz managed to keep his cool and had rolled to his feet just in time to clamp his hands over his ears.

Even then, his head very nearly exploded with the crazy-loud influx of noise that emanated from the raging Elder.

"This is SO bad!"

He muttered as he pulled from his hip a short crossbow, drew back its string, and dropped a small vile of silver liquid into the notch that would usually hold a bolt in one swift, practiced motion.

All of the Hillside Guard -what our friend here happens to be- were issued four things when they joined the ranks:

A Helmet.

A Crossbow.

A Shield.

And a short sword.

The rest, armor and all, had to be bought or crafted by ones own coin purse and hand.

The great beast raised it's huge and clawed paws to either side of it's head and let lose a second roar, this one only half as loud as the drowsiness seemed to gain a hold for a second time.

Likosplitz took aim and let loose his shot.

His only chance to escape and raise the alarm would be in this last attempt.

The silvery liquid coated the entire inside of the Elder Ashen's mouth a split second after the glass vile had shattered against it's top-right canine.

A second after that, a massive chemical reaction took place and the silvery liquid -having made contact with the oxygen around it- expanded into a thick and dense white foam.

The creatures mouth was forced open to it's limit, and the foam spread and wrapped itself around it's head rapidly. It would not kill or even harm the bear.

That was illegal, and Liko didn't want to deal with the death sentence if he survived this encounter.

The trap foam would only last for a few seconds against an opponent of this size and strength, it was designed for animals a 5th of the Elder Ashen's size.

But that few seconds was enough time -hopefully- for one to make an escape before his foe could break itself free and regain what little sense it had left to it.

Without a second thought, Liko turned and fled into the thick wood and uphill toward home.

He was sure that they, even from a mile and a quarter away, had heard the roars of the great beast, nevertheless, he wanted and needed to be sure.

The town would need to prepare.

Evacuate.

Then wait.

Hillside was doomed unless the War Monk showed up soon.

Likosplitz hoped that the Monk was already there by the time he arrived.

He could hear faint snaps and crashed behind him as the Great Elder Ashen Atlas bear raged and thrashed.

He quickened his pace.

---------------------

*TBC

Thank you all again for your support and time!

I hope you liked this latest installment, and that you return and tune in for the next epic chapter, and connected character reveal!

I am humbled by the fact that so many of you enjoy these stories, and I will do my best to keep em comin!

Until we meet again, here in the World of Enverdolmal!

Safe travels my friends.

-Redd.