#very little details on lives of Kharlu and Junghid and their annual contest

[afreesworn]

28: Vainglory

Gashuul’dyn. It was said the ancient horn was carved from the bones of a titan now lost to history. 

The warriors on the field oft spoke of its deep timbre when it bellowed over the plains, its hail resonating through the earth beneath their feet. Not only did it command the winds to spur them into battle, but the will of the land as well. 

So how was it that the very thing that began the day of blood also called for its end? 

Tugan Kharlu stared at the long aged instrument with disdain. It was kept in a shrine built within the mountain overlooking the coastlands, and guarded by the previous victors of the annual war.

The shamans spoke of the revered relic with such awe. Stories were passed down through the generations that the artifact was left by the gods, to echo the sadness between the ever parted day and night. It was granted to the children of Azim and Nhaama, as a way to ease the passing of souls onto the next life, to call the spirits forth from the fallen bodies so that they did not lose their way.

These stories were all foolish and romantic depictions in the Kharlu’s eye.

Tugan cared not for the lore that was tied to gods, or honor, or love. As long as it fed the unending cycle of battle, allowed him to ride into the plains upon his stallion and cut down his enemies with abandon, he cared not what stories the old woman spun by the fire. The day of blood was a day of glory; bloodlust and violence were not only needed but celebrated, the only day when acts of brutality ruled supreme.

But he hated the fact that such a mournful wail would end such a mighty spectacle, muting the grandeur of his victories. Even when the Kharlu had lost more than the Junghid, the blood of those that had fallen at his feet made his body burn with exhilaration.

The song of Gashuul’dyn did not recognize his triumph. It only called forth the tears of bereaved wives and the whimpering of children. It diminished the display of superiority through strength, and lamented the beastiatlity that was at the heart of all men. Tugan believed that such a contest deserved a roar to shake the heavens. He deserved something far more than Gashuul’dyn to welcome him home.

Tugan walked out of the shrine, vowing to himself that one day, he would claim the seat of Khan and shatter the cursed horn to pieces. And in its place, he would erect a bonfire so tall that only those who survived the day of blood would be able to see their might truly celebrated.