THE LIPAKS WAY FRPG By: Lee, aka Dr Pepper An Excerpt from "Honor, Blood and Faith", A Lipaks campaign setting for email.       Return to Lipaks main page

Triien is 16, and proud of his new white wool tunic, which shows that he has passed the Adulthood Rites. They weren't much really, just some admonitions, some tests of physical prowess, a Medicine Dream, and a solo journey of 3 nights.
 
The medicine dream was the hardest. Not spiritually, he already has a firm goal for his future, the dream merely gave him reinforcement. But the drugs, forbidden to his people in non religious circumstances, made him very ill, and it had been all he could do to avoid vomiting. The tests were easy. And the ordeal merely boring.

His father has given him grief over that statement. The clans are planning to move soon because the area is hunted out. But you never know where that last wolf may be hiding. Or a scout from another tribe eager to count
coup. Or a *foreigner*. Never can trust them, you know.

"Oh lighten up, old man!", Triien thought but didn't say. Isn't he one of the strongest in the whole tribe, and hardy and fast as a true rinker should be? And smart and brave, as well? Nothing is going to shake his self confidence. He beams at a passing group of youngsters. A few days ago they all were calling him "Triien", now to them he is "Warrior". Except for those he may permit to address him by name, of course. Ah power! It suits him well. And he will soon have more.
 
His fellow initiates, formerly playmates, now constitute a troop within the clan. All except poor Tharm, who broke her leg. She'll have to wait until next year. But the rest are sure to recognize his natural leadership and elect him leader. From there, he intends to take every opportunity to attend the Truce Grounds. His superior qualities will soon see him appointed an adjudicator. And after that, Clan Judge, Tribal Judge, and perhaps even Intertribal Judge. That is unless he decides to create a new position for himself.
 
Come to think of it, he might as well start getting to know the Truce Grounds now. He turns his horse and heads away from the clan encampment.  Knowing that he is no longer required to inform anyone of his movements gives him a delicious thrill. Of course it is still strongly advised. But such advice is for warriors of lesser stature, not him.
 
The Truce Grounds are nearly empty, only a few tents and wagons present since nothing is currently scheduled. There is one large enclosed wagon off by itself at one end. It is brightly painted with multiclolored flowers. A foreigner obviously. Well an adjudicator should know about them. So he reins in next to it.
 
There is an ornate carved door in the wagon. Triien faces its closed surface with his hands on his hips. Whoever is inside will know they have met a rinker warrior. And unless they can give a proper accounting of their presence here, he will summarily order their departure.
 
As he takes a breath for a resounding, no nonsense challenge, the door opens. A tall, scrawney looking man in loose floppy particolored robes hops out. "Oh yesh! Sho grad cho shee you, yesh!" he bubbles, pounding Triien on the shoulders with his broad sinewy hands. "I need shome help from shomeone who knowzh horlsh shtuff! Oh yesh, and zere will be a shubshtancial regompensh." Triien falls back a step, as such contact is considered undignified among his people.
 
He is about to declare his willingness to help, with typical inker graciousness, but stops himself at the memory of one of his father's frequent sayings. "These city slickers are always out to cheat a  poor honest barbarian." No doubt the old fool is exagerating but a little prudence is always warranted. "Show me this regompensh, er recompense!" he demands. The stranger produces a pouch and pours out 20 gold pieces. A staggering sum for a simple favor, but Triien cannily keeps his voice even, if the stranger doesn't know how rare gold is in the Rinks, why enlighten him? "Fine" he says, "now show me the trouble." And if this dry stick of a person tries to reneg, he'll learn what it is like to mess with a full grown warrior!
 
"Shee?" the man asks amxiously. "Bad horlshezh! Reinzh changled, but
every chime i try to filgsh zem, ze horlshezh move. Zey won't behave
for me!" "Step aside!" commands Triien. He steps in front of the two
horses and freezes them in place with a single stern glance. Satisfied, he turns his attention to the reins. It isn't just the reins, all the lines are in disgraceful shape, frayed and knotted and stiff. Well what can you expect from a foreigner? The rigging is unfamiliar but in a few minutes he has it figured out. He begins straightening the lines and securing them.
 
As he bends to tug on the last harness strap, there is a soft thud behind him, then blackness.
 
Swiftly the stranger throws the mallet into the wagon, then heaves the unconscious rinker in after. Then he vaults into the wagon and clucks his tongue. The horses, now perfectly obedient, begin walking swiftly away as he trusses the captive. Hmm, prime stock, if a little inexperienced. No doubt he won't last long in the arena. But for a while he'll make a great draw. Oh yes...