Although I'm the first to extoll the virtues of savage volcanoworshippers, I'm also quick to state that I think the Caladran soldier of priest, away from the humid forests of his homeland, and the mythic presence of the Vent is a... complete waste of space. Apart from in the gladiatorial arenas of the Empire, of course! :o)
One has to wonder why a supposedly populous and violent group of fellows down in the Holy Country hasn't put a stronger foot on the Lozenge's stage... though I guess the yearly ritualised slaughter of half the population in Flower Wars, while the others chuck each other into the volcano at the slightest opportunity possible has something to do with it. I jest, of course, but not too much.
That said, I can see the Lunars trying to use all means necessary to get into Whitewall, and why not a Caladran element?
Not entirely serious...
A wandering priest of Caladra, tanned and painted in madder, clad in rainbow-hued mantle of feathers festooned in obsidian and peridot, and carrying his magically sharpened bone war katar warily eyes the curious Lunar officers in the command tent, like a jaguar caught in a trap.
"Interesting specimen... where did you say you found him?" inquired
the Lunar commander. He had edged as far away from the savage as he
could manage, but was still assailed by a stench of sweat and palm
wine.
"A septon picked him up yesterday, your gracious lordship. It seemed
he was on a pilgrimage to another volcano when he bumped into us," a
somewhat roughly mannered officer replied. The subordinate tapped the
foreign man with a stick. "Oi! Whatever your name is... speaka da
officer, yes? SPAKSHA DA OOFSHA... um..."
"KAHSA-OOOSHT! VAA KA NARAMA CALADRA AKKA ZAGAR-BOOOT! <spit>" the
man cried and crouched into a position of immediate wariness, glaring
at all around him.
"Yes, yes... quite. Er, what exactly did he say, septoi? You do speak
the lingo, don't you... not wasting our time, are you, what? And do
ask him to put that bone implement down, will you, someone will get
hurt..."
The septoi somewhat warily eyed his charge, and prodding him somewhat gentler this time, slowly enunciated the officers question in pidgin Caladran. The reply was even more vitriolic than the last, but in fear of reprimand a cunning plan had entered the septoi's rather small brain...
"Says 'e'll 'elp us in our fight against the savage, sir! Wants to
open himself to the benign light of the Goddess, your honour. 'im
being a volcano priest and all, why... I reckon he could summon a
great big fire-spitting mountain in the middle of Whitewall!"
Cries of "Jingo! By the Goddess...", "Rather!" and "Splendid!" emananted from the distinguished Lunar commanders gathered in the tent. The general himself was ebullient.
"That could be timely, what?" he mused, "And no more of this damned
local grape! Septoi, let this chap draw pay and rations, and er...
pass him onto the magical chaps, yes? And septoi..." he lowered his
voice somewhat "Issue him a regulation scimitar instead of that
damned bone-thing, *and give the fellow a bath*..."
The Septoi saluted, and led the somewhat confused Caladran out of the tent. When he was sure he was out of earshot, he pulled the Caladran close to him and spoke carefully into his ear. "Right you bloody 'eathen, you and me needs words..."
Powered by hypermail