A Path Seldom Trod

With one hand she traced the faint wisps of smoke that wrapped itself around her fingers like a vine around a root, slowly winding its way around her digits and across her skin as it gently shifted in the faint breeze as it wafted from the camp fire she sat beside. The fire itself sparked and crackled as the fuel burnt in the metal basin, the occasional cinder popping out to land by her crossed legs before faintly being carried away by the air to become one with the smoke that drafted above her. She looked up at the metal awning above her, her eyes tracing over the murals and pictographs drawn there; one scene showing a band of peoples clawing there way out of a metal hole into a ruined settlement, and another showing another band knelt in silent prayer before a great iron tree with dozens of others gathered around it. She knew these images without the need to even use her eyes as she had seen them every day since her birthing day; even then as nought but a babe wrapped in worn dyed wraps. She had always held a fascination with the imagery her ancestors had so loving layered onto the rough metal work, depicting each great act of her tribes history so that its importance never be lost to those that camp next. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured in her minds eye the scenes as if come to life with the dozens of different people in each image almost close enough to touch as she let the sweet smell from the fire’s smoke seep over her as she day dreamed, each major figure from her tribe’s history and the greater history of the peoples as a whole she imagined, every one different but the same until she reached one figure from their history, a dark figure with blacker eyes surrounded by shadowy figures, “The lost” She mouthed and shuddered in revulsion and slight fear. She shook the image from where it sat and Grasped the small pendant she wore around her neck; a small copper wrought Iron tree she had been given on her fifth Birthing day by her mother, muttering a small protective prayer to the ancestors to keep the Lost away. She stayed silent for a moment as she had been taught by the shamans to let the ancestors hear her words before she took the pendant delicately away under the linen shawl she wore, then got up and stood shaking herself from her reeve as she let the day dream slip away into the ether as she steadied herself, looking away from the camp fire at the centre of her families small pod of tents that made up their area of their tribal grounds. Out in the main gathering space small groups of gatherers were sat with their kin, chatting away as some sewed, prepared food or sat chatting with friends in front of their tents. Some were reading, whilst others where busy going through hauls brought in  that now sat next to them in to ordered piles, occasionally calling on of the tribes youngsters to run off a find one person or another who had asked for the supplies in the first place. A couple of young acolytes of the tribes shaman wondered about pitching in where a spare hand was required whilst chatting with one another and those they met. She smiled as one of the acolyte twins spotted her and raised a hand to her, the acolytes own features marked by the red strip that named her tribe, the Blood marked. “Not out with the other hunters Glint?” He called over to her as he grinned, his own thread bare robes, died brown as traditional demanded to mark out shamans and their acolytes. She Shook her head “Been Helping mother with a few bits, Slip & Cut both brought in large packs of scavenge this morning” She gestured over her shoulder at the two large metallic baskets sat to one side of the awning, “She wants to head over to the Ashened later and barter some of it with them” She looked over at her friend “No worries” He nodded back. The Acolyte said something to his twin and wondered over to where Glint was stood, Braking into a slight jog as he came over to her “You heard what's been going on with the Shamans of the iron tree Recently?” He asked her as he slowed to a halt before her, “No” she shook her head “What’s happened, some one stood on the old paths or made the ancestors wrath?” She asked her friend, the acolyte shook his head “Kind of I think” He scratched at his recently shaven head “The ancestors spoke to the High Shaman last night apparently, told him that the peoples need to gather and walk the lands to the green place” He rolled one shoulder as Glint raised an eyebrow at her friend. “They’re not happy, someone has said the ‘Old Brothers’ have been walking there, their touch is all over it” the acolyte look worried at the thought and Glint didn’t blame him “The ancestors gave me images of dark figures walking the edge of our lands” She told her friend “That might explain why?” She asked of her friend, he simply nodded “Your Aunt was a shaman so makes sense you might get the sight, This is not good if the green lands are under the ‘old Brothers’ Touch” the acolyte seemed to physically pale at the thought, “Agreed, maybe we should talk to old Fera, she can ask the ancestors what we need to do” “Agreed Glint” the acolyte nodded, looking slightly happier at having the tribes elder shaman look into it “Then lets go” Glint nodded back into the main camp and began to head to find Old Fera, her friend tagging along at her heels...

### A Summary of Events

With the Lack of any tribes of the Peoples during the first forays into the agri-dome by the various civilisations of the ruins the shamans of the Iron Tree have taken temporary lead of their warriors and instructed them to take want land they can nearest to the home of the tribes that make up the Peoples. This when combined with the actions in the dome have been seen as a wise precaution as the effects of that first excursion are already beginning to make themselves made manifest across the ruins. The shamans are calling across all the tribes to make the walk to the 'Great Green Lands' as they are naming it to face an old foe not seen in 300 years that could already be starting to creep back into the light from the shadows...

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