Gibar

There is an ancient and unforgiving land, it’s culture chiseled and twisted from rock, bone, and sinew, where the barbaric tribes of Gibar ride eternally from one inhospitable landscape to another. Warfare and contented barbarism are the ways of life for the tribes that wander the craggy plateaus and shallow slews of their unforgiving and expansive native land.

Legends of Gibar tell of a time, far in the past, when the land was not dying. The crones and blind men speak of a darkness, a red cloud in the west that bore down on the land, bringing darkness, cold, and sweeping storms of unmelting snow that choked the earth, and the tribes that resided in the sharp peaks below.

The tribe of Kurgok was one such tribe. The Shaan Kaal of the tribe was a proud and strong man, as the custom required. The leader of any tribe must take the title in an arduous week long event, which culminated in an unarmed challenge of combat. If the old Kaal was overcome, the new Kaal would then take the ceremonial dagger from the belt of the Elder Kaal and use it to blind the Elder, so that he may take his place amongst the old men who shiver by the fire, telling stories and weaving legends. Shaan was a Kaal in his prime, a man of ferocity and monstrous physique, not easily blanched.

Nevertheless, the olive skinned patriarch had turned white beneath the riffling beard, as he watched the slaves clean the afterbirth from his newborn son, the labor cries of his Kaalka still fresh in his ears. He was transfixed by a mark, in no uncertain form, on the newborn child’s right cheek.

“My Kaal,” A slave said, breaking him from his trance. “Would you hold your son?”

“Would that it were my place,” Shaan rumbled, his voice hard and sad. “Any other child would know my love gentle. This child, he shall know no tenderness in me.”

“My Kaal?” The slave questioned. It was not her fault. She was born of a different tribe, sold or stolen from her rightful kind, she was the slave of the Shaan Kaal of Kurgok. She knew nothing of the prophecies of the One who Saw Further Without Sight.

“I am sorrowful that I may never love him as my child, for he is the Foretold. His name is Shev Gibar, for he shall be.” Kaal Shaan reached out, nearly brushing the thick black hair on the newborn head. He nearly touched the mark on his son’s cheek before checking himself and pulling away. “He may know not my love, for I must raise him to be the Shaan Kaal Gibar.” The Servants gasped, wide eyed. “I must raise him to be harder than stone.”