Road Trip to the Dragon Isles - Test of the Weya-lu

27 Newkolt 349 AC

A Khur strides forward with the authority of someone used to being obeyed. His boots crunch sharply in the blue sand. A dozen warriors dressed in the same colors follow behind him in tight formation.

Their presence quiets nearby conversations. This is someone important.
The Khur stops a few paces from Arthur and studies him with a long, hard stare.
His scowl is unmistakable.

“You.”

His voice carries easily across the gathered warriors.

“You are the outsider who shouted down half this camp. You revealed a kidnapping. You accused a wizard of treachery. You nearly started a battle between tribes.”

The man folds his arms inside his sleeves, posture rigid. He steps closer, the warriors behind him spread slightly, not threatening—but unmistakably forming a presence.
The Khur’s gaze narrows.

“So I will ask you plainly, stranger. Why did you involve yourself in this mess?”

The camp grows very quiet again.
Dozens of warriors watch Arthur closely.

Arthur stands and faces him.
“I stepped in because no one else did. The prince himself said the wizard was responsible. I didn’t start a battle between tribes—I tried to stop a civil war before it began.
I did not falter in my conviction, nor did I stand by while these men prepared to kill one another. I did what was needed, not what was wanted. Say what you will, but I sought the truth and brought it to light. There is already enough needless killing in this world.”

He meets his gaze.

“If what I did was so wrong, where were you? Where were you when the prince went missing? Where were you when an innocent man died protecting him?
I may be an outsider, and I may not carry the weight of a Khur—but I stand by my choice to end this bloodshed.”

Arthur looks him straight in the eyes.

“I will not regret my actions. I have none.”
His tone is one of honesty, truth, and tiredness.

The Khur in the scarlet and black deel slowly reaches up and removes his fur hat, revealing his smoothly shaven scalp. The warriors behind him do the same and within moments, thirteen bald heads gleam in the torchlight.

"I am Warss the Swift, Khan of the Weya-lu."

The barbarian's eyes rove across Arthur’s face. The drift to Agnes, still sitting with the prince, to Davaa and Altan, to Granite  and to Phineas.

"You and yours stood between my people and a blade meant for our throats. You revealed truth when lies would have been easier to accept."

A dozen bald heads nod in seeming approval.

"For generations, the Weya-lu have held our honor above all things." He smiles, "Tonight, you guarded it for us. I thank you."

"Tell me, what is your name?"

Arthur steps forward and holds out his hand. "My name is Arthur Fumeridge." He offers him a tired smile. "These are my companions, Davaa and Altan, Phineas and Granite, and someone who is far too good for me but deals with me anyway, Agnes." He smiles, "So tell me, Warss the Swift, what can I do for you?"

Warss turns slightly so all of the Khurs within earshot can hear, "Arthur Fumeridge, defender of the prince and breaker of the wizard's plot...I offer you a place among the Weya-lu."

A ripple of surprise rolls through the other clans.

"You may ride with us, fight with us, and share our fires. I would induct you into the tribe."

Granite’s eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead.

Phineas whispers quietly, “Oh, my boy… that seems rather significant.”

Agnes watches silently, a faint smile touching her lips.

Davaa and Altan exchange quick glances, clearly aware that such an offer from a Khur khan is no small thing.

Arthur's eyes widen slightly. He looks to Agnes and back to the Weya-lu Khan. "I am honored Warrs, truly I am. May I ask what would happen if I were to be inducted?" He looks to Davaa and Altan, then to Granite and Phineas and back to him. "Please, sit with me."

The Khan nods slowly. "The Weya-lu do not make brothers with words alone. If you would ride with us, you would have to prove yourself before the Elders."

He puts his hat back on. "There are two parts to the trial." He points toward a line where a dozen horses stamp and snort. "The first test is strength. You must tame a wild stallion." He raises an eyebrow. "With only a rope, you must lasso the beast and ride it until it accepts you as its master. If the horse throws you, the trial ends."

Granite snorts, "We dwarves prefer animals that don't try to kill us... like boars."

Phineas chuckles. Warss shakes his head. A few of the horsemen hide smiles behind their hands.

"And what is the second trial?" He sips his water skin.

"The second trial is one of heart. It will be held beneath the red moon of Lunitari at High Sanction."

Many of the Khur, including Altan and Davaa bow their heads out of respect for the god the moon represents.

"Your hair will be shaved and you shall be dressed as one of us. Your deel, opened, to expose your flesh. A hawk shall be set loose upon you and it will draw blood with its talons. That hawk will then fly off, carrying your blood to the heavens, showing them your courage."

Warss motions toward an iron brazier, red hot coals burn within. "We shall then cast the remaining blood from your chest into the fire and as the steam rises, we shall all touch our blades to your brow and you will stand among us as a brother."

Warss smiles with pride.

“When the ritual ends, the tribe celebrates. Food. Music. Drinking. Songs older than the Cataclysm. A scribe shall draw the Weya-lu symbol into the earth and you would sit atop the mark of the tribe. The spirits of our ancestors will flow through you and a giant flaming hawk will appear and grant upon your tribal name - a name known only to your brothers."

Arthur thinks for a moment, "And after the trial, if I pass, would I need to stay in the tribe or would I be free to move on? I made a promise, not only to my friends but to myself to do all I can to end this war." He takes a sip of water. "I understand this offer is one of the highest praises and I mean zero disrespect to you and your clan but I need to know.... will I be free to go? And if I were to join, if I called upon you and your kin to back me up in a fight would you be there, blade in hand?"

Warss the Swift listens without interrupting. "You speak like a man who knows what it means to be a brother. The Weya-lu are free like the wind across the desert. You need not sleep beside us in our camp at night. Ride where you will. Fight who must. But... if you become one of us, wherever you go, you will will carry our blood with you. Your enemies will become our enemies. And if a Weya-lu calls upon his brother, we ride."

All around, the gathered clansmen beat their scimitars against their shields.

He asks and looks to Agnes, Davaa, Altan, Phineas and Granite. He than looks back to Warss. "Tell me, when is the red moon?" He looks to the sky "and would it be alright if I had the night to think? I mean no disrespect. it's just a lot to take in."

Agnes looks on, smiling with pride. Granite leans in and murmurs, "Lad, that's the sort of offer that only comes around once in a dwarf’s lifetime. You swing the pick right, and ye got yerself an army."

Phineas snickers, "Yes, my boy...assuming the horse doesn't kill you."

Arthur stands. "Warrs the Swift, Khan khan of the Weya-lu, I, Arthur Fumeridge, accept." He extends a hand. "Show me to the horse. Let's see if I can hold on," he chuckles.

"Three days, Arthur Fumeridge. In three days you shall prove yourself, or you shall fail. Until then, you are my guest," Warss claps the paladin on the back. "Tell me, do you have any experience with horses? Or just camels?"

"I do, I've fought in wars and battles, some of which I needed to battle while mounted." Arthur smiles and thinks to himself, "Dragons are better." He looks to Warrs, "Horses can be a fickle but if you treat them right, they will treat you right."

30 Newkolt 349 AC

The day of Arthur’s test finally arrives. Warss and his tribesmen lead the paladin to the corral where the horses are kept. Thick wooden posts stand in a rough circle. A single stallion stands within. It is not the largest horse Arthur has ever seen but it is by far the angriest. The beast is all black except for a white blaze running down the center of its face. It bucks and jumps and kicks the rails of the corral. Its screams of fury are piercing, a high and savage sound.

Warss nods toward it, "That one."

Several warriors turn pale and look at their leader as if he has taken leave of his senses and secretly plans on killing the man who cleared them of their kidnapping accusation.

Granite stares at the beast, his mouth hanging open. "By Reorx..." is all he can manage to say.

Phineas approachs the fence and looks through the railing. "Oh my, this one is energetic indeed!"

"You will need to remove your armor." Warss smiles, "That beast threw three riders last summer. One broke his arm. Another lost teeth."

Altan lets out a low whistle. "That is no horse. That is a storm with legs."

Davaa folds his arms, calmly eyeing the animal of someone who grew up around horses. "That is a Weya-lu desert stallion, half-wind, half-hate." He shakes his head. "They do not break."

Agnes walks up behind Arthur and slides an arm around his waist. "No. They do not break. They decide." She slips around in front of him and kisses his lips. "And if that horse decides that it likes you, you will have the greatest horse in all of Khur."

Phineas pats Arthur on the leg, "And if it doesn't," he motions to the blue sand, " at least the ground here is soft."

Warss hands Arthur a coiled rope, "Only this. No saddle, no reins, no help. You lasso him. You ride him until he accepts you."

The horse slams sideways into the corral railing. It foams at the mouth, eyes wide with rage.

"If it throws you, the trial ends," is all Warss says.

Agnes folds her arms, smiling softly. Granite shakes his head, "Lad...that beast hits harder than a boulder in a mine shaft. If it throws ya... try not to bounce."

Phineas gives Arthur an energetic thumbs-up. "Statistically speaking, people do survive this."

Arthur removes his armor and hands Lawbringer and his dagger to Agnes. He approaches the bucking horse. "Strong, unwavering, fast, you are an amazing horse." Arthur looks the horse in the eyes showing the animal respect before beginning his trial.

Arthur slowly whirls the lasso, getting a feel for the weight of the rope while watching the stallion race in circles around the corral. It suddenly turns and rushes straight toward him. Arthur doesn't move, waiting until the last possible moment to sidestep the charge and drop the lasso over the horse's head. As the loop pulls tight, he hauls himself upwards and onto the animal's back.

The Weya-lu cheer with excitement. Cries of "Ride him!" and "Hang on!" erupt from the crowd.

Agnes jumps up and down, clapping. Davaa, Granite, Altan, and Phineas all shout encouragement.

The stallion loses it mind. It jumps and twists. It slams against the fence. The top two rails crack and buckle under the impact. The wild horse leaps sideways, spinning as it tries to dislodge its unwanted rider.

Warss watches impassively for several seconds and slowly nods. "Good. Let us see who will break whom."

The horse leaps forward, kicking its hind legs nearly straight up in the air, pitching Arthur forward toward its neck. The paladin clamps down with his legs and hauls mightily on the rope, cutting off enough of the stallion's air to rob it of some of its power.

It leaps straight up, all four legs leaving the ground at once and spins. Arthur yells his defiance, refusing to be dislodged. Once again, the horse charges the fence. Phineas and Granite dodge aside as the brute smashes through the railing and enters the camp. It lowers its head and runs straight for the guylines on one the larger tents, ropes as big around as Arthur’s smallest finger. It races forward, intending to clothesline its unwanted rider off of its back.

Arthur ducks, the rope securing the tent scrapes along his back but fails to dislodge him.

Warss the Swift narrows his eyes, nodding in approval, “Hmm.”

The stallion tries again, bucking hard and spinning sharply to the side. Arthur shifts his weight, absorbing the violent motion and settling back into the animal’s rhythm like a rider born to the saddle.

The horse lands. It bucks again. Arthur stays on.

Foam spills from the corners of the horse's mouth. Arthur can feel its lungs straining to draw air as their battle for dominance continues.

Granite shouts, "Ha! He's stuck on there like a dwarf in a tight tunnel."

Phineas bounces in excitement. "Well done, my boy!"

The horse races through the entire encampment, jumping cookfires, weaving through the spaces between tents and wagons.

Davaa smiles, "The horse feels it now."

"Yes, their fight is changing. Arthur has endured every trick the beast can throw at him," Altan agrees.

The stallion slams its hooves into the ground after its last furious buck and spins, trying the last trick in its arsenal. It drops to the ground and rolls over, slamming Arthur into the sand. The wind is blasted from the paladin’s lungs as 1,400 pounds of equine drives him into the earth.

Agnes lurches forward. She screams, "NOOOO!" as the Lankhmarite is crushed between the blue sand and the horse's back. His grip slips for a terrifying instant as the animal rights itself but Arthur holds on, rising with the Weya-lu stallion.

Without thinking, Arthur yells out "Nightrend," naming the horse as he fights to stay on.

The stallion, its chest heaving with effort, gathers itself one more time. Sand clings to its legs, its neck, its sweat-soaked flanks. It bucks again but Arthur moves with the motion instead of fighting it.

It spins. Arthur leans into the turn, pressing his knees against the exhausted horse's sides.

A ripple of excitement spreads through the onlookers.

The horse snorts loudly but it does not jump again. Its head drops, the animal thoroughly worn out by its efforts.

Davaa's smile is wide, "The beast has chosen!"

Warss the Quick, Khan of the Weya-lu raises one hand, calling for silence from his people.

"This horse has been claimed! The rider has named it Nightrend! Arthur Fumeridge has passed the First Trial of the Weya-lu!"

Spears and scimitars beat against shield, raising a thunder of applause that not even the blue sand can muffle entirely.

"Let the tribe see Nightrend, Arthur Fumeridge. Show them all what you have accomplished this morning." Warss lowers his voice, speaking so only the paladin can hear. "And tonight, you will face the Second Trial."

As Arthur rides Nightrend past the watching Khurs, his companions come running up to congratulate him.

Davaa and Altan both vow their heads in respect. Granite tells him, "Ye hung on harder than a tick on a dragon's back"

"Excellent name, my boy. A most fitting choice under most stressful circumstances," Phineas adds.

Agnes crooks a finger toward the rider. Arthur leans down and she runs her fingers across his freshly-shaven scalp before kissing him. "Well done, my brave knight."

Arthur raises an arm into the air, belting out a boisterous yell before wincing slightly. He rides around showing off Nightrend before making his way back to Agnes and the others. "I could use a drink after that." He chuckles patting the soaked neck of the horse. "One more to go."

LATER THAT DAY...

Night settles over the Khur camp. Lunitari rises, covering the land with vermillion shadows. The blue sand takes on a violet hue. A large bonfire burns in the center of the camp. Arthur, Agnes, and the others are led to the circle of fire where the eldest members of the Weya-lu have gathered. The flames are stoked ever higher while drummers beat on hollowed out logs. Several tribesmen blow into dried gourds, producing a deep and resonate sound. Throat singers add their voices to the music while the rest of the warriors and their families dance in a circle around the fire.

A young warrior emerges from the crowd and leads Arthur to his place by the fire. An elderly crone draws forth a slim knife and cuts a small slice into Nightrend's flank. She collects the blood that flows from the wound in a painted bowl and presents it to Arthur.

"Drink," she commands.

The paladin lifts the bowl to his lips and drinks.

"As Nightrend carried you, you now carry him. Blood of the horse, blood of the wind."

Granite watches from the side. "I don't get it."

Phineas replies, his tone one of fascination, "It's a shared vitality ritual. Incredibly symbolic, extremely ancient."

"The rider and his horse are now one," Davaa adds reverently.

Altan grins, "Also proves that Arthur isn't afraid of weird Khur customs."

The old woman takes the bowl and sets it aside before opening Arthur’s shirt. She steps aside, turns, and bows her head to Warss who approaches with a hooded falcon on his wrist.

The Khan removes the blinders and the speaks a single word. The raptor blinks twice before locking its eyes onto Arthur. The Khan looks at Arthur and nods slowly. Arthur nods back.

Warss speaks a single word and releases the raptor. It crosses the empty space between the two men with its claws extended and sinks its talons into Arthur’s chest. The hawk stares into Arthur’s eyes, taking his measure, searching for any sign of fear or weakness. Arthur grits his teeth, stifling a scream as the bird's claws scrape the spaces between his ribs.

The bird of prey clings to his chest, wings half spread. It beats its wing once, twice and releases its grip before taking to the air, flying ever higher until it vanishes from sight.

After the bird disappears, the crone comes forward once more. She places a different bowl beneath Arthur’s chest, collecting his blood.

Each of the Weya-lu warriors come forward, drawing their scimitars as they approach. One after another, they touch their blade to the paladin’s forehead until, at last Warss takes his place at the end of the line. The crone passes the bowl to her Khan.

He turns and walks to the fire and pours the blood into the flames. Steam hisses into the air and the warriors begin to chant.

The flames of the bonfire leap high.
And somewhere above the camp… the air begins to burn. A blazing shape, a bird of living fire, forms in the sky.

Its wings spread across the night like molten gold.

The tribe falls to their knees.

Warss Khan bows his head deeply.

The fiery hawk circles once above Arthur, blazing brighter than the bonfire itself.

Then a voice like crackling flame echoes across the desert, “This one has ridden the storm. This one has bled beneath the sky.”

The burning hawk hovers above the circle.
“This is a warrior of the Weya-lu.”

The flames flare brighter.
“He shall be called 'Storm Bound'".

The flaming hawk spreads its wings wide.
“For he rides the storm and does not yield. For the winds of war will follow where he rides. And those who stand beside him will not break.”

The blazing form rises skyward again, dissolving slowly into sparks that vanish against the crimson glow of the moon.

For a heartbeat the camp is silent.

Then the Weya-lu erupt into thunderous cheers.

Warss the Swift steps forward and raises a curved scimitar, placing it into Arthur’s hands.

“Rise,” the Khan says proudly, “Arthur Storm-Bound. You are Weya-lu.”

Spears pound against shields. Drums thunder.

Nearby, Nightrend stamps and snorts proudly as if he understands the moment.
The tribe begins the celebration that will last until dawn—drums, dancing, roasted meat, and ancient songs of the Khur from before the The Cataclysm.

And in the center of it all sits the newest warrior of the Weya-lu.

Agnes stands at the edge of the firelight, her silver hair glowing red beneath the vermillion moon. A god, one of the gods so long absent from Krynn, had returned and blessed Arthur with his presence.

She looked at Arthur, Storm-Bound, standing at the center of the camp, surrounded by his new brothers, fire raging behind him.

A gleaming scimitar, a gift from his Khan, rested easily in his hand. He held it aloft for his tribesmen to see. A smile split his face. A dozen warriors clapped his back, grasped his wrist in a warrior's handshake, and chanted his name. Arthur thanked Warss and turned, his eyes finding her a moment later.

Her own lips curved in a smile, but she worried. A god had named a mortal. The world was about to change again, and Arthur would be swept up in the chaos that followed.

He made his way through the crowd. Warriors parted instinctively, making way for him. When Arthur reached her, he scooped her with both hands, spinning in a circle with her before setting her down and kissing her. His body was covered with bruises where Nightrend had rolled on him. He still bled from the wounds the hawk had inflicted.

"You look like hell, my knight," she laughs.

“We have an army,” he whispered so only she could hear. “Now all that’s left is getting to your family. Hope you don’t mind me being bald for a bit.”

"I will adjust," she replies.

Chuckling, Arthur turns to the celebration. He raises a glass toward the four men.

“Davaa, Altan, Phineas, Granite… without you I wouldn’t have made it this far. My comrades, my friends, my brothers.”

Davaa laughs, "You took those claws without flinching! How bad$&# is that!?" The Khur raises a mug, "Good on ya, Arthur Storm-Bound."

"The god... he named you. Sirrion himself appeared and named you!" Altan looks at Agnes. "You were right. It wasn't the gods who turned from us. We were the ones to blame." Back to Arthur, "You have been bestowed an incredible honor, Storm-Bound."

Granite and Phineas both congratulate Arthur as well. "Very impressive, Lad. They've closed their forge around you."

Phineas winces when he gets a good look at the gaping claw holes in Arthur’s chest. "Well done, my boy. You, uh, you might want to get those tended to."

Later, as the night settles, Arthur sits beside Agnes by the fire and sings a song from his homeland.

🎶 🎵  "The road was cold, the nights were long,
And I had walked alone,
Through shadowed streets and silent hills
Far from hearth and home.
But then I found your gentle hand
Where fate and firelight met,
And all the lonely miles I walked
Were roads that led me yet.
So if the dark should rise again
And steel must meet the fray,
Know every step my wandering heart
Still turns to you each day.
For crowns may fade and blades may rust,
And kingdoms fall apart—
But warmer than the brightest flame
Is the home within your heart." 🎶 🎵

When he finishes, he takes a drink from his waterskin and smiles at her taking her hand in his.

“Shall we retire for the night, love?”

She gives him a sly grin, "Yes. But, I'm afraid to tell you that you have one more test of endurance to complete before I'll let you rest."

01 Deepkolt 349 AC

When the group awaken the next morning, they find that nearly all of the Weya-lu tents have been been taken down and prepared for travel. Flattened circles in the sand are all that remain to show they were ever there.

Warss Khan stands outside of Arthur and Agnes's tent, dressed for the road. "I understand that you have a destination already. Travel swiftly and return with tales of your wild adventures. The Weya-lu remember who rides beside us." He nods his head slightly, "Until we meet again Storm-Bound."

Arthur takes his hand "Until we meet again, Warrs." The group breaks down their camp. "We have a long road ahead my friends, let us ride."