“ During battle/war the heads of all slain are decapitated and collected by the slayer. The slayer will clean them up and put them on display for inspection by the commander. Depending on the deads name, rank, and expression on the face held by the death blow-the slayer will be rewarded by gold and/or status.”
“ AutoMedon A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
'It's strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its' workings or even if the damn thing is' Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman”
“ A basin type hole in the middle of the plains. Once every so many years the rains come very hard and flood this place. Maybe that is where the tribes congregate for their tribal meetings.”