A History Through Blood

With the early morning rays of sunlight creeping over the garrison table, the gathered Farai* and local administrators slowly filed into the room. While the more militarily inclined personnel arrived with an abundance of energy and stalwart professionalism, the civilian advisers were often still waking up, even with the knowledge that the weekly meetings were a fixed occurrence. Each stood around, either giving greetings and making small talk or attempting to address any ongoing issues affecting their respective teams to mixed success.

As Farima Bello entered the garrison, the gathered representatives stopped any private discussions and turned their full attention to their commanding officer. Adorning his darkened and muscled skin were countless battle scars, only somewhat hidden beneath his lion hide cloak. Despite the early hour, his short beard and braided hair remained well-groomed as was demanded by the position granted to him by the Mansa. Few dared to directly criticize his decisions, as his intimidating glare was enough to silence all but the most hardened warriors.

“Everyone is present” declared the Farima, eyeing his gathered subordinates. “Give your reports. Anything to be decided on can wait until the end. I don't want the market patrols delayed again.” With the recent assignment of a tribal patriarch's son into his ranks, the morning meetings had become far longer than was required. All it took was some 'encouragement' and some choice words for the self-important warrior to fall back in line with his peers, although his performance was still sub-standard and disruptive.

“The central market has seen no noticeable increases lawless conduct**” began the Market Captain, masking his hangover in a shadowy corner of the room. “Reported losses to hunger are low and were distributed throughout various stalls. There were only a few incidents of thievery or disorderly conduct during our main patrols. The most notable incident was caused by some visiting farmers drunk from palm wine, they will be dealt with later this morning.” Bello remained neutral, reviewing the room “Very well, what of the back alleys?” “err... Nothing has come to my attention.” “I expect a more detailed report next week, neglecting any part of your duty is an affront to the Mansa. This is the second time this has come up, don't make it a third time. Next.”

“Thanks in large part to the use of the Farima and Duukunasi, the Town Watch were able to process the large volume of visitors earlier in the week.” Each respective member receiving an acknowledging gesture as to denote their contribution. “Around two hundred slaves arrived, as well as several merchants from both the west and north. Nothing notable about the goods being brought in, mostly produce and animal goods. The only noteworthy exception were a party of foreigners, bringing in a mixture of local and exotic goods.”

It was not unheard of for distant merchants to find their way to his city, but it was rare. “Where are they from and what was their stated business?” “They were from the city of 'Lundon' in 'In-land', they travelled via boat and landed on the west coast. They are here mostly in an exploratory capacity but are also performing some limited goods trading.” “Composition and distinguishing features?” “Five priests, a foreign guard and a medicine woman, with six local guides and mercenaries providing support. The Inlanders have white skin, far paler than those from Mecca.” “If they haven't been in contact with the elders already, arrange a meeting between them. Good work, Next.”

“There have been several incidents with the Duukunasi recently which required intervention. Disciplinary measures have been enacted, if you want the details we can speak after...” “No need, do you need any additional Duukunasi? We can conscript some of the newly arrived slaves” “I would like to bolster our forces, several of the slaves are approaching the end of their duty.” The dusty retired Farai: Bukola, now currently overseeing of the gold mines also spoke up, “We also have need of additional slaves for labour, can we discuss after the meeting as to not take up further time.” Bello paused, stroking his beard while contemplating the issue. “Consult your men after the meeting and we shall meet at the mines at noon to discuss the division of slaves. Anything else about the garrisoned force?” “No, although we might request some mock battles with the patrolling forces.” “Noted, next.”

The rest of the meeting proceeded without anything of note, dismissing the assembled men upon completion. Bello held everyone to the same standard: doing your duty is the bare minimum as to what is expected. If you fail to meet the basic expectations assigned to you, you are failing both your duty and the Mansa by proxy. Many merchants, sons of the elders and upstarts falsely thought their background held weight in his assigned domain, having been gifted positions which required little effort. Those dreams were quickly shattered, as little reprieve was given to incompetent men seeking handouts. If they could quickly adapt then they would remain, if they could not then the Mansa held little use of their continued service.

-

Under harsh midday sun, as the miners rhythmically dug their picks into the dusty terrain.*** Each strike probing the ground for gold, iron or copper ore from within the dark confines of the earth. Most of the quarry was a communal space, divided between the generations of miners and the imported slave miners that had been acquired from both empires. The more prime locations were usually given to the artisan miners, having displayed a higher capacity of earning to the overseer as compared to the assorted slaves gathered from who knows where. The others were designated areas based on the overseeing governor's preferences, usually along sociopolitical lines and familiarity with the land.

Several of the more productive slaves were allowed to dig within the underground shafts, shielded from the sun's blistering heat, gathering the precious minerals directly from the rich veins. Supervisors watched on, pushing their workers to extract as much as they could from beneath the surface. Moving between clusters of workers were various women and children, providing water to the parched labourers, distributed through the various gourds dangling from their backs and necks. The idle chatter and occasional singing were tolerated from the slaves, although this attitude tended to vary between the guards who were on duty.

Overlooking the site from his shaded wooden tent placed on the edge of the quarry was the rather large quarry master: Bukola. The youthful energy and vigor that had seen him rise through the ranks of the local militia had long since left him. His current and more luxurious life, afforded to his family by his appointed position, had dulled his physique. Rounding certain places that seldom saw exercise. Currently he was entertaining the Farima and Segun, the Farai in charge of the Duukunasi. They were currently debating as to how the newly arrived slaves would be divided between their respective consignments.

Echoes, too far from the overseer's tent, reverberated as a large brownish rock formation blocked the further expansion mining pit. The strongest miners had been called, constantly being pushed by the supervising guards to break through the unknown rock. Despite each determined strike on the solid stone surface, little progress was made, save for scratches on its surface. Over the course of many hours the dents manifested into a deep groove, painted with the blood and sweat of the workers, spurring them on with the hopes of great profit.

Suddenly, it started to crack. Slowly growing to the outer reaches of the enormous rock. As the gap widened, the miners quickly ran away in fear. Not wishing to stay buried in the dirt for any length of time. Their panicked cries reached the main administrative tent, as those present could only see the ever-growing hole at the center of the quarry. The call was made “All men to the collapse!” followed by frantic attempts at coordination by Bukola. His men quickly moved to secure the area, acquiring rope and bandages to minimize any losses to the sudden cave in.

Soon the earth settled, leaving a cloud of dirt hanging over the newly revealed chasm in the earth. Cautious cries echoed as the surviving workers tried to locate any unaccounted-for miners, receiving strained responses from the depths of the pit. Unbeknown to the frenzied rescuers, the blood of a now deceased slave had come in contact with something which it shouldn't have. Reactivating a long dormant trace of dark magic, expelling chaotic energies into the ether.

At first there was but a faint wisp of dark black smoke, intermingled with the slowly falling dust. It did not take long for the smoke to grow, being emitted from some unknown source deep underground. Rescue attempts were quickly halted as anyone who inhaled the smoke was rendered useless, barely able to breathe through their ash covered airways. Their vision, now distorted, showed them visions of grim specters that manically shrieked at the impaired labourers.

“Evacuate the mines!” commanded Bello, taking charge of the situation. “Gather the Duukunasi and have them build medical tents; we don't know what this smoke is so keep those affected out of the village. Also, round up every: doctor and medicine man, and then bring them here. There is something strange about this smoke, we are not taking any chances.” Acknowledgement was quickly given, as Segun sent runners and soldiers out with their tasks, fueled only by their adrenaline and growing uncertainty. Even watching from a distance, Bello's instincts cried out that: the smoke was unnatural and dangerous. Over countless battles his immediate impulses had proved to be correct. If the strange mist was as dangerous as his instinct believed it to be, then it would be far worse than anything he could imagine.