A Dark Wind Blows In Three Winds

Unyoking his bow, Matrix looks about his home…Three Winds….weary of his travels but happy to breath in the familiar scent of his family. He calls out, but only the echo of the great foyer answers him. He lazily saunters over to the study, looking behind him at the muddy tracks on the tile floor, reminding himself to clean that up tomorrow. He kicks at the heels of each boot to let his worn feet breath and pads over to his Father’s desk. He rifles through the many doves, stopping to snicker at a few of the names he recognizes, until one addressed to him catches his eye. He breaks the wax seal quickly and unfolds the parchment, holding it to the candle flame.

A dark wind blows through Three Winds as he reads the message from Wingcommander Sands warning him of a price on his head. Matrix rubs his temples and tries to think of what possible crime he had committed, willing himself to remember those few nights of black dreams where he knew not how his boots found themselves under strange beds.

He folds the parchment and lifts it gingerly over the candle, watching as the flame chars the paper black and acrid smoke curls his nostrils. He looks about at his home and sighs. He takes up his satchel and slips his aching feet back in his boots. He walks purposefully to the door, his every step reverberating against the vast warmth of his home. He turns, his sapphire eyes moist, and sighs deeply, before turning to the door and walking outside, locking the door to a home he would not see in many moons.

Matrix draws his hood up over his eyes and sets off to learn more of his pursuers.

An Interpretation: The Emancipation of Slaves

(Portrait by Connisec)

As history has revealed, no institution stands forever. Ubars are overthrown, cities are left for ruin….one great outlaw or panther tribe become instinct….only to find a new Ubar, a new city, a new group of rebellions with different ideas. Perhaps brute strength and a lust for power should be factored in as well. However, many times, these coups are the act of dreamers….people who believe in a higher cause.

So the question begs itself….when will it be the turn of the kajirae and kajiri? The signs are already present in many cities. Boys and girls trained in bows and swords….able to take down the mightiest warrior with a well-aimed stone. In fact in some of the outlaw tribes, there are kajirae and kajiri that perform more as leaders than the Masters or Mistresses that own them. They have respect and a following. I think of one boy in particular.

One could also make the argument the revolution has already begun by the kajirae. After all, don’t most rebellious girls find themselves bearing arms as Panthers? I know of one such kajira who not only became a mighty Panther, but has now become a well-respected leader among tribes.

Many of the Lifestylers boycotted the few male  panther tribes that formed several moons ago, protesting they did not exist by scripture. However, as a wise commentator pointed out, unless you are reenacting scenes of the scripture as a play, the story itself is an organic, breathing idea that takes form as more ideas are involved….the story molds itself with interpretations.

So why not male panthers? Disgruntled boys scavaging in the woods as a rebellious act against those who oppress them. It sounds plausible and is not wholly without logic to the development of the scriptures. In fact, if we uphold to the scrptures, kajiri never even wore a collar, as they were men still. One of the most wonderful aspects of any adventure are the possibilities that wait. Is it such a stretch that kajiri, men who have found themselves to the service of another, do not rebel and live as a tribe in the densest part of the Northern Wood?

Stifling imagination and interpretation leads to stale role play.