“The Council says the ceremony will be held in five days,” came a deep voice from inside. “We do not know how far the enemy army has come, but if they have yet to cross our position, they will not reach Mount Smoke in time.”

“They speak of a ceremony that our tribe does not recognize. Have you heard what this ceremony is to accomplish?” said a hoarse voice.

“No, our Lago Sylvil tribe is not represented on the Council, as you well know,” said the deep voice.

“My apologies, my Cabal Equ tribe lives far from the heartlands, since we require much open space. We do not know which tribes are currently on the council. We were only summoned for the ceremony recently,” said the hoarse voice.

“No, I spoke too harshly. The Lago Sylvil were pushed off the Council a generation ago, which is why your words cut deeply,” said the deep voice.

“But then you must know about the ceremony,” said the hoarse voice. “Our people have always helped protect our homeland against invaders, but it is a lot easier to convince soldiers to risk their lives when they know what they are fighting for. Please, tell me about the ceremony so I may pass on the information to my elders.”

“You will be leaving the camp to return to your tribe?” asked the deep voice.

“Yes, I will leave tomorrow. The Cabal Equ army will be reaching the next command post in a few days. I am to be the commander there,” said the hoarse voice.

“Indeed, friend, my assumption was correct. You are as battle hardened as myself. I can see it in your eyes,” said the deep voice.

“No, commander, your praise is appreciated, but the fame and glory of your Lago Sylvil tribe is know even to us. Your bravery, power, and ruthless defense of all beastmen is immortalized in our songs and ballads,” said the hoarse voice, “but please. Consider it a favor from one martial tribe to another. What is the ceremony for which we are being asked to lay down our lives?”

Silence in the tent. I exchanged glances with Kelser and Kol. Taoc was standing to the side with an angry expression. It seemed she couldn’t hear what was being said even with my magic. I made the magic a little stronger for her and asked her to put her ear to the tent again. She wasn’t pleased, but soon realized the pair inside were silent.

“We Lago Sylvil do not fear death,” said the deep voice at last. “It is said, many generations ago, our people were peaceful and docile. We were craftsmen, herders, and people of gentle music. Our sister tribe, whose name we have forgotten, defended our common land, in exchange for a share of the fruits of our labor. It was a profitable arrangement. Respect for our respective roles helped both of our tribes avoid the worst of Council politics and secured our lands and our position within the Horde.”

In the short silence, the hoarse voice spoke, “We have not heard of the history of the Lago Sylvil before they became a martial tribe. It seems your people did not live near the center of the Horde’s lands like you do today.”

“Indeed, we were compelled to move by the circumstances of our history. You see, our sister tribe’s elders and leaders became ambitious. They were a martial tribe, full of great warriors and with many a battle having gone in their favor. They were forging alliances across the Horde and positioning themselves to challenge the weakest tribes on the Council for their seat. They even began eating up territory from other tribes and waging wars to prove their power and increase their influence over others,” said the deep voice.

“I see,” said the hoarse voice. “Wars are costly. Many martial tribes have become victims to their own success. They expand quickly, increasing the size and cost of their armies, only to buckle under the weight of their own ambition.”

“That is precisely what began to happen to our sister tribe. However, because of our arrangement, our sister tribe expected us to pick up the burden of their expensive expansion,” said the deep voice. “And when our people could no longer pay anything without starving our own, our so-called sister tribe began demanding more. When we refused to pay, our provisions were taken from us.”

The hoarse voice grumbled. “It is a sad tale. The curse of our Horde, where beastmen who should be brothers and sisters, reach for each other’s throats.”

“Indeed,” said the deep voice. “Our sister tribe had spread its forces thin and made many enemies. And by turning on us, their oldest and most reliable allies, they condemned themselves to the void of history. Still, our people were not warriors. We wielded sticks not spears and our music was gentle like a warm breeze brushing past the grass of the steppe. The sister tribe became desperate for resources. They began punishing those who could not provide them with enough supplies, and took Sylvil farmers to become mercenaries in their armies. Even when they began taking Sylvil children to be sold into slavery, there was nothing we could do. We could not fight back. We could not defend our people. We played gentle music.”

Silence in the tent once again.

“We played gentle music,” said the deep voice, “until our ancestors heard something new. In a quiet corner of the steppes of our ancestral homeland, our elders heard a tune we had never heard before. Loud, rambunctious, with chaotic chords and jarring notes. My dear friend, it is said in our tribe half of our elders died listening to this tune, and the other half went into a delirium from whence they would never recover!”

“Terrifying,” said the hoarse voice, except he did not sound terrified at all.

“Yes,” said the deep voice. “It is as you suspect. Our ancestors were blessed by a divine melody. A piece of music not meant for mortal ears. My dear friend, our tribe had been blessed by the God of Music himself! From that day, our people forgot our old, gentle music, and began to hum with deep reverberating voices, and beat our drums in a cacophony that did not match our thumping feet or our whistling pipes or the other instruments we tossed together in an eclectic pile of discordance.”

“The music of the Lago Sylvil is famous in all the lands,” said the hoarse voice. “I have heard it described in a similar fashion before. Chaotic and discordant. Now, I know why it is so.”

“Our Lago Sylvil ancestors defeated our sister tribe and took most of their women and children as prisoners,” said the deep voice. “Their main armies were defeated by other tribes far from their homeland. We merged their remnants into our own tribe, taking with it their martial traditions and techniques. And we learned the importance of careful planning and gradual increases of power. For generations, our people played our chaotic music and slowly gathered enough power to rise to the Council. When a Lago Sylvil child is born, the first thing he hears is our music. If his ears bleed, he is not worthy to be a soldier, and his future in the tribe will be dim. But if he cries with the music, or endures its insanity, he will be trained in the martial way under the influence of the God of Music.”

“I see,” said the hoarse voice with a pause. “I appreciate hearing about the history of your people. It fills me with much awe and respect. However, I must ask, what does this have to do with the ceremony that the Council is planning?”

The deep voice grumbled. “It was necessary to tell you, my dear friend, of our people’s love for the God of Music. He means more to us than he does to most beastmen, and we would do anything for his favor. The details of the ceremony were revealed to the Council by the God of Music, himself. These details were revealed after my Lago Sylvil tribe was kicked out of the Council by an upstart tribe with no history to speak of. I do not know much more than this, but if your tribe will support mine, and help us regain our seat on the Council, I promise to share all of the details of the ceremony with you at once.”

“A ceremony revealed by the God of Music himself,” said the hoarse voice from inside the tent. “No wonder the Council is going to such extremes to ensure it succeeds. Our people will be happy to die at the God of Music’s command, but commander, do you know anything else about the ceremony?”

The deep voice of the commander hummed a strange tune. It sounded like he was clearing his throat while also coughing up phlegm. “Our elder heard something from another elder who still sits on the Council. The ceremony will require many beastmen and instruments. A new music will be birthed during the ceremony, music unlike any that has been heard on this world before. It will be called the Music of Annihilation.”