Symeon and Istroama drew up short as the sounds and shapes of multiple beings moved among the Chrysalises. Large beings, oddly shaped in the dim light. One voice sounded out as the rest grew still.

“Hey, hi! Hi! Friendly! No pivepi, friendly! Look, there’s gonna be a fuckoff big beast floating by, but don’t freakout, okay? It’s harmless. My people are following it, more or less. You’re humans, they won’t aggro on you, okay? I’m hoping I can trade with you while my tribe goes past.” Her strange, ill-proportioned form emerged into their light. “Friendly , okay?”

The men exchanged a look as Symeon asked, “I got maybe two thirds of that. What about ya?”

“Less. Still, she claims friendship and the Maddish are usually well-disposed to our kind. If she really wanted to harm us she’d just have that bunch overrun us with no warning.”

“Madish? She’s a Maddish? How can you tell?”

“The lines of magic are clearly evident.”

“...evident.” Symeon finished in time with Istroama. “I’m just gonna keep walkin’ into that one, I just know it.”

Symeon wasn’t sure what to expect from the Maddish. Istroama had mentioned them in passing before, In that they were Chaotic and tended to have talent in Fire. This one was bizarre. While taller than Symeon, Sheila’s height was primarily from her ludicrously long thin legs and neck. Her torso was a comparatively small sphere, and her head was child-sized. The whole was covered in odd brown feathers, and her face was dominated by a strange beak that bordered on being serrated.

Regardless, Istroama seemed confident in the good will of the Maddish. Symeon pulled his knife from the scabbard, and then dropped the blade on the sand before walking toward her. “Okay, I’m friendly if ya are. Let’s talk.”

She dropped her bone spear and came closer with her hands in clear sight. “The name’s Sheila. Sorry to rock up on you like this. My crowd is passing by and we could use some stuff. Containers, if you have them. We can trade weapons, hides, some spare animals.”

“Well, Sheila, I’m plenty happy ta trade with ya. Name’s Symeon, ‘n this here is Istroama.”

Istroama had approached by this point, and gave Symeon a light shove. “That’s Istroama Claimant, thank you very much! And my friend Symeon Allegedly, of course.”

“Whoa. That’s legit too. How’d you guys earn last names when you’re still in your baby robes? You must have seen some shit.”

------

The crowd turned out to be a number of Maddish females, burly and raucous, who set up camp in the burned area near the huts. With them they had a small number of four-legged pack animals that Symeon’s lore marked as “Bottleos”. The Maddish wandered in and out of the camp in small numbers to consult with Sheila on innumerable trivialities and would stare for uncomfortable lengths of time at Symeon and Istroama.

“Not sure what’s on with the ladies tonight. They’re not usually this nosy around new people.”, said Sheila and she took a sip from a crude hide flask. She made to hand the container to Istroama. “You fancy a drink?”

“Well certainly! I must say, most clever use of epidermis in this. I can see the advantages over the barrels we’ve been using.” Istroama took a generous pull from the flask, which ended quickly with a violently spraying spit-take. “Curse the six! That’s not water!”

Symeon picked up the flask and observed what appeared to be a fearful gaze from Sheila toward the Maddish camp. “No, that’s the… well, not the good stuff. The stuff. Look, you need to be careful around the girls, right? Me, I don’t care, but the girls would crack the shits if they hear you running down the gods.”

Istroama had retreated to get some water from the barrels, while Symeon took a taste of the flask and flinched. “Woo, that’s the stuff alright. Ya drink this on the regular? How are ya not blind? How are ya not dead?”

“Eh, it’s just a bit of the Bottleo, no worries. Great for getting pissed, cleaning wounds, starting fires. Mostly starting fires. You haven’t seen Bottleos before, yeah? We can trade you one if you’d like.”

Symeon leaned back and side-eyed Istroama going through a couple litres of water in his personal struggle against alcohol. “Naw, yeah, Bottleos are the livestock y’all have, you get this hooch from them?”

Even as he asked the question his strange knowledge was painting a picture in his hindbrain. Great, shaggy things like bison with stag antlers, but not actually mammals. The Bottleos were in truth something akin to ambulatory pine trees. In the wild they would wander about grazing on other plants not to feed, but to brew the chewed mush into high-proof alcohol in their bellies. Given enough of said product, the Bottleo would seek out fire to ensure the pinecones growing among its antlers would have the heat and open space they required to germinate. The violent explosion of the Bottleo in this process saw to it that both the pinecones and the fire spread quite widely. Domesticated Bottleos were “milked” regularly to ensure the reproductive instinct didn’t trigger, and were otherwise wonderfully docile pack animals.

“Oh yes. The girls keep the herd well drained. They’d drink straight from the Bottleo if I didn’t scold them for it.” Sheila was looking over at the gently retching Istorama and sighed. “Look, why don’t you and I take a walk to check out the herd? We can talk without the enpeeces making things weird.”

“Ya what now?”

“Seriously, you’re still in the baby robes, I’ve been there. The Bane won’t let us get into it with them around.”

Symeon blinked a couple times in consternation, but came up with the same result. “Ya what now?”

“Are you a ripper? Piece of piss, I can do that.” Sheila sounded out in an exaggerated, raised voice. “Huzzah good, sir, I implore you, accompany this fair maiden to the Bottleo herd so you may inspect them at your leisure.” She winked at Symeon repeatedly while saying this.

“Um, okay. Bottleos. Let’s walk.”

------

“So you don’t need to tell me, but it's relevant. How many days on your equipment?”

Symeon considered his options as he walked with her, and couldn’t think of a way the information could harm him. “Five days, give or take.”

“Okay, that’s pretty good. You really should get your people out of those Chrysalises as soon as possible though. More time you have to bond with them before the duration ends the better. I dragged my heels for too long, nearly lost the tribe when the male got a wild hair about the Hive Mother.”

Symeon just nodded and listened. He hadn’t much to add to the conversation, best to let Sheila talk.

“That’s the thing with Maddish. Soldiers of Chaos. You don’t really get the premise until you are one. Chaos needs a big horde? Lots of ladies and few lads. Short gestations and big spawns. So I wake the tribe up, and they listen to me as the wise woman for a couple days, and then the mojo runs out and they’re just a big old bachelorette party who want to follow the one male in the bunch around. What a bloody fruit loop he was, too. Full on fanatic to Chaos, didn’t like me one bit, just would not listen to reason.”

Sheila took an intimidatingly long swig from her flask, and dropped her voice to a low bass. “The Three provide! Behold their bounty! Watch me eat these poison mushrooms!” Her voice returned to normal. “Total drongo, died foaming from both ends and hooting on about Chaos all the way through. My bad luck, Chaos heard him.”

Symeon thought back to the ‘experimental blasphemy’ of the previous days. “That’s a thing that can happen?”

“Yes it is. Not sure if it’s a servant or an avatar or what, but something the girls think is Hive Mother turned up. Now it’s me following the tribe instead of them following me. They’re good girls, I don’t want them marching off a cliff trying to follow that thing, but that’s just what they’d do if I don’t watch out for them.”

Sheila took another eye-watering swig of Bottleo. “Anyway, get your people out and about soon, if you can.”

“Guess ya can’t talk about this stuff in front of the Maddish.”

“Yes. Hard to know what the Bane will forbid around enpeeces, too.”

“What’s an enpeece?”

“C’mon, can we drop the ripping for a bit? Look, you have my advice. Get your people on their feet, get them working. Make some gear to cover for when ACK.” Sheila’s speech came to a choking halt, whatever word was in her mouth lost. Her tongue was stuck out of her beak, shining with chitin in the light of Symeon’s magic. A moment passed and her speech returned. “Seriously? One of the girls must be in earshot. Bloody Bane. Look, we’ll hook you up with some hides and a Bottleo if you want one, you churn out a pile of those barrels so I can strap ‘em to my herd. Zero effort on both our parts, more than fair, really. Let’s get back. Bloody nosy enpeeces.”

------

“I say, I hope you had a productive walk. My time has certainly been productive!”

Istroama was by the campfire, smiling widely while crowded by a dozen beastial Maddish. All manner of mammalian features abounded in the pack. The largest Maddish, elephantine both in size and in aspect, loomed behind Istroama holding a staff that appeared to be made of dark resin, with innumerable eggs encased within. Symeon was going from confusion to confusion, while Sheila sighed and facepalmed.

Istroama continued with evident pleasure. “We’ve been negotiating while you were examining the Bottleos. They’re willing to muck in with the labor while they’re here. Isn’t that right, Enusmung?” Istroama gestured to the elephant-woman, carefully avoiding her tusks. “Enusmung has been more than helpful, I must say. Wonderful ladies, all. They have very passable usage of our human tongue, though I fear some ideas aren't translating well. Apparently they're looking for... what was it your were looking for, dear Enusmung?"

The elephant-Maddish thumped the resin staff once on the ground, with force enough Symeon could feel it from across the campfire.

"GOOD HARD SHAG!"

"Of course. They're looking for a good hard shag. Haven't quite worked out what a shag is, but it seems to have something to do with whatever they have going on down there in the pelvic region. Utterly baffling if I'm being honest, but still! Fascinating stuff."