Rather than turn our attentions to Humntrp (which will totally get a new name as soon as I think of a good one...), It would be remiss of this reviewer to skip perhaps the one constant to be found among the Savannah plains, the colorful and perhaps unique Maxcai tribes that wander the grasslands.
The Maxcai are fearless it would seem, utterly unconcerned with the foriegner in their midst. And why not? Every adult male and many of the females has hunted alone for the fearsome Korribe as their rite of passage. Few indeed would hunt such fearsome beasts, less alone, and far far less with only a thin sword for a weapon.
Yes, a sword; alone among the Savannahs are the Maxcai duellists. The vast majority of warfare is conducted by spearpoint, though the caobon and the swordlike weapons of Wei's elite soldiery are similar, only the Maxcai sword would be recognizable outside of experts. Longer than a man's arm, with a wider tip that narrows to the leather wrapped handle, with no hilt, the weapon is elegant and difficult to aquire on the metal sparse plains. That said, the Maxcai also use spears, holding them in the off hand, their two weapons used at once is unique in that every warrior among them fights this way.
But let us not dwell on the intracacies of combat, bloodshed is a universal constant after all. Instead, let us turn our attentions to the people and their ways.
The Maxcai themselves are the tallest of the peoples of the plains, long and thin. Their culture prizes courage and endurance, their warriors can run for days without rest on the hunt. Each Maxcai is assigned a totem animal at birth, many tribes acknowledge only the Korribe as a totem for kin; the tribal shaman or witch-doctor as they have been called by dreadful authors, assign the guardian spirit to watch over the child, then bond spirit and child at adulthood, often taking the spirit of the slain Korribe, giving its strength to the newly minted adult. Our thaumaturges assured me that this is not mere mythmaking or superstition, but that the Maxcai are protected from spells and demons by this bonding. They acknowledge no gods, these Maxcai, only a heirarchy of spirits ranging from the the miniscule to the grandiose. I myself participated in these rituals, though I was granted not the spirit of the Korribe, that massive plains cat, but the humble and cunning serpent, a powerful totem in it's own right among these primatives. As hunting a serpent is hardly a worthy test of my spirit, instead I was tricked, poisoned in my drink and spent a night in feverish dreams. I could not hold this against them, however, for without the rite, the tribes could never accept me as a man among them. I would not lie were I to tell you that in times of contemplation, and yes, times of danger, I could hear the hissing of the serpent whisper in my ear, even to this day.
But this is not about me, apologies, dear reader for I have gone astray.
The Maxcai are easily distinguished from the other Savannah dwellers not only by their height but by their appearence, for all Maxcai adult dye every portion of themselves with a certain vegetable paste that turns their skin, hair, and clothes blood red. At first I was certain that this was to hide their blood from their enemies, but a wise old shaman corrected me soon enough.
One of the oldest myths of the Maxcai has them enslaved to a terrible demon that walked the land as men do. This was before the Banality, or quiet time as they term it, before the rise of the Dragon Lords of Tabor, before even the Elves lived in the Hydimenoi, which would be a truely ancient time indeed. This demon wore the skins of men to hide from the Gods. To free themselves the first Maxcai skinned themselves, so that he could not take their skins, and so the demon was found out and cast from the face of the world. Thus the Gods blessed the Maxcai, so freeing them from the dominion of all gods and demons. To keep the demon from returning they paint themselves red so that they appear to have no skins at all, should they fail he might one day return to rule them. Because they owe no fealty to any gods, Death does not come for fallen Maxcai, they are free even in death. Those who feel their time was not yet done often return as spirits to aid and guide their tribes for a time, though in Maxcai tradition, eventually they forget themselves and become one with their totem animal, thus every Korribe hunted was once a powerful Maxcai Warrior who could not die even in death.
Maxcai males have three paths available to them, though two seem very similar to outsiders. The first is the path of the warrior, called the path of the sword by some. The Maxcai studies and practices with his sword, fights duels against other warriors, hires himself to soft and weak outsiders as a soldier. The second path is the path of the hunter, called appropriately enough the path of the spear. Those Maxcai who follow this path provide food for the tribe by their skills, the sword becomes their shield against the claws and fangs and stingers of the fearsome beasts they face, the spear their own claws and fangs. The third path is the path of the Forge, for the Maxcai are considered by most Savannah dwellers as the premier smiths of the plains. Those rare Maxcai who chose this path remove themselves from the tribe, set aside sword and spear and sequester themselves in semipermanent enclaves hidden throughout the Savannahs. Those who seek weapons most often turn to these hidden enclaves, superstitious city dwellers who beleive the Maxcai have an understanding of the spirit of iron that surpasses more mundane smiths, to more jaded sorts who simply insist these spirit smiths are better at their craft than others, even going so far as to suggest that these enclaves have secret mines that produce superior metals. No one forces their hands to work, however, for to do so is to earn the wrath of not only all Maxcai, who hold them as the holiest of Shamen, but also powerful spirits. It is said that any weapon forged by the Spirit Smiths will avenge themselves on one whose hands are stained with the blood of the smiths. No matter how I tried I could only secure the breifest of interviews with one such smith, and it was singularly unenlightening. They leave aside mortal language, it is said, speaking only the language of the spirits of the earth. Only their apprentices speak the languages of men for a time. It is said that the Wei Shakti was born of a forbidden relationship, his father sire'd him upon a spirit of iron forged into a woman by the spirit smith's for their own reasons. As Wei is the least importer of foriegn steel this may be based in some truth.
The Maxcai travel seasonal routes, and treat all other Maxcai as members of the tribe, as family. A violent and occasionally bloodstained family, but family none the less. Swapping members of the tribe with other tribes is a regular occurance, a means of preserving the peace it would seem. Maxcai women often follow the paths of the men, excepting only the Path of Iron, and Maxcai are uniquely monogamous among the Savannah peoples. Weddings are demanded, though often short. Rare, but not unheard of, are the Spirit Wedding, when two of the tribe are said to be wedded even past death. Make no mistake, most Maxcai women are as feirce and dangerous as the men, though they often have totems that are not Korribe, and may use weapons forbidden to men. Women use javelins and something called Hkumo, a 'rope' of large wood and stone beads, worn as a decoration or whirled about the head with great speed, capable of stripping the flesh off a man and breaking bones.
There are few crimes among the Maxcai. Property is largely communal, what few things there are can be shared and there is little held as particularly valuable. Moreever, however, those few criminals that appear in any group of men are dealt with harshly. I was told of a man who forced himself upon a woman of the people, of how by morning he was truely skinned and left for the plains to devour. His skin was stuffed with straw and sewn up, left unpainted by his still living body. It is said that the Demon might inhabit the skin for a while to torment him before the straw rotted away from its filth, and then Death would truly come for him as he had broken the sacred oaths of the People. The truth of the story is unknown, but I was introduced to an old woman, toothless and blind with age, who wore as a personal talisman the severed dried manhood about her neck on a thong.