Five days ago the Chief of the Taghlib ibn Wa'il, a man in his early fifties with a pacthy grey beard and a squink caused by decaying eye-sight by the name of Khaliq Darzi had discovered that around 200 members of his tribe had been gunned down by someone, he was yet to determine who. The nomadic nature of the Unified Tribes of Waddan meant no one was ever in one place for very long and the desert was helpful to those who had committed the crimes as its late evening winds and the occasional sandstorm could hide the tracks of even the largest group travelling across the sands which were like oceans between oasis'. Conflict between the tribes wasn't a common thing but it was usually no more than a few shots fired and the occasional bout of fisticuffs. This was vastly different though, this wasn't a disagreement over which tribe's turn it was to take water or how many head of sheep to trade for a bride. This had been a massacre and had shoked Darzi. His immediate reaction had been for vengeance as the usual way of dealing with even slights was an eye for an eye which explained why the tribes often ensured so carefully they never caused each other offence. Darzi was in a difficult position now though as he sat in the Red Tent which his tribe used to signifiy those living there were the family of the Chief. He had called some of the tribal elders to him and now sat cross legged on the floor they smoked a pipe and discussed what action to take. "Someone must pay." one of the elders asserted, "If we do nothing the others will know we are cowards and that is bad."
"That is the least of your problems my Chief" a tiny old man with waist length beard added, "If you do nothing then the tribe will think you can not protect them and that spells disaster for you, and for the tribe."
"So what do you recommend?" Darzi asked. He had racked his brain the last few days and had asked himself that question many times already but had failed to really think of anything that he saw a positive outcome coming from.
One of the elders unrolled a document, it was nothing other than a collection of drawings on a map and patterns. It was a document that was designed to show the land rights that rotated between the tribes and was essentially a calender saying who had which watering hole and when. The man pointed at the spot that showed where Darzi's tribe were currently sat. "You must attack the Anazzah. We sit just half a day away by horse from their town of Murqquab. Someone is always there. This time of year it will be unguarded. Word of the attack will spread among the others, if we do things right no one will know it was us, however the tribe that did attack us will be the only ones who suspect it was us as no one outside us and them, whichever scum they are, knows about what has happened so far. They will not be willing to speak out because it will show their own guilt, but our tribe will believe we have taken vengence which protects you. It is the best course of action."
Darzi was not happy about the suggestion. Shedding the blood of an innocent tribe sat uneasy but the township would also be full of the old and infirm making it perhaps even more cowardly. The old man though had spoken sense. If the Chief did nothing then it was likely he would lose the support of his own people and so he reluctantly agreed with the suggestion and gathered the tribe together. "The past days we have mourned in sadness the murder of our brothers and sisters but today I have received word from our scouts who is behind this. The Anazzah tribe wanted to destroy our herds. Well they have a nearby township and soon our warriors will exact vengence there." The crowd cheered lead by a tall man with only one eye. Kazan was the militia officer and Darzi had told him the plan a few moments before the tribe meeting. He knew it wasn't the Anazzah but he wasn't about to tell anyone. He was Darzi's cousin and that meant as long as the Chief retained power he would find favour in the tribe, if Darzi lost the respect of the tribe it wouldn't bode well for his relatives and so to maintain the status quo Kazan would put the township of Murquabb. Truth be told he rather enjoyed violence, it was this that had lead to him losing his eye when he had been just 17 and had it beaten to jelly by an older man after refusing to pay up on a wager following a horse race. It was a foolish mistake but was also the last fight the 35 year old had ever lost and he'd enjoyed quiet a few, the fight ahead should be one of the easiest in his life and he was smiling as his Chief berated the cowards of the Anazzah. This time tomorrow he'd be plundering the old and stealing their cattle.