Begone, Coupons [solo,nk]

The western nomads were gone, now. Kozura recognized that. She would never be stupid enough to live in denial, especially with a fact so obvious. But the traditions still lived on in her, and she would carry them with her for the rest of her life. She kept up with that now, as she began to start the rituals while the chemical within her veins began to subside. A bowl of dust, collected from the rooftop outside, since there was no tent available to her. The landlord had given her a suspicious look when she'd asked to go up onto the roof with that rustic looking bowl of hers, but he'd given his assent either way.

What he thought of her rituals didn't matter to her. He was like the rest of the common city folk, seeing her as backwards and primitive. They were soft and lazy, and if they were ever exposed to the true desert, they'd be crushed under its might. Still, she had to admit that the way the city folk lived life could be viewed as a certain survival strategy. One that she'd never fall prey to, of course, but she was sure that it had its charm and effectiveness.
[1/5]

Next, a bowl of water, the essence of life giving. Even though the desert had so little, one could find it if one knew where to look. Animals respected the desert, and had an instinct that guided them to water. Humans, too, could thus follow the animals and find water for themselves. In the old tale, the elders had told her that in the beginning, the God of the Desert had given the living beings there a choice. The animals had chosen correctly, and followed the God to water and a safe area. The humans, however, had been foolish beyond belief, following only their own whims, as they did to this day.

The intelligent ones, however, could catch wisps of the God's will through the animals and other signs, such as the oases. With these, they could live in the desert, though not with the same comfort as the animals. Such was their punishment, reluctantly given and readily received. What the original choice was, though, the elders could not say. Maybe they could not remember, as the elders before them could not. Or maybe it had been hidden from them. Its importance, though, was apparently paramount among her people, certainly.
[2/5]

She pulled aside the rug to reveal the painted sigil there. Ceremonial, perhaps, but this one had some importance. The sigil in her tongue stood for the number 88, which to her tribe was cosmically important. It represented an idea, a concept. When they had fulfilled their time here in the desert, serving their penance to the Desert God, they would be taken by a different god, one as of yet unknown to them. This god would have the sign of the 88 with him, and he would take 88 of the tribe who were deemed worthy. These would become paragons, peerless martial figures, who after 88 cycles would return gloriously to the tribe to bring them glory and an empire without end.
Being the only surviving member of the tribe, Kozura believed fervently in this prophecy. As she knelt and began the ritual, her tiny body shook with hope that someday, perhaps even during her lifetime, she would come to be chosen. After all, how could she not be? She bore the entirety of their people inside her, not yet matured, as small potential people. Every tribe member from this point onward would have to stem from her in some way or another.
[3/5]

That, of course, brought her to the other part of this whole debacle. With only one member of the western nomads remaining, how would the god choose 88 of them to bring forth to Ascension? Well, that was certainly a difficult question. Naturally, however, one could not merely be inducted into the tribe. That title was only reserved for the greatest of allies to the tribe, and had nothing to do with power. Similarly, even murderers and weaklings were not expelled from the tribe. Only in the absolutely worst situations was someone stripped of that great privilege. No indeed, the implications of this scared her a little. She wasn't quite sure she was ready for what was to come, what with her current state.
In essence, in order for the clan to return to the necessary size, she would have to bear at least three fertile children. Kozura knew of procreiand childbirth, and though she had never felt the special joy that either brought, she had known others who had. Friends, elders, and so on, all of whom had perished now. In their memory, she, too, would continue the work that they had started. Not yet, though. Her body was still not ready.
[4/5]

She disrobed, removing every article of clothing on her body as she prepared to finish the ritual. It was something meant to somehow emulate the dead as they were given over to the sand, and by now, Kozura had performed this so many times that she no longer felt that peculiar shame. Nevertheless, something within her spoke.

"Traditions... Good! Why...? Others?"

Ah, the monkey whose name she still did not know. The lava ape who she had bested in single combat, a feat that she still felt good about. She heard it's voice as if it were coming from a far off staticy television. Quiet, and certainly incomplete. She took an experimental tug at it's power again, and found it more compliant. Well, it seemed that this one expected answers

"My people, ape, who once traversed the western sands had these ways, and now that I am the only one left, I too carry them with me."

A succint and short answer, which seemed to satisfy the four tailed beast. She clenched her fists as the final dregs of the drug rocketed through her system, causing her to arch her spine, toes clenching as the bijuu's red aura appeared again under her control. In time, she'd see her clan return to the desert. All in good time.
[5/5]