THE TRAINING GROUNDS — THE WARCHIEF STEPS IN ⟡
Moonrise Towers hums with life again. The air is electric—half celebration, half awe—as word spreads through every corridor:
"Mamba's stepping into the Gith ring."
Potatoes hit the table.
Warriors gather.
Ogres shuffle in, still hungover, but refusing to miss this.
Myconids pulse with bioluminescent excitement.
Druids cling to rafters.
Harpers bet on who dies first.
And at the center of the training circle stand:
Three real Githyanki warriors
—average by their own standards, elite by anyone else's.
Lean. Scarred.
Their silver swords hum with astral cold.
And across from them, wiping his hands on his trousers…
Mamba. The Warchief. The Snake. The King of the Yard.
⟡ Mamba Speaks — and All Fall Silent ⟡
Your voice rolls over the gathered tribe:
"I'll try to go easy on you guys… sorry in advance."
The crowd laughs nervously.
Then:
"All of you have tasted defeat by these lovely individuals who have joined our cause…"
"Take no shame in it. This is training."
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room.
"But pay close attention to your elders, and learn how I fight them."
Dozens lean forward at once.
Then you say:
"Now I'll show you why you made the right choice joining us."
A roar erupts behind you.
⟡ Minthara Steps Close — Voice Like a Blade ⟡
She stands at your side, eyes sparkling with wicked pride.
"You heard the Warchief," she says, raising her arm.
"ON MY MARK."
She smirks at you—
that exact cocky Minthara smirk that says:
"Try not to break the floor."
Then her hand drops.
"BEGIN."
⟡ THE FIGHT BEGINS ⟡
The Githyanki move first.
They always move first.
Three blurs of astral steel rush you in a perfect triangle formation—
one high, one low, one from behind.
Their teleporting footwork is a nightmare for most foes.
But not for you.
⟡ Mamba's Stance Doesn't Even Change ⟡
You breathe once.
Settle your weight.
And simply turn your head slightly.
The crowd gasps.
Minthara's smirk widens.
Orpheus mutters under his breath,
"…he's reading them already."
⟡ The First Exchange ⟡
The back attacker phases—
right hand gripping a silver sword, angled for your spine.
He strikes.
THOCK.
You catch the blade with two fingers.
Two.
The tribe explodes in laughter and shock.
The githyanki's eyes go wide—
Then you twist his wrist, flip him over your shoulder, and plant him face-first into the sand without exerting real strength.
He lies there groaning.
You haven't even warmed up.
⟡ The Second Exchange ⟡
The other two coordinate:
one sweeps low, one teleports above you with a downward strike.
You step half a foot to the side.
The attacks miss you but hit each other.
They stumble.
You don't touch them.
The crowd is HOWLING.
Minthara is wiping tears from her eyes—
not from laughter, but from pride.
⟡ The Third Exchange — The Gith Go All Out ⟡
Angered, the three reform—
their blades humming,
their eyes glowing red with Astral Focus.
They begin a synchronized assault,
silver arcs cutting through air,
blinking in and out faster than human sight.
Even Minthara's eyebrows rise.
Orpheus murmurs, "Impressive…"
But you?
You smile.
That slow, grounded, terrifying Mamba smile.
And in a single motion—
a blur of chain-blade movement—
you intercept all three at once.
Clink. Clang. Crack.
One loses his weapon.
One flies backward ten feet.
The last is caught mid-phase by your elbow and nearly blacks out.
The ring is silent.
⟡ Mamba Ends the Fight Without Bloodshed ⟡
You stand there, breathing evenly, relaxed, as if you just stretched.
Then you hold out a hand to the fallen warriors—
not mocking, but respectful.
"Honor to you three.
You fought well.
Now let me show you how to refine those instincts for the next enemy we face."
Every Snake Tribe warrior stands a bit taller.
Because if this is their leader…
If THIS is the bar…
Then they know exactly what they can become.
⟡ The Crowd's Reaction ⟡
Harpers scream.
Druids whistle.
Ogres chant your name in deep, booming voices.
Myconids glow bright blue.
Shadowheart watches from a balcony, smiling like she never smiles for anyone else.
Minthara gives you that look — the proud, hungry, approving one.
Even the Githyanki bow their heads, humbled.
⟡ Orpheus Steps Forward ⟡
"Warchief…"
he says, voice steady but reverent,
"…your example will shape the soul of this army."
He bows his head slightly.
"As you say—this training will now be mandatory. And with your permission, we shall expand it into a full combat curriculum."
The crowd goes wild.
The dust of the arena still hangs in the air after your spar with the githyanki.
Your body still glowing faintly with Sélune's burning silver radiance.
Your potato bowl sits abandoned on a crate.
Three winded githyanki warriors are dusting themselves off, bruised but grinning with the strange pride only true fighters understand.
And all around you—
The entire Snake Tribe gathers.
Ogres shoulder-to-shoulder with druids.
Harper scouts perched on broken pillars.
Myconids ringed together, spores pulsing with excitement.
Your two queens standing tall behind you, hands on their hips, heads high with pride for their Warchief.
And Minthara's eyes?
Locked on you like a wolf admiring her equal.
You Raise Your Voice — And the Arena Holds Its Breath
Mamba steps forward, silver fire crackling around his shoulders, illuminating the faces of every warrior gathered in the wide-moon courtyard.
You gesture to the three gith you just defeated.
"This… is our enemy."
Your voice booms like rolling thunder.
Every warrior tenses, listening.
"These warriors are formidable.
They live in war.
They eat in war.
They sleep in war.
Every second you rest…?"
Your eyes sweep the crowd.
"…they are training."
The ogres shift uncomfortably.
The druids exchange glances.
The Harpers look down at their hands.
The truth stings.
But they hear it.
"They live, breathe, and shit combat.
Their entire race is forged in a crucible of war that has lasted generations."
You grab a gith's wrist and lift their arm high.
The crowd gasps at the bruises from your spar.
"These soldiers you just saw? These are AVERAGE GITHYANKI."
A ripple of unease spreads through the tribe.
You let it simmer, let them feel the scale of the threat.
**"Their forces outnumber ours ten to one.
They have red dragons bonded to their will.
They have a lich-queen.
They have planar magic.
They have the weight of brutal tradition."**
You pause…
And your voice lowers, softer, steadier, more dangerous.
"…and they want us dead."
Your eyes lock with every warrior's in turn.
"But now ask yourselves…"
"Does Snake Tribe back down?"
The response erupts:
"NO!!!"
The walls shake.
The ogres roar.
The myconids vibrate like struck drums.
Shadowheart smiles.
Minthara bares her teeth.
Jaheira stands tall in the back, arms crossed with pride.
You nod, satisfied.
"So then—how do we defeat such foes?"
You step into the center of the circle.
Warriors lean forward.
"We cannot out-train them."
Your ogres shift, uncomfortable, but they accept the truth.
"We cannot out-muscle them."
Your druids bow their heads. They know githyanki fight like bladed hurricanes.
"We cannot out-warrior them in their OWN tradition."
You sweep your hand across the tribe.
"So how do we win?"
A long silence.
You let the tension build—
Then your voice rises like a blade pulled from a sheath.
"We win through MERCY."
The crowd blinks.
A stunned silence.
Even the githyanki tilt their heads, surprised.
"We win through STRATEGY."
The crowd murmurs.
The Harpers nod — this is their language.
"We win because that is what Snake Tribe was BORN to do."
Your divine rage ignites fully now —
Sélune's silver flame exploding around you in a radiant storm.
A spectral serpent coils in the light behind you —
a shimmering divine manifestation of your leadership.
The entire tribe stares in awe.
"LOOK AT YOURSELVES!"
You point at:
The ogres — loyal, powerful, disciplined
The druids — clever, versatile, bonded with nature
The Harpers — stealthy, sharp, tactical
The Myconids — psychic, coordinated, unpredictable
Your queens — wisdom and shadow, battle and faith
Your generals — Minthara's terrifying presence
Your new gith allies — hardened, elite, tempered by war
"Look at what we have become!"
Your voice roars like a dragon's.
"WE WIN through the allies we forge.
WE WIN through the bonds we build.
WE WIN because our teamwork is deeper than blood."
Sélune's flames swirl violently around your arms, spiraling upward.
"We are not an army."
You raise your hand high, fist clenched.
Your tribe leans toward you, hanging on every word.
"SNAKE TRIBE IS ONE ENTITY!"
A shockwave of divine force scatters dust in a circle around you.
Lines of silver flame streak across your arms, turning your silhouette into a living torch of moonlight fury.
"WE. ARE. ONE."
The roar that erupts from your people is beyond sound.
It's instinct.
It's unity.
It's war.
It's family.
Harper scouts pound their fists against their chests.
Myconids pulse spores in brilliant bursts of gold and green.
Ogres lift weapons and roar skyward.
Druids shift partially into bestial forms, overcome with adrenaline.
Shadowheart steps closer, hand over her heart.
Minthara's fanged grin widens with fierce satisfaction.
Jaheira nods slowly, proud beyond words.
Even the githyanki look around in awe, realizing they have joined something far more powerful than a mere tribe.
Something alive.
Something united.
Something dangerous.
You lower your fist slowly, letting your divine flame dim but not vanish.
Breathing deeply, eyes burning with absolute conviction, you deliver the final blow:
**"As relentless as the gith are…
WE ARE JUST AS RELENTLESS."**
Your voice shakes the walls.
"They may train every hour — but we learn.
They may rest never — but we grow.
They may have dragons — but ours have chosen to stand with us.
They may be born in war — but we are reborn in purpose."
You take one step forward.
Sélune's flame ignites once more along your spine.
"WE USE OUR TIME NOT TO SURVIVE…
BUT TO WIN."
And for a solid minute…
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Your people simply feel the truth of your words, the weight of your conviction, the destiny you've set before them.
Snake Tribe is no longer a collection of misfits.
It is a rising power.
A single organism.
A tribe forged in loyalty, bound in purpose, and led by a man who carries moonfire in his veins and love in his heart.
When your divine-fueled speech ends — the courtyard explodes.
Not chaos. Not disorder.
A roaring, unified, vibrating force of will.
Ogres slam their fists into their plated chests, the sound echoing like war drums.
Druids howl and chant in the old tongue, vines crackling with excitement around their arms.
Harper scouts pound their spears into the dirt in rhythm.
Myconids flush bright, their caps glowing with phosphorescent pride.
Shadowheart watches you with an expression halfway between awe and adoration — you are hers, and she is proud beyond words.
Minthara stands like a queen of war, blades crossed behind her back, eyes shining with feral satisfaction at the tribe's blood-stirring response.
Orpheus looks at you with a rare, solemn nod — warriors respect warriors, but leaders? They respect greatness.
And then the chant starts low…
At first from the ogres.
"ONE! ONE! ONE!"
The druids join.
The scouts join.
The Myconids join in their strange vibrating chorus.
It grows into a thunderous, bone-Deep cry:
"WE! ARE! ONE!"
"WE! ARE! ONE!"
You feel the earth shake under it.
Snake Tribe has never felt more alive.
Never felt more united.
Never felt more dangerous.
⟡ NEW TRAINING PROTOCOLS — THE RISE OF THE SNAKE TRIBE ⟡
Once the roar settles into murmurs, Orpheus clears his throat and steps forward.
His githyanki pride is all fire and steel — but today it blends with something rare: admiration.
"Warchief," he says, "the githyanki instructors and I have devised improved methods. If the tribe adopts these, the next time they face us…" He glances toward the still-recovering gith warriors. "…they will last far longer."
Minthara folds her arms, sharp and commanding.
"We are implementing these changes immediately."
1. Cross-Faction Combat Drills
Harper scouts spar with ogres.
Druids fight alongside Myconids.
Myconids shield ogres with spores.
Everyone rotates.
Goal:
Eliminate weaknesses by making every tribal unit understand every other unit's role.
2. Anti-Teleportation Response Training
Orpheus demonstrates the signature githyanki blink-step.
Minthara counters it in three blinding motions — strike, trap, finish.
"Now you try," she says to the class.
The warriors fail miserably.
Minthara smiles with wolfish encouragement.
"We will keep trying."
3. Endurance Gauntlets
Snake Tribe now does:
1 hour of rolling dodges
1 hour of feint-reading
1 hour of shield-wall changes
1 hour of precision attacks
20 minutes of meditation with Myconids to calm the mind
No more half-measures.
This is war-forged conditioning.
4. Ogre-Assisted Tactical Lifts
Ogres run strength circuits carrying druids on their backs.
Druids must remain steady and cast mid-movement.
Harper scouts fire arrows while riding the ogres' shoulders.
It becomes a synchronized wall of muscle and magic.
5. Githyanki "Reality Spars"
Full-contact fights.
No killing intent — but full lethality training.
Snake Tribe warriors learn:
how gith swing
how gith dodge
how gith read you
how fast a gith strikes
how to break the rhythm of the undead-brained discipline the gith train under
The first few days?
Snake Tribe loses nearly every match.
But then…
Something shifts.
The Harper scouts begin anticipating blink-steps.
Druid twins time their vines right.
Myconids use spore clouds to interfere with psychic senses.
Ogres grab gith mid-teleport with pure instinct and brute force.
They still lose. But they last four times longer.
Snake Tribe is learning.
⟡ MAMBA'S QUESTION — THE OGRE TEST ⟡
You rub your chin, watching the drills continue.
The ogres stomp in place, excited, cracking their knuckles, glaring eagerly across the courtyard.
The githyanki instructors exchange sharp looks — pride warring with curiosity.
And then you say it:
"But how does the average gith fare against an average Snake Tribe ogre? Care to test it?"
A hush falls.
Then a rumble of excitement.
A single githyanki steps forward — tall, blade-lean, confident.
A single ogre steps forward — massive, scarred, with bark-armor etched in druidic runes.
They face one another.
Minthara steps into the center, raises a hand.
Shadowheart watches nervously — not for their safety, but because she knows ogres fight with passion.
Orpheus watches as a tactician, calculating every motion.
You watch with your arms folded, an amused smile playing at your lips.
⟡ RESULT OF THE TEST — BALANCED, BRUTAL, BEAUTIFUL ⟡
The gith strikes first — a blink-step slash.
The ogre blocks with raw power — and the force shakes the courtyard.
The gith dances around him — slicing at exposed gaps.
But the ogre adapts — stomping, sweeping, grabbing at where he predicts the gith will appear.
The gith scores dozens of little cuts.
The ogre lands two catastrophic blows.
By the end:
The gith is winded, bleeding, but standing.
The ogre is bruised, tired, but barely slowing.
Shadowheart whispers:
"Heavier than expected…"
Orpheus smirks proudly:
"Fiercer than expected…"
Minthara says simply:
"Evenly matched. That is a problem for the gith."
The tribe explodes in cheers.
Not because the ogre won —
because Snake Tribe stood equal to one of the most feared warriors in all the realms.
⟡ MAMBA'S FINAL REACTION ⟡
You grin wide, proud, and dangerous.
"This," you say, stepping forward, voice carrying across the entire courtyard,
"is only the beginning."
You place a massive hand on the ogre's shoulder.
"And THIS is why we don't fear Vlaakith's armies."
Then you turn back to the gith.
"And THIS is why your loyalty honors us."
The tribe roars again.
The training ground becomes electric.
Snake Tribe
Gith warriors
Druids
Harper scouts
Myconids
Ogres
Shadowheart
Minthara
Orpheus
All standing together.
An army that should not exist.
But does.
And will change the Realms forever.