Manual After the Laughter, Slaughter the Otter

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I, of course, graciously consented. The second is Dog Fox, whom Billy gave the white-sounding name of Cuthan Strobaw, so that the youth would never forget his true father, Cut Hand. The year is4, and the Civil War is raging, but has not touched this part of the Wyoming Territory… until now.

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By Mark Wildyr. Timbers fall to ringing axes, game to booming sticks. Hunger drives us from ancestral homes. Tribal drums go hollow. Flutes pipe in despair. The sun rising over the smoldering village promised a hot day.

Sylas - Armello Wiki

The sky was clear blue and cloudless, except for the cumulus of black buzzards circling expectantly overhead. Smoke from blazing lodges rode the wind, burning eyes and carrying the acrid smell of gunpowder and the stench of death across the prairie to the coulees and the short, wooded hills where the Dakota warriors had taken refuge. The very air tasted bitter to the tongue.

They were tired; their horses, spent. Even the earth beneath their moccasins seemed exhausted. Today would bring no respite.


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The blue coats and their thunder guns were still here, hovering like the feathered bone pickers circling overhead. The white army had inflicted a terrible toll on the Dakota. Warriors were accustomed to staring into the face of death, but how could even the bravest stand against big guns that shredded men and horses with bursts of fire and thunder? Inkpaduta, whom the Americans called Red Cap, a dour, pox-scarred war chief, had led them through these many days of slaughter, fighting with a ferocity born of a deep, implacable hatred of whites. He had a wily mind, vicious fangs, and terrible claws, but Sully had numbers, firepower, and tenacity.

The shelling began again with the booming of cannon and the ear-splitting eruption of hot shells. The fusillade was not so effective now that they had the protection of the gullies and the hills, but Sully would soon be on the move.


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Their ranks decimated, the Indians withdrew, abandoning food and provisions and leaving their women, children, and wounded to the mercies of the Americans. All was lost now, but at least some of them would live to do battle another day. Chapter 1.

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Less than half a mile away, six mounted warriors rode west between the Mead and the near shore of the bloated Yanube River. They were too far away to identify, but they did not have the look of Sioux. Cuthan joined me on the porch. An hour earlier, a trooper had passed on the south side of the river, riding hard for Ft. I looked toward the near field where six-year-old Alexander stood in the middle of the freshly turned rows. A hand shaded his eyes as he stared at the riders. John, younger by a year, shot around the corner of the porch, eyes agog.

Do you see them?

You did well. The warriors had halted and were talking among themselves. After a moment, they headed in our direction at a slow, cautious pace. Each cradled a long gun in his arms. Those warriors should see a family of natives, not a yellow-headed American woman. The best way is to go out and talk like men.

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If anything happens, send Mary and the children through the secret tunnel into the hollow hill. You stay in the house.

The Glasses Otter - A Spoonful of Nothing

Fight them off if you have to. I walked to the barn, trying to appear unhurried.

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White Patch, anxious for exercise, danced in anticipation as I threw a halter over his long nose. I would have preferred to greet the strangers in my breechclout, but Mary considered them uncivilized, so I refrained from wearing mine around the Mead. Getting rid of the garment made me look more like who I was. By the time I left the farmyard, the riders had almost reached the line of trees bordering the old game trail running in front of the place. When I got within a hundred paces of the leading horseman, I gave the open-handed salute.

He returned the gesture as we pulled up facing one another. Southern Plains from the look of them. Four wore their hair in a pay-shah —a roach. One was in braids, and the sixth wore a turban of some sort. I repeated my name in the American language. The Last Yanube, they say. He is one of the four Bandit characters first introduced during the Armello Kickstarter campaign, and is available as a timed exclusive to those who pledged the requisite amount during that period. At the time of the tablet release, the Bandit Clan characters and other Kickstarter goodies will be opened to the public as DLC in the Spring of Sylas is a lanky brown otter wearing chain mail armor covered with dark purple cloth bearing a Jolly Roger, as well as a thick fur cloak.

He carries a large fishing spear which he no doubt uses for his assorted acts of butchery, which, it's safe to say, doesn't always involve things that walk on four legs. As a member of the Bandit Clan, he is unaffiliated with any other species-related group, nor a member of any particular society save his partners in crime. Unlike his father, it could never be said that Sylas was a hero. Mostly, he led a simple, fulfilled life. A taciturn fisherman, resolute and easy to anger, but skilled and quick of decision, reliant enough to be considered a river dog worth following.

As he and his closest kin dined on that virgin pink flesh that night, the aromas left his holt and pierced the village air. For a moment he was a hero. Then, the slaughter. Every semblance of joy in his broken heart now tarred with suffering. Then, somewhere in the darkness between life and death, a sinister whisper reached into his grieving soul and offered him freedom Not long after, a travelling merchant happened upon the otter.

Now it is too grim a tale to tell of the rage unleashed upon that poor soul who freed such anger incarnate. Perhaps the world would be a better place had Sylas not been freed. For the simple Sylas that once lived, was no more.


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