The Book of Khad'dans

In 2011 I was researching Star Frontiers on the internet trying to find the most obscure sites possible and that led me to archived snapshots of the internet dating back to the late 1990’s. I began to find tantalizing stories on lost internet sites concerning a yazirian honor weapon called a khad’dan by different authors. The Khad’dan was often incidental to the story but the fact that more than one author was using it in the same context led me to believe that there was something more to it.

After tracking down the creator of the khad’dan, Mathew Crymble, and some email tag, he graciously spent an evening with me on the phone talking about Star Frontier’s fan sites and cons of a decade ago as well as the khad’dan.

I liked Mathew’s reasoning about the yazirian race requiring an honor blade that would work with their natural racial ability to enter battle rage which only impacts melee combat. The existing honor blade, the zamra, from canon material was a throw weapon. He had further reasoned that based on the racial ability modifiers of the yazirian (penalties to strength and stamina in exchange for bonuses to agility and intelligence) that yazirians would desire a weapon that would take out an opponent with the first hit. The khukri knife, also known as the ghurka knife, with its forward swept blade and heavy tip became the inspiration for the khad’dan. The only difference is that the khad’dan is of sword length and deeply imbedded in tradition and yazirian culture. I immediately fell in love with the khad’dan and began talking about it and using it in one of the main Star Frontier forums. Eventually, in dawned on me that with a little bit more fiction, a collection of short stories could be assembled about the khad’dan. Thus this project was born, an anthology of short stories involving those from more than a decade ago and fresh offerings from the Star Frontiers community on line.

NOTE: As of 2018 the Book of Khad'dan project had lingered in the dusty submission cue of the Star Frotniersman/ Frontier Explorer largely through my fault for not pushing it forward. Now that WotC had to defend the Star Frontiers trademark they have cancelled all fan licenses and this material is likely to become orphaned and lost. Rather than allow that to happen I will be publishing bit by bit the Khad'dan material here to preserve for posterity.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Thomas Verreault

Chapter 1 Shades of the Blade by Darron Patton

Chapter 2 Brother Flit Tail by Darron Patton with guest author Mathew Crymbal

Chapter 3 Honor by Eric Johnson

Chapter 4 The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep by Philip Campanaro

Brother Flit Tail by Darron Patton with guest author Mathew Crymbal

Brother Flit-Tail
by Daron Patton (with guest author Matt Crymble)

"Damn my leg hurts, Doc. Hope Glook and K'zak Ree made out better than I did.

What in gods' names is that?!!! You're not gonna knock me out. I don't care about any flippin' oath of yours. I'm the team leader until I get fired or killed. I don't need help in either of those categories just now!

I don't care about that. You want to dope me up, you wait until the rest of my team checks in, you got me? Huh, oh that's just a tattoo I got on my first tour of duty.

Ow!! Hey, I thought I told you no drugs, you son of a krik! Just Staydose, eh? Well see this blaster here? Next hypo you stick in me without my crew around me and I'll be the one giving the shots. Damn leg.

Gahhhhh, that hurts. Easy with that thing! Huh? It's supposed to be Brother Flit-Tail. He's kind of a... Wha--.

Sorry, zoned out there for a second. Glook back yet? Huh? Brother Who? Oh, Brother Flit-Tail. Yeah, he's kind of a myth back where I come from. You sure ask a lot of questions, Doc. Yeah, I guess I got nothin' better to do.

Let's see, I must have been about ten when Great-grandfather first taught me about Brother Flit-Tail. That was what he and all the old timers used to call dzelts. They're bugs about this long and they are everywhere on Yast's favorite moon. Yeah, everyone who's ever been to Exib knows about flit-tails. They're just about as common there as mulkis riding and gett-birds.

Anyway, dzelts used to, and as far as I know still do, scare a lot of Yazzie children. Mainly because they look so scary, the bugs, I mean. Of course, It's been a dozen years or more since I've last been back. I guess that's part of the reason, the flit-tails being scary, I mean, that somebody made up the story in the first place. Brother Flit-Tail, that is.

If you dread the Medib fly
Let your Brother Flit-Tail lie
If by chance Flit-Tail you kill
Fill a bowl of mulk to spill

Kind of an idiotic little verse, isn't it? Funny how a little thing like that can bring back such memories though. Great grandfather was a warrior, too, you know. Didn't talk about it much, but you could tell he was proud of having fought beside the humans in the Big War.

He knew funny alien words, human and dral words for things. Used to use 'em now and again. 'Course, I didn't understand 'em back then. They were phrases he picked up from soldiers during the War, I guess.. He'd use them without really thinking. Never really dwelt on how he knew them, as far as I know. Unconscious link to his younger days, I suppose.

Damn this leg. I thought Staydose was supposed to make it stop hurting. Oh, that's all it does then?

No, I told you already, I don't want to be unconscious. I've got troops unaccounted for out there. You just keep a sharp look out for them and make sure we don't get jumped by the worms. Damned stupid trying to hit this convoy. Those Saurians sold us bad intel, Doc. They're first on the list when we get out of here. Mark my words. We got juked here, pure and simple.

What'd he do after his warrior years? Well, after soldiering Great-grandfather mined for awhile. That is he did up until the blue lung set in and forced him to retire. When I knew him, I was a young whelp then you understand, he was just a part-time farmer.

He was short and bony, 'bout as tall as your average human. But Zow! What amazing strength for his size. I remember trying to wrestle him, as pups'll do and having him hold me down like I was nothing. He didn't have to use his body weight to subdue me, his limbs were more than strong enough to do the job nicely.

Sometimes I wish I had spent less time trying to wrestle and more time listening. You ever regret stuff like that, Doc? I guess everybody does.

He and great-grandmother raised a small garden and enough gett-hens to keep the family fed. Occasionally they'd have a good year and produce enough eggs to sell, but mostly they just raised enough for us to get by on. Ha, ha. I spent a lot of warm autumn days chasing those four-legged birds around the yard and just about as many shivering autumn evenings salving the welts great gran put on my backside for running the fat off them.

She and great-grandfather raised me and Heena after our parents died in a crash on some world. I never see her anymore, Heena. 'think she joined SpaceFleet, but nobody in our family really knows for sure, though. We really didn't get along too good after our parents died. We were both pretty angry about a lot of things.

Hey! My leg's not hurting anymore, Doc. From the way you're looking at it, I guess that's not good, is it?

I was playing with a flit-tail, ya see and I must have been playing too rough, 'cause he pinched me. I didn't really mean to crush 'em, but it was kind of a reflex. You know reflexes, Doc. Anyhow, I picked him up and took him to Great-grandfather. I was all teared up by the time I got to the house. I figured he was going to yell and scream at me, maybe even beat me. Killin' a dzelt's a superstitious thing on Exib.

You know what he did? He patted me on the head and took me inside the kitchen. He told Great-grandmother what had happened. She looked kind of upset, but she could see that I had been crying, see? I tried to be all grown up about it, but I figured I had really messed things up for the farm. So, she whispers something in his ear and he reaches up in the shelf and pulls down a little bowl. Then me and him, we walked out to the barn where old Beex stayed.

Ever seen a mulkis? You've not missed much. Great-grandfather hands me the bowl and tells me to fill it up with mulk. I'd mulked Beex for a couple of years by that time, but I was so nervous that I grabbed her too hard. She yelped and gleephed like I shot her with a gyrojet or something. I got my nerve back, though and pretty soon, I had the mulk.

What was the purpose? Well, legend has it that if you kill a flit-tail, you gotta leave a bowl of mulk out overnight for his family. In the morning, if you find sting-fly pieces floating in the mulk, the dzelts accepted your apology. Unhh. Heh, heh, heh.. I guess after all these years, it's finally caught , caught up with me. Doc, you gotta promise me something. You gotta make sure Heena knows that I appreciated what she did for me.

What did she do? Well, she knew how upset I was that night and she didn't go out to the barn until after she thought I had fallen asleep. But gods knew I couldn't rest and I wondered what she was doing leaving the house in the middle of the night. She was the one who put the sting-fly wings into the mulk. She didn't want me to worry, to spend my whole life thinking I was jinxed. Guess I was pretty lucky after all, huh, Doc? Yeah, pretty lu--........"

Your brother died a valiant death, Heena. He wanted you to know how much he appreciated you and the gesture you made so many years ago. He also wanted you to know that he was very proud of you. I enclose his khad'dan and a voucher card for an unspecified sum that he wanted you to have. I am a better person for having known him.


Dr. Sadzit Lepnum Senior Physician


Merc Team 5011A

Jedion's take on the Khad'dan

Game stat wise the Khad'dan is little different than a sword.

Sword: damage 3d10, modifier +10, Defense-inerita, Mass 2kg, Cost 30 Cr

It can be thrown as a knife or tomahawk but must be recovered as loss of the weapon would be a great dishonor. Use knife or axe throwing ranges.

The Khad'dan is meant to be something special so the cost should reflect this. A 30 Cr khad'dan would be a mass produced robotic factory made cheap Pan Gal knock off. Whereas true khad'dans would carry greater value and potentially special abilities. A true khad'dan should run anywhere from 100 Cr to priceless depending on its age and lineage and stories and warriors connected to it.

The Khad'dan is usually presented to a warrior by his clan and represents his honor and the honor of the clan. Loss of a Khad'dan is a great dishonor. There is the idea that the khad'dan and the clan are eternal and that the weilder of the weapon is just a caretaker that carries it for a time and passes it on to a new generation when his battles are done. A yazirian who carries a khad'dan is keanly aware of the spiritual presence of all the warriors that have carried the khad'dan before him or her.

Special Abilities
My discussions with Mathew Crymbal covered the stats and abilities of this sword. His view seemed to be that it was identical to a sword. His vission for the weapon was a sword length kukuri or ghurka knife that would, like the kukuri's ability to chop through a limb sized tree would lop a limb off an opponent in one chop. The reasoning for this was that the yazirian abiltiy modifiers in game is a penalty to STR/STA and bonus to DEX/RS which would translate to a yazirian warrior wanting a combat over with  fast. They are not brusiers that slug it out toe to toe for 15 rounds but agile killers that strike fast.

I felt then and now that the khad'dan should have some special ability and suggested a bonus to Battle Rage attempts of +5% with the caveat that it must be a Khad'dan of the yazirian's clan and that the attempt at battle rage is a sort of religious communion with past warriors of his clan. Mathew somewhat agreed with my suggestion but I consider it by no means authoritative since this was his creation.

Another option for special abilities was that in the hands of any character, not just a yazirian, it would do maximun damage or chop a limb off (referee's choice) on the roll of a critical hit: 01-02. Yazirians with melee weapons skill would use the expanded critical hit of the martial arts skill for this ability. Example a yazirian with melee weapons of 4th level and a DEX of 40 would do maximum damage or chop a limb off (and roll damage) on a roll of 01-06, 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60. This ability applies to true Khad'dans due to quality and craftsmanship.

A true clan Khad'dan would have the critical hit ability but also have the +5% bonus to battle rage for a yazirian issued this weapon by his clan but only if the Khad'dan has history connected to the clan from previous warriors.

Cheap Pan Gal knock offs: 30-50 Cr, no special abilities

A True Khad'dan (new with no history): 100-150 Cr, Abilities- critical hit, Battle Rage Bonus +1%
Newly hand forged and presented by the clan.

A Clan Khad'dan: 1d10 x 1000 Cr, Abilties- Critical hit & Battle rage bonus +5%
Previously owned by another warrior(s) and may or many not pre-date the Yazirian Star Exodus

A Storied Clan Khad'dan: 1d10 x 10,000 Cr, Abilities- Critical hit & Battle rage bonus +10%
Probably predates the Yazirian Star Exodus with many stories attached to it of deeds of honor and only given to great clan warriors of high standing to be the custodian of this blade.

A Legendary Clan Khad'dan: Priceless, Abilities Unknown but certainly Critical Hit and battle rage bonus
Dates to early ages in Yazirian history, a cherished artifact carefully guarded and usually kept in a museum

Honor by Eric Johnson

Grengh saw Thirst split the sky asunder Clan Krenhj cowered as the clouds rained retribution From on high came Jhlark and his warriors The red madness was upon them None would escape the spear of righteous vengeance Clan Krenhj would be no more…
- Ballad of Khad’dan Khrig

Yazirian home world at the dawn of recorded history…

The gliding yazirian pulled his arms in. He was falling like a spear. The trees rushed towards him as the moons and stars fell away. The air simultaneously pulled and pushed him in protest of this violation. His eyes were watering. He didn’t know if this was from his feeling of overwhelming grief or from the wind.

Their village was in those trees below him. Clan Krenhj, who had less than a day before, had massacred his clan. The sixteen others, diving as he was, were all that were left of Clan Ghalmleur. Tragedy had charted the path before them. There would be annihilation this night.

Jhlark was short in stature but compact. His figure and bearing told others of his strength. The warrior wore only his mailed gauntlet, loin cloth, zamra, and his sheathed khad’dan, Khrig or Thirst in human tongue. His full brown mane was pulled back from the force of the air as he descended.

His vision was perfect in the twilight; however the red was creeping in as he loosed the rage that he had pent up. The chieftain could see his prey on one of the platforms below that held the village aloft in the trees. The place seemed peaceful and quiet with little to no activity.

Jhlark believed the initial assault would be shocking to the Krenhj. They had probably celebrated their slaughter of the Ghalmleur with a torrent of wine and song. The blood price of their power play for Ghalmleur territory was not fully paid.

The trees were close now. Jhlark braced himself and spread open his arms and legs. His fall was immediately slowed. The pain was excruciating as his patagium caught air and threatened to tear away from the rest of his body. He was going to be sore for days.

His target was a guard. Luckily the enemy had not heard anything during his breaking maneuver. He brought his feet forward as he neared the sentry below. Jhlark’s feet landed on the guard’s shoulder blades. The impact knocked the guard forward and down.

The startled enemy let out a surprised grunt. There was a sickening crunching sound. His shoulder blades were shattered. Jhlark immediately went into action.

Jhlark’s zamra cut the air in its harried flight. Another guard went down, his mouth agape. His chest was a ruin from the caress of the battle disk. No warning cry was issued.

The rest of the clan touched down like grim phantoms. The Ghalmleur spread out and began the grizzly work of avenging their dead. Every male was to be butchered along with any female who raised a weapon. The survivors would be added to the clan.

Jhlark looked down at the enemy that had served as his landing pad. The guard was going into convulsions. The new chieftain could see two deep impressions where his feet had been. He drew Khrig to dispatch the pathetic form writhing in front of him.

Images of his dead wife and daughter flooded Jhlark’s mind. They were savagely hacked apart. Even though they had ridden the wind to the lands of Gluna, the largest of the three moons, he still mourned. He stayed the death stroke and turned away. The red rage was now washing over him like a shower of hot blood.

Khrig was an honor blade. Jhlark had earned it by rescuing chief Gort’s daughter from grip of a dreaded lacari plant. The carnivorous foliage had mobile vines that it used to entangle and crush its victims. It was not unusual to lose one or two clansmen a year from lacari attacks.

Jhlark had freed her and killed the plant with a skinning knife. Gort had Khrig forged from the metal found in a recent falling star. The khad’dan’s blade was unusual in color blue-black. It was extremely light weight. It was considered equal to if not better than Gort’s personal khad’dan.

The slaughter had commenced. Numerous small fires burned. The surprised screams of the Krenhj could be heard. Jhlark, blade in hand, sought his next kill. The blood rage now consumed him.

The Ghamlmleur warriors issued no challenges or cries of battle lust. The roused Krenhj sprang at the unexpected enemy. The Ghamlmleur met them with the fury unleashed by their all consuming bloodlust. Jhlark engaged three of the yazirians. They could see his eyes were bright red like the coals of a forge. He killed the first as Khrig lashed out. The khad’dan split the warrior’s skull as his own weapon raised.

Jhlark side-stepped another’s thrust and parried a slash from the third. His face grimaced from the effort. Khrig darted out and sheathed its point in the exposed midriff of the second assailant. The yazirian let out an agonized gasp and fell to his knees. The third took the opportunity to press the attack. The furious rain of blows left Jhlark no opportunity to dispatch him. Jhlark stepped back in an attempt to get the defender to over extend himself. Worst case, the Krenhj would tire and then Khrig would drink again.

Around him, his kinsmen were pressing the attack and still held the momentum. The enemies were in an alcohol fueled chaos. They couldn’t manage an organized counter attack which worked to the Ghalmleurs’ advantage. Many Krenhj had been spirited away to the pits of hell beyond the sun. Many more would soon be joining them.

The opponent was starting to pant. His eyes were a study in focus. Every blow, no matter how skillful, could not get through Jhlark’s guard. His panting increased, the blows started to become erratic. Jhlark stepped back again in anticipation of the inevitable opening that would come. Jhlark almost fell over as his legs became bound in an unforgiving grip. He had forgotten about the gut stabbed defender.

The wounded guard held him with both arms from his kneeling position. Jhlark reached down and took a handful of mane. The other Krenhj started to circle to the left. Jhlark knew that he would soon be carried beyond the moons to join his wife and daughter.

The attacker licked his lips as he raised his blade. It came down in a deadly arc. Jhlark let out a bellow filled with grief, rage and fear. The hobbled warrior brought up Khrig futilely. However, the Krenhj did not strike true. There was a sound of metal on metal and the flash of sparks. The two enemies stared at each other in surprise. Then Jhlark noticed it. A zamra was protruding from his assailant’s side.

Jhlark beheaded the other guard. Whose lifeless body flopped to the ground. The new chieftain freed himself and assessed the situation. It was a fight to the death. The rhythm of violence filled the air. Shattered hopes and dreams littered the platforms that held the burning village.

The howling, panting mass of flickering blades surged back and forth. Weapons bit into flesh, blood fountained, feet tripped on the fallen. All was bathed in the flickering light and heat of the burning structures. It was the climax of over a half century old blood feud. The enemy was starting to become organized.

There he was, Grengh, chief of the Krenhj. Grengh was unusually tall. Two heavily muscled arms sprang from his barrel chest. The enemy chief was spattered in gore from the Ghalmleur that had fallen before him. His face held the look of desperation. The desperation of having a prize slip away that had been within his grasp.

Honor demanded a blood sacrifice. Jhlark voiced a sound that could have easily been mistaken as a challenge from one of the great jungle cats. He closed the distance rapidly.

Grengh saw the nightmare image of vengeance personified in the enemy warrior coming at him. He welcomed the chance to kill another of the hated Ghalmleur scum.

Their weapons met, clashed, and met again. The leaders’ furious action spilled over to the warriors around them. Both sides redoubled their efforts and the fray became more frenzied and desperate on both sides. In the turmoil and chaos the two became separated and engaged others who came within their deadly reaches.

Jhlark was like a hurricane hitting a pristine forest. He left behind a wake of toppled figures. Grengh went down under the weight of two of the Ghalmleur warriors. From there the rout was on. No Krenhj warrior escaped the merciless tide that was before them.

Jhlark accounted for his warriors after the fact. He had lost nine. The price had been high but the Krenhj were no more. Honor had received its sacrifice and was satisfied.

“Gather the females. We’re going home,” ordered Jhlark.

He stared at Khrig. It was covered in the blood of his enemies. He knew that other clans may sense weakness with the Ghalmleur’s depleted numbers. Khrig would be needed again shortly to defend them all.

Juur Ha Kahn's Guide to Yazirian Society

Title page and place holder text

Legend of the First Clan

In the beginning there were two hunting packs and there were not yet any clans. The world was a paradise for these hunters and game was plenty. One pack was favored with golden brown fur and the other tended toward reddish brown fur. The creators smiled upon them and provided for their every need. Then the hunters became greedy and wasteful. They began to hunt excessively and to kill for pleasure alone. When they ate they only favored the sweetest meats and left the rest to rot. They became such vicious hunters that all the game in their home forests were killed. And thus they were forced to leave their home forests by the creators, who cursed them to compete with great wild beasts for game in the forests beyond their homes. The creators decreed that they could not return to their home forests until they mastered the savage within and rose above the great wild beasts of the forests.

The hunters wandered many years in the wild forests and game was difficult to gain. The wild beasts were more powerful and more skilled and the hunters learned hunger. Some of the most savage of the hunters even became prey to the great wild beasts. The longer they wandered the wild forests they became less savage. To stave their hunger, the creators eventually gave the hunters the lask beast to follow and hunt.


Then one night as the packs were hunting lask the two speakers of these hunting packs happened to be tracking the same lask. Each threw his zamra at the same time and the lask was struck by both and died in the cleft of a great tree's branches. The two speakers lept to their kill, eager to claim the meat and feed their hunting packs. There on a branch of the great tree the speakers met. A great fight commenced between them over the kill. Speaker fought speaker tooth and nail. The battle lasted the entire night until both collapsed with fatigue. In the morning light both saw that during their fight the lask had been devoured by a pack of forvurs. The two speakers collected their zamras and parted with great contempt and hatred toward each other.


That same night the youngest gliders of each of the hunting packs had also been out hunting mekal. Neither found any spore to track and by chance ended up climbing twin trees to sit watch. During the watch they each became aware of the other and each, thinking the other was a blooded pack mate, began to challenge the other in games of skill. When they started throwing their zamras they discovered they were not pack mates. The two young gliders became quick friends and challenged each other all night long. Shortly before dawn they caught the scent of a pair of bogah returning from their nightly foraging. The two quickly schemed an snaring hunt and captured both bogah. At sunrise they parted, each vowing to tell their families about the other. They traded zamras and headed for home each with a bogah.


When the young gliders each returned home they found that the speakers had returned first. The speakers were cursing the creators and angry. They each declared the other hunting pack an enemy, demons created by the creators to torment them. Each speaker declared that hunting the forest around the great tree was forbidden. The two young gliders held their speech and hid their zamras.


For the next three months, one pack hunted near the river, the other hunted near the cliffs, and lask were scarce. The lask feared the river because of the great wild beasts. And, the lask seldom foraged along the cliffs for there are few fruits they eat growing along the cliffs. The hunting packs suffered for food during these months due to the lack of lasks. The two young gliders continued to secretly visit each other during these months and their friendship became true. They became very skilled at snaring bogah together. Their hunts became even more prosperous and the meat they each brought to their hunting packs began to be celebrated. The two young gliders became embolden by the accolades of their hunting packs and decided to hunt lask together. To keep their secret friendship hidden they agreed to hunt two lask so that each could bring one home. After many nights of hunting together they happened upon a pair of lask. They schemed their kills and tracked the beasts deep into the forest. Then together as they had learned to hunt bogah they threw their zamras and killed both lask. The blood of the two young hunters was filled filled with jubilation and primal joy. They ceremonially embedded their zamras into the skulls of the lasks and rushed for home.


Each young glider was greeted a hero when they brought their lask home. The beasts were placed upon the central poll and the wizened howled for all to gather and celebrate their blooding.. Ceremonially each young glider pulled their zamra from the lask's skull and cut the speaker's choicest cut of meat. Then presented the meat upon the zamra for the speaker to consume. The speaker's each recognized the markings on the zamras as those of the other demon pack and so the two young gliders had their secret revealed.


The speaker's each declared war upon the other hunting pack. The young gliders each argued valiantly that the other pack were not demons. The young gliders courageously stood for each other and told the stories of how they had learned to hunt together. They pressed that the many bogah they had snared were snared together, that they had always divided the hunt equally, even consuming the odd one together as litter mates do. By their persuasion they succeeded to get the speakers to agree meet again at the great tree and show each others lask and zamra to the two hunting packs. Then to demonstrate that they could hunt together as a team, as a team.


The two hunting packs gathered that night at the great tree. The speakers each sat with their zamras ready on opposing branches, their hunting packs in the branches about them, ready to fight. The two young gliders went gliding through the forest hunting bogah, lopah, peegat, dropah, sorga, and plaat. One blooded from hunting pack followed them to confirm the snares and kills were made as a team. All the meat was brought back and laid before their speakers. Finally near dawn the two young gliders caught the scent of a lask. They took their well practiced positions in opposing trees and threw their zamras. They brought the lask to the speakers at the great tree and divided it in half. Placing the lask before each speaker, the speakers were overcome with hunger for the meat and impressed by the friendship of the young gliders. That morning the two hunting packs feasted together a great feast of lask, plaat, sorga, dropah, peegat, lopah, and bogah. The speakers became friends. The hunting packs became one.


That evening the first clan was formed and the creators were pleased. The creators blessed the clan and they became many clans and filled all the forests.

A True Yazirian

Khordiki brushed his mane by feel; his eyes were locked on the eyes of the yazirian in the reflection, staring deep into his sha-ka. Rhythmically, he went through the grooming, brushing, anointing with scented oils, dressing and finally affixing the spiked arm bands that were the symbol of his clan. All the while he meditated on his clan’s proud history, naming the heroes and events of that history using the sing song chant taught to him as a pup to ensure he forgot nothing. His was a proud clan of warriors from Hargut.

He finished his guttural sing-song and finally looked at himself. The outfit was extravagant and garish with its pointed stiff shoulder extending out like wings and the broad fanciful pleats of the belted robe. He had never played the role of Shingtaru nor Ninatu from the Noe Toe Vu. It was a great honor and he felt presumptuous just putting on the costume. Hykully had insisted that it was only fitting that he and Rejjack play Shingtaru and Ninatu since their clans had once been at feud.

It was hard to argue with him. There were only two hands full of yazirians in Klaeok system and none of them had the history that his and Rejjack’s clans had. This was the second time Hykully had organized a “clan meeting” of the yazirian population in the system. Normally clan meetings were for individual clans and a celebration of that clan’s history. Yet Hykully’s had devised a meeting for all the yazirians present despite clan affiliation. It was a chance for them to just celebrate being yazirian. Khordiki had doubted that it would succeeded but being so far from home the celebration had struck a powerful cord with all present last year.

This year was going to be bigger. Hykully had hit on the idea acting out the drama of the Noe Toe Vu. Not all clans did it these days but it was ancient and very traditional. Since the story was about the largely mythical figures of Shingtaru and Ninatu, the first clan leaders to peacefully coexist, it was somehow fitting that Khordiki, being from Khordova, and Rejjack, being from Shurkia, lead the drama. Decades ago Khordova and Shurkia had ended the violence between them even becoming close clan allies. He suspected that Hykully had not stopped simply at the drama but had some how smuggled in some of the “sweet meat” animals from home as that was also central to the drama. It would be silly to get the attendees worked up with the Noe Toe Vu and not have the killing of the sweet meats. Khordiki’s mouth watered at the thought.

He collected the oversized mask of Shingtaru and the blunt wooden prop sword before whispering a verse of praise for dead heroes and departed for Hykully’s.

Hykully had been a spacer when he came to the Rim but once here he had sunk his saved credits into a business venture with a local humma, becoming moderately successful. That was two decades ago. He routinely sent money back to the poor of his clan on Yast. A very traditional yazirian and yet he lived on the planet Point Go, which couldn’t be any further way from the centers of yazirian tradition.

Hykully’s home had the distinct look of an undersized clan hall. Khordiki suspected that the features that struck him as odd were probably peculiarities to Hykully’s Amona clan. No doubt he’d felt cut off from home and built it to soothe his inner sha-ka.

The air was permeated with the musty scent of incense and live animals. Three tables ringed the animal pit in a U shape. Before the tables were a knot of other yazirians but there was tension among them. Rejjeck was there too, resplendent in the red and black costume of Ninatu but he was clearly the most upset of all.

Khordiki wondered what could have stirred up the sha-ka of his friend; this was supposed to be a festivity. Being cut off from their clans meant they were cut off from all the normal yazirian festivities since they all centered on the clan. Last year had shown them all how important it was to come together irrespective of clan and celebrate being yazirian. What could derail the happy anticipation of another such celebration was beyond Khordiki.

“Brothers, brothers, what stirs the inner sha-ka bringing the rage close to your faces? Are we not here to celebrate? To soothe the sha-ka with the killing of the sweet meats, singing of old songs, and drinking the blood red wine?” asked Khordiki before exclaiming a non sequitor, “By the One! Those are wyvoles!”

In the pit were four snarling wyvoles. It should not have been a surprise, if any yazirian animal would be available for purchase in the Rim it would be the wyvole since the resurrected Bailorite religious rites called for their use as a sacrificial animal. The Family of One has staunchly condemned Bailorite practices as well as and trade in this animal forcing most breeders to move to non yazirian systems to ply their trade. Likely these came from a breeder supplying the crazy osakar who had adopted the ancient yazirian religion. Khordiki pushed aside the thought of roasted wyvole flank to re-focus on his brothers.

Most of the yazirians here had come to the Rim as mercenaries. Khordiki and Rejjack had come on the same contract and fallen in together like clan brothers and after five years and eight contracts Khordiki looked on Rejjack like a clan brother. He knew most of the others as well.

Rejjack hissed, “Hykully has invited this outcast’s son, how can we celebrate with that?”

He indicated a stunted newcomer. The body language was not proud but beaten, withdrawn and self effacing. His clothes, though clean looked subtly shabby as if he’d done his best to dress for the occasion but simply lacked the means. Understanding dawned on Khordiki; the new comer was a known entity, Dauk, the son of a disgraced outcast from their home world.

Dauk was typical of his Rojoran clan, an artist who had bounced around the Rim earning a living as a singer and entertainer. Unfortunately, for him, he came from a disgraced clan and was the son of an outcast. Khordiki, winced, he actually felt sorry for him as traditional yazirian society only forgave outcast through the shedding of blood. Dauk as the son of an outcast would always bear the taint till the offense that he had nothing to do with until it was expunged. Unfortunately, Rejjack was a very conservative yazirian.

Looking, around the assembled yazirians, Khordiki could see that at least half had a hardened disapproving look that spoke their agreement with Rejjack’s voiced objection. It was Hykully’s party and he would not retract his invitation lest it dishonor his reputation as a host. In all likelihood, Dauk would simply leave of his own accord a beaten and defeated spirit, rejected by the only vestiges of his race in this obscure system on the backside of no where.

Khordiki, felt sorry for Dauk. He felt sorry for Hykully too, knowing that the host was trying to forge a new spirit of community among the scattered yazirians out here irrespective of clan affiliation and this confrontation would derail that goal. He felt sorry for himself, knowing that his heart would not be in the celebration tonight after this. It was likely everyone would act as if nothing happened and try to make up for the dulled spirit of the affair with increased consumption of alcohol.

Khordiki hung his head. He had so looked forward to this and now it looked like the evening’s festivities would taste like rotten meat to him. He knew not what to do and confusion clouded his mind. Some of the other guests were raising their voices now.

Unbidden, came the voice of a clan elder from a life time ago into his mind, “When the path ahead is tangled and your sha-ka is confused meditate on the code of your clan. The honor code is like a bush knife to clear a path and cut through entangling vines that will divert you from a straight and honorable path.”

Silently, Khordiki began the sing song chant that many a clan elder had taught to many a clan pup when instructing them in the honor code. He began reciting the Way of the Warrior. When he reached the phrase, ‘the strongest forgive,’ he lifted his head and looked around. That same phrase was part of the drama that Khordiki and Rejjack were dressed to enact. Yet he somehow knew that forgiveness for Rejjack would not come easy as Dauk’s disgraced clan had had dealings with Rejjack’s.

It was time to act; to save the festivities, to save the spirit of this meager community of yazirians, to save Dauk himself. Khordiki launched into the drama. It was not the proper time but it was the only thing he could think of. He cut to the heart of the drama, the point when Shingtaru nor Ninatu confronted each other in combat. Rejjack was focused on Dauk but ever the warrior he instinctively he parried Khordiki’s thrust with the stage prop of a dull wooden sword.

Rejjack stepped back with a confused and angry look but Khordiki shouted his lines and struck again with the wooden sword. It took Rejjack several seconds to shift gears and begin to give a good account of his lines from the Noe Toe Vu but his swordsmanship was spot on. This was not a mock battle for a drama, Rejjack was angry and going to take it out on his friend for diverting him from his conflict with Hykully and Dauk.

Quickly the other guest realized that the battle was real and formed a loose semi circle around the combatants. Hykully wrapped an arm around Dauk’s shoulder and prevented him from leavening. The crack of wooden swords was sharp with strike parry and counter strike and the shouted lines of the drama rung air violently.

For centuries a shorter stylized version of the Noe Toe Vu had been acted out by most yazirians. The whole story involved young rival clan members that had become friends and hunting mates and maintained that friendship in spite of the animosity of their clan elders for one another. Eventually, the young hunters are found out and by trial of honor and blood they won the approval of their clan elders who made peace. At some point someone had condensed the drama to focus on the clan elders lest clan youth be inspired to think they could teach the elders. It was silly in light of the fact that everyone knew the full story since it was a central religious myth to all yazirians.

Khordiki decided to modify the drama further. He changed his dialog to reflect the most widely used honor code, the Code of Innesti.

“A warrior who does not contemplate is an unworthy savage. Anger is best addressed by peace. When anger rules you, your rage is weak; when peace rules you your rage is pure. The strong fight bravely, but only the strongest forgive.”

Rejjack paused but then countered with part of the code, “The enemy of my clan is my enemy!”

Khordiki nodded to himself, as that quote was from the chapter called, Council of the Clan. He in turned countered with a line from the Perfection of Honor, “The disinherited deserve an honest hearing. Remember the unjustly disinherited…”

His voiced trailed off knowing instantly what Rejjact would counter with, “Without the shedding of blood there is no remission of shame.”

There it was; the first and the greatest tenet from the Perfection of Honor within the Code of Innesti. What could Khordiki say to that? He knew in his inner most sha-ka that no one present would accept Dauk after this. Shame would only be forgiven through the shedding of blood. Centuries ago, during the clan wars the disgraced were allowed to redeem themselves by honor combat which usually entailed charging the enemy while your clan looked on. Most died but they were judged to have died honorably and a good death in this fashion could rouse the rage within their clan so that the whole clan would enter the battle rage that always lurks in the yazirian sha-ka. Battle rage was a powerful tool that gave the clan that could rouse its members to it a tremendous edge in combat.

The disgrace of Dauk’s clan had never been answered with blood. If that’s what it would take then blood would be shed. Today would be Dauk’s day. He would redeem himself in the eyes of everyone present or slink away a disgraced and defeated animal unworthy to be called a yazirian. Khordiki hoped that the inner sha-ka of Dauk burned with the rage of their race. It was the only thing that could save him now. Perhaps even save them all.

Khordiki locked swords with Rejjack and face to face with him asked, “Are you a Yaz!”

Rejjack roared back, “I am Rejjack of Clan Shurkia! I AM A YAZIRIAN!”

The rage was evident in Rejjack. Khordiki could feel its resonance in the sha-kas of all present. He pushed Rejjack back and advanced on the nearest watcher. Within centimeters of that yazirian’s face, closer than politeness dictated, he roared, “Are you a Yaz!”

As each attendee roared back at him in the same manner as Rejjack he turned to another and roared the same question. At last he came to Dauk. His roar was met with a tentative nod so Khordiki grabbed him by his clothes and roared the question again. His breathe and flecks of saliva hot on Dauk’s face.

The small yazirian swelled with anger at the insult and roared back his answer, “I am Dauk! I AM A YAZIRIAN!”

“Does your sha-ka burn with the rage of a yazirian?”

“YES! I burn with the rage! I burn from a shame not my own but I am a YAZIRIAN!”

“For the yaz, honor is not satisfied without the shedding of blood. Before these assembled yaz, show us your rage! Show us your sha-ka! Show us your honor!”

Khordiki reached out to the nearby banquet table. On it were blades intended for the killing and butchering of the sweet meats. He grabbed two zamiras, the honor weapon of the yazirian, and presented these to Dauk. Dauk slid his long slender fingers into the holes at the center of the disk like blades. A roar boiled up from his chest and erupted like a volcano from his throat. He leapt up on the banquet table and ran its length to gain momentum before leaping into the air for more height. At the apex of his jump he snapped the patagium skin flaps between his arms and legs taut and banked to glide down into the animal pit toward the waiting wyvoles.

Everyone hurried to the pit’s edge and Khordiki felt Hykully whisper in his earn, “You just killed him you know?”

Khordiki nodded. Wyvoles were a pack hunting carnivore and four of them were sure to rip Dauk to shreds. He had become carried away with the spirit of the moment and not fully thought things out.

To Hykully he simply whispered back, “Maybe, but he’s a singer and perhaps he’s studied the art of the zamira like the warrior bards of old.”

Dauk could feel rage within. It coursed with power and triggered changes in his blood chemistry. His mind focused on the wyvoles shutting out everything else as he banked in a tight spiral. His right arm snapped the disk blade of a zamira to bounce beneath the chin of a wyvole and rebound into its neck. Arterial blood spurted. It was an impressive throw but it also allowed air to spill from beneath his skin flaps and he dropped fast. The wyvoles also possessed patagium and were intuitive gliders. They were already moving to where their animal brains told them he would land. However, Dauk turned the air spill from his throw into a controlled crash and landed hard on a wyvole, slashing it with the other zamira.

Hoots and roars were going up from the assembled watchers. Yazirians are a bloody race that lived for combat and lightly cooked meat dripping with blood. The smell of blood in the air was near intoxicating and Dauk’s skill with the honor blade made them cheer.

The battle was not one sided and the wyvoles had their turn. Dauk had managed to kill two but he was weakening and the last two were working together. Everyone knew that Dauk would not survive though he had recovered his honor. Hykully made to jump in an assist but Khordiki restrained him.

“It’s not your place. Only the one that called for blood can intervene.”

Rejjack overheard the exchange and cast a sharp look at them. Many others heard as well and nodded encouragement to him. Anger was evident in his face. There was a war going on within his sha-ka. He wanted to forgive but tradition demanded that he hate the dishonored clan that had gone back on its word to his clan. He also knew that if Dauk died he’d loose face with those present but he just could not find the serenity in his heart to forgive.

Khordiki looked at his friend searchingly then said, “The strong fight bravely, but only the strongest forgive.”

With that Rejjack erupted in a roar and Khordiki wondered that he might attack him. Instead, Rejjack leapt into the pit with his wooden prop sword and attacked one of the wyvoles. In short order the last wyvoles gave up their sha-ka and two blood covered yazirians stood in the fighting pit.

Rejjack turned to Dauk, placing his hands on his shoulders and said, “Dauk, you are indeed a yazirian. I embrace you like a brother.”

As Rejjack wrapped him in an embrace the assembled yazirians hooted and cheered with wild abandon. That night was filled with much song, much barbeque, and too much blood wine.

In the decades after, the yearly festivities at Hykully’s were the talk of all yazirian’s living in that distant sector of space. To those that had been there that night there was an unspoken understanding that they had become an informal clan unto themselves. They were all brothers, not from the same clan but simply brother yazirians. Rejjack and Khordiki eventually returned to their clans on Hargut but Dauk and Hykully remained in the Rim.

Decades past and the day came when Dauk did returned to the yazirian colonies. As he stepped from the star liner onto the deck of the space station over the planet Yast, Rejjack was there to meet him. Dauk bore some of the ashes from Hykully’s funeral pier and was bringing them to his home clan.

Later, with a few other aged yazirians that had been at Hykully’s, they sang songs and drank blood wine and told old tales like true yazirians.

The Nature and Structure of a Yazirian Clan

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Higher Education in Yazirain Society

From the beginning, education in yazirian society was the responsibility of the clan. The elders taught the young. This education was very traditional which is unsurprising since the yazirian honor code states, "Tradition is yazirian meat." To this day the clan is still the primary educator of young in yazirian society.

Some changes began during the Age of Clan Wars and became more pronounced during the Imperial Age. As clans grew into the tens of thousands more formal structures began to be put in place for education with the establishment of some secondary schools by some clans. The result was a more uniform level of education across the board for these large clans. This in turn had broad impact on the success of that clan allowing it to rise higher in status, income, and its ability to wage war.

The impact of more formally organized schooling did not go unnoticed. It eventually led to the founding of the Imperial Age as one clan came to dominate and control largely through the investment in education. Sciences advanced and the Imperial Warhon organized institutions of higher learning for all yazirians to attend.

After the Star Exodus and the rise of the Family of One, many of the colonial governments of the yazirian colonies organized universities and trade schools to maintain an educated populace. The clans were still the educators of the young but few had set up their own schools so soon after the turmoil of the Exodus.

The natural tendency for the disinherited and the clan-less yazirian had always been to spiral down to the lowest rung of society. Lacking the societal structure that provided an education it was usually a fast decline.

The development of a sector wide society and yazirians living in mixed race colonies caused concern over the lack of traditional education for yazirians living outside of the yazirian colonies. Some yazirians were attending local schools but many were falling through the cracks. This led to the Family of One to sponsor the Family School anywhere there was a significant yazirian population outside of the colonies. The Family School is very pro Family of One but it also maintains high academic standards. The mission of these schools is to promote the Family of One religion, prevent clan-less and disinherited yazirians from slipping to the lowest strata of society and support clan yazirians and that are living abroad.

Religious Education In Yazirian Society

Religious education begins in the clan with the elders teaching the young pups. They impart the belief and traditions of the clan to the young. On Hentz the Family of One insists on "catechism" class for all yazirians at about the age of ten.

The only seminary on Hentz is the Family Seminary. Only members of Clan Anglann, the clan controlling the Family of One, can attend. It is viewed as a liberal university since its theology classes are actually; the Theology of Management, the Theology of Societal Control, and etc.

A school known as the Brotherhood Religious College began on Hentz. Its mission was to education non Clan Anglann yazirians that felt called to religious orders. This school has been at the fore front of yazirian theological thought for decades.

Many of its graduates actually see the graduates of the seminary as being quite liberal and secular and in recent years the Family of One has expelled the Brotherhood Religious College from Hentz. When this occurred two campuses were set up; one on Yast (Athor) which kept the name Brotherhood Religious College and the other on Hargut (Guna Garu) which took the name the Hargut Religious College. The Hargut Religious College adopted a more conciliatory tone and stance toward The Family of One while the Brotherhood Religious School on Yast became even more strident in its criticism.

Naturally the Family of One took issue with being criticized and brought pressure to bear on the Yast school. Eventually it set up the directors of the Hargut school to be its 'hatchet yaz' and the Yast school was forced to close. Its faculty and some students simply moved to Gran Quivera (Prengular) and started over. At Gran Quivera they embraced the revolutionary new theology known as the brotherhood of being-hood, claiming a universal brotherhood for sapient beings.

The Brotherhood Religious School is now on the fore front of theological thought in the whole Frontier, welcoming dralasite philosophers and osakar theologians to guest lecture and teach. Its not a true ecumenical movement but rather takes an open approach to other religious beliefs seeking to find the universal truths that underlie them and their beliefs. It has been able to welcome different views without losing sight of where it came from.

The Brotherhood Religious School publishes a quarterly theological journal called Frontier Theology, which, due to the openness toward other religions and philosophies has become THE theological journal of the Frontier. Any minister, priest or religious lay person has heard of it and is likely to have a copy or subscription. Its noted for its scholarly approach to comparative religion and theology and almost always includes an article by a guest faculty being. The journal is considered contraband for ships intending to land on Hentz.

Within the Brotherhood movement there are still those that strike a hard stand against the Family of One but the majority of the movement is of the more open stripe and considers the Family of One as being part of the past an not really worth wasting their energy on. They have fundamental agreement with the more reactionary branch but just don't see the need to pour energy into attacking the Family of One.

Yazirian Warrior Bard & Mercenary Minstrel

It is believed that bard/minstrel of yazirian society dates back to Stone Hunter Age. The first bards may have been a clan outcast who made their way in yazirian society by musical talent. During this age trespassing in a clan's territory could have dire consequences. However, a yazirian who announced his presence in a clan's territory by music and song would, often as not, be invited to entertain and receive a share in the meat at a clan gathering.  Yazirians with skill in song, poetry and music became an important institution performing important functions.

While each clan had keepers of the clan wisdom, it was the traveling bards that kept alive racial wisdom. As they traveled and gathered poetry, stories and song form the width and breadth of their society passing it on orally they preserved a vast anthology of material that would have been lost long before the development of writing and printing. They also served as emissaries and diplomats, being able to pass the boundaries of clan territories almost at will.

As yazirian society matured and evolved into its Metal Hunting Age and beyond these bards and minstrels became so valued that a clan would adopt one, giving him a permanent home and treating him like a beloved clan elder. Usually this was an older, well travelled bard with great status. It may also have been that the older bards needed to settle down feeling the effects of old age. A clan could gain great status by landing a famous bard in this way. During these developments bards became the councilors, advisers and sages of yazirian society.

During the Stone and Metal Hunting Ages clan wars would be more properly described as clan feuds. The ancient mythic ballads suggest that it was a bard that brought about the first clan war. With rising populations and improvements in science clan war may have been inevitable but the female bard Callistra is universally credited with igniting the first true clan war.

Callistra, an unjustly disinherited yazirian, became a highly sought after bard even in her youth. Using both her feminine wiles and a prodigious talent to sing she discovered she could move and influence warriors and hunters with ease. She even discovered methods and techniques to bring out the battle rage that lay dormant in even the most placid of yazirian. For some reason, be it revenge, jealousy or spite, she stirred animosity for the clan of her youth amongst several neighboring clans. Eventually, at a clan gathering she whipped the hunters and warriors into a raging furry and ignited the first clan war. Other bards became involved and clans began to formally form alliances as distrust and suspicion spread. During this time several clans ceased to exist, including Callistra's. She became an outcast of outcasts; reviled universally but she still possessed the ability to beguile and influence. She spent the rest of her life traveling and stirring up war. After her death she was viewed as a demi-goddess of war, spite and revenge. Today she is a metaphor for viciousness, spite, envy and revenge.

During the centuries of clan war the yazirian bard evolved into the warrior bard or mercenary minstrel. Bards being travelers often had to rely on their own skill to eat and typically they were well skilled with a zamira or other weapons. Sometimes, in order to ingratiate themselves to a clan, they had to demonstrate their hunting skill. These bards came under pressure from clan leaders to stir the battle fury in the clan's hunters and warriors. What emerged from the clan wars was a bard that led in battle and could draw forth the battle fury of a clan's yazirians. Eventually, there evolved a class of mercenary minstrels known as "sell song", who would be hired for specific campaigns and battles but with little connection or loyalty to the hiring clan.

In some regions warrior bards morphed into priest and shaman with several religious sects emerging as well. Unsurprisingly, in these religious sects Callistra was portrayed as a semi-demonic temptress.

The Yazirian MinstrelTradition

Any Yazirian can take Minstrel Tradition Skill. It is treated as being part of the Biosocial PSA for purposes of determining EXP cost.

Minstrel Tradition Skill encompasses and encyclopedic knowledge of yazirian poetry, literature, and song; the ability to play musical instruments and sing; skill with the zamira, and comprehension of social dynamics.


Knowledge of Yazirian history. Since yazirian history is encapsulated in song, poetry and in latter times literature a yazirian minstrel has a chance to remember significant details and important pieces from any age up-to and including the parts yazirians have played in the Frontier. (1/2 LOG + 10%/level)

Musical instruments and singing: Yazirian minstrel are adept at playing musical instruments and singing and can use this subskill to enhance racial reaction or other skills. This skill can be used to prep other yazirians to enter battle rage by consciously singing songs of valor, honor and battle prior to combat and throughout the day and at the moment of combat giving a stirring shout echoing a line from a song previously sung. Other yazirians gain a +5%/level of bard bonus to their battle rage roll. A bard with psycho-social skill can use music and song as part of his attempt to hypnotize gaining +5%. Other social interactions that involve a skill or ability check can receive this bonus as long as it's appropriate to include music and song. A yazirian bard knows how to sing automatically as well as play a number of instruments determined by his level; level 1-2 is 1 instrument, level 3-4 is 2 instruments, and levels 5-6 is 3 instruments. After 6th level a bard by learn more instruments for 4 exp each.

Zamira (racial Weapon skill): Yazirian minstrels all carry the traditional weapon, the zamira. It's rooted in tradition and expected of them. (1/2 Dex + 10%/level)

Comprehension: Same as the vrusk racial ability but only works with yazirians. A yazirian bard observing a social interaction between two or more yazirians has a chance to understand what is going on between them. (1/2LOG + 10%/level)

Yazirian Musical Instruments

The Dumra (drum)
Dumra vary in size small to great 2 meter cylinders. The Great Dumra (2m diameter by 1m) is a staple for clan celebrations and saw military use toward the end of the Clan Wars. Traveling bards favored a bongo like dumra of 4 drums of decreasing size mounted in a curved shape that matched the contour of the waist called the singer's dumra. A singer's dumra usually comes with an attached bandolier to allow the bard to climb and glide with it securely attached to his back.

Another type of druma was the Ranga. It was 60 to 90 cm long and 20 cm wide and carried on a bandolier. It was played by beating the ends and the side with the hands.

Great Druma: 30 kg, 250 Cr.
Ranga Druma: 1 kg, 30 Cr.
Other Druma: 1 kg, 20-40 Cr.

The Bollu (flutes)
A popular minstrel bollu is the sek bollu, literally 3 flute. The sek bollu is 3 flutes of decreasing size bound together with an ingenious mouth piece that allows the musician to redirect the air flow between the 3 flutes or into any combination of the 3 at the same time. This instrument is near impossible for any other race to master as it takes the long fingers of a yazirian with its extra knuckles to wrap around the instrument and properly play it. In the hands of a skill yazirian the sek bollus produce beautiful and even haunting melodies or rousing battle and hunting songs.

Sek Bollu: n/a kg, 45 Cr.
Other Bollu: n/a kg, 25-35 Cr.

The Shem Dura (ukulele)
Literally, a stringed dumra, the Shem dura is a small stringed instrument that has been compared to the human ukulele was developed by yazirian bards to be carried strapped across the back. After contact with humanity some musicians began using the bow from violins to play the shem dura.

Shem Dura: n/a kg, 75 Cr.

A wide variety of animal horns were used as horns, largely for martial accompaniment.

Traditional Yazirian Horns: n/a to 1 kg, 25-35 Cr.

Traditional Yazirian Equipment

Bower Tent
A bower tent is a temporary tent like shelter that can be mounted on the side of a giant tree. Traditionally it's made from wood poles, vine ropes and hides but modern version exist that are light weight and water proof. The tent can be mounted above or beneath a large branch for extra stability. A yazirian with skills that allow him to craft items in survival situation can make one automatically depending on the availability of materials. Any yazirian with out such a skill can make a LOG check to see if he remembers enough to attempt to make one and then must make a LOG check to succeed at doing it. The primitive version can be water proofed animal fat or plant oils but its not permanent nor 100% successful in a torrential down.

Primitive Bower Tent: 5kg, 10 Cr.
Modern Bower Tent: 1kg, 30 Cr.

Kesheck Ol-Tor
The ancient name is kesheck o-tor which is literally kesheck tooth since this war club is made from the teeth of that giant carnivore. The modern usage is o-tor. Modern versions of this weapon usually have a metal head since the kesheck is an endangered species. Originally the weapon was made from a hardwood handle with kesheck teeth set into the club by drilling holes with a stone drill tip and a bow drill. The teeth were secured with a tough animal blood glue and thin leather wrap. The pattern for setting the teeth varied by region and clan but a common pattern was four set at 90degrees from each other at the end of the club. Some times one was mounted on the end of the club if the owner desired to be able to throw it. The handle had leather wraps and a loop for grip and hanging from an equipment harness. This facilitated climbing or secured the club during combat with a loop over the wrist. This weapon was a status symbol for only the greatest hunters and warriors since tradition held that a warrior must kill the dangerous kesheck by himself. Once a warrior died who owned a kesheck the weapon became a ceremonial item for his clan. In ancient times it was believed that the spirit of both the kesheck and the warrior that made the weapon were imbued in the weapon.

Kesheck Ol-Tor: 1kg, Considered priceless by the clan it belongs to but valued at 40,000 Cr by the CFM in modern times
Ol-TorL 1kg, 30 Cr.


The brak-mira is an ancient weapon made using similar construction techniques as the kesheck ol-tor. A straight or curved length of wood has a lengthwise groove carved into it and micro blades of obsidian or flint were glued in place with a strong blood glue. Prone to dulling, the weapon was abandoned, once metal working was developed. A traditional brak-mira will dull on any attack roll of 95-00 or doubles and will lose 1d10 of damage. Modern names for the weapon are bakmira or bakmra depending on dialect, region, or clan. The ancient form, brak-mira, derived from the root word mira, meaning blade. Modern bakmira are often simply refered to by their Pan Gal name: sword. Some very rare and ancient examples of this weapon used flat sharp aquatic carnivore teeth and were less prone to the dulling problem.

Tradional Brak-mira: 1kg, 75 Cr.
Modern Bakmira: 2kg, 30 Cr.

The olt-mira derived from the root words for tooth and blade. In antiquity, when suitable teeth were available, ceremonial knives were made from from carved from these teeth with micro blades of obsidian or flint glued into a carved groove. Many were made from kesheck teeth if the beast was killed by group effort. Ceremonial knives are still made in this fashion in modern times but kesheck teeth only become available as these animals die from natural causes. The Family of One tightly controls the availability of these teeth, favoring clans according to its own agenda.

Traditional Kesheck Olt-Mira ceremonial blade: Considered priceless by its clan but valued by the CFM at 15,000 Cr.
Tradional Olt-Mira (non kesheck tooth): Considered priceless by its clan but valued by the CFM at 1,000 Cr.

Other Traditional Equipment
Ropes, waterskins, spears, fire starting bow, clay pots, inks dyes and paints from plant and mineral sources as well as hand crafted paint brushes.

 Weapon Damage Modifier Defense Mass Cost
 Traditional Kesheck Ol-Tor
 2d10 +5Inertia
 1 kg
20,000 Cr
 Modern Ol-Tor
 2d10 +5 Inertia  1 kg
 30 Cr
Traditional Brak-mira 3d10 +10 Inertia  1 kg
 75 Cr (new)
 Modern Bakmira
 3d10 +10 Inertia  2 kg
 30 Cr
 Olt-mira 1d10 +5 Inertia  n/a 20 Cr (new)

Shades of the Blade by Darron Patton

Shades of the Blade by Daron Patton
Koraffo stared at the Khad’dan buried deep in Ulkunk’s amorphous corpse. He was the sole survivor now. Why hadn’t he simply refused to follow the human female’s orders? Why didn’t matter any more. The Hir-Kal would be coming for him next. Then it could rest again. The Yazirian sighed then dropped his blaster belt and blaster to the deck. Lasers would be no use against such a phantom. According to legend nothing was. The hissing song of his Khad’dan being swiftly drawn from its sheathe echoed down the silent passageway. If an ancient evil wanted his life, it would have to pass through ancient steel to take it. ________________________________________

The morning rays of an unnamed star glinted off the ablative hull of the privateer, Prodigal Sun as she lifted slowly into the air. In less than a quarter hour, Sun had cleared the thin atmosphere of the likewise nameless planetoid the team had spent two days exploring. Within an hour, the ship was already building up velocity for the first void-hop back home.

In a second-hand acceleration couch, Koraffo absentmindedly fidgeted with his holster. His mouth cycled through tight-lipped, barely contained anger to purse-lipped contemplation, back to anger. Pop. Close. Pop. Close. Pop. “Will you cut that out,” Marsha Teak said staring back at him from the pilot’s seat. Her seething glare cut through any veneer of civility the two had managed to maintain to this point. “We are taking these artifacts back to base and that’s that. No more discussion. You read me, ‘Raff?”

“Loud and clear,” The Yazirian’s lips curled back to show sharp canines and he flared his nostrils in open contempt of Teak’s decision to continue on in what Koraffo felt was nothing less than tempting the gods. Ulkunk, the Dralasite astrogator/engineer/every other free position on the ship, burbled for a moment. “Perhaps we should reconsider, Captain. After all, disturbing graves isn’t standard even for Streel Corp.”

Teak looked at her second-in-command, a nonplussed expression pasted on her face. She pulled her three-barred rank insignia from her collar and held them out to the Dral. “Perhaps you should call, T’keec up here and make it a unanimous mutiny, Ulk.”

The blob blustered at the accusation. “No one said anything about mutiny, Captain. I was simply pointing out--"

“Listen, Gentle-beings. For better or worse, I am the skipper on this little bag of bolts and what I say goes. The Executive VP has a thing for collections and he wants anything unusual we run across. I’d rate those ancient Yazzie grave-sites back there as unusual, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but--"

“Like I just told our simian muscle-boy here, it’s not open to discussion. Not another gods-damned word about it. From anyone!”

No one knows what happened to the crew of Prodigal Sun. When she was recovered, all four of the crew had been killed by various grizzly means. The human female captain had been strangled by some sort strap. The Vrusk male archaeologist was dissected into component anatomical sections, joint by joint. Several deep stab wounds were found in the Dralasite neuter’s cadaver.

Circumstantial evidence points to the crew’s only Yazirian member, Koraffo except his remains massed less than four kilograms when recovered, though it all seems to be present based on proportional analysis. Piracy is one possible explanation, but why would pirates leave a perfectly functional ship floating derelict? Strangely the only thing missing from the ship’s manifested cargo was a crate listed simply as artifacts. Perhaps no one will really ever know what happened aboard this ship.

The Hir-Kal (Clan Shadow) is a venerable legend among the Yazirians. Protectors of their masters’ graves, these spiritual beings supposedly wreak vengeance on any foolish enough to disturb a Yazirian warrior’s tomb. According to myth, the Hir-Kal are creatures of living darkness, taking their very substance from the absence of light. From gnawtoki cats to Yazirian nightbirds, they are said to be capable of changing form, passing through walls like a Khad’dan through water.

Accounts of Hir-Kal attack say that the only way to survive witnessing a Hir-Kal’s fury is to not be the offending party. Other than simple innocence in the offending act, Yazirian folk history cites no known defenses against these shade creatures.

Adventure Hook #1: The crew of Prodigal Sun discovered a hastily made grave for a Yazirian warrior and looted the ornate weapons and equipment that had been laid to rest with his remains. The PCs could stumble on a similar find complete with several nearly irresistible items of great value. Will they respect the dead and leave the tomb undisturbed or will they try to make off with the valuables? A Hir-Kal or events the PCs could ascribe to a Hir-Kal might just follow them should they disturb the slumbering warrior.

Adventure Hook #2: The PCs are part of a starship crew that finds a jettisoned crate marked Streel Corp Cargo (control number:189AA8293:archaeological artifacts) floating out in the middle of nowhere. Shortly after the crate is brought aboard, strange things begin happening aboard ship. Accidents, system failures, maybe even a death. Has the Hir-Kal come aboard with the relics?

Adventure Hook#3: A frantic and sleepless looking Ifshnit merchant offers to sell one of the PCs a pea-sized black crystal that he claims came from an ancient Yazirian Khad’dan. He offers to sell the gem for a fraction of its worth. Strange behavior for an Ifshnit especially one with a rare ebony emerald; is the stone stolen or does he have another reason for wanting to part with it?

The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep by Philip Campanaro

The Yazirians who lived in the village at the edge of the Great Rift were at the end of their glides. For a week now none of them had been able to get any sleep. Every night something in the Great Rift would begin to bellow so loudly it kept all of them up all night.

The elders of the village called everyone together to make a plan to deal with this trouble. When everyone from the youngest cub to the eldest grand matron was seated in the meeting hall Bahene the Elder called them to voice their opinions. He said, “We are Yazirian but we are being troubled. We must do something to end our trouble.”

Many voiced their thoughts. Some wanted to know if anyone knew what was making this loud noise. To this some said it must be a punishment from the Gods. Others said it must be a new foul beast from the great enemy the Sathar, while others thought it must be a new trick set on them by the Streel Corporation to get them to leave the Great Rift. The whole time Gunde kept reminding everyone there about his missing Lemmaru and that they should be looking for her.

Bahene the Younger stood and said, “This is getting us nowhere. I am the greatest warrior in the village. I will take my Khad’dan and go into the Great Rift and find and destroy whatever The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep is.”

All in the meeting hall cheered at this except for Biafu the Silent and Deeba the Swift who said, “No, Bahene the Younger, I am the greatest warrior in village I shall go with my Khad’dan and slay The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep.”

Again everyone cheered at another of their warriors except for Bahene the Younger and Biafu the Silent, known for only talking when he had something to say. Now Biafu the Silent said, “I will go with my Khad’dan.”

All in the meeting hall cheered again and again for they knew these three would end The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep

Bahene the Elder waited and then called the villagers to silence. When the last cub had quieted he said to them, “Our three greatest, for none can say who is best will all go and together with their Khad’dan will slay The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep and end our troubles.”

All in the meeting hall cheered again and so loudly they drowned out the first of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep’s bellows of the night. That is everyone except for Gunde who just wanted someone to find his Lemmura.

So the three greatest warriors; Bahene the Younger, Deeba the Swift and Biafu the Silent took up their Khad’dan and left the meeting hall and the village and went into the Great Rift with their Khad’dan. They travelled all night hearing the bellows of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep reverberated through the Great Rift. The Great Rift floor was heavily wooded with many trees perfect for gliding and this made it hard for them to locate The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep. As the morning light began to crest the edge of the Great Rift the three Yazirian warriors all realized they would not find The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep since it was silent all day and only bellowed at night.

Bahene the Younger said to the others, “Let us gather some food and drink and rest today and tonight we will take our Khad’dan and slay The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep.”

Deeba the Swift jumped up and said, “I will hunt us an animal for our breakfast. It will not take long.” Just like that Deeba the Swift was gone.

Bahene the Younger looked at Biafu the Silent but he was already gathering wood to start a fire. This left Bahene the Younger who thought himself the greatest warrior to gather water for them to drink something he did not think the greatest warrior should do. While he was cutting the vines to gather the drink he thought of a way he could to the others he was the greatest warrior and then they would leave and let him slay The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep as it should be.

When Bahene the Younger returned Deeba the Swift had an Ikochi already dressed and cooking over a fire Biafu the Silent had made. He handed each of the other two four vines filled with water and let them drink.

When they had each had some drink and while the meat cooked he put his plan into action. He said to them, “All of us are not necessary to hunt The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep. I say let us tell how we earned our Khad’dan and the one with the greatest tale will stay and slay The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep and the others will assist or leave as they choose.”

Deeba the Swift said he agreed. He liked this challenge for two reasons. First because he knew he was the greatest warrior but mainly because when a Yazirian warrior is given a Khad’dan only the elders know the reason for it. Yazirian do not tell how they earned their Khad’dan except to those who have earned one also but never to brag. This was the perfect time to learn how the others had earned their Khad’dan. Biafu the Silent just nodded his agreement.

Bahene the Younger said, “I will lead this. When the Sathar came and landed in the Great Rift I took up my father Bahene the Elder’s Khad’dan and rushed into the Great Rift. I found and slew each and every one of the Sathar until only one was left. That one I let go so it could tell others how great the Yazirian are and they would not return. That is why I was given my Khad’dan for slaying large numbers of your enemy is what a warrior and Khad’dan are for.”

Deeba the Swift looked impressed but did not concede, he said, “When the Streel Corporation ship landed in the Great Rift and they sent their beings to search for what they would take without thought to the replacing as they do. I went in and did not slay a single one. I used my speed and glide and stole from them what they tried to take from the Great Rift. I went into their ship and erased all they recorded. I then fouled their food and drink so that they could no longer stay in the Great Rift. When they left they had nothing to show for their stay and they have not returned. For knowing the best way to destroy an enemy the elders gave me my Khad’dan. For that is what a warrior and Khad’dan are for.”

Bahene the Younger was impressed but still thought his was the better story and ideal of the Khad’dan. Now he and Deeba the Swift both looked at Biafu the Silent and wondered if he would even speak.

Biafu the Silent said, “When the crops were failing because the rain would not fall. I went into the Great Rift and gathered what had grown and built a shrine. I than screamed prayers to the Gods all day until they answered and we had the rains again. For embracing the spirit of the warrior and challenging the Gods and living to tell the elders gave me my Khad’dan. For it is spirituality which is the essence of the Khad’dan.”

Both Bahene the Younger and Deeba the Swift were impressed but did not concede Biafu the Silent was the greatest warrior. Instead the three of them ate and drank and debated like Dralasites about which was the true essence of the Khad’dan. They continued most of the day until the fire died and they fell asleep.

That night the three Yazirian warriors awoke to the bellows of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep. For some reason they could now tell where the bellows were coming from. Each warrior grasped his Khad’dan and headed deeper into the Great Rift.

They arrived at a cave in the wall of the Great Rift and could clearly hear the bellows of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep coming from inside. As they caught their breath Bahene the Younger said, “Let us go in a slaughter all we find with our Khad’dan. For that is the essence of the Khad’dan.”

But Deeba the Swift said, “No we must first investigate and learn what it is and how best to destroy The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep. For that is the essence of the Khad’dan.”

But Biafu the Silent said, “No we must say a prayer to the Gods and give reverence before battle. For that is the essence of the Khad’dan.”

The three Yazirian warriors were about to start their discussion again we from out of the cave mouth came Gunde’s Lemmaru followed by two calves. Each of the three Yazirian warriors looked at each other and then back to Gunde’s Lemmaru.

It was Biafu the Silent who spoke first, Bahene the Younger you were right if we had rushed in we would have found Gunde’s Lemmaru and ended this much sooner.”

Deeba the Swift said, “Nay Biafu the Silent you were right if we had prayed we would have been given a sign and known what the real reason for the bellows of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep was and not wasted our time searching fruitlessly.”

Bahene the Younger said, “Nay Deeba the Swift you were right if we had scouted the area instead of rushing in we would have found Gunde’s Lemmaru and not risk hurting her of the calves.”

The three Yazirian warriors were about to start their discussion again but were interrupted by a voice behind them which said, “Are you three going to talk the night away or are you gonna help me round up my Lemmaru?”

They all turned to see Gunde standing behind them holding a Khad’dan and several lengths of vine rope. As he started walking past them, Bahene the Younger asked him, “Gunde you have a Khad’dan tell us what its true essence is, for we have been arguing all day and cannot determine.”

Gunde looked back at them and then said, “Each of you has strengths and each of you has weaknesses for no warrior is all things. The warrior who best uses his strengths and the strengths of his fellow warriors to accomplish his goals truly embraces the essence of the Khad’dan. You three didn’t understand that. So I let my Lemmura loose to have her calves in the Echoing Cave. That way you would learn about each other and each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Now help me get these Lemmura back to my stable before she keeps the village up all night again.

Bahene the Younger, Deeba the Swift and Biafu the Silent looked at each other and then sheathed their Khad’dan and went to help Gunde. None of the four of them ever spoke of The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep or told the villagers how they banished it. For years after the three Yazirian warriors always hunted and defended the village together, until they were all elders and led the village. The Beast Who Steals Our Sleep returned on occasion to their village and to other villages around the Great Rift and every time the greatest warriors would go out and banish it but none ever told how it was done.

Vrusk Tai Chi

Vi-k'tr flowed through the movements of the Ti'Yagong-Tu, the Group Gathering Song. He felt energized and invigorated to be with other members of his species, the vrusk, doing this quintessentially vrusk activity. To be a vrusk was to participate in a public show of social solidarity through song and dance.

Humans liked to call this social solidarity gathering Vrusk Tai Chi, because the Corporate Familial Morning-Song, as properly pronounce by a vrusk sounded like, “Chai'Ti Qind'Yagong. Somehow in typically human fashion “Chai’Ti” became “Vrusk Tai Chi.” To a certain degree he understood humans better than most and recognized the similarities between Thai Chi and social solidarity songs. They both involved structured graceful movement by groups of beings but the similarities were superficial. For a vrusk a solidarity song was an emotional experience that conferred a feeling of belonging and bonding to his social circle or company. Even as the participants focused on the dance moves and the song notes created by expelling air from their spiracles under their abdomen there was a wealth of communication going on amongst the participants. This communication was lost on non vrusk as it was carried by minute flourishes of movement in body or antennae or by the slightest stress of a note.

Vi-k’tr had not been able to participate in this activity while growing up because he had not been raised by his own kind. Born on a pirate vessel crewed by vrusk he had become a ward of the Crown of Clarion when the Royal Marines had captured the pirate vessel. None of the vrusk crew had surrendered. With no living relative to take him in and no vrusk trade house willing to accept the orphan of criminals into their crèche programs Vi-k’tr entered the foster care system on Clarion.

His foster parents had been working class Commoners. His foster father had served with the Royal Guard during the famed Mercy Mission to Madderly’s Star when the human colonist of Kdikit had risen in rebellion and evicted the vrusk running that colony. Atrocities had occurred and the Crown of Clarion had sent in troops to stop the killing. It seemed to Vi-k’tr that his father had perhaps taken him in as some form of penance for guilt associated with that long ago police action. He had never been able to discover the truth behind it and his mother vigorously professed their love for him. She had been a prone to doting.

He loved and appreciated his human parents but he had always felt cut off and a misfit in Clarion’s human society. After his mother had called him Victor in front of class mates he had garnered the nick name, Victor the Vrusk. There had been bullies too but his natural speed had allowed him to avoid most harassment. It was the sense of not belonging that had led him to attend college on Triad with its evenly mixed human, dralasite and vrusk population. His parents had been a little hurt at his refusal to attend school on Clarion but something drove him to seek out other vrusk.

The first time he had joined a solidarity song as a freshman had been like an epiphany. Many of the other vrusk students had showed amused surprise at his awkwardness not suspecting it was his first time. The moment had changed his life, from then on he had become a student of vrusk culture, history and society. Later that passion matured to focus in depth on the Hive Period but the passion of his heart was the social solidarity dance.

After graduating and about the time he had taken the job at the institute he had made peace with his human culture. He had embraced the name Victor for use with his non vrusk colleagues and begun to send Christmas presents and birthday cards to his parents every year. He still felt somewhat out of place because his youth had given him a deep insight into humanity and his adulthood was honing his insight into vrusk society. He would probably forever have a bond to both that neither would understand but if he was honest with himself he enjoyed both the solidarity song and decorating the Christmas tree with his mother. Perhaps next Christmas he would develop a modified “Vrusk Tai Chi” to share with his human family.

The Group Gathering Song ended and the twenty or so vrusk present began to twitch their antennae in the customary “warm embrace” gesture to one another. Vi-l’tr enjoyed this moment of afterglow most but it was suddenly disturbed by a passing trio of humans. The group had the appearance of parents bringing their son to attend the institute.

“Look, Honey! They’re doing Vrusk Tai Chi,” exclaimed the mother a little too loudly.

Some of the vrusk clicked their mandibles in mild angry annoyance while others gestured mild perturbed annoyance with their antennae. Vi-k’tr just flicked his antennae in laughter.

Sharp looks form his fellow vrusk brought forth his first true vocal communication since the song had begun, “Humans, to know them is to love them.”

Many of the vrusk flicked warm love mild annoyance back at Vi-k’tr.

Yazirian Honor Code and Philosophy

Yazirians Honor Code

Dieing without overcoming your life-enemy is dishonorable. 
Morn the Disinherited, for they are wayward and pathless. 
Respecting another brothers path is respecting your own.
The needs of the clan outweigh the needs of the one. 
The path to complete defeat is allowing a life-enemy sanction.
Rituals are the blood that binds us together. 

Yazirian Proverbs

If you don't get the joke, its probably about you.
Grumpiness is a virtue.
Violence is the means to an end.

Yazirian Tradition (Optional Skill)

Yazirian Tradition is open to any yazirian to learn as an "in" PSA skill. Non yazirian characters could study it but would pay out of PSA rates to gain the skill.

This skill is designed for a yazirian with an urge to "get back to his roots." It is a combination of lore, traditional weapons, and crafting skills. The subskills for this skill are Traditional Weapons, Cultural Lore, Read Ancient Yazirian Texts, and Make Traditional Yazirian Crafts and Items.

Any yazirian who has studied this skill will, almost certainly, display his clan symbol (see "Yazirian Clans" Star Fronterisman #8). He is well familiar with the Yazirian Honor Code and prone to quote it. He may indulge in wearing traditional forms of dress (togas) when not on the job or when defense suits are not required. If closely tied to the Family of One he probably will not carry the khad'dan but likewise if closely tied to the anti Family of One movement then he may eschew the zamra. Many yazirians do carry both weapons.

A traditional yazirian will have one honor weapon that he will not want to be parted from. This weapon is considered an extention of his inner sha-ka. Because he believes that the weapon becomes imbued with his spirit or sha-ka he will desire that it be returned to family and clan upon his death. The zamra usually causes few problems if slung from the neck or a belt in a leather sheath the completely covers its blade. However because the khad'dan is a sword it can cause difficulty for the yazirian that desires to carry it if the local weapons laws prohibit suck activity. There are no such prohibitions on yazirian colonies. However, since the khad'dan has been associated with the anti Family of One movement the authorities on Hentz pay close attention to those yazirians carrying one.

Traditional Weapons Subskill confers the ability to use the khad'dan and the zamra (Ares #17 p.41). Both are  considered honor weapons though the zamra has been staunchly promoted as the only suitable honor weapon for the modern age because its less lethal than the khad'dan. Skill rolls for the zamra are modified by DEX but since the khad'dan is essentially a sword it can be modified by either DEX or STR.

Cultural Lore Subskill is a basic lore skill focused on yazirian culture and history. The skill roll is modified by LOG. Obscure details about an ancient clan might, at the referee's discretion, require a -10 to -20 penalty for the skill roll but the same obscure detail about the character's clan would not. This subskill can be leveraged to know details about a yazirian religion but mostly it would be general details not in-depth theology.

Read Ancient Yazirian Texts Subskill confers the ability to read ancient yazirian texts and scrolls. All ancient and modern forms of yazirian writing are very closely related. With this subskill a yazirian could puzzle out the intent of a written passage at low levels and read it fluently at hire levels or alternately a simple skill roll is modified by LOG can be made to discover the contents of the scroll.

Make Traditional Yazirian Crafts and Items Subskill is similar to the Make Items Subskill in the Alpha Dawn rules Environmental Skill. With suitable materials ready to hand a bower tent, rope, water skins, ceremonial knives and clubs and etc can be made. The rate of success is 100% providing all the necessary materials are present. This skill does not confer the ability to craft a Khad'dan which is an advanced metal working discipline but a wooden zamra could be carved out of dense hard wood.

Notes on Rules Systems: If using Alpha Dawn rules then use the EXP costs for the Technician PSA. With Zebulon's Guide rules use the in or out profession costs. If using "A Skilled Frontier" Star Frontiersman #9 then use Primary PSA skill rates for yazirians learning this skill and tertiary skill rates for non yazirians trying to learn this skill.