[Trade] [KARMA - Paying Tribute] - The tithe of the Court

The marshes sang with the voices of insects and the creak of trees swaying in the evening winds. Above them, the dusky sky dimmed into violet, and the cries of distant herds echoed across the low plains. At the very heart of this land lay a hollow ring of cliffs, and within that stone embrace sprawled the Court of the Dinosaurs, a place spoken of in murmurs, half in reverence, half in dread.
It was not a court of humans, nor a court bound in silks and banners, but one of scales, feathers, and horns. Here, the oldest and most cunning of dinosaur tribes convened in ritual. The Elder Court ruled from a broad flat expanse beneath the cliffs, where sacred fires burned in pits and stones were carved with ancient glyphs. Dinosaurs of every kind; herbivores, carnivores, and fliers,sat in wary assembly. They kept a fragile balance of power, bound together by law, suspicion, and tradition.
The Court had one rule above all others: no stranger could dwell among them without tribute.
A tithe must be given: offerings of gems unearthed from riverbeds, metals pried from the bones of the earth, or artifacts scavenged from the strange ruins of humans. And if no gift could be offered, then service must be rendered, one must bend neck and claw to work for the Court, humbling themselves before the wary elders.

It was to this place that three travelers came, uncertain of their fates.
Mary, a scruffy Parasaurolophus, strode at the front of the trio. Her skin was mottled red, with darker striping down her back, and her long crest arched like a natural horn above her head. Her steps were careful, dignified. She had lived long enough to know the dangers of blundering into another tribe’s ground. Though herbivorous, Mary carried herself with the stateliness of a noble, her kind were known for their trumpeting calls and long memories.
Beside her, swooping ahead and then circling back, was Oboe, a Tapejara with striking black-and-white plumage and a crest that gleamed pale in the fading light. Oboe was swift, sharp-eyed, and more daring than Mary ever approved of. She had a knack for spotting shiny things, for scrounging where others would not look. It was often Oboe who brought scraps of metal or human trinkets to their little band.
And padding between them, too small to stride alone, was Flurry; a hatchling Albertosaurus, feathers still soft and downy across her head. Her eyes were wide, full of both hunger and wonder. She had hatched not long ago, found abandoned and nearly dead, but Mary had taken her in with the patience of a matron, and Oboe had hunted insects and scraps to keep her alive. Though still a hatchling, Flurry bore the sharp teeth and fierce spirit of a predator, which made many uneasy.
They were bound together not by blood, but by circumstance and choice. And now, they approached the Court, driven by hunger, need, and the promise of safety within its cliffs.
The three emerged into the hollow at dusk. Fires lit the stone circle, throwing the forms of dinosaurs into looming shadows: Triceratops with horns gleaming, Ankylosaurs with their tails thudding like clubs, and great quilled Dacentrurus seated like judges among them. Flocks of smaller raptors and fliers lined the cliffs, eyes gleaming in the half-light.
At the center of the ring stood the dais, where the High Elder sat: an immense old Iguanodon, scarred and one-eyed, his hide marked with ritual paints. Around him perched his advisors, a stooped, grey-frilled Styracosaurus, a sleek Oviraptor, and a stately Tropeognathus whose wings spread wider than some smaller trees.
The Court murmured as the strangers entered. Mary’s headcrest caught the light like a banner. Oboe’s wings rustled, flashing white and black. Flurry trotted clumsily, stumbling over stones, her hatchling cries echoing too loudly.
“They bring a predator-child,” hissed one oviraptor.
“Outsiders. Ungifted,” muttered a horned one.
“Perhaps spies of another herd,” growled a Shunosaurus, stamping.
The High Elder lifted his head. His single yellow eye fixed on Mary.

“You have come to the Court,” the Iguanodon rumbled, voice deep as stone. “But the Court does not welcome freely. You know the law. What do you bring?”
Mary bowed her long neck low, her crest nearly brushing the ground. “Great Elder,” she said, her voice carrying a sonorous, trumpeting tone. “We are wanderers. We seek safety, to dwell under your laws and protection. We know the tithe must be paid.”
She stepped aside so Oboe could hop forward. With a flourish of wings, the Tapejara dropped three objects onto the stone dais:
• A curved piece of metal, scavenged from a riverbank where human ruins had collapsed.
• A cluster of bright stones, polished by Oboe’s own beak until they gleamed like jewels.
• A feather of a strange giant bird, long as a spear, shimmering faintly in the firelight.

The Court leaned forward, curious. The Oviraptor advisor hissed softly. “Shiny, yes. But trinkets. Are they enough for three lives? One of them a predator-child?”
The murmurs grew. Some admired Oboe’s finds, but others scoffed.
Flurry, not understanding the weight of the moment, waddled forward. She carried in her jaws a small object: a shell, spiraled and pale, which she had picked up earlier by a stream. She dropped it proudly at the Elder’s feet and squeaked.
Laughter rippled through the Court. A hatchling’s gift, harmless and small. But others muttered darkly: “A predator offers shells? She will grow teeth enough to take what she wants.”
The Elder’s eye glinted. “These offerings amuse. But amusement is not trust. If you have no greater tithe, then you will serve. The Court has needs. Will you bend to them?”
Mary’s crest trembled. She lowered herself again. “We will serve.”
The Court wasted no time. If the three wished to stay, they will have to work.
Mary was set to the kitchen hearth, a pit where herbs and roots were mashed, where fish and carrion were smoked for the carnivores. Her long crest was soon dusted with spice and ash as she used her strength to haul stones, grind plants, and pour water. Her trumpeting voice called the younger dinosaurs to gather for meals, and though they laughed at her awkwardness at first, many grew to like the sound, she gave rhythm to their work.
Oboe was sent to the cliff perches, tasked with scouting and tidying the places where the fliers roosted. She preened feathers, swept out nests, and used her keen eyes to spot intruders or wandering herds from afar. She even dared to swoop down to the riverside, returning with fish for the hungry chicks of a Tropeognathus matron. Her cleverness earned nods of respect.
Flurry, though small, was not spared. The hatchling was placed under the eye of the raptor youths, who jeered and tested her. She was told to fetch water in leaves, to carry scraps, to polish the bone ornaments worn by the warriors. Though clumsy, Flurry tried, tail wagging, eager for praise. But many still scowled at her teeth, muttering that one day she would turn on them all.
Days passed. Though the trio labored, distrust lingered.
One night, a cache of gems went missing from the Elder’s stores. Whispers spread like fire. Some claimed they had seen a black-and-white shadow near the stash, Oboe’s colors. The Tapejara shrieked her innocence, but suspicion gnawed.
Another day, a Styracosaurus warrior found Flurry gnawing on bones left from a feast. “See? Already she tastes of flesh!” he cried, pushing her aside roughly. Mary trumpeted furiously in her defense, but the rift deepened.
Even Mary herself, despite her steady work, was mocked by some: “A Parasaurolophus, bending her noble crest to carry scraps? Does she think labor makes her kin?”
The three were on the brink of expulsion.
It was then that crisis struck.

From beyond the cliffs came the thunder of feet, a rival band of dinosaurs, raiders seeking to plunder the Court’s stores. They were led by a massive Albertosaurus, scarred and hungry, with a pack of lesser carnivores at his side.
The Court scrambled to arms. Horned dinosaurs braced, raptors leapt into line, and fliers shrieked overhead. But the Elder, scarred and one-eyed, saw the fear in his kin.
And he turned to the outsiders. “You claim to serve. Now prove it. Stand with us, or be cast out to the teeth of the foe.”
Mary’s heart thundered. Oboe hissed and flared her wings. Little Flurry squeaked but stood tall, her tiny teeth bared.
They had no choice.
The raiders surged into the hollow. Claws clashed, horns locked, wings beat the air in chaos.
Mary charged to the front, her great bulk slamming into a Carnotaurus, knocking it sprawling. She trumpeted a call so loud it echoed across the cliffs, rallying defenders to her side.
Oboe swooped from above, harrying the raiders with sharp pecks at their eyes, dropping stones onto their backs. She darted in and out like a shadow, faster than they could strike.
And Flurry, small, ignored, underestimated, darted beneath legs and tails. She nipped at ankles, harassed the enemy from below, and in one daring moment, she sank her baby teeth into the leg of the Albertosaurus himself. He roared, distracted, just long enough for a Styracosaurus to gore him in the flank.
The tide turned. The Court rallied. The raiders, stunned by the ferocity of defense, broke and fled into the night.
Silence fell as the fires were stoked again. The Court gathered, bruised but victorious.
The Elder Iguanodon raised his head, eye gleaming. “You have offered more than trinkets. You have given your strength. You have spilled blood for the Court.”
He looked to Mary. “You, with your crest of thunder, who called our warriors together.”
He looked to Oboe. “You, swift and cunning, who blinded our foes.”
And finally, he looked to little Flurry. “And you, small one, who bit the leg of a giant.”
The Court laughed, not mockery this time, but true, rumbling laughter of respect.
“From this day,” the Elder declared, “you are kin to the Court. You have paid your tithe in service and in courage. You will be sheltered beneath our cliffs, and your names remembered.”
Mary bowed low, relief flooding her heart. Oboe spread her wings proudly. Flurry bounced on her little legs, chirping with joy.
They had found a place.
Seasons passed. Mary became known as the Hearth-Trumpet, who called the Court to feasts and battle alike. Oboe became the Cliff-Shadow, scout and messenger of the skies. And Flurry grew, season by season, into a fierce hunter, but always remembered as the hatchling who once offered a shell and bit a giant.
The Court remained wary of strangers, as it always had. But when the tale of these three was told, it carried a lesson: that gifts alone did not bind trust, but service, loyalty, and courage.
And so the fires burned on in the hollow of the cliffs, and the Court endured, wary but strong, its laws tempered by the story of Mary, Oboe, and Flurry, who came as outsiders and became kin.