Tùy Qãc ('Storm Kingdom', or 'Kingdom of the Storm') was the name the Tùy Fùng gave to their united tribal empire. A far-reaching yet very loosely bound federation of autonomous tribal kingdoms ruled by Princes (and who themselves were beholden to the chiefs of their principality's constituent tribes) under an elected Storm King of the Dinh dynasty, the Tùy Qãc was well-positioned and enjoyed more than abundant resources with which to exert its grip - as soft-handed and loose it might be - over its less-developed cousins to the west, and would both set an example for many other advanced Fơng polities to follow and sharply contrast with the highly centralized Dabei state to the north in the centuries to come.
| Extent of the Tùy Qãc by 10,500 AA |  |
| Fùng language | The Fùng language naturally belonged under the Fơng umbrella, and was spoken by the northeasternmost Fơng tribes. It is believed to have been a common language of both the Săng Fùng and Binh Fùng even before their unification, and at this point in time, has little in common with the tongue of the neighboring Dabei civilization.
| Modern speech | Proto-Fơng | Fùng | | Man, men | Ơng, vơng | Ứng, yứng | | Woman, women | Âng, mâng | Êng, mêng | | Rice | Cơi | Cây | | Tiger | Hổ | Huēn | | Storm | Tổi | Tùy | |
| Tùy Fùng society | As previously outlined, Fùng society was highly decentralized - they had no true cities in the early Iron Age, instead dwelling in small sedentary villages or at best palisade-enclosed towns scattered all over the land - and practiced both primitive direct and representative democracy of sorts on different levels, with remarkably little power concentrated in the hands of their social hierarchy's top levels. This was a necessity, because the humid jungles and rough mountains that formed their homeland made communication and consolidation of power difficult while also rendering home defense quite easy; trade, travel and long-distance communication was chiefly done via riverways, for the Fùng had no roads more advanced than simple dirt paths, and not even that in most tribal areas. Regional governance was left entirely to indigenous princes, who in turn delegated much authority to their chiefs and clan elders, without a governor or even supervisor appointed by what passed for a central government led by the Storm King, and the response to a tribe shirking their tribute to their immediate superior (be it the Storm King or just their local Prince) was virtually always just the raising of an army for a short punitive campaign, a few skirmishes, and either the rebel chief giving up a few hostages and accepting doubled/tripled tribute (should the Storm King or local Prince be victorious) or the shamans negotiating a resolution more in the rebels' favor.
The very bedrock of Fùng social organization was the family unit (singl. thừ, pl. thừat): typically, a multi-generational household headed by the oldest man around, with as many as four or five generations of his descendants living under his roof. There were regional differences in the type of home each Fùng family lived in - those who lived by rivers and swamps dwelt in pile-dwellings of bamboo and reed, while the highlanders preferred adobe hill-huts or cliff-dwellings partly built into cavates (openings dug into the mountainside, which could double as cellars and shelters) - and what they did for a living - virtually all Fùng engaged in agriculture, but there was a world of difference between the vast rice paddies or soybean fields of the lowlanders and the meager valley farms of the mountain folk, the latter of whom would often have to supplement their subsistence farming with hunting and the gathering of tree nuts, berries & herbs - but they functioned in similar ways: everyone was expected to pull their weight regardless of age or gender, with girls and boys helping out around the house or in the fields as soon as they could walk and talk, and the patriarch's word was law. When someone died, their possessions were divided among their children, with the elder children receiving more than the younger ones regardless of sex.
| Pile-dwelling of the Binh Fùng at the mouth of the River Tiếp, c. 10,445 AA |  |
Not all Fùng were farmers, of course, even though the overwhelming majority were. Of the families that lived together as a village, one or two may be hunters and fishermen, reaping nature's bounty with bow, javelin and spear rather than hoe and sickle. Another would be the village smiths, responsible for churning out iron tools and weapons for the rest of the town, as well as dabbling in making jewelry or other ornaments out of bone, brass, jade and turtle-shell for those who could afford such luxuries. Still another might be the family of village weavers, making loose, comfortable clothes out of cotton and hemp, or tanners who turned the animal skins provided by the local hunter into belts and sandals, and so on. Those who belonged to these more specialized professions were expected to carry on the trades of their fathers, and commonly apprenticed under their parents in their youth. Fùng villages were supposed to essentially function as an extremely large family unit (and, knowing small towns in the jungle back in the day, it was reasonably likely that not only did everyone know each other but all the families would've been related to one another), with everyone chipping in to support a fellow villager or family who had fallen on hard times, and all land outside of each family's marked plot being owned in common.
| Fùng riverlanders engaged in rice farming, c. 10,450 AA |  |
| A highland Fùng hunter with his wife and son, c. 10,450 AA |  |
Families were bound into clans through the existence of a common patrilineal ancestor, and which often used part of this common ancestor's name as their surname (for example, the royal clan of the Tùy Fùng was called the Dinh, after their progenitor Tiên Ting Dinh). Clan identity was passed on through the father, although curiously women were still treated as part of their birth clan even if they were to marry into a different clan - indeed, by tradition the Fùng had three names: a first name they chose for themselves upon coming of age (around 13-14), a middle name assigned at birth by their mother (often the mother's own clan name if she was from a different clan altogether, but obviously this would not be the case if the mother was from the same clan as the father), and their father's clan name as their surname.
Fùng clans (phái) could number as few as three families, and as many as sixty, but regardless of their size they were led on the same basis of agnatic seniority as the basic Fùng family unit: a dying clan head's successor was the male family head closest to him in age, not the one closest to him in blood-relation. These clan heads bore the responsibility of mediating disputes among their kin, arranging marriages outside of the clan, and calling a clan-wide summit of families (known as a một) when confronted with grave crises such as a bloody feud with a rival clan or a famine. At these summits, the clan had to reach a decision democratically; while the clan elder was expected to direct the discussion and prevent things from spiraling into chaos, any clansman or clanswoman of age could present their own arguments and proposals, and would have a vote on what to do when the elder declared the discussion over.
| Reconstruction of a Fùng clan elder or tribal chief's stilt-longhouse, where they would live and host a một |  |
Above the clan was the tribe or phân, the first significant level of sociopolitical organization among the ancient Fùng. These were composed of dozens or even hundreds of clans, initially voluntarily organizing into one unit but soon becoming permanently bound together through marriage links, and led by a chief elected for life by not just the clan elders (though they reserved the exclusive right to advise him) but by all the adults of the tribe's constituent clans through simple shows of hands and shouts of approval at a great tribal một held every time a chief died. Unlike clan elders, chiefs didn't need to consult with everyone in their tribe before making a decision, nor was such a thing practical in the jungle of southeastern Muataria; they were, however, expected to at least call a council of the clan elders and hear them out before acting. At lavish planting and harvest festivals, the chief's clan was expected to ply their subjects with gifts of food, animals, jewelry and even weapons, and naturally the most generous chieftains were the most respected and loved - setting aside the fact that everyone likes free things, great generosity was considered a sign of personal wealth on the part of the giver.
Owing to the extremely low degree of centralization in the Storm Kingdom, its numerous constituent tribes were able to retain their unique identities: from great tribes such as the Săng Fùng and Binh Fùng who founded the empire to smaller, obscure tribes such as the Mùnănh, Dưlang and Ưzyi proudly maintained their own dialects, cultural and political traditions and lifestyles as they had for centuries or millennia before the unification. The Dinh dynasty of Storm Kings, despite being Săng Fùng by birth, did not (and in all likelihood didn't have the power to) try to impose their own ways on these other tribes, and what Săng or Binh Fùng influences (in dress, language, artwork or what have you) made their way down to the lesser vassal tribes of the Tùy Qãc did so peacefully as part of the cultural osmosis generated at the itinerant Dinh royal court. Indeed, far from suppressing local traditions the Storm Kings would indulge in the customs of the vassal tribes they visited on occasion, so as to further ingratiate themselves with their subjects. This extended even to those traditions which were plainly dangerous (as an example, the Mùnănh were known to test the worth and manliness of leaders by having them don leaf-sleeves with bullet ants woven on the inside for hours on end) and/or ridiculous (the Ưzyi had a habit of consuming the roasted testicles of beasts in an attempt to absorb the masculine strength of said testicles' former owners, with the only acceptable beverage on such occasions being one made by mixing ground cannabis with milk).
Each tribe had their own way of distinguishing their chieftain: unique tattoos, colorful feathered headdresses, special jeweled talismans, rattan skirts painted with certain designs, or some combination of the above. While the chiefdom wasn't strictly hereditary, most tribes fell into the habit of electing chiefs only from certain clans, and the family of a reigning or deceased chief was afforded elite status that set them above the rest of their peers - they retained the right to address and advise their clan elders ahead of everyone else, to marry beyond clan lines without consulting the elder, and to receive first pick of the loot from raids and battles - including the first and best slices of land from defeated tribes that didn't surrender in time to receive full clemency. These lands would then be rented out to the youngest sons and daughters of lesser families who weren't due to inherit anything, who would live on & till them and then pay the landowner with a share of the crop for the privilege, though these proto-serfs could also leave for a new master at any time (as long as they hadn't previously broken their end of the deal and missed a payment or two) and thus incentivize fairly lenient treatment. Essentially, these ex-chiefly families would become the tribe's nobility, or chủệt.
| Reenactor portraying a Fùng tribal chief, complete with silk robes and bird's nest hat |  |
Tribes were further organized into principalities (toàn), predictably led by a Prince or Toà. These were the largest power-blocs and highest level of social organization within the Storm Kingdom, and their rulers were elected for life by their subordinate chiefs from the ranks of a single chủệt clan exalted above the others, traditionally that of the principality's founder. A tribal Prince was seen as more than just a ruler, he was also a paternal figure of sorts to those beneath him; and so he was expected to provide justice to his subjects, sort out disputes with the neighboring principalities, keep the Storm King off his people's backs and lead them to victory in battle. He was expected to father many children with his harem of wives and concubines, thereby both proving his manhood and providing his chiefs with a broad choice of (hopefully competent) candidates to succeed him, and to be both fair in rule and a charismatic expert warrior. A Prince could designate his successor, and it was the custom of many tribes to only vote for a successor from the ranks of the late Prince's own sons, but there were times when the chiefs could opt not to respect their liege's will or his lineage and elect a more distant relative of his instead - a situation which usually precipitated a civil war.
| Models of a Toà of the Tùy Fùng and his wife with their guards and advisers painted around them, c. 10,500 AA |  |
Finally, above the toàn was the Storm King (or Tùy Cảnh) himself. Each of these supreme overlords of the Storm Folk was elected by a council of the Princes upon the death of his predecessor, always from the rank of the Dinh clan, whose scions were accordingly afforded the dignity of bāch-gười or 'royal kinsman': as most Storm Kings fathered scores of children with a large number of wives and concubines, the royal clan grew so vast that its junior branches were given new clan names in no time at all, yet should the main ruling line ever die out the branch nearest to it by blood would be elevated to take its place and name. Once elected, the Storm King then had to wander out into a thunderstorm alone and return only once the storm had passed: if he died, it meant the storm god Sín Sông Sét, of whom they were supposed to be the earthly avatar, rejected them. Only once he returned would the shamans dry him off, anoint him with sacred oils, garb him in the colorful coronation silks and place the iron crown of Tiên Ting Dinh on his head, after which he would greet his uproarious subjects as their properly minted overlord for the first time.
| Storm King Āng Gia Dinh about to ruin a sunny day with his raindance, c. 10,485 AA |  |
As the rulers of all the Storm Folk, the Storm Kings were primarily expected to preside over religious ceremonies dedicated to Sín Sông Sét, mediate in major disputes between entire tribes and principalities with the support of their shamans before matters escalated to a civil war (although they were not averse to letting such conflict erupt at times, just to vent the ill-feelings between their subjects, so long as the violence could be contained) and to lead the peoples of the Tùy Qãc into war. Mystical powers, particularly the ability to call and dispel storms, were also attributed to the Storm Kings by their subjects. The Dinh bloodline was furthermore strongly associated with the Muataric tigers and tiger-lords, and so many Storm Kings kept pet tigers, both to impress guests with and feed troublesome prisoners to if the elephants in their stables were deemed unable to deliver a sufficiently painful execution.
Although men led Fùng families and society in general, women enjoyed significant autonomy. They worked in the fields alongside their fathers, husbands, brothers and sons, as previously mentioned, but were also entitled to inherit a share of their parents' possessions upon the latter's death - it was one's birth order, not sex, that determined how much one got from the deceased parent, and so an elder daughter could end up with much more than a younger son. A woman could own her own house and, in the event that her husband or father died and there were no other males of age around who were patrilineally related to the previous household patriarch, become the head of the household unto her death.
This principle even extended to the leadership of tribes, principalities and the Storm Kingdom itself: in the event that a chief, prince or Storm King died without any living sons or grandsons, it was not unheard of for their daughters and granddaughters to be elected to succeed them, though unlike her male counterpart a Fùng Storm Queen (Tùy Cảnhúa) amassing a harem of male lovers would be frowned upon. Fùng women could and often did fight alongside their men, especially female scions of the chủệt tribal aristocracy who could afford to not work out in the fields and instead dedicate their time to learning the martial arts alongside their brothers. Finally, raising children was a family-wide effort, not restricted to just the mother or even both parents.
| A princess of the Dinh clan, c. 10,500 AA |  |
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| Tùy Fùng religion | The traditional Fùng religion can be best characterized as one of Clerical soul, with an Ancestral mentality. The Fùng venerate a broad pantheon of naturalistic gods and spirits under the auspices of a hereditary class of shamans, often under different names and in different ways from tribe to tribe, and also practice a form of ancestor worship: the fact that each tribe within the Storm Kingdom's borders held on to its unique identity means that there is no stringently established religious orthodoxy among the Fùng, although the shamanic class is in general quite influential throughout all of Fùng society and the tribes did at least share a common mythology whose broad details they could agree on. The world as we know it was said to have been created by the union of Sky Father (Trời Da) and Earth Mother (Trái Ḿất), the primordial deities who were all that existed back when the universe was still an empty void. Their marriage produced a string of godly children, but the succession of births took a toll on Trái Ḿất's life and eventually killed her. In his grief, Trời Da committed suicide by burning himself to death with the Sun, which happened to be the placenta of the couple's second son, the god of fire. And this is why, as far as the Fùng are concerned, the Earth is actually Trái Ḿất's corpse, while the Sun and sky are apparently unmoving.
The eldest and greatest of the gods is Sín Sông Sét, the god of storms, rulership, fatherhood and war. With the death of his parents, he was forced to assume responsibility for and leadership over his younger siblings from a young age - essentially becoming their father figure in lieu of their now-deceased biological father - and thus had to learn (invent?) the concept of running a strict but fair regime very quickly. It was at the entreaty of his younger siblings, who desired even younger ones to watch over and care for, that he and the older gods shaped animals and humans from the soil (their mother's flesh and bone, really) and breathed life into them. Nowadays Sín Sông Sét still reigns in the skies, moving clouds to blot out the Sun's searing rays or let them through onto the Earth as necessary to sustain life, showering the ground with rain to help plants grow and rivers flow, dispensing justice to evildoers with his divine lightning and presiding over the wars of men.
| Iron statuette of Sín Sông Sét, made by the Săng Fùng c. 10,489 AA |  |
Oh yes, Sín Sông Sét had no problem with war, and was even its god: there were few things he delighted in more than honorable battle, where brave men would lock blades and spears with one another and fight until their bones could take no more. Serious legal matters were also traditionally settled with trials by combat, and whoever won was thought to have been found to be in the right by Sín Sông Sét. Such bloody contests were thought by the Fùng to strengthen the hearts & willpower of those who participated and to bring glory to the names of their tribes, and so long as the killing was restricted to warriors who were there by choice & prepared for the possibility of dying with a weapon in hand, there was no harm in it all. Even the losing side in the tribal wars of the Fùng could retreat with their heads held high and no shame on their names if they'd fought valorously.
| Sín Sông Sét was said to watch battles in the form of a ghostly white tiger |  |
It was by decree of Sín Sông Sét that worthy foes who had conceded defeat were to be given an offer to join your side should you defeat them, or have their remains returned to their kin for an honorable burial if they insisted on fighting to the bitter end; cowards who quit the field when they could've still fought and abandoned their comrades to die could be humiliated and their corpses desecrated, but to do the same to men who had died giving it their all was considered beyond the pale among the Fùng, as was attacking invalids, old men, women and children who couldn't fight back, for there was no glory to be found in killing and brutalizing the defenseless.
Other Fùng gods and goddesses include:
- Vừng Đầu, the goddess of the forest, plants in general, agriculture and fertility in more ways than one. She is the eldest sister and consort of Sín Sông Sét, their union a mirror image of that of their father and mother, and it is her role to tend the trees and the bush and all the beasts who live within them, from the humblest ant to the mightiest Tiger-Lord. Though Vừng Đầu permits men to clear away parts of her jungles for farming so that they might grow their own food without having to kill her precious animals and harvest her trees instead, her court of fairies (yunàng) would ward men off from wandering uninvited into those groves she has designated as sacred, playing usually harmless tricks to needle the humans onto the way out of the woods. Moreover, couples pray and sacrifice to her to make their union fruitful, while expectant mothers call upon her to ensure their survival and that of their child in childbirth.
- Sú Xấng Sân, the second son of Sky Father and Earth Mother, god of fire and violence. His placenta became the sun, and with a flick of his fingers he can consume entire jungles in raging wildfires or put out an inferno that boils even the heaviest rainstorm into steam. However, as god of violence, he also rejoices in bloodshed of any kind - even that which carries no honor, such as the rapine and pillaging that inevitably trails even the most upright fighters in war. Warriors devoted to Sú Xấng Sân consume psychoactive mushrooms to drive themselves into a murderous frenzy, are known to level entire villages and murder the defenseless without mercy, and sacrifice those few prisoners they take to him at the stake. Sometimes, his big brother has to beat him back into line to keep him from destroying the world with the fire of his fury; their clashes are typically depicted as one between a ghostly white tiger (Sín Sông Sét) and a fiery black one (Sú Xấng Sân himself).
- Noȋ Yứng Săng, the 'old man of the mountain', who despite his name and haggard appearance is actually one of the younger gods. He is a god of minerals and the forge, the one who placed veins of copper and tin and iron and whatever else where they are today as he fancied, and is said to have taught men the secrets of fire and metal-working. Naturally, he is considered a great patron by the Săng Fùng, who attribute their iron arsenal to him.
| A wooden statue of Vừng Đầu in Binh Fùng territory, dated to 10,488 AA |  |
| Sú Xấng Sân in the form of a fiery black tiger |  |
| Carved statue of Noȋ Yứng Săng in the Săng Fùng highlands, dated to 10,493 AA |  |
The Fùng did not believe in an otherworldly afterlife. Rather, when people died, their souls were said to be bound to the nearest geographic feature to their resting place: a tree, a boulder, a spring, a volcano, anything. Their descendants would offer sacrifices of rice, alcohol and meat at these sites, calling on their ancestors' spirits to accept their offering and intercede before the gods on their behalf to grant their wishes. The tribal shamans were also said to be able to commune with ancestral spirits, if they felt inclined to help the tribesman or tribeswoman asking them to do so.
Speaking of the tribal shamans, or Munsư - as previously stated, they were an enormously influential class in Fùng society. Their role was a hereditary one, with each shaman tracing their lineage back to one of the first men and women who had the unique gift of being able to directly communicate with the gods and spirits, and the shamanic mantle always being passed from the previous shaman to their eldest surviving child or (if they have none) closest blood relation. Each tribe's shamans used a different method to alter their state of consciousness - some inhaled the fumes made by burning certain herbs and mushrooms in a consecrated firepit, others drank a tea made from the juices of sage-of-the-diviners, still others bathed in and drank the blood of bulls and tigers or other wild animals - but all claim to be able to seek the counsel of the gods on what a tribe, prince or even Storm King should do in times of crisis.
| A female shaman or Munúa of the Fùng, c. 10,480 AA |  |
Owing to their divine connection, the Fùng believed these shamans to be the closest thing they had to neutral arbiters (as men bound to the will of the gods rather than that of their mortal tribes), and they were frequently invited to mediate in intertribal or inter-principality disputes before things got out of hand; indeed, it was a panel of shamans who persuaded the Săng & Binh Fùng to set aside their differences and found the Storm Kingdom in the first place. Finally, aside from their crucial role in Fùng diplomacy, the shamans also doubled as medicine men: they smeared aloe on injuries before bandaging the wound, made poultices from linseed flax, and concocted treatments for common and rare illnesses alike from herbs and more exotic sources, such as snake blood and ground rhinoceros horn. |
| Tùy Fùng warfare | Owing to the extreme decentralization of the Tùy Qãc, Fùng warfare in this early period tended to be tribal and low-key. Despite the (still growing!) size of the Storm Kingdom and the population boom brought about by the spreading of Binh Fùng agricultural techniques to lesser-developed tribes, the difficulty of communication and logistics in the rough terrain of Fùng territories, coupled the fact that Fùng chiefs could and often did withhold aid from their overlord for any reason under the sun made it difficult for the Storm Kings to mobilize an army of significant size from their vassal tribes, while the issues of intertribal rivalries, virtually every tribe speaking a different dialect from their neighbors and some tribes being completely incapable of understanding others made organizing those men who were provided into a coherent army even harder. Still, the Fùng did have some things going for them: firstly, their lack of conscription, grounded in their religious and cultural taboos against forcing men to fight if they didn't want to, ensured that all of their warriors were enthusiastic volunteers who were willing and eager to fight. Secondly, the great diversity of their tribes also translated to great diversity in their fighting styles. And thirdly, their willingness to deploy warrior-women meant they could tap into a source of (pun intended) manpower that more patriarchal societies wouldn't have been willing to consider.
The Fùng did not really have an elite class of dedicated warriors, as many other societies to the West and North did, although of course the chủệt aristocracy had access to better and greater resources than the common tribals. Rather, all members of society from the Dinh royal clan's myriad branches to the lowest of tribesmen honed their skills through their day-to-day life - hunters naturally needed to know how to aim, shoot and thrust with a spear or long-knife every day to survive, while even farmers trained their muscles with their backbreaking labor - while also being expected to be constantly available for war. Fùng culture and religion glorified warfare: it was deemed the best and quickest way to bring prestige to one's own name and that of one's family, as well as a path to strengthening the self in both mind and body. That said, when there was nobody to fight, all of their warriors would be instructed to stand down and go home: these were not a people who understood the concept of a standing army, and besides, all those tribal volunteers probably have harvests to collect and mouths to feed back home.
| A Binh Fùng troop ready to march, c. 10,465 AA |  |
Every man worth being called a man should be more than willing to fight; indeed, some tribes had hunting dangerous animals or participating in head-hunting raids against their neighbors as rites of passage for their young men, and even the generally more peaceable farming tribes such as the Binh Fùng awarded special tattoos and other markers of status to men who brought home enemy heads. Those who died fighting were believed to have died honorably; those who fell while trying to quit the field rather than fighting to the bitter end were seen as cowards, dead weight that their tribe is better off without, and those who refused to fight at all were seen as even more contemptible weaklings, to be shamed and shunned by the rest of their tribe until they 'grew a pair' and joined the fight out of their own volition. As previously stated, Fùng society considered conscription abhorrent but did still use social pressure to motivate men into battle, under the belief that any man who actually has to be forced into fighting probably doesn't have his heart in it and would make a poor soldier. On the flipside, even someone who goes to war only so that his parents don't turn their faces from him and little kids from his tribe kick him in the shin every time he's not looking can be thought of as going to battle to bring honor to his own, mud-smeared name, which is better than nothing. (And besides transient glory, the volunteering fighters could also expect to bring home plunder to more materially enrich themselves and their families)
Consequently, virtually all Fùng warriors were volunteers. Of these, as was the case everywhere else, most would have been young men (and more rarely, women) of the tribes who went into battle with naught but the clothes on their back (unless of course their tribe traditionally went in the buff). Armed with bamboo or iron spears, axes, machetes, daggers, hunting bows, javelins and blowdarts, and armored only with tattoos and talismans that their local shaman says would protect them from harm, they and their leaders probably had little understanding of tactics - but they'd have learned enough from hunting trips and the like to at least be familiar with the concept of an ambush, and stabbing or shooting at their target until it died.
| Fùng tribal warriors in the jungle, c. 10,475 AA |  |
As the Iron Age wore on, rattan armor became more common among the Fùng. Even the Săng Fùng lacked the metalworking techniques to produce iron armor in large quantities, so they turned to this tough and flexible climbing palm instead: it obviously wasn’t as tough as iron, it could be set ablaze with torches and fire-arrows, and it was poorly suited to cold climates, yet still rattan was plentiful, universally available throughout all but the most remote Fùng lands and could be worked by virtually anyone. And of course, some protection was still better than none. Thus did more & more Fùng tribesmen direct their wives, mothers and children to weave together at least simple cuirasses and broad conical hats (visually identical to those commonly worn by farmers) of this material, previously used chiefly for furniture and handicraft, for their protection. By 10,500 AA, it was not uncommon for even poor Fùng tribals to head off to war wearing at least a rattan hat and carrying a circular rattan shield.
| Reenactors portraying rattan-armored Tùy Fùng warriors of middling status (or just especially caring families), c. 10,500 AA |  |
The chủệt nobility struck a more imposing sight than their social inferiors, for they were able to afford full-body rattan and leather armor, higher-quality iron weapons, and even horses (a rarity across Fùng society) in some cases. These fighting men and women combined rattan helmets (frequently decorated with colorful feathers), pauldrons, skirts and greaves with leather bracers and cuirasses, and the richest nobles could further reinforce their leather armor with iron bands. Among the northernmost Fùng tribes, some nobles opted to fight on horseback with iron-headed spears, curved broadswords or axes, and long rattan shields; further south, they still overwhelmingly fought on foot with longbows, shorter swords and longer spears. Tiger, panther and leopard pelts worn over the head and shoulders completed their fearsome visage.
| A Săng Fùng amazon from a chủệt family, c. 10,485 AA |  |
As far as beasts of war went, besides horses (practically unheard of outside of the Binh Fùng and other northern tribes), the Fùng also made use of war elephants. Their trunks and faces painted in shamanic designs while their tusks were slathered in potent poisons whose exact recipe differed from tribe to tribe, these gargantuan warbeasts made for a horrifying sight on the battlefield and could drive smaller Fùng warbands into retreat just by appearing in the distance. Those who dared to stick around could be thrown around like ragdolls by their trunks, impaled on their tusks or squished into bloody pancakes beneath their feet. Furthermore, by 10,500 AA the Fùng had begun placing simple wooden boxes on the elephants’ backs, and these crude howdahs could carry a crew of three or four javelin-and-bow-armed warriors who’d fling missiles down on the poor souls below while the mahout continued to steer their beast.
The best Fùng fighters were those that belonged to the Dinh household, as was necessary on account of most Storm Kings being (as much because of the demands of tribal tradition as genuine bloodlust) the first to enter the fray and last to leave. It is said that the Storm Kings maintained two divisions of royal guards, the closest thing they had to a standing army, both of which were said to be comprised of a combination of more distant royal kinsmen and younger chủệt children who weren’t due to inherit much or anything from their parents: the Tiger Guard (Huēn Lượng Quân) and the Elephant Guard (Kili Lượng Quân). The first of these, the Tiger Guards were provided with the only known instances of iron helmets and breastplates in Fùng lands prior to the middle Iron Age, and also wore tiger pelt cloaks & hoods to further distinguish their status. Fighting as heavy infantrymen, they were said to all be expert archers and melee fighters, shooting down foes from afar with their longbows and breaking out high-quality iron swords and long rattan shields whenever a foe managed to get close enough for them to turn into mincemeat.
| A recovered Tiger Guard helmet dating back to 10,446 AA |  |
The second division, that of the Elephant Guards, were armored similarly to the Tiger Guards, but donned a headdress of iridescent peacock & firebird plumes and an ivory necklace instead of a tiger pelt. True to their name, they fought from atop elephants, with one Elephant Guard steering the beast (and carrying a mallet and stake with which to kill it should it go out of control) while three to four others fired on foes below with their bows or thrust at them with their iron lances from the howdah. A mass of thorny vines twisted into a ‘chain’ of sorts would be secured between and onto the animal’s tusks, completing the ensemble and presenting a devastating trap for anyone who thinks to slip between the elephant’s tusks and underneath its belly.
| A Storm King in gilded armor goes to war atop his pet elephant, c. 10,500 AA |  |
There are no exact numbers on the strength of the Tiger and Elephant Guards at this point in time. In the most modest stories and legends, they’re said to be a hundred strong each, with the Elephant Guard divided between twenty elephants; in others, the Tiger Guard varied between two hundred to two thousand strong while the Elephant Guard numbered between three to four hundred, divided between as many as a hundred elephants. Presumably, their sizes fluctuated based on the wealth of the Storm Kings and whether or not there was a war going on.
Finally, the Fùng were skilled river- and seafarers, and arguably they had to be to conduct trade between their tribes over long distances without the benefit of roads on land. In wartime long, narrow barges were used to speedily transport warbands and supplies up & down the thousand small rivers and several dozen larger ones crisscrossing the Storm Kingdom. Riverine clashes between Fùng tribes were usually limited to just boarding actions where the boats' oarsmen would try to paddle close enough to one another that the warriors on board could shoot at and eventually jump onto the opposing vessel, and could prove hazardous for both parties if they happened to meet at the rapids or near a waterfall.
Battles between Fùng tribes (of which there were many, as tribes tried to steal their rivals' cattle or seize their farmlands all the time) were usually little more than skirmishes and would have involved two masses of painted, unarmored warriors trying to sneak up on each other in the jungle, with the engagement opened by a brief exchange of missiles before the fighting men rushed at one another with their spears, axes and blades in hand. These clashes were bloody but quick, and lack of discipline would mean the loser could easily retreat after as little as ten minutes of fighting, while the winner would be too preoccupied with victory chants, dances and trying to loot the fallen to pursue. Almost needless to say, this style of warfare would flounder against more organized and better-disciplined foes.
For outward-facing wars of conquest, the Storm Kings were said to be able to amass armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands, which custom demanded they lead from the front. But even assuming this is half-true, such vast hosts would have quickly either fallen apart or devastated the lands they came across as their leaders lacked the logistics to feed, water and house so many warriors for more than a few months or even weeks: such overwhelming numbers, or rumors of such numbers, must have been used to intimidate their foes into a quick surrender or else achieve a rapid victory before the army disintegrated under the weight of attrition. |
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[ANW - Civilization] The Storm Folk: Tùy Fùng
