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# Children of Nazhira

Sneaky jungle pygmys with poison darts

Story
I was twelve rains when they gave me the blowpipe. My father smeared my face with green clay and whispered, “Breathe like the leaves. Strike like the thorn.”
We moved through the undergrowth, four hunters, silent as mist. The strangers were loud. They hacked at the vines, cursed the insects, and sang to drive away fear. We did not need to speak; a glance, a tilt of the head, and we circled them.
I crept close. My dart was tipped with venom I had milked myself from the viper’s fang. I thought of Nazhira watching through my eyes. My breath was steady. One puff, no louder than a sigh, and the dart flew. The man slapped his arm, laughed, and stumbled. His laughter became a cry. Then silence.
We did not take all of them. That is not our way. We let the survivors flee, for their fear spreads faster than our poison. They will tell stories in their stone towns, of little shadows in the trees, of death that comes with the sting of an insect.
That is enough. We are Nazhira’s children. The jungle is ours.

Children of Nazhira hunters

Story
The brew burned bitter on my tongue, black vine and moonflower boiling through my veins. Around me the village swayed, faces painted white, eyes wide with fear and hunger. I beat the drum once, twice, three times. The sound fell away and the world opened.
I saw the trees bend, their roots writhing like serpents. I saw the sky fall into the earth, and from the coil of shadows she came. Nazhira. Her eyes were moons, her voice a hiss like rain. She shed her skin and from it tumbled my people, small and naked, crying for milk.
She showed me what comes. Strangers cutting paths through her body, smoke rising where her heart beats. She showed me teeth of iron and chains biting flesh. Then she pressed her tongue to my brow, cold and sharp, and whispered, “Bite them first.”
I awoke with blood on my lips and the taste of scales. The others stirred, frightened, waiting. I raised my hands. “Nazhira has spoken. The coil must tighten. We strike before the strangers strike us.”
They bowed, every man, every woman, even the children. None doubted. Her voice was still in my throat.

# Description

The Children of Nazhira are a loose confederation of pygmy tribes dwelling in the deepest jungles of Zhuatl, where sunlight struggles to pierce the canopy and the cries of unseen creatures echo endlessly. Each tribe calls itself Tzanu, meaning “nest,” and while their ways differ slightly, all trace their lineage to the serpent goddess Nazhira, She-Who-Slithers-in-the-Dark.

## Society and Villages

Villages are small, seldom more than fifty souls, and shift location every few years when the game thins or the soil grows poor. A typical village is nothing more than stilted reed huts raised above the damp forest floor, with woven mats for walls.

Each Tzanu is led by its eldest, known as the Okal, who serves as judge and peacekeeper. The Okal is supported by the shaman, called a Tlamaz, who guides the spiritual life of the people. Authority is light-handed, for disputes are rare and survival relies more on cooperation than command.

The Hunters of Nazhira are always men, trained from childhood in the art of silent stalking. They wield blowpipes of hollowed cane, their darts tipped with paralytic or lethal venom milked from jungle vipers. The women, meanwhile, are Gatherers of the Bounty, moving gracefully through the underbrush to collect fruits, roots, and herbs, their baskets woven with ritual snake patterns.

Village life

## Marriage and Family

Among the Children of Nazhira, marriage is barter. Sons and daughters may be traded for a bronze blade, a shard of mirror, or a coil of beads. The Okal witnesses the pact, leaving the Mark of the Coil, a ritual scar, on the traded one’s shoulder.

Households are wide and shifting, often with several men and women tied together by layers of exchange. A spouse may even be traded again to settle debts, for people are the truest wealth. A widow or widower may not remarry until their household is compensated with an equivalent gift, ensuring that no life is lost to the balance of the tribes without repayment.

## Religion and Rituals

Every creature of the jungle is a manifestation of a god in flesh, but none is as sacred as Nazhira, the serpent goddess. She is believed to have shed her first skin to form the tribes, making them her children. While they acknowledge the existence of other gods, they bow only to her.

Rituals are communal and marked by the use of hallucinogenic brews made from moonflower and black vine. Under the trance, the entire Tzanu journeys together into the spirit world, led by the Tlamaz. Serpents are the guides in these visions, coiling through the dreamscape, offering wisdom or terror.

Men and women have their own secret rites. Men prove their worth by enduring venom-bites during spirit ceremonies, while women bind their arms with constrictor skins, symbolically offering themselves to Nazhira’s embrace.

Nazhira

## Relations and Warfare

The Children of Nazhira have little trust for outsiders. The Itzalcoa occasionally hunts them for sacrifices, and the Great Empire and others enslaved those they could catch. Because of this, strangers are met with ambush and venom. Their warfare is elusive: enemies find themselves struck by unseen darts, their numbers dwindling until terror breaks them.

When tribes band together, they form the Coil of Nazhira, a rare but deadly war-host. Painted in serpent scales and moving silently beneath the leaves, they descend upon their foes like the strike of a hidden viper.

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