It is the twelfth month of the year, the month of the encircling carps, naturally the weather is cold, quite cold to be exact. Harmattan fog covers the hill country with a veil of mist, shrouding the favelas in mystifying smog.
Dear reader look up there, yes on that mountain arrayed with cataphracts of bulwarks and ramparts, to that fortress floating as if upon the clouds as the brume settles at it's foundations overlooking the low plains like a scene from a fairytale.
See it's watchtowers guarded with sleepless sentries, eyes red with watching, horn on the ready; their battlements clothed with splendid archers; their portcullis and yetts girded with spearheading sentries bearing their gallant pikes. It is just like a fearsome pirate armed to the teeth standing tall amidst the haar of the isles of the Gents.
Behold it's flag presenting it's totem exhibited in coat of arms; a bronze lion with a seven-fold lock of copper-red dreads snarling at a trumpeting silver elephant, both hoisting up with their left hands a pointed oval shield with a green tailed golden rooster mounted atop. And wielding in their right hands a Konda sword and an Ngombe sword respectively.
With these words quoted below
"The timber baptised by fire ants cannot be gathered by the lumberjack"
rendered in a flaming font of fire.
This dear readers is a military noble's manor. Of the noble class only the mighty men live amongst the common class, while the wealthy merchants live amongst the professional class, as for the rest of the princes of the peoples they live in the cities of the four royal lineages.
The mighty men as protectors of the realm reside amongst the lowly far away from the affluence of the four capitals and the cities and the industrial zones, safeguarding the sovereignty of the kingdom from external threats.
As reward for their contribution to the stability and prosperity of the realm they have the privilege to do as they wilt with all their slum land and population.
The small scale and also the subsistence farmers, handymen as well as the other barrios of their territories offer up taxes of crop yields, free labour and other non monetary services to these feudal lords.
And most importantly they are paid in mandatory conscription of able bodied young men into their armies.
The current territorial landscape of the slums was created in the bygone days of the warlord era when a man would wake up on the wrong side of his bed and decide it was time take up his cutlass and march.
Thus every ghetto is under the control of an army, every army under a reigning dynasty of warlords, these warlords being the princes amongst the men of war. This area is under the protection and management of the Aridowu dynasty of the Aridowu army and is naturally called the Aridowu ghetto.
Eve gives way to dawn, the sun peers into the day like a bridegroom aroused by the fervent aroma of the bridal valley's dew. The sun rises from his resting chambers like a bridegroom arising from slumber in the bridal chambers after downing the nuptial wine of virginity.
The sun goes forth like a king in the procession of the host of his armies ready to conquer, full of vigor, beaming his glowing rays with waxing stride, scattering the mist like a confused army retreating seven ways before the piercing gaze of The Triune One!
Amidst the clearing haze, what is that light being scattered by it's dissipating retreat!? What's that train of dust galloping down the bumpy slopes? Oh ho! It's a custom power-chopper bike.
Complete with a long wheel base, a velvet accented banana seat with a tall sissy bar, chain steering ape handlebars, hydraulic based suspension, detailed extensive chrome wheels and painted matte black with flashes of venetium which is as delectable to the eye as gold.
And who else will ride this 'bad boy' in this slum other than Aridowu Sakaarin, a scion of the Aridowu dynasty. There he goes upon his roaring bike, drowning out all the ambience of country life. Look at his leather jacket skip in the wind of his racing, his dreads bouncing like the leaping flames of of a burn fire.
Where is he going in such haste? As a military young master should he not be warming up for morning training? He is going to the industrial zone!
Next month is spring, when flowers bud and school resumes and he was accepted into the prestigious Patrician Academy. As a student of the military court (or red house) he is going to pick up his custom made umbrella.
All military court students are provided a standard issue umbrella, this umbrella triples as a hidden Épée, a convertible shield, even a mini lance if one is skilled enough and ofcourse as an umbrella. But they all look the same, so the tradition is students procure custom umbrellas that suit their martial arts and meet their aesthetics.
Custom umbrellas come in all sorts of shapes and sizes!
Some students use jumbrellas, some just want a colour change as opposed to the standard issue black, some want a collapsible umbrella, some want exotic materials used in it's production like Colchis hide canopy and even fantasium spine shafts.
The Patrician Academy entertains this tradition, however students must bear in mind concerning their custom umbrellas, no hidden weapons or firearm extensions & it must not be taken out of the campus. Only the standard issue umbrella can be used outside school grounds for safety of society.
And after convocation the custom umbrella must be handed over to the Academy to be immortalised in the showcase collection at the Academy museum.