Mountainous- Part 2

To prove his worthiness as chief, Kimahri holds a grand feast where he throws his weight around in regards of his warriors, until he's recognized as the biggest ronso ever. Enjoy!

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Kimahri huffed, the new bulk packed on to his body weighing him down as he lumbered down the increasingly narrow paths of Mount Gagazet. The ronso chief had a revelation; he had prayed to the mountain, and the mountain had provided. The warriors of his tribe had not given him the respect he deserved as their chief, and without their respect, he could not hope to keep the peace— but instead of proving his worth as a warrior over and over again, Kimahri had found a way to break the cycle.

He had found a vast stash of food and supplies hidden away in Gagazet, put there by the enemies of his tribe long ago, but now he had reclaimed it for the ronso, carrying two great sacks of precious healing supplies, potions, and more desperately needed materials, but the chief himself had certainly indulged. To those outside the ronso, Kimahri had looked like a fearsome warrior— a tall, lion-faced warrior, with thickly roped, bulging muscle and coarse blue fur, a jagged broken horn upon his head. But amongst his own kind, he had always been a runt— but no more. He may not have had the ability to grow taller or become the strongest of ronso warriors, but he could still become the biggest. 

The ronso's belly spilled out past his garments, a huge boulder that bounced with each heavy step as he approached the wall of the village, and the first watchmen spotted him in the distance. A few ronso jogged out to meet him, only to see their chief, and their jaws fell open in shock upon seeing Kimahri's blubbery state.

"Elder Kimahri!" one warrior, the burly village champion Devron, balked at the sight of his chief. "What has happened? What did Kimahri do on Gagazet?"

"Kimahri listened, and Gagazet responded," Kimahri grinned, patting his thick middle and dropping the sacks at the warrior's feet. "Mount Gagazet has provided for the ronso once more— spread these out among the sick and the wounded, and prepare a great feast."

"A feast?" Devron scoffed. "Elder Kimahri, ronso are in no mood for a feast!"

"Not in a mood?" Kimahri let out a bellyful laugh, making his enormous belly rock and shake. His trunk-like thighs rolled off one another as he confidently lumbered forward until his belly pressed against the warrior's toned abs. "When has there ever been a time when ronso are not in a mood to feast?" Kimahri's eyes glanced beyond Devron, watching the others slowly move closer, gawking at their chief. "Kimahri will say this— Devron is mighty, and perhaps Devron's words carry truth— Kimahri will set aside this notion of a feast, but only if Devron tells all other ronso the feast was cancelled on his advice."

Devron opened his mouth to protest, having been pushed back by Kimahri's sheer heft, but then feeling the eyes of the others on him, he clamped his mouth shut and nodded curtly to the fat ronso opposite him. "Very well, Elder. Devron will not contest Kimahri's decisions."

Kimahri grinned tightly, patting Devron's shoulder as he waddled into the village and returned to his hall to rest his aching feet. It was the first time that he had really felt clever. The ronso all loved a good feast, and already, he could hear the mood of the village lifted at the news. All around him, people eagerly began to prepare for the feast, making brightly colored decorations, preparing bonfires and music, and of course, cooking a massive banquet. Tons of meat were seared, grilled, and broiled, and the supplies from the hidden cache up on Gagazet were put to excellent use.

Kimahri adorned his flabby belly in all the ornaments and trappings of his position, with jewelry and brightly colored cloths that somehow enveloped the circumference of his belly. The feast began, and the ronso villagers were in high spirits— music was spirited, drink flowed freely, and food was generous and rich.

But Kimahri's eyes were on his warriors, who, as was their right and honor, sat at the chief's right and left side. He could hear them grumbling and casting disparaging, withering glances as Kimahri's belly filled his lap, but he did not show any shame or let their stares get to him— he had a plan for putting them in their place.

Leaning over, he spotted Devron's plate, and pointed to it. "What is this, Devron ronso? Where is the hunger of my supposed strongest warrior?"

Devron frowned. "Devron has eaten his fill, Elder. Devron can survive off only a single ration for two days, such is Devron's constitution."

Kimahri let out another deep laugh that rocked his blubbery gut. "Indeed! But this is a feast. Surely Devron can take another piece? Or is Devron's constitution so… delicate?"

That clearly stung the ronso's pride, and he filled his plate to wordlessly spite the chief— but Kimahri was ready for that, and ate with renewed gusto. "Kimahri will say this," he announced in a booming voice. "Any warrior that cannot keep up with their chief, especially in something as simple and pleasurable as eating, how can they call themselves a true warrior of the ronso?" he declared in a jovial tone, but it was a challenge he had thrown down— and ronso warriors never turned down a challenge.

Grimacing as they moved to stuff themselves, not wishing to lose face in front of their chief, none could match Kimahri's boundless hunger. He put away entire flanks of cattle and whole chocobo legs, washing them down with barrels of the ronso ales. Another warrior, one he had heard muttering about his weakness before, finally snarled.

"What challenge is this? What is said of ronso, when their chief is a fat glutton?" the warrior growled, gripping his overstuffed middle.

Kimahri let out a rich laugh, casting a pitying smile to the ronso, who now looked quite small compared to the boulder that was his chief. "Glutton, you call Kimahri? Is the ronso not supposed to mirror mighty Gagazet in all things?" He slapped his full, stuffed belly, making it bounce heavily. "Why, in pounds alone, Kimahri is more like Gagazet than any other ronso here!"

The joke eased the tension, and the warrior still frowning was alone, being jostled by his fellows. The feasting continued well into the night, but one by one, the warriors could no longer suffer one more bite, but Kimahri continued to gorge himself. The huge ronso was now truly monumental and mountainous in his sheer, bulky weight. There were houses in the village smaller than his great, roiling gut, a practical sea of blue-furred blubber that spilled out far past the rest of his body, smothering his legs, and dominating the outline of his body. His barrel-thick legs and chunky thighs were splayed out, partially submerged under his belly, which suited the chief just fine, as Kihmari wasn't planning on moving anytime soon.. His tail, even, had fattened up, when it wasn't being swallowed by his titanic rear. What appeared to be two enormous rice bags laid listlessly atop his belly, the plumped-up swells of his chest— his thickly swaddled arms still held a surprising amount of strength, more than enough to hoist up bigger and bigger plates to his hungry maw, ringed as it was in multiple chins and balloon-sized cheeks.

As the chief gloated over his warriors by continuing to stuff his face, the same discordant warrior, still stung by his earlier embarrassment, slammed his fist on the table. "Zorn ronso declares this a disgrace! Kimahri is no true chief. Look at him! Can Kimahri even walk under all that useless weight?"

Some, like Devron, immediately stood, bearing claws and weapons to defend Kimahri's honor, but the huge, obese mammoth of a ronso held up one sausage-fingered hand, grinning at Zorn. "Zorn ronso thinks he would make a better chief, then?" He held out his flabby arms. "Then throw Kimahri out! Cast Kimahri ronso out of the chief's hall, and claim it for your own. Do this, and Kimahri will not protest Zorn's actions."

Zorn snarled, tensing his thickly roped arms as he ran to Kimahri's thick, lard-laden sides and threw all his weight against the near-immobile ronso, heavy reams of blubber spilling over his shoulder and atop the ronso's head. Zorn grunted, throwing all his strength into the effort to push Kimahri off his perch at the head of the table, but Kimahri's own titanic rear anchored him to the spot; Zorn huffed, slamming himself against Kimahri, but could not find a purchase that wasn't soft, pliable blubber that pooled in his hands or merely pressed back against him. He only managed to shove Kimahri onto the floor, the chief laying somewhat listlessly on his side, like a boat caught on low tide. Zorn heaved, but eventually, his strength failed him, and he slumped to the floor, having completely exhausted himself in the effort.

Kimahri, still cushioned by the heavy layers of adipose ringing every part of his body, laughed deeply. "There— ronso see? Kimahri is as immovable as sacred Gagazet— and who here will contest that?"

The ronso gathered cheered their chief, and Kimahri smiled wide, thinking he had most certainly earned a dessert after all this— they would sing songs about him, the clever chief, the biggest of the ronso, who defeated his rivals and united the ronso without lifting a finger.