Blood Within: Part 2
RP took off after the meetup, and looks like it will continue! No pressure on anyone. It goes as long as it goes. - Svarshan
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* W02: Mictlan *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Located within the Deep Woods, and hours past Wilderness Pointe, in the heart of its northern woods, bones frame this hollowed-out space. Massive and heavy, they reach towards the sky, meeting--almost--in the center like great and worn stalagmites. Or giant teeth. After a few seconds--it's quickly evident that this is a space carved from a dragon's bones. A very, very large...dragon's bones. The air smells of ash, brimstone, and earth. Underneath the apex of the bones lie the workings of a ceremonial pyre. The grounds are run by shamans of the sith-makar, and the sacred space dedicated to the Death Singing Dragon, one of their names for the goddess, Vardama. The sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse. EXTRAS: +view -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Durrankar Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes 3m 11m Sebropert A black Sith'Makar with copper markings. 9m 4h Svarshan Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ 0s 8h Un'eth An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar 5m 2h -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Objects =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Tarranik Tribal Lands -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Through Woods <TW> -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Tarranik Tribal Lands(#1879)
Setting
The Tarranik's landscape is typical of those in Am'shere. Great, jungle deepwoods rise as pillars, their heavy leaves blotting out the sky. Sith-makar eyes shine in the darkness, with the treasured sound of young ones interspersed between adult conversations. Several lodges dot the landscape--long houses built to house a central fire.
Sith-makar lounge and converse with familiarity, with many separated by caste-groups, though this is not the rule. A great fire--the Fire--burns in the center.
Named NPCs
- Shaman Itchtaca: An elder shaman of the shaman caste. Female.
- Tenoch: An elder of the keeper caste. Male.
- Ollihn: An elder of the keeper caste. Female.
- Atl: A young hunter, mostly grown. She was still-child when Durrankar left.
- Un'eth has partially disconnected.
The initial dancing or singing has dimmed some, and those experiencing the more intense visions of the unseen seem to be recovered, or recovering. Uneth was released from her words with Itchtaca to tend to Durrankar. Tend, and share words with her cihuaa. Between tending and words, the two wound up relocated to a fallen log, leaning aainst one another and tails entwined. All possibly to keep the woozy Durrankar upright.
Svarshan rests among the warrior-caste. He watches the various sith-makar pairing off with something akin to envy. His own Vthria is in travels, more work for her tribe. Slowly he stands, and knuckles his lower back.
The Hunters, with their keens eyes, tended to Sebropert. Two dragged him by the arms and set his slumped form against a large rock. Tendrils writhe under his chin, and his left arm twitches as if stuck in a dream. The bleeding from the arm had stopped while Un'eth and Durrankar faced their own challenges. Eyelids flutter, and his fist spasms closed into a fist. A growl rumbles in the depths of his throat, followed by the tiniest whimper before silence.
The caste elders move about, sharing conversations--those of the keeper, collecting words. Some of them are already working on adding them to the tribal song. As they listen, these members beat their tails against earth, trying different tunes, rhythms, words. One of the shamans crouches near Sebropert, and takes the time to speak with one of his caste.
Once the noises cease in Sebropert's throat his eyes creep open. Pale blue tinged with red rims. A big hand lifts to rub the side of his head, a finger seeking a temple to roll in small circles. When the grogginess ends his frame surges forward so that he would not vomit on himself. His abdomen tightens until he is empty and then he sits back with a whumpf.
It seems that celebrations are very similar, no matter their hosts or form. Uneth winds up leaning Durrankar from sitting to leaning over the log so that he, too, can empty jerky and bacon eaten on the trip.
She remains with him until he finishes and seems to doze (or is it another vision). Only then does she look around to realize that others are also experiencing some negative side-effects.
The shaman makes a motion with her hand, waving some of the hunters back. "Give him sspace. Sspace, now. And go fetch water, and leaves from the svvikla, in our gardens."
After a moment's hesitation, two hunters break, and take off. They jog towards the shamans' lodge, tails streaming sleekly behind them.
Shaman Itchtaca stops by Un'eth and the sleeping Durrankar. "It issn't normal," she says. She keeps her voice pitched low, and finds a comfortable spot on the earth, nearby.
Sebropert puts his right claw on the rock, pushing himself to standing, leaning his weight into the rock. His white tongue lulls out of his mouth and he pants as those who do not sweat do. When others reach out to steady him he swipes weakly with his left hand, the effort seeming half-hearted. Strain creases his eyes and he lifts boths hands in the air and pounds on the rock. Again and again.
Un'eth looks to Itchtaca as she stops near them, head tilting in curiosity or confusion. "What isn't normal? The sleep? The visions? The visions?" While curious, her tone is light, tail flicking. "He is not alone in this." She may mean Sebropert an others at whom she directs her snout.
The shaman sits back on her haunches, tail resting behind her as she quietly waits for Sebropert's reactions to ease. Somewhere in the darkness, two hunters run to fetch the svvikla.
"The vissions, thesse are normal. But the ssickness. Perhapss because the world iss ssick. ...tell me sshaman-of-our-sshaman. What iss going on in the world, thesse days?" Itchtaca asks.
Un'eth's tail goes from casual flicks to a more perturbed sway. "Heth remains strong. Fiends were summoned by some fool binder who thinks himself a god. Armies continue to war on each other and ignore the true threats to Ea..." Uneth's words trail off to a pause, before she resumes. "Yet we are strong. The People, Ea, the softskins."
Sebropert's outburst only ends when fresh blood flows from his arm, and claw marks mar the rock. He slumps on the rock, and growls, the soft gravely growl of pain and remorse. He heaves, but the motion is dry now. The wetness on his face now only that that pours from his eyes.
"Among the People, we have a ssaying," Itchtaca says slowly. She also, looks towards Sebropert. When blood begins to flow, she starts to rise, but a gesture from the shaman present at his side slows her.
"...we have a saying. The Wounds of the World. To uss, these are the woundss that Charn bringss to us, their theft of our children and kin, and the creation of the Forgotten. ...it iss the sseparation of the Clans. And...to some of us, it iss the treachery of the Teacher. ...the emissary from our Empress ssaid that the Outer World possesses its own Wounds. From your wordss, I now ssee why."
Then, "Tlacelel!" she calls out. The shaman near Sebropert makes a motion with her claws. At that time though, the returning footsteps of the two hunters can be heard.
Sebropert ceases swiping, his chest heaving for breath. He drags himself onto the rock and rolls so that he can sit. His right claw digs into the rock, and the left hangs at his side. He repeats a word to himself, over and over. "Vrantvrak issk." The arrival of the hunters gives him pause and his head lifts to look at them and the the leaves they were to bring.
"Charn wounds both worlds," Uneth dips her snout, though it now turns to Sebropert to watch even as she finishes her words to Itchtaca. "I have hear tell of this Teacher." Her tone suggests that the words told were not pleasant, but it is not acidic. "That one looks more affected than even Durrankar... "In concerned reference to Seb, not The Teacher, of course.
The two arrive on hunter's legs, swift and fast. One of them crouches, offering the leaves to Tlacelel.
"Ssa, ssaa. Hunter Sebropert, I am going to crussh this, and rub thiss on your neck," she says, indicating that area, "And your muzzle. Pleasse remain sstill."
"Thiss is not normal, sshaman Un'eth," Itchtaca says, using Un'eth's more formal title among the People. "Ssometimes memories are unpleassant, but thiss ssmells. ...Sshaman Tlacelel, hold. ...do you ssmell ssomething?" she says.
Sebropert's lips pull back for a split second as if to growl at the Shaman, but instead he digs the claws of his right hand deeper into the rock, its surface whining beneath his attentions. His head bobs slightly and his nostrils flare at the mention of a smell. Nausea hits him again when the scent of the leaves reaches his snout. His head pulls away and turns to the side. "Eck."
Un'eth's tail stills, only the tip vibrating as she stands and starts towards Sebropert. Out of reflex, she also sniffs the air, though her sense of magics is not tied to scent. "How? Why?" She is alarmed and inclined to act, yet it is not her place to in this instance. At least not to act first.
Tlacelel stills for a moment, but begins working the salve into place. The leaf is a slow-burn. Light at first, but with a greater, more fermented smell as it 'wakes up.' In a few minutes, the hunter will notice the difference.
"Thiss is potent, hunter. We don't usse it often because of the sscent," Tlacelel says wryly. Scent in Am'shere of course, being... "Sso you know the rissks." And he should, more than some of the other castes.
Near Un'eth, Itchtaca stays quiet. The edges of her eyes have gone pale, however, and she weaves the Sign of Dragons in the air in front of her.
Sebropert leans his head forward, and with an odd wriggle at the back of his neck his nostrils clamp shut. A muscle reaction not really seen in modern sentients. His snout opens so he can breath deeply through his mouth, and then he gives a wave of his left hand, limp, but moving. "Do it," he growls.
"He ssmells of childrenss' tales," Itchtaca says, low-voiced as she takes scent again. Tlacelel continues her work, with a light thump of the tail. Though by now, some of the hunter-caste have drawn back. They remain crouched, eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Un'eth is unaccustomed to being indecisive, uninformed, and/or unable to act. At this moment, she may be all of the above. She knows Ea, but not the fine details of Am'shere; The People, but obviously not their internal tribal rites and magics; Sebropert, but not what afflicts him at the moment. "What tales?" she asks softly of Itchtaca while she watches the proceedings.
"...I am not certain. He ssmells of...children'ss tales, but if that were true...he would be attacking all of uss." Itchtaca's own look is confused, and the shaman turns to look at Un'eth, her eyes sharing her concern openly. Then, she smiles. "We have our own demonss, sshaman Un'eth. ...if you are to be part of uss, you musst learn about them. ..." a slow breath, "...but firsst let uss offer prayerss that thiss is ssimple illness. You and I, and our caste--we will offer chants for tonight. Will you sstay with me Un'eth, at Fire tonight, and offer chantss to our ancesstors? Thiss is an honor, and duty of our casste, and I would have you there."
Un'eth's eyes widen. -Those- sorts of tales. The ones intended to frighten children, warn them from danger. The concern shown deepens Uneth's own. "Of course. Even if it were only to aid another of The People, I would do so." Not to diminish honor nor duty. It would also allow her to keep an eye on Durrankar, should any decide that they will be attacking everyon.
The Salve begins to set on Sebropert's scales, its heavy scent warming and filling the air about him. He sits for a long moment, breathing in the essence of the herb.
And then the screams of pain started. Rising to his feat Sebropert reaches for his face, the scales bubbling and burning as if acid had been poured on his face. He lurches off the rock and grabs a bucket of water, dumping it over his head. His reaction becomes worse, and in the end he turns barely open eyes staring at the fire.
His eyes close and the hunter kneels, placing his massive head into the holy flame.
Itchtaca grips Un'eth's shoulder for a moment, the tendons standing out. She rises slowly, and begins chanting. Un'eth would recognize the words. The intent: Sleep.
By now, the hunter-caste has drawn back. They encircle their once-brother with spears drawn, eyes reflecting Fire and flame. Watching, watching...
"Forgotten," whispers through the camp.
The black Sith'Makar's cries can be heard within the flames, but in them he remains, refusing to turn on the others. In no state to fight the Shaman's power Sebropert slows. His thrashing becomes sluggish, and his cries end. "Thank you," is the last words heard from him before he falls back out of the fire and falls asleep. Embers cling to his snout and horns, and smoke boiling up from his flesh.
Un'eth is startled by the screams when the come, but initially believes it part of the process. Wounds hurt when cleansed, bones when set... but these things must be done. Pain is temporary. When the other Hunters draw back and draw spears, and Itchtaca's claws dig into her scales, she knows it is much worse. The name provides a context more than answer, as the why and how remain unclear.
Unlike the Hunters, however, Uneth remains firm, between Sebropert and elder, and cihuaa and more beyond.
Shaman-magic arcs out, ensnaring the hunter. It hits with the force Itchtaca can muster, and the remainder of ritual-magic behind it. By now, the hunters have him by the legs, one holds a spear to his throat. They draw him back out, but aren't letting him UP. Asleep or not.
No one. No one knows what to do. Un'eth can smell the sweat-stress on her fellow caste. Can...
When someone says, "...he went towards Fire."
The indecision and uncertainty now seems to less than her own was.. is? Uneth speaks up and steps towards the guarded not(?)-Sith. "Would the fire cleanse this? Would it destroy him? Is it his element?" She knows enough to ask pertinent questions, at least.
The last comment starts a discussion, and eruption of words. Un'eth's own words add to it. No one can agree.
Indecision rolls off of Itchtaca, and the shaman's shoulders slump. "Un'eth," she says. "...when your cihuaa awakenss, we musst assk him to sspeak with the sspirits here. ...and we cannot tell them yet, that we do not undersstand," she adds. The second part she adds low and hushed, meaning the tribe.
"They come to uss for ansswers, ssister-mine. If we have none, at a time like this..."
Then, "May your cihuaa wake ssoon. ...and may your chainss break. The sspirits tell me that the People will need you both in the dark timess ahead."
Un'eth gives Itchtaca a firm, curt dip of snouth and swish of tail. She understands. "Keep him. Asleep, restrained, or both," she lifts her voice, dictating to the Hunter-guards, perhaps all. "My cihuaa is strong with the ancestor spirits, this is known. I walk with the Breath of Ea; from biting wind and storm to nourishing rain and gentle breeze. We will speak with them, and our caste-mates to more. We will learn of what was done, so that it can be undone."
Curt. Direct. Certain. Confident. For those that know Uneth, this would be no suprise.
The hunters look at one another and then--one after another, dip their muzzles and back away. The shamans are handling it. The shamans know what to do.
The hulk of Sebropert's frame remains still, left to the will of the People. His chest rises and falls and through his damaged snout he lets out a loud snore that would not be possible if he was awake to be aware of the pain.
By now, those who do not need to be there have ...mostly dispersed. A number of hunter-caste stay on, silent and watchful. They trust the shamans, but...
Forgotten.
This is a child's story, come to life in the middle of them. Still, "...doessn't look Forgotten. Not all the way," says one of the hunters, a low growl and pitch to his tone.
Shaman Itchtaca looks on, and thumps an approval to Un'eth's intervention. "...the hunter hass a point. What sshould we do with him, sshaman Un'eth?" she asks. Not a test, oh no. Or maybe it's just that Un'eth is handling this so well.
Un'eth never learned that tale as a child, and must make due with what little she does know of it. Her tail thumps the ground with the Hunter's words. "No. As shaman Itchtaca shared, if he were, he would have attacked us all in madness. So he is not... but neither is he fully himself. He is ...afflicted, as with a sickness. We must protect him, and others from him, until cured."
The older hunter looks from Un'eth to the sleeping Sebropert. He stands then, and thumps his tail once smartly, before turning and barking orders. "Ssa! Until the sshamans ssay otherwisse, he iss casste! To the sshaman-lodge," he says, then looks back. "With your leave, elderss."