PreHunt Grove
Tenebrae - Monday, October 17, 2016, 9:51 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W03: Druid Grove *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The silence of the woods is only broken by its wildness. The clamour of squawk and the scratch of claw becomes almost hushed, only to erupt again and prove that this sacred place is at its heart, untamed. The great branches of Ygdrassil's Sapling rise from the center and then outwards. Its limbs hold every sort of wildlife, from the hooting owl to the forest leopard, and are broad enough to provide shade for Gilead's wild hounds. It would take more than a dozen giantborn to surround its base, with arms stretched broadly and limbs straining.
Here is Wild, with the roar of beast contrasted with the solitude of the forests. Surrounding the tree lies open ground composed of dirt and a mixture of wild grasses, rocks. Along one side of the grove is a place where the shamans and hunters craft bonfire and rest after an evening's gathering and gossip. A multitude of races may be seen here, though in particular those of the shamanic followings--many humans, sildanyari, oruch, and sith-makar among them. Shamans, however, are not the only number--hunters shelter here, or come here for gossip, ritual, and social exchanges. The Grove becomes a place at once both sacred and a community's heart.
Some of these hunters serve as silent, armed guards around the perimeter. Hedges composed of thorn and bramble add to the border's enforcement. Though Nature perseveres, it is also peaceful and wild, kind and savage, and those of the Green must from time to time stand their ground against the Blight and Unmakers.
Twin fires burn at either end of the Grove. Small and well-tended, they represent the Treaty between the local Union and the sith-makar. Some of the People may be seen lounging here. Primarily, those of shaman and keeper-caste, though the occaisional warrior and hunter lope about.
Alongside them are druids, priests and rangers of the Union. Though the Grove's tenor is usually restful, today it is cut with an undercurrent: excitement. A gathering is to be called, soon--and rumors have already gone out. A Hunt.
Un'eth's teeth are suddenly visible in a way that could remind Svarshan of the reaction he just described. "I have seen this..." a pause as ire shifts to resolve," but we will still Hunt, and we will drive him from Ea."
"Vthria viewss it as a challenge," Svarsan returns low-tones. His tone suggests he doesn't mind it at all. A man who enjoys his cihuaa's spirit and claws. He walks alongside Un'eth, the two of them talking as they mingle among the rather loose gathering.
The subject is Heth. Of course it is.
Selia tugs lightly at the Brightblade's belt. Not for the belt itself, to be sure, but for the large sith's attention. Which might be needed, as most would swear the tiny little Lucht wasn't there a second ago. Clad in her oily black armor, the contast makes the Dancer look almost sickly, her once dusky skin gone pale and waxy.
Svarshan jerks at the tug, and looks over. Where--? Then down, down to where Selia is. He remains quiet a time, taking in the waxy complexion, the pale skin. ... "Sscout," he says slowly, as one not very good with words, or perhaps surprised. "One iss ssurprised to ssee you. Here. Peasse to your nesst."
"A chellenge that will be met," Uneth seems to agree with Vthria on yet more. Further comment is interrupted by the motion at Svarshan's belt. Snout and eyes turn and lower. "Brother, yet another small one flocks to you..."
Durrankar has arrived.
Twin fires burn at either end of the Grove. Small and well-tended, they represent the Treaty between the local Union and the sith-makar. Some of the People may be seen lounging here. Primarily, those of shaman and keeper-caste, though the occaisional warrior and hunter lope about.
Alongside them are druids, priests and rangers of the Union. Though the Grove's tenor is usually restful, today it is cut with an undercurrent: excitement. A gathering is to be called, soon--and rumors have already gone out. A Hunt. (scenepose)
Selia nods. "Been out. Sideways. Mirror, but not. Yer diff'rent, but 'member ya. Forget a lot. Too much. But nay you. Ya shine, bright-like." Her words are badly accented, thick with low Charn and a strong hint of Undercommon and Chant. Her hands flutter and twitch as she talks, not quite Handspeech, but close, the shadows of her fingertips trailing like wisps of smoke.
Durrankar parts the protective wall and steps into the grove. 'They really have called a hunt, haven't they?' Tyrannix says as he looks about. "It seems like it. Dran would have been a valuable ally."
"The Green hass called a Hunt againsst Heth. I ssuspect they are challenging the resst of us to take. Notisse," Svarshan says to Durrankar. His words are wry, a warm burr on the subject. The warrior loves a good hunt. It isn't just Vthria. He then tilts his head to Selia, the look odd. He scents the air. A heady rush of divine magic, healing. The far-away flap of a dragon's wings.
Un'eth's head turns at the familiar sounds of the Talking Stick. "Cihuaa, yes..." And her brother suddenly finds many words. Then again, it is hunting, so perhaps that is why he is now so verbose.
Selia shivers, but stands firm, almost vibrating. "Heth. Him I 'member. From the sideways mirrors. Bad bloke. Bad as the Dark Bitch. Had ta come back. Was comming anyways, but for him, had ta. Ain't clear why, all twists, but found a beacon. You shine."
"..." a long pause, to digest the words, to take them in and roll them through the mind. "Glad you are back," he says to Selia. He looks at her keenly then, but the warrior is no shaman, no skilled healer. He has what the Dragonfather gave him--no skills at the sickbed, no finesse. "Sshamanss...?" he asks.
"Ssa?" Uneth looks back to Svarshan from her cihuaa, head tilting with curiosity at the undefined quesiton.
Svarshan lifts his muzzle, gesturing to the smoke rising from the lucht.
Selia's hands flutter vaugely. "Nah. Shadow Priests did wot dey could. Can't fix wot ain't there no more. Past is gone. Future matters. Heth, that matters. You, you matter. Will more." She grins, for a moment almost looking joval again. "You're a heck of a scrapper."
Un'eth turns to eye the lucht more keenly and sniffs cautiously. She cannot deny the truth in some of the small one's words, namely on heth... so she will take the others as truth, also. "If she is well enough, she is well enough,' she concedes with a light snort.
The brightscale's eyes snap to narrow, focusing on Selia. "Sshadow," he says, low-tones. And that's it. The look changes, friendly to not in the split of a second.
Selia leans, her feet still planted, but still a step back. The lutch's eyes stay firm, but a brow quirks. A beat, then relaxes, grinning. "Nay da Dark Bitch." Selia spit the moniker with unrestrained dislike. "True Shadow. Them from 'fore da Bitch took their land. Dark, aye, but nay Bad." Smoothly, the Dancer bends, fingertips fluttering to the ground, touching, grasping, tugging gently. "Issa..." A second Lucht, a dark mirror, stands up from the ground. "-Shadow-. Priests. Eluna. Brightlady popular in the ShadowLands."
The muzzle works, the nostrils flare, quiver. Svarshan looks to Un'eth, then to Selia. Shaman-words, that. Shaman-understanding. He will go with what she says--especially in this.
Selia sidelong glances at the others about, and gives her shadow counterpart a hug before the pair walk away. Not to the edge of the clearing, just, away, like a ripple of wind in tall grass.