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That graveyard really was embaressing
As part of being accepted by the shamans, you have to create and perform a ritual. When @mariena saw my haven, she made a very quick call on just what needed to be done.
Yah yah yah, I'm working on getting the place redone in general. I liked it when I made it, but now... just... >>
The log ends before the mechanical shaman promotion. If you're curious about that, come be a shaman with the rest of us.
Reux:
Mariena:
In the back of your mind, you hear Mariena saying to you, "Are you ready?"
You tell Mariena, "I may not be ready, but I have an idea."
Lonely path through the mists of the Hollow.
A narrow, lonely path winds its way through the tall, dark trees of the forested Hollow, a touch removed and isolated from the sounds and sights of the teeming Heartwood. There is nothing but ancient forest and mists surrounding, the foreboding trees old and towering. The silvery mists hang in the area, settling in like a thick, cool fog and obscuring visibility of the surrounding woods. Very little light is available in these far-reaching paths of the eastern Hollow, dark patches of shadow residing in every crevice. A giant white pine fills a gap in the tree canopy, soaking up the sun as it pours down over the tree. Mariena S. Tanarian is here. She wields a carved quarterstaff of wood and bone in her hands.
You see exits leading east (closed pine door), south, and northwest.
You nod your head affirmatively at Mariena.
Mariena pats you on the chest, indicating the heart.
Mariena S. Tanarian says to you, "It doesn't have to be perfect, just from here."
Reux glances down at the arm beneath him, the limb so much thinner than his own pair. He places his hand on top of Mariena's though, patting it in acknowledgement. Looking into her eyes, still touching her hand, "Then come with me. See what my heart thinks and hear what it will speak."
Mariena begins to follow you.
You close your eyes and begin to focus on your haven.
-- Movement --
An obscene graveyard of prostrate corpses.
Like an eyesore to an aerial view, a circular area of the jungle has been demolished, the land turned into a mockery of life. Cleared of vegetation, leveled, the space seems to serve as a graveyard. Unfortunately for the dead, the land does not serve as a particularly peaceful respite. Humans, nalas, wyrms, rajamala, boru, horkval - from the large ogre to the small ithkitten - all remains lie prostrate, separated from one another, clearly visible and identifiable. The frame from a military standard makes an impromptu headstone for a skeletal xoran. Several spears, planted butt first, mark the site of another corpse. There are many such objects scattered with a small portion of the figures. All the remains are facing a central stone mausoleum, as if they were humbled or worshipping the site. Purposefully, the stepping stones from the jungle path lead to this single, unmarked building and its entranceway. Though a dense slab of rock may act as a door to the tomb, it rests to the side, left in one place long enough to allow dust to cake in the spaces the weather cannot easily touch. Hacked and blighted tree trunks mark the boarder of this vulgar display You see exits leading east and down.
Mariena absently rubs at the short, plush fur ghosting over your form while she follows along, considering her hand is still caught. "I will listen. If we are agreeable, you will be Blooded and we will do that ritual, too."
Reux isn't willing to give up Mariena's hand once it's been caught. Whether this is by reflex or intent is not immediately obvious. Firm, practically holding her by the wrist, his grip is just as driven as his step. He doesn't wait for questions or a tour, simply making his way toward the duty he's willing to fulfill.
While going through the path, you say, "These bodies, the prey, the spirits... these things still lingering here, they need to be given an opportunity to join the Cycle again. Yes? But more than that, the spirits that are still here need to be repaid. Just like the Guardians we respect, I need to respect my prey. Others, wrongfully used in death... need some solace."
You say, "Won't this make the transition easier? Wouldn't they trust in the voice guiding them, leading them back to the Glade?"
Turning her hand gently so her smaller digits can grip and stead of being gripped, Mariena answers, "Depends. Spirits are fussy. You killed them. You left their corpses here in desecration. Sacrilege. Didn't use them for food. For their hides. They might still be angry.. or they might be sobbing for their release back to the Misted Paths."
Reux was thoughtful, upon entering the graveyard. Guilt was etched in the lines of his features, and the stress could be felt in his shaky fingers. However, when posed with the possibility of failure, distraction and ideals win over the issues; his face levels, and his voice is even.
You say, "I cannot deny what someone wants. The matters here were mortal conflicts with the highest of costs. Whether or not someone wishes to ultimately move forward will be their choice."
Mariena offers a squeeze of reassurance and a nod. "You are right. You are only responsible for your actions."
Looking at Mariena's arm, you say, "This is personal, but I feel this could be made useful to others. It may just be better done by an impersonal voice. Still, I feel it would be better to let the spirits see what they're leaving behind, and then give them the path of what lies beyond. Even if the spirits do not ultimately hear the words of the rite, anyone else in attendance will, and will remember the lessons that need to be held to heart all their days."
Looking at Mariena's features once more, you say, "We, so willing to live and grow and fight, are capable of so much. We need reminders of what's most important."
Mariena nods quietly, her wide eyes raptly watching you as he explains his ritual ideas.
Quietly, Mariena S. Tanarian says, "We, as Praadi, walk with one foot in Dendara and one on the prime material. We are the shepherds."
Reux really wasn't willing to give up the hand he captured. Looking upon Mariena's arm, his fingers loosen, the claws pricking at her delicate wrist and palm. He drags his digits across her hand, until ultimately she is released. Steps are immediately taken toward the nearest marker of a corpse's resting place. In this case, the creature is an imp, only obvious by the short stature, bony wings, and horns still attached to the skull.
Reux's hand had remained raised just above his hip, when he let go of the smaller Azudim. The palm was flat, facing the blighted ground under their feet, with his fingers spread. As he reaches for this first corpse, apparently by the head, his palm remains open and spread.
The flow of energy through your body redirects itself, pooling beneath your footsteps and enriching the soil. Fresh growth unfurls from underneath your soles, sprouting and blooming in your wake.
You concentrate and send a tide of energy to your feet, the fresh growth becoming even more exuberant as it spreads outward and lush, verdant plantlife overtakes the vicinity.
Watching Mariena, you say, "I remember this man. I knew not the imp's name, but I remember this. He was in the wrong place, and had felt the need to point out what flaws did and did not exist while hunting through Azdun and the goblins nearby. I saw him as a threat to my concentration, and he was pummeled until he became quiet."
Mariena allows you room, her bare feet silently treading the sudden overgrowth a bit behind you. Absently her finger lifts to plush lips, sucking the sting of claw away from her scarred digits. An odd bit of silver longing flashes in her green, misted gaze, quickly stifled as the imp corpse is focused on. "Did his silence allow you to regain your composure?" Hand dropping, fingers fiddling at the seam of her skirt.
With bowed head and closed eyes, Reux had already taken to his knee. The imp isn't very tall, and being placed with their forehead to the ground makes it difficult to take hold of any part of their short frame. Oddly enough, the skull is lifted, with care; even as the rest of the corpse stiffly jerks, nothing seems to break apart. The bony forehead is laid to rest on the growth that now pillows the soil.
Solumely, you say, "His silence let me have peace, until the next goblin and zombie were confronted. I did not care for his opinion, but it was his to have. I remember this imp, and I hope that he finds sanctuary and peace."
Though it may be hard to notice at first, the growth extends both in a small, circular expanse around Reux, but clearly one path is being made to a much further point central to the graveyard. The moss and flora are gathering around a small, common totem.
Mariena offers her acceptance once more, echoing, "may his soul find rest and his feet the path to Dendara."
The next corpse seems to be far away enough that Reux explains his actions, rather than keeps the truly serious tone. Both his hands also move, pointing and flexing according to whatever dictates his thoughts. "Even if I don't know the prey, the name, the wrong or the rights... the spirits need to be called. We need to wave bait in front of them, like one would when catching hungry game. Who can tell just how long the wrong have lingered with their corpses, unable or unaware of anything else around them?"
You say, in Azudim, "Violate their territory. Force them to know that you, capable of finding these ethereal husks, are before them. Make them think. Have them reason, even if by instinct."
"What bait are you going to utilize?" Mariena inquires.
Reux takes to his knee once more, before another corpse. Using low tones again, taking hold of the segmented skull, "Me, in this case. The dead have little to reflect upon, if they're still confined to where and when they had died. It's easy right now, since I have aggressed against them all."
The corpse before Reux is a horkval, though there's little of the person left to identify just who they may have been. The head, enough of the shell to constitute its back, and its arms, are currently resting on the ground. An animal is nearby, what may have been a dog, cat, or some other small, four-legged beast, but his attention remains fixed on the skull before him. A soft, though eerie red glow rests behind his gaze now; it could have started as he was walking, or as he came to his knee.
Mariena steps up to you, since the big man is now at her own height. "You've just aggressed on these, who have been caught here." She sounds out, suddenly concerned. "These. Here. Not those you've utilized properly."
As if caught in the growing ritual, tense and fixated, you say, "I remember this horkval. I knew not their name, and I truly knew them not. I attempted to speak to it, and when it started clicking at me faster and faster, I attempted to leave them be. They were offended to the point of taking hold of my shoulder, and were given no mercy when they wouldn't accept it. They defended themselves after I proved capable of defending my own ignorance."
You say, "They fought, even if we didn't need to end the conflict in death. They were brave. I remember this horkval, and I hope that they find sanctuary and peace."
Mariena stops trying to interfere and just lets the ritual continue. Her hand hastily slides away. Curiously focused, a fully misted gaze watches the overgrowth around this horkval, brave and stupid, who died due to misunderstanding.
The original imp, given Reux's attention first, has already been overcome by the moss that's creeping over the dead. It may be difficult to notice at all unless one is listening or looking, as the first good signal of work being done is the loud snap of some important joint from a much heavier ribcage and hip, suddenly falling to the ground. He lifts the horkval's skull, forced to cup the segments with both hands, and makes sure the growth covers the ground before letting the bones rest.
Snapping out of the trance as the second corpse is consumed, you say, "I was aggressive toward. I was their end. Their last thoughts should be partially of me, so I should make good bait. It helps a great deal that I've touched the Guardians already, so maybe these spirits will see something familiar, or something entirely different, before them."
Rolling his shoulders, Reux turns back, wondering out loud, "I will not stop you Mariena. You may wish to watch your feet, as the path is only going to get thicker and more robust..." Turning awkwardly, still crouching, he looks for Mariena's gaze. "I want you to listen and guide me, just as I'm trying to guide them."
Mariena moves forward again, having no problem walking through the shrouds of death creeping along each corpse, each bone in this macabre sight. Cupping your muzzle and angling it so she can stare directly into your eyes, she croons, "the blood has to be offered. The blood will forge the path. When you have touched each corpse, the blood will allow them free."
Already Reux's hand is lifting, hearing Mariena's command. Unexpected, perhaps, because he also looks at the raised limb, then at her. "Then each spirit is going to take a path through me to reach their destination. They are going to touch me..." With his eyes flicking closed, silent seconds are taken to contemplate the importance of this path. When he reopens his eyes, he's curiously looking toward Mariena, shaking his arm briefly to bring attention to it. "Will you make the path then? I carry no blade."
"Are you satisfied that you have touched each bone here with living moss, your dendara essence?" Mariena She asks this, her hands moving now, sliding down your arm so her small hands can feel each ridge and muscle until she reaches your wrist. "We need to be at the totem, in the center." She declares, tugging you towards it.
Reux sluggishly comes to his feet. Many of his actions seemed to have become dull, delayed, while being lead like the spirits he's trying to guide. Perhaps he's only enjoying the privilage he asked for initially.
Reux's flesh is warm, very unlike the graveyard's soil underneath their feet. With enough strength and attention, the thicker veins in his arm also demonstrate a healthy pulse. It isn't until they're practically to the totem and mausoleum and he tries to grip Mariena, and accept the guidance.
Head nodding, but staying low, you say, "I can make it so..."
The growth becomes overgrowth, the ground below their feet feeling as if it pulses in sync with Reux's heartbeat. Even if the corpses weren't previously touched, the moss works its way to each body, and the flora spreads like webbing in a net.
"Your blood will be spilled twice this month," Mariena explains tugging the larger man along with effort seen along her shoulders and in the way she angles forward. reaching the totem, she urges you back to your knees, sharply pulling down. "Your blood will spill, the link will forge. There will be pain. The second time there will not be pain, but acceptance, belonging. Reux, do you accept the responsibilities of these souls? Are you prepared to take on what being Azudim is. What being Shaman is? Your flesh was forged in the deaths of these creatures, your path is to set them free. I'm going to score both of your wrists. Your bl.lood will flow. It will touch the overgrowth. The souls will pass through you." Only a stumble in this explanation. This guidance seems natural.
Submitting to the ritual being formed, Reux's arms become lax with the explanation. The back of his free hand drags along the growth as he finds some way to blindly set his arm still and supported. Otherwise, he seems tense, the muscles in his shoulders and neck bunched and flexed. His head absently nods with Mariena's words, but he answers when she concludes. "I accept. I accept, Mariena." Looking toward her, a growl comes that can be felt just as much as it's heard. His flesh practically vibrates with the energy, from chest to the tips of his fingers and toes.
Still growling, you say, in Azudim, "I offer myself and accept the responsibility for the path I've forced these spirits to walk."
Face lifting to the sky above, Mariena S. Tanarian speaks a phrase in an alternating tone of stressed syllables.
Mariena ceases to wield a carved quarterstaff of wood and bone.
Mariena starts to wield a jewel-encrusted sacrificial dagger in her left hand.
He heard perhaps half of what was spoken, his own pulse robbing him of accuity. Mariena's presence and importance in his mind seems to be enough to convey the message, and reflex leads where his head doesn't follow.
Mariena kneels, dagger tip first her forehead, then her lips, as if giving her own sort of blessing. A slash of pain, a sure and steady hand. The overgrowth pulses a fey hue in response, hungry, waiting. She turns, not as steady. Silver, a deep garnet, a swirl of green. These colors mark the look of concentration that she gives your other wrist. The blade exhibits a slight tremor before it slices clean, this side flowing as well. "the spirits are one with you. The spirits move through. Call home the spirits. Call them to be born anew."
The pain registers within Reux well after the slash. One could tell by watching his features contort, and forearm stretch. Hissing, keeping himself as still as possible, he bares himself to the spirits through rite and his wound. Wordlessly, his head is thrown back while a roar booms loud enough to fill the sanctuary. Unseen birds and beasts flee, away from the explosion.
Reux's scars pulse with an eerie glow, an outline of their letters made by the fey gathered.
"Let them in! Let them through! By your will they find freedom! By your mercy they are set free!" Mariena Her voice is an ecstatic sorpano, soaring high through your bass growling. "I feel them, They are making it there. They will be set free!" The repetition of her words seems a litany scraped together. The dagger lifts again, poised between herself and you. She seems to ponder making another cut, plunging the dagger home, but pauses, the red gleam across the silver blade capturing her attention. The blade is smuggled close to her face, eyes falling half-lidded as her tongue traces one side delicately clean.
As if fate had a sense of irony, Reux falls forward once his roar concludes, prostrate as his gathered audience has been gathered for more than a century. Though his back remains taunt, the rest of his body is difficult to will, and it takes time for his frame to raise. Unable to straighten his posture, eyes wide open and looking for the sky, his voice comes to him horsely. Then again, his voice comes with an echo, as if he weren't just speaking for himself.
Invading your thoughts just as much as the words are heard, you say, in Azudim, "Help... help..."
> Memories left by the spirits are like footprints, and the spirits feel as if they are trampling one another to get to their destination. A few may just be making that journey more painful, all sorts of emotions being left behind while they seek their peace.
"What do you seek of me?" Mariena The question is offered quietly, the mental touch finding a pliable mind, accepting of the spirits, open to their will. "Let me help you. Let me guide."
"Like a river forced... though fissure... so many..." Reux babbles. The wound may be open and bleeding, but his body naturally fights for its own survival, trying to close what wants to rip wider. Urgency comes with the panting breaths that follow, his chest and back flexing so his spine bows all at once.
Mariena kneels down beside you and, as a gentle hand brushes along your pained brow, plunges the dagger into your heart. It would be a mortal blow for anything other than Ascended creatures, and even through Ascension it is a critical affair. She keeps the dagger, imbibed with power from so many times used in her own rituals, thrust from your chest, between two ribs.
Reux breaths a sigh of relief, though the wind seems to completely leave his lungs. The impact is enough to knock the Azudim back, and loosens his posture with the rest of his limbs. Strength finds him again, another heartbeat later, and his head is once more flung back. The muzzle stretches as if to roar, but no sound leaves his body. Blood pours from the wound in his chest, covering his flesh, fur, and clothing, until it drips onto the growth covering the soil.
Leaving the dagger vibrating and embedded in your chest, Mariena runs both hands up your chest, through the blood pouring from you. "Almost, little more. You got this. They are moving. Now it's a river, broad and strong," each word comes faster, some slurred. She paints the runes on your forehead. Protection of the mind, the third eye surrounding it. She paints one on your throat, willing your vocals to be strong. Clear. Her whole body trembles, her eyes flashing a crimson-gold.
As the wave of spasms calm, Reux curls around the blade still plunged within his chest. The pain registers immediately, and his jerks and sways probably do more damage than good. At least he's not trying to remove the offending thing, his arms still limp at his sides. Panting, taking deeps breaths of the humid, heated air, another roar wrecks the shattered peace of the jungle, echoing against the distant, hazy mountains that surround them. No animals are left to scatter, already abandoning the sanctuary. Even as the roar pours from his body, it ends sooner than the last two spasms.
> It may be the runes that keep him sane. The additional blood, the guiding presence, the words and symbols... the stampede feels like a funnel now, with all the additional footprints getting sucked away.
Mariena leans over you, her fey face dancing in and out of focus as the spirits obscure her form in this moment of in-between. "Do you feel them?" She urges you. "The last.. The last is through. You are done. DONE!" She yanks the blade free of your body, a crimson gout following that she quickly plants her hand over, though the pulse of your Rhythm pushes the thick fluid betwixt her fingers. A soft hissing can be heard, pushed past her bared, pearly teeth as a green energy combats the sanguine, knitting the torn pieces together with her own healing magics.
Reux's body is going to need support, leaning heavily against that single, dainty-looking hand. Natural gifts and gathered power within the well-experienced Azudim help the wounds in his wrist and chest heal. The less-severe problem along his arm closes quickly, without leaving a trace of the contact.
Reux's heart is another matter, the wound difficult to bind. For whatever reason, though the blood flow certainly slows and stops, the flesh mends poorly. The more magic and faith are applied, the brighter his scars along his back glow. A nasty scar is going to be left behind over his heart, though the silvered boar, moss, and mountain tattoos tracing faintly along his head and torso are heated from their efforts.
Panting, you say, in Rajamala, "Gods..."
A low cry of concern escapes Mariena, her voice now lent to the song that sends healing pulses through the overgrowth already surrounding them. These bursts of renewal do much for the mending of arteries and veins, though does not do much for helping make the scar any less visible. After a time her song dies away, her body no longer being lit by the back glow of fey light being pumped steadily into you. "The Spirits have accepted your offering and they stand ready to welcome you as their own. Can you finish this, Reux? Are you strong enough?"
Confused, as if looking upon Mariena's face for the first time, you ask, in Rajamala, "What...?"
With a steady gaze, power and concentration quickly returning, you say, in Azudim, "I'm willing to do what needs to be done."
Sympathy painting features into a softer cast, Mariena S. Tanarian says, "The Rite of the First Blood. Your hand on the wall. The spirits will talk and talk long, this month. Let us finish."
"Can I..." Reux starts, but pauses long enough to collect his thoughts into a proper question. Already trying to get to his feet, "Where will we go?"
You say, in Azudim, "Tell me what needs to be done..."
Standing quicker and offering her assistance, Mariena answers, "follow."
Yah yah yah, I'm working on getting the place redone in general. I liked it when I made it, but now... just... >>
The log ends before the mechanical shaman promotion. If you're curious about that, come be a shaman with the rest of us.
Reux:
He is an Azudim: primal, majestic, and sharpened until lethal. Like a predator, claws tip each of his digits, fangs lie within his broad feline muzzle, and pointed ears flick to and fro, situated on the top of his crown. The feral slits of his eyes are black and various hues of green, easily focused and quick to stare. A fine layer of fur covers most of his tanned flesh, the orange stuff velvety looking and probably just about as soft to the touch. Lighter, colorless fur covers much of his neck, chest, and the insides of his thighs. Along his spine and tail, none of this subtle hair seems willing to grow. That singular, lengthy ridge is hardened and knotted. Though tall enough to clear six feet of height at a guess, seven feet is too much; he stands somewhere between.
(covering the body) : draping ringmail secured by straps
(slung over a shoulder) : a gray, quarter-cuirass armoured bandolier
(carved into the back) : prayer scars
(around the waist) : a piranha tooth belt
(around the neck) : an amulet of scratched ezerite
(worn on the legs) : a matte black leather loincloth
(covering the body) : draping ringmail secured by straps
(slung over a shoulder) : a gray, quarter-cuirass armoured bandolier
(carved into the back) : prayer scars
(around the waist) : a piranha tooth belt
(around the neck) : an amulet of scratched ezerite
(worn on the legs) : a matte black leather loincloth
Mariena:
She is an Azudim. Mariena has the soft physique of a belly dancer, her tawny, oath-inscribed frame compact and short. Her face is fey in structure and without conventional beauty, with unusual, multi-hued eyes that are too large for her narrow visage. Deep greens with rich hints of copper contour her eyelids, while swirls of metallic gold, crimson, and copper dance along her chin, up along the brow bone, and across the bridge of her nose. Her wild ebony mane has been adorned randomly with braids filled with shining gemstone beads, feathers of unusual tone, and leather strips. She walks with the blessing of Haern. She walks with the blessing of Haern. She walks with the blessing of Maghak.
(Heart and key closure at her sternum) : a mithril and rose gold necklace
(delicately slipped over the ring finger) : an emberite and white oak wedding band
(Breathable cotton reaching to mid-calf) : a skirt of green leather and cloth
(worn on the right thumb) : a ring of the Guardians
(Loosely sliding around her left wrist) : a half-charred wooden bracelet
(wrapped around her ample chest) : a forest green bandeau top
(swinging from a vine) : an ornate treeling pendant of smooth wood
(Heart and key closure at her sternum) : a mithril and rose gold necklace
(delicately slipped over the ring finger) : an emberite and white oak wedding band
(Breathable cotton reaching to mid-calf) : a skirt of green leather and cloth
(worn on the right thumb) : a ring of the Guardians
(Loosely sliding around her left wrist) : a half-charred wooden bracelet
(wrapped around her ample chest) : a forest green bandeau top
(swinging from a vine) : an ornate treeling pendant of smooth wood
In the back of your mind, you hear Mariena saying to you, "Are you ready?"
You tell Mariena, "I may not be ready, but I have an idea."
Lonely path through the mists of the Hollow.
A narrow, lonely path winds its way through the tall, dark trees of the forested Hollow, a touch removed and isolated from the sounds and sights of the teeming Heartwood. There is nothing but ancient forest and mists surrounding, the foreboding trees old and towering. The silvery mists hang in the area, settling in like a thick, cool fog and obscuring visibility of the surrounding woods. Very little light is available in these far-reaching paths of the eastern Hollow, dark patches of shadow residing in every crevice. A giant white pine fills a gap in the tree canopy, soaking up the sun as it pours down over the tree. Mariena S. Tanarian is here. She wields a carved quarterstaff of wood and bone in her hands.
You see exits leading east (closed pine door), south, and northwest.
You nod your head affirmatively at Mariena.
Mariena pats you on the chest, indicating the heart.
Mariena S. Tanarian says to you, "It doesn't have to be perfect, just from here."
Reux glances down at the arm beneath him, the limb so much thinner than his own pair. He places his hand on top of Mariena's though, patting it in acknowledgement. Looking into her eyes, still touching her hand, "Then come with me. See what my heart thinks and hear what it will speak."
Mariena begins to follow you.
You close your eyes and begin to focus on your haven.
-- Movement --
An obscene graveyard of prostrate corpses.
Like an eyesore to an aerial view, a circular area of the jungle has been demolished, the land turned into a mockery of life. Cleared of vegetation, leveled, the space seems to serve as a graveyard. Unfortunately for the dead, the land does not serve as a particularly peaceful respite. Humans, nalas, wyrms, rajamala, boru, horkval - from the large ogre to the small ithkitten - all remains lie prostrate, separated from one another, clearly visible and identifiable. The frame from a military standard makes an impromptu headstone for a skeletal xoran. Several spears, planted butt first, mark the site of another corpse. There are many such objects scattered with a small portion of the figures. All the remains are facing a central stone mausoleum, as if they were humbled or worshipping the site. Purposefully, the stepping stones from the jungle path lead to this single, unmarked building and its entranceway. Though a dense slab of rock may act as a door to the tomb, it rests to the side, left in one place long enough to allow dust to cake in the spaces the weather cannot easily touch. Hacked and blighted tree trunks mark the boarder of this vulgar display You see exits leading east and down.
Mariena absently rubs at the short, plush fur ghosting over your form while she follows along, considering her hand is still caught. "I will listen. If we are agreeable, you will be Blooded and we will do that ritual, too."
Reux isn't willing to give up Mariena's hand once it's been caught. Whether this is by reflex or intent is not immediately obvious. Firm, practically holding her by the wrist, his grip is just as driven as his step. He doesn't wait for questions or a tour, simply making his way toward the duty he's willing to fulfill.
While going through the path, you say, "These bodies, the prey, the spirits... these things still lingering here, they need to be given an opportunity to join the Cycle again. Yes? But more than that, the spirits that are still here need to be repaid. Just like the Guardians we respect, I need to respect my prey. Others, wrongfully used in death... need some solace."
You say, "Won't this make the transition easier? Wouldn't they trust in the voice guiding them, leading them back to the Glade?"
Turning her hand gently so her smaller digits can grip and stead of being gripped, Mariena answers, "Depends. Spirits are fussy. You killed them. You left their corpses here in desecration. Sacrilege. Didn't use them for food. For their hides. They might still be angry.. or they might be sobbing for their release back to the Misted Paths."
Reux was thoughtful, upon entering the graveyard. Guilt was etched in the lines of his features, and the stress could be felt in his shaky fingers. However, when posed with the possibility of failure, distraction and ideals win over the issues; his face levels, and his voice is even.
You say, "I cannot deny what someone wants. The matters here were mortal conflicts with the highest of costs. Whether or not someone wishes to ultimately move forward will be their choice."
Mariena offers a squeeze of reassurance and a nod. "You are right. You are only responsible for your actions."
Looking at Mariena's arm, you say, "This is personal, but I feel this could be made useful to others. It may just be better done by an impersonal voice. Still, I feel it would be better to let the spirits see what they're leaving behind, and then give them the path of what lies beyond. Even if the spirits do not ultimately hear the words of the rite, anyone else in attendance will, and will remember the lessons that need to be held to heart all their days."
Looking at Mariena's features once more, you say, "We, so willing to live and grow and fight, are capable of so much. We need reminders of what's most important."
Mariena nods quietly, her wide eyes raptly watching you as he explains his ritual ideas.
Quietly, Mariena S. Tanarian says, "We, as Praadi, walk with one foot in Dendara and one on the prime material. We are the shepherds."
Reux really wasn't willing to give up the hand he captured. Looking upon Mariena's arm, his fingers loosen, the claws pricking at her delicate wrist and palm. He drags his digits across her hand, until ultimately she is released. Steps are immediately taken toward the nearest marker of a corpse's resting place. In this case, the creature is an imp, only obvious by the short stature, bony wings, and horns still attached to the skull.
Reux's hand had remained raised just above his hip, when he let go of the smaller Azudim. The palm was flat, facing the blighted ground under their feet, with his fingers spread. As he reaches for this first corpse, apparently by the head, his palm remains open and spread.
The flow of energy through your body redirects itself, pooling beneath your footsteps and enriching the soil. Fresh growth unfurls from underneath your soles, sprouting and blooming in your wake.
You concentrate and send a tide of energy to your feet, the fresh growth becoming even more exuberant as it spreads outward and lush, verdant plantlife overtakes the vicinity.
Watching Mariena, you say, "I remember this man. I knew not the imp's name, but I remember this. He was in the wrong place, and had felt the need to point out what flaws did and did not exist while hunting through Azdun and the goblins nearby. I saw him as a threat to my concentration, and he was pummeled until he became quiet."
Mariena allows you room, her bare feet silently treading the sudden overgrowth a bit behind you. Absently her finger lifts to plush lips, sucking the sting of claw away from her scarred digits. An odd bit of silver longing flashes in her green, misted gaze, quickly stifled as the imp corpse is focused on. "Did his silence allow you to regain your composure?" Hand dropping, fingers fiddling at the seam of her skirt.
With bowed head and closed eyes, Reux had already taken to his knee. The imp isn't very tall, and being placed with their forehead to the ground makes it difficult to take hold of any part of their short frame. Oddly enough, the skull is lifted, with care; even as the rest of the corpse stiffly jerks, nothing seems to break apart. The bony forehead is laid to rest on the growth that now pillows the soil.
Solumely, you say, "His silence let me have peace, until the next goblin and zombie were confronted. I did not care for his opinion, but it was his to have. I remember this imp, and I hope that he finds sanctuary and peace."
Though it may be hard to notice at first, the growth extends both in a small, circular expanse around Reux, but clearly one path is being made to a much further point central to the graveyard. The moss and flora are gathering around a small, common totem.
Mariena offers her acceptance once more, echoing, "may his soul find rest and his feet the path to Dendara."
The next corpse seems to be far away enough that Reux explains his actions, rather than keeps the truly serious tone. Both his hands also move, pointing and flexing according to whatever dictates his thoughts. "Even if I don't know the prey, the name, the wrong or the rights... the spirits need to be called. We need to wave bait in front of them, like one would when catching hungry game. Who can tell just how long the wrong have lingered with their corpses, unable or unaware of anything else around them?"
You say, in Azudim, "Violate their territory. Force them to know that you, capable of finding these ethereal husks, are before them. Make them think. Have them reason, even if by instinct."
"What bait are you going to utilize?" Mariena inquires.
Reux takes to his knee once more, before another corpse. Using low tones again, taking hold of the segmented skull, "Me, in this case. The dead have little to reflect upon, if they're still confined to where and when they had died. It's easy right now, since I have aggressed against them all."
The corpse before Reux is a horkval, though there's little of the person left to identify just who they may have been. The head, enough of the shell to constitute its back, and its arms, are currently resting on the ground. An animal is nearby, what may have been a dog, cat, or some other small, four-legged beast, but his attention remains fixed on the skull before him. A soft, though eerie red glow rests behind his gaze now; it could have started as he was walking, or as he came to his knee.
Mariena steps up to you, since the big man is now at her own height. "You've just aggressed on these, who have been caught here." She sounds out, suddenly concerned. "These. Here. Not those you've utilized properly."
As if caught in the growing ritual, tense and fixated, you say, "I remember this horkval. I knew not their name, and I truly knew them not. I attempted to speak to it, and when it started clicking at me faster and faster, I attempted to leave them be. They were offended to the point of taking hold of my shoulder, and were given no mercy when they wouldn't accept it. They defended themselves after I proved capable of defending my own ignorance."
You say, "They fought, even if we didn't need to end the conflict in death. They were brave. I remember this horkval, and I hope that they find sanctuary and peace."
Mariena stops trying to interfere and just lets the ritual continue. Her hand hastily slides away. Curiously focused, a fully misted gaze watches the overgrowth around this horkval, brave and stupid, who died due to misunderstanding.
The original imp, given Reux's attention first, has already been overcome by the moss that's creeping over the dead. It may be difficult to notice at all unless one is listening or looking, as the first good signal of work being done is the loud snap of some important joint from a much heavier ribcage and hip, suddenly falling to the ground. He lifts the horkval's skull, forced to cup the segments with both hands, and makes sure the growth covers the ground before letting the bones rest.
Snapping out of the trance as the second corpse is consumed, you say, "I was aggressive toward. I was their end. Their last thoughts should be partially of me, so I should make good bait. It helps a great deal that I've touched the Guardians already, so maybe these spirits will see something familiar, or something entirely different, before them."
Rolling his shoulders, Reux turns back, wondering out loud, "I will not stop you Mariena. You may wish to watch your feet, as the path is only going to get thicker and more robust..." Turning awkwardly, still crouching, he looks for Mariena's gaze. "I want you to listen and guide me, just as I'm trying to guide them."
Mariena moves forward again, having no problem walking through the shrouds of death creeping along each corpse, each bone in this macabre sight. Cupping your muzzle and angling it so she can stare directly into your eyes, she croons, "the blood has to be offered. The blood will forge the path. When you have touched each corpse, the blood will allow them free."
Already Reux's hand is lifting, hearing Mariena's command. Unexpected, perhaps, because he also looks at the raised limb, then at her. "Then each spirit is going to take a path through me to reach their destination. They are going to touch me..." With his eyes flicking closed, silent seconds are taken to contemplate the importance of this path. When he reopens his eyes, he's curiously looking toward Mariena, shaking his arm briefly to bring attention to it. "Will you make the path then? I carry no blade."
"Are you satisfied that you have touched each bone here with living moss, your dendara essence?" Mariena She asks this, her hands moving now, sliding down your arm so her small hands can feel each ridge and muscle until she reaches your wrist. "We need to be at the totem, in the center." She declares, tugging you towards it.
Reux sluggishly comes to his feet. Many of his actions seemed to have become dull, delayed, while being lead like the spirits he's trying to guide. Perhaps he's only enjoying the privilage he asked for initially.
Reux's flesh is warm, very unlike the graveyard's soil underneath their feet. With enough strength and attention, the thicker veins in his arm also demonstrate a healthy pulse. It isn't until they're practically to the totem and mausoleum and he tries to grip Mariena, and accept the guidance.
Head nodding, but staying low, you say, "I can make it so..."
The growth becomes overgrowth, the ground below their feet feeling as if it pulses in sync with Reux's heartbeat. Even if the corpses weren't previously touched, the moss works its way to each body, and the flora spreads like webbing in a net.
"Your blood will be spilled twice this month," Mariena explains tugging the larger man along with effort seen along her shoulders and in the way she angles forward. reaching the totem, she urges you back to your knees, sharply pulling down. "Your blood will spill, the link will forge. There will be pain. The second time there will not be pain, but acceptance, belonging. Reux, do you accept the responsibilities of these souls? Are you prepared to take on what being Azudim is. What being Shaman is? Your flesh was forged in the deaths of these creatures, your path is to set them free. I'm going to score both of your wrists. Your bl.lood will flow. It will touch the overgrowth. The souls will pass through you." Only a stumble in this explanation. This guidance seems natural.
Submitting to the ritual being formed, Reux's arms become lax with the explanation. The back of his free hand drags along the growth as he finds some way to blindly set his arm still and supported. Otherwise, he seems tense, the muscles in his shoulders and neck bunched and flexed. His head absently nods with Mariena's words, but he answers when she concludes. "I accept. I accept, Mariena." Looking toward her, a growl comes that can be felt just as much as it's heard. His flesh practically vibrates with the energy, from chest to the tips of his fingers and toes.
Still growling, you say, in Azudim, "I offer myself and accept the responsibility for the path I've forced these spirits to walk."
Face lifting to the sky above, Mariena S. Tanarian speaks a phrase in an alternating tone of stressed syllables.
Mariena ceases to wield a carved quarterstaff of wood and bone.
Mariena starts to wield a jewel-encrusted sacrificial dagger in her left hand.
He heard perhaps half of what was spoken, his own pulse robbing him of accuity. Mariena's presence and importance in his mind seems to be enough to convey the message, and reflex leads where his head doesn't follow.
Mariena kneels, dagger tip first her forehead, then her lips, as if giving her own sort of blessing. A slash of pain, a sure and steady hand. The overgrowth pulses a fey hue in response, hungry, waiting. She turns, not as steady. Silver, a deep garnet, a swirl of green. These colors mark the look of concentration that she gives your other wrist. The blade exhibits a slight tremor before it slices clean, this side flowing as well. "the spirits are one with you. The spirits move through. Call home the spirits. Call them to be born anew."
The pain registers within Reux well after the slash. One could tell by watching his features contort, and forearm stretch. Hissing, keeping himself as still as possible, he bares himself to the spirits through rite and his wound. Wordlessly, his head is thrown back while a roar booms loud enough to fill the sanctuary. Unseen birds and beasts flee, away from the explosion.
Reux's scars pulse with an eerie glow, an outline of their letters made by the fey gathered.
"Let them in! Let them through! By your will they find freedom! By your mercy they are set free!" Mariena Her voice is an ecstatic sorpano, soaring high through your bass growling. "I feel them, They are making it there. They will be set free!" The repetition of her words seems a litany scraped together. The dagger lifts again, poised between herself and you. She seems to ponder making another cut, plunging the dagger home, but pauses, the red gleam across the silver blade capturing her attention. The blade is smuggled close to her face, eyes falling half-lidded as her tongue traces one side delicately clean.
As if fate had a sense of irony, Reux falls forward once his roar concludes, prostrate as his gathered audience has been gathered for more than a century. Though his back remains taunt, the rest of his body is difficult to will, and it takes time for his frame to raise. Unable to straighten his posture, eyes wide open and looking for the sky, his voice comes to him horsely. Then again, his voice comes with an echo, as if he weren't just speaking for himself.
Invading your thoughts just as much as the words are heard, you say, in Azudim, "Help... help..."
> Memories left by the spirits are like footprints, and the spirits feel as if they are trampling one another to get to their destination. A few may just be making that journey more painful, all sorts of emotions being left behind while they seek their peace.
"What do you seek of me?" Mariena The question is offered quietly, the mental touch finding a pliable mind, accepting of the spirits, open to their will. "Let me help you. Let me guide."
"Like a river forced... though fissure... so many..." Reux babbles. The wound may be open and bleeding, but his body naturally fights for its own survival, trying to close what wants to rip wider. Urgency comes with the panting breaths that follow, his chest and back flexing so his spine bows all at once.
Mariena kneels down beside you and, as a gentle hand brushes along your pained brow, plunges the dagger into your heart. It would be a mortal blow for anything other than Ascended creatures, and even through Ascension it is a critical affair. She keeps the dagger, imbibed with power from so many times used in her own rituals, thrust from your chest, between two ribs.
Reux breaths a sigh of relief, though the wind seems to completely leave his lungs. The impact is enough to knock the Azudim back, and loosens his posture with the rest of his limbs. Strength finds him again, another heartbeat later, and his head is once more flung back. The muzzle stretches as if to roar, but no sound leaves his body. Blood pours from the wound in his chest, covering his flesh, fur, and clothing, until it drips onto the growth covering the soil.
Leaving the dagger vibrating and embedded in your chest, Mariena runs both hands up your chest, through the blood pouring from you. "Almost, little more. You got this. They are moving. Now it's a river, broad and strong," each word comes faster, some slurred. She paints the runes on your forehead. Protection of the mind, the third eye surrounding it. She paints one on your throat, willing your vocals to be strong. Clear. Her whole body trembles, her eyes flashing a crimson-gold.
As the wave of spasms calm, Reux curls around the blade still plunged within his chest. The pain registers immediately, and his jerks and sways probably do more damage than good. At least he's not trying to remove the offending thing, his arms still limp at his sides. Panting, taking deeps breaths of the humid, heated air, another roar wrecks the shattered peace of the jungle, echoing against the distant, hazy mountains that surround them. No animals are left to scatter, already abandoning the sanctuary. Even as the roar pours from his body, it ends sooner than the last two spasms.
> It may be the runes that keep him sane. The additional blood, the guiding presence, the words and symbols... the stampede feels like a funnel now, with all the additional footprints getting sucked away.
Mariena leans over you, her fey face dancing in and out of focus as the spirits obscure her form in this moment of in-between. "Do you feel them?" She urges you. "The last.. The last is through. You are done. DONE!" She yanks the blade free of your body, a crimson gout following that she quickly plants her hand over, though the pulse of your Rhythm pushes the thick fluid betwixt her fingers. A soft hissing can be heard, pushed past her bared, pearly teeth as a green energy combats the sanguine, knitting the torn pieces together with her own healing magics.
Reux's body is going to need support, leaning heavily against that single, dainty-looking hand. Natural gifts and gathered power within the well-experienced Azudim help the wounds in his wrist and chest heal. The less-severe problem along his arm closes quickly, without leaving a trace of the contact.
Reux's heart is another matter, the wound difficult to bind. For whatever reason, though the blood flow certainly slows and stops, the flesh mends poorly. The more magic and faith are applied, the brighter his scars along his back glow. A nasty scar is going to be left behind over his heart, though the silvered boar, moss, and mountain tattoos tracing faintly along his head and torso are heated from their efforts.
Panting, you say, in Rajamala, "Gods..."
A low cry of concern escapes Mariena, her voice now lent to the song that sends healing pulses through the overgrowth already surrounding them. These bursts of renewal do much for the mending of arteries and veins, though does not do much for helping make the scar any less visible. After a time her song dies away, her body no longer being lit by the back glow of fey light being pumped steadily into you. "The Spirits have accepted your offering and they stand ready to welcome you as their own. Can you finish this, Reux? Are you strong enough?"
Confused, as if looking upon Mariena's face for the first time, you ask, in Rajamala, "What...?"
With a steady gaze, power and concentration quickly returning, you say, in Azudim, "I'm willing to do what needs to be done."
Sympathy painting features into a softer cast, Mariena S. Tanarian says, "The Rite of the First Blood. Your hand on the wall. The spirits will talk and talk long, this month. Let us finish."
"Can I..." Reux starts, but pauses long enough to collect his thoughts into a proper question. Already trying to get to his feet, "Where will we go?"
You say, in Azudim, "Tell me what needs to be done..."
Standing quicker and offering her assistance, Mariena answers, "follow."
I mean, you know, an amount.
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Comments
I would also like to develop a chant/song/something less bloody for the general Guild to play with. I think that Griash, the Keeper and cougar spirit who embodies peace could fit really well here. Griash's peace could be the Final Peace. I'm writing Griash's path that one can take past being Blooded to reflect these ideas.
Reux, your emoting is absolutely beautiful and it is a joy to read. I am more than thrilled that you chose the Shamans to call home.