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Griash, the Keeper
Not too long after the audience with all of Dendara's Guardians, they began to reach out to individual councilors to offer their wisdom and guidance. It was to the Keeper that Iesid made his offering. For context, he had seen the spirit in the corner of his vision in several places - until a gut feeling told him to head to Dendara.
This color means thought.
This color means speech.
This color means something really cool.
You have emoted: Upon his arrival, Iesid offers a grim nod to Gortuk. Over his shoulder is his fresh
kill, the massive aquatic predator killed clean and ready to be used as a sacrificial offering. The
Azudim heaves the bulky beast body off of his shoulder and settles it before a fractured, glossy
cougar totem with a wet 'schlrp' of blood and marine guts, arterial fluid splashing against ground
and totem alike.
You drop the corpse of a blackened, ravenous shark.
Gortuk looks up from the fire he nurses before the stone cougar totem, his gaze settling upon you
with an unsurprised serenity. There is a brief smile for the kill deposited before the Guardian's
likeness. "We have been expecting you, young Iesid," he muses aloud. The deep timbre of his trollish
voice contrasts greatly with the calmness of his words. "It is well you bring offering."
"Expecting...?"
.. he supposed that wasn't so surprising.
A rippling shadow moves in the far recesses of the afternoon sun, shaded here as you are beneath
those two, primordial giants. Golden eyes watch from the shadows as the shape moves, disappearing
eventually behind one such monstrosity of a tree.
You have emoted: Though there is a brief flicker of surprise for the stated expectations from
Griash's Voice, Iesid settles down upon his knees before his kill and produces the ritual implement
he might use to make offerings to Sapient gods. Jewel-encrusted and possessing a wicked cutting edge
of its own, the implement comes to hand with the fanciful flourish of a street performer's sleight
of hand. It hovers there, however, as he remains caught up in the sensation of being watched. "I
felt as if I had been sent for, in a manner of speaking," he admits. "The Guardians made clear of
their wish for strength - I shall never come to them empty-handed ever again."
Gortuk seems to contemplate your words, chewing on their weight as he prepares his own. "You were
called upon," he allows calmly, "And yet, you were not." A few more spare branches are added to the
fire before he settles down beside it, his bulk shadowing high over the steadily growing flame. "You
saw the Keeper because he wished you to see him - a reminder, perhaps. A promise." He seems
oblivious to the stalking shadow just out of vision, utter tranquility etched upon his features.
Evenly, Gortuk says, "With the Guardian's power now anchored upon the plane of your birth, I would
expect these visits to very nearly become commonplace. They remember the promise given to them very,
very well."
You have emoted: "They look to the Prime, now," Iesid reasons out, his head dipping in one swift nod
of understanding. As he continues conversing, however, the hunter makes motions to begin his
offering in earnest. He turns the massive marine morsel over to expose its underbelly, the tip of
the knife moving with efficiency and precision born of handling dhurives or field dressing game
animals. Soon, he splits open the entire carcass of the animal, exposing the delicious meat that any
Prime feline would surely feast upon with gusto. The guts are strewn about in a primitive image of a
circle around the caught kill, all offal and organs aside from the heart used in this part of the
offering. The meaty heart, he leaves intact - a prized jewel within the grim sacrifice.
You ask, "And stand with the council to measure our worth as their servants?"
Gortuk's lips split into a smile that speaks to the Troll's approval. "You are correct, young
Iesid." There is no grimace or otherwise unsavory reaction to Iesid's blood-slicked work, only the
simple understanding of its purpose. "A truth for you, hunter-" His voice drops further in decibel,
taking on an almost conspiratorial tone. "They hope to renew this relationship with the Council, a
symbiotic relationship that has not been seen in eons gone - banished from all but the longest of
memory. A relationship of power, strength, guidance - given and taken freely between one another."
You have emoted: "Then Duiran must prove itself worthy of that partnership. Our work upon the Prime
- as the Hunter intended us always to do - will be what speaks for us and our strength, our
severity," Iesid vows in a hushed tone, solemnity quashing fervor as he holds to the demeanor
represented by the totem before him. Instead of cleaning off his knife, the man holds his right hand
above the shark's exposed heart and slits his palm open with the ritual implement, mingling his own
essence with that of the slick crimson that yet still coats the animal's most precious, unbeating
organ. There is no grimace, no wince, no adverse reaction - only purpose and respect are shown as he
makes this final finishing touch. "And I have no doubt we shall."
It was not a brag, nor a boast. This was duty - to the ancestors, to the Guardians, to the world, to
his loved ones. It was not a burdensome thing, no... just the oath he had sworn as a councilor. One
he would die upholding.
And service to them, like many things lately, made him feel alive. Exhilarated. Thrilled, exultant.
You say to Gortuk, "We shall make sure that the way is not lost."
And then that great shadow approaches, revealing the Keeper in all his glory. Slabs of lithe
musculature ripple beneath the ebony fur, sleek and without blemish. He strides forward upon paws
that rival the expanse of your torso, each tipped with just the hint deadly keratin. Stopping
before your offering, the great feline considers it in silence.
Awe, all-encompassing.
Gortuk falls quiet as Griash makes his approach, gazing upon the Keeper now as if at the oldest of
friends.
You have emoted: Iesid remains perfectly still - as if, in his mortal foolishness, he thought that
immobility would be the sole aspect of his offering's passing or failure. Despite this, his eyes are
wide enough to drink in the majesty of the totemic spirit before him. There is admiration, awe, all
mingled together with the thrill and honor of being in the presence of such an unfathomably ancient
and powerful being.
A voice blossoms within your mind, a deafening sound that is reminisce a deep, throaty purr: I
ACCEPT YOUR OFFERING, YOUNG HUNTER. IN RETURN, A LESSON; LEARN TO BETTER ACCEPT WHAT HAS COME, WILL
COME, AND IS. HARNESS EMOTION, AND EMOTION WILL HARNESS YOU.
With that, the mighty feline makes quick work of what has been offered; his rough, pink tongue
appearing to lap up the ritually arranged offal before jaws that bespeak an unquestionable power
clamp down on the bulk of the creatures flesh. Turning, the Keeper departs with offering clamped
tight before disappearing into the shadows from whence he came.
You have emoted: Iesid's solemn demeanor does not break, though the creases of scarring around his
eyes eases just a bit upon hearing the ancient wisdom bestowed upon him. His shoulders loosen in
posture, his head bowing in acknowledgement of his lesson. However much his head lowers, however,
his eyes remain stuck upon the offering - and the Keeper's gruesome acceptance of it and its meaty
musculature. "So it is spoken and so it shall be learned," he whispers upon the padded heels of the
great Guardian's departure.
Top to bottom in his life right now, that was pretty good advice.
Gortuk watches with a warm familiarity as the Keeper departs, sinking further down beside the fire
onto one elbow as the shadows lengthen within Dendara. His eyes are heavy with satisfaction now,
lidded and glazed as they turn back to regard you. Is Griash the one that feasts, or is he? "Go now,
young Iesid," he remarks warmly. Reaching out with one hand, the Troll runs a finger through the
thick blood still pooled here before sucking it clean. "And share freely this lesson from the
Keeper."
Solemnly, you say, "Ward well, Gortuk."
This color means thought.
This color means speech.
This color means something really cool.
You have emoted: Upon his arrival, Iesid offers a grim nod to Gortuk. Over his shoulder is his fresh
kill, the massive aquatic predator killed clean and ready to be used as a sacrificial offering. The
Azudim heaves the bulky beast body off of his shoulder and settles it before a fractured, glossy
cougar totem with a wet 'schlrp' of blood and marine guts, arterial fluid splashing against ground
and totem alike.
You drop the corpse of a blackened, ravenous shark.
Gortuk looks up from the fire he nurses before the stone cougar totem, his gaze settling upon you
with an unsurprised serenity. There is a brief smile for the kill deposited before the Guardian's
likeness. "We have been expecting you, young Iesid," he muses aloud. The deep timbre of his trollish
voice contrasts greatly with the calmness of his words. "It is well you bring offering."
"Expecting...?"
.. he supposed that wasn't so surprising.
A rippling shadow moves in the far recesses of the afternoon sun, shaded here as you are beneath
those two, primordial giants. Golden eyes watch from the shadows as the shape moves, disappearing
eventually behind one such monstrosity of a tree.
You have emoted: Though there is a brief flicker of surprise for the stated expectations from
Griash's Voice, Iesid settles down upon his knees before his kill and produces the ritual implement
he might use to make offerings to Sapient gods. Jewel-encrusted and possessing a wicked cutting edge
of its own, the implement comes to hand with the fanciful flourish of a street performer's sleight
of hand. It hovers there, however, as he remains caught up in the sensation of being watched. "I
felt as if I had been sent for, in a manner of speaking," he admits. "The Guardians made clear of
their wish for strength - I shall never come to them empty-handed ever again."
Gortuk seems to contemplate your words, chewing on their weight as he prepares his own. "You were
called upon," he allows calmly, "And yet, you were not." A few more spare branches are added to the
fire before he settles down beside it, his bulk shadowing high over the steadily growing flame. "You
saw the Keeper because he wished you to see him - a reminder, perhaps. A promise." He seems
oblivious to the stalking shadow just out of vision, utter tranquility etched upon his features.
Evenly, Gortuk says, "With the Guardian's power now anchored upon the plane of your birth, I would
expect these visits to very nearly become commonplace. They remember the promise given to them very,
very well."
You have emoted: "They look to the Prime, now," Iesid reasons out, his head dipping in one swift nod
of understanding. As he continues conversing, however, the hunter makes motions to begin his
offering in earnest. He turns the massive marine morsel over to expose its underbelly, the tip of
the knife moving with efficiency and precision born of handling dhurives or field dressing game
animals. Soon, he splits open the entire carcass of the animal, exposing the delicious meat that any
Prime feline would surely feast upon with gusto. The guts are strewn about in a primitive image of a
circle around the caught kill, all offal and organs aside from the heart used in this part of the
offering. The meaty heart, he leaves intact - a prized jewel within the grim sacrifice.
You ask, "And stand with the council to measure our worth as their servants?"
Gortuk's lips split into a smile that speaks to the Troll's approval. "You are correct, young
Iesid." There is no grimace or otherwise unsavory reaction to Iesid's blood-slicked work, only the
simple understanding of its purpose. "A truth for you, hunter-" His voice drops further in decibel,
taking on an almost conspiratorial tone. "They hope to renew this relationship with the Council, a
symbiotic relationship that has not been seen in eons gone - banished from all but the longest of
memory. A relationship of power, strength, guidance - given and taken freely between one another."
You have emoted: "Then Duiran must prove itself worthy of that partnership. Our work upon the Prime
- as the Hunter intended us always to do - will be what speaks for us and our strength, our
severity," Iesid vows in a hushed tone, solemnity quashing fervor as he holds to the demeanor
represented by the totem before him. Instead of cleaning off his knife, the man holds his right hand
above the shark's exposed heart and slits his palm open with the ritual implement, mingling his own
essence with that of the slick crimson that yet still coats the animal's most precious, unbeating
organ. There is no grimace, no wince, no adverse reaction - only purpose and respect are shown as he
makes this final finishing touch. "And I have no doubt we shall."
It was not a brag, nor a boast. This was duty - to the ancestors, to the Guardians, to the world, to
his loved ones. It was not a burdensome thing, no... just the oath he had sworn as a councilor. One
he would die upholding.
And service to them, like many things lately, made him feel alive. Exhilarated. Thrilled, exultant.
You say to Gortuk, "We shall make sure that the way is not lost."
And then that great shadow approaches, revealing the Keeper in all his glory. Slabs of lithe
musculature ripple beneath the ebony fur, sleek and without blemish. He strides forward upon paws
that rival the expanse of your torso, each tipped with just the hint deadly keratin. Stopping
before your offering, the great feline considers it in silence.
Awe, all-encompassing.
Gortuk falls quiet as Griash makes his approach, gazing upon the Keeper now as if at the oldest of
friends.
You have emoted: Iesid remains perfectly still - as if, in his mortal foolishness, he thought that
immobility would be the sole aspect of his offering's passing or failure. Despite this, his eyes are
wide enough to drink in the majesty of the totemic spirit before him. There is admiration, awe, all
mingled together with the thrill and honor of being in the presence of such an unfathomably ancient
and powerful being.
A voice blossoms within your mind, a deafening sound that is reminisce a deep, throaty purr: I
ACCEPT YOUR OFFERING, YOUNG HUNTER. IN RETURN, A LESSON; LEARN TO BETTER ACCEPT WHAT HAS COME, WILL
COME, AND IS. HARNESS EMOTION, AND EMOTION WILL HARNESS YOU.
With that, the mighty feline makes quick work of what has been offered; his rough, pink tongue
appearing to lap up the ritually arranged offal before jaws that bespeak an unquestionable power
clamp down on the bulk of the creatures flesh. Turning, the Keeper departs with offering clamped
tight before disappearing into the shadows from whence he came.
You have emoted: Iesid's solemn demeanor does not break, though the creases of scarring around his
eyes eases just a bit upon hearing the ancient wisdom bestowed upon him. His shoulders loosen in
posture, his head bowing in acknowledgement of his lesson. However much his head lowers, however,
his eyes remain stuck upon the offering - and the Keeper's gruesome acceptance of it and its meaty
musculature. "So it is spoken and so it shall be learned," he whispers upon the padded heels of the
great Guardian's departure.
Top to bottom in his life right now, that was pretty good advice.
Gortuk watches with a warm familiarity as the Keeper departs, sinking further down beside the fire
onto one elbow as the shadows lengthen within Dendara. His eyes are heavy with satisfaction now,
lidded and glazed as they turn back to regard you. Is Griash the one that feasts, or is he? "Go now,
young Iesid," he remarks warmly. Reaching out with one hand, the Troll runs a finger through the
thick blood still pooled here before sucking it clean. "And share freely this lesson from the
Keeper."
Solemnly, you say, "Ward well, Gortuk."
2