Bloodbroth and Packages

GAME: Harkashan rolls Profession/Herbalist: (2)+8: 10

The work at Mictlan has kept Harkashan busy over the past few weeks. Having traveled up north after resolving some matters at the Arcanist school - which had the Sith-makari's heckles raised a bit - he's been busy helping with the resanctification efforts.

Ever since those finished recently, he's been helping out around the camp. There may have been at least one conversation with Rune about the dangers of touching books when one is looking for a book that is eating up people.

He's just coming out from the hollows bearing a small sum of herbs over to a public pot of bone-broth and meats being brewn and cooked. A collective meal forming at the edge of bones. A few boisterous sounds coming from some warrior castes as they finish telling a story, though a few of them quiet as the 'lava dragon' approaches. A momentary look of respect shared between them. No words. The subtle motions of a tail or the adjustment of nictating membrane seem enough, before the cacophany resumes.

"The plants are still young in growth, so today's herbs are a bit more meager in quantity than usual, I fear." Harkashan remarks apologetically as they are given to the 'cook' on duty, and deposited into the broth - after which he sits down into the circle of community that has formed.

In addition to the ceremonial pyres, there are a number of public cookfires. Un'eth is currently crouched near one which currently has a spitted boar angled over it. She appears to be minding it, as every few minutes she reaches to rotate the spit slight in its hole. Her role may also be guardian as she eyes the occassional hatchling, youngling, or perhaps grown one that stops to linger too long and too near the savory work-in-progress.

Ah, yes, the resanctification efforts. The efforts to consecrate the place from undead. That sanctification. The undead were already having troubles with the place. Rather, a large silverscaled makari is.

Currently hugging one of the massive dragon bones that stick out of the grounds, he's doing his best to keep it held in place with various grunts and huffs as the shamans do the finishing touches. Polish here, a bit of paint there. Some dribbles down and splatters against Skielstregar's face. He sputters, and a break is called shortly thereafter as that bone was done.

In just a tunic and pants, with a halberd to his side, a silverscaled makari plops down at the circle, unable to see well as he's busy scraping away a vivid pink and orange pigment that's all over his face.

Oh, Harkashan may have had a few words with Rune about touching books in questionable circumstances. However, if she hadn't fallen to her fascination with fantastical stories, they would have never found the book which was disappearing people! So, maybe it isn't /all/ bad. Right? ... Right?

While her lava-scaled companion has been busy with tending to the situation in Mictlan, Rune has been occupying herself doing any general tasks that individuals have asked of her. Mostly, she leaves the Makari to tend to Makari business unless they actually ask for her aid. It's a matter of respect.

In this case, she's currently hauling what looks to be a load of firewood in from the nearby woodlands, attached to her back by leather straps. The smaller half-sil isn't known for strength, but sometimes you can accomplish the same task just with more trips rather than raw strength. "This should be the last load for now. At least until they fell some more." She grunts, undoing the straps to relieve her burden onto the ground nearby.

Unlike perhaps most sith-makar that have gathered here, a certain ruddy sith-makar was a pure visitor. A pure, hungry visitor for that fire that most seemed to have gravitated towards. With a strangely light step, glaive and horns filled with cheery fluttering ribbons, the short draconian made his way along, a hefty looking box over one shoulder and a cloak draped over the other.

Very helpfully, he moves closer towards Skielstregar and pours some ice cold - damnable cold - water over his snout. "Silver continues to try stranger and stranger fashions every time this one sees him." Aelwyn says with a low rumble and flick of his tail. Bowing his head to the others, a flick of his sharp teeth to some, before he asks, "Were someone here missing a package from the Trades?"

Unlike the past season, the short runt was positively gleaming. Scales included.

Harkashan's head tilts upwards, light catching across crimson scales, as Skielstregar approaches. "Good afternoon." He bids his kin. Piece upon your nest. Yet, here in Mictlan, it is practically nestgrounds as it is. "You look like you've been hard at work." He bids him, before turning to Un'eth. "I feel this one may need your roast, if it is ready." The Deathsinger remarks, motioning to Skielstregar.

When Rune approaches with the heavy packet of wood, the crimson one slowly rises in order to meet her the last bit of the way. He's certain she doesn't need his help, but getting the straps off and lowering the woods is a task more easily done with a second pair of hands, so the Deathsinger helps as he can - after which he offers two of the heavy branches to Un'eth to aid in heating the spit.

"Come, sit and eat with us." Harkashan then bids to Rune. "You've been working hard."

Turning, he spots another has joined them. "Peace upon your nest, Aelwyn." He rumbles to the gleaming-scaled one. "It seems you have enjoyed a recent oiling?" He inquires, as he moves to sit down with Rune and passes out a few bowls and ladles some bone-broth for any desiring Makari.

Un'eth peels a rivulet of meat from her roasting with a claw for sampling. After a long inhale followed by chewing, she rises. The spit is retrieved, boar and all, and carried to the other fire where others have gathered. Some are familiar, some less so. "Meat for the hungry," she informs as she embeds the spit near enough to the fire to remain warm yet not overcook. "Peace on your nests."

As she turns, she stops to eye the shiny silver. Leans towards him. "Warrior..." A claw lifts and reaches towards his snout. One clawtip then extends to point. "You missed a spot."

Skielstregar samples the air briefly. "Shaman Harkashan?" he tests in his native Draconic tongue before recognizing. "Ah! Peace on your nest! Yes, this one has been quite hard at work! There's much to do. And is that Rune this one hea-"

Cold, freezing water is dumped on his head. It /would/ help most cases, it which it clears his vision. But now mottled pink and orange ice cakes his face and hangs in vibrant icicles. "... thank you, Aelwyn." He blinks. "Aelwyn? You are in Mictlan! Welcome!"

He gladly takes one of the bowls, and whatever else food is offered. But a claw extends towards his snout. He gives pause. And silently exhales. "O-Oh! Thank you, Shaman Un'eth," he rumbles as he wipes the tip of his multi-hued frozen nose.

Aelwyn leans against his glaive, sliding the waterskin back into his satchel hanging by his backside. "This one is glad Lava noticed," He replies to Harkashan with a flick of his tongue. "Now if there were anyone who knew how in the City to do it, perhaps this one would hire their strong fingers." Stretching his body out, he tilts his head towards the other needlessly large and very silvery makari. "Peace on their nests." A moment later, he flicks his small knife out. "Should this one help break the ice - or is Corvid helping him to melt already?"

Receiving no answer to his previous inquiry, the small ruddy sith-makar does not let it bother him any, instead moving to get as close to the fire as possible and plopping down to sit on his large wooden box with its leather carrying straps. "This one has heard the shamans here are near finished with their ceremonies?"

"Such it is." Speaker and Shaman, recognized by both, he accepts both castes in return. "Yes, this one is indeed Rune." He then expresses to the warrior, while his tail nervously makes small twitches at the tip. Time has passed, and he still can't shake that feeling. It is something perhaps always there to stay for Harkashan in regards to Skielstregar.

He lets Rune continue any introductions, rather that doing such for him.

The male continues to watch Aelwyn dump the water-turned-ice onto the cold one, and he manages to hold himself from making any bemused sounds.

"Sorry - I fear I am not missing any 'packages'. However, if I were the recipient, perhaps I would not know to expect it. Thus, I would not know I were missing any." He bids Aelwyn with the kind of old voice he uses sometimes when offering advice to younglings.

He then bows his head. "We are done for the most part with the work. Are you looking to be of aid to the Shamans of Mictlan?" He then bids Aelwyn.

Skielstregar snorts at Aelwyn. "This one has it," he assures, not particularly wanting a knife anywhere near his maw as he breaks the last of the ice off and tosses it aside. "Mmm. No packages here. But yes, near done, as Shaman Harkashan says. Just some finishing touches now." He looks down to the box, tilting his head to the side. "What package is it?"

Dead eyes glance to Harkashan. Still, that faint feeling was there, of death. Subtle. But overlaying that was a peppy joy as his tail sways wide behind him. "It is good to see you again!"

The ruddy sith-makar had a sharp toothed grin to offer at Skielstregar. "This one is certain. Despite appearances, Silver is not completely cold as ice." Aelwyn's tail sways behind him, before it falls onto the ground. He sticks his mud covered feet towards the fire and flexes his clawed feet at the warmth. His own tail seemed to slowly coil around his thigh - undoubtedly the reason behind his demeanor had a lot to do with the gentle promises of warmth.

"That is an exceedingly long way of saying one is not looking for a delivery, Lava," Aelwyn clicks his teeth, with a backward tilt of his head. "Or is that a tint of disappointment?" As far as the contents of the box goes - the short sith-makar shakes his head. "Ah, this one should not say. A gobbo down the lower trades - perhaps it would be untoward to mention the herbs and potions." He rumbles in amusement. "This one is professional, after all."

Turning his orange pupils towards Harkashan, he briefly looks at the large sith-makar. "And are the Shamans of Mictlan in search of a capable pair of hands?"

There is this smidge of tiredness to Harkashan as he lifts the equivalent of a smile for a Sith-makar. A slight bow of his head. "It is good to see you as well, Skielstregar." Which isn't so much a lie, as it is... waxed a bit. It's hard to say 'It is good to see you' when the person in question makes one's skin crawl a bit. But at the same time, Skielstregar is a fine traveling companion, an ally, and has done great deeds. He doesn't dislike him. It's just... complicated.

He then just shifts his head to look to Aelwyn for a moment. That kind of look of 'you are missing something'. "Rune here is a professional when it comes to packages. She will know better how to handle your conundrum." He instead decides. "But I do believe the Shamans of Mictlan are always appreciative of more capable hands."

Rolling her shoulders, Rune seems to work out some stiffness in the muscles for a moment, rubbing a hand along a bit of tattooed skin before pulling her collar back up. She offers a smile of greeting towards the gathered Makari, "Peace on your nest." She offers to them.

She looks between them, her brows quirked at the mention of packages. "I do know a fair bit about deliveries and packages." Settling down, the half-sil lifts one shoulder in a slight shrug. "You weren't told who it was supposed to be delivered to?"

Skielstregar tilts his head to the side at Aelwyn. "Professional, yet... bah, it matters not then if it is herbs and potions," he chuckles in a rumble. He nods towards Harkashan. "Sssha. Always people needed. Perhaps you can entertain the hatchlings with a show?" he suggests.

It is complicated. And Skielstregar is very thankful that he's got a good head on his shoulders today. "This one wonders how your trip went?" he asks of Harkashan and Rune. With a sweep of a tail, he clears a spot for Rune at the fire as he sips loudly as the stew given to him earlier.

Aelwyn tilts his head at Harkashan, as if to say 'This one has no idea what we are communicating with eyes here'. Regardless, he holds up his hand. "For coin or compensation, this one is always willing." His head turns towards Skielstregar, "Tch, now for that this one would need a partner." A sharp toothed grin.

Completely oblivious to the critique of his professionalism, he turns towards Rune instead, bowing his head. "Peace of her nest," He responds. "Hmm, hopefully her territory is not being encroached." To her question, he raises his shoulders momentarily. "Sometimes people wait to approach this one instead. One supposes there are not many looking for a delivery from the lower trades?"

"We have largely been here in Mictlan." Harkashan offers to Skielstregar when asked about how his trip went. "Unless you speak of our journeys within the city. In which case... tumultuous but succesful." There's a pause, before he asks of Skielstregar; "How about yourself? Any happenings of concern as of late? Any books that have been misbehaving?"

The male then looks to Aelwyn, and raises his hand. "Can speak of it later." It is not of importance right now.

A bowl of bone-broth is offered to Rune. "Re-invigorate your strength." He bids of her.

"What of you, Aelwyn? Any stories of interest from the past weeks? Any newly felled Dire Wolves?"

Skielstregar bobs his head about from Harkashan's answer. "Ah. City. That is good that you were successful. Sometimes the city harbors the strangest of things." But the returned question makes his swaying tail pause. The pep is replaced with a tinge of anxiety. "Ah. Erm. No books. Just... learning some new magics!" he tries to smile with a finger raised. "It is, erm, tiring! To say the least!"

He looks between Harkashan and Aelwyn, his head tilting to the side. "... dire wolves? What is the Dragoon getting into?"

Aelwyn looks at Harkashan for a while longer, but he bows his head. "As Lava wishes - the TarRaCe remains open." As for the question of his own doings - there is a moment of distant staring, but he is quick to his old quick self. "Tch, this one wishes. A blade would dance - but yet it is the sewers that sing of their gruesome song." He lets out an inwardly breath, instantly losing his appetite for the stew. "The work of Guild has been quiet as of late."

The ruddy sith-makar turns towards the large silvery sith-makar then. "Hmmh? The books intimidating Silver? Did not think there would be interest for the arcane." For the question of dire wolves, he turns towards Harkashan for a moment. "A farmer and their goats were hunted by a pack of dire wolves. They were killed." The draconian reaches into his satchel and pulls out a dried piece of meat, moving it between his lips to gnaw on it firmly.

Accepting the bowl that is offered, Rune's eyes half-lid, perhaps with appreciation for the warmth that seeps through to her fingers. She shifts over to settle in the spot that the silver-scaled Makari had made with his tail. "Mostly, I've just been running errands around here, honestly." She explains, "Trying to stay out of the way unless someone needs extra hands for something."

She looks over to Aelwyn, "Usually, I get contracted to carry a specific package, to a specific place, and a specific person." Her spoon taps the edge of the bowl. "Though, sometimes people can be pretty enigmatic about who something goes to. One time I had to deliver a package to a 'pretty blond human'. In a tavern that had at least six of them."

"You are doing magics now?" Harkashan inquires, curious about this. Those burning embers in his eyes focusing on the not-quite-dead one. "Please, speak more of this. I would like to know more of this." The 'Lava' one trying to forge deeper bonds by learning of others.

He then turns to Rune; "Only six? It must have been a quiet day at the Tavern." He jests. Softskins come in many shapes and sizes, but a blonde human is something common enough in Alexandria. Though there's places with more of them.

"How do you figure out which one wishes for the package, when you are working with such a vague description?" He then asks of Rune.

Skielstregar looks at Aelwyn, then off to the woods as he rubs his neck. "... this one reads a little bit. But they are not that good with the magics. It is more of a... feel how it is, sort of thing. But, ah, this one is glad the goats were avenged? And not in a sewer, no?" he asks of Aelwyn.

Stilling his tail so he doesn't bludgeon the half-sil woman next to him, he rumbles to her, "This one is glad you offering helping hands when needed!" But his head tilts to the side. "... that is... very difficult package to deliver? This one isn't sure how to denote softskin pretty. This one knows..." He counts on his fingers. One. Two. Three. Five... "At /least/ seven gold haired ones." Technically correct, but he won't admit he lost count.

Harkashan's question gets Skiel to stymie. "... a-ah. Erm, this one can do magics. Always can. It's... that thing we talked about? This one can uh, make it manifest spells," he rattles in explanation, a little harried. "This one could show you, but... not in the middle of Mictlan."

Aelwyn looks over towards Skielstregar with obvious amusement, tail playing by the fire. "This one appreciates the concern, Silver, for getting cornered can be dangerous, indeed." He flicks his eyes towards Harkashan, then towards the squirming silvery sith-makar.

"Oh, those kind of requests this one denies. Delivering packages to 'pretty blonde humans' in a tavern sounds too much like competition." Aelwyn waves off, with a row of sharp teeth visible. "No, the package will find its recipient, or the recipient will find the package. Either way - packages or coin will be delivered." He may or may not have a high package delivery rate. "Though this one should find its owner." He adds, starting to get up onto his feet. Hauling up the box over his shoulder and grabbing his glaive, he bows his head towards the trio in turn. "Lava," To Harkashan, "Silver," To Skielstregar, and finally to Rune, "Twin."

Straightening, and leaning against his glaive with a tilted hip, he throws off a light whip of his tail. "May the nests be in peace." And with that, he turns around and starts walking of with his swaying stride.

"I know, right?" A smirk pulls up one corner of her lips. "Trust me, even among us softskins, it's not exactly an easy task to figure out a target from such a vague description." Rune raises the bowl to her lips and drinks from it, making an audible slurp in the process before she licks at her lips to clear them. "Mostly, I just stood there with the thing until someone made eyecontact, then I went up and asked them. I figure if they're looking for it, they'll notice me standing there."

She manages a quizzical look for Aelwyn's strange delivery practices. One that grows more so at the strange reference. With a blink of her blue eyes, she looks to Harkashan, then Skielstregar, "Twin?" As if wondering if either of them had any odea what that is about.

The lava-rock armored Sith-makar makes a long rumbling noise as Skielstregar speaks of magics once more. Or rather, the origin of it. No doubt Mictlan, run by other Deathsingers, must make that a particularly touchy subject. "I understand." Harkashan tilts his head just a bit to the right, and then downwards. A respectful nod. "Perhaps at a later time then. I do not wish to cause unheeded discomfort." He speaks calmly. "But I do wish to learn more, if that is okay." Not because he's curious about what Skielstregar is, but because of WHO he is.

"Warrior." 'Lava' answers the runty Sith-makar as he is bidden, and bows his head. "May our paths cross again soon." Though Aelwyn may be a waiter, and a runt, he gets nothing but respect from the elder Makari.

The male then nods to Rune. "So you let the target make themselves be known through subtle emotive gesture. Interesting." He then shakes his head to Rune. "Perhaps Twin, because you both hold a similar profession?"

Skielstregar scratches his head. "Ah. That is a good way to go about it, Rune." He looks to Aelwyn getting up and going, him returning the goodbye before looking back to Rune. "Aelwyn likes to give nicknames to people. Maybe he calls you Twin because you both do deliveries- yes, like Harkashan says! Though, he is... erm. This one thinks he should stick to dancing," he quietly admits.

Turning to Harkashan, he lets out a soft sigh. "There is no disconmfort, it is just... well, when you see, you will understand. They do not wish to make kin afraid here. Especially with hatchlings."

He looks between the two. "Deliveries are something else. This one doesn't do much except for delivering firewood and logs."

Lowering her bowl to her lap, Rune looks thoughtful at the prospect of nicknames, "Huh. I guess that makes sense. Though I was about to start wondering if my skin has gotten scaley from hanging out with you guys too long." The half-sil scratches at her tattooed arm with her spoon. "I mostly do deliveries and scribe-work to make extra coin when there isn't something more interesting to set my mind to."

She chuckles softly, "Kind of funny, though. Since I already go by a nickname rather than my real one in most instances."

"I understand." Harkashan's response is a short one, but drawn out in tone along with another one of his tell-tale slow nods. He even closes his eyes for a moment during it, before looking to Skiel once more.

"I do deliveries, but it is myself which I am delivering." Which seems like another way of saying he travels enough. But those who understand the duties of a Deathsinger, or know of Harkashan's long past, will know that he means that he brings himself - and with it the permenancy of death and words of peace.

That head of his then swings Rune's way and touches her arm for a moment, making a thoughtful look.

"Hrrrm..."

This long pensive glance.

"No, not yet. The Bonebroth must not be working on your half-sil body." Then glances to Skielstregar. "Perhaps it's time to start feeding her... the /bloodbroth/ to make her one of us." Clearly, a joke, but with a deep and dire tone. The playful aspects hidden within the more subtle Mekari ways of communication. A shift of his head, a twitch of his tail.

Skielstregar rumbles in his chest, a laughing, shaking sort of thing. "Who knows? Maybe one day you wake up with a tail. Though, this one did not know you went by another name?"

He looks to Harkashan. Blinks. Nostrils flare, sampling the air. His tail sway. "Ssa... the /bloodbroth/," he rumbles lowly. "The sacred, secret ingredient of every makari meal. First you get scales. Then you get tall. Then tail..."

That rumbling noise that continues is his failed attempts at suppressing his amusement.

"You deliver people to the afterlife. And you're a messenger of the Death-singing Dragon." Rune points out, that ghost of her own past pain flickering in her eyes, but only briefly. "That seems more important than most of my deliveries if you ask me."

And then, she has both Makari teaming up against her. There is a slight narrowing of her eyes as she looks between them. "Don't you start." Bap. A spoon tap is aimed right at Harkashan's nose. "I'm weird enough as it is, thank you very much." Then, her blue eyes turn to Skielstregar. "Oh don't let him get you started on that, too."

The girl pouts in that playful way of someone who has played this game a number of times before. Then, as soon as the expression comes, she just smirks and laughs, "Scales would look kind of fetching, though."

Then, for Skiel's sake, she explains, "My name is actually Leirune." The name has a distinctive Llyranesi lilt to it. "But I've gone by Rune ever since I left home."

Bop. Spoon on the snoot.

Harkashan backs up a bit and rubs his snout, followed by sticking out his tongue.

For all of his years, there's a playful side to Harkashan. There had to be something beyond just seriousness about 'delivering death'. Or, as Rune more aptly puts it, delivering people into the afterlife.

There's a long rumble from him as she mentions her real name. Something that was already known to him, it'd seem.

"Anyhow. We should probably get ready to head back into the city. I am certain Rune would like some civilization and a proper bath. And I have made myself as useful here as I can be for the time being." With that, he begins to rise up. "Anything I should be on the lookout for while I head back to Alexandria, Warrior?" He asks.

Skiel's tail can't help but flick-flick from side to side. He holds a hand up in surrender. "Alas, you are becoming one of the scales, softskins tend to never be privy to kin humor!" he laughs. But he can't help but tilt his head to the side in thought. "... yes. Scales are nice. Perhaps Harkashan can help figure out what kind of scales you'd have, hrmm? Food for thought."

He blinks. "Lay... Rune? Lay-rune," he attempts a few times before holding his maw closed with a hand and gets through his teeth, "Leirune. Ah! There. Rune though, this one will continue to address."

He flinches, almost falling back from the spoon bop on the snoot. "Ack!" Rubbing his nose, he looks to the two, settling on Harkashan. "Very well, let this one not keep you two. They appreciate your company and your aid. Any warnings...?" He ponders, tail swaying against the ground behind him. "Ah- watch out for natural predators, spring makes them come out! But if you stay on the trails, you should be just fine! If you wish for escort, this one can go with if you wish. But if not, safe travels!"

"Are you saying I stink?" Rune waggles the spoon towards her lava-scaled friend. "Besides, I believe it was /you/ who was taking full advantage of the baths last time." She teases before draining the last of the soup without any reservations about becoming a scale-skin in the process.

A soft sort of smile shifts onto her features as Skielstregar tries to play out her name, "Rune is fine. The only one who ever called me Leirune was my father." From the brief wince in her expression, it's obvious her relationship with the man may not be the best.

Pushing to her feet, she nods once. "I'll go gather my things."

-End Scene-