Found-child

Mictlan swarms with Green. Not that green, for Mictlan's landscape is bone and ash. But, Green as shaman-caste stand talking, in hushed voices. Scaled and softskin stand together, arguing, speaking urgently in low-tones. Warrior-caste rest along its edges, their expressions grim.

Tense.

At the center of it, a sith-makar crouches. She bears the markings of the shaman caste, does Shaman Itchtaca. In front of her lies a small form--no longer than four-feet in length.

Svarshan stands near the edges, near some of the warrior-caste. His cihuaa stands next to him. For the moment.

The call had gone out--urgent whispers. A sense of disbelief, even. Something had been found--something that, a Speaker said, one whose voice carries, asked both scaled and softskin to be present. Allies of the Green.

Durrankar is, of course, shoulder to shoulder with Svarshan as Itchtaca stands in the middle of the circle. he looks towards the smaller form before looking to Svarshan. "What has happened?"

A lone man makes his way through the camp. Somehow Astaren made his way past the guards, past most any kind of sentry and is randomly walking his way up towards the camp. He stops gazing at the stars and blinks arond where he is, 'How did I get... oh dear. Don't eat me?"

"Among the People, we have a ssaying," Itchtaca says slowly, in a voice long-practiced to carry. She remains where she is. Her arms are tense, the muscles cords, along her arms and back.

"...we have a saying. The Wounds of the World. To uss, these are the woundss that Charn bringss. ...The ssecond iss the sseparation of the Clans and rending of our Heart. And...to many of us, it iss the treachery of the Teacher. Today," she says in carefully controlled anger, "We ssee thesse Wounds come together.

"My casste and I, we the sshaman elderss, have honored the Sspeakers requesst and we ssee the wissdom of it. Thiss wound liess between uss all, ssoftsskin and sscaled. ...you," she says, spying Astaren. "Come here, Child of Mana. Tell me what you ssee on thiss child, with the Moon Dragon'ss giftss lent to you."

In front of her lies, were it human, a young scaled not past eight years old. Her tail lays flat along one leg, then bends midway at an unusual angle. She's obviously dead, of course, but the mana around her...

It is wrong.

"Sshaman Durrankar, one of the hunter-casste. Brought her. We do not know..." why. Svarshan responds low-voiced, the words tight and controlled, some lost and some struggled through. Here, he is measured an old warrior-caste counting his breaths against the tension around them. "Perhapps to inssite, I have heard whisspered."

You paged Astaren with 'The child is no more than eight. There are entry wounds on the side of her head, and her teeth are beginning to rot. There, the twisted magic is greatest. Her eyes show the pearl-scars of mana-blindness. She is also drained of blood.

Astaren frowns as he look over the child, "Mana blindness, drained blood, and rotting already around the teeth. What did this child eat?" a thoughtful hmm crossing his face as he kneels in to take a closer look.

Durrankar quietly scents the air, after Svarshan's explaination.

"...she wass taken by Charn," Itchtaca says, wearily. She reaches out, her scaled hand settling over Astaren's human one. "There iss no cure, that we know of. To uss...thiss is what Charn would make of our ssmall oness. When it failss, they usse every part."

"...thiss iss why our kind fear yourss. There iss a Teacher...a follower of Caracoroth, who would ssay, 'all ssoftsskins do thesse things.' But all ssoftsskin do not do thesse things, do they, Astaren?" she asks him. Her hand tightens, though it's more like a grandmother's. Elder within her caste, she'd said.

Svarshan tightens his hands, looking towards the ground and then back up again. His cihuaa stands there as well. She hasn't moved.

Astaren shakes his head, "softskins do their wrong, but this is more universal." he offers with a hmmm, "No cure you say?" a touch of a frown, "Humpf, I would say that is the impossible. A cure can be found, or at least a prevention of what would be causing this."

"Our Empress knowss thiss is not the casse," another speaks up. One of the shamans. There are a few tail-thumps, around. Then, more. Svarshan adds his own to it, and after a moment, his cihuaa follows.

"Sshaman," a lean sith-makar comes forward. She lowers her muzzle briefly. "The hunter-casste offerss its ssorrow, that one of uss brought thiss news."

"The newss wass ...important to know, but the child sshould have sstayed, hunter. You, your-casste will have to desside what to do with him." Itchtaca looks as worn and tired as one might expect, from someone in her position. Yet, her hand stays over Astaren's. "One day, I hope it may be found. We will give her to proper Fire. But perhapss, you might ssay a blessing over her, to cleansse what taint you can?" She beckons Durrankar with her other claw. "You, and sshaman Durrankar."

There's a startled muttering over it.

Astaren is sputtering and stepping back, "Uh err umm not really my place and all you know. I understand very little of your culture." A glance to svarshan, "I still think he is ready to eat me at any time honestly." Stepping back againa nd holding up his hands, "I will gladly watch, but really not my place and all."

You paged Astaren with 'The blessing won't erase it, but it would ease it somewhat. It's a complex sort of twisting that goes with how the Charneth managed to turn their draconic heritage around, creating a negative feedback loop. It is a thing that draws on Thul's magic, and would have that 'feel' to it.

Durrankar steps forward as asked, but stops when Astaren puts up his hands. "You are a servant of the goddess of night hunting and magic.....and are refusing to assist a softskin young one that has had this done by magic?" Then he lowers himself to Astaren's eye level....and edges closer. "What sort of shaman of the silver huntress ARE you?"

<OOC> Astaren says, "I thougth the child was a sith?"

<OOC> Svarshan says, "Tis. :3"

<OOC> Astaren says, "Ok good!"

Itchtaca's eyes soften, "My casste-kin sspeaks more bluntly than I would. What would the Moon Dragon have you do?" Itchtaca asks him. "Thiss is a child, priesst. Regardless of your fear, would Sshe have you refusse to help?"

Her dark eyes are compassionate, but stern. A mother who has raised many shamans.

<OOC> Svarshan laughs.

<OOC> Durrankar says, "yeah. Softskin child was my mistake. I read it wrong."

<OOC> Svarshan says, "S'ok. I get wordy!"

<OOC> Svarshan is terrible.

Astaren glances to Durrankar, his eyes hardening. "Back Off." his voice firm and clearly standing his ground. His eyes going to the shamen ignoring Durrankar further, "I hold no fear in helping, I hold fear in the perception from your own people it would give. The moment you offered they murmored and concerns were raised. This is not my place to be part of the cultural burial rights of your people. My decline is out of respect, not out of fear. Do not mistake that." His voice softening with a sigh, "Such prayers though would help ease the suffering, but with damage that badly done will not erase."

Itchtaca regars Astaren a moment, and then offers a thump of her tail. "Then perhapss, you will sshare your wordss, one day. Our child'ss death hurtss my kin more than you may know," Itchtaca says with regret. She smiles warmly however, and, her robes falling about her legs as she stands. "But I undersstand, and your refusal doess you credit. ...my people," she says, addressing them.

"He decliness out of resspect, not knowing our cusstoms. I assk that you sspeak with him, from time to time. While our people may alwayss live in sseparate plasses. Let there be pathways," she says.

"Whatever iss fear, we musst fight it. Thiss ssoftsskin, and thosse like him, are not ressponsible."

Beside him, Svarshan's cihuaa heads off into the woods. The warrior looks...well, he looks devastated.

Durrankar simply blows smoke at Astaren. He does not thump his tail. He does not speak towards Astaren. He simply stares....for a few seconds more....before he simply turns from Astaren and looks towards Itchtaca and the young one.....trying to give it a more thorough examination.....mostly....sight and scent.

Itchtaca looks to Astaren a while longer. Then, smiles. "If you are ready, then sshare as a watcher might." To Durrankar, "Take her to Fire, sshaman. I give her to you."

Svarshan stands there like someone had gutpunched him. He turns, linking arm-in-arm with other warriors. It's a kind of raw comraderie, a rough comfort that wouldn't be seen...wouldn't be seen outside the tribes. He bites one's shoulder, keening without sound.

Though in general, it might be said expressions are more open here, as well.

Astaren glances one more time to Durrankar and then moves to step back moving to the further edge away from the group. It is quiet clear he does not understand their culture or feel comfortable. "Eluna Forgive me, I simply do not understand what to do here that is right." The moment nobody is watching him he is gone, with only the faintest whiff of magic. Leaving out of clear shame.

Durrankar takes the time to place the little one's claws on her chest, before lifting her and walking to the pyre below the dragon's bones. He even places the body on top of the fire, with the flames only barely bothering Durrankar. Stepping back, he places a hand upon the bones of the great dragon, Sufri'gan. "keep her by your side, Sufri'gan. Until we can correct this....."

He even lets go of his staff, and it begins to glow blue....rising up above the ground to float there as Durrankar turns back towards the flames. His staff begins to let out a song that.....would seem otherworldly to all....a single note that would drive all but the heartless to tears.....a song of mourning.

Durrankar.....after lowering his head....takes a deep breath....and exhales a great gout of....blue flame onto the pyre, igniting the body of the young one, and consuming it in the rite.....adding the young one's fire to that of Sufri'gan.

Durrankar lets the flames burn for a few minutes, before he reaches in.....even burning himself again, taking some ashes and rubbing them on the bones of Sufri'gan. "Watch after her, my friend, Sufri'gan. She would make a great friend to you....."