Meetup: Blood Calls From Within

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* W02: Mictlan *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Located within the Deep Woods, and hours past Wilderness Pointe, in the heart of its northern woods, bones frame this hollowed-out space. Massive and heavy, they reach towards the sky, meeting--almost--in the center like great and worn stalagmites. Or giant teeth. After a few seconds--it's quickly evident that this is a space carved from a dragon's bones. A very, very large...dragon's bones. The air smells of ash, brimstone, and earth. Underneath the apex of the bones lie the workings of a ceremonial pyre.

The grounds are run by shamans of the sith-makar, and the sacred space dedicated to the Death Singing Dragon, one of their names for the goddess, Vardama. The sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse.

EXTRAS: +view

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Through Woods <TW>

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Now we must go back to the first tale. When the Great Silver left the Children in the embrace of the wild, she would know not what would become of them, and it was after a time they too, forgot. They splintered into three clans, but only one of this clan would keep their traditions alive.

They did so through the creation of caste--the clarification of roles, based on what the child did best. And so, from childhood were these children trained to their roles, and so was knowlege preserved within each of them. One caste, the Keepers of Memory, was entrusted with the history of the People. Thus, it was one caste that saved them--not one person, not one hero, but many people.

Today, the descendants of the People gather together to seek out the memories kept within them by Blood and preserved through generations, the knowing-how of its existance passed from keeper to keeper. They dress in brightly colored caravans, speaking and working with creatures their ancestors had forgotten or according to other tales, had never known. Merchants bid farewell to contacts and comrades, and warriors gather blade and steel. Shamans cast omens into the sky and bless their travel.

...and so it is the People...return to Am'shere.

Past the Gates you had traveled, through the complicated rupture between continent--on one side Alexandros, the other side the wilds of deep jungle. Shamans from either continent come together to guard its care, shamans that inspected each of you before passing through, from one world, to the next.

Then, past the deep-paths and the deep-trees, guided by Sebropert's skill. Through sharp scent and sharp senses, he led you along merchant-paths to the narrower guide-paths. Strong swiftclaws bore you past the jungle's greatest dangers, from roaring tri-horn to the slaughter-spears of Child Forgotten, the Nar-sektoth.

And so, you stand ready to enter the territory of the Tarranik, Durrankar's tribe and kin. The deep jungle surrounds you, a living and breathing thing. The canopy overhead stretches far and thickly--no light reaches the below-ground, but your--sith eyes gleam like mirrors in the darkness.

Srassha nips at the mecate binding her. Given head she would bite, challenge the swiftclaw next to her. Her rider though, sits still and waits on the signals from the guides and hunters. Svarshan is not the only one--other sith-makar sit astride swifts, or on foot. All part of the caravan into Am'shere. It isn't well, safe, after all.

Leaves rustle in a nearby tree, the jungle-vines shaking as a black scaled creature descends. Large claws click and sink into wood. Half-way down Sebropert pauses, his nostrils flaring as he takes a final whiff. "Bit more to go," he growls as he releases his grip and falls to the ground with a relatively light thump. His tail swishes in agitation as he gives the air another sniff. "All well?" He asks the riders, caring for his charges as any guide would.

Un'eth travels on only her own claws, unless urged otherwise. She is accustomed to this and needs no mount. In fact, she could travel as a swiftclaw more comfortably than she would be rider to one, yet she does not do this across the gates.

As they continue along more and more narrow paths, she notes her surroundings, what is familiar and not: this is not her first recent journey here, but it is only her second. Deep lungfuls of the air are drawn in, scents as welcome as the sights and sounds.

"I am quite well," Uneth answers the guide, though there is a change in her stride, or the sway of her tail, as they near the Tyrranik. Apprehension, perhaps caution. Never has such a lush locale of Ea ever ushered such a thing for her... yet perhaps it is not their surrounding which provoke it.

Turning his head and sniffing at the air, Durrankar seems to catch up with Sebropert as they near an invisible line in the forest, that both he and Sebropert may recognize. "Slow, Sebropert. Mountain lizard....near..." Durrankar as he assists Sebropert in his guiding through the forest. Sebropert would be able to smell the 'different' scent that was in the air too.

Thankfully, in the commotion, Tyrannix had learned when to shut up.

Durrankar gave a signal that the Tarranik would recognize.....and where to look, though none of them would see the need to draw their weapons.....

When they all stood face to face with a face that was bigger than the lot of them. Boulder-for-a-head would be the size of it........and that was when you saw the rest of the body.....mountain lizard indeed. Long of neck and of tail, the lizard was massive and long. But from the leaf coming from it's mouth.....it wasn't a meat eater.......and quite friendly. Friendly enough for Durrankar to walk over and run his claws over it's forehead.

• STOOM*

Is the sound of the lizard's tail hitting the ground.....and shaking the immediate area....and making Durrankar fall to the ground with a hrf. Yes the shaman was laughing.

Then a rumble from the distance and another enters....smaller than the mountain lizard, but with three horns upon it's head as it rushes towards Durrankar. At a sound from the mountain lizard....it slows it's approach towards him, stops.....stares........sniffs....then proceeds to bowl him over anyways......and give him a full body lick.

They say scent is a powerful marker....even with those of small mind.

Aside from Hiccup, nothing can be heard within the deep jungle and its darker spaces. Nothing at all except the rustle of leaves and insects go quiet. Beneath the canopy, there is little light to none. Sith-makar eyes gleam in the darkness, and swiftclaws move restlessly. The hunter-caste here, plays an invaluable role. Sebropert's brothers and sisters keep them calm and working forward, even as he finds the path ahead.

Not that far will be the formal tribe and all that means--brothers, sisters, cousins, caste.

In response to the shaman's cry, a comshell sounds in the distance, then another. Durrankar would recognize it--the pattern of his kin. Karooo, karooo!

Karooo! Awrrr!

The appearance of the mountain lizards do not immediately spook Uneth. It is her cihuaa's approach to them that sparks a flick of tail and peer of eye, however brief. She trusts Durrankar to do as he would, and the lizards to do as they would... but the combination of the two is momentarily disconcerting.

Her tail returns to swaying just in time for the shells' calls to spark it to twitch once more. Head and eyes skim the jungles, then look to the others.

Not Sebropert's home territory, but a familiar ritual none the less. As guide he remains up front, standing and waiting. When the bellows of the shells finished sounding he stands taller, tail lifted and tip swaying behind his head. His frills remain down, but his snout is held high so that his horns halo him like a dark mantle. Long arms hang with palms forward. A pale blue eye notes to the nerves of Un'eth. His head gives a sideways nod to try to lend her some confidence.

Durrankar opens his earfins at the sounds of the distant shells. "We are near, Hunter..." Durrankar says to Sebropert as he pats the mountain lizard again....and climbs onto the back of the three horn. The three horn swishes it's tail before it begins to walk along with the rest of the group....sniffing at Sebropert in passing and nudging him to go on ahead.

Durrankar looks back to Un'eth and thumps his tail....slaps it really....on the three horn's back. All is well it seems.

It appears to be an old shaman's route through the jungle as they pass very close to an old spike back that clearly seen quite a few battles....and protecting a nest of it's own. A sniff towards the group, and a sharp exhale before turning shows they may pass.

It doesn't take long before they see the firelights of the tribe....and are met by perimeter guards......not that the long distance 'guards' weren't offputting enough. "Peace on your nest." One of the guards says to Sebropert.....and another sniffs at Un'eth....and starts to raise his spear.....but Durrankar is right there........less than an inch from from the guard. "My cihuaa...." The growl is apparent in his voice. 'She is not...' The guard begins to say, but durrankar cuts him off. "She is more than I am. She is my cihuaa. She enters....by my bond."

The guard spear lowers at those words. "by your bond, Shaman." He says respectfully....and they are led into the village.

"Sshaman Durrankar! Sshaman Un'eth!" one of the greeting hunter-caste bursts forward, breaking the ranks. Durrankar knows her. He'd been younger still when she was young, and younger--barely to his waist. Now, she reaches his shoulder and wears the bright marks and bright eyes of a new hunter. Atl. And, Atl looks between all of you, excited. "Who have you brought to us?" she asks, even as the rest of the tribe looks on with a mixture of wariness and relief.

Just how bad are things in Am'shere?

"Peace on your-" Uneth's greeting to the guards is cut short by the lifting spear, and her tail-thump upon the ground never lands. Instead, her tail goes rigid for a time.

She does not cow, though. If anything, she stands taller. Pride. Confidence. Both of which fortunately last long enough for her cihuua's intervention, though it was not immediately expected.

After, her tail and body relaxes, the former thumping the ground finally, with a renewed and complete, "Peace on your nest, warrior." Then there is the one who knows her, and greets. Atl promptly gets Uneth's attention, and she dips her snout and thumps tail again.

With Durrankar present there seems to be no need for challenge. Sebropert's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. He walks along side the group, eying the guard's reactions to Un'eth. The frills under his chin writhe irritably. His large clawed hand lifts to return the guard's greeting. "Peace on your nest. Ancestors bless." Nostrils part widely and he marches past the guards, and finds a spot at the edge of the crowd a bit behind Durrankar. His ion blue eyes narrow in sunken sockets, and the for the second time in his life he felt uncomfortable in his own Am'shere.

And so...you go into the tribe's village proper. The Teacher's poison seeps through the sith-makar as a serpent's fang. At their borders, warriors now ask "Which tribe?" and "Which allegiance?" where before they looked just for the sight of Clan--or for Charn's bloodmages. With Atl's praise and Durrankar's testimony, the tribe of Tarranik welcomes you with tail-thumps and open arms. There is a tone change, a shift--and you're welcomed with open arms.

"Sshaman!"

"Look! A hunter!"

"Hunter, thiss way!" yells one in leathers, and waves so that Sebropert can see the direction of those like him.

...indeed, many, MANY tail-thumps meet you at varied turns. Though, there is one place Durrankar, and through him, Un'eth know they will need to go. An elder of their caste stands to the side, expectantly and waiting to be greeted. Shaman Itchtaca!

To the other, one of the guides. An aged silver-and-gray, she no longer hunts but sits council for the young ones. Ancient indeed. She steps forward as she sees Sebropert, and holds out both arms. "Coussin!" ...not cousin, but caste. But he has a place--instant acceptance, in this tribe-not-his, but-it-is-his.

"ATL!" Durrankar cheers for Atl as he gives a pack to Sebropert....a bag of 'treats'. "you shall be a fine hunter Atl!" he says placing a hand on her shoulder.

Then as the greetings take place and the separation of castes begin, Durrankar gives each caste, at least one pack of 'treats' for them to enjoy.....Un'eth's boar from the journey was preserved, somehow, and is cooked on the main fire for all.

Durrankar, turns his head towards one ancient one and lightly nudges Un'eth with his snout. "Come....we are expected, Cihuaa." And Tyrannix, his staff, begins to have his eyes glow blue. "Woah...I'm gettin' tingly here boss." Durrankar looks at his staff and tilts his head. "If it is the same as before.....we are coming to a critical moment then.....like my warning of the warlord's folly."

The tone change is welcome, but also... strange? There are suddenly scales and tails appearing from seemingly nowhere. This is not so strange. That some approach Un'eth, with open welcome and warm embrace is. At least to Un'eth. Even the pleasant content revelry following the Hunt her last trip was not so... friendly.

She is momentarily overwhelmed, as these are not playful younglings flocking to her. She greets others by caste, as they do her: fortunately, nearly all are shamans by markings, that much she can discern.

When Durrankar calls, she answers, "Yes, Cihuaa." Excusing herself with tail twitching in mixed feelings at the explosive 'hello-goodbye', she steps to, and then with, Durrankar.

Un'eth also eyes the talking stick sidelong, but only a fleeting glance. Fleeting, and not especially pleasant.

Sebropert allows himself to be pushed in the direction of caste, as was only fitting. Still he eyed the crowd. Un'eth's scent was always off, but why did Durrankar need to establish dominance so early. The warrior was not even pressing for her attentions.

The silver caste Elder draws his attention away. His frame slumps low, bring his massive head lower than hers in a bob of respect. He reaches out arms and embraces the elder, though if this was his own clan he would have probably lifted the elder in the air. "Cousin! The path is clear, for I hunt with you," he says in traditional greeting before giving the bag of "treats".

"Whispers arrive as swiftly as the cliffrasser of your arrival." Shaman Itchtaca smiles to Durrankar when he and Un'eth do approach. ...and then the smile fades. Not entirely--but settles much as a mudcrab at river's bed. She steps to Un'eth and regards the other female for a time.

... "We musst sshare words," she says. Then leans in and whispers to her: "You are here-but-apart, blood-not-blood. Thiss must change." Claws clasp the top of Un'eth's forearm for a moment before she steps back. "Come, ssay hello to your tribe!" she says more loudly. ...and if they agree, she will take them to see the others of their caste and from there, the rest of the tribe--reaffirming ties, friendships, and family. This will take most of the day.

Nearby...with poor Sebropert. Poor, poor Sebropert. ...

"Peasse to you, hunter. I am hunter Mecatl. It's been yearss since I lifted sspear, or hurled the atlatl, though they are kind to let me sstay and teach the young ones," she says. Then, "It iss good to sshare breath with you, and ssee ssuch strength in our youth. And ssize." Then...then, oh no. Oh NO. What follows is a sly smile, and she adds with a wicked gleam to her eye: "We have ssprings among our caste'ss gathering-plasse. Come meet ssome of them before the sseremony, tonight." It she suggesting what--yes, yes she is. She is totally going to try to fix him up with someone. Poor Sebropert. He's probably going to get dragged off.

Whirlpool has partially disconnected.

Un'eth dips snout and curls tail in deference to Itchtaca that was not even hinted at to the warrior-guard. Her maw then opens to respond, or question, but she is once again surprised and cut short by the clasp at the sibilant whisper.

Her mouth hangs open a moment, tongue nearly twitching as bad as tail before it closes. A very Svarshan-like pause before words exit with effort. "Yes, we should share many words. I am honored, and delighted, to be here." Uneth then falls silent, in more thoughts. Of words and more.

"We have many words to share, shaman." Durrankar says before looking towards Un'eth.....and thumping his tail at the shaman....but does not hear the whisper. Once she speak to meet the rest of the caste, Durrankar brings a pack with him. "I have brought treats for everyone as well, Itchtaca." he says as he agrees to join the rest of the caste.

Sebropert rumbles in mirth at the elder's words. "Sire and cihuaa both warriors. Am... bred differently," he says with a corner of his lip curling back to reveal giant teeth. The Sith equivalent of a smirk. His amusement dies when he realizes what the elder is trying to do. But it would be rude to refuse the springs. "Please lead the way scarleg Mecatl. Am called Sebropert."

Preparing for a ceremony was a very big deal, Especiallt THIS ceremony. So Durrankar had made it a point to bring Un'eth off tot he side. It was a strange ritual, even getting ready. Berries, leaves, and other things were used to get the right pigment for Un'eth to set off from her scales. In this case, it became a sort of molten silver....without using silver. It was fairly impressive for Durrankar to do, even while instructing Un'eth to create a pigment of her own for him. being Cihuaa....they would get ready together....with Durrankar painting Un'eth's face and neck.

Amongst the hunters Sebropert prepares for the ritual. Politely he mingles with those that Mecatl introduces him to, but shyness and many years away from home may make him strange to those that remained in Am'shere. Once given a chance he sits with the other single males, burning herbs and spices over a small smoldering fire. Chirps, barks, and song comes as he shares songs of his tribe and they teach him theirs.

Lines of white paint are dragged across black scales in finger-width patterns. Vines and silver are wrapped around his horns to accent their size. A rarity, he does not wear his armor, but a toga like robe that hangs from one shoulder. A belt cinches the toga, and he goes barefoot.

Setting on a large rock he found, Sebropert waits alone outside of the caste house. Legs crossed and hands resting on his knees, he meditates with his eyes closed, tail thumping the ground back and forth like a predator cat waiting for the right time to pounce.

It seems only right for cihuaa to prepare one another. This is Durrankar's tribe, so he would know tthe details far better. It is far easier to receive accurate markings on one's scales when applied by another.

Not to mention that Uneth has not a thunderclaw's flatulence of a clue as to what she should be doing, otherwise.

She remains as still as possible for her cihuaa to mark her, while also preparing a suitable pigment for his own scales. The silver arrived without silver is a surprise and mild delight. That she is able to reproduce it at his direction, all with the mantra of 'not like the basket' under her breath is a larger one.

She applies pigment to Durrankar with claw and care, eyes looking to his as much as her work. Surprisingly, perhaps even to herself, the preparations calm her.

And so the jungle's true darkness approaches. As it does, and after preparations are made, after paints prepared and clothing gathered, you each make your way towards the tribal center.

The stars scatter overhead beneath the Moondragon's proud gaze. Beneath, one, two, then many smaller lights blaze to life beneath the stars and Moondragon's eyes. The small ones belong to the cooking-fires, though nothing compares to the great, blazing Fire that stretches its wings towards that dark sky. Its like is found in Mictlan, and every tribe within Am'shere's reaches--a Fire that brings warmth, heritage and for a brief moment, light beneath the jungle's darkest shadows. A fire that recalls their heritage as Children of the Flame.

Already, drums, the thrum of tail and dancing sound below. To those of you with scale, it tugs at part of you that begins to unfurl--a hearkening back to the ancestors of yore. A dragon yearning to spread its wings, a great roar that begins with Blood and cries for release. Of course, Un'eth feels none of these things--but the drums echo and thunder against her scales, and she sees the bright lights and fire, all the same. Something is in the air, tonight.

Tribal beats as it would be called. Dancing, tail thumping and even Durrankar tamping the staff on the ground for an extra note with the drums to join the music of the tribe. He looks to Un'eth briefly, but his own 'dancing' only allows for a brief moment. There is definitely something in the air tonight......and it would let Un'eth see just what she joined.....and feel special to be part of it.

Beats well missed, and dancing as only the dragons can. Sebropert howls for the traditions he missed being away from home. His large feral frame stomps about, his tail practically trying to break the ground beneath him with each thump. The claws on his feat leave gouges in the ground with each turn of his frame, carving an ancient pattern of revelry and blood. He weaves in and out amidst the hunters, his horned head flicking about, yet his eyes focus on his charges. The dance is half truth, and half ruse. Each Sith'Makar he guided here he looks for, and his weaving dance brings him about the circle to allow him that search. Unease from earlier still only present in his writhing tendrils.

Un'eth's own tail begins to move with the beat. Possibly of its own volition, adding a strike to the ground now and again. The rest of her focus not pulled by Durrankar's glance, is upon finishing the last lines of his markings. What kind of cihuaa would she be if she let him out to the ceremony with mismatched or unclean markings?

When she is satisfied (not always an easy task), she rises to let Durrankar know that she is finished and prepared for the next step. Exactly what that is, she does not know. Nonetheless, she is not one to tuck tail and flee.

As the tribe gathers, the Fire leaps to life. The elders of the keeper caste and--shaman Itchtaca, who you recognize, begin to beat their tails against the earth in time with the beat of Blood and unseen thrum of heartbeat. Thrum, thrum the echo sounds--a sound each sith-makar hears both within and without. Its sound roars within you, and is easy to follow.

The thrum, the beat of tail-on-earth gathers, the Fire gathers until its energy suffuses the tribe. Fire spreads invisibly through you all, embodied in the blazing inferno at your center.

...and then the castes break ranks. Break, just enough for Tenoch-of-the-keepers to step forward. Wearing bold, white paint and the marks of the Tarranik, the Fire outlines him brightly, brilliantly. The soars as he lifts his arms to howl!

"WE COME HERE! We come here ass our ancesstors came! By the tradition of the Tarranik, but alsso the tradition of the People! We, the keeperss share the words--we sshare the words with our People, for we are one!"

He reaches out, and grasps Sebropert's arm, before howling again.

The fire leaps, crackling--a living thing.

At its roar, Shaman Itchtaca steps forward. "We alsso are here! We, the sshamans! We call the sspirits to ansswer our call! We call to assh, we call to fire! We call them, bound by our Blood, to them and to uss, between them and through uss, from now and through agess passt! We call them forward!"

"Ssshaman Durrankar! Sstep forward and offer your Blood to Fire!"

"Hunter Sebropert! SSstep forward, and offer your Blood to Fire!"

...others are called as well, but the visitors and their own shaman, first of all!

Durrankar does so as bidden, cutting his arm with a talon and dripping the blood into the flame. He makes sure to do this while Un'eth is holding his still glowing blue eyed staff. Once done, he retakes his spot next to Un'eth........not wishing to leave her side.

Sebropert's large head swivels down to look at the claw wrapped around his arm. He rumbles deep in his chest, eyes lifting to look at the fire, and then to Durrankar. Honor bestowed on them before others. Perhaps there was less to worry about than he thought. His head bows in thanks to the Keeper, tail swishing the ground before he approaches the fire beside where Durrankar had given his offering.

Turning his arm he lowers his jaws around his arm, sinking teeth into flesh with a growl. He pauses a long moment as the heat enters his mouth. His arm flicks out of his mouth and sprays a splash of blood into the flame, the fire hissing and spitting with the offering of blood.

The chanting continues, with the keepers guiding the words, the shamans summoning the spirits. ...and the tribe working together, summoning...

...you begin to see visions.

For the scaled among you, Blood awakens. For the sith-makar, it roars to life. The world expands around you, the Fire expanding to fill your vision. It is different for each of you, though in ways the same--Blood overlapping blood. Regardless, from what happens tonight, it will take a while to sort out.

Sebropert sees some of it, though not all. After the first of the ancestors arrive, and the Memory flows--he quickly passes out--an act in the heat of the ritual that few notice. His own cast does, but the rest of you...

Un'eth is a visitor, and a shaman... but in this moment, for this, that is all she is. It is secondary to People, Blood and Tribe, and to neither does she truly belong. She is keeper of the talking stick for a time as she watches Durrankar and others, many others, join in. While she may not be pulled by Flame in heart as others, there is a pull: one of community, unity. With it is also a mixed pang of the lack of that true fire.

In front of Durrankar, three ancestors step forward. They move as sith-makar normally would, but with no sound. None of the cues or scents that would normally accompany such an occurrence. Instead, a keeper's arm flickers through them, a hunter's. Unminding those present, they walk towards Durrankar. "The sspirits feel odd," one of them says. "Ssomething sso sstrange. You musst figure out what it iss." The others thump their tails as they look towards Durrankar, then themselves.

Then the vision retreats--retreats to something more, for the Memory of Blood--normal.

That is, an actual Memory. A replay of the past, as guided by tribal blood. Within the fire, Durrankar and those around him see his the three ancestors, the three who had been causing him so much trouble. No wonder he'd had so much difficulty! No wonder so many headaches! Not one!

But three!

And there they are, two sisters and a brother, standing in front of the shaman's lodge and of all things, arguing. His ancestors are right THERE. Talking no longer TO him, but among one another, as though alive. Talking about a ritual they were learning. "This is important," one of them is saying to the other.

"I know it iss. But--"

"But you afraid to try. If you are afraid, how can you move forward?" challenges the youngest female, with fire-in-her-eyes. The older female steps back. Part of a shaman's lodge may be seen behind her, overlaid on the ritual grounds.

Around the Fire, similar visions erupt. Ancestors coming forward and speaking. Memories.

...alone among the ritual, Un'eth is the only one left without. Memories buffer the air her, spirits brush against her scales. To her they remain invisible, a knocking at the door that wants IN but can't, can't...

"...there are black chainss on you. Come sshare words, sshaman Un'eth. You are sseparate-but-not, and the cihuaa of our sshaman. Thiss can no longer be." ...and Itchtaca clasps her forearm. Her eyes burn as coals, and determined.

It is time to talk, while her cihuaa is distracted.

Un'eth's eyes are mostly upon her cihuaa, yet they flick to and fro, not unlike her tail. The unseen move heavily, at the edges of her vision: felt, like a passing breeze, but remaining unsolid, unconfirmed. If only to her.

The arrival, words, and then clasp of Itchtaca startle her, head and eyes snapping around in surprise. The words then register. Twitching tail goes still and curls. Her snout lowers.

"Yes, shaman Itchtaca." She is subdued. The combination of cihuaa and 'can no longer be' could be inferred as foreboding.

The fire flickers bright, bright. Shaman Itchtaca takes Un'eth's forearm and leads her off to the side. They begin to talk, words obscured by ritual, and celebration. Plus, Durrankar is staring at ancestor-lights! Bonus!

Sebropert stands before the fire, his arm dripping, and his jaws slaked with his own blood. The coppery tinge is familiar and warm. The pulse of the memory aches against his teeth, sliding down his white tongue. The ancestors step forward and the lights go out. No slow slump, or dimming at the edges of vision. At once he was awake, and then not, his massive frame crumpling to the ground.

As the Ancestors stepped towards Durrankar, one of them was a noted hunter Luxandra.....a female. Her scales are blue and her gold markings would be known to many, as she is known to fight off a thunderfoot on her own, but to save the eggs of the tribe many hundreds of years ago.

The second was a many tendriled thing, but named Xo'thar. Not a hunter, but a shaman. Most of his noteworthy deeds were not from battle, but inventive ways he was able to cook meat and prepare fire. Perhaps that is where Durrankar's ability to cook comes from.

The last one.....bigger, more menacing....and gold. Almost molten gold warrior known as Xinaht. Not only known for bringing down a Thunderfoot, but many others, including beginning an 'air guard' type of caste that had been largely forgotten....since it was extremely hard to tame a sky screamer.

Durrankar looked on and seemed to tilt his head quietly. "Are....you able to explain these markings?" he asks of the images.

Yup, definitely distracted.

The images shift--not answering directly, but indirectly, as in the way of Memories. It shows Luxandra laughing and rolling in the dirt, before tackling her sister. "You drew it! Look at the thing you drew!"

"It's for usss! For--" and her sister is tackled in a warrior's hold. There, on the ground is Durrankar's mark. Or part of it--a younger version.

"Look! It sshows all of uss. So we will always be together," the lone male speaks up. He thumps his tail, then scrambles fast, out of the way of his fighting sisters. "H-hey!"

Just when one thought it was safe to bring one's cihuaa to a ritual... the moment one is distracted by The Blood, she is gone. Snatched away. In this instance, of course, it is not an ill omen. Perhaps?

Uneth has man concerns, possibly many words ready: her tongue is oft quick and sharp when used. Yet, she holds it in check to listen.

Durrankar watches the females and the male play, especially at the mark on the ground.......is interesting.

Sebropert has disconnected.