Memory of Hyraxis
This is an old log. I am posting it for records, though. - Svar
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Whirlpool's Room of Doom *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- This great meadow rests between two forests. The heady oaks on either side occasionally rustle their branches, as kindly grandfathers looking down upon their grandchildren. Amid the meadow, faerie-elves dance, their giant hips swaying with the breezes and causing miniature earthquakes as they giggle and prance about the place. "I do so love to hug everyone!" one enthuses. And before too long? They've broken into song, a perfect rainbow arcing out of nowhere and suddenly above them! "I love you, you love me, we're a..." And on and on it goes, the precious song of laughter and light spiraling upwards towards a perfect blue sky. And then, a bluebird flies by. And poops on you. Channel: WhirlChan Add: addcom wc=WhirlChan Cheat Sheet: http://bit.ly/pnmTow -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Lilyth Average height woman with golden hair. 1m 1m Iuitl Short sith, mottled black scales, tired green eyes 9m 3d Durrankar Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes 17m 34m Ssylrath Green lizardman, short and wide, with a Swiftclaw. 2m 46m Svarshan Demons: BBQ with Spice 0s 4d Whirlpool I am stinky! 57s 12h -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Objects =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Whirlpool's Generator(#2466IV) Timestop by Whirlpool(#499I) -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Out <O> -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
That night, you're left to your own devices in the Soth-Makar camp. Really, you'll have all night to kill, and most of tomorrow. Whatever is to be done, they say, will be done int he evening.
Lilyth is totally fine just keeping to herself, or being dragged wherever someone might drag her. She make sure to stick with draconic the whole night if she's around anyone else, otherwise she spends the night watching the stars, quietly contemplating the world.
GAME: {()} Durrankar rolls survival+2: (16)+11+2: 29
Svarshan manages some time face-down. Who needs blankets when you have family? Morning finds him with one across a shoulder, another over an arm, and three on his tail. ...he opens his eyes slowly. Muzzily.
And it's that moment. That moment. ...when you debate the wisdom of moving at all.
Because then they wake up.
The night and most of the next day were spent speaking with shamans and any elders who would give Iuitl some time to do so. She sought out tidbits of knowledge, both in the evening and from morning onward, eager to listen to whatever local stories could be told by the tribe. She was certainly friendly and eager enough to chat after she received some help with that infernal itching.
Durrankar sleeps most of the night, but during the day, he goes hunting with a pack of Sith-makar. Using his nose, and leading the pack on the hunt, that evening, they return with a rather nice catch, mainly deer meat and an 18 point buck, excellent for a feast for the entire clan. The buck, of course, is the main course for the evening."
For much of the day, there can be no doubt that there's an undercurrent of... not exactly tnesion, but there's /something/ there. A build up towards an event. A bonfire is being put together by mid day, and it is set to be lit as oson as the sun sets beneath the horizon.
The childen seem excited, to be sure.
Ssylrath also hunts with the pack and with Thaliss, helping everyone else to be more effective and watching out for threats. He isn't local though and doesn't really know the local custons very well.
The same daughter scrambles over until she can find Iuitl, and clutches with tinyclaws. The others find adults here and here, or sticks and twigs, and--is that part of a swiftclaw bridle? Svarshan gets shoe'd, with three of them clinging and giggling to his feet. At the moment, he's making a show of being weighted down by some immovable force, as he watches the preparations. "One...two. ...hah. I have. Been eaten by a. Bog monsster!"
Come the day, Lilyth attempts to help where she can, trying to stick to either the shamans if allowed, or even the females.
Ssylrath helps one of the hatchlings to perch on Thaliss' head where the view is good, keeping a close eye on it in case it becomes unsteady.
Durrankar picks up one of Svarshan's children as he watches the festivities, starting the fire to cook the beasts he and Ssylrath killed. he even shows the little one how to start a fire with a blessing.....snapping his fingers.....
Iuitl keeps watch over the clingy daughter the whole time, carrying her around and speaking with whoever is open for it. The very gentle and motherly way she goes about keeping watch of the child safe shows how much she cares about protecting them. She seems to have her hands full for most of the day, trying to teach the little one new words the in-between bothering people for their stories.
There are three Unnamed clutching at Svarshan's legs. Another sees his brothers and sisters, and now he has four--because who can forget the tail. Svarshan goes still, and looks quietly over to Vthria and Iuitl. "They have me," he says solemnly. "And. I cannot move."
The one atop Thaliss' head clutches the swift as best it can. And STARES. "Our Fire!" It points towards the preparations. "Chidwen's Fire!" A Fire for the Children of the Fire, it means.
Eventually, the tension, that feel of it, begins to turn to excitement. The sun sets. Te bonfire is lit and /roars/ into life. A steady thrumming, drumming, begins to sound around the camp.
Durrankar turns his head to watch the fire roar to life....and steps back at how suddenly the fire did so. He takes the little one with him away from the fire....at least for now. His tail thumps and he sways back and forth in time to the drumming going around the camp.
The hatchlings mimic the adults. If the adults beat their tails, the hatchlings try, too. If the adults stomp their feet, well. ...poor Iuitl. They're kids--they try as hard as POSSIBLE to be Just. Like. You.
The one on top of Thaliss is doing his best Ssylrath-face. It involves lots of growling, and grr-grr sounds.
When the drumming starts, Svarshan straightens, and he and Vthria begin gathering their four. "Praisse the. Fire. And ssing the. Blood." Pause. "It iss good. It iss good to be here with. All of you."
Lilyth looks over to the fire as well at the sudden burst of life from it. Finishing up what she was helping with, she uses a bit of water to wash her hands and goes over near the fire, smiling at it. The power that is fire, both giving life and taking it in one easy swoop.
It is a good thing that Iuitl is patient enough to deal with children. She laughs wearily at the wiggly young one who, at one point, accidently kicks her. The little one is put back down just so that the witch lady can regain her composure... and then start stomping and dancing in her own sloppy and instinctual way, but makes very little vocal noise of her own.
She seems to be having fun, though!
Ssylrath lifts the youngling down once they start dancing. "No, Thaliss does not like ssstomping on her head. Would you like her to do that to you?"
"For those who wish to seek memories in the blood of their ancestors, they must, you must share your blood with the flame. It is the flame molds us together, but it is the blood that binds us."
The elder, using an obsidian blade, cuts his palm with it, squeezing some blood into the flame.
It flashes with each drop.
Lilyth looks over to the elder as he speaks and nods, taking a moment to wash the flash of the flame when drops of blood are put into it. She goes over to him, waiting in order to take the knife so she can offer her blood so she could seek the memories. Someone in her family should be able to tell her something...
Durrankar volunteers almost right away, walking right over towards the Elder and offering his own blood to the flame. it's much like a calling for Durrankar for some reason. He spares the little one with him, the flame however, and only cuts himself....when his turn comes up. Lilyth was first.
"Grrr!" goes the one Ssylrath's holding, and then explodes into laughter. Because this is GREAT! He puts on his best Ssylrath-face, and tries stomping along next to the larger warrior. His feet aren't as big, his tail not as heavy. He makes up for it by trying EXTRA HARD.
Svarshan stomps, hitting the tail to the earth, and moving to the side. Tail to the earth, and moving to the side. Eventually, he lifts Vthria, and roars his joy to the Fire. Roars again, the sound building with the tempo of the drums, the increased beat of Blood, the thrum and fire in the veins. The same, heated drops go into the Flame on their turn, then burn, then sizzle.
...There's a hurried grab at one of the Unnamed as she tries to do the same.
When the time comes, Iuitl slows her own excitement and steps up closer to the fire. She patiently watches Lilyth and the others. She's willing to do this, but her hesitance is going to make her go last out of the sith who are giving their blood to the fire.
Ssylrath also steps forward to partake in the semi-familiar ceremony, seeming a little hesitant at the last moment but then accepting the cut. Thaliss watches with concern and minds the small stomper with a motherly air.
Lilyth takes the knife and slices it across her palm, allowing the red blood to gather up in her hand before she extends her hand over the fire. It hisses and pops, flaring a bit in reaction to it, and she offers the blade to Durrankar before she steps back a bit to stop the bleeding.
Durrankar takes the blade from Lilyth and cuts his palm as well. He holds his hand over the fire and squeezes....hissing loudly, putting quite a few drops of blood into the fire. Once done, he goes over and touches a wand to his hand....and to Lilyth's.
Iuitl offers her own blood to call to the ancestors, careful not to cause too much bleeding on her own hand. She winces quite a bit, evidently having a low tolerance for pain for a Sith. "I hope you are listening, father," she says, softly, into the fire.
The fire flares each time.
The Shaman begins to chant in draconic, calling on the blood. Calling on the memories within it. Sith-Makar begin to jump thorugh the flames themselves. Some of them are rpretty reisstant to fire, after all.
Things get more and more energetic. Thrilled.
Fire dances are not that surprising, after all.
Each of you feel something burbling up inside you. Struggling to break through.
Lilyth smiles at Durrankar when he heals her hand. "Thank you," she offers before she looks back to the fire itself. She watches the jumping of the Sith-makar, getting quite entranced by the chanting and the movement. And then, she feels it, that something of wanting to get out, to be let out.
Thrum. Stomp. Step. Thrum. Stomp. Sway. Thrum. Thrum. Svarshan roars to the Dragonfather, and roars to the ancestors. He grasps one of the Unnamed and holds her aloft--and she starts roaring, too. The warrior goes far enough to venture into the Flames--the kiss of fire, the ash-on-scale, the mingling with Past, Present, and Future of the tribes, the Awakening of blood. The People. He moves until ash covers his legs from foot to knee, from tail to leg. Until his wings erupt along his back, and expand to catch the smoke.
What bubbles up in Iuitl nearly buckles her posture completely. Her defining memory, the thing seared into her the deepest, was something that wasn't proud, or powerful, or bloody, or even rational. A memory of a young sith girl who fled in the jungle in the hopes that it would gobble her up and save her tribe from what she saw as an inner darkness that brought ill omens and tragedy, and then the Raven who looked up at her shakily from the bog and spoke to her fire. Profound despair and darkness gave way to an inner light that anyone who knows her would recognize: Her seemingly bottomless kindness. Remembering this has knocked Iuitl to her knees there before the fire.
Her shoulder-perched Raven closes his eyes and soaks in the emotions pouring off of her, recognizing how familiar they are.
Ssylrath fights his vision but eventually relents to a memory of the time before his Naming. He is with a pack of spawn all hatched in the same season, feral lizards of which he is one of the smallest, kept in a shallow pit. The Eggtender, the one who feeds them and keeps them from wandering off was acting strangely, wobbling and eventually collapsing among the brood. The feral creatures sets upon this food source and strips the meat from the Eggtender reducing it to a skeleton in a matter of hours. It is the most delicious meal that young Ssylrath had ever had up to that point. Next day there was a new Eggtender and this one kept them all at bay until they were old enough to climb out of the pit, one by one, and show that they could direct their savagery.
The Blood heats and boils. Ash rises and burns. Within the blood-drawn flames, the memory of a Hellish landscape comes into view. Held in the Memory's right hand is an axe clutched in a warrior's claws. The pit fiend snarls at whatever challenges him. Its eyes smolder with the hunger of the damned and the curse of eternity. Its fire possess a different purpose than the tribal one. That force rages against the Fire of the People. Like a blackened void, the Memory pushes backwards against the Now, scraping with jaws wide open and hungry.
The axe swings hard, burning with the Dragonfather's light. It turns brilliant, blinding with Sunfire. With its cut, the People's Fire pushes backwards. Backwards again, until the pit fiend's fire shrinks...and only tribe remains. The faces of Unnamed, their warmth, the people of the Atoyaatl, then each of the sith there in turn. Whole, that says. Svarshan has his muzzle buried against one of his sons' shoulders. "Vthurii ai atigruu. Ai ati, ati kthvuurr." I found you. I found you.
Durrankar's memory is quite traumatic. Though he fights the memory, it still spills forth. An elder brought Durrankar, who wasn't even a yearling yet, out into the woods on his own. Steam came from Durrankar's nose as he looked at many of the trees in the area, but then, Durrankar looked around....and he was alone, left out in the wilderness by himself. After a few frantic seconds of searching, Durrankar sniffed his way towards the Shaman of the village, who had been searching for him. A growl came as The shaman, a mottled scaled silver with some gold scales stared down a path at an oily black sith with green eyes. Words are exchanged in Draconic, none of them sound nice.
As the words are exchanged, and Durrankar hides behind the Shaman's shoulder, black clouds form over the area, and it's all Durrankar sees. The Shaman looks to Durrnkar and says, in draconic "respect the power of nature. In your respect, you ask for nature's favor. you do not command nature. You have learned this....but he must pay for his wish to command nature...through sacrifice." And the silver and gold one points his finger at the black sith-makar....who is starting to run away.....*BOOM*....and all Durrankar sees is the shaman's shoulder for a moment, before peeking over his shoulder....
To find the smoking remains of the black sith-makar.
The shaman walked over and grasped the other's staff......and snaps it in half. "Respect nature....nurture it, but never command it. Nature will not be controlled, for even the Alpha must fall to the death Singing Dragon's call. Remember this always......Durrankar."
It was Durrankar's personal naming ceremony.
A gold haze settles upon all of you. You catch a flash of scale.
Gold.
"ALL HAIL HYRAXIS. LONG MAY HE REIGN. LONG MAY THE--" The court of dragons is vast and mighty, and many of them are prostrate before the great Gold that ruled Dragonier. The image shatters, full of dischordant voices speaking draconic.
"Too late! Too late! He has awoken!"
Then there is only blood.
Svarshan lowers his son, and stares at the flames. He reaches for his cihuaa, and they grip one another's hand.
Lilyth gasps as images flood into her head and she goes down to her knees, staring into the fire. What... Sweat starts to bead on her brow, partially from the fire, partially from the memories.
Durrankar slowly sits down as he sees this vision, and seems to ponder it a very very long time. Of course, he's not the thinking type either, but he exhales steam from his nose. He stares into the fire, but he doesn't exactly beleive what he sees....yet.
Ssylrath hunkers down, almost going to all fours, as the visions continue. Like in many situations he appears to be just trying to survive the onslaught.
A great cold settles on each of you. A cold as deep and as dark as the Void itself. A cold that the flames do not banish. An overpowering voice rings in your ears.
"I AM RETURNED."
ANd then it ends. Fades, but the chilling words still echo.
The mood at the party is suddenly subdued.
Iuitl stares into the fire, her eyes wide. Her hands clutch at her robes and something boils in her. All of that blood. All of that death. The great cold settles over her, and she fears it like the fire fears the storm.
But she also hates it more than she can suppress, by sound of the thunderous growl coming from. It takes a little gentle peck or two on the side of her face from her Raven to keep her from fixating on it too hard, making her close her eyes and let out a sigh.
Most of the Sith look pretty shaken.
"...what was that?" seems to be a common question. It was some flicker of a memory, but all of them are left deeply uncomfortable, all the same. It has cast a pall over things. To say the least.
Svarshan looks down at Vthria's hand in his, and then wraps his arms around her. And as many Unnamed as he can gather. "Felt sstrong..." his cihuaa is heard to say.
"Strong," he echoes. "Ssomething banished. Ssomething. That returned."
Lilyth is shaking, not necessarily because of the cold, but she stares unblinking into the fire. She seems oblivious about the reactions from the other, or that the entire party seems to have stopped.
Durrankar is on all fours at the bellow and he even hisses at the fire. Then he realizes it was a vision and stops. he then lowers back to his knees and rubs his head. "ugh....did everyone see that gold?"
Ssylrath snarls. "Whatever that wasss, I fear it is connected to Heth in sssome way... or will be soon. It had the stink of not-life like his wightsss." He shakes himself upright. "It is one for now though it ssseems."
"It wass. Heth." The words are slow. "Not the. Gold. ...the one. After." Svarshan holds tight to his cihuaa a while longer, before letting go. The strength of tribe against an enemy.
Of course, now the Unnamed are going to howl. In just 3. ...2...
"....that was.... that was... worrisome," is the elder's broken trade response.
He looks concerned. "Hyraxis, a name I know. The ruler of Dragonier. Your bloodline comes from him," suggests the elder to Lilyth. Iuitil gets wordless, but intenselty sympathetic, look as well.
Lilyth has still been staring into the fire, until the elder speaks to her, which she jolts and looks up at him, blinking. "What?" she asks, as if she didn't hear him, or didn't believe him.
"Hy... raxissss, Heth," Iuitl hisses to herself thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to her nose to rub at her snout as she ponders the names. She gathers herself up to a stand, and her tail thumps against the ground. "A great evil claims the sky in that place, then," she muses to herself. "I had never known that feeling before." The Raven nods in agreement.
Title: Wanted Posters ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Posters appear throughout the Heartlands, signed by elders of a foreign land. They declare WANTED the man who had hired assassins against the Silver Empress, and any of his accomplices. A drawn likeness is included, wih the line that he 'appeared of Dranei blood, or was posing thereof.' It decries acts against a sovereign people. The bounty does not care if the man is dead or alive. It is said a copy has been sent to Dran, with answers demanded. OOC: Questions to: Durrankar, Iuitl, Ssylrath, Charis, Svarshan ============================================================================== You post your note about 'Wanted Posters' in group 'IC: Rumors and Gossip' as message #19
Durrankar i approached by one of the shamans. He reaches out to lay a hand on his stick. He leans in, whispers something to him quietly.
The stick glows. brightly. For just a moment.
In the meantime, the elders are also eyeing the lot of you. The posters are taken with a solemn promise to investigate and pread them around. Questions are to be answered. The matter of the attempt on the Empress is... significant.
Durrankar turns his head to the elder and nods his head, taking a hold of the stick as well. Perhaps conversing with the elder at length.