In Which there is a Shake

"Any and all aid would be welcomed," Un'eth assures. "This plague is a horrid, wasting thing. An unworthy end to those who succumb. Of great concern now is that it does not spread through the Portal."

Iuitl cocks her head in thought. Her bird, the raven, grows bored of Un'eth's feet, and flies back up to the mottled sith's shoulder. Flap flap. "I've already begun my research. I will make progress where others have faltered, Mother Dragon willing."

There's a soft stir of footsteps as a blue-scaled sith-makar enters the scene. His scales are deep in color and well cared for, and the cowl of his cloak is pulled back to show the six black, and long arching horns on the top of his head. Bright green eyes take in the sight of the two who stand before him for just a moment before the sith bows smoothly. It's a very unsithlike gesture, but he performs it smoothly and offers the traditional greeting of his people just as smoothly. "Peasssce on your nesssstsss." He nods again, a little bob of his head. "Thissss one could not help but over-hear your conversssation. Thissss one knowsss much of the plague."

"Ea guide your thoughts," Un'eth bids wish of fortune to Iuitl before she steps around to give the other some space as well as her other side by the fire. The new arrival gains her attention, a thump of tail, and a return greeting, regardless of the final words of his greeting. "Peace on your nest and welcome to Mictlan." Her attention remains upon him, after, now care of the last few words.

Iuitl shifts her poor posture, turning and resting her weight differently on the longspear she uses as a walking stick more than a weapon. Her eyes follow the bow through its whole motion, prompting a soft grunt of thought. "Peace on your nest..." she says, distantly confused by his gesture. She isn't used to seeing. "Troublesome!!" shouts the Raven perched on her shoulder at him, as if insulting him. Iuitl clicks her teeth at the bird in distaste. "What do you know, then?" she prompts Zeke, showing a deep interest, since he chose to speak up. "I am Iuitl," she says, almost as an afterthought.

"You may call me Zeke." The sith offers a warm expression to Un'eth and Iuitl, coming a bit closer to their fire. He has a quarterstaff in his right hand, and he uses it as a walking stick, much as Iuitl uses her spear. His movement is not heavy though but rather surprisingly graceful and very careful. What can be seen of his left leg is crystal, beautiful and finely shaped, but he moves to keep it well in shadow. Similarly he keeps his left arm entirely hidden by shadow and robe. "I know that the reassssson our hunterssss have left resscently isss to aid Alexandria with their plague. That there issss hope in the air for the firssst time in a long time. Thisss one hassss been back and forth between here and there as a messsssanger." He lowers his eyes humbly.

Un'eth's tail thumps. "I am Un'eth, Shaman of the Tyrranik. What news have you?" she inquires, with firm interest. She only just experienced a less than successful venture, herself. Patience is a virtue, though she is not so virtuous in that regard.

Iuitl looks aside to Un'eth, and curls her own tail around her ankles, her feathers whispering at the ground like a duster. She patiently looks to Zeke again, to see if he'll say anything specific about the topic. Really putting him on the spot here.

"Spit it out!" barks the Raven.

Zeke blinks at the raven, somewhat taken aback clearly and he brings his quarterstaff a bit closer to himself. He seems unsettled by something. "It ssseemsss that thingsss are going better and worssse than esxpected. Many have been healed of the plague, but they do not wisssh to rissk othersss who are not closssse to death thinking that they might be killed by the very cure they sssseek." He keeps his eyes low now, watching the flames.

Un'eth makes a long exhale. "Sssoo.. this cure is nearly as dire as the plague? " The question is somewhat rhetorical, as she adds, "Better that there is a choice for those afflicted."

Silwen wanders the deep woods. She is of course lost, or just having one of her lack of focus days. She seems to have wandered this way multiple times in the last 20 minutes, until she comes out of the wood and towards the sacred place.

Zeke nods, then suddenly stiffens as someone else joins them. An unfamiliar figure, and one that is surprising out here in Mictlan. He regards Silwen silently a moment before offering a very unsithlike bow. "Peasssce on your nesssst."

Un'eth does not receive the news, or as much as, she desired... but it is something. The turning of Zeke draws her snout and eyes to follow. "Welcome to Mictlan," she greets as Zeke offered the typical words of such. "All who respect it and those present are welcome here."

Silwen smiles brightly giving a deep bow in return. "Thank you. I'm from Wilderness Pointe, and well. Not any longer." She adds, then waves that off with her hand. "I suppose I'm a bit lost. Forgive my intrusion by all means." She looks around the sacred place. "Mictlan? I've heard some stories, huh!" Her eyes look around.

"You... have come to Mictlan by accident?" Zeke's voice is somewhat surprised, but the slight narrowing of his green eyes suggests something more than mere surprise. "Thissss one can help return you to Alexandria, one doesss not wish you to be lossst here."

Un'eth's head tilts as she regards the lost wanderer. "Ssa. If you wish to return to the city, there is aid. While Mictlan welcomes, the many afflicted here in refuge are a risk to those who do not seek such."

Silwen shrugs, "I don't know? Maybe it's fate I came walking out of the wood and met you all. Or, maybe just bad direction sense too!" She touches her chest to offer introductions, "I'm Silwen by the way." She pauses a moment, blinking a few times trying to figure out what Un'eth meant with the afflicted.

"Perhapssss, one is ssubject to the will of the godsss." There is warmth in Zeke's features though as always it is hard to read a sith's face. It is more palpable though, making it easier to determine that he means his words well. "Issss it not sstrange to you to find your way here by accident?" He glances toward Un'eth, ready to take her lead on what to tell this stranger.

Silwen looks up, putting her hand out straight. Is that rain?

"If it is Ea's will, then it is no accid-" Un'eth's words pause at the unexpected snap of the air and the rumble of the ground. Her ear frills flare, then lay flat back against her skull. "That is ...strange."

The sound sends a low vibration through Zeke's body that unsettles the sith-makar even more than the actual sound does. The rumbling of the groud makes his scales crawl. Green eyes turn toward the source of the sound and he shakes his head. "That isss no natural thing. Perhapssss you are right, and you are with ussss becausssse of thissss?" Green eyes fall upon Silwen and the sith seems to be measuring her carefully. "Thisss one ssssuggessstsss that we find out the sssource of thisss ssstrangenessss."

"...hrmph."

"...but sshe is rarely wrong," the other replies. Two sith-makar crouch near the Fire. Shaman-caste, marked by their painted scales and kilt-markings, if not the otherworldly look to their eyes. The second leans in, hissing. "And we will ssee--"

"The sspirits cannot be ssertain."

Silwen nods quickly, "Well, I'm very helpful, so I'm told." She jerks a thumb at herself. "Let's see what this noise is all about." She looks around and starts heading off into a random direction. "This way right?" .. then changes her mind and goes into another direction. "Right!"

"Wait Ssilwen." Zeke holds up a claw and turns to those seated by the fire. In an attempt not to disturb them, Zeke has not spoken to them before now, but their words cause him to hesitate. "You know sssssomething of thisss sshaman-casste?" It is a very gentle and respectful question. "Can you ssshare your wisssdom with usss?"

"The sspirits do not need to be ssertain!" retorts the second shaman. Gray of scale, he wears blue markings along his muzzle and forearms. His tail lashes in anger as he near-shouts at the other across from him.

At the outburst, the first sith-makar, a greenscale, draws backward. The ridges along the top flatten. "..."

"Thiss one...apologizes for his outburst. One only means the sspirits are never ssertain."

"Sso you think Shaman Ichtaca isss, kin?"

"One findss her reassoning better--" the grayscale breaks off. And turns, lowers his muzzle to Zeke. "This one apologizes. We were debating--rumorss."

Silwen does a 360 and heads back to where she started. "Ok." She admits, "I suppose it is wise to um. Ask wisdom." She is respectful, watching the interaction between Zeke and the shamans. She watches between the shamans, looking back and forth, then back to Zeke.

Zeke nods to Silwen, appreciating the other's willingness to wait a moment longer. "Any-thing which you can tell thissss one which may offer aid would be appreciated." Zeke nods low to the other sith, keeping his eyes even lower out of respect. "Doesss your rumor have any-thing to do with the thing which hasss jussst happened?"

"Peasse to your nest, ssoftskin," the greenscale says to Silwen. The traditional Fire blazes behind them. They are not, of course, the only ones present. Others cluster in social groups here and there, largely by caste--though not always.

"Yess, yess it does," the grayscale says, with a quick look to the green. Then, back. "We--that iss, my kind and I--are not in unity. Would you mind ssharing your own thoughts, sshaman? Perhaps then, the three of uss may reach accord."

"Hearing your words may help us in our undersstanding," the greenscale suggests, then inclines his muzzle. "You as well, ssoftskin. One of the elderss left, and quickly. We sseek to--undersstand what that might mean."

Un'eth remains quiet out of respect as the other shamans speak. She also may or may not know anything of the odd shift in foliage or stone in Silwen's path when she starts one way or another, all of which, purely by coincidence and happenstance might aided in guiding her back to where she began, if not closer to said shamans.

Silwen is quiet and respectful. This is all pretty new to her. Just yesterday she was collecting herbs, and trying to avoid more suitors that would bother her in the shop. Now she is watching shamans debate the meaning of thunder and earth rumbling. She looks to Un'eth now, and back to listen.

"Thissss one would be honored to sshare wordsss." Zeke indeed looks honored to even have them offer to do so. He keeps his eyes low, not meeting any gaze, and therefor missing if he is being watched in return. "What are you not in unity about? Can you tell usss why the elder left? Or why it isss thought that they left?"

"Hrrmph. One among the elder ssircle left to find the firewater," the grayscale says to Zeke. He looks to Un'eth and Silwen and waits a while. When neither of them replies, he turns back to Zeke--and find himself interrupted by the greenscale shaman next to him.

"The elder doess no ssuch thing!"

"Sshe goes to contemplate the sspirits." The grayscale's voice is perhaps a little too placid, and the green narrows eyes at him. The two of them glance over towards Un'eth and Silwen and wait again, before looking to Zeke.

"There iss a difference of thought, among uss. Thiss one believess the elder'ss interpretation to be of merit--one's kin--"

"Thiss is why we were interested in your words," finishes the grayscale.

Silwen shrugs, "I'm not sure what to say. Honestly, my words aren't very interesting. I was just wandering around the wood, wondering what to do next, and well came upon here. Then there was this lightning and thundering." She shrugs, she is pretty confused at this point. "I suppose, it can't hurt to hear anyone out."

Un'eth's tail twitches before striking the ground. Words of division and leaving bring one immediate spark of thought to mind, though she is hopeful that it is premature and cynical rather than insight. When more information is brought out... it seems more likely that her thoughts shifted to the worst of known possibilities. "You may both hold truth, as the elder may do both." She would not put much trust in CUI, herself, but she is aware of no inviolate against those who Commune Under the Influence.

"What is the interpertation?" Zeke could have admitted to curiosity over the fact, but that was clear in the tone of his words and the way his eyes lift slightly. His eyes flicker toward Un'eth, acknowledging her words but clearly disagreeing. "Many sssshaman ussse toolssss to aid them in the ssspirit walk." This is the most that he is willing to say on the matter for the moment however. He doesn't want to actually disagree with the female.

The greenscale looks...well. The greenscale, and the grayscale, look to one another.

At length, the grayscale suggests: "The sspirits are too vague, kin--even these wise ones will not venture--or dare! a meaning."

Which only seems to ignite the more volatile green. "It doess not mean the elder iss incorrect! The sspirit may come as wind, before it becomes the gale across the ssea."

"Kin, all sshe did wass cursse the 'groundsquake' and--"

"Sshe held her claws to fire, and ssaid nothing good may come of thiss beginning, that it will sspread before it reachess itss end!" The greenscale demonstrates, and throws out his hand. A fire engulfs it--but does not burn.

"...it remainss to be sseen," says the grayscale.

The green shakes his hand, and the faux-fire vanishes. The thump of his tail is definitely...irritated. He looks to Un'eth and Zeke, "And your interpretation, sshamans?" To Silwen, "Or yours, ssoftsskin?"

"Now their undersstanding has been biased..." Someone kick the grayscale. Someone kick him.

"The groundshake could mean many things: some threats, dire or minor; others no threat at all. A call of Ea to act, a rumble of pained injury, or the turn of one relaxing into contented slumber." Un'eth shares her interpretation of the event. "I agree with the shaman that more should be learned. In this I agree with the elder. As the times are, now, I, too, would bear thoughts towards the most dire of possibilities."

"Thisss one... Felt a ssstrange ssssensssation in the ssscalesss, an ache in the bonesss when the ssshake happened." Zeke looks toward the distant place that the strangeness had come from and shakes his head. "Thisss one thinksss that ill will come of thisss. That ill /hassss/ come of thisss. Thisss one hasss no gift of ssssight to the future, but thissss one feelsss... dissscomforted."

"Ksst. Do you ssee? The sspirits sspeak!" The greenscale turns to the grayscale.

"Biassed! ...the world has been dark of late. We are due ssome light. If one iss...daring...one might ssuggest the beginning of thiss darkness is of the brightest fire."

"...now you are being crpytic."

"I am sshaman-caste," the grayscale says with pride. Then, "Perhapss we sshould all go for ssome firewater. I mean, contemplation." At the narrow-eyed look, he adds, "It aidss the sspirits."

"...thiss one cannot believe we are casste-kin," the greenscale mutters, and then looks to the others. "Peasse to you. My kin and I have ssome...ssorting to do."

"Contemplation."

"...we will think upon your wordss."

Un'eth turns from the elder shamans, having believed that their words were more informative of a location, not simply premonitions. While she surely honors the spirits, she also prefers to investigate with her own senses; especially within her own protectorate. She now moves in the general direction of the cracking through the air.

Zeke himself nods low to the shaman-caste as they speak, and follows in the female's wake. There's something going on and it indeed has settled uncomfortably in his bones. For now all he can do is head toward the sounds source bearing the news that he already has. What is the source of this newest possible calamity? Alexandria. Always, Alexandria.

-End