How to Help a Friend in Need

Log Info

• Title: How to Help a Friend in Need

• Emitter: Skielstregar

• Characters: Cuemoni, Skielstregar

• Place: The Wilderness

The Wilderness, Midday

It's finally come. The weather on the winds had been teasing that winter had been on the horizon. And now, heavy blankets of snow pelt the ground and trees, muffling any and all sound throughout the wild woods. Nothing but greys and whites, save for the brown of bark and what little green peeks through from pine trees.

Save for a splash of red scattered amongst the white. It trailing down a slope as if something was dragged off. Several trees nearby mark a... struggle? Man or beast? It is difficult to tell. The scent in the air a faint waft of rot and despair.

Cuemoni is dressed in a heavy fur cloak and hood, grumbling softly to herself as she walks in the woods, a flame carried in her hand. The snow and cold is objectionable to her still, as this is her first Alexandrian winter, yet...

Yet there are things that must be foraged. Introductions to be made. "Spirits, be at peace. This one asks for your blessing--"

And then she comes across the red. She scents the scent. And her golden eyes flare in concern and worry. "Hello?" she calls out, carefully making her way down the slope. "Is anyone here? Are you injured and in need of aid?"

Down the trail of crimson goes, winding around trees, stopping to pool and freeze, only to get dragged off haphazardly as if from a second, third, or fourth wind. And then one trail becomes two. Two becomes four. Collecting in a iron-rich stench of morbid paint.

Eventually, there, laid side by side between a small alcove of rocks, is a collection half a dozen boar, elk, deer. Unmoving, their bodies snapped and broken in lethal angles and locations.

A tree branch cracks back up the trail. Footfalls crunching snow. A figure, difficult to make out in the snow as their hue melds with it, has splotches of red plastered upon them. The scent steadily grows thicker. Choking.

Cuemoni keeps following the trail, her steps swift but uncertain in the snow. Her feet sink into the snow and she continues on, golden eyes following the trail. She spots the figure, the collective of bodies, and...

There comes a moment for every shaman when they come across something grotesque in the woods. Her hand still contains the flame for warmth. Her golden eyes focus on the figure. Her feet anchor more firmly in the snow.

"This one comes in peace," she says. "This one is Shaman Cuemoni, who seeks understanding with all beings and all souls. This one does not mean you harm nor violence. This one greets you."

Not an ounce of fear in her scent, not an ounce, not an indication of wavering. The flame is in her hand.

The hazy figure stops. And rises. Rising. Rising. A hulking, lumbering form, one that sheds a fraction as it seems another victim of wildlife is dropped off to the side. It samples the air-- and jerks towards the shaman. With a deep, guttural snarl, the towering beast jettisons forward at a breakneck speed!

Breaking through the penumbra of winter is a wicked terror. A silverscaled kin, a twin set of fangs on display as rivulets of brackish miasma flow past them. Unnatural claws tear through the earth and snow, with crimson eyes lace with malicious intent. A Forgotten?! On this side of the portal?!

Wait a moment, is that--

> "This one is Shaman Cuemoni."

The breakneck pace of the beast suddenly turns into a full retreat, dirt and snow splaying in all directions as the Forgotten tries to arrest themselves, but their speed is far too great. A deranged voice quickly barks, "THISS one SSAYSSS ssstop you ssstupid-"

The muddy ground too slick, as seven feet of raging muscle barrels into Cuemoni, sending both of them sprawling into snow banks.

Cuemoni gets knocked down and her flame is extinguished by the fact she lands in snow. It takes her a moment to evaluate herself, to see if her limbs are still working.

Yes. Yes they are. She will likely feel sore in a moment, but for the moment, she feels nothing. She gets up from the snow and peers over to the snow bank in which the unknown figure has landed.

"This one--" Cuemoni begins, before huffing. Snow had gotten into her nostrils in the fall. "This one greets you and offers no violence."

She knows of the Forgotten, but the voice that had come from the figure... It sounded like there was something to work with. There's sentience there. Muddied and lost, but perhaps...

"This one may offer the light," she says. "To guide you back home."

The hulking silver figure can easily be spied upsidedown in the snow. The drift is painted black from the seeping black ichor dripping from the maw and dangling arms of the Forgotten. Their blood soaked hands flex, large maw snipping at the air as a blackened tongue lolls about. It would be humorous, if it were not every other circumstance surrounding it pointing to otherwise.

It inhales again. Crimson eyes snap open and hone in on Cuemoni, like a meal ready to eat. "Grrr. Ssshaman Cuemoni..." it growls. That voice, is it--

A silver amulet of the Dragonfather dangles out from his neck, having finally slipped past the snow. ".... good, don't run. Or do, it makesss it f-" Hands smack at his face, snarling and exhausted. "-sssilence! We did thisss much already!- Thisss one- rrrrghh- sssorry. You to sssee thisss one like thiss. You have everything- ggrr no!- nothing to be afraid of!"

He slowly slinks out, head squishing against the earth.

Cuemoni's golden eyes regard this figure, and she looks at the amulet of the Dragonfather, and... She knows. There is something wrong with her friend. There is something wrong with him.

She holds out her hand and she conjures a flame in it again. It flickers and wavers there. It's a tiny beacon of light, a little source of it, but it is light nonetheless. Light is the first step.

"This one is unafraid," she replies smoothly. "This one is a Shaman. This one is called upon by spirits to offer soothing."

She holds out the light in her hand. "Warrior Skielstregar--look at the flame in this one's hand. Look at it and do not speak, do not approach. Listen only to this one's voice. The wind. The snow."

Cuemoni pauses a moment before she begins to sing. Her voice is unremarkable in singing quality. But it is still a song, one that has an ethereal quality of its own:

"Bone to bone,

Blood to blood,

Joints to joints,

Mind to mind,

Heart to heart,

Make them anew.

Bone to bone,

Blood to blood,

Joints to joints,

Mind to mind,

Heart to heart,

Make them true."

There is something wrong with him.

There has always been something very wrong with him.

Slowly, Forgotten Skiel slides out of his natural environment, sprawling on the ground, only to flip back over on his haunches with a snarl bared. And- his attention snaps to the little light. Foe? To burn? Warmth is life, yet-

He shirks away. "Keep- grrr- away- almost done with..." he snips angrily. Don't speak? How dare she! He can speak whenever he wants!

He grabs his own horns and twists his head to look at the flame. "Focussss...!" Skiel snarls at himself. Trying to hold still and listen. Feet fidget, lips curl in a snarl. Tail lashes behind him. Wanting to run and tackle and hunt and feast and eat and FEAST AND EAT AND-!

A final yank gets his snout naught but a mere few inches away from the little fire. Tremors run through as he remains still. Listening to the soft patter of snow falling. The crackle of the fire. A black vein bulges at him temple. Mana corrupted ichor dripping from his agape maw.

Each line of the prose elicits a twitch. A growl. A whine. His frame sags, like being pulled down by leaden weights. The second set of fangs slowly recede. Eyes lose focus, returning to their dead silver hue.

The miasma stops.

Regular doofy Skiel falls face first into the snow with an exhausted sigh. ".... peace on your nessst, Shaman," he murmbles.

Cuemoni keeps the flame in her hand for the entirety of Skielstregar's transformation, watching him find himself. Her golden eyes match the flame so easily. She is a protector. A healer in some measure like her Cihuaa, although she would never compare what she does to him.

"Peace on your nest, Warrior," she replies gently. Finally an emotion comes through her scent that is not conviction in her belief to do good by her friend: relief. "Are you well now?"

The flame winks out of her hand, and instead she offers her clawed hand to him. "This one does not like the snow much," she admits, "with apologies to the winter spirits." Most might be badgering Skielstregar with all sorts of questions, but she does not. Her concern for him is primary.

Another sigh spills out from him, a waft of frozen fog coming from where his face is buried. "Sssa. Well now. Mussst let that ssside of thisss one out. Apologiesss for that."

With a grunt, he pulls himself to he knees, spying the hand offered as he takes it to lift himself up.

By the spirits, it's like holding a shard of ice!

A fact that he's all to aware of, as his hand pulls away. His back finds a tree to lean against. And he looks down slightly at Cuemoni.

A beard of ice and snow sticks to his blood stained maw. "Mmmm, thisss one will take all the enjoyment then. Thiss one feelsss bessst in it."

Cuemoni's golden eyes nictate when she feels how cold that grasp is. She looks up at Skielstregar and watches him pull away, leaning against the tree, and...

He has a beard of ice and snow now on his bloody maw. A small laugh leaves her. "You may have all the cold then, Warrior," Cuemoni replies. But then she looks more serious, her voice dropping to a slow and methodical thing. "How long... have you been afflicted as such?"

A laugh? Phew! Cuemoni seems to be just fine with the circumstances, Skiel thinks to himself as he rubs his maw, dislodging ice and snow. A pause. A tired chuckle rumbles in his chest as he slides down the tree to sit on the cold ground.

And there's the question. "Long time. Thisss one thinksss... ten wintersss? Isss messy and complicated," he answers quietly, idly picking up handfuls of snow to clean off his bloodied claws. "You sensssed something when we firsst met. Every kin doesss. You sssenssse correctly. Thisss one isss what you think, but alssso isssn't."

He's quiet for a beat. "You are Zeke'sss mate. Thissss one trussstsss hisss judgment wholly. Asssk what you will."

Cuemoni suddenly scents... bashful. She looks away from Skielstregar to the ground.

"More than mate," she says to Skielstregar. "We are Cihuaa now. We have a home and hearth together now, outside of Alexandria. It is peaceful."

She can't help the happy rumble that escapes her chest. "It was decided in Shaman Telamon's house," she adds, before she looks at Skielstregar. "This one just wants to know... if you are okay? If you manage it fine? If there are other ways in which you are coping besides this?"

Skiel's tail weakly thumps against the ground. A weak wave of joy cuts through the faint, dull scent of dread. "... thisss one isss.... very glad to hear that, Shaman Cuemoni. It isss well you caught thisss one tired, elssse you may be embraced into two pieces," he rumbles jokingly. It's true, last time she mentioned she was Zeke's mate, Skiel's exuberance was barely contained. "Many blessingsss and peace on your nessst and all within it." An amused sound cricks in the back of his throat. "Telamon's? Hah...! He mussst have been very confused."

The line of questioning gets another exhale. A black laced plume of frozen mist vented to the side as he carefully pulls himself to his feet. "Currently, thisss one isss okay. There are good daysss and there are bad daysss. Thisss one managesss it well enough, though recently it hasss been getting..." He waffles for a word, before finding it and circling a hand around the side of his head, "... louder. Have been needing to- erm- let loose? More often. Thisss one triesss to keep the, erm, aftermath to a minimum if they can." He glances to the carcasses of game. "... hunting for food isss one way. Thisss one admitsss, they are finding it harder to cope on the bad days like today."

Cuemoni makes a thoughtful noise, her tail sweeping a little in the snow behind her as she listens to Skielstregar. She's clearly fixated on the idea that maybe there's something that could help.

Her eyes come back up to Skielstregar's dead ones and she says, "This one wonders. Have you tried talismans to calm and soothe the other spirit? It is not good to bind it away. But if there is a way to get it to calm..."

She rumbles in thought again. "It may result in an increased quality of life for Warrior Skielstregar," she says.

"Other ssspirit?" Skiel dumbly echoes, scratching his head. "Erm, thisss one isss always open to trying new thingsss. Binding it away, no, of course, that isss not good. But thisss one'sss body isss alwaysss at oddsss with their mind. It isss thisss one, not an erm... ssspirit? Or ssomething else- thisss one admits they aren't a Sshamn."

He languidly shifts on his feet. "But thisss one is willing to try anything once. Softskin drinksss and clothesss, different foodsss, different templesss, different foodsss-" didn't he already say that? "-So, erm, we can try."

Cuemoni now is dimly beginning to understand. She nods gently, regarding Skielstregar a little longer before she responds. "This one called it another spirit," she says, "because it had sounded like another voice. But maybe that is not accurate. Sometimes a spirit can have two voices if they are injured in such a manner. You have the body and the mind, who want different things."

She makes a thoughtful rumble again. "This one wonders--if there is a way to achieve union between them again. To repair the life out of balance. If not to make whole, then to repair the bridge so that communication is better, so that you may be yourself more often, so that the bad days are bad. That is this one's aim with this line of thinking and work."

Skielstregar looks, and smells, totally embarrassed at that. "... thisss one, um. Saysss many mean thingsss and fightsss with themself when like that. They don't mean anything mean. Honessst." He dips his head in thought. "...sssa. Perhapsss. Thisss one isss dealing with two voicesss. Desssiresss."

The Shaman's thoughts garner an uncomfortable avoidance of gaze from the larger than life Warrior. "Thisss one spoke with the Dragonfather with Shaman Zeke'sss help. Thisss one wasss told the, um, Hunger will never go away." He coughs, rubbing at his old-scar laden forearms. "Union? Thisss one... triesss to accept this part of them. But there are sssome thingsss they cannot compromise on. Thisss one wondersss what sssort of bridge you may have in mind to help? The body growsss stronger, and the mind isss tired."

"This one is unsure," Cuemoni admits, bashful again. "This one would need to do much more research. This one is far more used to speaking with the spirits of the world and not the spirits of the People. That is most likely more of Cihuaa's domain." Her voice is all the warmer for her reference to Zeke.

She looks around at the trees and then... "This one, ah, was trying to befriend local winter spirits," she admits. "In an attempt to make their winter lighter around this one's home and hearth with Cihuaa."

It's a pipe dream, but a Shaman can dream.

Skiel smiles weakly, tail swaying behind him. "Thisss one will take any help they can get, big or small. Thisss one appreciatesss your help now and then, Ssshaman Cuemoni." He gives a little bow.

Having a second wind now, the silverscale walks back a bit to retrieve the buck he sloughed off, returning with it held over a shoulder as if it were nothing more than a bag of beets. He gives a small laugh. "Ahh... yesss. The winter spiritsss here love to ssshow that it isss winter. Thisss one'sss suggessstion? Asssk fall spirits for good wood from sick trees. Make fire in houssse lasst long time."

He perks. "Thisss one providesss much lumber and firewood to Mictlan. Givesss firewood to friendsss. If you tell thisss one where nessst is, thisss one can deliver firewood."

Cuemoni's golden eyes are alight now with the idea that Skielstregar gives. "This is a good idea," she says. "This one will make stronger connections with spirits in the autumn. This one has already made arrangements with forest spirits for permission to harvest fallen wood and dying trees."

As to Skielstregar's suggestion, Cuemoni rumbles a little hesitantly. "This one will ask Cihuaa," she says. "Cihuaa has... endured much, and this one does not want to discomfort him by giving away a location so easily. For now..."

The Shaman looks around the woods. "This one should return home, in fact," she says. "To make sure Cihuaa is well and not cold." There's a happy rumbling there. It is clear Zeke is a well-cared-for lizard.

Skiel rumbles warmly, stepping past the wrapped up blue scale to carefully place the caught game onto the pile. He reaches into the snow, pulling out ropes buried underneath, as a tug breaks free a makeshift sled the soon-to-be-food was placed on! "Sssaa. Thisss one knowss of many placess in these woodsss to find the fallen, dying, and dead onesss."

The hesitancy is met with an easy, "No matter. Thisss one can drop it off at Mictlan for you two pick up, or can deliver it sssomeplace else that you can gather from," he suggests. "Thisss one undersstandsss."

The silverscale takes another deep breath in, the frigid air invogorating him further. As his outburst and derangement has seemingly settled the conflict between his mind and body for the time being. "Let thisss one at leasst walk you back to the main trailsss? It would be remisss for a Warrior to leave a Ssshaman in the biting cold!" he teases. There's the old Skiel!

Cuemoni cannot help but to rumble with a chuckle to see the obvious sign of her friend coming back to his normal self. "This one will accept your offer, Warrior Skielstregar," she says.

They walk for a time in the winter cold back to the winter trails, with Cuemoni occasionally gathering more flame in her hands to warm herself--but, of course, keeping it away from Skielstregar so that he can enjoy the snow. It is the way of friendship.