Dreams and Dinner
Log Info
- Title: Dreams and Dinner
- Emitter: Geir
- Characters: Geir, Cryosanthia, Durrankar
- Place: W02: Mictlan
- Time: Thursday, February 06, 2020, 6:06 PM
- Summary: Cryo meets with Geir to discuss the dreams she had after the Ceremony of the Blood. She is concerned that she couldn't discern any meaning from hers, which featured visits from old friends and random scenery. She wondered if they were real, or merely wishful thinking, and while she feels better doesn't feel she should be feeling better. Geir explains that Ancestor Dragons and Gods are real, but should be thought of as parents pointing in a direction, and not blatantly rubbing one's face in a message. He has to leave for Shaman duties, and Durrankar arrives. Cryo and he discuss their roles and some people they've known. They make plans to show her Chalice around the Alexandrian temples.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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 central Fire.
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. There are always a number of them about, from a mixture of tribes. Formally, the sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame, and celebrate the Memory of Blood. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse. Informally, it is a gathering place.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Geir 5'8" 200 Lb Sith-Makar Male A short, copper-scaled Sith-makar. Cryosanthia 6'7" 245 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos. Durrankar 7'0" 398 Lb Sith-Makar Male Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The cold, grey and wet night is outside the boundaries of Mictlan. Under the sacred bones, it is warm and calm. With the exception of the ravening hordes of younglings. A record number of younglings, it seems, have survived to earn their names.
At a tent a little distance from the central fire, a copper-scale Sith wearing the armor of a Death Dragon shaman sits beside a smaller fire. At his feet are a couple dozen younglings. They seem a little tired, but are paying rapt attention to Geir's words. He makes a quick gesture, and his tail raises up and comes crashing down with a loud thump, causing a cheer and much chatter among the children.
"And now, little ones. It is time for you to head to your bedss. Else the brood-mothers will come clucking." There's a unified sound of disappointment, before they start to wander off. The copper-scale chuckles at length, and slaps one of his knees.
A white shadow slips closer, the fire revealing her to be a slim sith-makar in uninspired leather armour. Simple, roughly made and roughly repaired, its main feature is it matches the scales of Cryosanthia. She moves into the warmth, "Were all those stories true? I.. this one was listening but did not want to disturb. Peace be upon your Nest, Shaman Geir. May I join you?"
The copper-scale's horns splay outwards slightly, and he turns to nods to her. "The sspeaker from the ceremony. Cryosanthia?" The corners of his mouth curl upwards, and he pulls a log out and sets it upon its end, making a stool similar to the one he balances on. "Of coursse, you are welcome. Peace on your nesst. And please, one may call me Geir when it is a er..." He pauses a moment and then continues. "A cassual occassion. This one is easy going."
Cryosanthia takes a seat on the log-stool, folding her legs against it and her tail curling around also. "Yes, the one from. Cryosanthia is fine as well, or Cryo, which is best in emergencies. Thank you."
The edges of her mouth likewise curl, both eyes on Geir, wide, blue and attentive. Her hands are clasped in her lap, her fingers moving against each other as she thinks. Choosing a question, perhaps. "You have some interesting scars. I have some rumoured information, and... thoughts that haven't organized. Would you want to talk about any of these?"
Geir's head cants slowly to one side, an eyeridge arching upwards. "One's scars are simply scars. One has no concerns speaking about them, if you like." He stands then, and reaches into his tent, pulling kettle from inside. He shakes it, and it makes a borbling sound, nearly full it seems. Satisfied, he hangs it over the fire. Pulling closer a larger log, one that has some mugs upon it, and a little pouch, the copper-scale settles back down.
"One has tea to offer. So, you ssay you have rumours? And unorganized thoughtss? Which of your topicss feels more presssing?" Cryosanthia watches the tea, her body turning slightly towards the cups, expressing an interest. Her tailtip twitches back and forth in a small sweep. "The rumours... can keep, a little. A couple humans confide in me and I'm not sure who to relay them to, the Elder Speaker I suppose. My thoughts. They... I. I've had a lot to think about since the Ceremony. Were my dreams supposed to make sense?"
The copper-scale seems slightly amused, and he lets out a light huff of air through his nose. "One has had to answer thiss question many times." He leans forward slightly, resting his hands upon his knees. "The spirits are often our ancestorss. For many, ancestorss wish to impart a feeling of ... hmm, good omens. Perhaps some get more.. of a direct purpose. Some ancestors ssee... deep into the minds of others. Heal hurts. Lift up. Inspire confidence. Offer feelings of acceptance." Geir offers a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It is different for everyone, yet sometimes similar."
Cryo eagerly leans forward, listening, rapt. The curl of her smile continues and her mouth opens in a small grin. "I'm sorry to be so predictable. I felt better, a lot better. I remember being small, like those younglings. And seeing a lake for the first time, so wide. Friends... that I haven't seen in a long time."
She touches a small pouch she wears around her neck. "They weren't mad... and ice. Ice and clouds, floating by."
Geir shakes his head. "No need to apologize. One should not be surprissed that it is a popular quesstion." He listens to her as she speaks of her dream. "Hmm. Well, it is posssible that you are meant to be reminded of something. Perhaps be instilled with awe and wonder. As one grows, one loses this feeling, it becomess... rare. Friends... perhaps nostalgia is the aim? All in all, even if the only point was to make you feel good, it was a good dream."
"Could it have been them? Would the Death Singing Dragon let them come back to check on me, to say it's Ok? Was it real? Or a wish that I could forgive myself? I felt old, a lot older, and you're..." Cryosanthia dips her nose and pulls her neck back. She covers her snout with her hand. "... my elder. I'm going to make a lot more mistakes right, and that's Ok. I felt I was that white dame I saw in the fire and also that she was looking and me. And, amused. In a good way."
The copper-scale is silent for a time, his eyes on her. No judgement, but some evaluation. "It is not my place to ssay what the spirits may or may not mean, at least, not definitively. The Death Singing Dragon, Vardama, works as many gods and goddesses do... subtly." He offers his hand to her, holding it out palm upwards.
"We are often our own worst enemies. Doubt clouds much. Mistakes make one second-guess one's actions. The spirits, our ancestors... even the godss, offer up such dreamss for reflection. One should always sseek forgivenesss of one's sself. Elsse you fall into a deep hole that you might never be free of."
She takes his hand, laying her palm on his, her white scales reflecting the fire-light flickering yellow and orange. Not copper, but close in colour. "I know that hole, and I thought I was out of it. After the dreams I felt higher, like I'd climbed out of a level of it I didn't know I was still in. That this is me now, with the markings. I still don't like them but ... I guess I was expecting a revelation, or a message or something. Not scenes and feeling better."
Geir places his other hand over top of her, squeezing gently. "One forgives you.", he says simply.
"One suggests... one suggests seeing gods and ancestor spirits as parents. Not as magical beings, or omnipotent beingss. They often point you in a direction. They do not drag you to the point, and rub your face in it."
The copper-scale chuckles lightly. "What would we learn if they did it for us? Often a gentle pussh does more than a direct action."
Cryosanthia makes a small squeak, squeezing Geir's hand tightly and holding on. Her breath is caught and held for a long while, and when she exhales she says, "Thank you."
She lets her hand relax, nodding, "That seems wise. For them, to point, and you to know. That they're pointing. I'm looking and wondering what is up with that fingernail, I am sure." Her eyes glitter a warm saphhire, glowing from the fire. Her voice light.
"Was your dream something you would share?"
The copper-scale snorts in amusement, and gently lets go of her hand. "One thought ssimilar thingss the firsst few times also." His shoulders roll slightly in a shrug. "One shouldn't search for too long or too hard for meaning in dreams. ssometimes they are ssimply your mind wandering. Other timess, there iss meaning to be found."
The kettle begins to whistle, steam erupting from the spout. Geir pulls it carefully from the fire, and sets it down upon the makeshift table. From the pouch he pulls a number of tealeaves, which he deposits evenly into two mugs. Water is then poured. "One waits a short time, tea will steep."
His lips curl up at her questions, and he taps the side of his nose. "One had no dreamss. One sslept not." He chuckles at length. "One was coaxing the ancesstorss to speak to those freshly caste, as well as all present under the bones of the Great One."
"That's one way to avoid them!" Cryo says, with a wide grin and a chuckle. "The Ceremony went well. The freshly caste, I am happy for them. Zeke and this one had an argument, but I was so happy to see him. He looked great. It was a blur for me. I thought I would be... around, in a group, on the edge of thing. Then my Elder said to go out and start it! A great honour and terrifying at the same time. I felt so... Yes!"
As she speaks her energy builds until she's holding her hands up in excitment and squirming on the stool. "I hope they felt that. That what I was feeling. That everything."
A Speaker without enough words. Her storytelling may need some work too.
Geir chuckles. "One was not avoiding them. One was honouring them, and one was honoured by them." His facial expression is mirthful as she recounts her feelings of the event. "Zeke was quite strong. One was amazed and happy too. One was honoured that Zeke showed his crystalline limbs, one suggested he do so. It musst have been exhilarating. Freeing. Leaving some of one's life behind and taking on new aspects."
The copper-scale rubs at his chin. "One is certain they felt it. You were a catalyst. You did well."
"I... did too. That was our argument. He said I wouldn't show my tattoos. And I wasn't going to until... I run towards the thing I'm afraid of, when I see my fear. He was really brave, and he was right, and I'm glad I was a part of the ceremony, and it helped." Cryosanthia smiles proudly, "I hope it was, for him, as shiny and brilliant as he looked. Earlier had not been good. He had been studying, not eating, and some of his past came back to get him. I can't speak of that, but what he was studying did tie in with those rumours I mentionned."
"One knows of his brood-mother. One knows the name she gave him. Of the damage she did to him. One followed him, once, long ago. One was barely out of the shell. Perhaps eighty years past?" The copper-scale straightens, his armor jingling lightly, his hand dropping to his sword's hilt. "If one did not have respect for Mictlan, and for Zeke, one would have forced her to leave and never return. On point of death."
Geir takes a breath and offers up a mug of tea to the white-scale Sith. He sips from the other mug, and lets out another breath.
"One found purpose when he left me. One became beholden to Vardama. Hers."
She takes the mug, holding it. Her toes clenching to hold the ground, her breath held until Geir breathes out, so she does with him. She holds the mug under her nose, inhaling the steam and scent, then takes a slow sip. "She called bad parts of me to the fore. I was not expecting that. I have questions but will ask Zeke. Or not. They may not be things I need to know. I'm glad he listened to you. And that Vardama knows your value."
"No, one learned of the value of Vardama.", he says, taking another sip of tea. "One is but a single servant, and a lowly one at that. One tries not to be too proud. Humble. Humility."
Setting the mug down, Geir rubs at his temples. "That brood-mother iss very good at evoking emotion, and then using custom, tradition, our wayss, against you. The shamans and warriors have offered Zeke assistance. Comfort. Protection. And removal of said brood-mother. One delivered their message personally, on the agreement that Zeke decides if she goes, and all abide by hiss decision."
"Good at using the traditions, but not abiding by them. My skills were naught." Cryosanthia says, taking another long sip of her tea, finishing it. She stares longingly at the bottom of the mug. "This one would have more, please."
She holds the mug out in a coy way, a playful and dramatic looking pose, to perhaps lighten the mood. Just short of putting her hand to her forehead and falling over backwards, with a cry of 'my kingdom for some tea', it's a silly pantomime taken to an extreme. "This one would help, should you wish a dramatic flair on your side. I hope to see Zeke soon, to congratulate him and let him know this one would protect him also."
The copper-scale snorts, and shakes his head, taking up her mug. The kettle is hung back over the fire, and the leaves in her cup investigated. A few fresh ones are added to those already inside.
"One need only wait for the kettle to whisstle once more. As for that brood-mother, one shall deal with her one's self. Or allow the warrior-caste to deal with her. One would not allow her to hurt anyone else. One has been hurt badly, one cannot be harmed by her words. One is.. immune."
Tail thumping can be heard...not just one, but a few...as a few of the warrior caste move out of the way of a silver carrying a staff walking into Mictlan. He walks his way to the communal fire and gets a bit of meat from the fire. Tearing at it with his teath...he chews a bit before looking to Cryo. "Are you still showing that chalice around?"
The white-scale smoothly switches from her silly pose to a more casual one, alert and leaning forward, watching the copper-scale. Observing his body language, hoping to scent something. She's not that skilled at reading others, but his words are clear. She's relaxed, projecting calm. Cryo lays her hand on Geir's knee, "I'm sorry I brought her to your fire, lets lay her aside and talk of other things. When it's time, what must be done, you will do. I have no doubt."
And there's the topic change! "Steward Durrankar! Peace be upon your nest. No? Yes? It's in my bag here if you want to see it. I haven't brought it out in a few days."
Geir's horns flare once more, and he shakes his head. "It iss fine, it iss jusst talk. One would know what thoughtss you had, about thesse rumours." The copper-scale reaches to the kettle hanging over his fire, and sets to pouring the water into a mug. Which he then offers back to Cryosanthia. "However, one must see to a little bit of business. You are welcome to sit by my fire and enjoy the tea. One will return later."
To Durrankar, he nods. "Peace on your nest.", he intones, before he departs, moving towards a gaggle of shamans in the distance.
Durrankar looks over as Geir leave. "Interesting." he says before Cryos. "You are new from Am'shere, are you not? So you had your Caste ceremony, here?"
Cryosanthia gestures to the abandonned log standing on end that Geir was using as a stool. She moves hers a little closer to the fire so she can take over the tea tending. "I am new from Am'Shere, yes. My arrival was a little over two weeks ago. My caste ceremony was earlier, in Am'Shere. I was not as young as some of the younglings that found caste this ceremony, but my caste was chosen early. I was the Speaker, to start it, and second to add my blood to the fire, after Shaman Geir, to evoke the Memories."
"And he was the one who just left?" Durrankar says as he gets out a few strips to put on sticks and cook over the fire. "Sssso which caste did you choose? and Why?"
"Yes, that was Shaman Geir." Cryosanthia nods, rocking from side to side on her stool. "This one is a Speaker. I chose it, well, because I talk a lot. I'm cleverer than most, but not really smart so I wouldn't do as a Lore-Keeper. I can fight, but, only well if I move around. Not the best for standing shoulder to shoulder with other Warriors, shields ready. I have some magic tricks now... but I'd never be a Shaman, and I'm absolutely terrible at spotting things and tracking so Hunters wouldn't want me. Especially since I talk a lot, like I said. And I like stories, and jokes, and performing."
Durrankar says, "Mmmm....Sounds like a shaman to me. There is strength in words, but it's a matter of when to use those words than just talking to talk." He then prods a larger piece of meat and holds it over the fire. "I imagine you enjoy stories...""
Cryosanthia leans forward. She keeps glancing at the meat, as she is hungry, but her attention is focused on Durrankar. "Oh yes! Do you have one you would share?"
The kettle starts to whistle. She takes a stick and hooks it off, then sets it on the log that is functioning as a table. The packet of tea is opened, shaken into one of the mugs. She pours hot water into the other, swirls and casts it out, then puts some leaves in that as well. Hot water is added to both next. "He said to let it steep, then it's ready."
Durrankar says, "You are making leaf water. At least it is not foul water." he says with a hrf as he watches the meat sizzle as well. "I have many I could share. This one is of a sharpear. He was so convinced of how he was better than everyone else that he tried to stand taller than me.....and he was only five feet tall. Anytime there was a female around....his shirt would magically come off. He was convinced he was perfect...and he should be worshipped. So....you can imagine I wasn't impressed.""
Cryosanthia nods, listening along. She grins when the shirt is mentioned. "Yes, I would imagine not. He sounds very small and untoward." She shakes her mug, swirling it so the water starts spinning. She tilts her head, "Did he provoke?"
"Not immediately. He was rather infuriating to many of us. Especially when he got a griffin, and would make it a point to land it in the middle of the marketplace in the city.....and land it....out in the middle of a dense forest..where the griffin would very likely crash." Durrankar just shook his head. "Everything he did was a cry to 'pay attention to me'. then we went on a mission....that required stealth...."
Cryosanthia's tailtip starts to twitch, and then her tail unwraps and coils the other way around her stool and legs, then she uncurls it again. She crosses her legs so the opposite ankle is in. "Yessss... that seems... unwise to have sent him. And... why do Griffins crash in the forest?"
"The branches. The Griffin has a 40 foot wingspan. Hit the wings, and it disrupts their flight. Plus momentum, so a Griffin trying to land in the forest is going to hit a lot of trees, branches, and the like. They will not stop quickly. Plus..the leaves block your vision. So....it's unwise for a griffin to land in a forest. It's why they prefer to land in a field. This sharpear did not care. He wanted to arrive in dramatic fashion." Durrankar then shrugs. "We went on one mission that required stealth. I am not all that great at stealth, but I can change into something that is. So many of us went around this heavily fortified place to try and stop a group from attacking Alexandria. So while we're trying to sneak in....off he rushes to face them head on.....and gets captured.
"Oh, right, that makes sense. With the Griffin." Cryosanthia says, leaning forward and holding her mug with both hands. Her eye-ridges press down in a frown, "Why would he think attacking alone made sense. What happened when he was captured?" Durrankar says, "I do not know. When he was captured...the rest of us simply...continued with the mission. We all knew what sort of person he was...so we sort of left him to finish the mission, then come back for him. Turns out, somehow...he got free, but not before we finished the mission without him. And he acted like he was the savior of the team.""
"Well..." The white-scaled sith hugs her ankles against the log she is sitting on, and takes another drink from her mug. Her tail moves, enough to adjust the way she's sitting but otherwise to no real effect. She nods. "He sounds foolish. This one can see acting as he did, but one would say, 'Hey, I'm going to go be distracting and I'm confident I can talk my way out of anything I get into. Start sneaking in when you hear the bang'. So the team would know. I wouldn't leave them to figure it out. So I still judge him foolish if that was his plan, and this one is being charitable that he had one and did not think himself a golden-born, golden-egg."
Durrankar says, "I'm still surprised we made it through many of the ordeals we were in." he then shakes his head...and grabs two of the meatsticks and hands one to Cryo. "I wonder if the Angel is still in the Templeof Daeus.""
Cryo takes the offered meatstick, "The Angel, an actual angels is in the Temple of Daeus? What is... it? doing there?" Durrankar says, "If it is still there. Protecting the book of light, after the vile summoner tried to take him over." he then tears a hunk off of the meat stick. "We had to save him from corruption. I'm the one who managed to do the dispel that removed the corruption.""
"That is very powerful. The temple is still there, I think. I've been to the Temple district in Alexandria, but only the one to Elune and Vardama. I don't know the names of them all. Are you skilled at banishing demons, could you send one back to its plane? Also, did you want to see the Chalice, you asked about it earlier?" Cryosanthia pulls her flimsy backpack around. It has essentially 1 lump in it, that's very large cup shaped.
"Eluna, and sure. I shall travel with you. I imagine we may run into Svarshan around the temple district ourselves. The Temple district is dedicated to the gods of good. The Death Singing Dragon is not in that area, but up in the mountainside....as a way to protect the bodies of the ones who have answered the dragon's song."
"I'm still finding my way around the city, so I would appreciate that." Cryosanthia explains. "This one wishes to see Svarshan again, quite strongly. You mean to go in the morning? I have not been at night. Do the humans leave them open all hours?"
Durrankar says, "I think the softskins close their borders at night, and question anyone wishing to enter when the sun sets. So it is better when the sun is up. even I would be questioned about entering the city at night."
Cryosanthia nods, biting off another piece of her meat-stick, and swallowing it. "That's true. They've let me out late, but I've never tried to get in at night. The days are so short I think I've only ever seen the outside of the Wayfarer Inn with darkvision."
Durrankar says, "Mmm......perhaps your nose would get better over time. It shall help. For now. Meat, then rest.""
Cryosanthia grins, showing all her sharp teeth, her eyes shining bright, "Meat sounds great! Rest too." She thumps her tail happily.
