Kintsugi

Log Info

• Title: Kintsugi
• Emitter: Skielstregar
• Characters: Skielstregar, Un'eth, Vaera
• Place: Mictlan
• Time: September 27th, 2021
• Summary: Skielstregar seeks out Shaman Un'eth to garner some insight into his deathly aura. Such inspection is briefly interrupted by a begging swiftclaw, Vaera coming in to join them and to ensure the little rascal sticks to their training. Un'eth discovers that the deathly, decaying scent was not on him it was coming from him in magical waves. Theories are thrown about between all three of them on what it could be, as well as ways to fix it (all of them arduous). Skielstregar gets another bop for his self-loathing, and Un'eth shares some about her past and being formed from The People's will and acceptance. They turn their attention to a new task at hand: feeding a ravenous swarm of hatchlings.

Mictlan, Late Afternoon.

It's an overscast day, dark clouds making it seem like the sky was turning night sooner than normal. Still, the starlight twinkles through, as well as the moon, giving the commune a dim light aside from the fires that dot various camps.

One lumbering figure passes by, their shadow elongated by the fires and flickering, like something out of a nightmare puppet show, but instead a timid and tired looking tarnished bronze scale goes about Mictlan, seeking out a particular ebon scaled shaman while keeping some distance from other kin.

Un'eth is not difficult to find... aside from the fact that there are, of course, many of The People here in Mictlan and her scales blend somewhat well into the dim and mist. She currently squats near one of the cookfires, taking a moment to rotate a spit that bears a whole cleaned boar.

It takes Skeilstregar a bit, it difficult for him to find who is who, as he doesn't near most folk to recognize. Though, it was him stopping by to get something to eat that he runs into the shaman. The miasma of death greets first, before- "Ah.. peace on your nest, Un'eth, this one was looking for you," Skielstregar greets, raising a hand and sitting near the cookfire.

Un'eth gestures with claws while the others adjust the meat to her satisfaction. "Peace on your nest, Skielstregar. Sit, share words. You have found me." With the pig situated, snout and eyes then pan to the bronze.

The half dead man crosses his legs, him folding his too-long taloned hands in his lap. "Thank you, shaman," he bows his head respectfully. He gives a lofty sigh, cold air billowing out from him. "This one has... concerns. About their scent. It... has been a hinderance recently. This one met a copper scale the other day, and this one set them on edge. While they trust The People, they do not want to make The People uncomfortable. This one is curious if you might be able to take a look. A more professional opinion."

Un'eth's head tilts far to her left in curiosity as she inhales. "The scent of decay is a warning, to most. Death may mean a danger still lurks, or is a sign of abominations that walk when they should not. Some shall scent it far before I, or take such more poorly. Was yours always such? Does it wax and wane? It could be covered by others, mayhap, but to address it requires we know the source." She may have suspicions, but she does not presume.

Skielstregar sighs and shakes his head. "No, not always. This one had normal scents, before their... kidnapping and transformation. After then it was always there. Softskins feel it as dread, as this one has been told. It matters not how much this one bathes or tries to mask it, it almost always seems as if it overpowers all. It... is hard to tell if it wanes or not, as this one is so used to it. This one thinks it wanes? Vaera noted it did briefly, but isn't sure if it's related."

To the trained nose of Un'eth, it certainly smelled like there was a twinge of... magic to it?

That day, Vaera had made herself scarce hunting in the forests. It was not until much later that she returned.

At the fire where Un'eth cooked,there is movement. And a dark green, juvenile swiftclaw pads over. They look to Skielstregar, then to Un'eth before they sit down, continuing to watch her with their head tilted slightly.

Un'eth considers the scent. Obviously, those not-quite-forgotten are also not-quite-common, thus her knowledge of specifics, much less of a whole group, is quite limited. "Ssa, I do sense..."

Her head turns at the pause to regard the swiftclaw. One that seems curious, or patient, or perhaps both, as well as "... one that may be hungry..."

"You sense...-" Skiel repeats before looking down at the swiftclaw. He tilts his head one way, than the other way before his dead eyes widen slightly. An unsettling grin cracks across his features as he leans down, a hand running over the swiftclaw's side. "Ah! You again. This one has no more sticks for you. Did you steal Vaera's leg once more? Are you hiding from her?"

The swiftclaw was certainly patient. Almost as large as a makari already, but patiently sitting next to Un'eth. It keeps it's head tilted, and chirps in response the question of hunger. It looks back to Skielstregar, and chirps once again. Back to the boar, and back to Un'eth.

There is a sharp whistle and the swiftclaw hops up and pads over to the side of the familiar dark red makari. She has several fish strung up and held in one hand, and a wild turkey in their other.

"Apologies, and greetings, Skielstregar and Un'eth." She says once close enough. "This one is teaching them to not sneak food, but they will still wait patiently for those who look like they have any."

"A lesson followed should be rewarded," Un'eth notes to Vaera and gestures to a different, partialy-consumed spit of meat on the other side of the fire. Her attention then returns to Skielstregar. "Magic. I sense magic. Perhaps a remnant of your past trials, or a mark of those current..." She peers at him again, uttering short words to Ea as she does so.

GAME: Un'eth casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 19 DC: 16

Skielstregar cranes his head back to the whistle, and smiles. He raises a large hand. "Peace on your nest. You are training them well, seeing as they are not snapping up what is around. Are you growing fond of them, redscale?" he teases.

He turns his attention back to Un'eth, him reaching out to cut off part of the spit for himself. "Magic..?" he echoes.

Ea provides. The man was swathed in an almost constant miasma of necromancy, perhaps a tinge of transmutation within the mix. It rolls off him like clouds of heavy fog, and scatters along the ground before sinking back into the earth to return to Ea. Wait. It comes from, him. He is, for all intents and purposes, leaking mana. As if something within is causing this, and has no outlet. So it seeps out.

"One of the handlers in Mictlan had their hands full of late." Vaera explains as she walks over to the cooking skewer. She pulls a knife out of her coat and carves a hunk out off the spit. Skirting around everyone, she sits between Skielstregar, Un'eth, and the swiftclaw, who she offers the meat to to be snapped up quickly.

"This one decided to help, and saw they would make a good hunting companion, for myself, or others with proper training."

Her attention turns to Skielstregar's question, and Un'eth. "Magic? What are you two speaking about, if it is not a private matter?"

Un'eth studies and peers at Skielstregar further. "You release it, like fog rolling down the mountainside. It is not upon you, but within you. It could be that whatever was done will not last, and bleeds away to its end. The scent could fade and vanish. If it is vital to you, so could you." Either way, it might be a temporary problem.

Skielstregar nods at Vaera's explanation and smiles a bit as it snaps up its treat. "That is kind of you. Have you thought of a name for the little rascal?"

Though at that, Skiel turns his head to Un'eth, a slab of food hanging from his mouth and dripping fat onto the ground. He pierces it with a talon and removes it. "... what," he stats flatly, the miasma of death around him mingling with shock. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore. The man touches his chest, scaled brows pinching together in worry. "... temporary problem that may have permanent consequences."

Vaera was sitting by the fire and skewering some fish when she heard the explanation. Her expression, scent, both were unreadable. Except for the scent of one of her fingers being pierced by the skewer. The redscale chuffs as they press down on it.

She looks to Skielstregar, gauging their reaction, and back to Un'eth. "So, this scent, it is from some magics, and the magics are part of him." She states. "Is there, any way to determine the importance? If it is such a matter, this one can live with it."

Un'eth peers at Skiel further with his words. "Do you know anything of what was done to you?" To Vaera, she lifts a hand; not a dismissive gesture but more to indicate a halt or pause. "Ssa. It is possible, but may take time. Most are either The People or The Forgotten; those between are rare, and the foul mul'niessa who perform such dark deeds may not enact the same vileness twice!" The identity of those responsible is stated with full certainty.

Skielstregar shifts a bit uncomfortably, him chewing on the meal as a way to buy some time to answer. He looks one way, then another, scanning for hatchlings before lowering his voice to a rumble. "This one, like the other of the Forgotten kin, was starved and fed the flesh. And blood. A lot of blood. This one grew angry. So angry. It blinded them. This one barely remembers those times after. This one remembers... being hungry and... wanting to kill. Those vile people using magics on us to make us even more so. Then this one fell in a battle. And woke up like this."

A long pause, dead eyes unfocused on the fire before him.

"... this one does not wish to return to Ea just yet," he whispers.

"Apologies, Shaman Un'eth." Vaera replies, bowing her head slightly as she cut some more meat to feed to the swiftclaw that was half asleep by the fire now. Not asleep enough to pass up another treat, however. She looks back to Skielstregar, and chuffs. "It is a horrible process, and, a imprecise one. This one has encountered forgotten before, and all have had various afflictions, despite similarities." hen, she growls once, a glance stolen to her leg. "This one agrees completely. Those who would cause such suffering willingly, are scum. But a search for vengeance can not overlook those in need."

Un'eth considers these further details. Peering eyes narrow. They then blink and widen. Her posture straightens as she sits more upright rather than lean so near the bronze. A light thrumming is made in her throat, nearly a hiss, and her tailtip flicks at a pace somewhere between thoughtful and wary.

"It may be that you already did, young one, or nearly so. The body cannot truly live without the spirit, yet the spirit can survive a brief time without the body. This is why one can be healed by some magics, even when truly fallen, if done so immediately. Far more powerful are those that can restore one even a day past; the spirit has already moved on."

A pause and a claw lifts to point at Skielstregar. "You may have fallen in battle, yet even as the Death-singing Dragon inhaled to sing your tales, Her breath to carry your spirit to skies and earth... these magics pulled you to return. Flawed, vile magics, used not for aid but greed and suffering. It could be a part of your spirit still travelled on, and carried with it the parts most twisted by the false dragon's blood."

"More of your purest self remained, yet not wholly clean; you returned with your true thoughts, yet the hunger still gnaws. Your spirit may be stronger, cleaner for it, but your body suffered the ravages of it. If this is so, there is a path, perhaps more than one, to restore body and spirit.. but any shall be a difficult path."

Skielstregar slides his gaze over to Vaera, him glancing down at her wooden leg as well. he averts his eyes. If she had ran into Forgotten before, then it made all the more sense to act the way she did towards him when they first met. "Yes. Those that did this are scum. And this one is uncertain their sins have yet to be punished."

His attention slides over to Un'eth. And he stills as she provides further insight. Much, much further insight than he could have ever gleamed. He leans forward, both dead eyes firmly affixed to the shaman's words and teachings. Such a theory seemed... right?

He brings a long taloned hand to his chin, resting it there, pensive as pieces of the puzzle slowly snap into place. "... the Death-singing Dragon cleansing the corruption. Yet this one's spirit... got pulled back into their corrupted form..." he rumbles to himself, an odd sort of peace smoothing out his features.

His gaze lifts once more, empty eyes squinting in focus. "This one would hear your ideas, shaman, as they thank you for your knowledge."

Vaera pauses what she was doing to listen, now, with her roasting fish set. The swiftclaw next to her looks to Skielstregar, and nudges him in the side with their snout.

"This one, never met a forgotten who smelled like decay." She notes finally. "This one, was told that when a sith-makar is brought back to life after being made forgotten, the changes were permanent. Perhaps, not always."

She looks back to Un'eth, and chuffs. "This one has not heard of any capable of reversing the physical effects either, yet he manages so, to a degree. It is when he, injures his arm, that they grow back, yet also, he visibly drips mana. But what you say, it appears to not permanently stop leaking after, even now."

"It is a possible past that answers questions," Un'eth notes, "It is not the only possible past, and may not be the truth, or not the whole of it." She shuffles to the side briefly to cut a strip of meat from the cooked boar (not the one she had set) and then back, draping the warm (not hot) strip across the top of the swiftclaw's snout.

Another throat sound is made as she looks to Vaera. "It may be that the magics that repaired or bind his form still play their part and repair the body more quickly than is normal. As for paths to correction..."

Her head pans to the bronze. "One is to complete what was interrupted and grant your body the true death it nearly found. Allow your spirit to move on. Destroy the corrupted flesh utterly."

"Then, with the most powerful of magics, recall your spirit and reform your flesh to match it. That would be the most simple portion of that path. First, you would need purify your own spirit; purge yourself of the hunger and all related to it. Else your flesh would reform in kind. Improved, perhaps, without the death magics, but yet tainted. Second, your spirit would need desire to return. You may say now that you do not wish to be one with Ea and ancestors, but your spirit might find a welcome peace and comfort there and choose to remain."

The half-dead makari looks down at the swiftclaw, a light sigh escaping him as he reaches down to run a hand over the top of their scaled head. "Vaera has the right of it. It's as if this one can return to being Forgotten temporarily, yet this one still keeps his mind."

He holds up a hand, blocking his snout. "Though this one has no intentions of partaking," he assuages.

The tarnished bronzescale tilts his head one way as Un'eth explains. Then his head cranes up in surprise. Does a sith-makar lose color in their face? It must have been so, the man's scales dull, and a dread matches the decay and death. Of the whole explanation, not even the teasing of the swiftclaw makes him break out of his silence.

He instead offers a simple: "This one would not want to experience death again. Such a process sounds ravaging to the spirit, and the mind..."

The swiftclaw in question chirps at the pat, only to find something draped across their snout. They snuffle and shake their head about a moment, trying to dislodge the treat until they flick their head upwards, catching the morsel in waiting jaws.

Vaera. continues to listen, reaching into the fire to turn the fish skewers. She chuffs.

"This one did not expect you to, Skielstregar. it is not like you." She says. "But, I understand. This would carry risks by the sounds of it, and pain. risks this one is not sure are worth it, or not."

Un'eth's head bobs in a nod. "It is direct, simple, yet dangerous; a walk through the high mountain pass rather than around. And like this, it is not the only path. The same power the slavers and mutilators sought could be used, by The People, to aid you."

Her prior directness and posture both relax somewhat. "With the aid of many Shaman, flesh can be made as spirit. By the will of your own kin, The People closest to you, your spirit can be sustained for a time without its own flesh while your form remakes itself in the image of your spirit, around your spirit. This I have witnessed myself, and know it can be done."

"Yet," a claw points sharply at Skielstregar again, "as with the other path, you must cleanse your spirit, first. That portion of the path none can make you walk."

Skielstregar sighs once more, a rolling cloud of visibly cold air appearing before being banished by the flames of the cookfire. He listens, yet sits straight up as the claw jabs in his direction, fearing for his snout once more. "Yes shaman. This one is not seeking any easy way to be free of their predicament."

He is silent for another spell. Taking in the information presented. "... this one sees why you explained to them about learning to live with it, as it seems to be a burden for The People to undergo with such a risk of not even working."

"The second path seems possible, however." Vaera notes, with a glance to Skielstregar. "And Un'eth says it has been done."

The redscale chuffs, and scratches the head of the large swiftclaw next to them. They were back to being half asleep.

"It is not a burden however, which is why it likely requires those close. But, Skielstregar. You have a long life. If there is a way to help, to improve the many years, this one will do what they can to improve that time."

Un'eth's tail halts mid-sway at Skielstregar's words and she peers at him. Yet, before she comments, Vaera shares her words and Un'eth looks to the red. Her tail begins to move again as she rises to her feet. "You speak the truth and are wise, Vaera..."

Then Un'eth strikes, bringing her (other) hand down across the top of Skielstregar's snout. "And you would be wise to listen to her. Such has been done, and is a testament to the community of The People!"

The same hand that snout-swatted is now helf out, arm extended. With a claw on the other hand, she traces down the vine-like patterns of green scales amidst the black. "Ssylrath, Warrior of the Aseketus. A tribe least awakened, he became near-Forgotten as they consumed any meat as prey for lack of knowledge."

Her snout tips skyward as she then gestures along the glint of copper scales along her throat. "Sebropert, Hunter of the Green." Lastly, she gestures more generally to herself. "Svarshan, Brightscale of the Dragonfather. The three are my clutchmates, though they were strangers when we met. They succored my spirit that it would not fade."

"My spirit was of The People, though my flesh was not. Yet, those three, my cihuaa, and the many shamans of his tribe, now my tribe... all accepted me as one. They then granted me flesh to match my spirit."

Skielstregar was again, caught flat footed by such a gesture. Thinking he was finally in agreement with Un'eth, he turns his attention back to the fires. "This one- ACK!"

The bop makes him flail and fall off the log backwards he was sitting on. He warily rises, peeking over the log for anymore second retaliation bops. "T-This one listens to her!" he pleads.

Instead of another strike, he finds explanation. His eyes soften from his perch, the large man uncurling from cover and sitting back down to watch. A bit in awe. And a bit in sorrow.

"This one is sorry, they did not mean to upset you, shaman. It is well that your spirit found shape with The People. And that so many would impart upon you."

Vaera looks over, and was about to stand up, when Un'eth brought the hand down on Skielstregar's snout. She chuffs, and shakes her head, offering a hand up.

"This one believes it is about the belief in yourself, the spirit that is important." She says finally, shaking her head. "And to trust in the others."

"It sounds like something to be thought through. But this one has seen how your state troubles you, Skielstregar."

Un'eth's snout once more turns and dips to Vaera, "She is, indeed, very wise," is affirmed before her focus returns to the bronze. Her stance and tail relax, yet again.

"You do not anger me, troubled one." Her words are softer as she steps to approach him, though not at all aggressively. "It is that I see a pain that is all too familiar..."

Her scales begin to ripple, her form altering, shifting, shedding mass and stature. "The loss of your past and kin. To see others who might be friend, ally, even kin, and yearn for this... Yet to hear in their words, see in their eyes, witness in every stream or puddle the face of a monster. That you are forever separated."

A hand reaches up to rest upon Skielstregar's chest. A small, soft one that now barely can reach the spot. "You are not alone, and you are welcomed. You must heal -this- first, and I wish you may do so far more easily than I was able."

Un'eth shifts and distorts, eventually forming into a wiry Mul'niessa partially covered in a worn cloak.

Skiel takes the offered hand from Vaera and gets himself settled. Another sigh. "Yes. This one is... afraid of themselves. But must stay strong to believe in themselves as you say.

Dead eyes watch as Un'eth grows closer, only to grow wide as ebonscale becomes ebon flesh. His jaw opens in a touch of shock, conflicting feelings arising at the sight before him. Deep rooted fear, anger sparking, but muted by the respect he held for the others that knew more than he.

His chest is cold. Like the life had left the flesh and scale underneath. But despite that, his heart still beat. It's those beats that mark the languid wandering of his mind. From surprise, to sorrow, to an intense appreciation of being, finally, understood.

Empty eyes close, wet, and spill over. Without warning, large arms carefully envelop the small elf in front of him. And his large head rests on their shoulder.

".... t-thank you, Un'eth..." he shakily rumbles.

Vaera blinks as the sith-makar shifts form in front of her. There is a flick of her tail once in agitation, and she shoves a bit away on her seat, before she relaxes with a puff of air. If their spirit was that of the people, what form they took did not matter.

"This one is not as wise as Un'eth is." She states with a shake of her head, and a look over. Then a look back to the fire to pluck the fish away before it began to scorch. "This one is not afraid. Afraid for you, that you will not have the belief that is warranted in yourself. Yet also that you will not allow yourself to be treated as you deserve." She adds, one hand returning to poke at some of the coals.

"As I said, you are welcome," Uneth replies, possibly muffled by the now far larger Skielstregar. If his arms or scales are uncomfortable without her own between, she does not notice or may simply not care. For a time, that is. There are always things to do, and she may not be so comfortable in that form despite her words.

She slips herself loose, preferably politely, to ripple and shift once more. "Mend your spirit as you must; we will be here to guide as we may." She steps back to the roasted boar to claw loose another piece. This one is for herself, which she promptly consumes.

"I suggest that you aid the 'tenders in minding the hatchlings. They are good for the spirit..." She looks across the way to no less than a half-dozen pairs of peeping eyes pointed in their direction. They are not unlike the patient, hungry eyes of the young swiftclaw. There are simply more of them... and not as patient... and they have opposable claws to enable better grip when attaching to one's snout...

"I welcome you to aid him and them, also," she gestures invitingly(?) to Vaera.

Uneth ripples and alters, gaining or retaining humanoid form, yet growing a muscular tail as her body smooths over in fine ebon scales.

Skielstregar releases Un'eth as she begins to slip free, the back of his hand wiping away his tears. "This one will..." he looks up to the dozen eyes peering at them. He swallows, standing up to go over to the boar. "... this one will try their best."

Long, unnatural talons were good for shaving off large strips of servings. He's nervous, but with two of his People near, it abates some of his worries.

Vaera pokes some more at the coals, shifting them until she can not keep her attention away any longer. Thankfully, Un'eth has changed back, and she nods. "You need to build some more confidence in yourself that is sound." She agrees, before following the attention over to where they were being watched. Vaera chuckles, and thumps her tail once. "If you are concerned, this one will help you with it, as they have experience." She reassures. "And, it sounds like Un'eth is usually busy, so more to help them have time for cooking and other matters would likely be helpful. The people look out for each other, after all."

-End Scene-