"I...I've never fought or killed anyone or anything..."
Now that Razkar found hard to believe, arching both eyebrows as he heard the words. Every Myrian, regardless of age, gender or temprament, killed. At least for food. They weren't farmers, after all, aside from maize and the fruit they collected. They were hunters, carnivores, the apex predators of the Falyndar jungles. But this one had never killed?
Razkar frowned minutely. It... may not have been so bizarre. Saib would most likely have been shunned by his peers, even the adults, made to do other things but hunt. Razkar felt an unfamiliar pang of pity for the Akalak. It was hard enough being Myrian for the Myrians; Myri alone knew what it must have been like for such a rank outsider.
"Myri must ashamed to have me worship her..."
The pang became a swell, and though he closed his eyes to better concentrate on the pain rippling through him, Herrlock doing his job with stoic, clinical care, his words reverberated through the room.
"I don't think so, my brother. Myri favors and challenges us all in different ways. Yours were... more extreme. But you claim yourself as one of her children and honor her with your devotion."
He opened his eyes and locked his dark coals onto the Akalak's purple, smiling slightly.
"Skulls and scalps are not all the Goddess-Queen demands. You will find your own way."
"Umm, I want to get a stud in my eyebrow and a ring or bone through my nose like you have. I know he probably doesn't do them but I thought he'd know someone who did."
"I might know someone," Herrlock murmured, never taking his eyes off the skull he was etching painstakingly (and painfully) onto Razkar's back, "Once I've done here, we'll talk."
He finished one skull and began another, cleaving and ripping fresh skin with a new needle, and Razkar gritted his molars and stared ahead with glazed eyes, welcoming the agony...
Now that Razkar found hard to believe, arching both eyebrows as he heard the words. Every Myrian, regardless of age, gender or temprament, killed. At least for food. They weren't farmers, after all, aside from maize and the fruit they collected. They were hunters, carnivores, the apex predators of the Falyndar jungles. But this one had never killed?
Razkar frowned minutely. It... may not have been so bizarre. Saib would most likely have been shunned by his peers, even the adults, made to do other things but hunt. Razkar felt an unfamiliar pang of pity for the Akalak. It was hard enough being Myrian for the Myrians; Myri alone knew what it must have been like for such a rank outsider.
"Myri must ashamed to have me worship her..."
The pang became a swell, and though he closed his eyes to better concentrate on the pain rippling through him, Herrlock doing his job with stoic, clinical care, his words reverberated through the room.
"I don't think so, my brother. Myri favors and challenges us all in different ways. Yours were... more extreme. But you claim yourself as one of her children and honor her with your devotion."
He opened his eyes and locked his dark coals onto the Akalak's purple, smiling slightly.
"Skulls and scalps are not all the Goddess-Queen demands. You will find your own way."
"Umm, I want to get a stud in my eyebrow and a ring or bone through my nose like you have. I know he probably doesn't do them but I thought he'd know someone who did."
"I might know someone," Herrlock murmured, never taking his eyes off the skull he was etching painstakingly (and painfully) onto Razkar's back, "Once I've done here, we'll talk."
He finished one skull and began another, cleaving and ripping fresh skin with a new needle, and Razkar gritted his molars and stared ahead with glazed eyes, welcoming the agony...
