Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright (Shara)

by **Razkar** on November 4th, 2012, 3:50 am

3rd of Fall, 505AV

The jungle was never still. Even at night. The cacophony of day was one thing, but at least then you could see in front of your own nose. Maybe your eyes could save you. A twitching bush... a flash of tooth and claw... a shadow half-glimped but forewarning. If you were lucky.

But at night, there was no such chance. No such luck. Things slithered and slunk and stepped lightly in the darkness no moon or stars could touch through the jungle canopy. Things that were known. Things that were not.

The jungles of Falyndar were (and are) vast and deep. Anything could hide in them.

One such denizen of the former caste, a lone wolf with one eye and a gnawed tail, raised it's head as something approached. Footsteps in the distance. But, being a wolf, its nose alerted it far before his eyes or ears did.

Myrians. He smelled Myrians.

Now there was light. Or lights. Torch after torch, dozens of them, bobbing in the darkness in a long line. The wolf knew there was a strange, thin clearing through this part of the jungle, outside of huge stone place the other Myrians lived. They often walked on it. Almost always, in fact. It was long and thin and cleared of grass and trees. The wolf did not understand why they... limited themselves.

Perhaps they were afraid.

He slunk closer, footfalls as silent and sure as the rest of his kind. The torches moved closer, heading for the burning glow in the horizon. The stone place. As he got closer, the wolf could make out shapes by the torchlight. Males and females. Young and old. Walking steadily, silently... and at the front, a clutch of eight Myrians holding a litter aloft.

The wolf smelled death wafting off that litter. A carcass. He watched, still as stone and silent as creeping death.

Razkar never knew the wolf was there. His eyes were only for the road ahead, the rising fires and shadows of Taloba, the seat of power for his people. The home of the Goddess-Queen herself, and their bastion against a hostile world for untold centuries.

He was nineteen years old, and he was in the middle of the procession. His mother, his father, his older brothers and sisters, they all walked ahead of him. His younger brother Jakuo journeyed beside him. He heard a sniffle from next to him, and when he turned he saw wetness in his eyes.

Razkar glared briefly. Weakness. Such weakness was not worthy, was not...

He reached out and squeezed his brother's shoulder. Jakuo wiped the traitor tears away angrily and fixed his eyes ahead, tightening his jaw against any further treacheries.

"Grandmother would not want tears," he said firmly, trying so hard to sound older and stronger than his nine years.

Razkar nodded in silence. The family of Mox'ioa, mother to Yurta, grandmother to Razkar, venerable elder of the Shorn Skulls, marched onwards to a waiting pyre.

by **Shara** on November 27th, 2012, 10:08 pm

They were already waiting.

The Dancing Dead attended all funerals, no matter the clan of the deceased and no matter their relation to their family. They were there to take care of the dead, as had always been their duty since before the days they became warriors of Queen Myri.

They were watching.

As the somber line of Shorn Skulls walked into the clearing where the great funeral pyre waited, the varied eyes of the Dancing Dead watched them among the silence of the others that had come to celebrate and mourn the passing of another of their sisters. There was a respectful silence as the litter and its carriers came into view, winding from the city. Death, it seemed, had brought together the entire clan.

Fourteen-winters-old Shara stood there and watched the procession near. She wore a white outfit to represent her coming role and in her hand was clasped a mask of polished leather. Removed so as to honour the dead, she wore a face devoid of her usual fiercely gleeful expression. This was one of those few occasions where she would look almost normal and seem more subdued. It was the jitter of her fingers that would say she was still as fired up as usual.

Finally, the line of Shorn Skulls had fully arrived. In the still silence, the elder of the Dancing Dead moved forward to share words with the family of the deceased. Kiarja moved through them, softly touching their hands as she passed before she stood before them all.

"Tonight, we celebrate the life of Mox'ioa, matriarch of the Shorn Skulls and a beloved sister to us all!

In the cycle of life and death, we have lost a sister but for only a moment. She will return again as one of us! Make her spirit proud this day." Kiarja's voice rang out in the silence.

She turned an expectant gaze upon the litter and as did Shara, who inhaled deeply and raised her hands to slide on that white mask.

She was After now, and waiting for her moment to dance.

Around her, the sound of merriment grew.

oocGood?

by **Razkar** on November 27th, 2012, 10:51 pm

A crowd of stoic figures waited for them in the Plaza at the middle of Taloba. Razkar did not know who they were until he saw the white masks some of them wore.

The Dancing Dead. Old enemies, now come forth to praise his grandmother in death. How far they had come...

As the Shorn Skulls lined up facing them, Mox'ioa's litter in the center of it, he regarded the other clan of Myrians calmly, but not coldly. His mother had told them tales of old feuds and vendettas fought with the Dancing Dead in centuries past. They fought well, and their devotion to Dira made them almost fearless in battle.

For what need had they to fear Dira?

But the Goddess-Queen had ended those fractious, petty squabbles, for the most part. A nation had she crafted, not merely a country, and unity was the foundation of that nation. All Myrians were her children, and in her household, there was strict obedience... and affection between siblings.

The elder of the Dead, white-robed and serious-faced, stepped forward to talk with Yurta, Razkar's mother and chief war leader for the Shorn Skulls. They greeted each other with respect and sincerity. Razkar kept his eyes open, his siblings around him, light from dozens of torches playing off glassy eyes and light stone.

He saw the figure across from him. Young, but already tall. Thin, but with a lithe agility that marked her as female. Her face was as solemn as his own.

"Tonight, we celebrate the life of Mox'ioa, matriarch of the Shorn Skulls and a beloved sister to us all!

In the cycle of life and death, we have lost a sister but for only a moment. She will return again as one of us! Make her spirit proud this day."

The words echoed and thundered around the Plaza. There were no other clans out here tonight; it had been cleared for the funeral and mourning of one of Myri's most devoted daughters. The Shorn Skulls had not the status or holdings of the Taloba clans, but even they knew of their history, their deeds, their members and leaders.

Enough to show respect this night.

Razkar's eyes flickered briefly to the Palace. Was she there? Was she watching? Would she mingle with the crowd, perhaps? Just for one glimpse...

Then his thoughts were broken as the Skulls were, all of them sitting down in a half-circle around the bonfire piled high in front of them. He watched his grandmother's still, cold body heaved and carried to the top of it... and her cloth-wrapped form placed with reverence and care on top of it.

Yurta's face was like stone. No grief, no tears, no mourning. Steadfast, even now. She had much to bear on her shoulder.

The Dancing Dead sat, also... or mostly. Some did not. Masks were slid onto faces and a deep, bass beat was suddenly pulsing through the plaza. It made Kiarja's voice sound small by compraison, dwarfed by thudding rhythm that rattled around the stones.

The dancers stepped forward, limber and already swaying with the dance welling up inside them. Razkar and his siblings watched in silence.

OOCVery

by **Shara** on January 3rd, 2013, 7:27 am

Shara took deep breaths as she sprang forward, one among the number that had moved towards the pyre. It was her duty as After to symbolise to passing of the dead. Cana was not here. Jupa would not hold her hand. She had to take charge, lead the ghosts her relatives were playing into the loving arms of Dira. There could only be one After at a time and today, for the rest of her life, it would be her.

Shara took on the persona of after, miming barking and herding of the 'souls'. She did not go on all fours even though she kept her body low. It made her rolls easier and her hand springs much less straining on her arms. She was new to those moves and buckled easily, but gratefully the others were there to help her up and make it appear as though it were all a part of the act.

As Shara danced, she imagined she truly were After and she was truly leading the dead to Dira. She imagined her hands and feet were smooth paws and her body the long, thin torso of the jackal. When she leapt forward to land on her hands and arch her hips backward to continue the momentum of her spring, she imagined she were After leaping over an obstacle. She danced circles around the pyre, losing herself on her role. Her heart soared with the freedom of enacting how the dead found their way home. It ended all too soon.

She crouched, ready to spring, facing the line of old enemies. Her chest heaved with the exertion and sweat beaded the tawny skin of her arms and back. It did not detract from the appearance she personally felt was stunning. Around her, relatives that had taken up the rolls of spirits rose to their feet. The dance had ended with them grouped together and standing united before an appearance of Dira that was not physically there, showing the bravery and valiance of the Myrians as they faced death. Shara rose as well and bowed to the Shorn Skulls. The gesture was directed at Yurta in particular for she would have been named the clan matriarch now, but it was also meant for the entire clan. She could not forget that they had all lost their leader and beloved relative.

Finally, she retreated to her family. The celebration began in full swing list as she joined their line and removed her mask. Once again she was Shara, not After.

by **Razkar** on January 3rd, 2013, 2:47 pm

She was entrancing, beguiling and terrible to behind. Just like After.

Razkar's eyes stayed fixed on the masked figure as she danced and whirled and lunged around the flames. She corralled invisible souls and Razkar truly believed he was watching Dira's beloved familiar in front of him. She flipped and cartwheeled and with every passing chime, she lost herself more and more in her movements.

That was the secret of dance, the hidden truth of its trance: it took you beyond this world. She figure before him was not Myrian anymore, it was an avatar of Dira.

And when she stopped and bowed to the Shorn Skull, they bowed as one in return. Razkar was among the first.

Then the dancers were back with their own people and, one by one, the masks came off. Faces like theirs, eyes like theirs, were revealed. Razkar had never been in a gathering like this before, and he had to admit, the massed ranks of masked, silent figures chilled him slightly. But then all masks were brushed aside, and his own race stared back at him, sorrow and sympathy and hard-won respect shining in their eyes and the firelight.

"Your dance honors us, sisters and brothers," Yurta said, voice carrying over the square, "Now, come, let us celebrate together!"

As he voice became higher and almost joyous at the end, it was as if some damn of emotion had been battered down. The Shorn Skulls surged forwards, smiles somber but still there, mingling with the Dancing Dead. Shaking hands, embracing, exchanging gifts and tokens, all of them slowly flowing towards the massive array of food half-encircling the funeral pyre.

Razkar was carried along with the, and found himself opposite the dancer who had protrayed... no, become After. He bowed low, as if to an elder female.

"You were... wonderful, mistress."

by **Traverse** on February 27th, 2013, 1:42 am

Dance of the Dead

Razkar :

Additional Notes :

Questions? Concerns? PM me and we'll get to the bottom of it. Safe Travels!

Flashback Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright (Shara)