Which Is Dead Bid To Live Again

[Razkar]

49th Day of Spring
Anchorage Flotilla
2nd Bell

One thing Razkar had learned from his time with the Flotilla was that the morass of docked, lashed-together ships was never truly still. Vessels came and went at all hours, and thus business and socialization was conducted at the same times. Torches and bonfires blazed all night and always there was the steady, humming vibration of thousands of beings stomping across decks and planks.

But there were lulls. This, when latest night turned to earliest morning, was one of them. So that was the time he decided to work the Power of Bones.

The other problem to be overcome was the lack of privacy. The Cuttlefish was a large vessel, but nothing remained secret on it for long. The crew knew every hold and deck and plank nailed onto it. Nothing could be hidden. Not things, anyway... but acts... perhaps.

He chose the main deck, when the crew were sleeping. He was at the bow, the rear of the ship, where the shadows were deepest but there was still light enough to work what needed to be done. The Myrian had allowed himself a wry half-smile when he sat down, legs crossed, and settled himself.

Carving and scratching away in shadows; furtively conjuring djed away from curious eyes or disapproving eyes... yes, this was fitting, in it's way. If the Power of Bones was an orphaned practice in Falyndar, Malediction (as the barbarians called it) was positively shunned. He had seen the other races shiver in their fear of it, the hatred and disgust that were sister emotions coming fast on its heels. Crafting artifacts of power and ability from the bones of the dead, it... it frightened them.

Myrians had no such fears. Bones, skulls, scalps... all were part and parcel of their existence. They were badges of merit, symbols of accomplishment, visible in most every building in Falyndar of Myrian domain. Those witches and mages that worked the Power of Bones were... somewhat avoided, but there was no blatant fear of them. No persecution.

Perhaps, he thought as he began to lay his materials before him on the lightly swaying deck, we envy them. They have made their trophies into weapons, and what better victory over the vanquished enemy could that be?

The eighth piece of curved, sharpened bone was placed with a faint clink on the deck, and Razkar forced such thoughts from his mind. Meandering concentration was almost as dangerous as outright incompetence in such endeavors, and he was not going to add his name to the list of fools who had lost their lives and perhaps more in bungled rituals.

Concentrate. Focus. Bend your will and body to this task...

The Myrian took several deep, cleansing breaths, eyes staring down at the rough circle in front of him.

There were eights claws there, facing outwards. Curved and naturally sharp enough to cleave through thick fur, ropes of muscle and layers of fat, a season before they had been attached to a Night Lion, one of the apex predators in the Sea of Grass. Then it had crossed paths with Razkar and Saib, his hunting partner that day.

And a fat lot of good he turned out to be, Razkar thought briefly. Still... he served his purpose.

Namely, a distraction. The midnight creature had focused on the towering, blue-skinned Saib and given Razkar an opening to bring it down. The pelt had gone to the Akalak. Razkar had taken its front claws, and they had been clinking softly around his throat as part of his necklace ever since then. But now they were to be more than decoration.

The Myrian placed the pot of ink in the middle of the circle. It was from his writing kit, and once again like Saib, it was not perfect or planned, but would serve its purpose today.

His fingertips played over the edge of the file in his hands. He used it to sharpen his teeth... but it had a needle point at one end that was the right size for the carving and scraping he had in mind.

He swallowed. Tools, material, time and place. All of these things he had. Now all he needed was the will.

Razkar took a breath and focused anew. Both times he had dabbled in the Power of Bones, he had been with experienced practitioners of the art. That was a necessity more than a preference, since a novice like him was fooling with djed far beyond his ken trying to bind the power of a sentient being with his meager talents, but he had appreciated the... company.

You feared what would happen without those more skilled than yourself present, a traitorous, irritatingly accurate voice whispered. But now they are not here. Now it's just you, with you little trophies and file and pot of ink...

"And my knowledge." Razkar whispered to himself, gripping the file tighter and picking up the first claw. "I do not suffer the dead... on two feet or four..."

By the dancing torchlight and with his lips moving wordlessly in words spoken far from this forest of floating wood, Razkar started to slowly, carefully and patiently carve a circle into the side of the first claw...

[Edreina]

Spring 49, 510 AV Anchorage Flotilla Even the rocking of the gentle sea could not keep Edreina within the realm of dreams that night. She found herself waking frequently, looking for the yellow light of day to come streaming through her cabin door, but was continuously greeted by the pale light of the moon. Restless, she rolled in her hammock and dumped herself onto the ever-warm wooden floor - a method found to be more effective than struggling to clamber out. Once there, on all fours, she waited for the drowsiness brought on for hours of stillness to flee from her limbs, then stood, stretching to get the last of the stiffness from her back. In the pallid light, her deck appeared a ghostly gray, the wetness turned to silver by Leth's ever watchful eye. Over the edge, she saw it winking at her in the gentle waves, enticing her. The sound of it was a siren's song, haunting, calling, seducing. Before she knew it, her outer garments lay in a heap upon the deck and she was diving - albeit with the grace of a Keai - into the inky water. It is cold, shockingly so at first. She clings to the side of her casinor for a moment, waiting for her muscles to unclench and allow her to tread water, supporting herself. This felt more natural to her; the motions of keeping herself afloat were as natural as a land-strider's motion across dry earth. In the dark, though, there was no exploration for her to commence, no undersea mystery to discover beneath the Anchorage. She remained there for a moment, just wading, watching, drifting away slowly. Suddenly, a game came to her mind - one that she and Surai had played during their long days attached to the Flotilla. They would often swim under the boats, holding their breath until one had to give up and emerge between two ships. The game could be dangerous, however, if one were to come up as two ships were drifting back towards one another. Committing herself, she begins to regulate her breathing, preparing to hold it. After several moments, she held it and pushed herself underneath her casinor, kicking powerfully with her legs so that she can swim without rubbing her back against the underside of boats. Every once in awhile, she has to dive deeper to go beneath a palivar. To her great discontent, she was forced up before even making it to the inner ring. Her first breaching occurred between two palivars. She spent another moment regathering breath before diving once more. This time, perhaps because her body was accustomed to holding her breath now, or maybe the current had shifted to be ever so slightly in her favor, she made it further on this breath. While swimming, she was astounded by the sheer number of barnacles lining the underbellies of the oldest ships - they must be layered several times in some places. By the end of this breath, she changed tactics, rolling onto her back so that she could pull herself along with feet and hands across the bellies of the ships. This method was far from efficient, but fun, and something she had not done before. Just ships from the opposite edge of the Flotilla, she surfaces once more. A familiar voice floats across the water's surface. It has not the lilt of Fratava, nor the accent of many of the other traders. This voice was one she could always easily recognize - Razkar. Yes, the exotic sound - though she could not tell what language it was in which he spoke nor the words that met her ears - was immediately registered with the memory of them walking and talking together nights past. But what was he doing awake and on deck at this hour? Was he also finding sleep to be elusive quarry? Curious, she grabbed the nearest ship and used it to hoist her body high enough straight out of the water to seek him out. As expected, he was only boats away - his silhouette is also quite distinct, she realizes - upon the deck of the Cuttlefish, alone. How odd. Sliding back into the water to keep from waking anyone, she navigated her way over to the vessel and, realizing that it is about to drift back into the boat beside it, hauled herself messily onto deck, spilling onto it with all the grace with which she entered the water. Smiling slightly with silent amusement at the ineptitude with which she always seems to navigate solid surface, she turned to face the Myrian, sitting cross legged only feet away from him. "How's it going, friend?" She questioned, smile and skin illuminated by the pale eye of Leth. Immediately, the look on her acquaintance's face tells her that she may have stumbled upon something to which she was not welcome.

[Razkar]

"Ooo'karu vatash Myri... Ooo'karu vatash Myri... Ooo'karu vatash Myri... Ooo'karu vatash Myri..."

The words murmured forth, despite his intent to just move his lips around them. But the name of his Goddess and Queen came unbidden and eventual, even though it barely carried across the circle of wood around him. The words strengthened him, calmed him, regulated his breathing, gave his hands a... tempo, if you will.

That was good. He needed steady hands.

The file scratched and scraped carefully across each sharpened shard of bone. His canvas, such as it was, was much smaller than he was used to, so Razkar was both slow and accurate. His dark eyes squinted so much that shadow hid them completely. Strong fingers gripped the blade readily but loosely, not wanting to send tremors through the metal instrument by overwhelming his own flesh.

Four of the eight were finished, and placed back in the crude circle, leaving a crescent moon of unmarred lion claw. Razkar paused and shook out his aching, cramped hand. He would need to rest for a few chimes, less his hands weaken further. He examined his work with critical eyes.

Four claws. Four circles scratched into each one, maybe the size of a gold miza. In each circle, a symbol, almost like runes of the ancient Common tongue, but speaking of a culture far more different, distant... and older.

The language of the Myrians.

"Strength... Stealth..." Razkar said, pointing at each carved claw in turn and whispering the meaning of the Myrian word scratched into each one. "Ferocity... Speed..."

All qualities of the beast that he had slain that day. He remembered it, as he did when he had first made the necklace from those claws. The Night Lion had been beyond ferocious: only the tigers of his homeland had put more fear into him (then again, Razkar had never met a Glassbeak). The size, the force, the power in such a creature... geared solely towards stalking and striking and killing. Razkar saw much of his kind in the beast, and had been honored to take his prize.

But Mayla's words came to him as he sat cross-legged on the Cuttlefish. The first four claws were only the exterior qualities of the Night Lion. The last four would need to concern the interior. That which drove the exterior, as the Shorn Skulls witch had put it. Without that inner fire, that impetus from the soul and spirit, all that physical power was mere meat and bones.

And the latter before him were proof at just how temporary they could be.

He took a breath and closed his eyes. Four more words were needed... and then more work was necessary. The carvings were made, the grooves, the lines, the indents, but he still needed to fill them with ink. Making the marks permenant was crucial, or the Power of Bones would fade from the claws as his marks did. Not acceptable...

Razkar cracked his head from one side to the other, worked his shoulders and sighed softly.

"Much to do..."

He picked up another claw and got a good, comfortable grip on his file. Time to go back to-

An explosion of sound from beyond the decks, the dark, lapping water spraying upwards and a figure came with it. Out of instinct Razkar's hands flew to his belt, hands closing around the hilts of his weapons as...

Very, very slowly, his jaw dropped, and the one named "Edreina" grinned up at him from a wet, shining heap. He blinked a few times. No, he was not hallucinating.

"How's it going, friend?"

It was only a few moments before she looked down and saw what he was doing... but what was she to know? Some claws on the wood, a pot of ink, a file in his hand... that did not speak of-

She's waiting, fool!

"Mistress," he finally said, giving as good a bow as he could from his position, "You... are certainly unexpected."

[Edreina]

When she looked up at him to see his hand upon his weapon, and a look of utter astonishment upon his face, she grinned impishly and says quietly, almost to herself, "Didn't mean ta frighten you..." The thought of a frightened Myrian would have reduced her to giggles had the look on his face not shifted abruptly, he looked almost angry, or maybe just a tad annoyed - it was hard for her to decipher the meaning of that particular expression when considering the situation itself. "You are certainly unexpected." The pause in his speech caused her to look down at her long, nimble fingers for a moment, flushing slightly. Always dropping in on people unexpected, it seems... She sighed and returned her eyes to the Myrian. In the Leth's gaze, he appeared even more ferocious, his skin given a ghostly pale that brings out his tattoos, and even darker shadows highlight his foreign features. Once again, her curiosity was ticked by his strangeness. In the silence during which she formulates an answer, part of her wandered off to the jungles of Falyndar, to meet more of his people, to learn why they adorn themselves the way that they do. "I am sorry. I was swimming and thought I heard you talking. Being up so late, I thought you might enjoy company." Her eyes scanned his utensils, taking inventory but not truly understanding their purpose. Something deep inside her kindled, a memory perhaps, at the sight of them together. Had he not been wearing those claws before? Despite the silent thought that she knows exactly what is going on, her mind is unable to place it. "Perhaps I should leave? You seem busy and I would hate to intrude..." She trails off, blue eyes unsure. Her curiosity gnaws at her innards, demanding that she stay, but her mind knows it would be rude to invite herself somewhere she is not welcome.

[Razkar]

"I am sorry. I was swimming and thought I heard you talking. Being up so late, I thought you might enjoy company."

For a few moments Razkar just blinked away his surprise. She had heard him while she was swimming? He knew of falcons that didn't have that kind of healing! Perhaps it was some trait of the Svefra he had yet to learn of. But his curiosity was abated and changed to a guarded wariness when he saw her bright eyes flicker to the file in his hand, the circle of claws between them both, and he saw it mirrored in her own expression

"Perhaps I should leave? You seem busy and I would hate to intrude..."

Razkar's first... well, his second instinct was to tell her roughly to leave, and not to return or intrude on things she had no right in seeing. Perhaps a few seasons ago, those words would have growled out between his teeth and he would have felt no remorse over them. But as he stared at her through narrowed eyes, he found they could not form. Edreina was not a vindictive or malicious person, that much was plain to him. She was someone like... like a woman he had known before, filled with wonder in the vast expanses that covered their world and sought to learn more of it.

He could not send her away, even with what he was doing, because some curious part of him knew she would not judge or fear him for it. And if that was his reaction to his second instinct, the first one became all the more repugnant.

Razkar's hand slowly loosened from the hilt of his gladius and he nodded slowly, just once. But his words were grave and laden with warning.

"You can stay if you want. But thing may happen that not want to see. Or scare to see. Give warning. You have warning." He turned back to his work. "Not complain if thing go bad..."

Without waiting for a response, he held the fifth claw in his hand and began carving at it with the thin, fine end of the file. Each scratch and indent was careful and planned. With only a few square inches to work with, they had to be. Under her curious eyes, Razkar crafted a circle into the claw, finally joining it into a solid orb with a final scratch. And then...

Interior... the things that drove it...

"... Predator..."

He whispered the word in his own tongue and began carving the symbol into the Malediction circle. As a Myrian, he knew it was as much a quality and driving force as those other abstract emotional words others used. Being a predator, a hunter, one who delighted and was born for tracking and slaying prey... that was a powerful drive. Almost irresistible.

Ten chimes ticked by, and then he was finished with it. He blew off the few fragments of dust and chipped bone and placed the claw back in the circle. Three left. He picked up another and began carving a circle, dark eyes turning up for a moment to check on Edreina.

Still watching. Still devouring eagerly with her eyes... but with a slight rising feeling that was marring her earnest fascination.

"When claws are done," he said lowly, pausing in his work, "Will need blood to finish." Her eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. "No! My blood. Not you. But when thing is done... if have to, you must be ready to move. To jump and swim."

He brows furrowed in confusion and Razkar felt a tiny sigh escape him. Well... she would see soon enough. Telling her more would only unduly worry her, and he did not want a skittish presence around him when he finished the ritual. He turned back to his work.

"Not know how strong... or how anger... thing will be when it bought back..."

That was all he said. Soon the only sound on deck was the breathing of them both, the perpetual, industrious scratching of file on keen bone, and the steady murmur of savage words, over and over again...

"Glory to Myri... Glory to Myri... Glory to Myri..."

[Edreina]

"Not complain if thing go bad..." If things go badly? What could he be doing that would go so badly? Her eyes flash to the items gathered about him once more. Something about them seems ever so familiar, some memory viewed through fog. He began to carve something into the monstrous claw. Curious, Edreina leaned in to the point that she was leaning onto one hand, legs still crossed beneath her. She carefully kept herself out of Razkar's personal space, but managed nonetheless to view his actions more fully. A small circle was etched into the claw, nearly perfect because of his ever so precise, careful motions. His hissing whisper surprised Edreina for a moment, causing her to lean back just slightly, just for an instant, before leaning back in, enthralled. A new symbol began to appear upon the claw's surface, one utterly unfamiliar and unrecognizable to Edreina. Chimes ticked by seamlessly and, before she even knew it, Razkar had finished the claw. Leaning in just inches more, Edreina confirmed that he was once more carving the perfect circle - perhaps that was the first step in this strange process? The thought caused some of the fog to clear as she remembered. That one man, the one that they had banished when she had been young, he wore many long white stones - though she now suspects them to have been bones - etched with circles and symbols. Was he practicing the same thing that had caused the Svefra to chase out the visiting stranger years ago? Razkar surprised her once more, shocking her out of her musing, by looking up at her, brown eyes gauging her behavior. Made slightly self-conscious by the blatant display of her avid curiosity, Edreina leaned back once more, viewing from a distance. "Will need blood to finish..." The words caused Edreina to start slightly, eyes widening, sitting back down fully so that he back is mainmast straight. Her eyes instinctively dart to the weapons attached to the savage Myrian, but, more immediately, the file in his hand. Even such an incongruous item could be deadly in skilled hands. "No! My blood. Not you. But when thing is done... if have to, you must be ready to move. To jump and swim." The first words he spoke comforted her, causing her to release the breath she had not even realized that she had trapped within her lungs. The second statement, however, baffled her. Head cocked to the side, she contemplated the meaning of his warning. A small, nearly exasperated sigh hissed through the Myrian's lips. Was this... ritual?... so straightforward that she was then being considered to be obtuse for not understanding his warning right away? He seemed to be past the point of wishing to explain to her, deciding instead to show her. He was doubled over his work now focused with an intense silence. "Not know how strong... or how anger... thing will be when it bought back..." Edreina did not even try to make sense of this warning. She sat in silence save for her slow, deep breathing, a rhythmic practice that calmed her mind and relaxed her lithe muscles. His whispers became rhythmic as well, a mantra or chant perhaps. The same words were repeated over and over, the fluidity of them lulling Edreina into a curious, vigilant calm.

[Razkar]

Anger

Hate

Razkar placed the seventh claw and picked up the last. The two symbols he had scratched were... something of a conundrum to him. The Power of Bones was not an exact facet of the wyrd, and slight miscalculations or misunderstandings could blossom into grevious, deadly errors. But there was truth in them, and he knew that was valuable.

The Night Lion had been angered by the presence of the soft, presumptuous two-legs that had dared to trespass it's sacred and hard-won hunting grounds. They had insulted it with their intrusion, and when the first arrows hammered into its flesh, when pain ripped through it along with a deafening roar, that anger turned to a raging hate with the blink of an eye.

That was what Razkar saw. They drove the lion as much as anything else... and now he had but one piece left to finish. He turned the claw over and over in his hand, thinking, pondering, symbols rising and falling in his mind as they were conjured and discarded.

Finally, one stuck. One was right, and true, and... and it gave the beast it's due.

Razkar's hands settled once again, and he began to carve. He was getting better, he realized, trying and most succeeding to keep the pride from his thoughts. He'd heard about how it and falling were brothers. The circle was finished faster than the others, and now...

He steadied himself. The last... that had to be the finest-wrought. His file moved closer and he began to carve the symbol. Fraction by fraction, as the metal twig moved with a dull scraping, itching sound, it took form...

Pride

You faced us as a warrior, and you died as one. You did not relent, nor flee. You saw your death in the final moments... and you roared you defiance at Caiyha and Dira and myself.

"I honor you..." he whispered, so low that even Edreina, hunched over opposite him, barely heard them "... and soon I will call you back."

He placed the final claw down. All eight were now ready, fresh etchings, carved orbs and Myrian hieroglyphics visible in them, and deep enough for...

The Myrian sighed and ran a tired hand across his mostly-bare head. He smiled wearily at the woman, who looked stunned to see some relaxed emotion on his face.

"Now come very boring part."

He picked up his file and blew it clean, then took the top off his ink. He dipped the tip of the file into the black, sticky liquid, took the first claw... and began to trace the ink into the gaps. It would be a long, tedious process, but not nearly as long as the carving had been. The grooves were already made into the sharp bones, and all he had to do was make sure all of them were coated and made stark by the ink.

After half a bell, the last one was finished. Razkar cracked weary muscles and tried to relax himself... and prepare himself. It had been several bells since he began, and soon the sun would begin to rise. The Svefra would be up before that, and much as these things could not be rushed, he felt the call of time begin to whisper in his ear.

He carefully threaded the claws back onto his necklace, black prayer beads between each on on the garrote wire that made up the string. Then he placed the whole necklace back onto the deck, still in a circle, marked claws with their symbols facing upwards.

"Now come end." He said to Edreina, reaching behind his back and unsheathing a gleaming double-bladed dagger. Without hesitation, he sliced the tip of one finger. "Now come blood..."

Edreina watched the red rubies gather and swell at the end of his finger. Moving slowly, Razkar pointed over each claw... and a drop of blood fell onto each one in turn, landing on the symbol at the center of each one. She glanced up... and saw his eyes more focused than ever. Face clenched and intent, as if girding himself against some coming...

The final drop splashed almost audibly on the final claw. Razkar suppressed the tiniest of smirks. He hoped she was not disappointed. There was no flash, no wind, no unholy shrieking or capering demons. The Power of Bones was not a showy magick... but it was potent. He was not strong or wise enough to make festishes from the beings of intelligent beings, like the Myrians or barbarian races, but the Night Lion... that was within his purview.

But even with a lion so conjured, there was nothing but blood-stains on the deck...

... for now.

Razkar hesitated for only a moment. Then he reached out with both hands, just as the promise of the rising sun began to illuminate the sea on the horizon. He clasped the string with his fingertips... held it up so she could see the glinting, glimmering scarlet on the claws... and with one smooth flourish, he pulled the necklace over his head and around his neck, claws smacking harmlessly against his bare chest-

"Hssssss....!"

That came from him, and he thought he heard the woman flinch. He could not see it, though: the shock had screwed his eyes shut out of instinct. Raw, elemental fury coursed through him, but like none he had felt before.

Elanosa, her bone crafted onto his gladius, had been full of despair and rage for her clan when she had died. The Akalak, whose name he never knew, had felt only the anger and bitterness of the better man defeating him in battle, taking his head and body into the bargain for trophies and for feasting.

But this... this was an animal's djed. Unrestricted by the crude shackles of morality or ethics that other "higher" beings fashioned into their evolved craniums. Razkar hissed again as he felt that rush of simple, primal, undeniable brain functions course through his mind.

Hunt. Kill. Feed. Sleep. Breed.

An endless cycle. A simple creed that brooked no argument or compromises... or mercy. He saw none of the Night Lion's memories, but felt its pain as it was pierced, its anger as it had died...

Razkar growl, but it was the lion that gave him voice.

His eyes snapped open.

[Edreina]

A sort of sick fascination consumed Edreina as she watched the Myrian prick his fingers and let each drop of blood fall ever so precisely onto his etchings. While he had been inking, she had been astounded by his focus. Each little black stroke seemed to flow with distinct purpose; each stroke stood out in sharp contrast against the pale bone. But, as he blooded each etching, a darkness seemed to swell around them. Half of her expected it to burst and pour forth into their realm as the last drop fell upon the last claw. When her fears did not me fruition, she released the unknown tension and regarded Razkar with puzzlement. Had he done something wrong? Or... was this magic so powerful that it did not need to show itself in a great explosion of power... Something about what she was observing caused Edreina to feel as if they should be hiding in some shadowy corner. With a furtive glance around, Edreina saw that Syna would soon be observing them as well. She was silently grateful that this area of the Anchorage seemed to be feeling lazy today. A hiss drew her attention back to the Myrian. In the moment that she had looked away, he had pulled the necklace over his head. The hiss had come from Razkar. In the sparse morning light, the tension in his muscles stood out vividly. Some sort of energy was flowing through the Myrian, transforming him before her eyes. Gone was the friendly smile that she had seen earlier. Now, an animalistic snarl curled his lips and exposed his filed teeth in a gruesome manner. He hissed once more, and she saw a wave roll through his body. This wave altered his stance ever so slightly so that he lost all sense of humanity, of civility. In that instant, Edreina realizes what has occurred. Whatever creature had once wielded those fearsome claws was now imbued into them. His features, his pose, they all harkened back to a feral root that existed more in the body, in the blood, than in the mind. His deep, rippling growl caught Edreina utterly off guard. With a quiet gasp, she faltered back from her forward position to the point that she was on her rump and elbows wide blue eyes opened wide in shock, staring up at the feral Myrian. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen before. It was a need, and that is all she could tell about it. Nonetheless, it made her feel exposed, vulnerable. Her body began to tremble as fear seized her. Yes, everyone would be awake soon, but would she make it? Yes, the safety of endlessly deep water was only feet away, but would she make it? The look on the being that she had once called friend's face told her that she would not make it a foot before he was upon her. Pulse pounding in her ears, she swallowed hard, trying to stop the trembling, trying to slow her breathing, trying to reign in the terror that flowed freely in her veins. This fear, like the expression that caused it, was primal. She was caught in that instant between fight or flight and it seemed to drag on endlessly. Laviku spare me... She prays, closing her eyes for an instant as she swallows once more, unable to even imagine that she is preparing herself for what is to come.

[Razkar]

He could hear her blood racing frantically around her veins.

He could smell the choking, delicious miasma of fear that rolled off her in waves made sensual to his senses.

He could see the stark terror in every line over her face.

It knew that she would be so easy... so satisfying... so-

It... "It"... Not "he"... not...

"... not... me..."

The words seemed ground out from very, very far away, as if Razkar's voice box was buried deep in his stomach. Every syllable was a challenge, but he snarled through them and with those two words, his vision slowly began to clear.

Razkar blinked. Once. Twice. By the third, he felt more like himself again... not that it was an improvement. A great, howling force seemed to be clawing at his insides and his mind. But powerful as it was and furious as it raged, it was still just an animal. Cunning. Intuitive. Unfettered and without remorse.

"You are still... an animal." He whispered harshly, teeth grinding together until the filed points slashed his gums. "You... were... an animal. You... died. Like all... all the rest."

He gripped the necklace around his neck and squeezed it, asserting the physical will that his mind. He breathed, hard and long and ragged, and the animal growl was replaced by one of a Myrian.

Close enough.

"You are gone... brother. Your... body was cleaved. Your skin... taken. Your... blades... are now around... my neck." The howling changed in pitch, morphing to one racked with pain and loss. Razkar reached through it and gripped it like he did the necklace. "I am Razkar... of the Shorn Skulls... hear my words... spoken to those... who came before you."

His eyes closed again and for a fleeting moment the black screen behind his closed lids became a snarling, roaring visage, framed in a black main and lit by burning red eyes above a leonine snout.

"I... do not... suffer... the dead...!" His voice rose and by this point, who heard heard, and he could not afford to care. "And you-WILL-SUBMIT...!"

Edreina watched in horror, but in silence. The roaring and screaming and rushing etheral winds? She was blind to them, as if they were on the other side of the world. All she saw was a twitching, growling, thrashing Myrian, shaking with some inner struggle and snarling orders at some nameless being until his body stiffened after his final words-

He was still. The roaring died... but just before it did, it became something like a purr...

Razkar panted. He could already hear questioning, muted voices beneath them. Sweat rose like a sheen from his forehead and after a few deep, hasty breaths he locked eyes with Edreina. The poor girl... she looked terrified. Staring at him like some beast from the darkness. He raised a shaky hand, hoping (even as he realized how treacherously un-Myrian it was) that she would see his weakness as a reason not to fear him.

A weak, wry smile graced his lips. The Razkar she knew, or so he hoped.

"It... over." He managed to croak, patting the claws. No... stroking them. "Thing is... done..."

[Edreina]

Through the entire internal struggle, Edreina sat utterly still save for the unpreventable tremors that rolled in waves off of her body. She watched as his body warred against itself, muscles clenching and unclenching in random ways. Occasionally, he would lean forward as if about to pounce, causing Edreina's eyes to widen further before settling back. All the while, he is muttering, whispering fiercely to himself. Motionless, Edreina watches as he slowly begins to regain control, some words will be growled, others whispered. It seemed as if he were having to force part of himself into a cage, locking it away. No... The longer she watched, the clearer the realization came that he was not capturing part of himself, but taming it. The struggle seemed to reach a head as his voice rose higher, sounding commanding. All at once, Razkar's figure released the tension that had been causing his muscles to stand out starkly since he put on the necklace. His body was covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat, and his breathing was rushed. Though the fear was now only a trickling through her veins, Edreina realized that she was still leaning back, right hand tightly clasping the rough waves upon her left forearm, her Gnosis, her tie to Laviku. In his eyes, she could still see hints of the beast that he had just conquered, but his expression was entirely the Razkar that she could recognize. Trembling - how very unusual - Razkar raised a hand and smiled - a grotesquely comedic expression with his bloodied gums. He looked on the verge of collapse. The weakness she saw immediately banished any fear that had been lingering in her widened eyes and trembling limbs. He managed to whisper something in his own tongue, patting the necklace affectionately. Abruptly, she rocketed to her feet - swaying for an instant after sitting for so many bells - and walked into the Cuttlefish's expansive cabin, silencing the just rousing captain with a raised palm. She made her way over to the large barrel of fresh water that most transport ships kept aboard for non-Svefra and used a large, wooden mug to harvest some of the water. Her return is much more graceful as her limbs have awoken. Gently, she crouches by the exhausted Myrian and offers him the cup. Despite everything, Edreina was not able to stifle her naturally caring nature. Once Razkar had taken the mug, she looked and quickly found a largish crate. Despite her lean frame, Edreina managed to pick up the crate and drop it behind Razkar. Knowing that he will not likely take that much assistance of his own volition, she scoots it behind him, so that it is against his back, and smiles warmly. "That was... interesting." To put it so plainly seemed comedic and, unable to help herself - likely due to sleep deprivation and lingering adrenaline in her veins - Edreina finds herself consumed by a fit of giggles.