Timestamp:39th of Fall, 514 AV
Fari’s fang wasn’t ranging today. The young warrior sat crouched on the balls of her feet, a clay bowl settled between her legs. In the bowl she had a cracked egg, a small handful of ground nuts, and a handful of berries. She mixed the ingredients up together squishing the berries with her fingers. When it congealed with the nuts into a sticky clump, Fari drew the bone knife from her harness and slashed the back of her arm. Pushing the blunt side of the knife against her skin, numerous blood drops dripped out and down into the bowl.With a quick brush she smeared the remaining fluid across her arm trying to stop the bleeding.
The bloody congealed mess seemed to stare back up at her. Without giving another moment to think about it, she snatched up the ball and pushed it into her mouth. The inland sea stretched out before her. In Taloba the city was recovering from the fires, Fari needed quiet to concentrate and so she had moved down the shore. If she strained she could still hear the sounds of Myrian life, so likely from the right vantage she was visible where she crouched.
The hottest part of the day was finally fading, in another few bells the sun would fade beyond the canopies and provide relief. Fari reached down to wash her knife in the waters. All the while, she chewed. Crunching the the concoction until she could finally swallow it. It went down like a lump in her stomach. She knew, she couldn’t feel inside her stomach, but she couldn’t help but imagine she could. The ball sitting inert within her. Pushing the knife back into its place in her harness, she tried to focus her mind.
It was too dangerous to ignore the surroundings in the jungle, but as she watched the shore lines and the encroaching jungle growth her mind was on soul mist. The white liquid that could be used to barter with ghosts reminded the Myrian of nearly dried blood. There was probably a word for that kind of liquid but Fari had never cared enough to learn. The magic wasn’t in the names of the things, it was in the doing. At least she thought so.
The soul mist was nearly ready now though, all she needed was to return the mixed ball to its bowl and with it the mist from her body. As she leaned forward over the bowl a branch snapped. Ignoring the previous process, she rolled back on to her boot heels. In one twisting motion she rose to a wide fighter’s stance watching the jungle for the source. Fari tugged a short spear from the harness strap on her back. She held it out as a spear to jab, not to throw, until she could see what had stumbled upon her.
Fari’s fang wasn’t ranging today. The young warrior sat crouched on the balls of her feet, a clay bowl settled between her legs. In the bowl she had a cracked egg, a small handful of ground nuts, and a handful of berries. She mixed the ingredients up together squishing the berries with her fingers. When it congealed with the nuts into a sticky clump, Fari drew the bone knife from her harness and slashed the back of her arm. Pushing the blunt side of the knife against her skin, numerous blood drops dripped out and down into the bowl.With a quick brush she smeared the remaining fluid across her arm trying to stop the bleeding.
The bloody congealed mess seemed to stare back up at her. Without giving another moment to think about it, she snatched up the ball and pushed it into her mouth. The inland sea stretched out before her. In Taloba the city was recovering from the fires, Fari needed quiet to concentrate and so she had moved down the shore. If she strained she could still hear the sounds of Myrian life, so likely from the right vantage she was visible where she crouched.
The hottest part of the day was finally fading, in another few bells the sun would fade beyond the canopies and provide relief. Fari reached down to wash her knife in the waters. All the while, she chewed. Crunching the the concoction until she could finally swallow it. It went down like a lump in her stomach. She knew, she couldn’t feel inside her stomach, but she couldn’t help but imagine she could. The ball sitting inert within her. Pushing the knife back into its place in her harness, she tried to focus her mind.
It was too dangerous to ignore the surroundings in the jungle, but as she watched the shore lines and the encroaching jungle growth her mind was on soul mist. The white liquid that could be used to barter with ghosts reminded the Myrian of nearly dried blood. There was probably a word for that kind of liquid but Fari had never cared enough to learn. The magic wasn’t in the names of the things, it was in the doing. At least she thought so.
The soul mist was nearly ready now though, all she needed was to return the mixed ball to its bowl and with it the mist from her body. As she leaned forward over the bowl a branch snapped. Ignoring the previous process, she rolled back on to her boot heels. In one twisting motion she rose to a wide fighter’s stance watching the jungle for the source. Fari tugged a short spear from the harness strap on her back. She held it out as a spear to jab, not to throw, until she could see what had stumbled upon her.