The Day of the Dead [Open]

[Cayenne]

TS: 66th of Winter, 509 AV
What: The Second Day of the Day of the Dead Holiday
Where: Center of Taloba, the Plaza, and the Trading Square

They started at midnight, the festivities for the Day of the Dead. Yesterday, the first day was always quiet. Solemn... remembering. Paying their respects to the departed. Families mourned those who had died before their time. They paid homage to Dira, the Queen of the Dead, the Goddess of Death. The great temple saw plenty of activity, and the great stone steps were dripped red with blood that poured from the altars as the sacrifices were made. Jagara cattle, pigs, barrabarra, some of the enormous jungle peafowl with their colourful plumage and enormous tails, chickens, wild turkeys... with a few exceptions, if the Myrians could catch it and kill it leading up to the Day of the Dead... well, then it was very a likely conclusion that it would end up on the altars and in the earthen hearths.

Ancestral worship was common in Taloba. A great amount of respect was paid to the dead and departed, and to the few Myrian ghosts who still lingered. That wasn't to say that they didn't have their share of ghosts - most of the ghosts who hung around Taloba were those of the victims, seeking revenge on their killers. But when they got to be too much for one of the priestesses or shamans to deal with, well, that was when a 'specialist' from Black Rock was escorted to Taloba to take care of the miscreant. But that was a rare sight to see, though always one that the Myrians tended to enjoy. But not today. There was no errant troublemakers to disrupt the festival. But those who could think back would remember the Day of the Dead of 500 AV, when the Shadow Guard had dealt with a number of angry, angry spirits. That had been something to behold... and had not yet been repeated.

Every home in Taloba had an ancestral altar, and when the Day of the Dead began, on the 65th, these altars were loaded and decorated with food and puqua, a popular fermented Myrian drink, and juices. They believed that the essence of the food would be consumed by the spirits of the dead, and later on, the food would be eaten by the living members of the family. Bones and skulls and wildflowers, particularly Dira's Passion, a heart-shaped flower that ranged in colour from deep violet to black with little flecks of white near the base of the petals, also adorned the altars. The first day of the festival was always quiet, but now, today...

Today was the celebration.

Myrians worked hard, and earned the right, therefore, to play hard. The atmosphere was as different from the solemnity that had hung over the great city as day was to night. It was early afternoon, now, and the decorations had been sprung. Tskannas had been painted with with all sorts of washable paints, and hung with bone decorations and more flowers. Families and children were painted by younger priests and priestesses, their dark skin marked, their tattoos and family ties highlighted. Torches were lit, and the air was filled with the scents of people, of animals, of roasting food. The drums rumbled throughout the city in a chaotic harmony, the pounding beat matching the natural rhythm of the city, and the crowds were gathering throughout the large city, beginning to line the streets and the empty Trading Square. Normally it would be bustling, busy with those who sought to sell their goods, but no one was bothering with that now. Food would be produced in due course, and the city would have one massive potluck, every family providing something to share with friends and family.

The parade would begin soon, stretching from the gates down the main street of Taloba to the Temple and Myri's Palace. Joyful anticipation was in the air, and Tskannas trumpeted to each other, as if they sensed it. Longbills called to each other, perching on the ledges of the buildings, as if to watch the proceedings.

As it was said... work hard, and party harder.

[Shari]

Yesterday Shari was solemn. Like everyone else in Taloba, she was not jubilant and certainly did not feel very outgoing. Instead, she took care to pray to Dira to let the goddess know she understood that her will would be carried out and the perpetuating cycle of life would always catch up to all who lived. These thoughts were not disappointing but rather encouraging to the young Myrian. She knew that in order for her race to succeed and overcome any obstacles that stand in their way that are yet to be seen this cycle of life must continue and never be broken.

Finding an alter, Shari quietly admired the determination to respect those who have passed her fellow Myrians devoted all of their spirit to. As with everyone else that day, her thoughts drifted to her own relatives that no longer were able to share this day. Her mother was alive during the last Day of the Dead and that meant today was the first time Shari had to pray and mourn alone. In the past, her mother would take her to an alter and they would hold hands as they prayed. Together, they would make a sacrifice in a temple and place wildflowers they collected together at the base of several altars both in temples and in homes. Together they remembered those who have dedicated their life to continue the Myrian culture and together they paid their respects to families that recently lost those they loved. Together... always together.

Though yesterday there was no together for Shari, her heart and mind did not miss a beat. She still prayed, still sacrificed what she could, but this year as she stood before a decorated altar, she only placed a single wildflower at the foot. She stood and lowered her head, gazing at the flower. She remembered her mother well and respected her always, but toward the end of her life she just came off as mysterious. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary or suspicious, but something was different. Shari never could put her finger on exactly what made her feel that way, but the feeling lingered. After standing for several long minutes and not taking her eyes off the single flower, a few others came with an entire bundle of wildflowers and placed, or almost dropped, them at the base of the altar. Her single flower was lost in the many that now surrounded it. It seemed only fitting that the one which represented her mother in her mind would disappear among the flora Dira seemed to cherish so much. Shari closed her eyes a moment longer before moving on.


Opening her eyes on this morning, however, the Myrian woman thought she had slept in much later than normal. The sounds emanating from outside her quick and plentiful and she heard people laughing, cheering, and kids screaming as they were caught by friends chasing them. She smiled and prepared herself for a much brighter day than the one preceding this. Braiding her black hair and securing the light blue broach her mother had given her, Shari went out into the day and smiled at the pleasant faces rushing by her and smiling back. This was the day Shari would celebrate with the rest of Taloba and take part in all the exciting rituals the Myrians could cram into the hours.

As she moved through crowds of laughing friends and playful children, Shari took in all the bright sounds and vibrant colors surrounding her. The smells and sight of food and refreshments thrilled her and she could not feel further from being alone. Not today. Deciding she would try to find a great place to watch the parade, Shari found herself standing on the stairs of a temple to make sure her view would be unobstructed. She dodged more children to get there and returned more smiles as she passed the cheerful citizens who were finding their own positions to watch from. Shari felt this festival was a perfect opportunity to start a new chapter in her life and move forward towards what Myri had planned for her all along.

[Siiri]

Siiri had spent the previous day alone in the garrison, her roommates either having gone to their respective families to celebrate the Day of the Dead or left to visit the places where they've sprinkled the ashes of their dead loved ones. Refusing to even approach the Snapping Jaws clan home, she had made a makeshift altar by herself and placed it at the foot of her bunk bed in the barracks. She was by her lonesome when she offered food and flowers in memory of her aunt and ancestors. It was a sad day, a lonely day. And while Siiri thought the mood fitting as she mourned friends and family that have gone too soon, she couldn’t help but feel bereft and isolated, so used as she was to having the familiar faces of her fang-mates and the other warriors of the army about her.

Siiri was glad that today promised to be different. Today was when the festival for the dead was held and she never failed to take part in the revelry. The general mood of the event never failed lifted her spirits from the solemnity and melancholy brought about by the previous day. She would indulge herself today and take part in the merrymaking. It would be a nice break, she had thought, from all the stress the past few weeks had held for her.

Sporting a body-hugging backless top and short trousers, Siiri strode across the Trading Square without Slayer strapped on her back, showcasing to everyone the various body art of snapping crocodiles freshly painted by one of the priestesses on her bare flesh. She had left her main weapon atop the altar in her bunker in commemoration of her aunt's life but she never walked around unarmed: daggers of various lengths and sizes were tucked in her boots and strapped on her hips and upper arms. As homage to the pale goddess Dira, she also painted half of her face, the right side, chalk-white.

A large crowd had already gathered in the Square in anticipation for the parade and it would no doubt get more jam-packed as the afternoon wore on. Siiri avoided the thickest part of the throng and moved to the side, heading to where the bounties of the hunt held days prior were displayed. A sort of gibbet-like structure had been erected, the carcasses of the various beasts hanging off it on meat hooks. Most have been stripped of flesh and were little more than hides, their meats already prepared for the dishes to be served for the festival, their bones set aside as trophies or decoration. Beside the structure were the two Charodae Siiri’s group had recovered, kept alive to retain their freshness. They stood in a large basin filled with sea water to keep them hydrated. A small group of children surrounding them, poking the terrified creatures with sticks. They will be sacrificed soon, and eventually cooked to be part of the huge potluck for the festival. Two bored-looking warriors stood watch over them

Siiri nodded at the guards in greeting, striking up a conversation with them. “No problems here?” she asked, gesturing at the Charodae. “I'm here to help out in preparing them, but I think I came early; Cook's not here yet. We're thinking blood stew for the female, she looks plump.”

Cook was an elderly Myrian woman who most knew only by that name. As her name implied, Cook had excellent cooking skills, able to make any sort of creature flavorful and delicious, and could even make the most bland of ingredients palatable. She had specifically requested to keep the Charodae alive so that, according to her, “everyone can have a taste of fresh fishies.”

Siiri turned her attention to the other Charoda, the male, the one she had reactively hit in a flash of anger days prior. An angry welt covered half of the creature's face, its usual blue rubbery skin now a deep shade of purple. The woman caught it glancing at her, recognition in its eyes. It turned away immediately but not before shivering visibly.

“Hunh,” Siiri snorted in amusement. “No idea how Cook wants the male done though,” she continued, switching to Common and raising her voice a notch just to watch the Charoda male's reaction.

[Cayenne]

Shari

The Temple was busy, today, but standing to the side of the broad steps removed her from a great deal of the traffic, though it certainly didn't keep her clean. Some of the blood from sacrifices, warm and viscous, oozed between her toes as it continued to trickle down the stairs, crimson against the sun-bleached stone. Behind and above her, she could hear the chanting, and some of the death throes of beasts that were dying or getting there. The sun bore down on her, warming her with its light. It was going to be a good day.

While it had been a quiet day yesterday, Shari had seen some of her mother's clan, the Poisoned Arrows, and had been invited to her great-aunt's home to share the meal. Her neighbours, the Moonlit Waters, had also invited her. Myrians had a strong sense of kinship and family, of belonging, despite their sheer numbers. There was always room for more... regardless of whether or not they were in the family. The only way to survive in Falyndar was to stick together and look after each other. Teamwork and unity thrived in such an atmosphere.

A round tiger cub was nosing around her feet, a bloody smear on its forehead, no doubt made by one of the priests or priestesses inside, as it lapped at some of the errant fluid. The white fur of its maw was already stained with blood - perhaps the young beast, already larger than one of the Chevos Jungle Dogs, of which there was an abundance lingering nearby. Drawn by the scent of blood and the sounds of death, all sorts of Myrian pets were accompanying their owners around. One of the warriors of the Changing Moon was out, then, greeting Shari with a cheerful wave and a clap on the shoulder, even though they weren't familiar, and collected the tiger cub with a click and a whistle. Clearly, that would be his mount to be, maybe. The beast bounded away after him as he continued down the steps.

"Hail and well met," came a voice from behind Shari. She, and every other Myrian, knew that voice. It was female, strong, with an undercurrent of power and danger. "Shari of the Poisoned Arrow." Standing behind her was a tall woman, standing a little over six feet, with tanned skin and long black hair that was tied up with a rawhide and adorned with metal trinkets, bones, and fangs. Marked with numerous tattoos and battle scars on her body, including one at her midsection that had been caused long before the world had nearly been obliterated. Her features were strong and proud, her eyes were as dark as her hair. She wore the traditional linen garb of the Myrians, a halter and a shift that wrapped around her ample hips. The cloth was white, though edged with a rich red. As she smiled at the young woman, Shari knew just who she was, beyond any doubt.

Their Goddess-Queen.

"Look over there," Myri was calm, matter-of-fact as she directed Shari's gaze towards the Trading Square. Shari could see the two Charodae standing out like a sore thumb amidst the brassy Myrians in the Square. "The hunters brought those two in the other day. Were you with them?"

Siiri

The Trading Square, devoid of traders and craftspeople for the day, was beginning to fill up with those who had food to prepare or had been prepared and was getting it ready or cooking, or just claiming a space to set up. Myrians and families would drift through, swelling and surging through the Square. They would be in and out, eating and drinking and moving. The music of the drums swelled, and Siiri could hear the trumpeting of the Tskannas as far away as towards the gates, where the parade was assembling. The streets were lining with cheering Myrians. All around her, the good smell of food mixed with the wildflowers that were abundant throughout the jungle city.

The presence of the Charodae were a source of interest and pleasure. Every Myrian knew just how good they tasted, either from personal experience, or what they had heard about it. But not a lot of children had actually seen them before. They knew what they generally looked like, of course (what Myrian didn't?), but to see them was something else. Exotic as they were with their tentacles and streamlined forms and skin colours, they had made the mistake of leaving the water. They were practically cowering in the basin, although, perhaps, they may have been beginning to be resigned to their fate. They doubtless knew that they were dead from the moment they had been caught on land. They may have been harmless, and not at all interested in a fight, but they were trespassers, and if there was something that the warlike Myrians disliked, it was trespassers.

The fact that the fishpeople tasted terrific really didn't help them advance their case, now, did it?

"No problems," one of the guards shook her head. Siiri knew her from the military - they had been recruits in the same year together. "They've tried a few times to ask us to let them go and swear that they'll never come back, but neither of them has tried to make a run for it." The male tried to console the female in that weird language of theirs. The female seemed to be praying, and the only reaction either of them had to being prodded with the sticks was to flinch and draw away a little bit. But there was only so far they could go in that basin, and the gaggle of curious children was ringing around them. There was nowhere to go.

They seemed to understand Siiri's remarks in Common, as the female stopped her own speech and became silent staring up at the tall woman that was addressing them. "Please," the male began in his own stuttered Common. "Please. Let us go. We'll not return. As Acquitors, we thought..." Acquitors? That was new, at least... not that it mattered much, did it? But information was information. Were they some sort of Charodaen nobility or something?

"Stop whining," the guard told the Charoda, thumping the basin solidly with the butt of her pike. "You will not be wasted. There are worse ways to go out," she added with a grin. The Myrian's humour, clearly, was not appreciated by either one of them as the female began to pray. The guard rolled her eyes at Siiri, as if to say, 'can you believe them?' "If Cook didn't want them fresh..." she would have been glad to kill them where they stood some time ago just to have some peace and quiet. They were in the wrong place for any pleas for mercy to be taken seriously.

That was when Cook arrived, assisted along by one of her great-granddaughters, a young teenager who had yet to go through her coming of age trials. She was a little on the short side, having not yet gone through that growth spurt that struck everyone sooner or later, but she looked like she was ready to work, walking alongside her great-grandmother while pulling a decorated ox by a ring in its nose as it carried Cook's supplies. Cook was a master at this, despite her age, and to watch her work... that was almost as much of a show itself as the parade promised to be. "Fresh fishies," she chuckled as she poked her great-granddaughter once they stood in front of the basin. "Once you're done growing, I expect you to be bringing me one of these every season for eating. Else you won't get the practice you need to learn to cook them properly." The girl nodded, but kept her mouth shut as she started to unpack and set up Cook's kitchen. "Well, well, well. Blood stew and a roast, eh?"

[Siiri]

The braids of her rippled and swayed as Siiri shook her head in mind amusement at the Charodae pair. They were already in Taloba, quite a distance from the nearest coastline, and still they persist in begging for their lives. One would have to wonder why they've yet to accept the fate that awaited them. They should have known neither of them would come out alive when they were pulled up, along with their young, from the sea by Siiri's hunting party. The trio had been entangled in the beach seine, their rubbery flesh hooked onto the barbed material of the net. The Myrian warrior had released the child on the argument that it was too young for the slaughter, but not before marking the creature.* The two adults, however, were marched back to the city, to be sacrifices (and eventually part of the feast) for the Day of the Dead festival.

Quite pitiful, really, Siiri mused. She would not beg for her life in their situation, she would fight her captors to the death, if they could even capture her alive. She marveled anew at how such a group of weaklings have survived living in the world for so long. She could probably snap both their necks without breaking a sweat. At least they served a purpose: they did not put much of a fight when caught, and they taste great cooked or uncooked.

The male Charoda mentioned them being 'Acquitors', whatever that meant. Siiri wondered briefly if that held any significance. She chuckled to herself, thinking that they would still taste the same whether they came flavored as Acquitors or not. Still, it would not hurt to ask. It would not save the creatures from the cooking pot but it would pass the time until Cook arrived.

“You, male,” Siiri called in Common. “What is this... 'Acqui'.. 'Acquitors' you mention?” Her tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar word and she repeated it again. “Do you think this special title of yours will make us stop this festival for Dira?”

The guards laughed at this, one of them adding another quip to the discomfiture of the sea creatures. It was then that Cook, old and wrinkled but still sprightly, arrived, her great-granddaughter in tow. The girl set up the crone's implements as the old woman inspected the prize catch.

“Blood stew for the female, then?” Siiri asked. At Cook's confirmation, she nodded to the two guards. “Hold them, we start with the female. Tie her up the gibbet upside down, we drain her blood first.”

The Charodae reacted differently as the guards separated and held them; the female, perhaps realizing that the moment of truth has come upon it, froze stock-still where she stood, eyes wide in terror. The male, however, began to struggle against his captor, flailing his arms about and kicking desperately. Siiri was not surprised - even the most pacifistic of beasts fought like devils when they realized that death was upon them. She signaled for the guard to release the male, then moved to subdue him. The creature's eyes were large and wild and he looked from Myrian to Myrian as if deciding who to attack first to free his mate and effect both their escape. Cook watched the scene without much concern, coughing and cackling in enjoyment. Siiri, a knot forming on her brow, suddenly remembered how irritating the male had been days before.

The children crowding around the Charoda drew back but remained in the periphery. They were intrigued to see the once docile creature fight for its very survival. But these were the children of the top predator in the Falyndar jungle, they knew all too well that the fishman did not stand a chance against the warrior that stalked towards it.

Finding someone to focus its attention to, the male Charoda lunged at Siiri, its left webbed hand leading in a awkward punch. The woman merely stepped closer, dodging the blow, and, in one swift movement, grabbed the creature's attacking arm and kneed him between the legs. As the Charoda's legs buckled, Siiri looped her other arm over and around the arm she held, locked her grip by holding onto her own wrist, and then pushed back and up violently. A soft popped issued from the creature's left shoulder blade, a pained moan escaped his lips. Siiri let him fall back into the basin, then turned to the other guard, the one who held the female Charoda.

“Let's tie that one up before I end up killing this one first.”

* (OOC: A scene not yet played in Meat Is Meat as of this writing.)

[Cayenne]

Siiri

"Acquitor," the male repeated. "Ambassadors." That was new.

And hardly mattered, really. The Myrians didn't much care about ambassadors from other races, much less the Charodae or Dhani. In general, they didn't give a hippo's ass about what others wanted, as long as they stayed out of their jungle. Unless a god, or a servant that had been repeatedly marked by that god, came in, the concept of negotiation and ambassadors and diplomats and all that was a crock. That was left to the Goddess-Queen, who was apparently largely unconcerned about it all.

The second guard let the male go even as the first one hauled the female from the basin, even as she struggled against the warrior's grip. "Got her feet?" she was carrying her in a tidy package, knees to chest, almost. Even as she tried to break free, coarse hempen ropes were being wrapped around her ankles, knotted tightly and strung up, upside down, leaving the tentacles to dangle as she swung, released from the Myrian's hold, only to deftly bend almost in half to try to free her ankles for all of a few moments before the guard grasped two of the largest tentacles and yanked. There was a very audible snap, like one crushed a twig between their fingers, and many of the children started cheering.

The male stared, his mate dangling limply as Cook, brandishing a rather wicked looking knife, brought her great-granddaughter over to show her where best to cut to get the blood flowing into the wide clay pans, even as more ropes were used to tie the female's tentacles and head back to the frame so as to allow the blood to come from her throat into the pan. "Start beating him," Cook told Siiri and the other willing assistants. "I want to see him purple with the blood flowing before we start to roast him."

[Siiri]

Siiri took note of the remaining Charoda's face upon the death of its mate. It started at stunned disbelief, its mouth agape like a freshly hooked trout. If the Myrian thought this initial reaction comical, she was in for a show as the creature's expression shifted through about half a dozen different degrees of shock and horror in the course of several seconds as it watched Cook's great-granddaughter work on the body of its mate. Siiri shook her head again at the ridiculous fishman. What was it expecting in the city of Myri?

While its attention was held by the gory scene before it, Siiri signaled the remaining guard to help her tie the creature up on one of the wooden posts. The Charoda offered no resistance, its will broken by the sheer viciousness of its captors, its consciousness trying to find a safe haven in its mind from what it had just witnessed. Siiri scoffed. There was none to be found. This was reality. Its reality.

“You may wish you had the same fate. Cook said you'll be roasted. More painful,” Siiri commented in Common as she tightened the creatures bindings. The Charoda looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Its eyes told her it was trying to comprehend the situation it was in but its peaceful nature could not allow it to grasp so violent a concept as cannibalism. Siiri shrugged. It's not her problem. She patted the creature on the shoulder, an almost comforting gesture had it not been done on its injured side. “Don't worry. You will taste better after this.”

Taking the wooden baton provided by the guard, Siiri took the first blow, hitting the creature cleanly on the gut with the weapon. The Charoda let out a wheezing cough as it had the air beaten out of it. Siiri struck again and this time the guard joined her, both warriors working methodically to make sure the creature bruised evenly all over its body. After several blows, Siiri allowed those children with sticks of their own to take a crack at the Charoda. Many more ran to fetch implements of their own, or to borrow blunt weapons from their elders. It was good training for them for when they catch their own Charoda. And, as an added benefit, the beating tenderized the Charoda's meat really well, bringing out its full flavor once it was roasted.

It was going to be quite a feast.

[Shari]

Shari soaked up the vibrant energy and upbeat spirit surrounding and flowing throughout her city and her companions. Everyone was in such a delightful mood this day and there was no reason not to be. Sacrifices were constantly being made and the stream of sticky crimson blood at her feet allowed the Myrian to feel the warmth of the celebration. The sights and sounds brought a smile to Shari's lips before glancing down at the furry creature near her ankles.

Smiling at the tiger cub with its own red markings, Shari knew that some day this small animal would be the mount swiftly carrying its owner through the surrounding jungles, providing both protection and transportation in the unforgiving lands in which the Myrians made their home. Returning the wave the cub's owner gave, Shari felt no need to restrain the audible giggle inspired by watching the young tiger bound down the steps and weave through the legs of the increasing traffic filling the streets. Eventually those same swift and agile moves would aid in moving stealthily through the perilous landscapes of Falyndar. The thought comforted the tanned woman greatly.

Turning her attention back to the commotion and happenings in the streets, Shari was caught off guard by the familiar voice of none other than the Goddess Queen herself. Turning immediately toward her, Shari's knees bent as her head nodded before gazing upwards toward Myri. She was so beautiful and perfectly figured to the point that Shari immediately confirmed her own passion and desire to lead her own life as close to that of her idol's. When Myri used her entire name, it brought a smile to her face before turning to see what the Goddess wanted her to see. Upon seeing the Charodae in the square, a blush of color filled Shari's cheeks before confirming what Myri already knew, "Yes, my Queen, I went with the party to gather fruits, berries, flowers, and anything else we could find for this special day." Shari was unsure of where Myri was going with the question, but was eager to discover what sort of wisdom or enlightenment the Goddess would bring.

[Cayenne]

Siiri

By the time they were done, the male Charoda was a limp, barely breathing mess. Every bit of him was an angry-looking reddish-purple as Cook supervised and kept an eye on the proceedings. One didn't spill the juices, after all. They wanted that to keep the meet tender. At long last, she called the children off, and she indicated two of the adult helpers. "Truss him tightly to the spit. Use the treated rawhide," the old woman told them, "and then you," she pointed out Siiri, "can help me make the seasonings." Siiri had expressed an interest in all of this before, and Cook had no problem teaching youngsters how to really bring out the flavour of the meat. Meat like this was best eaten raw, immediately after killing. But if they wanted to cook it anyway, then they could only elevate it to new heights if it was done properly and done well.

"Deja!" she called to her great-granddaughter. "The basket for the blood stew!" Deja left her post where she had been helping to make sure that the female Charoda kept draining, and went to the wagon, returning with an enormous reed basket lined with a bright linen cloth. The enormous clay cooking pot had already been unloaded, having taken two adults to lift it from the wagon, and now it was being set up on a stand constructed over one of the fire pits that outlined the food quarter of the Trading Square. Deja brought the basket over to the table where Cook was waiting. From the overloaded basket, Cook and Deja removed a fearsome mountain of chili peppers, all sorts of fresh herbs and spices, from garlic to ginger to wild onions, and all sorts of things in between, creating a heady, aromatic bouquet. Many of these had been been just picked. The last thing out of the basket was a heavy leather roll. This Deja placed in front of Cook, undoing the leather cord tying it shut, and withdrew her hands, standing as she was on the other side of the table. Cook gave the roll a shove, and revealed an enormous expanse of gleaming knives in all sorts of shapes and sizes, from small, thin little blades clearly meant for dexterous work to larger blades meant for hacking right through bones, including an enormous cleaver. Siiri could remember seeing small battle axes. Cook, however, picked up one of the more medium-sized, square blades and inspected the blade. The warrior could tell from a glance that any one of Cook's cooking knives could probably split a hair into five pieces.

"Fresh seasonings," Cook rapped the knuckles of Siiri's right hand with the flat of the blade to make sure the warrior was paying attention. "For something like this, you want fresh ingredients. You know why? They're stronger, more powerful. Spices lose their potency as they sit and age. Pepper," she indicated Siiri was to take one as the old woman and Deja each took one. These peppers ranged in colours from green to yellow to a deep, angry-looking red. The peppers were about the size of their fist, and quite spicy. While their heat was mitigated somewhat in cooking, they could still scald the tongue. They were working on wide planks and Cook indicated a slightly smaller knife with a long, thin blade. Apparently, Siiri was to take one of those. "With peppers," Cook told Siiri, "you start like this," she showed her where to make the proper cut, slicing it neatly in half. "See the veins in the flesh?" she pointed them out with the knife, angling her pepper just so that Siiri could make out what she was pointing at. "That is what makes the pepper hot, is the juices in the veins. So when you cut into those veins, that juice spreads on your hands, and makes them burn. So do not touch your eyes or anywhere sensitive that you don't want stinging. We'll douse them later with milk."

In the time Cook had explained all of this to Siiri, Deja had finished her first pepper. The bite-sized chunks of the pepper's flesh were in one wooden bowl, the seeds were in another, and the stems were in yet a third. "You want to split them down like that," Cook demonstrated how to stem and seed the pepper, and then how to swiftly break the vegetable down into the bite-sized pieces. "Put them in the bowls when you're done. Plenty to do. Hop to it."

Shari

Myri nodded at that. "Hunting is crucial. But something perhaps even more important is the knowledge of the plants and their uses in our home. One can look like another... and only an expert can tell them apart. But what you found and brought in will help them elevate the flesh of our enemies into a meal The herbalist gathers food food, for medicine, for weapons. You follow the path of your ancestors." Their Queen smiled broadly at her. "Well done. They walk with you. They teach you, they guide you... and you teach them in turn when the cycle comes again." Myri looked out over the city, over the throngs of brightly painted and decorated people below. The crowd was mostly Myrians - but from here, Shari could pick out a few shorter humans, painted and doing their best to fit in, some Kelvics entwined around their bondmates, amongst others. There was a blue-skinned Akalak here and there.

"We live as one," Myri's proud gaze took in everything around and below them. "Our home is a harsh land, and none but the strongest survive here. We work together for the common goals so that we as a people live. Those who live to get here... and prove their worth, we allow to stay. The useless have no place here. But everyone contributes in some way," the Goddess was quiet, thoughtful, but Shari could hear her clearly over the pandemonium, as if she was speaking directly into her ear. "But this... you know. I sought you out for another reason. Geas of the Poisoned Arrow asked me to pass a message on to you."

Geas.

Her mother.

"Know that your mother is proud of you, even if she is not here with you today. But she sends her heart, and trusts you are working hard so as not to disappoint her," Myri's smile turned into a bit of a grin at that. "And if you are in fact slacking on your training, I am to inform your areat-aunt Nukula." Nukula was a bit of a family legend for a short temper, even as far as Myrians went, and having her negative attention would certainly have numerous -painful- consequences.

[Siiri]

Siiri took a red pepper of her own but did not immediately set to chopping it. She watched Deja chop on her second pepper first, noting where and how she sliced, memorizing every hand movement. The girl was used to her task however and some of her motions were too quick for Siiri’s eyes to follow. The woman shrugged. She’ll just have to manage, one way or the other.

Holding the pepper by its stalk, Siiri pierced the fleshiest part just below it and sliced downwards. Her cut was swift and true, and, with the keen blade of her knife, the spice split in two easily. Pepper juice sprayed the hand holding the knife but she ignored it, thinking that Cook must be exaggerating with the burn thing. Surely her calloused hand would be able to stand a few drops of the liquid.

That done, Siiri used the tip of the knife to scoop out the seeds and into the bowl. She likened the process to scrambling someone’s brain and draining the skull of grey matter after stabbing them up the nostril. The image brought an amused smile on her lips. Nothing like applying practical knowledge to food preparation.

Next, Siiri chopped off the stem, ditching it in its own bowl. She proceeded to chop the remainder into bite-sized chunks, just as she’d seen Deja do it. Her pieces weren’t as evenly cut as the girl's but she conceded privately that she was new to preparing food in such a way. She may be skilled it using a knife in a fight but it was one thing to gut an enemy with it and another thing entirely to cut him up into equal sized pieces of meat.

“I hope I'm doing this right,” she said conversationally to Deja as she dumped her pepper in the bowl. She felt out of her element, cutting something up that didn't fight back. Grinning sheepishly, knowing how clumsy her effort must seem to the girl, Siiri reached for another pepper.

It was then that she felt the spice's bite on her skin.

White hot pain lanced through Siiri's fingers as the pepper juice seeped into her knuckles and the back of her hand, burning her. She hissing in pain and surprise, almost dropping the knife she was holding. Deja gave her a look, one that seemed to say, “My great-grandma warned you but you didn't listen”, before going back to chop peppers again. By Siiri's count, the girl was already on her fifth pepper.

Stifling another sound of agony, Siiri forced a smile though she felt it came out more of a grimace than anything. “Oh, I'm fiiiine,” she muttered under her breath. “I am so fine.”

Which meant she wasn't. The flesh where she got splashed by pepper juice had already puffed up like mosquito bites, manifestations of her skin's sensitivity to damage. Her fingers felt thick, her hand heavy like an iron pan. Ignoring the pain as much as she could, Siiri again reached for one of the nasty red peppers. The knot on her brow declared to all around that she was determined to see this through. She just had to cut more slowly and carefully this time around.

Killing a man is so much easier, she mused.