Flashback Blood In

[Razkar]

19th Day of Summer, 511AV
The Temple
23rd Bell

The troop of Myrians was silent as they marched across square to the imposing, flaming block that was the Temple. The Palace stood next to it, looming larger even than the towering Temple, where torches made the hundreds, thousand of skulls lining its bricks. Razkar thought they looked like they were laughing, or even talking, as shadow and light flashed and vanished across them.

Or he would have, any other day. But then, on that night, he knew what they were doing.

They were judging him. As everyone else would.

His father walked before him, Zek as silent and taciturn as the rest of the Shorn Skulls, he and Razkar the only males among them. Lowax, their chief, and a half-dozen other Elders had journeyed with them to Taloba. Rarely did all of them, the ruling class of the Shorn Skulls, travel either so far or so... together.

But this was special. Word had been sent while Razkar was in the barracks, delivered by Kreesha herself, a worthy and legendary general of Myri.

She had come to his room... and pressed a simple, empty bowl into his hand. Then she had closed his fingers around it, and said, "You have proven yourself."

Razkar had nearly fainted with shock. He had seen several of his fellow warriors get the same gift. And it truly was a gift, a ritual sign that the Goddess-Queen herself had decided you were worthy of her mark, and that your blood would join the countless thousands in the Blooding Basin. Word was sent by homing pigeon to his village, and a week later, his father and the Elders had arrived.

Earlier that day, in fact. Now they waited for night to fall, and began their solemn, silent march to the Temple.

More than skulls awaited them under the shadow of the Temple. A rank of robed priests, male and female, their hands vanished under their vestments, hooded and eerily still, were already waiting.

The Shorn Skulls halted. Lowax stepped forwards, then Zek, and Razkar stepped between them. Pride coursed through him stronger than adrenaline, but his heart felt like it was vibrating. He knew what was to follow. What he would do.

In whose presence he would be.

"Before you is Razkar of the Shorn Skulls," Lowax intoned, thrice Razkar's age and still her voice boomed with strength, hand on his shoulder. "Chosen to receive the blessing of Myri. He has served her loyally with her army. He has marched against barbarians and claimed scalps for her in battle. He has fought for his clan and kept their honor. He has tracked, hunted and battled beasts of the jungle and bested them. He is warrior worthy of the Goddess of War."

She paused and bowed low. The priesthood lined before them did not twitch or move or speak. Razkar would almost think they were sculptures. Zek did the same, and then Razkar got down to his knees, as he had been instructed to do.

"Honored brothers and sisters." Zek said, but more quietly, as he was a male. "Children of Myri like my Elders, my clan and my son, Razkar... will you grant us entry into the Blooding chamber?"

[Razkar]

After an age of silence, there was a swishing of fabric across the dirt. Razkar looked up and saw one of the robed figures, tall and hooded and forbidding, step forward, halting over his kneeling form.

"Myri knows of your loyalty, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls." The female said, eerily echoing through the ceramic mask. Razkar found it almost unsettling to hear the words without seeing the lips move, just a slight shifting of shadowy features under her cowl. "And she has seen your potential and accomplishments as a warrior of her people. You have proved yourself worthy of her mark."

She turned, and as one, the row of priests and priestesses did the same. Their footsteps slow and in perfect harmony, they filed into the entrance, and Razkar knew that he and his kin would follow them. When the last pair of robed figures was in the entrance, he stood and started to walk into the temple.

There was no sound but the flaring of torches and their footsteps on the bare stone. Razkar's head was high but his eyes flickered around in curiosity, despite the anxiety in his guts. He had never been in the Temple before. Now he saw carvings and pictures and stone tapestries depicting creatures and events he had never even imagined.

Great beasts hunted and subdued by screaming Myrian warriors, then devoured before they had taken their last breath.

Huge battles from centuries past, in jungles and deserts and plains and cities.

The saga of Myri herself, from a mere girl to a queen and then to the Goddess of War.

The tunnel had to end, though, and Razkar saw the light at the end of it. Dozens of torches blazed inside what he assumed was the central chamber, a square room huge and lined with skulls and bones on every surface. But what drew his attention right away was the red low that permeated everything inside, a patina of scarlet on every surface.

All reflected from the massive basin in the dead center of the chamber. As Razkar got closer... he could see the perfectly still surface. The Blooding Basin. His mother had told him about it, and his father, too. How the life's blood of their entire race, from centuries back, was contained within that basin, starting with the Goddess-Queen herself.

As the priests took up position around the perimeter of the room and he and his clan entered, he saw they were not alone...

Nine figures were seated above them, on ledges maybe six feet up. All females, of course, of varying ages. But Razkar frowned very slightly as he looked around at them, each one surveying him, scrutinizing him...

Bina of the Red Orchid. High Priestess of the Myrians, old but still glowing with her faith and conviction.

Misha of the Jagged Blade. High commander of all Myrians at arms (which was practically the entire race), even in this holy place her body pulsed with barely-latent violence, an urge for combat that stunned even Razkar.

Rahi of the Tiger Eyed. Watchful, patient, studying Razkar like an insect. He'd heard it said that this woman's legion of spies knew every act that occurred in Falyndar, and her influence spread far beyond it.

The Council of Nine, his mind muttered in awe, the ruling body of our people. Here to watch me...

And then he looked further up the stone stairs that led from the floor, far above the ledges the Council were seated at, and he forgot them entirely. A thrones rested there, carved from a single massive obsidian boulder, and two tigers the size of Tskannas sat on either side. They growled like thunder at the presence of these outsiders.

Then the figure who sat upon the throne made a tiny, tiny gesture with her hand... and they laid down without a mutter.

Out of sheer instinct, Razkar and the Shorn Skulls fell on their knees again.

Myri, Goddess of War and Victory, Queen of the Myrians and Falyndar, rose from her throne.

[Jackalope]

oocMy apologies for this. I'm not familiar with Myri at all, so I'm sure you've got a better grasp on this. Forgive me if there's anything you notice off. I wish I could offer you more. The Goddess Queen said nothing, instead staring at her child with eyes which burned with an intensity forged only in blood and battle. She needn't speak for her presence was enough. Intense features looked down upon Razkar, judging, unforgiving. Each Myrian would find themselves under her gaze, and as courageous as the race was, few would meet hers. A wicked smile crossed her lips as the Queen of the Myrians moved from her throne, yet it gave her an almost eerie beauty. Razkar, like all of his kind, were viewed by the Goddess-Queen as her children. Proud, fiercely protective of each and every one. At least those who were worthy of attention. Unskilled, worthless fools may as well be fed to the jungle. But Razkar, he was going to be one to watch. She was fully aware of all his training, all of his exploits, all of his offerings. The child had worked diligently, tirelessly, effortlessly. However, being aware was one thing. Being pleased was another. Myri was pleased, and Razkar, he would receive the reward he wished for. What greater victory could he desire? Slender, sun kissed fingers were folded into a a fist before unfurling to point towards the Blooding Basin. Finely sharpened nails rested on the target, and it was a moment each would anticipate, each would desire, each would strive for from their very first steps. Her acceptance. Her permission. And the blood of us all. With a cool, serene, perfect voice, Myri, the Goddess-Queen spoke. "Razkar of the Shorn Skulls...Drink."

[Razkar]

Razkar did not dare to move, let alone speak. He would never be a great mage or have a thorough knowledge of djed, or magic, or whatever it was called, but when he was in her presence... he felt the divine.

Not the light and splendor of the barbarian gods, with flowing robes and pious demeanor and magnanimous words. This was a power, a majesty born of the jungle. Before Myri was a god, where was one of the most fearsome warriors in the history of Mizahar. How else would you describe a woman who had defeated and united dozens of Myrians clans, forged them into one nation and held back the tides of Dhani and barbarians?

And that was all before she slew Ruros.

He felt that primal power now, as his feet moved beyond his command, and he found himself at the great basin. A skull sat on its edge, hollowed out and the bottom stopped, a perfect cup. He dipped it into the red liquid, almost regretful as he shattered the perfectly serene surface of the crimson water... and half-filled the skull.

Rustling. Soft, silken scraping as someone moved off a seat and began to walk down the steps. He heard no footsteps, though, just the material.

He did not need to turn his head to know whom it was.

Instead Razkar lifted the cup high in both hands, then closed his eyes and bought it to his lips. Coppery, tangy blood filled his mouth and he drank it down. It was so... familiar, and strange in its familiarity. He had expected... well, he didn't know what. Something to set apart the blood of all others from the blood he had before.

But it was the same, and that, he would realize later, was the point. Blood from countless Myrians had been deposited into the basin, starting with drops from Myri's own hand. He swallowed and slaked his thirst with the thick life liquid that was impossibly fresh and warm even after centuries sitting in this fetid temple.

When he last drop had leaked into his throat, he felt the burning.

[Jackalope]

The burning. The burning was intense, building rapidly, painfully, as though he was drinking pure, cleansing fire. The pain would nearly force him to the ground, but he knew better. To falter now, at the end of this race, in front of Myri, in front of the clan-elders, to call it shameful would be a gross understatement. Blood, the symbol, the essence of existence continued its trickle down his throat, the burning changing to something else. Something indescribable. As though every bit of his soul, his being, all of Razkar was gathered into a single point, he could feel it etching into his skin. Slowly, but surely, he was being changed with a gift unlike any other. Rather, being charged with a gift, as he would soon be told. Like a million needles going at once, the mark of Myri manifested, a more holy tattoo than anything he'd received, and just like that, it was done. The pain, the burning receded instantly. It was done. "Razkar.." she began, a voice hardened by war instead soft, seductive, irresistible. "You have taken our blood, my blood. My son . . . my brother . . . my warrior. But now, you just give. Balance the gift I have bestowed upon you. Honor your queen, your Goddess, and your people." A rite completed, and yet something more lingered in the air. "Razkar..." The weight of her next words dug deeper than any she'd spoken, for it was her charge, her command. A Myrian was a child of Myri. To let one's mother down.. "Do not fail me."

[Razkar]

"Do not fail me."

"Yes... my Queen..."

The words had to be pushed and pulled and dragged from deep inside Razkar's chest. Everything felt... changed. Not just altered, as with a tonic for sickness or bells of physical exertion. Not even the narcotic influence he had felt before. This seemed to resonate outwards from deep inside, but everywhere at once.

Razkar had always believed that he had a soul. Now he knew he did, because that was the only place this feeling could come from.

He had blinked and the world seemed fresher... richer. His hand moved up and... did it move faster? He frowned, staring at his hand, sure he didn't mean to move that fast. Was it his eyes? His reflexes? His mind? All he knew was that... she... was still behind him, fingernails stroking his fresh tattoo and then gone.

Razkar turned slowly as the Goddess-Queen returned to her throne, silken dress swwaying gently with each footstep, the attention and adoration of all present palpable in the air.

You have been gifted, he thought, and was unsure for a moment whether or not it was his voice of hers, given a great boon that will make you evermore formidable in battle. Do not waste it. Do not let it rust. Become the wrath and arm of your people, of your First Mother...

He fell to his knees again as Myri turned, dress whirling, and sat back on her throne. He had never seen anything more regal and majestic, so sure of herself, confident as she sat in that bone- and stone-crafted chair of everything she thought and did... and he never would again.

Many things would Razkar see in his travels, wonderful and terrible, of squalor and magnificence... but all were but shadows to the glory of the Goddess-Queen.

"I will not fail."

They were words cast in iron, and no more oath was necessary. Razkar stood and backed away, half-bowing, until he had passed the Blooding Basin and was with his clan again. The priestess who had led them in bowed low to Myri, as did everyone, a chorus of crinkling leather and cloth echoing dully around the stone chamber.

Razkar dared to look up, and saw a tiny gesture of dismissal from the Goddess-Queen. But he noticed her eyes never left him.

Bring forth blood and victory, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls... my son.

Within moments the Shorn Skulls and their mystic escort were trooping silently down the hallway, heading back to the open air of Taloba. As he walked, Razkar felt his father's hand cover the back of his neck, where his new... tattoo? Was that even the right name for it? So much more than the prosaic marking of flesh with ink or ash, he thought.

Far more potent.

He turned slightly, and saw his father lift up his head... and reveal the skull tattoo that had been on the side of his neck for as long as Razkar had been alive. Now his son blinked and understood what that mark really was.

Father and son walked from the Goddess-Queen, and while the boy had entered the Temple, the man would exit.

[Jackalope]

Razkar

Award

Skill	XP Earned	Lore Earned
Observation	+1	Standing Before Your Goddess

Special Reward: Myri's first gnosis


Witty Remark Here

Any future marks you may get won't be nearly this simple. As Myrians can request the first mark from the HD, I didn't feel the need for anything extravagant. I won't belabor the point, but if you make another PC, pay attention to that 50 post point. If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.