Closed Respect (Matthew)

[Razkar]

A wry smile crossed Razkar's face, but the human did not see it. The Myrian was taking the lead, backtracking the way they came, familiar with the route even if they were seeing it in reverse now. No need to rush: he kept them at a steady, careful gait, slow enough so they could absorb their surroundings, fast enough to be back in Sunberth before nightfall.

Yes, because it is so much safer there...

"I have seen your courage, human," he said simply, without any fawning in his voice, "I saw you hold together our band when we slayed the Balicani. You inspired those you had never met; used an evil wyrd for the good of all. A coward would have run, or done nothing. But you aided us; even saved some of us."

His pace didn't slow as he spoke, but that didn't mean his words carried no weight. To say the Myrians were martial by nature was the grossest of understatements: they were the children of the War Goddess, after all. Their lives were steeped in blood and combat, and like all lifelong warriors, courage was held as sacred by them.

He did not slow, but he did look over his shoulder. A flash from one obsidian eye caught the harlot's gaze as food for days swayed across Razkar's back.

"This is a Child of Myri saying you know bravery, human. Even if you know not the difference, understand that others see it in you. And as for the gods..."

The soft crunch of snow under his feet stopped. Matthew would see that they had come to a clearing, maybe twenty feet across. The snow in its center had melted away, Syna's rays having not bar from leaves nor branches. For long ticks the Myrian stood there, thinking, sensing...

Good enough.

"Here." He said with a curt nod. "Help me find stones. We're making a fire, right there-" he pointed to the middle of the dry patch "-so get kindling, too, whatever you can find that isn't soaking wet."

The past came to him. Memories of the Great Temple of Taloba and it's wide staircase, stained scarlet for hundreds of years. Drums, drums, drums shaking the ground and the howls of the warriors below, watching the peak of the ziggurat.

The flash of a knife held over the head of a chanting priest. The prisoner, drugged and mumbling, spread eagled and bound before him.

The flames. Endlessly burning. Awaiting the meal torn from the fresh chest of one... destined and designed to feed Myri herself.

"Yes." Razkar whispered, patting his rucksack over the precious offering he had saved from the deer. "She needs flames..."

[Matthew]

Well, if I hadn't have held the group together then there was a chance I would have been eaten by that flying acid lizard. Matthew's response went unspoken, but the tone in his own head was quite sullen. He hadn't enjoyed his encounter with the Balicani. He had almost forgot about it up until now. Still, it was interesting to know that Razkar had labeled the harlot as brave. He felt honored, almost. The Myrian was someone he looked up to in some kind of strange way, so he supposed honor was a natural thing to distantly feel. He let it bubble inside of him, tasting it a moment before it fizzled out. It was an odd and foreign taste. The pack of meat wore on his shoulders, leaving Matthew to adjust the pack time and time again. The burn had traveled down to his legs, and had just started seeping into his knees whenever Razkar finally stopped. Breathing a bit hard, Matthew gently un-slung the pack and carefully deposited it upon the ground. Razkar was standing there, quiet and observative, seemingly looking for something that only his black eyes could see. The silence was suddenly broken with movement and noise, Razkar's voice snapping out. Matthew quietly obeyed, dancing his eyes around to find both stones and wood. He wandered around the perimeter of the area to find what he could, shoulders aching with each heavy stone or pile of kindling he had to carry. Thoughts came to mind, other questions he wanted to ask Razkar, but one glance at the Myrian told him that it would be best to wait until later. The Myrian was in a place of his own, a place where he would eventually meet his Goddess. Stifling his curiosity for now, Matthew just gathered as many stones and kindling as was required. He had heard stories about this. According to the stories, there was a chance he would be the sacrifice. He certainly hoped that wasn't the case, but he wouldn't complain if all of this turned into a horribly ironic joke. Not many of the legends that surrounded the Myrians seemed to be true anyways, unless Razkar was a special case. He seemed to be Myrian to his very core though, even if Matthew had only met a few in his time. When he had gathered enough of the wood, he went about forming it. Smaller sticks could be used as kindling, and were set in a small pile at the very center of the gathering of stones. The bigger limbs, though there were few, were set in something of a cone shape above the kindling. The rocks defined the border of the fire, keeping it from spreading. The kindling was small and would hopefully be quick to catch, a few handfuls of some dry leaves added in. If the kindling burned long enough, then it would catch the rest of the limbs on fire. Then, the sacrifice would hopefully be set ablaze. There hadn't been many dried leaves to find, so Matthew had taken a small strip of animal fat from what they had collected off of the buck. That animal fat was placed among the kindling, a natural fuel of sorts that would hopefully allow everything to light successfully. With that done he stood back and watched, struggling to keep his questions silent. While he may not understand why all of this was important, he still understood that it was important to Razkar.

[Razkar]

Boy's full of surprises...

Razkar had to admit, the harlot knew what he was doing, and he wondered how the hell that was? Since when did a perfumed male of leisure know how to arrange and construct a fire so adroitly? The Myrian had always assumed the barbarian races would starve in the wilderness to a man, bereft of the survival skills his people took for granted.

Probably attacks the problem as logically as everything else. But he makes it work for him. I had to have everything taught to me, but he was taught to observe, study... and apply the results of it.

Admiring as he was, Razkar was still focused on the true reason for the exercise. Once the human was finished, he backed away and left Razkar to it, and the Myrian gave him a half-bow of thanks... then knelt before the modest cone of twigs, kindling and glistening animal fat.

He withdrew his kukri and dagger and ran one against the other sharply, sending little showers of sparks over the dry construct. After a few chimes smoke started to billow forth, tiny patches of smoldering matter caught alight and spreading... especially when they caught the animal fat, which sizzles and glowed and then real, quivering flames of red and orange were dancing amid the debris.

"Good idea with the fat. I'll have to remember that..."

Razkar spoke no more to Matthew. He stripped himself down to his loincloth, scorning and then ignoring the cold, even removing his weapon harness. He spoke in the tongue of his people, a language rarely heard this far from the jungle. Guttural, naturally aggressive tones sounded softer, reverential as he spoke to the flames, to his distant Goddess-Queen.

"Blessed Myri, Mother of the Myrians, Mistress of War and Battle, hear the words of your distant son, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, Son of Yurta and Zek, Warrior of Taloba..."

As he spoke he delved into his rucksack and produced the oozing, swollen heart of the deer. In times past (in times recent, actually), Razkar had seen the cores of mighty warriors and fierce Dhani plucked and devoured by the offering flames. Alas, he had no great prize... but this was the season of the Goddess-Queen's birth, and every one of Her children had to make some offering.

"I make a gift of this swift beast's life to you. Know that it was gained with skill and patience; know that it is offered humbly and without thought of reward."

The flames grew higher, gorging themselves on a feast of wood, blackening the heap until a low roar issued forth, crackling and warming them both and belching smoke skyward. The Myrian held the heart in both hands and proffered it up... and then forward.

"Blessed Myri, on this day I give thanks and honor and my life to thee, as I have done every year. Your Son shall ever be thus: devoted to thy form and thy will. Feast now on his offering, sanctified by steel... by love..."

He ripped his kukri and the curved blade flashed once, a quick and simple cut that opened a red line in his hand, spattering drops of his own essence across the fresh but stiff deer heart. When enough had been spilled, Razkar leaned forward and dropped it into the flames.

"... and by blood. Glory to Blessed Myri, Mother and Strength of the Myrians."

The Myrian placed his bleeding palm on his forehead and wiped it down to his chin, painting a ragged crimson slash down his face.

"Feast today, and know the souls and flesh of warriors will be laid at thy feet in seasons to come..."

The flames gorged on the thick and meaty treat in the middle of it, and Razkar watched in silent piety as the heart charred, withered and His Goddess-Queen was given her due respect.

[Matthew]

Matthew had an approximate knowledge of many things. He had no doubt that he would die in the wilderness if ever alone for more than a few days, but at least he'd be able to build a fire before he passed away. He was also able to identify an assortment of about five different sorts of plants, and knew that one of them could be used in a lip balm that was made with mostly beeswax. In summary, he would be able to build a fire and perhaps moisten his lips before being eaten by some wild creature. There was a half-bow, and Matthew paused for a brief moment before awkwardly returning it. A bow was yet another social gesture that he wasn't exactly clear on, but he knew enough to return it when it was given to him. With that, he cleared his throat and stepped back to watch. Foreign speech came from Razkar's lips, and Matthew listened closely to it. He wanted to eventually learn the language so he was grateful for the chance to study it. He didn't actually know any of the words that were being spoken, but he paid very close attention to the way they were pronounced, to the tone they were spoken in. He tried to envision the words in his head, spelling them out and filing them away in a rarely-opened book deep within his mental library. He was briefly distracted by the produced heart of the deer, blinking at it a bit. He wasn't disgusted by the display, but it made him recall a few more legends he had heard about the Myrians. Didn't they eat the hearts of their enemies? Or was it the skulls? He doubted they could eat skulls, but maybe their biology had formed a way for them to digest the bone. He would have asked, but he reminded himself that now was a time to keep quiet. This was a religious moment, and religious moments were to be respected. He went back to focusing on the spoken Myrian word, drawing out the letters in his mind. It was quite hard to do. The sound of a lot of the letters were vastly different from anything he had ever heard in his own language, so there was a lot of guesswork. He wondered if Razkar knew how to write the Myrian language, or if there was even a written form. He'd have to ask that later. It was interesting how forced silence had him forming a very long list of questions for later. Now Razkar had cut himself. Should Matthew cut himself too? He'd have to borrow a blade. He was about to step forward and ask, but then this specific part of the ritual clicked in his mind. It was combining Razkar's blood with that of the offering, making the savage an offering himself in a way. For a brief moment, Matthew thought back to before, when the savage had lifted him with a single hand and nearly choked the life out of him. He was lucky that words of reason had managed to snap the Myrian out of his stupor. What if he hadn't been able to speak though? He needed some sort of plan in place to defend himself from such shows of physical violence. His strategy so far had been to simply plan ahead to avoid such encounters. That wouldn't last forever. His eyes had somehow found their way to the curse mark on Razkar's flesh, and suddenly his stomach turned. Treacherous reprobate. His stomach flipped again, and the next blink of his eyes brought his stare away from the mark. That thought hadn't been his own. It had been in his own head, but it hadn't been generated by the him that was so safely guarded. That thought had came unwilled. A small frown flickered across his handsome features, the mind of the harlot working overtime. The curse mark would prove to be an interesting handicap for Razkar. First impressions meant a lot, and now the Myrian wouldn't be able to fully control what impression was given. Matthew's only boon was that he knew Razkar, both before and after the mark.

[Razkar]

"Time to go."

He watched in silence as the flames ate and ate and burned and burned until they devoured their very selves. Fire had no mind, after all. No sense of restraint or conservation. It burned because it there were things to burn, and that was all. Razkar wondered idly if all flames were that same flame, and when the orange and yellow ribbons flickered and shrunk to smoke, if they vanished to some other place, waiting to be born again by another's flint or drill-stick.

But these thoughts were for his own mind. The flame was Myri's, and he would not profane it with her voice. It would have made a decent cooking fire, too, but...

"You should come home with me, my friend," Razkar said genially, wrapping a length of gauze around his hand as if it were a paper cut. "Edreina would love to see you, and dining on meat you hunted yourself is a singular pleasure."

A low chuckle, a shake of a head, both things so at odds with the brooding, serious savage of chimes ago. But the ritual was over, after all. Now it was just a dead fire, filled with ash and charred wood. Razkar turned to the human and shifted the weight of the pack on his shoulders.

Syna was dipping low and long stretched the shadows on the Myrian's face. One eye in darkness, piercings throwing shadows like charcoal scars on his dark, tanned visage. But it was no demon staring at Matthew. Just the calm, cool gaze of one beings regarding another... then reaching out to grip his shoulder.

"I am glad you came."

To say more seemed unnecessary; to say less would have been ungrateful. Razkar peered around for a few ticks and swiftly got his bearings, based on the setting ball of flame. If it was setting over there... then Sunberth would be...

"This way, my friend."

Crunch, crunch, crunch on the stiffening snow, the dropping temperature heralding another shivering night and dead transients in the streets. But not for the two figures marching through the gloomy woods, heading back to Hell's waiting room.

[Vanari]

Razkar

Hunting	+3 XP
Tracking	+3 XP
Shortbow	+2 XP
Teaching	+3 XP
Intelligence	+3 XP
Tact	+4 XP
Running	+1 XP
Storytelling	+1 XP
Interrogation	+1 XP
Bodybuilding	+1 XP
Philosophy	+2 XP
Leadership	+1 XP
Wilderness Survival	+1 XP
Butchery	+3 XP
Weapon: Kukri	+1 XP
Food Preservation	+2 XP

Lores :

• Matthew: Styled His Hair for a Hunt
• Hunting: Blending in with the Locals
• Matthew: Full of Questions Concerning Myri
• Matthew: Match for Hunting!
• Inspecting Warm Droppings
• A Buck Wrestling Harlot = Insane Goat/Chicken
• Making Amends to the Green Goddess
• Matthew: His Face Changed!
• Confessing Past Sins to Matthew
• Chopping Up a Buck
• Treating Matthew with more Warmth
• Matthew: Doesn't Like Spiders
• The Courage within Matthew
• A Harlot Makes for a Good Fire Builder
• Sacrificing a Buck's Heart to Myri
• Contemplating Fire
• Inviting Matthew to Dinner

Matthew

Observation	+3 XP
Intelligence	+5 XP
Tracking	+1 XP
Investigation	+2 XP
Hunting	+1 XP
Interrogation	+1 XP
Meditation	+3 XP
Wrestling	+1 XP
Running	+1 XP
Planning	+1 XP
Butchery	+3 XP
Philosophy	+1 XP
Food Preservation	+2 XP
Body Building	+2 XP
Wilderness Survival	+1 XP

Lores :

• Getting Lost, Unfashionably Late
• Note to Self: Not a Child of Myri
• Hunting: Smelling Like One's Prey
• Children of Myri, All Others are Barbarians
• All Strength Feeds the Goddess of War
• Covering Oneself with Dirt
• Learning from Raz: Monkey See, Monkey Do
• Listening for Water
• Raz: Feet like Leather
• Trying to Manhandle a Buck
• Attempt to Impress Raz Backfires
• Offending the Green Goddess
• Hunter: Do Not Waste Anything
• Raz: Cursed by Yahal
• Raz's Curse: How to Remove?
• Preserving Buck Meat
• Deemed Brave by a Myrian
• Honor: An Odd, Bubbling Feeling
• Witnessing a Myrian Sacrifice
• My Survival Abilities: Build a Fire, Moisten Lips, Get Eaten
• Raz's Curse: A Voice in My Head

Loot :

+Lots 'o meat

Notes :

*collapses*

Please don't hesitate to PM me with questions, comments, or concerns! Also, remember to edit your grade request as "graded."

Cheers