[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/xqJ96xc.png[/img] [h3][sub]Ganisundur & Rinaas [i]hli[/i] Awqar[/sub][/h3] [img]https://i.imgur.com/DcTKPyv.png[/img][/centre] Their little band crested a hill one day to find two great hosts stood in the valley below. They were dressed in many colours and held spears and great flat clubs of wood, some studded with metal or some made entirely of metal. Rinaas sat down on a nearby boulder and watched how things unravelled below. Two figures were stood between the hosts, their clubs raised as they moved around each other in great exaggerated movements, gesturing here and there and puffing their chests out. They beat at the earth with their feet and sped up now and again like two great tigers circling and thrashing at one another. Their movements were full of power and violent intent, their gestures threatening and hostile, and yet they did not strike out at each other. The display continued for some time, now one causing the other to back away and now the other gaining ground as he swung his great club around with energy and ululations. The hosts shouted and beat at the earth with their warrior, ululating as he ululated and crying out and cheering when his power manifested itself or when he carried out an impressive movement or manoeuvre. As the excitement and shouting increased, the hosts began to inch towards one another, hurling insults and boasting, swinging their weapons and raising their spears, drums sounding aggressively and giving each host the impression of having gods amongst them. Here and there individual warriors stepped forth and engaged others in the display of duelling, like the original warriors, and before long both hosts had come together and pushed and shoved and boasted and insulted. Here and there were chaotic clashes as two warriors met and one managed to hurl the other to the ground, and it was soon becoming apparent that one of the hosts was gaining the upper ground. A shout rose up somewhere and a ripple of fear ran through the losing host, and its men began to slip away and were soon disappearing over the far hill. The victorious host had gathered around what appeared to be a fallen warrior, circling around him with spears raised, gathering wood and piling it up around him as they circled and pounded the earth and howled in victory. Soon ghouls began to emerge, lumbering towards the dead body, and the warriors beat at the earth and retreated slowly, shouting and boasting as the viney monstrosities of death found their target and began tearing and eating and destroying. “For these warriors of the forests and plains, this is viewed as the only way to sate the Dead-eye and prevent him from setting the [i]itralla[/i] on the living.” Rinaas explained. “What are these [i]itralla[/i], [i]adi[/i]?” Ganisundur asked. “Have you not heard their song, my Ganisundur?” She asked. “They are like no song of plant I have known. They hunger – but only for the dead. And it is not a hunger that seeks to stave off death. I don’t know if it can rightly be called hunger – it is merely consumption given form, consumption is its own end.” Ganisundur glanced at the songstress, who merely nodded. Beside him, the handsome Girgaah strummed at his instrument and sent a sigh towards the humelven Fihnoom. “The people all fear feeding death “But in my chest is no such fear “I only weep with every breath “And call on her with every tear “If she would come feast on my flesh “I am restored and rise afresh!” Fihnoom shook her head and glanced at him with a small smirk, then moved away and sat by Rinaas. “What I have never understood, [i]adi[/i] is why the tribes on these southern plains wage war like this. Everywhere else war brings death and great bloodshed and it is a terrible sight, but here there is dance and boastful song and witful abuses, and the warriors dress as though they are going to a festival. Death only arises unintentionally.” “Ah yes, these clans of the Hjinka are often feuding, often fighting. Perhaps it was the case long ago too, and perhaps they killed one another so much that they could kill no more. And perhaps there was a wise one amongst them who taught them how to make war without shedding blood. But perhaps by asking them you would know better, or if you listen to the rocks or the streams or the trees they may know a song or two.” “It would be beautiful if all the world would fight as the Hjinka do,” Fihnoom sighed, “even if it is loud and horrible on the ears. I can only imagine my old man would frown severely at all that noise and think it worse than even death.” “Oh, but there’s nothing worse than death!” Sinhuldo piped. “Nothing is worse than that Death-eye.” “Then praise Hulaiya, Sinhuldo, and do not fear death so much that you stop enjoying life.” Rinaas spoke to the fearful man. “Oh, never! I enjoy life, may the goddess never take that from us.” Sinhuldo responded with a shaking voice, looking down at the ghouls below as they dissipated and shivering in disgust. “I don’t know about that,” Fihnoom said teasingly, “you seem like you’re not enjoying life at all. Perhaps great Hulaiya will see this.” Sinhuldo’s eyes widened and he gave a trembling smile. “Wh- what? M-me? I enjoy life a lot. I sing and dance, l-look,” he started dancing and stumbling, strumming at his instrument with fumbling fingers. “See, the g-goddess will see I love life.” Ganisundur watched this exchange curiously, then looked to Rinaas, who spoke before he could ask his question. “Life and death, day and night, joy and misery, the two great sides to life’s short cycle. Hulaiya presides over the first, Duhthaei over the other.” “What of Reffoh, [i]adi[/i]?” Fihnoom asked, causing Sinhuldo to scoff and earning him an irritated glance from the humelf. “Incompetent and weak.” The giant Biruldaan spoke gruffly. “Reffoh, disliked by elves and humans alike – though, it is said, she is the creator goddess whose face is the moon and who reigns over the night. When Duhthaei came to claim the mortals she had created, she could not stave him off and was felled, and even now she lies imprisoned inside the moon, her kingdom now her dungeon. When night arrives so too arrives her failure to rule. That is why all the dangers of Duhthaei arise with night. This is why when you visit Amashu or Telruto or Teukrall, or any of the great cities of the Upper Azumai, you will find there great braziers that are lit with the onset of dusk so as to keep the darkness - and its dangers - at bay. “Not so with Hulaiya, the glorious mistress of the day who stands as the bastion against Duhthaei’s misery and darkness and death. She is not like Reffoh, the people say, she is not weak and [i]useless[/i] – these are their words, my Ganisundur, do not frown. What are they to think of a goddess who failed them, hmm? People are fickle like that – they fear those who cause them fear and death, and they love those who ward that off and inspire joy. As for those who fail, if remembered at all they are despised even more than the evil that felled them.” “Is it right?” The inkman asked, a small frown on his face. “Is it right for a god to be so incompetent?” Biruldaan countered. “Well, someone sounds like they have a grudge.” Fihnoom noted, her eyes on the big man. “Yeah. Maybe.” His mutter came as he looked away. “Some things are unforgivable – a wilfully useless god, for one.” “I mean, she’s not wilfully useless – she was just bested.” Sinhuldo retorted. “No, the gods are many and the Death-eye could not best any of them. He is not more powerful, simply more terrible. Reffoh was bested because she was useless, incompetent, unworthy of being a god and unable to protect what she created. It had been better if she created nothing at all. Had Hulaiya made us, the Death-eye never would have taken us – he would never have brought calamity upon us by moving heaven and earth as he did to our most ancient ancestors, would never have taken us from the joys of life to death’s despair.” “It is your pain that speaks, Biruldaan, for it is yet fresh.” Rinaas finally spoke. “Calm yourself and do not blaspheme overmuch against a divine being – imprisoned and incapable you may believe her to be, but she is yet a god.” “I do not fear Reffoh, [i]adi[/i]. Only those who have no protector but her have reason to fear. But let us speak of something else. The tattoo that Ganisundur gave you, [i]adi[/i], it is the same as that on Fihnoom’s thigh.” “What?” cried Girgaah, “how do you know that? How does he know that?” “Uhhh…” Fihnoom gave him a guilty glance then laughed. The man fell to his knees and cried out loud, his beautifully sculpted visage contorted and pained. “Damn it Fihnoom, again? My poor heart.” Rinaas gave the three a frown then stood and began moving away. Ganisundur followed after her and looked at the tattoo that stood between her brows – an extended hand facing down. “That symbol is known?” He asked. “It is.” The songstress confirmed. “I didn’t know… what does it mean?” “It is the symbol of the singing god, Ghilmu. He lords over the [i]good[/i] things in life – music, dance, poetry, feasting, revelry, pleasures of the flesh, and much else are his prerogative. They are the manner by which great Hulaiya is appeased. His great hand is known to be a ward that drives off all kinds of evil – and so he is regarded as the defender of everything good and the enemy of all that is bad. By dancing, singing, revelling in joy, the people call up his great protective powers and so aid in the fight against the Death-eye and all the evil he has birthed.” “Why would it be on Fihnoom’s thigh?” “Fihnoom was a professional dancer before she joined us, and tattoos of Ghilmu’s hand can be found on the thighs of dancers. Musicians too, actors, and servant girls.” He was quiet for a few moments. “You don’t seem to approve, [i]adi[/i].” “What she does is her business, Ganisundur.” “No, I mean – you don’t seem to approve of the gods.” “Oh, Ganisundur!” She exclaimed with a mite of shock, “you accuse me of blasphemy?” “I didn’t mean it like that. It seems to me more like… you don’t approve of what is [i]said[/i] about the gods.” “Ah, in that case you may well be right.” “So… what do you say of them?” “I don’t say anything Ganisundur. I listen and I sing, and what is beyond that is between my heart and I.” “Why do you think my ink became a hand of Ghilmu on your brow?” He asked after a brief silence. She paused and looked at him. “Isn’t it obvious, Ganisundur? It is because you are of that god.” He blinked after her. “Ah.” [list][*][hider=Summary]We observe ritual battle and some ghoul stuff by a tribe south of the Azumai. Ganisundur then finds out that he might be connected with a god or something.[/hider] [*] [hider=Might][centre]| 5MP and 5DP | +2 Puppetry | +3 Acting | +4 Music | +5 Dance | +4 Architecture | +5 Sculpting |[/centre] Claim Dance Portfolio (-3 DP) Claim Sculpting Portfolio (-5MP) [centre]| 0MP and 2DP | +2 Puppetry | +3 Acting | +4 Music | +4 Architecture |[/centre][/hider] [*][hider=Prestige]+5 Prestige to Rinaas (~10,950 characters). 17 total. [/hider][/list]