[sub][i]Red Bangles Productions present...[/i][/sub][centre][h3][color=#C59401]Arvum[/color][/h3]
&
[h1][sub]Mish-Cheechel the Avenger[/sub][/h1]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/LDRtUBd.gif[/img]
[/centre]
[hr]
Mish-Cheechel stalked through the woodlands, his slow breath whistling gently through his teeth. The sound of running water was not far, and he paused to grate his incisors against a tree half as old as time. It did not sigh under his chiselling as the trees of the days of yore sighed, the bark did not embrace his searching incisors - no, it screamed under each cut, it whimpered beneath his biting wrath. This was not the careful, loving chiselling away the trees had known before, it was not art or worship, this was the gnawing of war - great bites that left weeping wounds and trenches in every tree he passed. It was the warpath of Mish-Cheechel the Avenger.

The trees gave way to the river, and he placed the broken spear to the side as he bent down and took the running water into his paws, bringing it to his mouth where he lapped at it. Only then did he notice the sound of carving, which caused him to grab his spear and leap away, teeth bared and eyes glowering. When his eyes fell on a fellow bjork, however, he relaxed. “Hail, stranger. I didn’t smell you there.” His eyes were drawn to the wood that was slowly taking shape beneath the careful chiselling of the stranger’s teeth.

The stranger paused his work, though his eyes did not move from carefully examining it. He replied, “I did not intend to draw attention to myself.” His words caused Mish-Cheechel to frown and scratch at his chin.

“These are days when a manbjork would do well to go unseen and unheard - the Green Murder’s foul fiends could be lying anywhere in wait.” He took a careful step closer and sniffed at the air, and puzzlement lit up his eyes. “But… you smell of nothing at all. I’ve never known a bjork who smelled of nothing at all.” He leaned back on his tail and gripped his spear tighter. “What’s your name, friend - if friend you be - and from what tribe and clan do you hail?”

The strange bjork replied,  “Do I truly smell of nothing? Certainly that can not be.” Mish-Cheechel’s tail jittered against the ground in annoyance.

“My nose doesn’t lie, friend, you smell of no-” the angry bjork paused and instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening as his nostrils flared. “That can’t be…” he muttered with a frown, his head flitting frantically here and there to take in the overwhelming smell all around. It was unlike anything he had ever sensed. Both the smell and the sheer strength were new to him, and though the power was somewhat intimidating he could not deny that the smell was in many ways pleasant. It lacked that essential [i]wetness[/i] borne by all the bjorks he had known. It was dry and warm, fresh and recently cut - almost, but not quite, like a newly felled tree. “But manbjork,” Mish-Cheechel exclaimed, “you smell almost beautiful!” He rested on his tail and, once the awe had passed, fixed the other manbjork with a suspicious glare. “Who are you?”

“I am a carver working beside the river.” he said, his eyes still glaring down at his work. He vaguely gestured to the carving in his hand,  “This belongs to a pair. You may examine the other if it pleases you.” he said, gesturing with his tail to an inconspicuous stick laying nearby. But his words did not seem to subdue Mish-Cheechel’s suspicion. He glanced at the odd wooden carving, fashioned into a shape resembling a small, debarked tree trunk that had all sorts of little shapes etched into it. Mish-Cheechel did not approach it, however.

“Alright, ‘Carver’, have it your way,” he muttered, “but you’ll forgive me if I don’t examine... whatever that thing is... further - it looks very interesting and very odd, but I’m not one to dally long with mysterious strangers with weird smells and weird carvings.” He looked out towards the river, and then his gaze drifted skyward. “And I’ve got things to be getting on with anyhow, so I bid you good day - and I’ll say this as a parting gift: I’d not dally about here too long if I were you. Skies aren’t safe, and never more so than now.” He raised his paw in farewell, and slowly shuffled back from the stranger, keeping his eyes on him as he did.

The stranger finally turned his gaze to meet the young bjork’s sight. His eyes were a deep golden brown that almost seemed to emit an ethereal glow, and looking into them caused Mish-Cheechel to subconsciously halt. He spoke,  [color=#C59401] “Perhaps you could spare a few more moments of your time. Could you elaborate on this Green Murder of whom you speak?” [/color] 

Blinking away his momentary reverie, Mish-Cheechel frowned at the other bjork and was silent. “You’re strange, Carver, very strange.” There was a hint of fear in his voice, but there was a steely determination - an anger - in his eyes. “You sit out here, unafraid. You smell like no bjork. You have sunlight in your eyes. Very strange. Very strange.” He gulped. “You remind me…” his nostrils flared suddenly and without warning he leapt forth towards the stranger, his tail lifting him from the ground with force so that he was upon the other bjork in seconds, his spear snaking towards his head, “of that eagle god!” But before the tip was half a whisker from the Carver, the vengeful Mish-Cheechel felt the air whoosh all at once from his lungs and power leave him. He fell like a wet leaf before his adversary.

The stranger sat, stationary and unworried. [color=#C59401] “I am unfamiliar with a god of eagles. As I asked before, mayhaps you could enlighten me.” [/color] Mish-Cheechel rolled groaning on the ground, gnashing his teeth against each other.

“Bastard.” He managed, but half a breath later he seemed fully recovered and, leaping to his feet, scrambled for the water. He turned back to the stranger and eyed him, as though expecting another strike. When none came, he shifted. “You’re not with it then? The god of the death-bears? Of the blood-eagles? Of the dread-wolves? The god that slaughters without reason - kits and lassiebjorks and the old?” His voice rose as he spoke and his anger took a hold of him, “you’re not with it! You don’t know!? A pox on you!” His outburst was followed by a grunt as he hurled his spear at the strange manbjork. The weapon flew forward and struck true, however the stranger remained unharmed while the spear fell to the ground, broken. 

 [color=#C59401] “If your adversary is truly a god, then such strikes will be just as ineffective. No matter how much anger you feel, no matter how righteous your cause, you will fail.” [/color] was the stranger’s only reply to the act of violence attempted upon him. Mish-Cheechel’s nostrils flared and he clenched his fist in frustration.

“By my life; by the rivers; by the trees; by the great earth and by the rolling skies; the eagle god will pay for its crime. If the spear fails, I will knaw at it with my bare teeth - and even if I perish, it will die. It will die, Carver, it will!” His tail slapped against the water, and his shoulders trembled under the weight of rage.

The stranger stood up, walking over to the second stick and picking it with his other paw.  [color=#C59401] “I can not assist you in your final endeavor, but that does not mean I can offer no assistance at all. If you would have it, follow me.” [/color] he said, wandering into the woods. Mish-Cheechel stared after him for a few short seconds, then stalked out of the water and trailed the odd bjork.

After walking in silence for some time, the wary Mish-Cheechel spoke up. “You’re a god aren’t you? Are you Old Bjork? The Singing Maker? Another?” He paused, “and why would you assist me in this?”

 [color=#C59401] “I can not recall ever having sung. Perhaps one day I shall.” [/color] he said, giving a thought before he continued,  [color=#C59401] “I am offering this opportunity to you, however the assistance is intended for all bjorks. I trust that it will reach them.” [/color] 

Mish-Cheechel scratched his nose and closed one eye as he followed. “If it’ll help me dig my teeth into the eagle god, I’ll take it and I’ll use it. I can’t promise more than that.” He glanced at the surrounding trees and his tail rose and fell in worry. “How far do we need to go anyway? I don’t like being so far from the river.” He shifted uneasily and glanced now to the strange carver and now to the shadows between the trees.

 [color=#C59401] “The lands are dangerous, and so your caution is not ill-advised. However, the savagery of the wilderness is quelled by my presence. At least, when I so choose. If you are made docile by dancing shadows, will your fury last when staring down the Green Murder?” [/color] he asked, without turning around. After crossing through a brush, they arrived in a small clearing. A giant pelt was held between two trees by transparent threads. It was large enough to engulf at least one manbjork beneath it entirely. The stranger continued to walk towards it and began his arcane preparations. 

Mish-Cheechel puffed air through his teeth. “I’d be a liar if I said I’m not afraid, Carver - but it’s not the wilds I fear. I know these lands, these shadows - I even know the Green Murder. What I don’t know is you. Only a fool doesn’t have some fear of what he doesn’t know.” He paused at the edge of the clearing and leaned back on his tail, watching the mysterious ritual. “What’s this now?”

The stranger did not answer. At least, not in any tongue that the young bjork could understand. However, despite not understanding the words, Mish-Cheechel still felt as though he was being imparted with meaning. Knowledge flowed like a river into him, though even what it was teaching him was obscured by inexperience and shock. 

The threads holding the leather in place vanished, yet it still remained upright and unmoved by the pull of the ground. The two wooden carvings floated from the Carver’s paws and hovered beside it, growing in length to match the pelt’s size. The entire length of the enlarged wooden cylinders remained covered in the odd symbols as before. The whole rite took mere seconds, but the experience felt as though it lasted hours. When the Carver stopped, the strange hide fell to the ground swiftly but with an unusual grace. 

The stranger returned to speaking in a language that Mish-Cheechel could understand,  [color=#C59401] “This is my gift to you, a saddle. However, know that my gifts are not to be taken lightly. You will only know this tool’s true value if you could place it upon the back of one of those death-bears you spoke of previously. I appreciate your honest words from earlier, and thus I will elaborate further than I might have otherwise. I entrust this task to you because you have already surrendered your fate to something far more dangerous than this. Overcoming it will grant you no relief from the might of the divine, however it may allow you to survive against the Green Murder’s servents” [/color] 

Mish-Cheechel approached in a slight daze and stood beside the Carver. “A ‘saddle’? And what will it do if I place it on a death-bear? Kill it?” He bent over and inspected it. “It doesn’t look like a weapon.” He paused as he continued his examination, “but I guess you won’t tell me anyway, why’d I bother. And is that…” Mish-Cheechel gagged and stepped back, “is that someone’s skin?” His tail thrashed the ground. “Not a bjork, surely? That would be sick of you.”
[color=#C59401] “It is the pelt of a death-bear.” [/color] the Carver explained. [color=#C59401] “I have imparted the knowledge you require. Understanding will come with time.” [/color] he said. Mish-Cheechel nodded, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the pelt.

“The skin of a death-bear eh? Now how did you do that I wonder.” He placed his hands on the saddle and passed his fingers through the fur. When he looked back up at the stranger, he found that he was ambling off. “Wait, you’re going?” He rushed after him, “but you haven’t even told me your name!”

[color=#C59401] “Perhaps if you survive your encounter with a death-bear, and share freely the wisdom obtained through the ordeal with the other bjorks, then we shall meet again and I shall answer your question.” [/color] he said, vanishing in an instant. Mish-Cheechel paused and blinked for a few seconds, staring at where the god had been moments before.

“Ah, fucker,” he muttered, then instinctively snapped his paws to his mouth. “Ah shodna sid tha.”
[hr]
[list][*][hider=Summary]Mish-Cheechel the Avenger is stalking the woods being very vengeful. He comes across a stranger carving wood by a stream and gets talking to him - but lo and behold, this stranger smells of nothing! Or so Mish though, because a sniff later and he smells of the harvest - not that Mish knows what that is. It’s a very strong smell, but Mish thinks it beautiful. Still, it makes him very suspicious. After a brief exchange, in which the stranger is very mysterious and does not divulge anything other than his being a ‘carver’, Mish makes to leave. But the Carver stops him with his eyes of sunlight, and Mish - thinking him in some way related to Phelenia - attacks him. At this point, Mish-Cheechel the Avenger suffers a temporary set-back and decides to go stand near the river. Cough.
They chat some more and the Carver offers to assist Mish in his quest for vengeance. He leads him into the forest and makes him a special saddle - but Mish has no idea what a saddle is or does! The Carver only tells him that he’ll find out when he successfully places it on the back of a death-bear. With that, and still refusing to tell Mish his name, the Carver vanished into thin air.

Oh, and the Carver is Arvum by the way. Just in case you didn’t work that out.[/hider]
[*][hider= Vigor] 
Starting: 9
Ending: 8

-1 Vigor - Created the artifact: The Saddle of Mish-Cheechel o' Clan Rod - Any bear that wears the saddle becomes instantly tamed. Whenever the saddle is removed, the effect begins to wear off. However, the longer the bear wore the saddle, the longer it will take for the bear to revert back to being feral. After years, the bear will eventually become tamed even when the saddle is removed. 

-Free - Imparted bear-riding knowledge : Taught Mish-Cheechel the skills required to tame, raise, and ride bears. It is fragmented at first. Discounted through cultivation. 
[/hider]
[/list]