[center][h2]Eidolon Plains[/h2] [b]A Strange Encounter[/b][/center] The band gathered around their fallen brethren. His limbs ravaged by fangs and claws and the color drained from his eyes and markings. The salter placed her hand on his forehead, confirming the obvious. He was dead. Marshall Edgar nodded, and organized the necessary preparations. When everything was ready, almost everyone gathered around the story-teller as he told stories about the fallen, followed by the story of Arvos’ death and made a plea that his spirit be allowed to join his noble ancestor. The story-teller then walked around to the various grieving people, giving them time to give words around the dead. Not everyone could be in attendance, as there still needed to be people to watch the sheep. When everyone who had words had shared them, the salter took a bone knife and made a small cut where the chest marking had been, carefully removing a small crystal from the cut. She washed the crystal with a prepared bowl of water before placing it in a small leather bag. It would eventually be stored with the rarer and nicer possessions of the band. As for the mortal remains, they wrapped the body in animal skins and then splashed it with animal blood, marking it as something unclean to any other band who found it. They then left it where it was and prepared to continue herding their sheep further south. Once the band had crossed over the horizon with their animals, a new Eidolon showed herself. It was strange enough, among these wandering people, to be alone; stranger still to be mounted on such a beast, better suited for scrounging than grazing. The lonely one dismounted, adjusted the fine black xo fur around her shoulders, and knelt at the body, gently resting her knuckles where the sheepskin covered its forehead. It was something any Eidolon could do with little effort, but only she could do it for the dead. Memories flickered from the body to the lonely one. She had no need for a story-teller. After a few seconds she removed her hand, looking down over the body. If the Eidolon had been asleep, he would be comfortable, warm at night and shaded by day under the skins they had left him. With the incision hidden below, the only thing that really marked him as dead was the blood, an important token. [colour=gainsboro][i]But why skins?[/i][/colour] The lonely one crouched and mused as a vulture circled in the distance, perhaps confused by the unnatural shape of the covered body. The Eidolons had many skins, from hunts and herds, and could easily afford to spare a few they did not need for straps or shoes or rawhide tents. It wasn’t a burden, but it wasn’t a choice, either. There was little else they could use to cover the body but soil. Perhaps burying the dead in the earth from which they came was distasteful to them. She stood. They were a primitive people. They had done well with what they had. And they would do better with more. [hr] The band continued to travel towards fresh grass. While the herd didn’t need to travel great distances for its next meal, the group was travelling faster than their usually slower pace. A misjudgment meant that they didn’t have as much water as they needed, and so they were hurrying to a nearby river. As they approached, they saw a strange sight, a herd of black sheep mostly left unattended, and a black tent. From the distance, they could make an Eidolon shape. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the valuable livestock, though the band couldn’t tell what they were doing. Cautious, the marshall signalled for most of the band to keep their distance, but he called for one of his best hunters and the story-teller to follow him to greet the stranger. Both Marshall Edgar and his hunter wielded a spear, lowered by his side, and ready. They were the only two spears entrusted to his band from the noble ancestor’s supplies. The stranger, too, bore tools in her hands, and she set one down only for a moment to wave a peaceful greeting. Whatever she was doing was plainly very important. Her head, they soon saw, was bandaged with hemp fibre, and she wore black furs. Her left hand was steady, holding a simple bone around which was turned a mass of fine black hair, and her right was busy, turning and twirling a thin, straight bone, stuck through the center of a clay ring, supporting a narrow string of twisted hair between the two. It was the back of those hands that drew their brazen eyes: the lines that traced her life-energy were coal-black, and, when she met her gaze, her exposed eye was the same. She said, [colour=gainsboro]“Welcome.”[/colour] Edgar was the first to approach, with the two others a few steps behind. “Hail, stranger.” he said, “Your heart’s color is not one I have seen before.” he said, as a statement of fact. His tone did not indicate any particular judgment. [colour=gainsboro]“Indeed,”[/colour] she said, still focused on spinning the weighted bone around and around on a smooth concavity in a rock. [colour=gainsboro]“It’s not one you’re likely to see again. A curiosity I was born with, nothing more.”[/colour] From this close, they saw that she wore on her neck the unmistakeable shine of three Eidolon heart-crystals, polished with great care, and secured in a curious way. They were not strung on a leather cord through a hole, as some did with tooth and bone trinkets, but caught in a fine and delicate web of tightly wound fibre, along with other precious things: a rufous feather, a glossy black beetle, and a glittering pyrite. [colour=gainsboro]“My name is Ea Nebel. Come, rest, water your flocks, eat of the meat and the bulbs by the fire. You will help me- I have food and sheep, but no pair of hands that will lighten my work, and there is much wool to be spun.”[/colour] The hunter, Luca, raised his spear when he had a chance to get a better view of the stranger’s attire. Edgar signalled for him to lower his weapon, but walked over to him and let the hunter whisper to him. Edgar turned back to Ea Nebel, “My band-mate is concerned by how you are treating the dead. I find it strange myself.” Ea Nebel listened, then smiled a little. [colour=gainsboro]“Indeed? You have good instincts, Marshall. There’s no safer place for them than here, with me. They were close to my heart, after all. They still are.”[/colour] With utmost care, the stranger set aside her tools and removed the necklace, the length of it wrapped tightly around her wrist. The thread, they saw, was much like the spun hair wrapped around her tools, only finer, thinner, smoother, strong. She pointed out the adornments one by one. [colour=gainsboro]“My father- solemn, like the scarab. He, too, made provisions for my future. I never knew my mother, not since my earliest days, but my uncle honoured her with an eagle’s wing, because she travelled far, with keen eyes. I always think of her when I see one soaring. And my own choice, for my uncle- something shining brightly, all around, that struck a warm spark for me, like he did. This is part of their story. It’s how I remember.”[/colour] This time, she tucked the memorial under her furs, against her chest. While the marshall was trying to formulate a thought, and the story-teller silently observed the situation, Luca raised his spear again and interrupted, “How do we not know that your father is not the Usurper of Morning Hours? Your eyes shine with his color!” [colour=gainsboro]“...Mm. Yes. That [i]is[/i] why one of them was plucked out.”[/colour] Ea Nebel tapped the hemp covering her face. [colour=gainsboro]“The Lord Night isn’t dead. Just wait another six hours if you don’t believe me. [i]My[/i] father lies in a shroud of felt many miles from here, where we mourned and left him… But your band doesn’t know of felt, do you?”[/colour] Luca rushed forward, his marshall grabbing his spear but the hunter let go of his prized weapon. He reached out, and grabbed her arm where one of her symbols laid bare. She tensed, stood, backed away a half-step, but did not pull away. Luca could feel her heart through her skin: A wave of shock, fading away into nervous fear. One did not need the empathy of an Eidolon to see the rage upon Luca’s face, “How dare you be the one surprised. You are alone and careless with your herd, and yet haven’t been parted from it. You must be some type of trickster wearing our flesh, did you take it from the departed?” Ea Nebel’s face was like stone. Only her hand had moved: wrapping around Luca’s wrist, holding him as firmly as he held her. He felt a different kind of anger. [colour=gainsboro]“You have good eyes,”[/colour] she said, rather softly. [colour=gainsboro]“But there’s one more thing that’s strange here. Haven’t you noticed?”[/colour] A tiny smile. [colour=gainsboro][i]“I don’t have a horse.”[/i][/colour] She kicked her boot against the rock she had been spinning on, and it woke up, shaking off a shower of soil and mud. The giant hog-spirit pulled itself out of its hollow and shook off the dirt, holding Luca in a cool stare for only a moment before lifting its head to sniff in his direction. It towered over the four of them, and Ea Nebel did not let go. [colour=gainsboro]“Go. Watch the flock.”[/colour] The beast grunted once at the Eidolon, then wandered to the riverside, where the cluster of black sheep accepted it as though it was a ram, or a master shepherd. While the hunter and marshall remained silent, it was the story-teller who spoke next, “Unknown spirit, forgive my band-mates suspicion and hostility - his close friend had recently returned to the ancestor’s grace and our clan has been frightened by errant stories of invaders upon our lands who steal from us our precious life.” [colour=gainsboro]“Luca is forgiven,”[/colour] said Ea Nebel, releasing his hand and pulling away her own sharply, sparing a glance for the light bruise on her arm before she looked warily back at the three Eidolon. Luca stepped away from the spirit, however trepidation still appeared on his features. The story-teller looked to the marshall, back to the reminder of the band, and finally to the unknown spirit. “If you would give me my curiosity, over what do you reside so that we would know better how not to offend you. Is it the river, or perhaps this felt you mentioned?” A little light entered her eye, but only a little. [colour=gainsboro]“The fault isn’t yours. You were observant. Your traditions are strong, and you value discipline. I should have spent more time learning… Forgive me. I am the spirit who remembers the dead. I am the maid of shrouds.”[/colour] The story-teller glanced around once more, talking longer to think before asking, “Do you promise on the name and honor of Avros, and the ancestors of Avros, that you do not intend to harm or steal from our band?” Ea Nebel nodded, raising her hand. [colour=gainsboro]“The band of Edgar has done right by its fallen. I swear it by Avros, and by the secret name of the Sun, and their honour. I will steal neither stock nor spear nor life from you.”[/colour] The story-teller looked over at the marshall and nodded. Edgar continued, hesitancy in his voice, “Then spirit of the fallen, we shall do what you ask. Whatever that might be.” Ea Nebel met the Marshall’s gaze and repeated the words in her mind. She paused, choosing words. Somewhere behind her, the hog murmured a low grunt. [colour=gainsboro]“I do have only one pair of hands,”[/colour] she said at last. [colour=gainsboro]“Perhaps… you would like to help me spin some wool?”[/colour] Despite having heard it mentioned before, now that he was not immediately distracted with other concerns, his shock caused him to repeat what he heard, “Spin sheep hair?” The story-teller immediately shot him a harsh glance, and he corrected himself, “We would be glad to assist you in your work. Allow my story-teller to go and call over the rest of the band,” he said. The spirit nodded. [hr] The weighted bone, explained Ea Nebel, was a [i]spindle[/i], and the weight upon it, which could be clay or stone but always circular, was the [i]whorl[/i]. The spindle was notched so as to better guide the wool being pulled away from the bundle on the wool-bone or stick, which was the [i]distaff[/i], and the coil of wound, spun fibre forming around the spindle as she turned it was called [i]yarn[/i], lengths of which could be twisted to make string and thread. Many among Edgar’s band were wary of the stranger, or shy, but their Marshall reassured them, and the spirit did not pressure them. There was plenty of time to rest and water the animals, and much wool to work with. Ea’s flock was small, but, she explained, many animals would grow a fine fleece if they were carefully husbanded, even their own sheep. She even offered to exchange one of her rams for one of theirs, to strengthen both their flocks. Her wool she had laid in a low tent, held up in the middle by a rare staff of wood from the north, along with many other tools of bone. Its edges were secured with yet another coil of coarse, thick fibre twisted from hemp: rope. From a long way off, its woolen walls were easily mistaken for fur. This was the felt of which she had spoken: thin, light, sometimes soft and sometimes stiff, cooler than furs and much warmer than straw. Having much wool, Ea Nebel showed them a low basin lined with hide which she had dug and filled with river-water, mixed with a soap of sheep’s fat and ash, where she made the felt by soaking it well, then pressing and rubbing it with a stone. This way, she explained, she had much to gain from a sheep, even before she slaughtered it. The felt she made was sewn together with a fine yarn and a needle made of bone. Ea Nebel had a fondness for bone, and her tools had a rustic elegance, much like the band’s own. Among them were an array of long pins and thin hooks. These, said the spirit, were all that was necessary for yet another task. Taking a bundle of yarn and tying the end in a dextrous loop, Ea Nebel hooked and twisted the fibre in a kind of loose, endlessly looping knot, pulling and pushing her hook through the mesh that she was making, turning the yarn back and forth into itself. To do this, sometimes with one hook and sometimes with two needles, and even with a large notched square made from the long bones of xo, was to weave. When she was finished with her hook and yarn, Ea Nebel put the object gently on a child’s head, warming his ears. [colour=gainsboro]“Wool and hemp can take any shape,”[/colour] she said, late in an evening, tying together a good length of string by firelight to repair a net she had cast in the river. [colour=gainsboro]“They cannot replace hide, for which there are still many uses you have yet to learn. But they are useful. Thanks to your help, I’ve spun all my wool and mended all my things, and now there’s so much to spare… You should take all you’ve made while I taught you. You’ve earned it.”[/colour] The band accepted the spirit’s generosity, primarily concerned with not offending them, especially while their boar-beast lingered nearby. While usually they would have stopped by the river as the Lord Night reclaimed the sky, the group continued along the river away from the spirit’s dwelling. They settled out of sight, but they would not soon forget the maid spirit or her craft. Ea Nebel let her head lay on the flank of the hog, more exhausted now than she had been by a thousand miles of travel, the fake bandage now resting in her lap. [colour=gainsboro]“You can go now,”[/colour] she said, and the tent dissolved into a handful of blowflies. Tomorrow the sheep would wander off as well. She fell asleep, and the morning sun found her still by the side of the river, grinning from one ear to the other. [hr] [hider=the crochet club] A sheep-herding band of Eidolon from the wood-deprived south of the plains, led by Marshall Edgar, bury one of their number after an attack by predators. They grieve for a little while before performing a small funeral, in which the crystal core of the dead Eidolon is recovered and the body covered, marked, and left behind for scavengers. Ea Nebel observes the practice and approves of it, but notes that the Eidolon still have very little in the way of material technology. She contrives a very subtle and clever plan to teach them how to make the most out of the wool from their sheep. The Eidolon encounter a disguised Ea by the bank of a river, showing off some interesting wool products, and very quickly realise that something weird is going on. Ea Nebel tells a whole bunch of lies to assert herself as a Perfectly Normal Eidolon, drawing on her own life history for inspiration, but doesn’t understand enough of the mortal culture yet to get away with it, and is called out by Luca, a friend of the fallen Eidolon, for not keeping an eye on her sheep at all times. Some tense words are spoken and Ea is bailed out by her pig. The two parties make up with the help of the band’s story-teller, who identifies her as a spirit. A little spooked, they put themselves at Ea Nebel’s service. She can’t believe her luck. Over the course of a day or so Ea Nebel teaches the band about spinning wool, making string and rope, felt-making for tents and clothing, and forms of weaving similar to knitting and crochet that won’t take a lot of wooden tools. There was also a line about a loom in there somewhere, though. Still a bit uneasy, Edgar’s band departs from Ea’s encampment with quite a story to tell about the shroud spirit. [/hider] [hider=Vigour] Ea Nebel enters the cycle with 10 Vigor. 1 vigor spent to teach some southern Eidolon about fibre and textile crafts. Total cost 2 vigor, since she’s a demigod. Now she has 8 vigor. [/hider]