Avatar of Xhala
  • Last Seen: 3 mos ago
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
  • Posts: 282 (0.07 / day)
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    1. Xhala 11 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Finally got access to a computer. Catiching up on posts. Stay tuned, friends, I'm back an crashin!
1 like
2 yrs ago
PC just exited this plane of existence. Posts might be slow. The ritualist has been contacted and is communing with the spirits. Hopefully it'll be resolved soon.
3 likes

Bio

"Thats the spirit-one part brave,three parts fool."
Christopher Paolini, Eragon

“Loyalty never put blood back in a man's veins.”
Carol Berg, Flesh and Spirit



“Politics is ugly. Never doubt what small men will do for great power.”
Paolo Bacigalupi, The Windup Girl

Ballad of Serenity

Most Recent Posts

Hope the post is OK.
Can't wait to see how it continues! @Zaresto
Watching the scout leave she let her thoughts scatter. It truly was troublesome to see her sister this slim. Perhaps she had worries? Shytora would ask another shaman to visit her - just in case. They couldn't afford to loose more scouts or warriors! War was upon them if the war leader's quest to negotiate with the other tribe failed. The proud Shytora would never admidt to herself that it was honest concern for her sisters well-being that made these thoughts sprout in her mind.

With a sigh she took her scathe and headed to the dream house, as everybody called the tent in which the shamans would gather. The tent was located near the sanctuary in case of any emergencies. The tribe always came first! In the past even rituals had been interrupted and revisited to a later time when shamans were needed. The young woman stooped deep, holding the fox fur to her head as she entered the tent. The air was filled with the strong scent of incense that originated from the firebowl made from a piece of metal who's origin was unknown. A woman looked up from the fire. Her face was scarred from an in counter with a badger a few years back. The fire gave her an ominous air, creating deep hollows under those green eyes. "Come, sit, sister. The gods and I shall listen to your worries. Perhaps we even share them." Shytora nodded and let her tired body sink to the ground, placing her scythe next to her. The other woman, Dabmar, reached out and squeezed her hand.
"The wind has spoken to you as well? It seems it has spoken to all of us. Tribe mother predicted this would happen. In the night she woke from a dream, clutching her heart. She said to breathe deeply and gather all our strength for something is coming."
"What did she see in her dream?" Shytora asked with open curiosity, leaning in a bit closer. Dabmar shrugged. "It's not important what she saw. We just have to figure out what to do now." Yes, that was true. But how were they supposed to know? The spirits didn't point in one direction and said the answers were there! "Tribe mother will be back in a few days. We should call a council upon her return." Dabmar nodded, withdrawing her hand and tilting her head with a sly smile that distorted her blemished features. "You should take some time to yourself. You seem discontent. You know we have to function for the tribe! So go, find some peace and do something useful, while you're at it." The words weren't spoken harshly but they hit Shytora nonetheless.
She rose to her full height, gathered her scythe and a backpack constructed of an aluminium frame and hide. "I'll go and gather some food, then. Maybe I'll find herbs that help against the fever. And our scouts are skimming down . . . we should take care of this quickly." The other Shaman bobbed her head, agreeing with her.

A few hours later Shytora found herself in a jungle of rubble. There were high mountains of stone all around her. Some still showed the shape and integrity of the ancient. Metal casings with huge holes in their sides stood scattered in somewhat straight lines between the ruble and hollow stone towers. The shaman stretched her limbs, feeling cold as sleep deprivation caught up to her. She sat down and drew some beef jerky from her pocket. Looking upon the ruble and overgrown monuments of the past she asked herself how the ancient beings had been. Had they been just like them? Had they looked the same? Or had they been completely different?

A noise let her jump to her feet and grab her scythe, feathers swaying from the movement. Trying to find the cause of the scratching noise she looked around. Something emerged a few feet away at the base of the hill she was standing on. It wasn't an animal. It looked like her just . . . like snow. Shytora gripped her scythe a little harder. Was this a trick? Nothing had the colour of snow except for the paint they made from sea shells. "What tribe do you follow!" She bellowed down to the thing standing there. Her heart was racing. What if this was a trap? Maybe the thing came from a tribe they hadn't encountered yet? Fear started to rise in her as she watched the thing.
@TheDookieNut

Ok . . . You do realize it's me who's been keeping you waiting? xD
I'll be posting after the weekend. You don't have to wait up for me. I'll just let Shytora bump into someone then.
I'll be posting soon. Work sorta caught up with me . . .
Of course she had taken it the wrong way! A sigh left Shytoras lips. "As a shaman it is my duty to care for the well-being of the tribe. If a scout doesn't have enough to eat it should be brought to the tribe mothers attention." Her voice was a drawl as though she were annoyed by the comment of her sister.

Regardless she now knelt before Aishla, brought her paint covered fingers to her face and started covering her skin in the traditional markings for scouts. While she did this she started singing in a deep voice, the words her mother had taught her now part of her. After she had finished with the paint she set it aside and went to get her stones. On her return she suddenly halted and raised her eyes to the sky. A gust of wind had brought the browning leaves to whisper in their excited manner.

Concern glinted in the young shamans eyes as she then looked from the tree to her sister. She came closer to hold her hands bearing the stones over Aishlas head. "You should be wary of the woods. The trees whisper in foreboding. Let the other scouts know as well." Then she continued with the blessing, letting the stones jump in her hands to clutter softly while she spoke the words of blessing.

Shytora lowered her hands with her final sentence. A brief moment worry could be seen in her features, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared. Her boots seemed to shovel over the floor as she brought her stones back to their bowl beneath the tree. Something was wrong, but she couldn't place it. She didn't know what was wrong. Irritated she his a yawn behind d her hand. Perhaps she was just tired and the wind was playing tricks on her. Perhaps it was something? In any case she'd best look for tribe mother or her any other shaman to scatter her thoughts.

A smile came to her lips as she looked at her sister. "Good hunt." She said briefly, that perfect smile part of the mask she was expected to have as a shaman. Not that she had ever had any problems with concealing her emotions. Quite the contrary! Yet she stood reminded of the importance of it ever so often.
Shytora watched with gloomy eyes as the girl drank the bitter fluid she had handed her. If she hated something it was the gods taking a young soul back into their arms. The girl had been brought to her by terrified parents who woken the shaman in the middle of the night. The fever had taken over the little body. It was obvious that the child wouldn't survive the illness. Only very few did. All Shytora could do now was comfort her and her parents.

With a caring smile she stroked the hot cheek. "There now. Breathe deeply, the pain will be gone soon." Turning to the parent's tear stained faces she placed her palms upon their heads, offering comfort and protection as was her duty as shaman. In a low voice she spoke: "The gods are merciful. They have seen the weakness in her and chosen to spare her a death of suffering during the winter." A soft sob was heard as the mother closed her eyes and grasped the hands of her husband even tighter. In a softer voice Shytora added: "The gods will keep her soul close to be reborn into a stronger body. She will be in no pain."

With all said and done she stepped away to wash her hands and face in a bowl. She felt sad and angry. This was unjust! Had the parents somehow offended the gods? But why bless them with an offspring only to take it away again? She hated the world for being so cruel. Either you survived or you died but who was chosen seemed to be picked randomly. She shook her head at that thought. Nothing happened without reason. Nothing happened without the gods having chosen for it to happen. Even curses could bear a kind of blessing without it being obvious or clear at first. It was still cruel!
Just at that moment she heard the voice of the one person she really couldn't deal with right now. "The gods shall bless those who nourish and protect the tribe." She answered in a sigh as she stepped towards Aishla.

The shaman had set up her colours and blessing stones a few feet away from the sanctuary, knowing how uneasy most people felt being there. She led the way to the tall tree beneath which she had set her bowls and stones and where a scythe rested against the trunk. "Come here so I may bless you." And she motioned towards a short piece of log that provided as seating. The paint had dried a little so she added a splash of water to the mixture. While she was reviving the paint made of blood, berries and water, she took in her sisters appearance. "Are you eating enough? You look weak. A scout should be strong!" Aishla looked skinnier and though Shytora would never admidt it she was worried. A sting started in her chest. Lately she always got this when dealing with her sister. The hurt was still present and the shaman couldn't help but think that the gods would punish her for causing so much trouble in the past. Then again, who married the man your younger sister had fallen in love with? No wonder the gods hadn't blessed the marriage! If however her current one should be Shytora sure hoped she wouldn't be woken to treat Aishlas child because of a fever. No one deserved that kind of suffering, not even her so loathed sister.
I'll be posting tonight when I'm home from work - so another 9 to 11 hours . . .

I hope my punctuation or spelling aren't too awful. Please feel free to correct me if my grammar is off or I use words in a funny way. I sometimes think in a different language than I write and things tend to get jumbled up when that happens. ^^'


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