EMPIRE 6!: The Morbid Dream Of A Skystruck-Tree

[Tychris1]

The Carrion Ward

"Twisting nightmares swift at last
A fateful hour sure to pass
Creeping doom upon a tower
A final wilting blackened flower
Hush my child, close to me
Close your eyes, truly see
A bleak dark final fantasy
Poppy poppy lots of hoppy
Dancing pollen oft freely
Rotting bones and broken meat
Rage the Cage to undying greet..."

The Wounded-Vulture muttered to herself as she lulled in and out of wakefulness. She had been bound to the tree she had known all her life. Its great frame was a monument of forlorn truth. A jagged scar ran down its trunk, parts of its gray bark still charred and blackened irrevocably by the talon of the sky, and it mirrored the mark upon her own flesh. No leaves grew upon the tree, whose last shred of greenery faded long ago, and now only crawled into a withering state with the passing of seasons. So it sat, all alone upon this hill in the Carrion Ward, and looked out over the vast sea of golden strands growing from the ground freshly from a fire some month ago. In the distance, small encampments and settlements of two-legs could be seen, a most unusual sight normally in the lands of the Scavengers, and yet one a number of them had grown begrudgingly accustomed to as the process of convincing and organizing a legion of packs and swarms to agree in concordance with these principles of "democracy" slowly worked through the Ward. To the west a river slowly flowed by the field, curling around its expanse, and softly whispering its song to the wind and the soul of those who would stop to listen.

Of course, stopping to listen is easier said than done for the field was screaming with the sounds of life throughout it. Various mounds had been dug up and were the site of Lions, Bears, Rats, and more dancing eating or wrestling the day away. This was a day of death but death was not a thing to be feared in the Carrion Ward. Death was necessary and natural. Death is the key to life. A pack of Hyenas circled around a blazing fire tended to by Uldran warriors watching their charge, cackling and cracking jokes all the while, and their leader periodically stopped to create shadows with his body. A string of poppy flowers wreathed his head as he snickered and yapped at the clouds above an endless prattle. Even the sight of No-Pride-No-Death did not falter the festivities, the decrepit dire beast resting near the eponymous tree of the anointed vulture this day. He spoke to no one when he came at dawn and retained his silent vigil throughout the day. His empty gaze washing over each and every party that arrived to witness the death of the Wounded-Vulture. Those gathered children huddled around Skystruck-Tree gave him a wide berth as they each, in turn, approached their mother to ask for final wisdom or say their goodbyes. Roosting in the cavity of the trunk of her tree, amidst a sea of precious baubles, works of art or strange foreign trophies plucked from distant vistas and processing a line of reverent heads the uneducated could vaguely resemble it to a Queen at court. But there were no commandments given that day. Only incomplete comfort and unraveling anecdotes.

Lurking by the river was Mountain-Leaper, the Snow Leopard tending to his flock, and snarling in half contained rage as his eyes bored holes through the Vulture with the wrath of a volcano. But his host was a paltry number compared to the immense throng gathered a stone's throw from the Wounded-Vulture. A raccoon and bear lounged in attendance to the many mounds and interested packs. The Vagabond and Laughs-At-Mountains. The Raccoon was especially small for his kind, though he wore a leather shawl that covered only to his midriff, and bandied about a small knife chipped and scratched many times over. Laughs-At-Mountains wore nor wielded such foreign things but was covered from head to toe in a mosaic of his craggy home in the Bloody Hills. This small welp was the chosen voice of the Scavengers, who had traveled far and wide, and spoke of strange sights upon the sea. Though fanciful tales only go so far. The Vagabond had made peace with the Two-Legs of his home, the Bloody Queen Jahoon, and even now she courted amongst their number with a smattering of Two-Legs and Scavengers in her coterie. Such a feat was most impressive and swiftly lead to recognition by many of his shrewd mind. They laid down blankets and sang songs from the depths of their throat as the grim hour grew closer at hand.

So the scene went continuously throughout the field and beyond, the sight of such merriment rising and dying like the wind.


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[PepperP.]

Uldra

Neri Pasha looked up from her seat at Vagabond's side as the Uldran leadership arrived upon the hill in the Carrion Ward. The elder Eleftherian woman had been tasked by former Chieftess Dara to instruct the Awakened Ones in Democracy and she had taken to the task with a frightening determination, knowing that countless lives depended upon her success. She had found the ideal student in the tiny, clever racoon along with a comradery that had taken her by surprise. But then, she'd been constantly surprised since agreeing to act as the Eleftherian Ambassador to Uldra so many years ago. Her white hair was wrapped up into a thick bun on the top of her head and she wore simple leather robes trimmed in fur for warmth.

Dara Icechaser was standing with the other Uldran warriors as she kept an eye on Skystruck-Tree. Her time over the last year did nothing to increase her trust towards the bewildering creature, and it certainty hadn't done anything to make her motives less mysterious, but the vulture had conducted herself in captivity with a sort of stoic grace that was difficult to not respect. Dara was wearing her favorite blue cloak thrown over her shoulders, draped just so to camouflage her missing left arm, lost in her duel with her twin sister Kari, who had betrayed Uldra and sided with the Awakened Ones for reasons she'd never understand. Dara had won the duel, very narrowly, but lost an arm and her sister in the result, the high price she had payed for the vengeance which had brought her little satisfaction in the end.

High Chieftess Shira Iceweaver crested the hill on the back of Rarras, legendary hero of Uldra. The celebrants and mourners backed away from the fearsome spirit-wolf, parting before him to open a path to the tree. Viho Icewalker, fang in the North, walked beside her and offered a hand to his Chieftess. She took it and descended from Rarras's back awkwardly, visibly pregnant beneath the bulky fur cloak she was wearing. The smile she cast upwards at Viho was smitten. The hero returned her gaze with warmth, even if his face maintained its stoic expression. Shira's dark hair was braided into two strands and she wore an ivory circlet adorned with carvings of the moon in various phases. She waited for her turn to speak with the vulture, and stepped forward when it was her turn to pay her respects.

"Wounded-Vulture-that-Nests-in-Skystruck-Tree. You could have waited to see how the conflict between Uldra and Sangar played out, or chosen to flee. Instead, you have chosen to sacrifice yourself for the benefit of your people. Though I can never condone the acts of terror done on your watch, I respect your sacrifice and recognize the intent behind it. I hope that you go to your death knowing that your sacrifice has not only saved countless lives, but has set your people on a new path. I pray it is one of harmony and enlightenment." Shira placed her right hand over her heart and bowed her head at the vulture. Dara's eyes flared briefly in displeasure at the deference paid to their long-time nemesis, but subsided as she knew Skystruck-Tree's time was growing short.

[Jade_Tarem]

The delegation from the Star Kingdom of Solais remained silent but ever-present, numbering only two, plus their guards. Out of deference for the religious factions involved, the primary two attendees were Tai of the Fire, the thane of Clan Star and a devout Siderealist who Lessa calculated would be unlikely to offend anyone, and Lessa herself, a forest folk who had spearheaded the storm that had shaken her homeland's own politics - and placed her atop them. Each had their own unique perspective on the events - literally. Lessa, as a forest folk, saw things a little more clearly than most humans could through the gloom. Tai did not see things at all, having been blinded in her youth by a bad fall, though not one as volatile and total as the one Skystruck-Tree was bound for.

[Tychris1]

Skystruck-Tree looked up at the pregnant chieftess with a curious leer. Wrinkly grey marks scrunching and rolling like the tide along her face as the new moon of her eyes was covered and then unveiled in a blink. Suddenly a jolt of life seemed to crackle within those ebon pools as she tittered and nodded her head.

“Haha! Too true, babe of blue. Hark soft in dark of minds brewing park you oh few in cycles renew. Bother! I prittle, bones brittle and rattle a prattle bound to sound of a lifes great strife. A knife or blade so swiftly swayed leaves heads a dazed! But better turned than marked or burned. Or so discerned from one cloud spurned.” She had lowered her gaze and seemed to have been speaking entirely to Shari’s swollen belly. Dropping her head she raised it once more to show a strange speckled rock. It was entirely ivory in appearance but bore the faint luster of a twinkling substance dotted around its form. Like the stars upon the moon. “True, true, for you!” Then after offering the gift she looked up at Shari, though her previous candor had faded, and she slumped her frame subtly in the process.

Beneath the evening sun a kettle of vultures circled over head and Skystruck-Tree gazed up at her kin. “Everything dies. One only has the chance to learn from it and make of the next life what we will. This is the Way. I have perished in my dreams countless times. This dream is no different.” She groomed her feathers neatly as her voice grew melancholy “What do you dream of?”

Elsewhere, sitting besides the elder Eleftherian, Vagabond scratched at his chin as he stared in consternation at the Wounded Vulture and Chieftess. It was a sore thumb sticking out of his more rambunctious peers, his serious demeanor eliciting a hardy smack on the back from his ursine partner, and yet he could not lose the expression. Glancing up at the instructor he’d come to respect (a term he didn’t bandy around lightly) he cut through the badinage of his beastly brethren with an offhanded remark. ”Something’s.... off about her. I’ve seen many a Vulture and many more a soon to be dead creature but none like this. I don’t know why but.... I just can’t put my finger on it.” He shook his head in defeat, stooped to the ground, and then threw his head back in uproarious laughter. His Blithe Beast Brothers echoed his returned mirth but his eyes only wandered from the blackened tree to lock eyes with Neri Pasha.

Though she could not see anymore Tai certainly could register the approach and approximate distance of the dread lion. No-Pride’s paws softly quaked the earth from his sojourn, abandoning the tree with nary a glance to the conversing matrons, and ceased scant feet from the First Thane. His lone eye fell upon the strange Firecrown with the same weight as his tread and his haggard breath arrhythmically assured the blinded woman that the strange sensation was no localized tremor. He swept his mane towards their guards, a brief flicker of feral majesty constrained by mountainous dejected melancholy, and seemed to wordlessly unconsciously bid them to stick their weapons inside his hide.

No such luck.

A grumble slowly hacked into a low growling mumbling speech heavily accented and made raspy with each passing syllable ”You claim the Bloody Hills, Two-Leg? I heard your clans had swept it from the Viskari. Do you have a Clan of the Hills? Of Blood?”

[Laura]

It was a large assembly of Shándole that journeyed to the Carrion Ward that year. The Gray Lake had been the destination of pilgrims for many decades now, but it was a pilgrimage of several hundred that made the journey this autumn. Not all who came to the Ward attended the execution, Zan'Quêzí did not want his people to present themselves at a threat nor a distraction at the event upon which so many lives rested. Nonetheless, many shaní and woken from the Elven Coast could be seen in attendance, tattoos and bronzed skin shining in the evening's red glow, their lilting ancients filtering through the many other sound rising above the hill.

Out of respect for the occasion, each attendee from Á'Shansholí wore at least a small article of clothing, dyed feather or painted pendent in red, the holy color of death. Each also obviously wore a wooden Naming Chip around their neck on a leather string. The name upon the chip could not be read unless the chip was examined closely, but it was all the same name. As was their nature the Shándole were rather reserved and composed compared to the Creatures of the Carrion Ward, but this did not mean they could not enjoy themselves. They spoke easily with any who approached them and participated in the dances and other festivities, joining the groups around the fire and sitting crossed legs on the stones and grass around the hill.

---

As rosey twilight slanted across the sky, a herd of a dozen horses, each with a name chip around their necks and a red blaze painted on their foreheads, approached the lightning struck tree. Leading them was an ancient palomino mare, with a bowed back and gray whiskers. She bowed her head before the tree, nearly brushing the ground with her nose. "Thank'ye Mother, fer our voices, our Kai, our faith an' the path we have a'blazed fer our descendants to come." Mare-Who-Was-First-&-Only raised her head and looked at the vulture with large sad eyes. "Yer Word was kept, even through times o' darkness an' weeping. Ye sparked life an' forged bridges a'tween worlds an' peoples. You showed us The Way. May yer journey in the next life be as impactful as this'en, an may our kai meet again."

Behind her, her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren also bowed and nickered "Thank'ye'Siah. May long days an' warm nights follow ye into yer next life."

---

Once the horses had departed, Leósha’Lýndónah and a half dozen other Scribes of Simráh came forward. They were dressed in the full ritual dress of their order, red robes, carved wooden staffs adorned with name chips and feathers, painted wooden masks and headdresses adorned with antlers. However, Lýndónah removed her mask as she approached and bowed, fist to forehead. "Siah, ye taught us how to read an' ye taught us how to write. An' in doing so ye granted our people memory that can not be stolen by madness nor the revenges o' time o' the passing'a generations. Our names will be remember an' our history kinned by our children." She lifted her head and there were tears in her blue eyes. "It was a gift that was priceless beyond measure, more precious than all the wealth o' Danneta-Yvaon an' all the silver of Arran Vista. Our people can never repay ye, Wise One. But kin ye this, an' kin ye truly, yer name shall not be forgotten." She lifted the naming chip around her neck and the name written upon it could be clearly read - Wounded-Vulture-That-Nests-In-Skystruck-Tree- "We all ware yer name today, Siah. We shall keep yer name, because ye gave us the means t' keep our own."

Behind her one of the scribes passed forward a long string hung heavy with many wooden name chips that clatter as Lýndónah took it. "These are the names o' the 348 Shándole who made the pilgrimage to the Ward this year. Not all could come today, but every one o' them wares yer name an' wished to thank'ye fer the gift ye gave us." Lýndónah hung the string of name chips on one of the lower branches of the scared tree. "Long days an' warm night be with ye always, Siah." She bowed once more, as did the Scribes behind her.

---

Some time later, Edge approached the tree. He didn't greet the vulture with a bow, just looked up and met her crazed eyes, "Swanny, I reckon the cycle's finally a'turning fer yeh then, Wise One. It's been interesting times..." His dark gray eyes deepened some, showing a shade of regret and he flexed the three remaining fingers on his left hand, before clearing his throat. "I kin some o' us might miss yeh after this, even if yeh always have a way'o being frustratingly enigmatic an' superior." He chuckled, "Yeh kin true that we shaní don't like being upstaged on that. Anyhow, if yeh can find a way, pay the Elven Coast a visit in yer next life... or least ways ..." his deep voice softened some, "I wouldn't mind getting the chance t' trade arguments with yeh some time again. Swanny?"


---

Further away, a little apart from the fire and the crowds, Talákin’Záni’Quêzí stood by observing all that was happening and watching the various peoples of Tarandi speaking together and the creatures bidding farewell to the old vulture bound in her tree. The wind whipped at the feathers tied into his braids and in the gusts brought to his keene ears the muttered verses of Skystruck-Tree's poem.

"What Nightmare feasts within yer dreams, Wise One?" he asked softly, "What wars have ye won, what wars have ye lost in the miasmas o' yer sleep?" His eyes were troubled and he folded his hands behind his back in pensive thought, but did not approach the tree.

Zan'Quêzí seldom journeyed east of the mountains, so he was not well known to the leaders and heroes of Wider Tarandi, but for those who did know him, they likely would note a marked change in him since he'd last been seen. Having always been tall for a shán, he'd grown taller still, standing only a few inches short of seven feet. He also seemed harder in both body and spirit, like a Standing Stone from the mighty mountains of his homeland. The ageless vigor and inhuman strength of elven kind seemed doubly marked in his features and the toned mussels of his body, which were noticeable even through the fur-lined buckskins of his clothes. His blue eyes shined, ever sharp and always watching. Eagle-Flies-High-&-Sees-All was a changed shán, yet also seemed to have become more himself then every before.

As the evening progressed and a chorus of renewed laughter rose up into the fading sky, Zan'Quêzí shifted his attention away from Skystruck-Tree and toward the small raccoon sitting in attendance over the event. Finally moving from his stance, Zan'Quêzí walked across the hill to introduce himself to the the newly elected leader of the Carrion Ward.

"Warm days an' long nights to ye Cai," he greeted, giving The Vagabond a bow, fist to forehead, "I am Talákin’Záni’Quêzí - Eagle Flies High and Sees All- High Speaker o' the Winter Council. I hear say that ye have been elected as Voice fer the Awakened Realms. May I offer ye congratulations on yer victory. I hope yer people an' mine may continue to walk ka-by-ka as allies through these times o' transition."

[Elemental]

Travelling to the Carrion Ward was treacherous and yet the Moot had seen fit to send but a single representative. A shadowy figure rode across the lands of the Scavengers without fear or trepidation, trailing a long white banner that seemed more mist than cloth. Frost formed where the hooves of his horse struck the ground before quickly dissipating in the sunlight and he did not stop for rest once. He drew his horse to a stop at the outskirts of the festivities and looked to the west with his glowing red eyes as the Sun set below the horizon and evening set in.
Once the light of the Sun no longer shone directly upon him the shadows around his dissipated and the transparent and hazy form of a Viskari ride in resplendent black leather armour was revealed. A shroud covered him like a mantle and he wore a cape of thick fur that reached the ground. He dismounted his horse and left it grazing at the edge of the encampment before approaching.
The shade ignored all others as he walked through the festivities, his form becoming more and more distinct as the lingering light of day faded. He made straight for Skystruck-Tree and knelt before her. He bowed his head for a moment before looking up at her with glowing blue eyes.
"Hail to thee Great Sage of the Ancient Ways," he intoned, his deep voice possessing a slight echo, "The Moot of Elders wishes you swift passage from this life and into the next."



At a Different Time in Aran Viska...

Jahoon of the Bloody Hills had been treated with the utmost hospitality once she arrived at the Aranin's hall. Her arrival was not expected at all and once the nature of her visit was made apparent Tanrak escorted her directly to the Moot to plead her case.
Situated on the shore of the southern lake of Uracan Ra, the principle meeting site of the Moot of Elders was perhaps the closest thing in Aran Viska to a town. There were dozens of buildings housing servants, guards, petitioners, kitchens and storerooms and dozens more to house the members of the Moot themselves and on a promontory overlooking the lake was a circle of carved wooden posts between which hung great geometric tapestries.
Tanrak escorted her there and gestured forwards to an entrance flanked by guards who watched in silence.
"Go, they're waiting," was all he said before turning to leave.
Within the circle of posts was waiting several dozen Viskari, the youngest of whom was clearly entering into middle age. They were an imposing group garbed in all manner of ceremonial attire from plain robes to ornate gilded leather armour and almost all were standing, even if some had to lean heavily on their staves. The eldest among them, too old to stand, looked over with milky eyes.
"Jahoon of the Bloody Hills, Daughter of Jaholo, forgive me for not standing," she said in a surprisingly strong voice for one so frail, "We of the Moot of Elders recognise your Gods-given right to address us and dispute our decisions. Forgive us again but the full Moot is not present. We may adjourn until then but know that it will take some a month at least."

[Jade_Tarem]

Both the Solais women turned to face Old Lion as he approached, though one of them faced him a little more accurately than the other. Tai said nothing to his questions, but Lessa, at least, answered confidently. "We do not. There is still debate over the settlement of it, so unlike that for the lands north and south. Perhaps it has a reputation."

[Tychris1]

Skystruck-Tree mirthfully cawed as her prodigal child returned to the tree she had nurtured and taught the Mare many years ago. A raspy guttural roll escaped from her throat as she swept her wing over First-And-Only, smudging her red markings, and nuzzling head to head. "Sweet sweet summer mare, do beware, oh winter creeps and stalks on dread air but hope not balk at Terror's lair." She released her embrace upon the much larger equine after a pregnant pause and dusted her legs "You've grown so much my child. I will always be proud of you. We will see each other soon enough. Behind closed eyes." She continued to greet the children of First-And-Only, nipping at their ears playfully with her beak, asking for each of their names, and remarking on their matron's joyous spirit in each of them.

---

As her procession of Equestrian children departed the Wounded-Vulture gazed straight through Lýndónah, ashen eyes glazing momentarily, and suddenly snapping into focus as the elven mystic made her proper greeting. The Wise Vulture emulated the traditional movements of the Shan, raising one wing forward and the other wing backward, and lowering her beak in a delayed mirroring of Lýndónah. "You do me too much an honor. My name was not always Wounded-Vulture-That-Nests-In-Skystruck-Tree and when next we meet my friend it shall not be the same. But this is an appreciable token, a boon I would never discard. It is good that not all of your kin that traveled today are present for such an event," She delicately began to run her talon over the individual wooden pieces on the string "I am but an old bird and the Carrion Ward is much larger and grander than I. The world is broken but pieces of it still retain its beauty of the Unbroken Dream. More than my name, never forget that. The path we walk upon to completion. You will live many cycles, Great Scribe of Winter Town, and to teach you the skill of retaining such lifetimes is a duty, not a kindness.... Kindness kindness mindless blindness...." She shook her head abruptly as it began to slump.

---

"You have time yet for such debates, Bat Slayer? The life of a great hero surely must be filled with constraining quests and overwhelming pressure. And treachery. Mayhap I'll see you on the Elven Coast, lugging your arrows, and gawking at your odds. Or we will converse, in the tongue of the ancients, in fang and claw, unbeknownst to each other save the final dance we share that day. Who can say, Edge, save time itself. I figure more will miss my name and image than the bird herself in flesh and blood. Flesh, blood, bone, and stone. A great flood of pain, all alone. No written text but a rotting tome." She cackled at the brooding elf.

---

Old-Lion-No-Pride-No-Death nodded his head sagely at the words of the First Thane. He lowered himself to the ground, the rolls of his belly folding upon themselves as his paws layered one over the other, and he relaxed beside the Solais women. "Perhaps. It has been a long-contested land. Cursed and frayed. The first realm I walked through when I ventured far and wide from my home," He wearily licked the back of his paw "I want it. All of it."

---

The mercurial Vulture shifted back and forth within the confines of her split tree as the strange apparition made its introduction. Her feathers were all ruffled, her eyes squinting the entire time, and her tongue seemed primed and coiled like a viper ready to strike. But she merely bobbed her head and spoke softly "I am at a loss. Your presence defies and defiles the cycle of life and death, Spirit of Aran Viska, and yet I have heard many a tale of your kindness and mercy when your masters bid you reave and pillage in the lands of farmers and children. Perhaps you are just as much a victim as any. I welcome you, Wraith, where my kin may not, and return your blessings tenfold. May we both swiftly part." As she spoke it became clear several Scavengers were giving the two of them a wide berth now.

[Jade_Tarem]

The guards from the Star Kingdom reacted visibly to the great cat's statement, mostly with shock. Lessa's response was far more subdued, simply raising an eyebrow as she hosted some internal debate about the proper response. Tai, curiously, did not react in the slightest, her blank eyes looking at something none of them could see. It wasn't readily apparent to most that she was even paying attention to the conversation, but one as canny as Old Lion could tell that she had, on some level, processed what he had said.

It was the First Thane who responded, though, having finished her calculation. "We attained that land through trade, albeit somewhat strained. We can part with it the same way... for the right price. What would you offer in exchange?"

[Laura]

As Skystruck-Tree crackled at him, Edge let out a scoff, “They said yeh’d gone roont in yer old age, Wise One. But I reckon yer right ‘bout one thing; who can kin where time will take us, or what myriad o’ countless tasks an’ barrages o’ blood an’ pain shall yet confront us?” He shrugged and looked around the hill and then out toward the river, “Though I reckon ye got some ideas, roont as they are.”

Edge glanced at his maimed hand then crossed his arms and leaned against the old tree. “Just don’t talk t’ me about time. All I got is time. On an’ on it goes an’ it's take’n me nowhere. I look over my shoulder through its vail an’ kin true that I aint no “great hero.” Once I wandered aimlessly through the wilderness, looking fer meaning in a love that had long ago passed me by. Now, I run from place t’ place fighting an’ shedding blood an’ looking fer meaning in a righteousness, which I kin now has probably also passed me by even longer ago. What is life anyway, but a pointless treading o’ time’s water? We struggle an’ splash, getting nowhere, until at last we grow weary an’ the waters take us.”

He let out a heavy sign and glanced back up at the condemned bird, “But ye probably don’t want me a’filling yer ears with pointless prattle right now. Laugh on an’ die with all the infamy an’ faith yeh have woven about ye. I reckon it’s ‘bout as useful as all these shiny baubles ye’ve filled yer nest with.” He took a step back and put fist to forehead, giving her a slight incline of his head. “May the waters o’ time be kinder t’ ye in the next life.”

[Tychris1]

Vagabond snickered, tucking his legs beneath himself as he rolled back, and with a swish of his tail sat himself upright before the most politically influential elf in all of Winter Town. ”Victory? No victory, this is just the first bid. I’ve the game of convincing Sheep and Lion to make nice in starving nights.” Laughs-At-Mountains stood up, turning on the weight of a single paw to stand between the Raccoon and the Elf, and placed the weight of a single claw upon the High Speaker’s shoulder.

”We’ve been through worse.” The great marked cave bear leaned down to loudly whisper then chuckle for the Elf, ushering him to join the clothed Woken, and his diplomatic entourage.

”Can I call you Zany? Zany, your people know how to play the game. I’d have longer dreams and warmer days if I could sleep knowing the famed Winter Council would intercede on behalf the Gray Lake like so many years ago.” Vagabond took out his trusty copper blade and began to crack open nuts one by one, offering them around to his cajoling cohorts, and the wizened Elf himself. ”I know many a pack that speaks favorably of moving to the coast in search of warmer stretches. Leisurely strolling is a necessary vice I can’t blame them. But me I’ll take my chances by the mist hewn hills. Who knows, perhaps we’ll surprise each other!”

———

No-Pride-No-Death snorted ”Strained? Yes, I imagine a skull is rather strained beneath the weight of a stone. But I’ve a head strained my own and a need to rest it. I have wandered the lands of Tarandi for many a year. Strange things are mine you two legs deem valuable. Name a piece of my trophies and you may take it. I hear tale your interest in the putrid. I pried a single talon of the Wolfenfinger. Take it, the grisly waste, and give me my solace.”

———

Skystruck-Tree tittered, but it slowly faded from the chambers of her nostrils, and she merely gave the brutalized elf a sympathetic look

“So old the fool says, I
Time a river, but to try
Swim forever a self lie
Release, shore, die, fly.”

———

Jahoon prostrated herself before the gathered members of the Moot. Time had leathered her hands and skin but stolen none of the fire in her motion, the billowing of her bear skin cloak pooling around her as she dropped, and grunted a formless greeting of reverence in her culture. Pressing herself up and onto one knee she extended her left hand forward, and kept her head pointed down as she spoke. ”Moot of the Elders, I beseech you to show mercy upon my kings head. He is a kind and true soul, he may have wronged you but I know there is light and love within his heart, and that his spirit would nurture the world in service instead of solitude.”

[Jade_Tarem]

"The putrid, is it? Well, one man's trash..." Lessa considered it, or at least pretended to. The truth was, she was more than happy to take the artifact in exchange for the nigh-useless land. She'd seen it. The Wardens, perhaps, could get some value from it. Or maybe Old Lion really did just want a rather large retirement home. Whatever the case was, she'd been having difficulty settling anyone there, and while she might be criticized for trading it for a dead monster's claw, Idris had let her people know many years before that there was hidden power in it yet, if she could gather all five.

And as of this deal, she now had four. "I accept your offer. The Iron Claw of Cu Weir for the Bloody Hills."

"May your retirement be as peaceful as the death you crave, though I do not think you have seen quite all that there is just yet." Tai spoke at last, and with perfect accuracy fearlessly scratched behind Old Lion's ear, having to reach up to do so despite his reclining posture. "I do not think you believe so either. The nearest cliff is not so far. Your duty is not so incomplete. There must be blood, yes, but wonders too. There are more things in the sky and the ground than are dreamt of, even in the philosophy of the Way."

[Elemental]

The mercurial Vulture shifted back and forth within the confines of her split tree as the strange apparition made its introduction. Her feathers were all ruffled, her eyes squinting the entire time, and her tongue seemed primed and coiled like a viper ready to strike. But she merely bobbed her head and spoke softly "I am at a loss. Your presence defies and defiles the cycle of life and death, Spirit of Aran Viska, and yet I have heard many a tale of your kindness and mercy when your masters bid you reave and pillage in the lands of farmers and children. Perhaps you are just as much a victim as any. I welcome you, Wraith, where my kin may not, and return your blessings tenfold. May we both swiftly part." As she spoke it became clear several Scavengers were giving the two of them a wide berth now.

Jahoon prostrated herself before the gathered members of the Moot. Time had leathered her hands and skin but stolen none of the fire in her motion, the billowing of her bear skin cloak pooling around her as she dropped, and grunted a formless greeting of reverence in her culture. Pressing herself up and onto one knee she extended her left hand forward, and kept her head pointed down as she spoke. ”Moot of the Elders, I beseech you to show mercy upon my kings head. He is a kind and true soul, he may have wronged you but I know there is light and love within his heart, and that his spirit would nurture the world in service instead of solitude.”

Vanaruk listened to the Vulture speak in disturbing silence with only the fluttering of his shroud in the breeze to break the stillness. Once she was done he stood once again to his full imposing height.
"Would that others have extended the same courtesy," he said in an icy tone, "Had I been met with warriors I would have cut them down but alas your brother saw fit to hide behind the weakest of his 'subjects' instead. Truly he was a curse upon this world greater than even I, but in time he shall wither and die while I exist as a mockery of life forevermore."

Later on...

When there was a break in the festivities Vanaruk approached the Dread Lion No-Pride. He made no sign of respect towards the immortal beast before he spoke.
"Old One, know that your rampage in the land of Zarakor has not been forgotten by the Viskari and they send this warning to you," he began, "You are nothing. You are as a blighted monster and should you enter the lands under their protection again they will hunt you to the ends of the earth."


The Moot of Elders

The members of the Moot looked to one another as Jahoon made her plea. There were a few whispers but it seemed they had little reason to break into a debate on the merits of what was said.
"Would a kind and true soul send others to commit murder and then betray them?" the seated woman said, "Perhaps to you he is but we must judge him for his actions not his soul. We are but mortals and must leave such a task to the Gods."
"Besides," spoke a late middle-aged man in a red hooded cloak and silver skull mask, "We have already seen fit to be merciful. We have spared his life and even now he remains under imprisoned under the care of the sorceress Kithana and her servants. As you are married we will not stop you should you wish to join him in captivity-"
"-Though you would be free to leave at any time," interrupted an armoured man, "Rest assured that other than his confinement and simple precautions taken to ensure he does not escape he has not been mistreated and lives in relative comfort."

[PepperP.]

Skystruck-Tree looked up at the pregnant chieftess with a curious leer. Wrinkly grey marks scrunching and rolling like the tide along her face as the new moon of her eyes was covered and then unveiled in a blink. Suddenly a jolt of life seemed to crackle within those ebon pools as she tittered and nodded her head.

“Haha! Too true, babe of blue. Hark soft in dark of minds brewing park you oh few in cycles renew. Bother! I prittle, bones brittle and rattle a prattle bound to sound of a lifes great strife. A knife or blade so swiftly swayed leaves heads a dazed! But better turned than marked or burned. Or so discerned from one cloud spurned.” She had lowered her gaze and seemed to have been speaking entirely to Shari’s swollen belly. Dropping her head she raised it once more to show a strange speckled rock. It was entirely ivory in appearance but bore the faint luster of a twinkling substance dotted around its form. Like the stars upon the moon. “True, true, for you!” Then after offering the gift she looked up at Shari, though her previous candor had faded, and she slumped her frame subtly in the process.

Beneath the evening sun a kettle of vultures circled over head and Skystruck-Tree gazed up at her kin. “Everything dies. One only has the chance to learn from it and make of the next life what we will. This is the Way. I have perished in my dreams countless times. This dream is no different.” She groomed her feathers neatly as her voice grew melancholy “What do you dream of?”

Elsewhere, sitting besides the elder Eleftherian, Vagabond scratched at his chin as he stared in consternation at the Wounded Vulture and Chieftess. It was a sore thumb sticking out of his more rambunctious peers, his serious demeanor eliciting a hardy smack on the back from his ursine partner, and yet he could not lose the expression. Glancing up at the instructor he’d come to respect (a term he didn’t bandy around lightly) he cut through the badinage of his beastly brethren with an offhanded remark. ”Something’s.... off about her. I’ve seen many a Vulture and many more a soon to be dead creature but none like this. I don’t know why but.... I just can’t put my finger on it.” He shook his head in defeat, stooped to the ground, and then threw his head back in uproarious laughter. His Blithe Beast Brothers echoed his returned mirth but his eyes only wandered from the blackened tree to lock eyes with Neri Pasha.

Shira tilted her head, a soft smile upon her face as she took a moment to parse the old vulture's meaning. She took the offered stone and looked down at it for a moment.

"Thank you, it's beautiful..." Her voice trailed off as her brow furrowed slightly.

"What do I dream of...? I have spent much of my life in waking dreams, as an Oracle in training. I find my sleep is rarely disturbed by them." She took a step nearer to Skystruck-Tree as she visibly slumped.

"Are you ok?" She asked before it occurred to her an odd question, for someone who was about to be put to death.

"Well, there's no need for undue suffering, anyway." She said out loud as to answer her own inner dialogue.

Neri Pasha looked up at the vulture in the distance as Vagabond voiced his misgivings.

"Off? Might there be ill forces about?" Despite her pragmatic Eleftherian nature, Neri Pasha had witnessed enough within the lands of Eauden to not deny that there were forces beyond her control and ken.

"Perhaps its merely her looming passing, one could hardly be blamed for it."

[Tychris1]

Shira tilted her head, a soft smile upon her face as she took a moment to parse the old vulture's meaning. She took the offered stone and looked down at it for a moment.

"Thank you, it's beautiful..." Her voice trailed off as her brow furrowed slightly.

"What do I dream of...? I have spent much of my life in waking dreams, as an Oracle in training. I find my sleep is rarely disturbed by them." She took a step nearer to Skystruck-Tree as she visibly slumped.

"Are you ok?" She asked before it occurred to her an odd question, for someone who was about to be put to death.

"Well, there's no need for undue suffering, anyway." She said out loud as to answer her own inner dialogue.

Neri Pasha looked up at the vulture in the distance as Vagabond voiced his misgivings.

"Off? Might there be ill forces about?" Despite her pragmatic Eleftherian nature, Neri Pasha had witnessed enough within the lands of Eauden to not deny that there were forces beyond her control and ken.

"Perhaps its merely her looming passing, one could hardly be blamed for it."

"Alright?" The Vulture crooned her head, tapping her tree with her beak in the process, and seemed to look for something before giving up "I'm surrounded by friends and family. I have never been better." Her eyes kept flicking to the clouds overhead "Dreamless sleep? A pity. Atleast we may share this dream today together."

Vagabond began to chew on a piece of grass as his beady eyes scanned the procession before snapping back to Skystruck-Tree "Maybe friend, maybe. But I don't leave the affairs of my Band to maybes. Or any bees to that matter." He smiled ruefully before picking himself up and walking towards Shira, deftly sliding between the legs of a Shan in waiting, and leaning back against a nearby rock. He offered her a bronze dagger, curved like a talon, and a matching pair to the trusty blade he carried.

"A gift. Since your people saw fit not to raise the sword I raise mine in cheer. Careful, it's quite sharp."


"The putrid, is it? Well, one man's trash..." Lessa considered it, or at least pretended to. The truth was, she was more than happy to take the artifact in exchange for the nigh-useless land. She'd seen it. The Wardens, perhaps, could get some value from it. Or maybe Old Lion really did just want a rather large retirement home. Whatever the case was, she'd been having difficulty settling anyone there, and while she might be criticized for trading it for a dead monster's claw, Idris had let her people know many years before that there was hidden power in it yet, if she could gather all five.

And as of this deal, she now had four. "I accept your offer. The Iron Claw of Cu Weir for the Bloody Hills."

"May your retirement be as peaceful as the death you crave, though I do not think you have seen quite all that there is just yet." Tai spoke at last, and with perfect accuracy fearlessly scratched behind Old Lion's ear, having to reach up to do so despite his reclining posture. "I do not think you believe so either. The nearest cliff is not so far. Your duty is not so incomplete. There must be blood, yes, but wonders too. There are more things in the sky and the ground than are dreamt of, even in the philosophy of the Way."

Old Lion didn't move to avoid the scratching, merely shifted his head to make it easier for the blind woman, and partially encompass her in his ragged mane "No. I'm just tired. Tired of this body. Tired of being despised for it. I threw myself off that cliff once. It didn't stick." He grumbled morosely "Putrid is right. You would feel the same way if you saw Wolfenfinger with your own eye. Writhing filth that it was. Bound in pain. The finger does nothing for me but reminds me of that night. Of my lost friend..." He reached down and began to paw at the ground, digging at the earth to his side until he uncovered the iron phylactery and gestured to it with his immense head.



The Moot of Elders

The members of the Moot looked to one another as Jahoon made her plea. There were a few whispers but it seemed they had little reason to break into a debate on the merits of what was said.
"Would a kind and true soul send others to commit murder and then betray them?" the seated woman said, "Perhaps to you he is but we must judge him for his actions not his soul. We are but mortals and must leave such a task to the Gods."
"Besides," spoke a late middle-aged man in a red hooded cloak and silver skull mask, "We have already seen fit to be merciful. We have spared his life and even now he remains under imprisoned under the care of the sorceress Kithana and her servants. As you are married we will not stop you should you wish to join him in captivity-"
"-Though you would be free to leave at any time," interrupted an armoured man, "Rest assured that other than his confinement and simple precautions taken to ensure he does not escape he has not been mistreated and lives in relative comfort."

She was stunned, her face growing flush as they spoke, and she rose to face the armored viskari "Thank you, wise Elders, you do me a great kindness in this. May I see him? It has been too long since we have embraced."

[PepperP.]

"Alright?" The Vulture crooned her head, tapping her tree with her beak in the process, and seemed to look for something before giving up "I'm surrounded by friends and family. I have never been better." Her eyes kept flicking to the clouds overhead "Dreamless sleep? A pity. Atleast we may share this dream today together."

Vagabond began to chew on a piece of grass as his beady eyes scanned the procession before snapping back to Skystruck-Tree "Maybe friend, maybe. But I don't leave the affairs of my Band to maybes. Or any bees to that matter." He smiled ruefully before picking himself up and walking towards Shira, deftly sliding between the legs of a Shan in waiting, and leaning back against a nearby rock. He offered her a bronze dagger, curved like a talon, and a matching pair to the trusty blade he carried.

"A gift. Since your people saw fit not to raise the sword I raise mine in cheer. Careful, it's quite sharp."

"Pardon me, Skystruck-Tree, but might I ask for a single feather? I would like it as a reminder, a cautionary reminder certainly, but also one of sacrifice and inspiration. If it isn't impertinent, of course." Shira clasped her hands in front of her, resting them on her belly as she made her request. After her audience with the vulture, she backed away to make room for the well wishers and diplomats. She looked down at the tiny raccoon as Vagabond approached and knelt down precariously.

"A gift? For me?" She took the bronze blade and turned it over in her hand.

"It's a lovely gift, you have my thanks." She smiled sweetly at him.

"I wish I had brought something to commemorate your first election, but all I have is my well wishes, and the hopes that this tenuous peace will last."

[Jade_Tarem]

Tai got ready to speak again, only to be held up by a warning hand from Lessa, lightly touching her arm. One of the two knew what Old Lion was, had seen the kind of aged pain he described, if only secondhand. Perhaps, then, what he sought was the Heartwood after all, though this thought wasn't voiced aloud. Instead they retrieved the claw, and waited for Skystruck-Tree's end.

[Tychris1]

“A feather? Why of course. Where are my manners.” Skystruck-Tree shook about fitfully, her neck twitching as it angled about, and at last swooped at the angle to pull at a single feather upon her abdomen. It was predominantly a smooth muted obsidian but at its quill and faded throughout was a soft sheen of brilliant white.

A piece eternally painted with the brushstroke of storms.

“You may have whatever others you can pull from the mess!” She bequeathed it upon the Chieftess and then instantly shirked into a cackle. Vagabond merely turned his back more completely upon the Vulture as he waved off any notion of repayment from Shira. ”Oh please, the value of wishes is greatly under appreciated in this day and age. Hope is my most bountiful resource.” He swished his tail pleasantly in jovial counterbalance.

So the festivities went till the fires turned to embers and the sun’s last echoes was fully quenched from the sky. Clouds had gathered throughout the day, slowly darkening into the night, and a sprinkling of rain began to fall. Wounded Vulture looked up to the infinite realm above. ”It is time.” She whipped her neck down and to the side as Old Lions voice unexpectedly erupted from beside her tree. The clap of thunder rang from the tree backed by a clatter of shattering bones and bursting blood. A guttural bloodied phlegmy scream chorused the sudden strike as Skystruck-Tree fell to the ground in a percussive crescendo. Old-Lion’s paw had fell upon her wing, breaking the limb instantly, and crippling the Vulture as she writhed in the dirt. Wing twisted into an unnatural angle she fell upon it with her back to face the Dread Zankorian Lion. The obsidian gems of her eyes bulging as she sputtered “WAIT-“ and fell into a crunching growl as No-Pride-No-Death twisted her neck with a tug of his fangs. A shimmering sequin curtain of yellow and black blanketed over the sight as a host of Wasps descended on the Old Lion and the Wounded Vulture. The closest hyenas bounded forward, tucking and nipping at what they could part from the Dire Beast, and were soon gang pressed as all the Scavengers surrounding the tree descended upon the sight with wanton abandon. Vagabond of the Bloody Hills, Feral Voice of the Awakened Realms, had pulled out his trusty blade as he bared his fangs, and made to cut out the Vulture’s heart yipping a call to arms of his Blithe Beasts. The filtering echoing laughter of Mountain-Leaper present throughout the sudden feast.