Kala Dja watches Pakano run off after Imek, a slight scowl crossing her pretty face. We need every pair of hands we can get—the young animist stifles a sigh—and yet here again he’s found an excuse to skitter off. Brat. Still, she can’t really stay mad at the young man; this is a better reason than most for dereliction of duty. A thread in the back of her mind gives a tug—(hunting accident)—but Kala Dja ignores it for the moment. Pakano may be insolent, bratty, and obnoxious on a mammoth scale, but he’s not malicious. Then the group is looking for tracks, and with a rough shake of her head, Kala Dja refocuses on the task at hand.
As the group approaches the tapirs, Kala Dja gets her first good look at them. Opening herself to Asha, the young animist picks out a curious inference—(dream eaters?)—before focusing in on the strange animals. “All right, here goes nothing,” Kala Dja whispers. Cautiously stepping into the clearing, hand out in front of her, the young animist does her best to project serenity and harmlessness.
Kala Dja’s eyes flutter closed as the Kellid princess subliminates herself in Asha. The beauty of the day. Sun shining through the trees. Leaves in the wind. Sap flowing through trunk and branch. Scent of beast and plant and earth. She feels the tapirs’ spirits, and tries to ever-so-gently join them with her own. Instinctively, her hand slips into her sash, coming out with a handful of berries and nuts, which the young animist holds out in offering to one of the tapirs as she approaches and kneels to the earth. A beatific smile crosses Kala Dja’s face as she watches the animals, feels their wariness and their curiosity and their part in the vast web of Asha. Wonderful.
The tapirs sniff curiously at Kala Dja and Iskra, their velvety noses curling around the Broken Tusk's newest animal handlers.
The sturdy creatures almost knock you over as the shoulder against you. Each one lifts a foot, revealing long thorns ground into the feet of the creatures. It sure looks painful, and explains the unfriendly mien of the creatures.
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Impulse steps back from the others and turns around, weapons at the ready. They briefly consider also finding an excuse to wander off. Animal caretaking has never really been a strength of theirs. It's never been much of a hole for longing for one, though. Animals inside a workshop were too dangerous and messy even back when they were still doing work in artistic workshops.
They let out an audible sigh. But what kind of community member would they be if they just wandered away and something actually did go wrong as they have the last few days?
They stand around keeping watch, tapping the side of their axe's hefted handle, fiddling with its dials meaninglessly. Though the tapirs' movement behind them bumps the rest of the group into their back as they turn, seeing two long nosed creatures trundling up with a set of spikes in either foot.
"Oh those are nasty, even these sturdy creatures could get one hell of an infection from those. Fine fine, I'll come deal with it."
They put the axe back on its magnetic clip, and step cautiously towards the tapirs. When they don't immediately shirk away Impulse gets on a single knee and pushes their hands forward, cracking each knuckle with a strange quiet pop that sounds more like gears sliding up against each other than the space between joints cracking.
With their narrowed, slightly elongated fingers, they push back on one joint to get nail deeper into the tapirs' skin and pull out the violent splinters.
After a few moments, they drop the barbs back in one hand as simultaneously all their joints seem to de-extend and snap back into place. "That should fix it, I think. Though someone might want to patch up the holes some so they don't get any dirt or something in there."
Impulse skillfully pulls the thorns from the injured tapirs. The thorns look similar to those used in Wipa's poison barb traps, but they look to be from some other species of plant.
"Hey Impulse, lemme take a look at those," Iskra says, picking up a thorn and inspecting it closely.
She drops them back into Impulse's hand. "No clue." Iskra turns her attention to the tapirs, her voice taking on the kind of soothing, higher-pitched tone reserved for talking to infants and animals. "Got yourselves into some spiky bois, huh? Let's see if we can't patch up those footsies."
The tapirs, definitely unused to human medical treatment, shuffle and retract their feet at Iskra's ministrations. "Come on, now, I know, it's no fun getting your feet wrapped up, but it'll feel better, I promise."
"Oops!" Iskra lets out a long sigh of frustration. "Uhhh... maybe we should see what Imek's up to; kid's got the magic touch. I'm havin' no luck on my end here."
Kala Dja is still coming down from her communion with Asha, but the sharp spirit-barbs of the tapirs’ pain draw her attention back to matters at hand (or equivalent limb). Gently moving to assist Iskra, the young animist offers her fellow huntress a smile. “Hold the limb steady for me, please.” Then she sets to work, humming a soothing tune to the wounded creatures as she makes her best attempt at a painless extraction.
It’s a tricky business—the tapir is already a bit disquieted by Iskra’s botched attempts, making it hard for her to hold the limb steady, and Kala Dja isn’t nearly as delicate as she used to be—but she finally manages to get the barbs out safely. “There we go,” the Kellid princess murmurs, slowly letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You should be fine now,” she adds soothingly, though it’s not as if the animal understands her.
Settling back on her haunches, Kala Dja inspects the thorns and the wounds.
“Thorns from there?” the young animist asks herself. “You can’t have gone all that way with these in your feet, can you?” she asks the tapir on instinct. After a moment, realizing that she’s not going to get an answer—or at least not a useful one—Kala Dja turns her attention to her fellow scouts. “The thorns here come from well away, higher in the mountains east of here. I think it might be good if we have a look around.” The Kellid princess sets to examining the area more closely.
Investigating the clearing, you find the remains of two poison barb snares. No one from the following was planning on setting snares in this area, as far as you know.
Impulse gets a weird look on their face as they try to calculate through the information about these spines.
"I wonder... we hadn't planned to put any snares around here since we were looking to tame a bunch of these things. And... the spikes came from the mountains east of here. Do you think someone from way up there brought these traps down? But... that seems like a hell of a way to go. And for what, tapirs? Do they make for that much of a fine meat that someone would come all the way down from the mountains for them? Ugh now I'm just more confused!"
They frustratedly kick a fallen branch and it flies across the clearing, shattering in two as it collides with a large tree.
"A lot seems to be happening recently in the area- are there other followings around locally this time of year? I can't seem to recall any, but most springs I've been up to my ankles in bird droppings or catching game, so we coulda had whole meetings with followings in years past that I missed." Iskra pauses, then clearly sets her brain to wracking.
"Nope, just recallin' guano and prairie hares, mostly." She dusts herself off in clearly subconscious habit. "Hey. Do we uh... wanna make sure Imek's okay? And Pakano, too, I suppose, though maybe if he catches a foot fulla poison briars, that might be a good lesson for him about skippin' all our scout training."
Kala Dja blinks. “That... is a good point.” I can’t believe that didn’t occur to me. Though it would have probably been more useful when they actually ran off. She gestures at the tapirs. “And we should probably see about encouraging the newest members of the herd back to camp as well. Don’t want them running off while we chase ghosts.” Despite her words, Kala Dja doesn’t seem at all sure of this plan. Instead, still crouched down on her haunches, the young animist relaxes as best she can, eyes fluttering closed as she reaches out to Asha.
Emerging from her reverie, Kala Dja blinks, shaking her head once or twice as she tries to interpret what she has sensed... or, quite possibly, in annoyance at her failure to sense anything of note. It can be quite difficult to tell at times.
You recall, through various means, that this area isn't frequented by other followings--one of the reasons that it's on the Broken Tusk's typical route is that there is usually little competition for resources.
You are about to head out of the clearing when there is a cracking and rustling in the bushes. Two intimidating figures push their way into the glade, shouting challenges to you, "Those tapirs are dinner tonight! And you'll not live to see the sunset!"
They don't seem very friendly. You have just enough time to notice the livid burn scars on their faces before they raise their spears to attack.
~+~Combat Round 1~+~
Kala Dja
Iskra
Impulse
Eirthgim
Red
Blue
Kala Dja is on her feet the moment the bushes rustle, her connection with Asha aflame. For a moment the summer-maiden wonders if trying to talk the ravagers down isn’t more appropriate. But the livid burns—and more than that, that hateful fiery aura pouring off the duo—convince her otherwise. “Draw them in. Make them come to us,” Kala Dja murmurs to her companions. Then, moving into position between her friends and the interlopers, the young animist pulls her spirit-blade from her sash and pours her awareness into it.
Again Kala Dja’s cry echoes and resonates, tree and stone seeming to lend their voices to her own. It is less surprising this time; almost as if the young animist, on some level, expected it to happen. There’s little time to ponder it now, though, and Kala Dja simply ties another little knot in the thread at the back of her mind. As her blade desegments with its oily hiss, she cracks it like a whip before the invaders, a wordless warning to think twice before getting any closer.
The emberhaired girl isn’t done yet, though. Once upon a time Kala Dja would have simply charged in; but she is an animist now, a leader of the pack, not some frenzied berserker from the storybooks. Instead, the young animist lets her consciousness flow through her spirit-blade, letting it be her conduit to Asha. In this superconscious moment, she turns her spirit-sight upon the left-hand intruder, searching for the key to the ravager’s undoing.
The conduit is open, her awareness alight. Unconsciously, Kala Dja’s hand dips back into her sash, her two forefingers snagging a bit of silken hair given her by a white wolf turned human; the winter-turned-summer-maiden’s tresses seem a perfect spirit bane for these flamebitten folk. Cracking her spirit-blade again, the young animist readies to meet the foe.
"Hey! Any animal that I both to help out doesn't get to be immediately eaten by someone else." Impulse glares at the two scarred humans across the glade and grips their axe with a greater vengeance, moving to slide up the lever on their axe and kickstart its generator.
The device spurts but then quickly hums with a satisfying whir as the fuel hits the axe's internal gears and the weight of the weapon realigns perfectly in Impulse's finger tips.
They turn to rush forward, newly invigorated by this but Kala's words manage to flash in their mind.
"Fine, I'll hold back just a moment..."
Their eyes noticeably roll but they run forward, stop short and duck into the trees for just a moment.
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"Seems a bit much to use thorn snares for hunting, yeah? What, couldn't stalk and take down a tapir like a real hunter?" Iskra whistles and mounts Tomi in one fluid motion, weapons out as the pair rush towards their foes. Lance and blade flash in tandem before her. "Worry not, today you eat the Sarkoris Special!"
The strike is off target, thrusting past the hunter's face as they dodge reflexively. Iskra spits and girds herself for the counter-offensive.
Eirthgim and Agn advance on the attackers, and the summoner draws forth lightning from the clear sky, running a bolt of electricity through both attackers. The tapirs cower in the background!
The attackers wince at the shock and thunder, but move to eliminate you! The first one advances on Tomi, trying to slip between the bird's legs.
Frustrated by the bird's aggressive kicking, the hunter attacks Iskra with his spear.
for
for
The interloper scores a solid blow, cutting the beast rider deeply! Iskra is thrown off-balance by the attack
The second hunter also tries to slip through the wall of feathers, intent on taking out the spellcaster.
His second attempt is successful, and he emerges from under Tomi to stab at Eirthgim. Kala Dja swings her death whip through the air in his wake, but the foe continues his dodge and avoids the blow.
for
Ang roars in concern as his companion is pierced!
~+~Combat Round 2~+~
Kala Dja
Iskra (-14, flat-footed)
Impulse
Eirthgim[/b] (-6)
Red (-6)
Blue (-3)
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Impulse steps into place on the other side of the blue tinted spear wielder. "Get away from them you slippery little suckers!"
Empowered by the perfect efficiency of their axe's mechanisms for the first time since its creation, they opt to just tear into this new challenger with it.
Their axe comes down, cutting directly through the spear wielder's neck and sound of their neck bones cracking echoes throughout the clearing, as Blue immediately slumps over onto the ground.
A hiss of hydraulic energy emphasizes their motion as they turn and lock eyes at the other one. "This is not your hunting ground."
They turn tail towards Red into the trees, cutting through the branches to get up within reach of the other.
Kala Dja squeaks in surprise as Tomi and Iskra thunder past. “H-hey! Do you two—” —know what ‘make them come to us’ means!? The emberhaired girl bites back the angry remark, though; it’s an exciting moment, blood is up, and Iskra has never been one to hold back. Setting the tactical criticism aside for the evening hearth, Kala Dja quickly goes for the save. “—need a hand with this fool?” She grins up at her fellow huntress. “I only have the one, but I think it’ll do.”
She’s about to spring forward when Blue goes flashing by. Her spirit-blade, linked to the other, lets him pass, and the young animist winces as his spear digs into Eirthgim. “Grandfather-sibling!!” Kala Dja cries. She hasn’t even had a chance to refocus on the assailant when Impulse, luminous with spirit-force, steps into position and brings their axe down in one beautifully ruinous swing. For a moment she just blinks at the slumped ruin of the foe. Then the Kellid princess flashes Impulse a sunny smile. “Well done!” she calls out behind her, already running for the other.
Exuberant and fearless, Kala Dja charges right past the foe; if his reactions are quick enough to catch her, so be it. “Asha!” the young animist cries out again, for emphasis. “Offering to serpent-spirit, be crushed and devoured!” The segmented blade writhes like a living thing, flicking like its namesake’s tongue as it darts toward the foe.
Heartened by her success, Kala Dja lashes out again; she knows full well that this level of offense is beyond her skill, but there’s little else to do in the moment.
For a moment the summer-maiden flashes back to a few moments previous. The way Impulse raises their axe, the way their spirit flares as they behead their foe. Drawing from the storm-spirit’s luminous energy and pouring herself into her perception of Asha, the young animist grabs the hilt of her spirit-blade with her left handand puts all her strength into it, swinging the weapon just so and letting the serpent-spirit carve open her foe. Panting with sudden exertion, Kala Dja releases her two-handed grip as she watches her foe slump to the ground.
Letting her link to Asha wane, the Kellid princess looks back up at the others with another sunny smile. “Did you see that!?” the emberhaired girl exclaims between heavy breaths. As she tucks her weapon-hilt under the remains of her left arm and pulls out her vessel of cleansing oil, Kala Dja nods warmly to each of the others in turn. “Although... I couldn’t have done it without each of you.” And it is true, the young animist idly reflects; Eirthgim inspired her assault, Iskra distracted the foe, and Impulse demonstrated technique.
The Kellid princess smiles again, that mysterious smile which she so rarely reveals, as she sits cross-legged against a tree and begins the cleansing ritual.
The clearing quickly falls quiet, except for the excited snuffling of tapirs.
With a chance to examine the (extremely dead) attackers, you see that they are Kellid natives with features not dissimilar to many of the human Broken Tusk followers. However, they bear obvious signs of a far more violent lifestyle; on their faces, each has a large, jagged burn scar. The scars are bright red, as if freshly made, and shaped like claw marks. They’re too elaborate to have been accidental.
Scarification and branding aren’t unknown practices in these lands—some Broken Tusks bear such decorations. However, the graceless, violent application of the hunters’ brands is quite jarring.
One of the hunters carries a holly bush feather token.
The tapirs are willing to follow you back and join the following.
"I guess these would be those "Burning Mammoths" I was remembering. At least, I assume so, anyway. This kind of bright red burn scar would certainly fit a following called that. But... why are they down here, instead of off in the mountains. This just keeps getting stranger and stranger..."
Impulse sighs, picks up the feather token and collects the spears from the two attackers to take back to the following. The last ones were well-crafted, at least. It wouldn't hurt to have some extras on hand for the younger warriors still in training.
"Well... let's keep the tapirs close, I'll guard the rear and you two stay up front and keep them close to you, since they listen to you better. No point in sticking around, we need to get these ones back before someone else comes checking up for a bite to eat."
"Huh." Iskra leans in closer to inspect the faces of the dead hunters.
She frowns. "We've all seen brands before, but these are different. Like the drowned woman at the river, they don't seem to be tending to them properly afterwards. This one here, look- they're practically blind in one eye! This is incredibly sloppy, needlessly painful and cruel work."
Looking up, she realizes the rest of the group is waiting for her to catch up. "Whoops! Sorry, yeah, let's head back." She mounts Tomi and the pair trot up to the front of the line, beside Kala Dja.
You head back to camp with the new following members in tow. With the care of the herd tenders, you are confident that the tapirs will soon recover from their snare wounds.
As you near the area where the herders have the animals settled, a bellow erupts from the grazing grounds of the Broken Tusk mammoths. The herd tenders quickly move to quiet the trumpeting mammoth, who lifts an injured leg to reveal several quills embedded in her foot. While the herd-tenders soothe the injured mammoth and begin tending the foot, one of them calls out, “Porcupine here, somewhere! Someone come look!”
grass where the mammoth was hurt, plus a massive porcupine hissing angrily!
If your result is 15 or higher:
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At the blare of a wounded mammoth, a dwarf trundles industriously through some intervening foliage in a rush to assist the herd handlers. He has the bearing of an explorer, making use of a club to divert what bushes and grass impede his short, stocky advance; he takes care not to let his cloak and clothes get caught on intruding branches.
Once he's broken clear of the foliage, the dwarf hurries across the herding area toward the afflicted mammoth, fishing supplies out of a bag slung along his left hip. He wears a concerned expression on what little of his ruddy face remains visible under the volume of red-blond hair and beard, both braided neatly.
"Make way, make way," he says. "Let me help with that foot, aye?"
The dwarf - one Grymgold Hearth-Heart, relative new recruit amid the Broken Tusks following - seems unconcerned with finding the porcupines; that's not his job, strictly speaking, but he goes about helping the tenders mend the mammoth's foot with a practiced ease.
"Poor beastie," he murmurs, patting the mammoth's leg. "We'll have you right soon enough."
The clarion cuts through Kala Dja’s idle daydreaming, and the emberhaired girl immediately breaks into a run. Hearing the tender’s call, she turns her attention to the search, letting the tenders calm the herd and treat the wounded.
It doesn’t take her long to ferret out the offender. Kala Dja draws up short, hesitating slightly at the size of the quill-cloaked beast... then straightens up. Well... it worked well enough with the tapirs, right? Taking a deep breath, the young animist opens herself up to Asha, holding out her hand in a calming gesture as she (very slowly) approaches the porcupine.
Unfortunately, a hasty run and a frantic search are not terribly conducive to meditative communion. Kala Dja only gets a step or two closer before realizing that she has overestimated her skill. Taking a deep breath, she begins backing off. But it’s far too late for that. With a rough shake of her head, Kala Dja draws her spirit-blade from her sash. “Asha!” the young animist cries in her loudest (unamplified) voice, hoping her friends will hearken to the familiar battle cry. As her spirit-blade fills with predatory focus, Kala Dja idly remarks, half to herself and half to the beast, “I’ve always wanted to try porcupine. Perhaps I can test out my special sauce on you.”
With a shrill shriek, the porcupine puffs itself up to an impressive size. You can see that it's quills are almost 3 feet long!
You'd have a better opportunity to admire the unusual animal if it wasn't advancing so aggressively!
In the face of Kala Dja's attempt to be friendly, the prickly rodent whirls around and shows her it's quilled tail--then scoots bacward at her surprisingly quickly!
for
for
The porcupine's quills prick the young scout, but she dodges away before any of them become lodged in her skin. The little critter swipes his tail at her again, but she's wise to his schemes.
~+~Combat Round 1~+~
Red
Kala Dja (-8)
Grymgold
Iskra
Impulse
"Oh good I was just thinking how those spines could be really useful for Wipa's snares. And here I was thinking how I'd be able to harvest all those from another buddy animal but this is much easier!"
Impulse steps out into the clearing and rushes over to immediately back up Kala's show of force. Though realizing it's spikey nature, decides it best to try and subdue the creature with as little contact as possible, they turn the spinning dial on the axe and unleash a jet of excess battery energy into its skin.
They shake the device briefly before grumbling slightly at the creature. "I swear I must have this polarity shifter not nearly efficient enough because it still feel like its taking more energy to do it than it dishes out..."
The quills stab into Kala Dja’s skin, eliciting a pained grimace; but the thick coat of pelts she wears—and a bit of luck—keep any of the barbed growths from embedding in her flesh. She has an easier time with the thing’s lashing tail, hopping over the sweeping blow with impressive grace for her muscular build. While she holds the beast at bay with her lashing blade, the Kellid princess takes a moment to glance down at her side and midriff. The quills have torn her hide shirt and drawn blood, but it doesn’t look bad enough to worry about... yet.
The others have hearkened to her battle cry, at least, and she calls them to her side with another shout. Impulse comes crashing into the scene first, the storm spirit summoning a mighty surge of lightning from their spirit-weapon. As the lightning flashes around the irate beast, Kala Dja takes advantage of the distraction to reach out to Asha, searching for the spirit-bane of her thorny foe.
Her focus comes far easier now that open battle has been joined. Which probably, Kala Dja reflects ruefully, says more about me than I like. As she ponders this bothersome revelation, the young animist’s questing fingers fish something out of her sash—a tiny length of sinew threaded with the teeth and claws of a thacho, a fisher cat, who are known to hunt the porcupine—and clutch it close to her spirit-blade’s hilt. Kala Dja smiles serenely as the fisher’s predatory spirit joins and entwines with that of the serpentine blade.
Now ready to properly confront her foe, Kala Dja bounds in a broad semicircle around the thorny beast, maneuvering into a flanking position with Impulse. As she reaches her destination, the young animist sweeps her spirit-blade around her head in a broad arc before bringing it down at the outflanked porcupine.
Unfortunately, the foe is a bit too nimble for her dramatic blow. Kala Dja roughly shakes her head in annoyance. As she takes stock of the situation, the Kellid princess catches sight of a following member she hadn’t expected to answer the call, and she sings out to the flame priest. “Could use a blessing from Sister Cinder here!” the emberhaired girl calls, not unkindly, as she gestures to her bloodied wounds with her one remaining arm. After a beat, Kala Dja adds, “Please!”
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Iskra seems similarly jubilant at a chance to blow off some steam on a problem best solved with the simplicity of violence. "Hey look, something even pricklier than Pakano!" she shouts before spurring Tomi into action. The pair charge forward, Iskra with lance and main gauche out and ready. Tomi lets fly a terrible "WAAARK!" as they advance on the spiny critter.
Iskra's lance and blade lunge forth, striking beyond the thicket of spines to find tender meat underneath. Tomi's caterwauling has its intended effect on the porcupine, leaving the critter caught off-guard.
Iskra's deft reflexes save her from the worst the porcupine's spines have to offer.
"Yeowtch!" Iskra sucks wind through her teeth, looking at her bloodied knuckles. A couple harsh, unpleasant-sounding Abyssal words tumble out of her mouth.
It's very difficult to work with people engaging in an all-out brawl behind him, and it's only serving to agitate his patient, so Grymgold - in stark contrast to his initially kind bedside manner - draws a hand crossbow from somewhere on his person and takes aim at the massive porcupine.
Draw weapon; shoot at porcupine; reload
Hand Crossbow Shot:
Hand Crossbow Damage:
It's a snapped off, quick shot landing along the creature's flank, a new column amid the spines. Grumbling to himself about being disturbed, and clearly irritated by a renewed blare from the wounded mammoth, Grymgold quickly fishes a new bolt out of his pack and tucks it into place.
"Aye, it's shot right up!" he calls to the other scouts. "Let's put it down quick, yeah?"
The party rounds on the prickly foe, intent on protecting the mammoths of the following. Everyone is able to attack without getting stuck with too many quills, and Sister Cinder sends her blessing in the form of a crossbow bolt.
The wounded creature rounds on its attackers, lashing out with its barbed tail.
for
for
for
Impulse and Tomi are hit, and the quills stick in, causing some bleeding.
~+~Combat Round 2~+~
Red (-22)
Kala Dja (-8)
Grymgold
Iskra (-5)
--Tomi (-8, 1d4 persistent piercing)
Impulse (-9, 1d4 persistent piercing)
Safely out of range of the flailing tail, Kala Dja can only watch as the beast sinks its quills into her friends. The Kellid girl grits her teeth. Right. Better finish this fast and hard. Swinging her spirit-blade above her head, Kala Dja snaps it through the air with a whiplike crack, hoping to spook the porcupine a bit.
The young animist immediately draws the lashing blade back and snaps it forward with the same motion, hoping to sink it into the flesh beneath all those quills.
Knowing her position is strong—and eager to bring the foe down—Kala Dja whirls the serpentine blade around for another stroke, clutching the thacho token tight.
Unfortunately, the followup strike goes a bit wide; overextension has never been the Kellid princess’s strength, nor has combat discipline. As Kala Dja recovers her focus and reopens herself to Asha, her gaze rises past the bed of spines to meet Impulse’s, and the young animist flashes them a sunny smile and an encouraging nod.
"You hurt my Tomi, you sonova-" Iskra loses it and lets out a roar that almost blots out Tomi's warks of pain. Lance and main gauche fly downward with startling aggressiveness.
Iskra stabs into the porcupine with her war lance, pulling it upwards to jam the main gauche into the massive rodent's neck.
Spines catch and tear at Iskra's hands and forearms, but she remains undeterred, drawing the main gauche out brutally before shaking her lance free from porcupine flesh.
"Stay. The ████. DOWN." Spittle flies from her gritted teeth.
Despite her fury, Iskra still manages to sheathe her main gauche and begin readying her healing supplies to stanch Tomi's bleeding.
In a flurry of protective fervor, Iskra finishes off the spiny creature.
Without the distraction of the livestock-sized rodent, you and the animal handlers are easily able to get the bleeding from its quills under control.
"That will be fine eating!" One of the herders congratulates Iskra for the killing blow, slapping her on the back after she is done tending to Tomi. "We should use the quills as well. Some are long enough to make javelines, and the finer ones make excellent needles and jewelry."
"Look there!" Imek pops out from behind a mammoth and points to the half-trampled burrow that the porcupine surged out of. Two very small porcupettes are sticking their noses out, making squeaking noises.
Kala Dja sighs in relief as the beast falls. As others tend to the bleeding, the Kellid girl glances down at her own wounds. It hurts, but she’s had worse. If anything, the good cheer of the handlers as they congratulate Iskra stings the prideful princess more sharply than the quills. I helped too, you know. But— Her left arm twinges, a reminder of her own tarnished reputation, and she sighs again. Stifling her petulant immaturity, Kala Dja drifts closer to the fallen porcupine. She’s about to begin harvesting when a squeaking sound distracts her, and the Kellid girl’s blood turns to ice. Oh no.
The mother beast’s fury suddenly taking on a new dimension in her mind, Kala Dja turns to the burrow as the porcupettes crawl out. Her vision blurs with wetness, and the young animist bites her lip to keep from making a fool of herself in front of the following. She hesitates briefly, torn between the spoils of the kill and the pain of those orphaned by it. But the choice is crystal clear. Do you fight for life? Turning to Iskra, hoping the tears she’s holding back aren’t too obvious, Kala Dja casts her fellow huntress a pleading glance. “Please save some of the good meat and quills for me. Please?”
Seeing Imek on the periphery, the young animist gestures her over hopefully; if anyone here will know what to do, it’s the animal-souled little one. Then, carefully—for their sake, not hers; after what just happened, the last thing she is worried about are a few baby quills—Kala Dja gathers up one of the little ones in a bit of soft hide, lifting and cradling her in her arm. She’ll figure out how to care for her charge later, with Imek and the elders and Asha. For now...
After making sure Imek (or one of her fellow scouts) has the other baby safe and sound, Kala Dja somberly moves to join the others as they harvest. Despite herself, all her guilt and her uncertainty, the young animist still doesn’t want to miss out on the bounty of her—partly, anyway, she quickly corrects herself—kill. Besides which, she has duties of her own to perform.
As others harvest, Kala Dja settles down cross-legged before the slain mother. Her hand is occupied, so she can’t physically reach out; but under the circumstances, doubtless the mother’s spirit will understand. Opening herself to Asha, the young animist reaches out to the porcupine’s spirit. “I... am sorry for our transgression against you. We did not know.” Kala Dja glances down at the porcupette, feeling her tiny spirit, sharing that light with the mother’s to reassure her. “See, your little ones are safe. We shall raise them and protect them as our own children. And we thank you for the resources you provide. Nothing will be wasted.” She maintains her communion as the porcupine’s spirit slowly fades.
The young animist’s heart lightens a little as the familiar ritual concludes. The porcupette squeaks in her cradled grasp, and Kala Dja coos soothingly to her. Then the Kellid princess sets about claiming a few choice things from the kill; some meat to cook a special meal for the others, a few of the lesser quills for her armor and other crafts—including one stained with her own blood, for her sash full of spirit totems—and the mammary glands, to symbolize her role as surrogate mother. The skull she gives to Iskra, jealousy now forgotten, for her role in the kill; the rest goes to the following or her fellow scouts, as it should.
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Grymgold watches the proceedings post-porcupine while unlatching his hand crossbow and replacing it in the holster on his hip. That thing went off while he was wearing it once and he can still feel it in his knee when it's going to rain.
"Ay, poor beastie," he mutters. "Ought not tread under mammoth feet..."
There is, of course, the mammoth to attend to, but the tenders seem to have that situation under control for the time being; instead, there are several wounded scouts that need a-tending to, and Grymgold retrieves a set of healer's tools - suture, bandages, poultices and all - from his pack before heading over toward the erstwhile porcupine hunters.
"Hail, well met, so on, so forth," he says. "Which of you lot needs a bit of linen and some kind words, ay?"
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"Princess, if I have my say, you get the biggest helping. I mighta killed it, but ah..." she looks down at her ravaged arms holding the skull. "If I had your smarts, I woulda used something with a bit more distance and not thrown my hands into a walking thicket of knives."
She grips Kala Dja's forearm, then winces at the ill-timed gesture as a few of the new wounds reopen. Her eyes, though, are full of sincerity as she says, "You lead from the front, and you lead smart. What'd my mom say once? 'Passion and compassion,' somethin' like that. I swear you'll be leadin' this holding before you know it."
She turns to Grymgold. "I'll gladly take some bandaging up. Damn but those quills sting! Kala Dja, Impulse, you want first dibs? I can sit for a bit with Tomi if you need tending." Tomi warks in possible agreement, or probable hunger.
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Impulse doesn't respond. At least, not immediately anyway, though their response is implicit as they're immediately distracted, stepping over to the massive porcupine's body and forcefully pulling out several quills carefully enough not to snap them in the process.
"Hmmm, the hollowness makes them a bit light for typical javelin needs, we'll have to make sure they're stuff so they get some proper weight and don't snap immediately upon hitting something. But I've never seen a porcupine with quills long enough to turn into a thrown projectile. I never even considered the possibility of weaponry from such material, I wonder kind of other implements could make specific use of how lightweight and hollow these are. Might benefit a set of spiked gauntlets, or a very fine set of shield spikes from some of the smaller ones. I'll have to consider this further..."
They stand there thinking over the beast's body for a long moment, quills still embedded into their arms and torso in several places, but whatever pain they must still be feeling, seems to have been forgotten for the moment, anyway.
Imek is happy to take the other young porcupine under her care. Before long you think you see her wandering through camp with the creature balanced on her head, somehow. It certainly doesn't seem to be bothering the porcupine, who is chirping away as it gnaws on a turnip.
With the giant porcupine headed to the roasting spit, you have the evening to yourselves to recover and reflect on your preparations for the festival.
Impulse sits alongside the small wooden bowl that once contained a filling portion of pit roasted porcupine and root vegetables but now lies empty by firelight.
They've always had a propensity for staying up around the fire past when most other members of the following do, and this evening is no different as they find themselves putting together smaller test designs of weaponry and other obviously dangerous devices. Their general about the Green Moon festival they manage to suppress back by keeping their technical mind occupied for the moment.
"Just as long as Pakano doesn't try to pull some s+++ at the festival again this year..." They mutter to themself.
Post-meal finds Iskra tending to Tomi, changing out her bandages for clean ones before doing the same for her own hands and forearms. Tomi makes a low warble and shakes her feathers as the herbal paste applied on the bandages contacts with her scabs. "I know, girl, it stings, yeah? It's okay, that's just Grymgold's medicine doing its work. I don't like it either, but we gotta do things that are uncomfortable sometimes." She sighs as the last of Tomi's bandages are firmly in place. "But in the end, it feels better, right? Atta girl."
Iskra pats Tomi for a bit, turning to her bowl of water to wash her hands clean before tending to her own wounds. "First the bird, then the saddle, then the rider," as Mom is fond of saying- help those who can't help themselves, tend to your gear so you can tend to others, then tend to yourself. Old Sarkoris bird-raising adage, she's told- not that the Old Country had a lot of bird-raisers to begin with, but that's beside the point.
She unwinds the bandages from her arms, wincing a bit as she does. "Probably went a bit overboard, but y'know? These scars'll make for a great story sometime. 'If you need to kill a giant porcupine, try using a spear!' Hmm, I'll have to work on that bit of sage wisdom- it's not very snappy, is it?" Tomi, for her part, seems unimpressed.
"Fair enough," Iskra says, grinning. "Probably time I get to bed- big things ahead, eh?" She pats Tomi down one last time before retiring for the evening.
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"Princess, if I have my say, you get the biggest helping. I mighta killed it, but ah..." she looks down at her ravaged arms holding the skull. "If I had your smarts, I woulda used something with a bit more distance and not thrown my hands into a walking thicket of knives."
She grips Kala Dja's forearm, then winces at the ill-timed gesture as a few of the new wounds reopen. Her eyes, though, are full of sincerity as she says, "You lead from the front, and you lead smart. What'd my mom say once? 'Passion and compassion,' somethin' like that. I swear you'll be leadin' this holding before you know it."
For a moment Kala Dja just stands there blinking, porcupette chirping in her gentle grasp. Dimly aware that her face is starting to burn, the emberhaired girl moves to cover it with her other hand, which goes about as well as one would expect. Giving up on that, Kala Dja smiles; not her usual exuberant grin, but one subtler, softer, though just as sincere as the look in Iskra’s eyes. “I’m just lucky enough to have this,” she murmurs, gesturing down at her spirit-blade. The weapon rattles in response, impatiently awaiting its cleansing ceremony. “Though... thank you.” The Kellid princess punctuates this by freeing up her hand long enough to give Iskra’s a rather meaningful squeeze, though one careful of the injuries her fellow huntress has sustained.
Knowing little about medicine—but ever-eager to learn—Kala Dja hangs around as the various wounds are treated, watching and listening to Grymgold while she performs her cleansing ritual and even lending a hand where she can. Her hide shirt remains torn and tattered, but it will have to do for now; besides, the prideful princess considers with a little smile, showing a little skin never hurt anyone, at least in the springtime. She’s been meaning to learn to stitch and tie anyway, and this will provide a good opportunity to practice.
As the night progresses, Kala Dja attends to her various responsibilities one by one; first working through the familiar cleansing of her weapon, honoring the spirit within and those it has taken, then consulting with various wise members of the following regarding her tiny charge. She joins in the cooking of their latest prey as well, trying some new methods with her portions using some of her precious oil, and even whipping up an experimental batch of her egg-and-seed sauce; the result is still a bit more sour than tangy, she needs to crush the seed more finely, and the mixture needs more maple vinegar, but it’s unquestionably progress.
After the meal, Kala Dja lingers around the hearth for a little while, chatting with her fellow scouts (including her grandfather-sibling) and watching the others pursue their personal projects as she feeds her porcupette. It’s an interesting feeling; summer-maiden though she is and moon-maid though she’s become, she still feels the call to motherhood in a unique way, and fostering the tiny life of her charge is a wholly new feeling.
With the Festival tomorrow, for once the nocturnal girl heads to slumber early (i.e., on time), porcupette wrapped in soft hides and held close.
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Grymgold busies himself with the back and forth of tending to wounds and making small talk. That quilly bastard was dangerous, aright; given leave it might have actually badly injured a mammoth or one of the following members well past a few scratches or pins.
It does earn the fireplace a grimace, as he sits before it in a moment of solitude prior to retiring for the evening. For all the beauty and freedom he found in this place, the day-to-day proceedings could be downright dire: you could wake up one morning, having done your best to get you and your babes out of the cold, to find a mammoth crouching on your favorite spot and a bunch of two-leggers with their own sets of pointy bits approaching at a determined pace.
"Wrong place at the wrong time, beastie," he murmurs, to no-one. "Nothin' personal, I promise."
The dwarf continues to watch the fire for a long and solemn moment more; the flame has dwindled to embers, an ochre glow dancing in the crags of his face.
"May the Sister keep you warm, beastie," he says, quietly, reverently. "May the Sister keep you safe."
He clambers to his feet and trundles off to bed, humming a private little hymn.
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Morning dawns quiet and bright after an eventful day. During your morning preparations, Wipa finds you and passes along a message: Grandfather Eiwa would like to see you in his tent.
In the small, squat tent where Eiwa spends his early mornings, the old man stoops beside his fire ring. His expressive face, wrinkled from many years of good humor, is now a portrait of sadness. “Come, sit,” he says. He pokes the embers with a stick. “I had hoped you would never need to hear the story I am about to tell you. Or at least I would not be the one to have to tell it.” He offers a rueful smile.
“How to make a long story short? I will try to put it simply. In the ethgir—the before times, when my ancestors were young—we Broken Tusks were called the Burning Mammoths. Our migratory route was large then, as was our herd. We carried with us a powerful light: the Primordial Flame.” He spreads the fire’s coals into a wide, flat layer. In the center of the coals, a perfectly round pebble glows, red hot. “Then, the Great Quake shattered the eastern lands.” He tips a large, jagged rock from the fire ring into the coals. “Far as we were, our people still felt the thundering hooves of the demon horde.” Earwigs and pill bugs scatter out of the hole left by the upturned stone.
“Our Mammoth Lords argued over what to do with the light,” Eiwa continues. “In the end, some of us took the Primordial Flame. We hid it where it would be safe.” With his stick, he separates a few coals from the rest, then moves the red-hot pebble next to the small group. “The others called us traitors and went east to face the demons, taking the banner of the Burning Mammoths with them. Weak but determined to carry on, we took a new name: the Broken Tusk.
“That was long ago, and much has happened since,” he says, dropping his stick into the fire. “But now, the Burning Mammoths have returned? And in time for the Night of the Green Moon. I cannot say what this means—my ancestors’ spirits are silent. But my bones tell me this will not be a happy reunion.”
Grandfather Eiwa thanks the characters for bringing news of the Burning Mammoths. He says that few other Broken Tusks—even his fellow Mammoth Lords—will recognize the importance of this turn of events, but he trusts that you can understand his concerns.
"That explains how none of the rest of you had ever heard of them... I can imagine why you'd want to make sure most members of the following didn't have to learn of their existence for all this time. But I guess bad blood always comes back to haunt us, doesn't it?"
Impulse sighs, pulls off their thickly lined leather gloves and puts their hands dangerously close to fire, their face deep in thought as they stare deeply into the now fading flames.
"Well, I guess that means we better be on the look out for trouble tonight. We've already had a couple of encounters with these old cousins of ours." For a moment they pause, mid thought, as if their own phrasing to include themself in this shared history confuses them. But the shake away the thought and continue. "...We've already had a couple of encounters with these Burning Mammoths. If they're showing up now, I'm not about to let my guard down and assume they're not up to something. Especially if they're the ones causing those fires out there."
They pick up their heavily customized axe, finally scanning it over and place it over the firelight, light glinting off it as they check it for any kinds of nicks or blemishes. They slowly pick at small caked on piece of mud, still stuck on after their day scouting at the river.
"Well... maybe it's not my place to butt in about taking down the ancestors from the old country or whatever. But you know me, I've never been good at parties, and I'd sooner take out some troublesome fire starters than let any of these folk here get harmed on an evening of celebration."
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Iskra's silent for a long time- the look on her face is a mixture of consternation and confusion as she wrestles with this revelation. Finally, she speaks. "Generations ago when the demons came, the Broken Tusks took in the Oski. If my ancestors encountered the Burning Mammoths, they clearly didn't decide to invite us in with open arms then- give us weapons and skills and teach us to fight back. They may have even fought with us- we faced many hardships along the way before finding our new hearthfire."
Her face becomes set hard, jaw clenching. "If after all this ime they seek some sort of connection, so be it, but I don't think they come peacefully. And I'll stand with all my kin-" she looks meaningfully to everyone present, "-in defending the Primordial Flame and the entire holding."
She sits in the silence to follow for a time, her face softens, her hands and jaw unclench. "What's a 'Primordial Flame?'" she asks quizzically.
"The Primordial Flame was a great gift from Sister Cinder. It kept our following warm, and safe. It made the valleys bloom for us." Grandfather Eiwa's brow is creased with sadness and a hint of regret as he answers Iskra's question.
Grandfather Eiwa thanks you for bringing news of the Burning Mammoths. "Few other Broken Tusks—even my fellow Mammoth Lords—will recognize the importance of this turn of events, but I trust that you can understand his concerns, after your brushes with this following."
"It’s too late to cancel the Green Moon ceremony; doing so would crush the morale of the Broken Tusks after an already-harsh winter. Besides," Eiwa nods at Grymgold, "We wouldn't want to anger Sister Cinder, and this worry might be for nothing. The Night of the Green Moon begins tonight, after the last rays of the sun have left the southern sky. The following can pack up their camp first thing tomorrow morning to continue their migration east. Once on the move, the Broken Tusks will be much less vulnerable and we can better assess the situation."
"The best we can do now is prepare for our ceremony, and a speedy departure in the morning. I would appreciate your help." Grandfather Eiwa you clear the trail ahead, gather the herd, dilute the ceremonial spirits, and prepare the camp.
Time 1 hour; Complete DC 13 Medicine or Thievery; Preparation Points 1
"I suppose there's little time to waste, huh," Iskra says, getting up from her cross-legged sitting position. "I think I'll start by clearing the trail- if it doesn't take too long I can hopefully work on gatthering up the herd as well." She slides onto Tomi's saddle and heads off trail-ways.
Two hours on the trail an Iskra's spent most of it hacking down some overgrown brambles and following false leads to varmint lairs. "Hope you're not tired, Tomi- we gotta cover the whole thing again just to be sure," she says, patting her bird's long neck.
The second pass fares much better, as she sights some larger animals whose spoor she'd spotted on the first pass. A lot of loud warks from Tomi and her own threatening posture startles the beasts, sending them to seek homes elsewhere.
She looks up at the sky, checking the sun's position. "Still some time to gather the herd, girl- let's hop to it!"
Herding goes quicker, even with the expected longer work time, as Iskra, astride Tomi, round up stragglers and keep the myriad animals in line.
With an hour left to spare, Iskra decides to check on the others- and maybe sneak a sip of the spirits, if she's lucky.
Impulse nods, "Right. I don't really follow a lot of big cultural traditions, but I know that not having this festival would crush the spirits of the following, and we can't these Burning cousins of ours crush the Broken Tusk spirits... again."
They stand up, toss some dirt onto the fire, stopping its smolder and pick up their bag. "I'll get us all packed up. I can put together some extra self collapsing materials and quick closing bags that will also make it easier for us to get out of there the morning after the festival."
They step out and wander off to the nearby pop up tents and fires no longer occupied by families as the morning meals begin winding down and start breaking down structures, and bundling up their supplies for the move.
The morning is slow going, they find themself too distracted by the talk with Grandfather Eiwa to really be able to focus on the work, and it doesn't help that too much space is still being used, people cleaning and drying the last of their clothing and finishing up the last of their meals take up too much of the space to really effectively clear out. But as the day progresses and more people begin to give up on last minute preparation and scatter, the piles of tools and supplies finally go undisturbed long enough for the sizes of each to increase. And so Impulse wraps up bundles and bindles and sacks for the people and the mammoths to carry along.
Then, remembering their paranoia about the safety of the rest of the following in the now very present possibility of an attack, they decide to tend to the root spirits. While it is to their dismay to have to lower the strength of alcohol when they already have a significantly higher tolerance than most of the Broken Tusks, the sacrifice is worth breathing a little more reaction time and awareness into the following in the wake of a possible attack or wildfire.
The mixing is easy enough, though they will never admit to the others that part of the process of reducing the liquid done was sneaking sips of it themself between some of the dilutions to get rid of the excess liquid without tossing it to waste in patches on the ground. Never good to waste a drink someone put the time and effort into fermenting. And given the gathering soon being both chaotic and potentially dangerous, Impulse could use a little bit of something to calm the nerves anyway.
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So much for getting to sleep on time. The night seems to stretch long for Kala Dja, first as she nurses her surrogate child to sleep, then as she waits for her own to arrive. She’d never admit it to anyone, but... there’s something in the dark of night that frightens the young animist. As if Asha by night hosts a shadow of terror proportionate to its daytime beauty. It’s not so bad out by the hearth, with good friends and food and maple-mead; but in the dark of the sleeping tent, the silence broken only by snores and muffled moans, it’s downright haunting. Some nights—and this one is no exception—she even fancies she hears a woman’s voice, calling to her in an unknown tongue.
Thus it is that Kala Dja wakes late as usual, only emerging into the eye-searing morning sun just in time to hear Grandfather Eiwa’s revelations about the Burning Mammoth following. The Kellid princess knows she should inquire further, try to properly absorb this dire pronouncement; but her traitorously sleep-fogged mind cannot produce any questions, no matter how much she shakes her head clear. Given the impending ceremony, an event to which she as the following’s animist and songsinger-in-training is quite important, Kala Dja elects to focus on the preparations. (Besides, it isn’t as though she has any particular preparations for combat, possessing as she does only one combat tactic of note.)
Kala Dja listens to the list of tasks thoughtfully, glancing around. She’s really got no idea how to properly organize the camp or dilute spirits, so... “Why don’t I help you clear the trail, Iskra?” the emberhaired girl asks with a sunny smile. “Two together is twice as sure... or thrice, with Tomi along.” And not just because time alone together is so rare for Broken Tusks. The young animist starts off, gesturing to Iskra over her shoulder. “Come on! It’ll be fun.”
Nice as it is, going out to scout and clear the trail with Iskra... it’s not exactly conducive to focused work. Not that Kala Dja doesn’t try—she is at least allegedly a professional scout now, and tries to act like it—but between the beauty of the day to the young animist’s Asha-attuned eyes, and socializing with her fellow scout, Kala Dja can’t exactly say she’s put her best foot forward. Fortunately(ish), Iskra doesn’t seem to be doing much better, giving Kala Dja an excuse to give it another try herself... not to mention a bit more time with her fellow huntress.
On the one hand, Kala Dja considers as the two (or three) finally return to camp, that wasn’t terribly useful to the ceremony or the following. On the other hand, Iskra had done a fine job the second time round, so it wasn’t as though they’d wasted their time or let the following down. And for her own part... Kala Dja smiles that mysterious little smile to herself. Yes, it’d been time very usefully spent. With the Green Moon tonight, too. The mischievous summer-maiden drums her wrist against her hip thoughtfully, considering the possibilities.
At Iskra’s mention of gathering the herd, Kala Dja hesitates. It’s the only other task she’s at all competent enough to handle... but the summer-maiden is still just uncertain enough—and shy enough—to worry about giving her fellow huntress the impression that she’s only following her lead. Then again, the young animist muses, what’s the harm? Iskra knows full well what she’s good at. And besides, for all her subtleties, she just spent four hours following the other girl around the tundra together. The hearth elemental may be well out of the bag by now. All that passes in an instant, and Kala Dja smiles gaily up at the mounted ranger. “Then it’s you and me again! Not much else here for me to do.”
Much as she’s enjoyed the one-on-one-and-one time with Iskra and Tomi, Kala Dja can’t deny that she’s most in her element among the following at large. Her aptitude for coordination and command is on display as the young animist directs herders and beasts alike, even conscripting Imek as an assistant to run messages and help her understand the animals’ natures. Between the animist, the little one, and the ranger, the herd is as well-regimented as an Army of Exploration by the end.
As the task wraps up, Kala Dja sneaks a sidelong glance at Iskra... and it hits her again, just like at Rockloom. As if Asha has linked her directly to someone’s spirit for the merest moment. Shaking her head quickly, as she often does, Kala Dja sidles up to Iskra. “Let me guess. Plotting to go sneak a sip of the spirits?” the emberhaired girl says innocently, her voice low. “Hasn’t anyone told you that you shouldn’t meddle with spirits without an animist around?”
Kala Dja slyly slips her hand into her fellow huntress’s, flashing Iskra her sunny smile. “Lucky for you that I’m here, then. Come on, before someone catches us.”
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Grymgold's always been better with animals than he has people; to that end he chooses to spend as much time as possible ensuring all the poor beasties are kept safe during the evening's preparations, and tends to any extant injuries on the creatures.
Initial attempts to keep the creatures calm during his work on them go poorly; distracting preparations on behalf of other Broken Tusks interrupt Grymgold just enough for some of the beasties to get nervous while he's applying poultices and wrapping limbs. He tries to refocus his efforts to make another go of it.
The second round of soothing and healing goes better, creating a sense of calm among the animals for an easier time getting them into place for the festival and leaving the Broken Tusks one less thing to worry about in the event of what Grymgold might describe charitably as "antics."