Princess Kala Dja's page

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.” That isn’t entirely why Kala Dja’s doing it... but it’s not entirely not why she’s doing it.

Survival to Clear the Trail: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12 Checks out. If only it were Esoteric Lore... u.u

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.

Survival to Clear the Trail: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 Lol, said Asha; lmao.

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.”

Diplomacy to Gather the Herd: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20 I mean, obviously.

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.”

"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.

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.

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.

Intimidate to Demoralize: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 –4 for not sharing a language, presumably.

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.

Strike attack roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20 vs. flat-footed.
piercing damage: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 5 + 2 = 9

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.

Strike attack roll: 1d20 + 6 - 5 ⇒ (11) + 6 - 5 = 12 vs. flat-footed.

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.

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.

Esoteric Lore to Exploit Vulnerability: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

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.

Strike attack roll vs. flat-footed: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

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!”

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.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

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.

Nature to Tame Animal: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

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.”

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.

Strike attack roll vs. flank: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
Strike damage: 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

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.

Strike attack roll vs. flank: 1d20 + 6 - 5 ⇒ (20) + 6 - 5 = 21 !!!
Strike damage: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 2 = 10 times two for critical!!

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 hand—yes, her other hand—and 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.

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.

“Asha!”

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.

Esoteric Lore to Exploit Vulnerability: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19
Plus Recall Knowledge’s benefits; hopefully we can learn more about these guys. Assuming that succeeds, of course.

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.

Kala Dja Strides, Interacts to draw her weapon, and uses Exploit Vulnerability on Red. She will use Implement’s Interruption if that one gives her an opening.

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.

Esoteric Lore, with Diverse Lore, to... see what happens: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19 with a –2 penalty if this isn’t within the normal bounds of Esoteric Lore.

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.

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.

Survival with training bonus: 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 3 + 2 = 14 ...I will take it.

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.

Nature: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Survival: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11 Missed it by that much.

“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.

Survival, if the GM will permit me a second roll: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20 Good golly. Hopefully Mr. Morris is feeling generous with me.

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.

Nature to Tame Animal: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19 Holy heck.

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.

Now that the conversation has grown a bit less one-sided, Kala Dja can’t help but join in. “Agreed,” the emberhaired girl says cheerfully. “It’s nice to have some company on this curious little hunt. In addition to Pakano, of course.” She flashes the aggravating young man a little smile, doing her best to make sure he feels included. (Even if she knows, on some level, that she’d have better luck lifting a mammoth with her mind alone.) “And another... well, pair of hands,” Kala Dja adds, tilting her head toward her left arm with a sheepish smile.

Kala Dja is quiet for a moment. I wonder if it’s rude to ask about this sort of thing. Then again, even if it is, Imek doesn’t seem likely to notice. “How do you know so much about the members of the herd, Imek?” the young animist inquires, somewhat cautiously. “Can you speak their tongue? Because I would love to learn such a thing.” The young animist, although she has no intention of admitting it, has actually fantasized about such a possibility for quite a while now. To be able to talk to the animals of the Realm, and the insights one might discover in the process... it’d be wondrous for one such as she.

It's an early morning for Kala Dja—though for her, all mornings are entirely too early—who may have stayed up a wee bit too late watching Impulse work, admiring Wipa's gift, and pondering her feelings about her fellow scouts. She'd meant to talk to the elders about her curious experiences at Rockloom, but the hectic schedule of preparation hasn't left much opportunity.

In spite of her rather grumpy awakening, Kala Dja does little to dissuade the little one; if anything, she finds the girl's passion for her interest rather endearing. Perhaps this is what having a little sister is like, the young animist muses, not unkindly. She keeps one ear on Imek's nonstop monologue, hoping to perhaps glean some knowledge of the animal speech; her thoughts, however, are on the other scouts.

She thinks of her newfound rapport with Impulse, surprising and very welcome, and all the crafting they might yet practice together; the two of them had put Pakano in his place together and had learned snarecrafting together, and it was hard not to feel closer after all that. She thinks of Iskra, her best friend since childhood; the other night, on an impulse fueled by the beguiling and delicious maple mead, she'd very nearly dared the huntress to kiss her—just to see what it'd be like, really, or at least so she tells herself—with only an inopportune interruption averting the dare. She thinks of Eirthgim, grandfather-sibling, and of Agn; the closest thing she'd had to parents since nearly before she could remember. And...

Surreptitiously, Kala Dja sneaks a little glance at Pakano, hoping to get an idea of how the bratty (but admittedly beautiful) boy is getting along. Feeling a little pang of regret for her actions the past few days—and a little pang of something else too, perhaps; she'd thought about their rough wrestling match several times last night, and is still trying to figure out how she feels about it—the Kellid princess watches a little longer before letting her gaze wander away innocently. No need to make a big deal of things; she's just checking up on a fellow scout. Perfectly natural behavior for a hunting party's leader.

For a moment Kala Dja just sits there blinking in shock. Did... did they just...? Finally remembering to respond, the young animist nods eagerly, her radiant smile returning. “Yes! That would be amazing.” The idea of practicing crafting with Impulse finally, after another couple of moments, shakes something loose in Kala Dja’s sleep-deprived brain. Reaching over her shoulder—not without some effort, as the only good place to stow her new weapon was across her left shoulder—she draws forth the rune-etched spear. “Perhaps you could... show me how runic transference between weapons works?” the Kellid girl asks, a little shyly, nodding at Impulse’s own prized weapon for clarity’s sake.

The scout leader’s praise seems to put Kala Dja more at ease, returning the sunny smile to her face. Her smile turns to wonder as Wipa holds out the vibrantly polished stone, which the Kellid princess takes with an awed expression. “Th... thank you, Wipa.” She squeezes it in her hand, feeling the smooth stone between her fingers, before fishing around in her sash. Finding a little leather pouch to tuck it into, which she proudly strings around her neck with the gold pendant. (Throughout the rest of the evening, others might see her pulling it out to admire it.)

Kala Dja looks at the assembled materials, then over at Impulse. “Um...” The young animist thoughtfully thumps her wrist against her hip. “Maybe... two fang-traps for me, one for you. Two rock-traps for you, one for me. And then... two spiky-traps each? Maybe?” She offers the storm spirit a hopeful smile.

Right now, Kala Dja is certainly thinking about taking Snare Crafting... but I haven’t planned her skill feats at all. If and when that possible choice changes, she’ll most certainly redistribute the supplies.

The joy drains from Kala Dja’s face as Wipa’s words sink in. But... but I did it. I made it, almost all by myself. I don’t know if I could make another, even if I had all the materials in the Realm. And... you want me to... These thoughts pass through the young animist’s mind—and across her face—in a flash. But she knows what she must do. Dutifully, the Kellid princess rises to her feet, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head proudly to meet Wipa’s eye. “I will take responsibility. How would I battle for life without tasting the pain of death?”

As Kala Dja kneels to set the snare, her mind travels back to her last, catastrophic, attempt at crafting. Her precious hunting bow, the one she’d been given in recognition of her first solo hunt, destroyed by her own foolish overreach. And now she’s going to destroy her first-ever creation. But for all her sentiment, Kala Dja is not one to shirk her duty. Rising to her feet, trying not to sniffle like a baby, the Kellid girl squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. And steps forward.

Reflex save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

Kala Dja’s sense of balance is not what it once was, between her shifting weight and her animistic awakening. But her connection to Asha aids her here, telling her when to move, and she is in and out of the snare before its fangs snap shut. Meeting Wipa’s eye again—she can’t quite bear to look back at her snare, or what remains of it—the young animist fidgets a little. “Um... I hope that’s all right,” she mumbles sheepishly. “Hunter’s reflexes and all.”

After a long day, including hauling back as much water as she could, if for no other reason than not being outdone by Pakano, and doing her customary dinner preparation, Kala Dja is not in much of a mood for anything but her place in the sleeping tent. The opportunity to craft something more interesting than her experimental egg-and-vinegar sauce makes the Kellid princess perk up... and then pull back, suddenly hesitant at the thought of being trusted with another such attempt. Even though she knows that things are different this time—she’s working under expert supervision, with known materials, and to a specific design—Kala Dja uncharacteristically holds back, waiting for the others to make the first moves.

When it becomes clear that it’s only her and Impulse taking part, Kala Dja edges forward uncertainly. “I am very interested, Wipa. Though... I do not know if I’ll be any good at it...” Under the scout leader’s encouraging gaze, though, she settles down amidst the materials, reaching for the components of a poison-fanged snare. It’s something of a struggle working one-handed, with a lot of wedging things under her feet to bend them into shape, but the young animist makes do as she has for the last few seasons.

Crafting: 1d20 ⇒ 19

The angles of the piercing barbs, the camouflage material, the directing of force... the design, in its entirety, just seems to come naturally to Kala Dja. Even the young animist herself seems rather surprised, even awed, by the ease with which she assembles and readies the snare. Once it’s prepared in its compacted form, Kala Dja looks at it rather warily for a few moments, as if waiting for it to explode. When it refuses to do so, the Kellid princess looks up at the others with an absolutely radiant smile. “It... it worked! I did it!”

The second prankster’s fall doesn’t seem to improve Kala Dja’s melancholy mood. Letting her focus flow out of her spirit-blade, Kala gathers a few feathers from the first foe and steps away from the others, bowing her head and trying to open herself to Asha. Trickster spirits... The young animist pauses halfway through her attempt at communion. Something about the act, about her regret and contrition, feels wrong, and Kala tentatively expands her senses. There’s a shimmer from the pretty flower. And, there on the island...

Kala looks up as the others discover the hollow log and its occupant. She doesn’t move in, letting the others lead this exploration. But as the corpse is fished out and inspected, a feeling of relief passes over Kala... followed quickly by a surge of guilt at her relief. At least their deaths were not undeserved after all. But... Returning her focus to the spiritual realms, Kala Dja whispers, “Asha.” This time it does feel right, and to the spirit of the fallen warrior, the young animist offers assurance that her death has been avenged and thanks her for the talisman claimed by Impulse.

The flower still beckons to her, shimmering in her spirit-sight, but—having only just narrowly avoided tragedy due to untoward haste—the dutiful girl holds back a little longer. With all the excitement of late, she’s been neglecting to honor her spirit-blade after her battles. Settling down cross-legged, Kala Dja reverently sets the weapon in her lap, reaching into her sash for the small vessel of fat rendered to tallow-oil. Quietly chanting in her native tongues, the young animist begins gently rubbing oil into the spirit-blade, wiping away the leavings of her foes and lubricating the irreplaceable weapon’s blades and cables against the ravages of daily use. Only when the spirit-blade glistens darkly with oil does Kala tuck it into her sash.

Turning her attention to the enchanting golden flower, Kala Dja looks at the muddy hole dubiously. If there’s one thing in all the Realm that she despises, it’s getting her pretty hair and pristine skin all muddy and soiled. Not that it’s mere vanity, either; the sensation of being dirty is the worst part, and the Kellid princess has spent many hours obsessively gathering saltfern, lye, and fragrant flowers to make cleaning salve. Instinctively, her fingers sift through her sash, finding the vessel of salve and drawing confidence from it.

Taking a deep breath, Kala Dja presses forward into and through the mud, claiming the flower and retreating from the quagmire with all haste. Back on shore, the young animist inspects the flower, tentatively opening herself to its spirit. Her eyes widen. A mudlily! She’d only heard of them before, and in all honesty, didn’t fully believe they existed at all. Whispering a thank-you to the flower’s spirit, Kala lowers it into the mud just enough to dirty the petals, then tucks it daintily into her hair, a sunny smile dawning on her face as she hurries to rejoin the others.

Kala barely has her blade drawn when things erupt into motion. By the time she’s regained her focus, the birdlike creature has fallen to the flashing blades and fiery fangs of her fellow scouts. The Kellid princess feels a pang of guilty regret; she’d started this fight by drawing her blade, impatient and expecting a fight, and now the prankster lies dead upon the island. Do you fight for life? Gazing at the corpse, Kala Dja whispers a prayer of sorts to the fallen one, honoring their spirit and offering up her regrets.

The malevolent sizzle of acid draws Kala from her reverie. She can honor the spirits around her later; for now, her spirit-blade requires her focus. “Asha!” she calls out to the blade, and it wakes in her hand, flexing its cables as the young animist charges through the stream, putting her powerful legs to work for a more noble purpose than trying to get through to Pakano. She’s onto the island and over it in a couple of hard pushes—keeping her blade high to protect it from the river’s water, for metal’s spirit-foe ever hungers—finally coming into reach of the acidic creature.

The water has held her up, though, and there’s no time for Kala Dja to focus her spirit-sight on the foe, to find the bonds that tie its spirit to its corporeal form. But that’s all right; her spirit-blade is more than capable. Whirling the blade around her head, Kala Dja sweeps it out to its full length, slashing at the curious little blue person.

Strike attack roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15 I expect that will do.
slashing damage: 1d6 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10 As will that.

Kala Dja nods thoughtfully as Eirthgim prevaricates, though her mind is far afield; now that she has a name, the young animist reaches out to Asha, trying to know what might be known of this being.

Esoteric Lore to Recall Knowledge: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 Dubious Knowledge triggers.

Hmm... pranksters, but sometimes harmless ones. It doesn’t quite line up with Iskra’s description, but one thing at a time. Kala thumps her wrist against her hip as she ponders. Maybe best to start slow. After all, this creature might be able to provide other useful information. Clearing her throat, the young animist speaks up. “Honored water-spirit, please, a question first. How long has your water been polluted from upstream?” Giving her most innocent smile—though Eirthgim might have a different opinion of the mischievous princess’s favorite get-out-of-trouble look—Kala adds, “After all, if we cure you now, without halting the corruption from upstream, you will only suffer once more. And I see but one flower there.”

Deception or Diplomacy, same bonus either way: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

Unfortunately, despite her cute little plan, Kala Dja has had quite a day. Between Pakano’s pervasive provocations, her own frustrations and inner turmoil, curiosity about the mystery following and the source of the ash, and just plain spoiling for a fight, the Kellid princess’s honeyed words sound painfully insincere and condescending, even to her own ears. With a sigh, the Kellid princess draws her spirit-blade. “Boring conversation anyway.”

Kala Dja spent most of her time along the river worrying about things with Pakano; she’s still trying to figure out what to do about the situation when Iskra speaks up. Giving her fellow huntress a nod of thanks and recognition, Kala peers at the rippling waters, hoping to figure out what’s going on.

Perception to Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

But nothing presents itself to the young animist. She can barely even pick out a ripple. Kala turns her face away from the river—and the other scouts—and clenches her fist until her knuckles whiten, trying not to let her frustration and disappointment in herself show. The last thing the others need is to be distracted by a childish display from completely useless princess, after all. At least it’s (probably) not a spirit at work... that’d be just what she needs, to show herself completely incapable of dealing with the Realm’s spirits, again.

Kala Dja is having quite a couple days, huh? I’m sure she’ll grow up eventually. One hopes so, anyway.

Kala Dja watches Impulse take their turn at beating Pakano with an increasing sense of disquiet. Maybe she had overreacted, even acted childishly, in her frustration and her desire to prove a point. The Kellid princess sighs. Too late to regret it now. Maybe she could make it up to Pakano later... as if her attempts had ever gotten her anything but the frustration she’d so recently expressed. Still... Kala thinks of that sly smile, and of the context that elicited it. Hiding a thoughtful little smile of her own, she dons her cloak and begins belting her sash back on.

Kala is just about to ask if Iskra needs any assistance when Impulse draws her attention back to the matter of the spear, and she holds the weapon as Impulse checks their notes. The sight of the curious little book sends a tingle through the spirit-remnant of the young animist’s missing limb; it seems like only yesterday that she’d made off with those very notes and the storm spirit’s esoterica, hoping to turn her hunting bow into an equally mighty weapon. Still, she keeps her moody feeling to herself... she’s still trying to work out her fellow scout’s feelings about the incident, and doesn’t want to disrupt things until she fully understands the situation.

Kala has only started to turn her attention to the spear when Impulse speaks up again. “Burning Mammoths...” A thoughtful look crosses her face, the spear’s banner fluttering softly as her remaining wrist thumps rhythmically against her hip. After a few moments, she shakes her head. “No idea.” Seeing Eirthgim and Agn indicate the same heartens the Kellid princess a little; if her grandfather-sibling knows nothing of it—and, not for nothing, if Agn the hearth-spirit knows nothing of it—then she certainly wouldn’t know. Her respect for Impulse rises another notch; clearly they are knowledgeable indeed. Kala is just considering calling out to Asha for insight when Impulse speaks again, addressing her directly.

“Are...?” Are you sure? she is about to say. But Kala Dja knows how dear Impulse’s own spirit-blade is to them. Not that she’s any less attached to her own, of course, and she very nearly says so; but then her thoughts return to her bow, and to the foolish error in judgment that had made it irreplaceable. Kala hefts the spear, feeling its weight and balance... perfect for throwing. Ash, too, the spirit-wood of her mother’s people. The young animist nods, shallowly bowing to Impulse with reverent gratitude. “I accept this weapon gratefully.”

Kala Dja stares in disbelief as Pakano shoves past the others to claim the spear and make his proclamation. For a moment the Kellid princess just seethes, unable to see Asha past all the red. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her head proudly (in what she very secretly thinks of as her ‘princess pose’), Kala steps forward almost daintily. “Challenge accepted!” she cries, barely keeping the incensed edge from her voice. To punctuate her statement, the young animist unclasps her cloak and looses her sash, letting both fall to the ground. “Let’s go.”

Prowling towards the obnoxious young man, Kala Dja lets him make the first move, goading him on with a gesture and a feigned show of weakness. As Pakano charges her for a tackle, the incensed princess grabs him by the wrist and ducks down, letting his momentum carry him up and over her to slam down on the riverbank, pulling Kala down to crash on top of him.

Athletics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7 Hero Point time early, I see.
Athletics reroll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

I decided the Deception made more sense as part of the above, with her goading him into a charge and all.

Deception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

“I am so sick of you!” Kala cries. She’s starting to lose her cool, and with it her emotional restraint. “You want to know why nobody in the following likes you!?” She’s not completely sure she knows, but she’s willing to take a guess. “Because of things like this!” Pakano tries to kick out, and the Kellid girl straddles him, squeezing his legs between her powerful thighs. “You never cooperate! You never do your part! You act entitled to everything, even respect! You never share! If you want to feel welcome, maybe learn to act like it!”

Intimidation: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Pakano lashes out, trying to break her hold with two hands to her one, and for a moment it looks like he might do it. But Kala Dja has wrestled with Iskra since before Tomi was hatched, and grew up playing with Agn besides. And she’s more flexible than her broad shoulders and wide hips would suggest. Grabbing his right-hand wrist with her right (and only) hand, Kala releases his legs from between her thighs just long enough to roll the pair a couple times, ending with her on top straddling him again, his chest pressed to the ground and his left hand trapped under it.

Athletics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

Panting, heart racing, Kala draws a deep breath. “I would have just let you take the spear, if you’d only asked us first. I might still, in fact... though you might have another challenge first.” The Kellid princess sighs, already starting to feel bad about her outburst. “But you can’t just take things. You have to learn to allocate resources where they best serve the group. You’ll be a pretty poor leader otherwise.” Kala lets the young man go, rising to her feet. She doesn’t yet move to claim the spear. “Because that’s what the following is. It’s all of us. Not as individuals, but together. Working as one, helping one another. We may tread like mammoths,” the young animist says, echoing Pakano’s earlier statement, “but even mammoths move in herds.”

Kala extends a hand to the young man to help him up; she knows he’s unlikely to take her up on it, but she has to try. “And I still want you to be one of us. Even if I do get really frustrated with you along the way.” The young animist smiles hopefully. “Because Asha means everything.* And you’re part of that everything.”

*Technically what she says is “everything means everything”, since Asha is just Hallit for ‘everything’. But this is how she means it.

Mornings have never agreed with Kala Dja; at least, not since the serpent-hunt and Asha. Something about the bright light in her eyes making her brain ache. But this morning, she’s putting in the extra effort to be cheerful and chipper. She doesn’t even snap at Pakano when he starts needling her, itself a staggering achievement in the diplomatic arts. It takes Kala a bit of effort to don her basket—and in the end, some assistance from Eirthgim, thoroughly mortifying the proudly self-reliant Kellid princess—but soon she’s hustling to catch up with the others.

The beautiful spring weather agrees with Kala Dja every bit as much as it does Pakano, and then quite a bit; the wind in her embered hair, the sun on her skin, is everything the young animist loves about Asha, and soon her good cheer is no longer such an effort. She’s missed the forest greatly, too, and does a bit of climbing and swinging herself. With all the enjoyment of her return to the woods, Kala only just draws close to Pakano and Agn in time to hear the bratty boy speak.

“Besides, you’ve seen how the following shows me how I belong.”

Kala’s heart sinks a little. Is that really how I have made him feel? She falls back slightly to reflect upon her behavior; certainly it hasn’t all been great, but neither has his. Still, the emberhaired girl supposes, that’s hardly the point. And another attempt to make peace can’t hurt, right? Quickening her steps, she draws level with Pakano and their hearth-kept chaperone.

For a few moments the Kellid princess is silent, letting the quiet moment bloom. Finally Kala glances over at the young man, giving him a warm—perhaps even rather shy—smile. “It’s such a lovely day. You feel it as much as I, don’t you? The wind, the sun, the living Realm.” She draws a quiet breath, letting it out serenely. “Asha.” Everything. Her unique faith is far from a secret, but the young animist nevertheless feels a little trepidation speaking so openly of it to the bullying Pakano. She’d really rather not get into a scuffle, at least until she’s done her duty with the delicate basket.

Smiling hopefully, Kala Dja draws a little closer—carefully; she’s friendly, not stupid, and doesn’t fancy getting shoved into a tree or tripped onto hard roots—and offers Pakano her hand. “I’m glad you are here to share it with us. And...” Swallowing her pride—no small task—the Kellid princess continues. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel as though you don’t belong. I really do want you to be one of us. I just... don’t know how.” Though I bet it’d help if you stopped being such a colossal brat all the time. Kala does her best to keep the unkind thought off her face.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 Lol, said Asha; lmao. At least these interactions are always entertaining.

The emberhaired girl allows herself a little spark of optimism. Perhaps this time it will finally work. Yes, and perhaps it will stay spring forever.

Traveling
Kala spends the trek back conversing with the others and with their new friend, seeming restored to her usual personable self. In quiet moments, though, she puzzles over the tangle of threads in her mind, tugging at this one and that. The spirits’ voice, and even more, that moment of mental contact, perplex the young animist. But her experience at the Raven Stone—not to mention her heart-to-heart with Agn—have put enough spring in her step that Kala can barely be bothered to worry about these mysteries. She’ll follow her path and trust that the answers will come.

On the way, Kala also spends some time familiarizing herself with her new acquisitions—though she is sure to frequently remind herself that they are not technically hers, but the scouting party’s communal resource—inspecting the pendant around her neck more and more intently, as though looking at it harder will reveal anything. The young animist gives up on it at least thrice, only to find herself stubbornly inspecting the pendant again a minute later. By the time the band arrives at camp, Kala Dja has resolved to join Nakta for meditation (and a round of questions) in the morning. It’s a resolution she’s made more than a few times, and rarely had the taste for in the harsh light of morning; but perhaps this time will be different.

Broken Tusk Camp

“Agreed, Grandfather-Sibling.” Kala nods, a slow and reverent dip of the head. “We must see to the spirits. Those of the following, of the moon, and of all Asha.” At Iskra’s suggestion, though, an eager sparkle creeps into the emberhaired girl’s eye. “Ooh, maple-mead. Definitely! It’ll be a good warmup for the celebration, too.” She puts on a mock-stern expression, wagging a finger at Iskra and Impulse. “But you must heed Grandfather-Sibling’s advice! Lots of water, and be sure to...” Kala slowly breaks into a playful grin. “...tapir off.”

Watching the others disperse, Kala Dja follows Iskra with her gaze, her expression slowly turning melancholy as the huntress and her mother happily embrace. Of course, no child is truly orphaned in the following... but that does little to fill the hole in the Kellid princess’s heart. And while she does have Grandfather-Sibling, she often feels like more of a curse upon the hearth-minder. (Not that this has ever put a stop to her mischief, mind.) Shaking her head roughly in her habitual way, as if to rattle the mood out of her brain, the ever-dutiful young animist goes to find the elders so she can tell them what happened at Rockloom.

Kala Dja listens wide-eyed and attentive to Agn—though she does go a wee bit cross-eyed at the paw on her forehead—not once interrupting the hearth spirit. (Not even to bat at and try to grab at his twitching tail.) “Little summer fox” and “emberhaired girl” delight the summer-maiden, as they always have; for Agn had been one of the first in the following to see her for who she was, nearly even before she herself knew. By the end her sunny smile has been rekindled, and while it may not last—she has still seen only seventeen winters, and winter’s chill fades faster than the fears and foolishness of youth—for now, Kala Dja has a new understanding. A princess, she thinks, giving the hearth spirit a gentle kiss upon the brow where the link-sign shimmers.

As Agn departs, she shyly peeks around the stone at the others. Iskra, strong and fierce, friend of many seasons and seemingly fearless. Grandfather-Sibling, always ready to guide. Or chide, the emberhaired girl thinks, an impish smile painting her lips. Pakano—the threads in her mind twitch, although she resists for now—still a mystery to her. Either she’s going to beat him senseless or... or something, anyway, if he doesn’t shape up. And... Impulse, too, the storm spirit. Kala’s been so worried about trying to regain their trust that she’s not really looked at them, clear-eyed, for longer than a full turn of seasons. Kala slows her breath and calms her mind, focusing past Asha to those around her, to one in particular. And...

And...

The young animist snaps back behind the boulder, eyes wide and body quivering, social anxieties forgotten. She’s never tried that before... or at least never in that way... or perhaps it’s the sacral site and its attendant spirits. Right now Kala can’t think straight enough to tell. What she does know is that, for a moment there, she’d done more than just look. She’d touched. Not her friends’ bodies, but their spirits... their thoughts. And though the young animist could no more read the words therein than she could Impulse’s notes, the deed nonetheless left her feeling unclean. Unwholesome. First the strange shout, and now this. What is happening to me?

Taking a deep breath, Kala Dja steadies herself. While she has many questions, she cannot now answer them, and so worrying gains her nothing. Tying this new mystery in the weave of her mind, she once more peers around the boulder to find a number of concerned expressions. With a sheepish—but quite genuine—smile, Kala rises to rejoin the group. “Sorry... I just got kind of self-conscious. I’m fine. Really,” she reassures them. And, hopefully, so are they. The young animist’s gaze flicks to the Raven Stone, and her eyes widen; awed, she approaches, looking for the crack and finding none. “You... you have outdone yourselves, all of you.” For a moment her gaze settles on Impulse, and she offers the storm spirit a hopeful smile before returning her attention to the menhir.

Permitting the korred to take her hand and press it against the reunited stone, Kala Dja opens herself up to its spirit... to that of the ravens... and to all of Asha. The thrum of the Raven Stone sings of rightness, and Kala Dja’s eyes flutter closed, a beatific smile dawning on her face. When the moment has passed, the young animist nods to her fellow Broken Tusks, her voice reverent. “All is well here. The spirits are at peace, and Rockloom is ready for the Green Moon.”

Kala Dja doesn’t notice until the noises. Glancing up just long enough to learn who it is, the Kellid girl looks back down in shame, rubbing at her eyes. After a few moments, though, she reaches up to gently scratch under the hearth spirit’s chin; her expression is still morose, but just the reminder that she’s not really alone appears to help.

It takes a few more moments of scratching and listening to the others before she’s ready to speak. “I... guess maybe I’m not as grown-up yet as I think, huh?” Kala sighs, though when she looks up at the hearth spirit again, her face now bears the ghost of a rueful smile. “What do you think, Agn? It feels like I’m not much use to everyone, but maybe... maybe I just don’t see the full picture. Not even through Asha.” The young animist leans back against the stone, tilting her head back to look up at Agn. “Not on my own.”

Kala Dja falls quiet as she watches the curious stone spirit warm up to Eirthgim. She’d thought she’d done a fine job talking... but in the end, she couldn’t handle it, forcing the recruiter to step up and cover for her mistakes. Even the thought of making the Raven Stone whole doesn’t do much to console the Kellid girl. Drifting away, Kala leans against a tree, studying the ground while the others banter; she doesn’t notice Impulse’s quizzical glance, nor the korred’s description of his unrequited lover.

The inevitable call to do her part in moving the immense stone shakes Kala out of her moping... well, it gets her to come lend her muscle to the effort, anyway, although she remains uncharacteristically quiet. Shemven’s chatter does temporarily break her self-imposed silence, though, and the Kellid girl (rather shyly) answers as many questions as she can while also shouldering the strenuous burden. She even mentions the coming ceremony to the stone spirit, presenting an opportunity for him to see the following for himself.

As the group and the fragment arrive at the stones, Kala sneaks a shy little peek at Impulse from her hiding place behind the sundered stone, hoping that they’ll look to her for help. Instead Impulse motions to Iskra, and Kala’s heart sinks further. Am I of no use to anyone here? Unable to resist, the young animist’s gaze drifts to her half-missing arm. It’s no wonder. What help would a crippled huntress be? On top of what I did... I’m surprised they speak to me at all. Blinking back hot tears, Kala creeps away behind the convenient boulder, huddling down with her arm around her knees and wallowing in self-pity while the others celebrate their achievement.

Peering out from cover of foliage—she had worried she’d become too clumsy and forgotten too much, but Rockloom’s terrain has been her friend and companion since she could walk—Kala Dja blinks in surprise at the evident culprit. She can’t understand his words, but she can sense the overall mood. The young animist opens herself to Asha, hoping to find a way to peacefully make whole the sacral stone.

Esoteric Lore to Recall Knowledge: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20 Wow, a functional number.

The Kellid girl’s face takes on a distinctly unenthused expression. Oh splendid. Not just a fairy, but a territorial fairy. And my band includes the stormiest of storm spirits and the brattiest boy the Broken Tusks ever produced. Only good things will happen here.

Still, Kala Dja is nothing if not optimistic, especially when it comes to the spirits of Asha. Mentally revising her plan, Kala pipes a common birdcall: {peaceful, but wary}. Be friendly, and let the enemy be first to declare hostilities. Hopefully that’ll keep Team Testosterone from blowing things up, she thinks, stifling an impish giggle; she’s not sure precisely what Impulse runs on, but they certainly have the temperament the summer-maiden associates with that bothersome hormone.

Taking a deep breath and trying to project serenity, Kala Dja steps into view, holding her hands... well, her hand up in a gesture of peace and placation. Hopefully he understands the Realm-tongue, or I am in trouble. “Honored stone spirit, I humbly apologize for my trespass,” the young animist says, bowing her head in respect. “I see your sorrow, and wish to help set right whatever has caused it. And... in turn, I beseech you to soothe our sorrow as well, by helping us return our ancestral relic to its proper place.” By way of explanation, she gestures at the sundered stone.

Kala had meant to leave it at that; but curiosity, her old rival, once again gets the better of the exuberant princess. “Though... we had expected to find the stone’s vandal here. And yet I would never expect you to harm these precious megaliths.” Kala blinks, as if just putting things together; then the young animist smiles, warm and full of gentle sympathy. “Is that why you weep, honored stone spirit? Because someone else has broken the stone? And so you bring it here, to protect and mourn a companion of old?”

Kala Dja hasn’t even finished speaking when her holistic awareness of Asha imparts another revelation. Beckoning Impulse forward, she all but presents the storm spirit to the fairy. “This one, though at times uncouth,” Kala surreptitiously edges out of Impulse’s Explode radius, “is extremely wise in the hidden truths of stone.” Kala smiles her sunny smile. “With their great knowledge, your spirit-authority upon mineral’s form, and my connection to the Raven Stone’s spirit and its ancestor-self... I believe that, working together, we can heal it as though it was never harmed.”

I’m assuming... Diplomacy...?: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25 Good golly.

Wrapping her legs around the sturdy branch to secure her perch, Kala Dja shades her eyes with her hand, peering up at the hilltop. Movement? Then perhaps our vandal is up there. Strange that they could step into stone and emerge elsewhere, but stranger things exist. Dropping out of the tree, Kala shows the others the items, eventually securing the compass among her effects for easy perusal and dropping the pendant around her neck. She resists the urge to preen, at least for the moment; her mirror is back at the camp anyway.

Gesturing the pack—including Pakano—to circle up, Kala lays out the situation. “While up in the trees, I spotted signs of movement up above.” She gestures toward the hilltop. “I would counsel stealth, but, um...” The young huntress blushes, smiling sheepishly. “I haven’t been out on the hunt for a while, and I’m still a bit clumsy. Besides, I don’t know what’s up there, but between the three of us—” She gestures at herself, Tomi, and after a slightly awkward pause, Impulse. “—they’d have to be deaf to not know we’re here.”

Kala holds up a hand, as if gesturing for patience. “But. We can still employ stealth to some extent. And even if we are noticed, it is imperative that we fight as one.” She doesn’t single Pakano out, but certainly this message is meant for his ears especially. “So. We advance as stealthily as we are able. And none of us charges in until we’re all prepared or until the foe starts the fight.” The young animist looks from scout to scout, meeting their gazes in turn, and nods. “I can help coordinate the pack via birdcall-sign and communion with Asha, and hopefully it will go as successfully as the moose hunt. More so, even, with your assistance,” she adds, giving Pakano an encouraging smile.

The young animist clears her throat, brushing a wayward lock of hair out of her face and looking around at the others again with a hopeful smile. “So, um. How does this plan sound to everyone?”

I thought the part with the sacred stones was the hill. Huh.

Kala pants as the swarm’s remnants flee from the band’s occasionally-accurate assault. The spirit-blade retracts, and she tucks it away for the moment. She’s just gearing up to speak when Pakano beats her to it. The Kellid girl turns to him, ready to give him a piece of her mind. And then... she hesitates, taken aback. That... is actually a fair point. Huh. “Um, well... I suppose you’re right,” Kala Dja admits, smiling with surprising warmth. “And look where it got us. Flailing about like fools. Though we didn’t exactly know the birds would come swarming down on us.”

If Kala is surprised by that, she’s even more shocked by the follow-up. Pakano, of all people, asking if sh—if everyone is okay? Quite unwittingly, the young animist feels her face growing warm. “Oh. Um... I do not know about the others, but I was barely hurt. Nothing I can’t sleep off. But... thank you for your concern.” Kala shyly smiles, glancing aside and fidgeting with her sash. “Um... also, thank you for contributing after all. That was an excellent spear-throw. And, um... I’m sorry I shouted at you like that.”

Scurrying away before she can embarrass herself any further, Kala Dja turns her attention to the baubles in the trees. Getting up these trees would have been no trouble for her once upon a time. But now...

Athletics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24 mostly for my own narrative purposes

In the end Kala manages it, and even manages not to embarrass herself in the process; trees are still easy, after all, and she’s stronger than she was. Once more thanking her ancestor-self for all those one-handed mammoth-tusk pull-ups, she roots around until she finds the sources of the glitter. Dropping out of the tree, Kala holds out the items for the others to see. “A new compass! And a pretty pendant.” Peering at the latter, the young animist opens her mind, trying to see if she can discern anything of spiritual resonance. It’s fine if we have to hold out for read aura, but that won’t stop Kala Dja from trying. :D

“It was an accident!” Kala shouts back up the hill. It hadn’t exactly been an accident—more the proud Kellid girl’s frustration at how difficult climbing had suddenly become, grounding out through a convenient and long-frustrating target—but now was not the time to split those hairs. Besides, she hadn’t meant to push him that hard, so it was kind of true. “And I already apologized! Seven times!” Which was eight too many, in retrospect. She bites that part back, though; again, not the time. Then the birds are on her, and she has other concerns.

This is gonna suck real bad.

bird-related Reflex activities: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
bird-related Reflex activities: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

My god.

Between the changes in balance and Kala’s relentless regimen of one-handed mammoth-tusk pull-ups, she’s not been quite so agile since losing her arm; but her awareness of Asha guides her through the swarm of wrothful ravens with only a few scratches and pecks. She only barely avoids getting skewered by Pakano’s spear in the process. “And try not to kill any of us, please!” she adds.

Something about that thought sends a chill down Kala’s spine. Weohotan, Wipa’s husband and child-father, who’d died of a ‘hunting accident’ while hunting aurochs... with Pakano. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear it, a habit ever since the hunt where her eyes had opened to Asha. He’s an arrogant brat, and I want him to be wrong because of my resentment; but he is no slektsdreper. (Skald for ‘kinslayer’.) Still, the young animist ties that thought in the back of her mind, trusting her perception of Asha to guide her to an impartial truth.

Returning her attention to the ravens, Kala Dja nimbly rolls out of the swarm, thrusting her will into her spirit-blade. The weapon thrums in her hand, its serpent-spirit hungry for raven prey. All right, raven spirits. You wish to trifle with the Broken Tusk? Taking a deep breath—though not too deep; she’s not sure she wants to accidentally ‘go loud’ again until she understands the phenomenon more fully—the Kellid girl roars as she lashes her whiplike blade, creating a startling crack. Then, as if to make the point, Kala whirls, building up momentum with the spirit-blade before sending it into the swirling storm of blackbirds.

Intimidation to Demoralize: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11 with a –4 penalty for not sharing a language, of course, though I'm hoping I can pull some sort of compensatory circumstance bonus.
Strike attack roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Welp.

Kala Dja purses her lips in annoyance, trying not to channel her anger at Pakano. Will pushing him harder help? Or will it only drive him away... or worse? For now, the young animist refrains, doing her best to remain patient and let events unfold as they will.

Kala is still on the edge of tears when the sound of laughter from the hill behind them finally registers. In an instant the anguish is washed away, replaced by hot and childish anger. Eyes flashing, the Kellid girl spins about, barely noticing the sudden tang of ozone on the air—though that could just be Impulse’s electrical outburst—and the distortion of sound slowing as she draws a deep breath.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Okay, now we Hero Point.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
[sob]

“Pakano! Get down here right now and do your part! Or so help me gods and spirits I am going to feed you to Agn one limb at... a...”

Kala Dja trails off mid-bully at the sound of her voice amplified a hundredfold. What in the Realm was that!? T-that was louder than a mammoth’s clarion. How...? The young animist stands in stunned silence for a moment before a yelp from Iskra drags her attention back to ongoing matters. Resolving to ask Argakoa and Nakta about it when she returns to the camp, the young animist returns her attention to the swarming ravens, clearing her mind and opening herself to Asha again.

Esoteric Lore to Exploit Vulnerability: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26 choosing mortal weakness, in case it’s not obvious. Also, 26 to Recall further Knowledge.

This time everything snaps into perfect clarity. Kala Dja sees not only the ravens, but also the spirit that binds them, all the secrets they hold, all in an instant. It is awe-inspiring, in its way, and Kala finds herself marveling at the beautiful synchronicity of Asha. Is this what I have been looking for all this time? With her heart full of reverence for the guidance of Rockloom’s spirits, the young animist reaches into her sash, plucking out a feather blessed by Nakta upon the now-sundered Raven Stone and tucking it between her fingers and the blade’s serpentscale grip.

Slowly starting to grin in exultation at the favor shown by the ancestral spirits of Rockloom—while also keeping an eye out over her shoulder for the laziest scout in the following—the exuberant girl reaches out to the swarming birds, trying to project calm and serenity as she steps closer.

Strike attack: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9 This never happened.
Nature: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

All the way to Rockloom, Kala Dja had thought of nothing but communion with the spirits there. And yet, upon seeing the desecration of the sacral site, meditation is the last thing on her mind. While the others rush forward, the young animist wanders as if in a daze, her gaze never leaving the shorn menhir. Only when Impulse draws her attention to the footprints does she make an attempt to trace them, drawing her spirit-blade out of reflex more than anything.

Survival: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

Unable to concentrate on the tracks, she merely trails along a dozen feet or so behind her incensed siblings. The raucous cawing shakes her out of her reverie, though. Oh no. The spirits really are angry. Wishing she had some way to communicate with the ravens, Kala Dja reluctantly approaches, holding her spirit-blade close and whispering, “Asha.” The blade pulses, segments flexing as its awareness interlaces with her own. Murmuring a prayer to the gods, Kala reaches out to Asha, searching for a way to defeat the incensed raven-spirits.

Esoteric Lore to Exploit Vulnerability: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

But no answer is forthcoming. It isn’t my fault! the young animist wants to cry. Show me how to make it right! Her anguish avails her nothing. Even the shadows of Asha, who as often mislead as guide true, are silent. Blinking back tears from her eyes, Kala Dja lashes out with her serpent-souled blade.

Strike: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

Stride, critically fail to Exploit Vulnerability, fail to Strike. Kala is flat-footed until she starts her next turn.

Kala Dja is still coming to terms with the sunrise when the elders approach, although Grandfather Eiwa’s voice certainly finishes the job of waking her up. The Kellid girl (perhaps wisely) lets the morning people ask their questions first, nodding with increasing vigor as the answers come. “I too would like to start with Rockloom,” Kala ventures in response to Iskra’s proposal. “I have been looking forward to the event nearly since last year. And setting out to clear it by ourselves would permit me an opportunity to commune with the spirits there with fewer distractions. Um... though I mean no disrespect to the following, of course,” the young animist adds, looking to the elders with a smile.

Letting her gaze drift past the pair to the endless skies above, Kala silently reaches out to Asha, searching for knowledge in—and beyond—her own limited memory. What was it they cleared out of Rockloom last year? Those vessels, too... I hope they’re not too large for a one-handed huntress. And what is the river like?

Like all thaumaturges, Kala Dja has the Dubious Knowledge feat. Misinform accordingly! :D

Esoteric Lore to Recall Knowledge about Rockloom: 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (2) + 7 - 2 = 7 I guess that’s Asha’s way of saying “Go and find out for yourself.”
Esoteric Lore to Recall Knowledge about the vessels: 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (11) + 7 - 2 = 16
Esoteric Lore to Recall Knowledge about the Gornok River: 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 7 - 2 = 20

Aware that the conversation may be moving on without her, the young animist shakes herself out of reverie, returning her attention to the others a bit hurriedly. She very nearly asks, How am I to capture tapirs or haul vessels? before firmly stopping herself. No. No! I am Kala Dja, daughter of Signe, and I will not be defeated by this injury, the ever-stubborn girl insists to herself. The following needs me. My elders and my siblings need me. I will find a way! I will overcome!

Kala Dja looks up at Grandfather Eiwa and at Letsua, then rises to her feet; squaring her shoulders and lifting her head proudly, she looks every bit the princess she considers herself to be. Her voice, when it comes, is fiercely proud. “Then, for you and for the following... we shall see these things done.” After a moment the young animist’s serious expression cracks, letting her sunny smile shine through, and nodding to each in turn, she adds, “You may rely on us, Grandfather; Letsua.”

Kala Dja steps back as the bull moose collapses to the thin soil, turning to her fellow scouts with a look of warring pride and astonishment that swiftly morphs into a beaming smile. “Did you see it!? How I struck just so and so, and brought the prey down at once?” Catching Wipa’s gaze out of the corner of her eye, the exuberant songsinger coughs and blushes shyly, sheepishly smiling at the others. “Thanks to all of your efforts, of course.” In her hand, seemingly of its own volition, her many-segmented sword retracts into its bladed form, allowing Kala to tuck it into the hide sash that holds her tunic tight. She will anoint and honor it later; there is much else to do at the moment.

As Pakano stirs, Kala looks over, feeling a sudden surge of camaraderie with, and even concern for, her old rival as well. Whatever had happened in the past, they’d now shared in a hunt—barely, in his case, but that was hardly the point—and could perhaps start anew. Kala steps closer, offering Pakano her hand to help him up. “Your boldness does you honor... but it could do you harm as well. Next time, let us fight together.” Her tone is not reproachful, but gentle; an expression of hope rather than rebuke.

Wipa’s praise elicits a proud grin from Kala Dja, who does her best to internalize the lessons taught. As the group readies to butcher and prepare the carcass, Kala settles down cross-legged, rests her hand on the bull’s brow, and whispers, “Asha.” Reaching out to the departing spirit of the creature, the young animist offers her respect for the foe’s might and her thanks for the resources he provides, along with her assurance that none of it will go to waste.

Then Kala turns her attention to Wipa’s instruction, drawing her hunting knife—such a task would dishonor her spirit-blade, and the hunting knife is better for this anyway—and doing her utmost to aid in the preparations. As they work, the young animist claims some bone and antler for later use; she may not yet possess the skill to create, but she will learn.

When it comes time to divide the load, Kala takes as heavy a burden as she can haul, if not more, silently thanking her ancestor-self’s spirit for all those mammoth-tusk pull-ups. The young huntress spends much of the journey back excitedly conversing with the others, settling the events of the story in her memory, and imagining the days to come.

Oh no. Kala Dja grits her teeth as Pakano rushes forward, wincing as he’s bashed to the ground. At least he’s more or less safe... even if the two of them don’t always see eye-to-eye, Pakano is still a Broken Tusk, and his death lessens the following. Hopefully he has the good sense—in defiance of all the evidence—to get out from under the immense beast.

Setting aside Pakano and his foolishness for the moment, Kala considers the situation. She’s never fought something this dangerous before; at least, not without her bow and arrows. Kala’s gaze flicks to her maimed arm, and she sighs to herself. A girl must learn, as her mother’s tales had often said. But... the plan has worked. The snare, the outflanking, Grandfather-Sibling’s sky-fire. The advantage is theirs. An impish grin dawns upon Kala’s face. Time to show Pakano how it’s done.... she hopes.

Spirit-blade and wolf-fur scrap held firmly in her remaining hand, Kala bounds out into the glade. Taking a deep breath, she howls out, “Asha!” The spirit-blade pulses in her hand, awakening from its slumber with a hiss as the young animist whirls it around her head. As it sweeps out, it separates into its segmented length, twisting and darting like a mammoth’s trunk, seeking the prey’s weakest points.

Strike: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Strike damage: 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 including the weakness from personal antithesis

That seemed good! Heartened by success, Kala Dja pours more awareness into her spirit-blade, entreating it to lash out again.

Strike: 1d20 + 6 - 5 ⇒ (19) + 6 - 5 = 20
Strike damage: 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11 including the weakness from personal antithesis

Thoroughly satisfied with her handiwork, Kala Dja settles into a swaying dance, doing her best to elude antlers and hooves. For its part, the spirit-blade weaves in tune with the young animist’s swaying, waiting for an opening on the bull moose’s part.

Kala Dja Strides, then Strikes twice. First level!

Kala keeps her distance for the moment to avoid startling the prey. As the others begin to spread out, the young animist takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed as she fully sublimates herself in Asha.

Esoteric Lore: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20

The singing of water. Plants waking in morning’s first light. Leaves rustling in wind. Systolic thunder of sap flowing through trunk and branch. Scent of beast and water and earth. Rich green taste of spring grass from the podzol between the prey’s teeth, the contentment it brings him. The world around Kala Dja unfolds like a blossoming flower, every aspect flawlessly interlaced with those around it.

Kala knows, on a level deeper than instinct, which way the moose will break when the trap is sprung; with a subtle bird-call, she gestures Impulse towards a different gap in the trees. Sensing Iskra’s moment of uncertainty, the young animist gestures her friend forward; the moose’s instinctual wariness will pass quickly once she is in place. She’s not yet sure where Eirthgim, Agn, and Hengroi fit into the snare—magic, even that drawn from nature itself, adds layers of complication to the already intricate complexity of Asha—but as they begin to act, Kala whispers guidance and gestures them into their places in the deadly spiderweb the scouts are weaving.

Glancing over her shoulder, Kala considers Pakano uncertainly; there’s certainly no love lost between the arrogant young man and herself. And even Asha offers little guidance to the actions and motives of one so thoroughly closed off from his peers. But part of being a good leader is leading everyone, no matter one’s personal feelings... besides which, Wipa is watching, and Kala Dja is not going to be the one at fault here. Turning to Pakano with an encouraging smile, she asks, “You are so eager, and I do not wish for you to play no part in this great hunt. What role will you take? I can guide you to the best position.” The young animist continues to guide the others as she awaits his response.

Kala Dja nods as the others voice their suggestions, not quite stifling the flinch when Impulse snarls. Outwardly she is focused, attentive, and ready. Internally, though, a sliver of doubt worms its way into the young animist’s heart. All she’d managed to contribute was the most basic outline of a plan, something any child could have come up with; it’d taken the others to flesh it out into something useful. A wiser huntress might understand that this is in fact the essence of teamwork and good leadership, but Kala has yet to earn wisdom through age or through deed.

Not wanting to prove completely useless to the scouting party, the young Kellid clears her throat and warriors on. “I think this is an excellent plan, Iskra.” Kala punctuates this with an encouraging smile for her friend. “And your, um, design is impressive as ever,” she murmurs in Impulse’s general direction, nodding just a tiny bit too enthusiastically. Flashing an uncertain glance at Eirthgim—had their compliment been intended for her as well, or for Iskra alone?—Kala hesitates.

She can worry about disappointing her grandfather’s sibling (and self-appointed guardian) later, though; it’d hardly be the first time, after all. Hiding the impish little smile that she reserves for the god-caller’s reproachments, the young animist pushes doubt and mirth away and relaxes, opening herself up to the world around her. Asha, she silently whispers to herself, trying to see her surroundings with fresh eyes.

In retrospect, the answer was obvious. “I have another idea to add,” Kala shyly offers. “Lesson four of the Realm: if you can’t get away, get above. I could climb up into the trees and attempt to draw his attention above, drawing his ire while remaining out of reach.” The Kellid girl sneaks an uncertain glance at her left arm; she’d once been an expert climber, but that was, well, before. She’d just have to try twice as hard now. Looking back up at the others, Kala adds, “And if all else fails, I could attempt to frighten the bull.” The thought makes the young woman smile, sunny and optimistic. “Perhaps that will drive him into our snare?”

Kala Dja listens intently to the head scout as she explains. She’s never been expected to front a hunting party before—in fact, she’s not even been out hunting since her foolish injury—and the following’s newest scout is eager to show herself qualified for her new duty. Peering carefully through the foliage at the immense beast, Kala opens her mind to Asha, reaching into her pouches of esoterica for something apt to their prey.

Esoteric Lore to Exploit Vulnerability: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17 against a standard DC for the creature’s level. If this check succeeds and the result would also succeed or critically succeed against the creature’s Recall Knowledge DC, she also gains info as if she had done so.

The essence of the moment—she and her allies, strategizing to hunt a greater prey animal that no one among them could fell—leads her fingers to a scrap of wolf’s fur, which she carefully tucks between her hand and the hilt of her spirit-blade. As she does, Kala Dja murmurs a paean to the wolf’s lingering spirit, imploring it to guide her strikes to the bull moose’s weaknesses.

Returning her attention to the group, Kala quietly taps her remaining wrist against her hip in a complex rhythm; a common sign that the songsinger-in-training is deep in thought. “If the moose will charge a single challenger,” she ventures after a moment, “perhaps we should present him with several. Approaching from all directions, as would a wolf pack, might confuse his instincts, allowing us to pick him apart and bring him low.”

Ever eager to prove herself, Kala glances around at her fellow scouts, taking their measures in turn before continuing. “Agn and Tomi are very quick, and might circle around to cut off his escape and create confusion. Grandfather-Sibling—” she nods at Eirthgim, “—and our spirit-sister—” and at Hengroi, “—might summon hearthfire or earth lightning to disquiet and confuse him. And then...” The young animist gestures at herself and Iskra, then at Pakano. Finally, she nods at Impulse, a little sheepishly; she hadn’t anticipated being accompanied by the storm spirit, but the opportunity to regain her honor in their eyes is one she eagerly welcomes. “...we four outflank and bring down the prey.”

Kala Dja finishes her proposal with a sage nod, a proud smile crossing her features as she looks around at the others, then to Wipa for approval or correction.

This wind-tanned Kellid girl carries herself with a princess’s grace. Her emerald eyes sweep her surroundings, bright and curious; her copper hair is woven into a profusion of braids and held out of her eyes by an ivory circlet set with moonstones; and her figure would have the slender athleticism of an acrobat or swimmer but for her broad shoulders and full hips.

She wears a heavy fur cloak and hide breastplate over a belted tunic of serpent scales, decorated with raptor feathers at the shoulders and hips. The tunic leaves her arms bare, revealing brawny muscles, a few tattoos and similar body modifications, and the scars of an active life. Her left arm ends just below the elbow in a healed-over stub, the old injury contrasted by a beaten-iron armlet depicting twining serpents. At her belt is a curious and exotic southern-style sword, its short straight blade of steel gleaming with oils, its hilt wrapped in snakeskin and capped with a serpent’s fang.

Kala Dja grins, stepping forward. “Reporting for scouting duty!”