Roleplay from Grathe Geg (21 days, 19 hours ago)
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Graethe emerged from the chilled, dark waters of the coastal swamp onto a large, grey mound, an oval that stretched nearly half a mile long and towered over the cypress trees, reaching nearly 200 feet at its zenith. The ascent was tricky, the mound being built from loose shells, ash and bone, which, accumulating for centuries formed a crumbly limestone. Finding a level spot safely out of reach of the water, he deposited the nonessentials: his armor and supplies, taking only his sword and a deerskin bag to the top.
With only an hour until sundown he reached the small wooden shack at the top of the mound. Raised above the surface of the mound on stilts, the wooden structure looked out of place on this ancient heap of a mostly forgotten civilization, having obviously been constructed in much more recent times. Above the door was the mural of a giant whale. In the whale’s stomach sat six figures. As legend told, these were the six brothers that first settled the Dark Isle, and the forebears of all those who called themselves First Men. They rode to the Dark Isle in the belly of the whale, who spat them up on the edge of the sea. These brothers constructed the first human residence on the island, somewhere below the mound on which Grathe now found himself. This shack was a replica of that first house, and had been rebuilt time and time again, ever high on the mound, for centuries.
Inside the shack stood a stone alter, roughly interpreted to be in the shape of a crow, which had to be painstakingly raised at every rebuilding of the building. No one knew the origin of the alter. It was said the brothers themselves found it in this spot, being a sign for them to construct their first dwelling here. There was perhaps no site more sacred for those among the First Men.
It would be dark soon, and so he moved at a swift, deliberate, pace. He knew the ritual by heart, and could perform it with his eyes closed. It had to me completed in twilight, however, taking advantage of the liminal state that existed between night and day. He emptied the contents of deerskin pouch onto the back of the crow, between its “wings.” The shack filled with a thick black dust as the ashy mixture poured onto the crow.
He had spent weeks gathering and preparing the ingredients. It comprised of various products form the forest, barks, roots, mosses and nuts. To this he added the blood of a deer that he had hunted down himself. The ingredients were baked next to a fire, on a clear night with a half moon, and finally were ground together into a fine powder.
From under his shirt he removed a necklace, from which hung a carved piece of Birchwood entwined with a similarly sized piece of cypress, about as long as the length of his hand, both hallowed out. Behind him, the sun began to set. Kneeling down with his head resting on the alter, Graethe began the ritual, besieging the Crow to carry his message, chanted in the language of the First Men. This continued until the sun set behind the horizon, its light still dimming across the land in a pink haze. Finished, he rose, with the wooden instrument still in his hand. He inserted the ends of the wood into his nostrils, bent over the Crow and inhaled with a great force.
Falling onto his back, he looked out the open door behind him. Approaching the shack was a magnificent deer of grand stature, with a tangled mess of spiked antlers. Staring at him, it uttered in strange, stunted words, “I will show you.” With that the deer lowered its head, the forest of spikes pointing at the horizontal warrior, and charged.
The next morning, the camp of the Sword of Khalkar sprang up with a boisterous call from the sentries, though as Grathe walked into the camp the men stopped their morning preparations, staring at their leader. “It is done. Prepare to march back to Enlod.”
