Caste Ceremony

Ribbons decorate the bones of Mictlan, today. Sith-makar move about, talking with one another. Sharing words. Sharing excitement. No few forearms are gripped, and no few hopeful glances are sent towards the east of Mictlan, where those who have not yet selected caste are entering.

The castes have prepared a way for them; shaman-caste decorated a number of the dragon ribs with weave-wards, with symbols for the spirits and elementals, with symbols for the tribes. The hunter-caste, arrows of course, as well as marking a few with marks meaning 'lost' and 'found' across map-like designs. Others feature stylized designs of the beasts the sith-makar hunt for food. Of the fruits they gather. Of crafter-caste, images of the great ziggurats and waterways, as well as more humble structures they have made--the caste-houses. Tools associated with carving, chopping, and leatherwork adorn their bones; the ply of their many trades and skills.

Keeper-caste plays enigma, with symbols in languages near unknown to Ea, as well as images of Fire and ritual. One of theirs features a history. At its bottom, they have scribed images of the three clans of the Children of the Flame. Over them is the form of Maugrim, claws extended. Above that shows their rescue by the Great Silver, and then, the Clans' eventual split from one another into three, separate groups. The sequences continue, depicting history and ending with the sith-makar's eventual Awakening, an event depicted in fiery colors and glistening, silver inks. Warrior-caste decorated theirs with shields and spears. Of younglings behind held towards the Sun--alive, thanks to the protection and hard work of the tribes. Speaker-caste, the marks of many tribes and the silvered symbology of the Empress. Ribbons, of every color of every tribe in Am'shere.

There are a lot of ribbons.

It surrounds Mictlan with a festive spirit. Anticipatory.

Within Mictlan itself, multiple fires blaze, alongside the great Fire. Food, tended to by crafter-caste, permeates the area with a heady, welcoming feel to it.

And then: "They're here!" shouts a voice, and all go quiet. And then, "Sseven young ones!"

"And the Losst!"

There are murmurs. Excited murmurs, before one of the Keepers thumps their tail.

Zeke, is clearly nervous. His tail flick-flicks behind him, but his hood is thrown back to show off his arching horns and one can almost, occasionally make out the glimmer of crystal from his artificial limbs now and again. He nervously keeps toying with his cloak, as if uncertain if he wants to hide the limbs away or not. Thus they stay mostly hidden out of pure habit. Although he is fully grown, and a very old sith-makar he holds a white ribbon tonight, toying with it as nervously as he toys with his cloak. His green eyes flicker around the grounds, and it's clear that he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Only the last remnants of his courage and pure stubbornness keep him from running away into the night.

There's a certain, -very- draconic and rather tall Sith standing over near the Keepers area... She is looking around curiously, and rubbing at the back of her very very long neck, careful of the crest she has, another marker of her bronzie type heritage...

The out of place saurian looks around curiously, watching the goings on and listening of course. She huffs and casually reaches for what appears to be a book holder on her hip, and pauses mid reach. Nope, she's going to listen, study and learn.. Yup, that's the way to go. She seems to nod to her self and shift a bit from one broad, clawed foot to another, casually rocking her weight from one foot to the next....

Geir holds no white ribbon. His armor has been freshly scrubbed, and the grey daub refreshed. The cloak, too, has been mended, cleaned and pressed, seemingly as new as the day it was sewn.

"Peace on your nest.", he intones to Zeke, taking great pains to speak slowly, the usual extended s sounds purposefully clipped short. "One believes you should be as you are. However mechanical they be, they have long been a part of you. Do not deny them any longer. Be proud. Stand up straight and tall. You. Are. Sith!" Usually this would be followed by a resounding clap on the back, but the copper-scale restrains himself. "It is an honour to be here with you tonight."

Geir turns to the black'n'feathered Sith on his other side, and his expression grows more .. content. Happy even. "As is it too, an honour, to be here at your side.", he says to Iuitl. "Resplendent." The copper-scale will move along at ease, in no particular rush.

Iuitl enters the area. She is one of the Lost, one of those that never got a caste for one reason or another. She's wearing just her skirt and ... that's about it. It's warm enough here. She's adorned mostly in scale-paintings, and she has her longspear with her. She provides a sheepish dip of her head to Geir, and walks into place for the ceremony. For her part, she looks between the setups of the Keeper caste and the Shaman caste... She still isn't sure what her place is, torn between the darker and brighter worlds of magic and bearing such a different mentality from her contemporaries.

Cryosanthia is decorated as Speaker-Caste, the silvery ribbons around her head and the other colours mixed in a garish fashion. She has stripped off the sleeves and pants of her armour, and replaced them with ribbons. Tons of ribbons. Significantly less the the ones she has tied to her chestpiece and kilt. It's possible to see the white scales and markings between them, but one has to look. She has looked around at the gathered sith, and recognizes few of them, so has chosen to stand near where the arrivals will be. Watching for Zeke, and sees him approach. Sees Geir's greeting and Iuitl as well. Two people who have seen a bad side of her. Perhaps they would prefer another's support...

There's an elder near Cryo. She nudges the younger Speaker, and: "Let uss bid them welcome. If the Keeperss sstart talking..." we will be here all night,” she adds, but doesn't add all at once. The eyes sparkle.

Eek! Showtime! Cryo thinks fast.

"Peasse to your nesst. This one...I am somewhat nervous," an older sith-makar in the white band admits. He stands just behind Iuitl, and looks out at the festivities. "I was losst in the Vast for ssome time. Never had the chansse."

Nearby, one of the small ones looks up with serious eyes. "That'ss okay! You can be hunter-caste, like me! Then, you will never be losst again!"

The small one looks at Zeke, too. "We could be a family!"

"...and never get losst," the old one muses. "Huh." He looks towards Zeke, thoughtfully. To Iuitl, "What do you think you will be? Will you be in my caste?" Will you be in my family?

Near some of the shaman-marked bones, some sith-makar in plumes and quills have called a small water elemental. The water elemental sloshes gently on the ground, and through a translator, bubbles at another, delighted youngling. There's some talk about 'spirits of the wild' going on.

There might be a little showing off, right now. A liiiittle bit, for the arrivals' sake. Nearby, the warriors begin to thump their tails--drum-like, heavy sounds. Rhythmic. "Warrior-caste protects!" one shouts, and the music begins. Drum-thump of tail. Some of the children in the mix begin to hop about and laugh--some are quite clumsy, and collide with the adults!

One of them trips over Tirry's tail.

In the area of the Fire, a keeper-caste opens their muzzle...

The blue-scaled sith ducks his head at Geir's words, looking embarrassed and bears that 'how did you know what I was thinking' expression briefly. He swallows and nervously pushes his cloak back over his shoulders baring his arms and chest for perhaps the first time in longer than he can remember. Crystal shimmers in the light of the fire nearby and he holds his head up proudly; determinedly. "Thissss one... ssstill thinkss thisss one might be too old for thisss." He murmurs the words and lifts his right claw in greeting to Cryosanthia and Iuitl, both of whom are familiar to him.

The other less familiar sith-makar get nervous looks but he nods politely enough to them, shrugging. "Thisss one only hopesss to find acceptansssce." This is truly Zeke's greatest source of unease. Stiil, he hasn't run yet and that's something. He lifts a claw in greeting to another sith-makar and tries valiantly to ignore the stares that his artificial limbs inevitably receive.

She is soooo much better off around books, and Tirry is well standing where she was rather Stiffly... Then she's tripped over... A pause, and she blinks, the long, very tall sith, rather wyrm-like Sith turns around and smiles. This being a rather cheerful smile as she moves to help the little one to their feet....

The copper-scale looks at Zeke, then Iuitl, and then the older Sith, a wistful and faraway look in his eyes. "You should not have been lost in the first place.", he says, disappointment and anger mixing in his tone. "They are correcting a grave oversight. It is good that you have been found. It is proper that you find your place." Geir falls silent then, his mouth opening and closing a few times.

He blinks at Zeke and shakes his head. "One is never too old. To be part of the family. To be called kin. To be found, appreciated and. And."

The copper-scale lets out breath. "Loved." At this, he moves to gently place a hand on Iuitl's closest shoulder. Squeezing ever so gently before letting go. To her, he says. "This is your time. We make room for you." Geir turns and gestures to Zeke. "And you." And to the others in time. "And you..."

Cryosanthia strides with purpose! Not the tallest here but her mass of ribbons help increase her presence, especially with vigorous tail movements. She's attached some bone instruments, which rattle a beat with every step. Her arms wave in wild dramatic motions, and to the careful eye it's obvious she's casting a few spells. To forestall the Keepers, she points skyward and tiny fire dragon appears on her finger then flies skyward leaving a zig-zag trail of sparks. It explodes high above the ancient bones, a mushroom of sparks spreading and trickling down. It's louder than it should be, an echo adding to the noise as she times a second spell with it's detonation.

Her own voice is booming also, amplified by her spell tricks, "WELCOME! TONIGHT YOU WILL CHOOSE. TONIGHT YOU WILL BE CHOSEN. THE CASTES WILL HEAR YOU. YOU WILL PROVE YOUR SELF. YOU WILL GAIN FAMILY. YOU WILL BE FOUND. THE CEREMONY. BEGINS! ROAR!"

Iuitl feels her shoulder squeezed when the L word is dropped, and she looks up at Geir with her feathers puffing up. Oh heavens. She sniffs and looks to the old one as she's asked and shrugs to him. She's quiet, and uncertain. She grasps her family weapon with both hands, and peers around at all the noise, looking deeply overwhelmed.

"Hi! Are you one of the keepers? I heard you sstudy lots of old sstuff?" the youngling asks, the one who'd tripped over Tirry. "Iss it true that keepers talk a--"

And then there's roaring. The youngling ducks behind Tirry--who now has a tiny muzzle peeking around one of her legs.

And over near Iuitl, Geir, and Zeke, some of the younglings' eyes go wide. A few cheer, and one races behind Geir. Most look towards the adults for clues on what to do.

"Do you think they will make me eat eggs?" one of them whispers to Zeke. "I ssmell things really good. Esscept it makes stew taste funny, ssometimes. I don't like it when they usse eggs. Do you like eggs?"

The older sith-makar in white ribbon, who'd spoken before, goes quiet with a brightness and amusement to his eyes. He looks to Zeke as though sharing the idea about age, but--

The warrior-caste continue their thrumming. Some of the other castes have joined in. One can tell caste, nearly, by physique, though not always--not that a sith was physically oriented towards a direction. More, shaped over time through a lifetime of training.

The keeper-caste who'd been ABOUT to speak, shoots Cryo a look. And, claps her muzzle shut a moment at the look of the smug elder behind the young speaker-caste.

A lil' bit of competition. A lil' bit. The keeper clears her throat. "Pleasse join uss at the Fire. Ssshare with us about yoursself."

Zeke nods to Geir and then lowers his voice to the youngling, amused enough by the question to swish his tail back and forth smoothly. "Thisss one doesss not think ssso. They sssshould not asssk you to do anything that you do not want to." He's not sure, but his thoughts are derailed somewhat by the welcome to the fire of the keeper. It is... difficult for him to be the first one to step forward, but he feels an obligation to show the way for those younger than him. "Thisss one isss called Zeke. Thisss one sssservesss the Dragonfather, and... isss an adventurer. Thisss one doess what one can for the People, and for thosssse that call Alexandria home. Thisss one ssspendss onesss time in the Sssoldiersss Defenssce and the Temple. Thiss one issss..."

Zeke glances down at his left arm and the fingers there flex. "Thisss one wasss born bereft of arm and leg, but thisss one wasss gifted sssuch by the Dragonfather. Thisss one can do much for cassste." His words sound less certain here.

Geir gives Iuitl another gentle squeeze. "This moment is yours. Let your enthusiasm show. Show them Iuitl the Lorekeeper. Iuitl the Witch. Iuitl, who will not be denied." His voice low, for her ears. He then turns briefly, bending to scoop up two younglings. One who has a good sense of smell, and another who was attempting to climb the copper-scales back.

"Just so, younglings, just so. Shall you have a better vantage of the ceremony? This can be your time, when you have grown just a little more!" He will carefully move away from those beginning their ceremony, to share words with the little ones on his shoulders and of those close enough to hear.

When prompted, Iuitl coughs a couple times. Then she steps forward to introduce herself to the others. She speaks up with her voice loud, and quivering here and there as she fights her social anxieties. "I am Iuitl! I was raised without caste, in the time of the schism of magic! I was seen as an ill omen in a time of confusion. And so I grew too old for them to consider the caste ceremony, and I... felt too ashamed of their paranoia to accept such from them. But now I'm here in Alexandria's lands, and I have found a place here. I have become strong, and found the power of magic in my blood."

And to demonstrate, she blasts a big gout of hissing green acid into the air, leaving a trail of green smoke that quickly dissipates. "I am Iuitl!" she repeats.

Tirry smiles at the youngster and tilts her head "Would you like to see better?" She asks curiously, and offers to put the youngling up on her shoulders... "And yes,s ome of us speak a lot, some of us study a lot... I'm one of the studiers." She says and winks before adding "I have a lot to learn from this too." She says. Her voice is kind of cheerful, going along with the festiveness of everything... "I'll have to contribute blood to the fire here soon, if I remember right, but you are welcome to hang out with me if you like." She adds, voice soft, but carrying…

"TO THE FIRE!" Cryo instructs, spreading her arms wide to encompass the caste-less. She meets Zeke eyes briefly, and at least one of the younglings. An effort to seem she is addressing each of them individually and get the stragglers and confusion under control.

The young Speaker whirls, a mass of ribbons swirling then bouncing and dramatically stomps towards the central fire. Cryo's leading a parade! If she had a baton, she'd toss it.

Iuitl's acid breath halts her for a moment. "Wow." She drops back into her role, "AS IUITL HAS. APPROACH. SAY YOUR NAMES. SHOW. YOU."

"...you were born without one? If...do they make you faster?" One of the younglings seems to have attached themselves to Zeke--the poor, older sith-makar is faced with an unending spout of chatter.

"Hi! Peasse to your nesst! I'm Cuitl, and I think I'll be hunter-caste!"

Some of the younglings start speaking at once. One of them waves, with two-arms, towards Geir. They mouth, 'Shaman-caste!' Hiiiii!

This one runs over, in fact, and does a flying-tackle on the shaman, attempting to clamber up his back. Near Tirry, the one she'd offered to lift does the same--leading to, potentially, two totem-poles.

Around Mictlan, it smells of food. Food and Fire. There's...a few looks between the keeper-caste elder and Cryo's speaker-elder. Ahem. But, as the young speaker continues to speak, the keeper-caste thumps her tail with approval. Grudgingly at first, of course.

Tirry glances and blinks,s he's now being climbed up on by two folks? She smirks a bit... Then whispers... "Want I should add my own little roar when things are appropriate?" She asks to the youngers... Hey if anything, Tirry's always been good with kids... Probably more than necessary by a large amount....

Tirry glances to Geir and offers a bit of a smile, her tail starts twitching, the tip rotating over and back and forth a bit as that long fin raises and lowers some... Yeah, she's got a loooot of bronzie traits... But it might be minorly amusing that her tail is twitching and rotating the tip back and forth and thumping to some kind of internal rhythm or music played in her head.

This... this is partially why Zeke hides his crystal limbs. Unending questions and /attention/. Zeke would rather not have the attention on himself, and when the attention passes from him to Iuitl he is more than grateful for her display. Though it doesn't dislodge this particular youngling from his side. He sighs and shuffles his arm as though he means to draw his cloak back across himself. He aborts the motion though, trying. He's trying. "No, they do not make thisss one fassster." He answers patiently at least, willing to talk about these things with one that does not know better than to ask out of curiosity.

Geir has a very far away look in his eyes as he watches two Sith in particular. Zeke, and his display, his truth. And Iuitl, with her display of truth and power. He glances to Tirry a moment, returning a knowing look. His expression grows mirthful and his attention turns to the younglings. He patiently and gently sets them all back upon the ground, even the little one climbing up his back. "Just so, just so. This one must add his truth to the ceremony. Watch. Watch well and listen, yes?"

Moving aside, he begins to pull away his tabard, and work at loosening the straps holding his scale mail in place.

"Peasse to you!" the voice comes from the Fire. A separate keeper-caste has made her way there. She is supported by a staff--etched in draconic runes and writings. Quills from a j'uba lizard are styled from a band over her forehead and arcing backwards. The youngling atop Tirry grips her for support and comfort, and looks towards the Fire.

"Today, we have much to sselebrate. Today, some of the People will choose caste for the firsst time. Today, they gain a family, and the fortunate casstes will have children--and ssome older, wisser fasses--among them."

There are tail thumps.

"...but casste. ...where do I begin?" she asks. She looks behind her, to the Fire. To its flames, that flicker to the height of dragon-bone. "Casste."

"Casste is family. It iss history. It is heritage. To outsiders, they ssee only 'shaman-caste.' They ssee only 'warrior-casste.'" The keeper pauses, here. She hits the staff against the earth. Just enough for emphasis. "They, and even the other Children of Flame, do not ssee the diversity of shaman, the depth of warrior. Among the hunters, there are those who find the losst. There are those who hunt, and provide. There are thosse who recover what was forgotten--upon other planes. Or, across time."

The elder near Cryo looks at her as though to say: See? See?!?

"Among the shamans, there are those who heal. Those who are mediums to the sspirit. Those who heal the sspirits of the community. And even thosse who are hermits, and issolate themselves for periods of time, to deepen their undersstanding."

"We call these the Pillars of Caste and today, not only will you receive the help of our sshamans in listening to your sspirit, tonight, tonight we begin to peel back the layers of ssecrets that hide us, protect uss from the outsside world. As you sspeak with caste here, they will tell you more than you have heard, before, about what they do. From today forward, they are assked ansswer your questions. Many of them will have gifts for you."

"Our firsst gift to you is Memory," she says. She looks to Geir, and inclines her head. "The Memory of Blood."

Iuitl looks pretty clueless about what's going on now. She rubs at the feathers on her head, and shoots a cheerful look over to Geir... a meaningful puff of her feathers for a moment, like he's her anchor in this confusion. She decides she'll officially be Shaman-caste, though... it fits what she is, who she is, the best. And it doesn't mean she can't couch her historian aspects as 'healing the spirit of the community.' She feels better now.

When Geir approaches the fire, his is bare from the waist up. While his arms and face seem impeccable, their scales fine, almost molten, liquid copper in appearance, his chest and back are almost a horror of patchwork scars and bare patches. One look is enough to tell that these are old wounds, and that some continue to heal. Others are likely permanent, even in the face of divine magic.

"Despite our differences. In appearance. Caste. Family. Philosophy. We are all linked by blood. And an ancient secret. That is the Memory of Blood. Let me show you some of my memories." The copper-scale draws forth the khopesh sheathed at his side, and slices into his forearm. This he allows to drip into the flames of the central fire. For a moment, they fall silent. Pale. Then turn a light blue and roar up towards the bones above... reaching above the bones through the hole in the middle. The roar is very much the sound of a dragon of old.

Tirry smiles a bit... "Soooo... They're performing a ritual of Blood.." She says and describes how they would go about doing it, very simply and in a way that makes it easy for the younglings to understand....

Tirry grins a bit and reaches into her pouch, pulling out some jerky, sweet jerky, she snaps the thing in half and hands one piece to each youngling... "With enough of us here, we should maybe see an ancient ancestral Memory." She says and smiles...

The youngling's eyes get wide. They reach up, and nom on the jerky that Tirry offered. "Reaffy? I'd know who my--who our ancesstors were?" they ask. And then... "Uhm...not /all/ memories would sshow up, would they? There was the time I uh, kinda tripped my nest-kin and..."

The young speaker had slipped over beside the elder speaker. Then the trees roar. The ground shakes. Her rattles go off all on their own while she stands stuck still. She stares at the ancient, arching bones bones. That's the sound. Yes.

Zeke touches his chest with his right claw - the one made of flesh and blood - when he sees Geir's wounds and is reminded of them. The bronze-scale does not shy away from them, and he feels for a moment courage enough to not be afraid of the fact that he is showing his own scars. His own difference from those of the People that surround him. He watches carefully as Geir sheds his own blood and glances skyward on reflex as the roar of an ancient dragon shakes the ground, the trees, and makes his heart pound. Not with the fear he expected, but with excitement. His tail wags behind him and thumps approval. He doesn't even jump when it does.

Trepidation halts Cryo. The awakening of her blood is not a happy memory and she has a hard time imagining anything good could come of what it reveals. Plus, White Dragons are Evil. Do they have happy memories which aren't destruction and cold cruelty? What will it show? And Geir was shirtless. Her eyes go wide. Oh no.

Tradition pulls Cryosanthia. She moves with a different sort of determination. Rapier won't do. No other blade. Her white form and white armour are lit so brightly by the fire she glows, seems ghostly. Her silver ribbons reflect the flames down on to all her other ones, making them bright.

The young speaker brings up her hands. They transform to dragon's claws. She shreds her sleeves of ribbons. She rips her top off. She stands before the flames and shows herself. She has a lot of tattoos, and they look ugly. Gouged deep in her hide and clashing with each other. On her arms, her front, her back, heading below what clothing she still wears. More like symbols from a book than wanted decorations. They look dark in the flames. She cuts both forearms, slashing with her claws, and holds them over the flames. Her blood drips. Hits the fire. Her markings glow with baleful light. The flames draw in and there is another roar welling up. Harsh, like a biting wind blows through and wears down rocks. Cold, that freezes oceans and earth, so it never thaws.

Now they know. They all know.

A crystalline crinkling follows, the sound of ice crystals breaking. Above, far above the ancient bones there is a blooming of northern lights. Rainbow colours that ripple across the sky in waves, casting reflections down on the trees and the Sith-makar. The fire glows bright, so white it seems like snow and within it a scene appears. Windswept rocks with small waves of white, curling around hoarfrost and pooling in drifts of snow. A frozen sea, an iceberg. A white dame dragon perched on an outcrop. Taking flight! Rising joyously and cruising her domain with unbridled glee. Her happiness is unmistakable.

"You honor uss with the ssharing of Blood, sshaman Geir, sspeaker Cryosanthia," the keeper-caste from earlier gestures to the Fire. She waits a while, as the two resettle. There are whispers, excited whispers, as the Memories surge forward.

...eventually, the keeper takes a steadying breath. "Sstep forward, when you are ready. ...sshamans," she says, and looks to those of the shaman-caste, significantly. Then, back to the Lost, and the younglings. "Tonight--as you add your blood, the magic if the People, your People, will bring your memories or possibly, those of your ancesstors, to Fire. Tonight, the sshaman-caste also will call upon our magic, and urge the magic of tonight into you."

The keepers KNOW. The shamans--bring magic.

"As you ccelebrate tonight, dreams will come to you. Ssensations and feelings that may help you undersstand your sspirit, and where it calls you among the People. I...I only ask that you not be afraid, but accept what the sspirits have to sshare with you."

She starts to speak, and then ends with, "Peasse to you."

Iuitl steps forward to the fire. Her hand already curled in a fist, a cut prepared. She splashes her blood into the flames, and there's a flash of light, and the fire burns black... and then bright white, two opposing lights that briefly dance together. And from there, a sight shines upon everyone: A lone raven, standing on a log, a passive creature looking down on the viewer. It opens its mouth, and it speaks: 'They rejected you, huh? Well, screw 'em. They don't know what they're missing. Lemme show you what it all REALLY means.' And a wash of memories glows, and the raven briefly flickers to the form of an old man holding an hourglass (Navos?) and then to the form of an immensely old dragon, standing behind the raven. Then it fades away among the embers. This reminder of her connection to the spirits of knowledge and magic humbles Iuitl…

Cryo has retreated beside the elder speaker. Her top came with, the ribbons were left as a colourful reminder. She stands at attention and on display, facing the flames. Iuitl's Raven breaks her restrained expression and she laughs. That's a cool raven. She grins.

Like the others Zeke steps forward, and like some who have he rends his flesh with his own claws. Crystal burying into scale and drawing blood which he allows to splash into the fire. The fire burns up brightly, flashing a faint blue color as if in response to his blood and flairs. Memory burns brightly in the flames and Zeke recognizes himself in the image. It's a Zeke that Geir would remember, a younger Zeke. One who still wore another name.

This Zeke is thin and younger looking, but still an adult. He stands with the aid of a cruch under the stump of his shoulder, his body tilted to the side because he is unbalanced. There are wounds on his body. Cuts and discolorations to his normally shiny scales. This, almost looks like a different sith-makar entirely. Another sith joins him, carrying the crystal arm and leg that he wears now and places them before him. She wears the crest of the Dragonfather and she gently helps him into them while he clearly protests against it. She soothes him, and though no words can be heard the meaning is clear enough. This worker of the Dragonfather made him whole once, and the sight of the memory brings tears to Zeke's eyes.

"Thisss one had forgotten almost." Zeke holds his claw out toward the flame for a moment and then backs away to make room for the next memory.

Cryo's reaction to Zeke's is strong. Her emotions are already fighting, happiness and sadness, and his memories add power to both sides. Picking one, she sways her tail. She has to cheer. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Tirry smiles and gently sets the youngsters down... "Well leezzee one of my ancestors memories maybe?" She says and winks at them she takes a deep breath and starts to head toward the fire her self... When there, Tirry smiles a bit then then extends her own claws into her palm before she reaches out over the fire tail whipping just a bit as the tall, horned sith stands there, waiting for blood to well up, then she flicks it into the fire.

It only takes a moment a few breaths and suddenly the fire comes to life... It's an image of an old elvin library massive by anyone's standards... Just outside in a large courtyard a greater wyrm, a bronze by the looks of it is lounging on his back his wings partly spread for balance...

The dragon appears to genuinely be smiling and on his chest? A young Sith long and slender by their looks is currently westling with well his finger... Yeah it's pretty over balanced and how the little sith managed to get the huge creature on his back is anyone's guess...

The scene continues to unfold, moving forward with the Sith ending up getting nosed by the great dragon, and promptly rolling off him, and landing safely in the fold of one of his wings, before getting loose... The great dragon rolls over and as the Sith is charging back at him, lays his tail gently on the back of the youngling..

The Sith falls over, and yes, there is flailing of tails arms and everything else, and maybe even a mouthed 'rawr' or some such, before the dragon shows a little more affection, the youngster is licked, there she lays, the tip of a great tail laying over her back and dripping large amounts of dragon drool... And well looking as if she's sulking.

This is soon changed when she's presented a book by the great lizard, and the image fades with the youngling smiling and clutching to said book, which probably weighs as half as much to three quarters what the Sith weighs.

Tirry smirks, smiles a bit and goes back to where the younglings were, and grins, before she offers jerky to them again.

As the last of Blood splashes onto the fire, as the last Memory fades...one might notice the shaman-caste working hard. Silently. Geir nudges at some of them, and points to how he's gesturing. There are a few tail-thumps, and others pick up his rhythm.

The tails of sith-makar pick up, too, around Mictlan thumping the earth in a drum-like fashion. Soon after, food is served. There will be dances, conversations. Celebrations, all night. For some, the first, tentative gatherings of a new family.

For the younglings, though, for the Lost--Memory will stay. Thanks to the efforts of the shaman-caste, these memories will be warm, and uplifting.

Tonight, when they fall asleep, dreams may come. Spirits, memories, offering thoughts and guidance.

In the arms of each new-caste will also, be a newly formed tool--a sign of their caste, and a sign of their future role, within it.

-End