No Wight Place

Log Info

• Title: Explain Your Smallness

• Emitter: Eztli

• Characters: Eztli, Skielstregar, Un'eth

• Place: Mictlan

• Summary:

Mictlan, early afternoon. 

The dreary gray skies and light rainfall over the camp seemed in tune with the news that had been sent out to Mictlan. There was an air of unease and preparation in the air.

Not everyone was taking the news well, however. Eztli had spent the night at the small village, offered food and a place to rest for the night.

The next day, when she heard the rumors and news being discussed, the tiny sith-makar had disappeared before she could even eat the breakfast that was cooking. Back where she had been, the tent had the entrance blocked off with the wide brim of an umbrella, blocking out any vision inside.

It could not, however, block out the faint noise of sobbing from inside.

Where some may find panic, others may find purpose. The moment the news reached Mictlan, a shiny silverscale Warrior in his full battle attire had been running around all of the Mictlan, gathering information on what sorts of defenses that needed to be erected and taking note of what wood would need to be gathered from the reserves that he had been stockpiling all this time.

Dragging a felled tree behind him, Skielstregar slows as he passes by the tent that barely hid the sounds of sadness. He clears his throat, announcing his presence. "Is everything well in there?" he asks in his native tongue, still holding the log under an arm. He didn't recognize the umbrella just yet.

Purpose and panic may be rather opposed, but that does not mean that they are mutually-exclusive. Black scales move briskly amidst the woods, shedding water from the emerging form of a Swiftclaw. She slows upon spying the familiar silverscale and the tent. She looks from one to the other, hissing out, "All is well, warrior Skielstregar?" It is not the customary greeting of The People, though the present makes some pleasantries overlooked.

The quiet noises of sobbing from within the tent stopped completely when Skielstregar made his presence known. Just for a single moment, before beginning anew.

"Skielstregar, right?" The sobbing voice from within answers. "No, of course not. Nothing is alright, or ever will be. This place isn't safe to be, but leaving is just as dangerous."

Skielstregar pivots slightly as a flash of black scales pads up beside him and speaks.

He blinks. ... Click. "Oh, Shaman Un'eth. Err..."

His gaze slides to the tent, and he sighs. "... yes, that is this one. Etzli, correct? Mictlan is safe if we prepare."

He carefully kneels down next to the tent, glancing over to the Swiftclaw for a bit of guidance on this matter.

"Saa," the Swiftclaw confirms before looking to the intermittently sobbing tent as she steps towards. "Mictlan has stood for millenia, not so young Eztli. It will remain for millenia more. Fear not. You are safe here. All are safe here, and shall continue to be."

"And what then when the preparation is done, Skielstregar?" The voice sobs from within the tent. "And you too, Un'eth. They said the same thing in Dragonier, you know. That they had stood for so long, and they would withstand this, too. And now look at the place!"

"I thought they'd stay there, at least until they could be dealt with." She continues, struggling to get a hold of herself. "Now I can't even go back to Alexandria safely, they'll just wait and pounce on anyone they see as easy prey."

Skielstregar stares at the tent, him slowly closing his eyes as a small beard of ice forms on his chin from the rain. "Eztli. You need to breathe," he says firmly. "Falling into despair is what such creatures would want."

The swiftclaw alters slightly; the shift between that and Makari is not so great, afterall. "Peace. Be calm. It is as the warrior's words. Do not allow fear to confuse you, use it to focus. Mictlan, Alexandria, are not Dragonier. The abominations could not conquer all, then. They will not do so, now."

Perhaps some of the words had gotten through to the panicking whitescale, as they stop to say something more, only leading to a choked cough as they fall silent. Stop, and breathe.

There's a small sigh from the tent.

"How are you both just so calm?" She asks. "They conquered most of the place, is it because you haven't seen what they did?"

Hearing the small sigh brooks a similar one from Skiel, his shoulders relaxing as he nods along with Un'eth. He ponders the question a moment overlong, rubbing his chin (and snapping the ice off that's gathered there).

"This one is calm because they have to be. This one..." he trails off, rubbing his neck for a moment, "... is familiar with how such creatures ravage things, and how it can get out of hand."

Good thing makari don't sweat.

"Might you come out of the tent? All is hale here."

Un'eth looses a light hissing growl. "I have witnessed them. They are not an unstoppable tide. Again, Skielstregar speaks the truth. There are preparations to be made, The People and Mictland to protect. I choose to use this time to do so. How you do so is your choice, Eztli, but we are always strongest as one. Family. Clan. People."

There's a lot of shuffling around in the tent at the suggestion, things shifting around, and finally the umbrella is pulled forward, and closed. The small makari inside had a blanket wrapped around their robes, and her left arm pulled out of its sleeve and tucked underneath. She looks up at Skielstregar, and sniffs once.

"Then you know how bad they are, Un'eth. I came here to get away from them, and now they're back. If you think you can protect this place, and the people here, then, that's good, right?" She asks hopefully.

Skielstregar sits up a bit straighter with Un'eth's words. "Like this one told you, The People protect."

The umbrella is pulled away to reveal the kneeling silverscale and the shaman beside him. "... this one is sorry you left for more peaceful lands, yet found more strife. But we-" he gestures between Un'eth and himself, then broadly to Mictlan- "keep each other safe."

He looks off to the forest edge, then back to Etzli. "If you want, this one could escort you to Alexandria. Walls might help you feel better. While this one is needed here, it doesn't take long for them to get to the softskin city."

Un'eth's tail thumps firmly into the ground with emphasis as she assures Eztli. "I can. We can. We will." Her maw pans to Skielstregar. "Tend to her, warrior." Back to Eztli. "You shall be safe here, but the softskins secure the city as well. I must ensure Mictlan remains so. Peace on your nests." She now offers the words as farewell before turning to resume her patrol and preparations.

The small makari fumbles some more with the umbrella until it collapses entirely, and she sets it aside from the entrance to the tent. "It is what it is, just a hope at the end of the day, right? There wasn't any guaranteed things would change." Eztli sniffles. "Peace on your nest, miss Un'eth. Please be safe." She offers in parting to the black scaled makari before she is off.

"You would? It might still be dangerous to take the trails back to the city."

Something seems to come to her mind, and she looks out to the forest edge. "I really hope that Shilde is okay, she was nice, but I think she lives in the forests."

"Of course," Skiel says with a respectful dip of his head. "Peace on your nest, Shaman Un'eth," he rumbles as she goes.

Turning to Etzli, he sits up on his haunches, hand on his knees. "This one can get us a mount to ride on and be there swiftly," he mentions before shaking his head. "This one has worked with Shaman Shilde before. She is very capable. In fact, I think she would be safest /in/ the forests than out, as she has Ea on her side to cloak her from such beings."

"If you gather your things, we can get to Alexandria post-haste."

"R-right, there are mounts here, but I've never ridden on a swiftclaw before." Eztli mumbles, glancing off to where she remembers seeing some of them. "I think I heard one here too, they're really big. I'm glad Shilde is okay though, but I don't want her to get hurt either. Hopefully the druids will be okay."

"It feels like all I've done since I've come here is imposed on you, even if you and Un'eth have talked about looking out for each other." Eztli sighs. "I would like to go back to Alexandria though, I bought a dagger there and I don't want the lady who made it to think I asked to have one made, and just left."

Skielstregar shifts a bit to get the log beside him under his arm, and he rises with a small grunt. "This one's mount is not a swiftclaw," he states.

The man blinks, then gives a huff. "Etzli. The People help each other. There is no imposing. You are thinking in debts. The People do not think in such ways. We help those that need it, and those than can help, help. Though, this one will mention that we will need to not waste time. We will ride hard and swift. This one needs to deliver this. You gather your things."

He steps away, only to stop a moment. "... also. This one must mention their mount is... spooky, as some softskins have said. Fear not. They are safe."

He steps away, dragging the log along with him.

"Then, I need to figure out some way to help then." Eztli sighs. "Maybe it's not a debt, but it doesn't feel right."

Eztli blinks. "Oh!Well, that will be fine then, and you're kind of spooky, but you're okay. So I'm sure I'll be fine with it. I wish I could help you moving that log, but I'd probably just slow you down. So, yes, I'll gather my things here. And thank you, Skielstregar."

"Everyone finds their place in time. Even for this one it took some time to find out where they were useful," Skiel says as he goes.

A bit aways, he mutters to himself, "Okay Skiel, note to self, do /not/ let loose in front of her..."

Some minutes pass, leaving Etzli to herself to gather her things. But before long, the sounds of hoof beats drown out the light rain that suffuses Mictlan.

A mare of night black comes to a halt a ways away, inky black wreathes from its hooves and leaves pools if ichor behind it that waft away. Solid red eyes stare at nothing, but the ears flicker and the horse's head shakes to be rid of the water on it as it whinnies.

Skiel, atop the steed, pulls the reins. "Why are you fussing about the water? You can't even feel the cold, Voarexautha..."

He clears his throat. "Come Etzli, we will ride fast."

Eztli was left to her own devices, which meant putting her robes on properly, and folding up her bedding to set it off to the side, clean and laundered. The small makari was waiting outside of the tent, her attention immediately turning when the horse arrived.

She stares at it for a long moment, before reaching out to pat it on the flank. "Your horse does seem nice, at least I think so." The small makari states, before she struggles to pull herself up and over the saddle in front of Skielstregar. "Alright, I'll um, I'll keep an eye out on our way then. Fast is probably best."

The mare is cold to the touch, and turns its head towards Eztli, red gaze staring through her. A hoof clops once, and it echoes emptily. There should be no echo here in these woods.

Skiel reaches over as Etzli gets herself seated, and all but lifts her the rest of the way with one hand. "Voarexautha is... persistent."

The horse's ears flick in annoyance.

"This one will say nice things after you apologize for scaring the softskins in the store. Horses don't go in stores."

An annoyed huff that spills out a plume of black miasma.

He rolls his eyes. "Ignore them, they're just being moody. Regardless, do not worry, this one will keep you safe if something comes forth."

Once Eztli was settled in and secure, Skiel whips the reins. And without fanfare, or warning, the dark horse speeds off at galloping speed into one of the trails that lead southward out of Mictlan.