Youngling at Heart

Log Info

• Title: Youngling at Heart
• Emitter: Svarshan
• Characters: Svarshan, Cryosanthia
• Place: A03 The Colosseum
• Time: Monday, March 02, 2020, 9:46 AM
• Summary: It's a sunny morning in Mictlan. Cryosanthia is helping the Egg-Tenders with feeding the hatchlings and younglings. She is not living up to their standards, as might be expected. Svarshan arrives, thundering in and pretending to be a giant t-rex. All the younglings attack him, despite Cryo's best efforts, while Egg-Tender Xmucane looks on. The battle is eventually won, with Cryo pretending to be a ghost. A brief discussion between the parents ensues, who understand the sanctity of Mictlan better than Cryo can, with only the Egg-Tender willing to suggest how it might change the Speaker.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* W02: Mictlan *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Located within the Deep Woods, and hours past Wilderness Pointe, in the heart of its northern woods, bones frame this hollowed-out space. Massive and heavy, they reach towards the sky, meeting--almost--in the center like great and worn stalagmites. Or giant teeth. After a few seconds--it's quickly evident that this is a space carved from a dragon's bones. A very, very large...dragon's bones. The air smells of ash, brimstone, and earth. Underneath the apex of the bones lie the workings of a central Fire.

The grounds are run by shamans of the sith-makar, and the sacred space dedicated to the Death Singing Dragon, one of their names for the goddess, Vardama. There are always a number of them about, from a mixture of tribes. Formally, the sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame, and celebrate the Memory of Blood. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse. Informally, it is a gathering place.

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Appearing --=--=--=--=--=--=--=
 Cryosanthia     A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos
 Svarshan        Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ 
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It's morning in Mictlan. Outside, the sun is bright, the sky blue, and a cool wind blows around. Inside, much the same, except warmer. The grounds are well lit with long morning shadows, the sunlight weak but full of promise, and the sky wide and empty, as deep as infinity where it's visible, a few morning stars still lingering in the tapestry.

A white-scaled sith, Cryosanthia, has been helping the Egg-Watchers with breakfast. The duties involve corralling the hatchlings and younglings and making sure they get enough food in them, without getting too much. As they are restless balls of seemingly self-destructive energy, the task requires chasing, cajoling and compassion, and a bit of self-control to avoid frustration. Cryo has the worst of both worlds, being both afraid of and not as stern as the Egg-Watchers, and requiring more guidance than they typically do, placing her with the charges who also _Aren't Following Instructions_ properly. Still, she does her best, and is currently surrounded by a lounge of lizards that most definitely are not.

"Yes, you can have that. No! Don't bite your creche-sister's tail, that's not food. N'jallin! That is a rock, not an egg, put it down. Hisstu, Hisstu! This one is talking to you, sit there. No, the other there."

One step. In front of the other. One step. Just ahead. Svarshan moves with that slow laziness towards the younglings' fire and its tenders. He pauses just a space from it, quiet. Thoughtful. Then, he lowers his head and shoulders, and picks up a slow jog-speed that takes him past the White One!

"Raaaaarrr!" Totally threatening, totally a t-rex! Totally is!

The warrior-caste comes to a halt just past, stomping his legs and shaking his head. "Raaaarrrrr! I ssmell food! Deliciouss younglings! Tassty, delicious younglingss!"

Stomp stomp stomp! "Ahhh!" Shouts Cryosanthia, wheeling with surprise.

"Eiii" squeak all the younglings, unsyncopated, with gleeful surprise and ready to play. Some, duck in behind the white-sith, their heads peering around her legs and kilt. Three, rush at him, taking up the challenge. Today they will be heros!

"Iiiieh!" Cryo lunges, catching two of the eager 'warriors' by their tails, hauling them back. Their feet sliding on the dirt even as they keep attempting to run at Svarshan.

"No! You have to attack as group, biggest one first, which should be me." Cryo tutors, struggling.

"You..." An Egg-Watcher that was supervising Cryo shakes her head indulgingly at Svarshan, her expression inscruitable. Her arms are folded imperiously. If she had wanted to act, she would have. So perhaps she wishes to see how this plays out.

"Yyyiiiyiiyiii!" A little green-scaled sith with gleaming blue highlights and side flashes carreens into Svarshan.

"Raaaaaaar!! Sso tassty! SSo delicious! S--" and he goes down, covered in younglings and tiny claws and tails and teeth. One could see the warm, contented smile--one might catch sight of it before it's covered by an open maw that waggles side to side.

"Raaaaar! Sso deliciouss! ...sstop. Ssquirming! You are getting away!"

"I will sstarve!"

Oh no! Noooo! He thrashes, rolling underneath the pile. So ded. So punished. So gnawed upon!

Will not survive.

Cryosanthia is over-run. Capturing those two let all the others loose. She finds herself holding the two most eager, while the rest have streamed away from her. She relents, releasing the last two tails, and they join the pile on Svarshan.

"Bad job. You lost them all." The Egg-Watcher taps Cryo on the back as she strides past, to watch the multi-coloured pile savage Svarshan. She might be joking. It's hard to tell. Egg-Watchers don't joke, do they?

"Yes, Nest-Mother." The white-sith says automaticaly, moving up to stare at the pile of younglings.

"Get him! Yarr! Rwarrr! HIss!" Various battle noises arise from the pile.

"Raaaaaaugh!" ...and the warrior-caste goes still. Flopped on his back. He stares numbly up at the sky as the younglings pounce and hiss, gnaw and chew. Vicious battle noises! Gnawing! Tail-chews!

He sneaks a look towards the White One, and grins, before looking quickly back up at the sky.

Then, makes an obvious, "GUrrrrrk!" It's like a farting sound, but for death scenes! His tongue wobbles out the side of his mouth.

"Ssuch viciouss. Younglings. I dead."

"That's the death rattle! You can stop." Cryo laughs, lifting younglings off Svarshan. It's futile, like magnets they zip right back, jumping on him. She keeps on giggling, "No, stop, he's dead, you've won! So vicious. Stop, stop."

It's like beating back the tide, the little ones flow around her hands like water and back into the mass of wiggling heads and tails.

"Okay. Line up!" The Egg-Watcher commands. The great sith warrior is suddenly free of assailants. "Not you Cryo. Svarshan, you are incorrigable."

Cryo steps out of the head of the line she found herself in, to stand beside the other female. This gets her a look. She stares back, blank and confused. The Egg-Watcher sighs and shakes her head.

"You might have rolled on one, you great lumbering warrior." She says affectionately, leaning to make a friendly tap on his shoulder.

"Cannot move. Dead," Svarshan says and he sits there a minute. Thinks. Thinks. And: "Sssa! Death twitches!" he shouts suddenly, and swiftly rolls over. It gets him nipped--nipped! and when he does, the egg-tender was right (aren't they always?) and there's a tenacious, bitey youngling clinging onto the back of his shoulder.

With her teeth.

"Ow," he says, warmly. And does not move. Does not, save to look towards the egg-watcher and then to the white scale. "One hass been sslain in a. Mighty and viciouss battle. Sslain. Dead. Very dead."

"Are you. Ghossts?" he asks. He then waves vaguely, in a sad and injured way, towards Cryosynthia.

"Yes we are! WooooooO! Ooooooooh!" The white one says, very appropriately coloured for a ghost and always eager to act it. She waves her arms in a spooky fashion. She flicks her hand, a tattoo glows, and then some ghostly rattling chains are heard.

The Egg-Watcher, meanwhile, scoops the bitey youngling off Svarshan. She has to tug to get her to release. The little one is nearly dropped when the ghostly chains sound off nearby. Cryo earns herself A Look.

Cryosanthia keeps up the chilling noisemaking, however.

Svarshan glances over at the look as well. And then towards the ghost. "Waaaaaugh!" says, and falls over 'dead' again. A total invitation towards mayhem. An invitation towards gnawings.

He bears the scars of several battles--not as bad as they /used/ to be, though. Divine magic will do that to you, given time.

You could say: it's a miracle!

"A ghost. Will no one ssave me from the. Ghosst?" he says in a scared-sounding voice. "Perhapss there are. Viciouss warriors with. Teeth and. Clawss!" Still somehow ded.

"Yes. Protect him." The Egg-Watcher orders the younglings.

"Hey what? No?" Cryo manages to object, before a leaping lizard thwacks onto her chest. How she didn't see the brown and orange youngling coming is anyone's guess, but she finds her neck hugged and several more weights hanging off her arms and legs, and some revenge-tugs on her tail. She very carefully goes down, a back break-fall in slow motion where she's sweeping the space she plans to land in. She's lost in a wriggling pile, largely giggling beneath it.

"Hee! No. Stop! No! Ha ahh. Ow! Ouch! Not hard, Yiii..." Occasionally a little one is given a soft shove that launches them away from the pile. They land, and zip back as if on a spring-loaded string.

Silently, the Egg-Watcher watches Svarshan, as if to say 'this is all your fault'.

"Sssa! Thiss one is protected! Brave warrior-casste!" Svarshan 'shouts' and rolls to a sit. He watches the scene play out a while, his expression content, warm, before reaching for a youngling.

Two.

Three.

And settling them on his leg. "Peasse to you both. One did not know you were paired with. Eggtender Xmucane, sspeaker. You musst have had a good morning. Sshe iss known for her humor," he says warmly. One of the younglings attempts to move off from his leg--he shifts, readjusting geography. Oh nooo! Terrain shift! "Tender Xmucane, peasse to you. How many of thesse are ressently. Arrived?"

Tender Xmucane has a similar colouration to one of the younglings. Perhaps it is hers? From the front, she doesn't seem remarkable, her scales are a neutral tan, spreading from belly, across her limbs, the underside of her tail and face. There is a bit of orange, but it's only from the sides that the colour is clearly visible in the pits of her snout, and as a line along her limbs, heading to the back. On her back, there are two parallel dark red stripes beside her spine, which is a bright yellow that goes from crown to tailtip. "Some. This one. That one, and... that one. Two others, with their parents from Am'Shere. The rest, here longer or hatched longer."

"Oh, I didn't know your name Xmucane. Peace on your nest!" Cryo pipes up.

"You have not earned it." Xmucane says, giving Cryo another look, followed by, "This one is joking."

"Egg-tendeders joke as often as. Brightsscales," Svarshan says in a low-voice to the speaker. His eyes spark quietly, twin marks of coal, and there's a youngling trying to climb him, now. The other two are bamphing at one another. Gnawing.

One could not be more content. Even as small claws snag, then grip one's scales.

"...born in the Land of Honey," he says then, sounding thoughtful as he looks to the ones the 'tender had indicated, had been born at Mictlan soil. Alexandrian soil. A quiet look to the 'tender and white one, thoughtfully.

"As often as I do?" Cryosanthia looks at EggTender Xmucane, "It was a good morning. They're really energetic. I keep thinking I should lay, but then I help out and it seems like a good idea to put it off. Although, I'm told it makes one a better fighter."

Xmucane says firmly, "You think you know why you fight. Lay some eggs, you truly will." She nods at Svarshan, those have been born on Mictlan soil, and will experience a childhood unlike any present.

Cryo is a little oblivious to the undercurrent of the conversation, she knows something is there, but lacks the life experience to fully connect to it.

A flick of the tail, a movement that can mean anything, everything. From hello, to respect, to a warning. To in this case, unsettled thoughtfulness. "Ssa," Svarshan says eventually, to the egg tender. "...ssa."

And eventually, "Casste is caste. No matter Dran or the Vasste. Casste will not change."

Too thoughtful after that, or words are just too hard, too difficult to put together. Or the topics--he tilts his head towards Cryo, and opens his muzzle. Thinks fast, better of it. Female business.

Female business, and a wise male stays so, so far away from that.

One who wishes to remain unscarred, at least!