Member
Lord Zee
Frettzo
Eviledd1984
King of Rats
Vec
Noctis
Ashalla
Goddess of Oceans and Storms
One week later after Milo’s election.
Pallamino the Third lazily laid on the beach. After the election, life had more or less gone back to normal. Milos led the tribe much the same way Anhaf had, and while there was a certain tension in the air, the fisherman was confident that too would come to an end. After all, no one could be resentful forever, could they? Kalaf was just grieving; that was all. When his head was clear, he would come to accept the result of the election, surely.
As for Arryn, the bird had remained, but all knew he would soon leave. That had always been the way of things. The bird would appear every couple of years, give some advice, maybe a blessing or a gift, and then leave. Understandable, of course; there were many other Selka tribes out there, and although the Ubbo Tribe was the first Arryn had decided to teach, there was in truth little which marked them as more important than the others. Nonetheless, it would be a shame to see him go. Many in the tribe, including Pallamino himself, were rather fond of him.
The fisherman continued to rest. He had broken his leg that morning, when a hut collapsed on him, and although healing magic had quickly remedied that, his claims that a dull ache still remained had allowed him to evade work for the day. He began to softly hum to himself, enjoying the ocean breeze.
As Pallamino hummed, he heard something rather peculiar. It was as if underwater echoes were humming along with him. He immediately stopped humming and sat up, looking around. “Who’s there?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
There was a pause in which the waves themselves seemed to still. After a few moments, a sound like waves answered in what seemed like words. “The ocean.”
Now both of Pallamino’s eyebrows were raised. He had assumed this was some sort of elaborate prank, some Selka hiding in the water or in some nearby bushes, but those words… they did not sound natural. Not like anything he had ever heard before. “I see…” he said, staring blankly ahead. The ocean, the ocean… what had Arryn told them? Who was the God of the Ocean? It started with an A. As… Ash-something. But why would a god contact him, of all people? No, it was probably something else. Perhaps that magical water had effects other than healing…
The voice spoke again. “Is this how you spend your time when not fishing?”
Well, whether he was speaking to an unnatural force, or simply losing his mind, Pallamino supposed he had nothing to lose by indulging the voice. “I suppose it is,” he said with a shrug. “Though sometimes I’ll help out around the village, or maybe go out on a hunt. But I’m injured, so today I rest.”
A wave lapping on the shore rolled up and did not recede, instead sprouting a tendril of water which snaked up the beach towards Pallamino. An expression of panic crossed his face, and he scootched backward. “Kalmar’s whiskers!” he cursed.
The tendril surged forwards and wrapped around Pallamino, licking over his limbs, body and face. He winced and dug his hands into the sand, believing that the limb intended to sweep him out to sea. The tendril paused around the leg Pallamino had broken earlier that morning, since healed by the magical water. The tendril seemed to become icy cold.
“You are uninjured,” the watery voice said with a slight quaver. The tendril then grew as thick as Pallamino’s waist and hoisted the selka off the ground. As Pallamino dangled upside-down, water rose up in front of him to form a body and a feminine face which glared at him. “Why would you lie to me?” she said in a voice like hissing steam.
Just when Pallamino thought he couldn’t possibly be more terrified, here he was. “I… misspoke!” he said, desperation heavy in his voice. “I was injured! I’m not anymore! I’m sorry!”
Ashalla’s face stared at Pallamino for a few seconds, watching the fear in his eyes. Then the water released its grip on the selka, and he fell onto the wet sand below. Pallamino simply sat there in the sand and gawked, too afraid to speak.
“If you wanted to just sit and stare at the sea, you could have said so,” Ashalla said. “Although, I would be more pleased if you could make something more artful than a tuneless hum.”
Pallamino rose to his feet, his legs shaky - from the hours he spent lying immobile in the sand, and from the sheer fear of what he just experienced. “Make something? Like… like what?” he managed to ask.
Ashalla’s face leaned closer to Pallamino and inspected him. Then the head rose up, taller than the trees, and scanned the land behind him all the way back to the tribe. There was a thoughtful rumble as Ashalla lowered herself to her previous height. “I shall have to teach you,” she said.
Just as she spoke, a bird flew from the treeline, and perched itself on a nearby rock. Through its appearance alone, it was clearly not native to this area, but even more telling was the slight divine aura which radiated from it. “Ashalla?” Arryn questioned.
Ashalla’s gaze turned to the bird. “Yes,” she answered, then after a quick glance at Pallamino she added, “Many selka call me Delphina.” As she spoke, a tendril of water flowed up the beach towards Arryn.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” Arryn questioned. As the tendril came close he beat his wings and took flight once more, in an attempt to evade it.
“Listening. Inspecting. Teaching,” Ashalla answered curtly. The tendril tried to follow Arryn, but swiftly gave up. “And who are you?”
“Arryn. Avatar of Kalmar,” the bird answered without hesitation. “And I have been doing the same.”
Ashalla nodded. Then she looked back at Pallamino. An empty conch shell with some holes drilled into it washed up on the shore by the selka’s feet. “This should make better music.”
Pallamino picked up the shell and studied it for a moment. He knew that such shells could make music when someone blew into them, but he never seen one with holes drilled into it. With a shrug, he brought it to his lips and blew. A wavering note whistled from the shell.
“Try covering some of the holes,” Ashalla suggested.
So, he did. He placed his fingers over two of the holes closest to his mouth, and blew again. The sound that came out that time was different, so he removed one of his fingers and placed it over a different hole, before blowing it a third time.
“What do you think?” Ashalla asked with a voice like a trickling brook.
“It sounds nice,” Pallamino said, his nervousness fading somewhat. He brought the shell back to his lips and blew a few more notes random, while Arryn looked on in confusion.
“Good,” Ashalla said. There was then a long, slow rumble as Ashalla receded into her thoughts.
“Thank you for this gift,” Pallamino said. Arryn continued to study it from his perch on the sand, angling his neck slightly.
“Can you see how it is made?” Ashalla asked.
The fisherman took a closer look. “No,” he said, after a moment’s inspection. “There are holes in it, but I don’t know how I’d put those holes in any other shell without cracking it. How is it made?”
Ashalla rumbled, then commanded, “Fetch something with a sharp, hard, narrow point.”
He thought for a moment, and looked at the shell with an expression of doubt. Stone, flint, or coral, maybe, but the odds of finding a piece that was narrow and sharp enough to drill such fine holes was slim to none. Would wood work? Or perhaps one of the arrows they had crafted? He was unsure. With those ideas on his mind, he began running back toward the village.
Arryn, meanwhile, looked up at Ashalla. “Have you been giving these to all the Selka?” he asked her curiously.
“Not yet, but I plan to,” Ashalla answered.
The Avatar glanced back at Pallamino’s retreating form, the conch still in the fisherman’s hands. “Does it only make sound, or does it have some other purpose?”
“Its purpose is to make sound, which can be used to make beautiful music,” Ashalla said.
“I see,” Arryn said. He personally did not see much value in such items, but he knew the Selka saw differently. “I have been travelling among these Selka for years, and I know they are fond of diversions. Most will probably welcome these items.”
Ashalla nodded. “And with them, they would be able to create beauty while having their fun.”
“As for me, I’ve been giving them teachings and gifts to help them become better hunters, as my master instructed,” Arryn told her, before pausing for a moment. “That agreement you made with my master. Does it still stand?”
Ashalla gave Arryn a look as if he had asked whether the sea was blue. “Of course it still stands. My word always does.”
The bird nodded. “Good. I did not mean to question your word, but there have been issues with others who had also joined the agreement. I just wanted to be sure.”
A quizzical bubble rose through Ashalla. “Phystene?”
Arryn shook his head. “No. Shengshi, and possibly Asceal.”
“I was not aware that the pact included any others,” Ashalla said.
“They agreed to join after it was formed, with individual pledges to either Kalmar or Phystene. But I don’t think it matters anymore. Shengshi broke his word over a minor, unrelated disagreement, and Asceal invaded another god’s sphere to help Azura steal the world’s souls. No others have joined or broken the alliance.”
“Shengshi broke his word?” Ashalla’s voice had an icy edge to it.
Once again Arryn nodded. “Ekon and Sartravius raised an army to attack the continent to the east of here. My master heard of this, and went to aid Asceal and Shengshi, who were already defending it. He arrived to find out that Asceal had left for Katharsos’s sphere. Shengshi then offered my master a drink. My master didn’t like the drink, so he altered it. Shengshi took this as an insult, and began to threaten my master’s creations. My master wasn’t going to stand for this, and called him out. Shengshi then declared that his alliance with my master was broken.” He shook his head. ”It was stupid. To start a feud with an ally as he was being attacked...”
Ashalla’s eyes narrowed. “Despicable,” she spat. “Did Asceal also break her word?”
“No. But she still attacked and stole from another god, which complicates things. Katharsos might want those souls back, which could lead to a war - and my master is on good terms with him. I also don’t trust this Azura. My master and I do not know her, and even if her intentions are honest, they might end up doing more harm than good.”
Ashalla gave a thoughtful rumble. “Azura has compassion for the mortals, all of them. I know not why, but she does. That is why she wishes to preserve them.”
“But if she preserves them all, there won’t be any soul ash left to make more, and all life will end,” Arryn countered.
“We are gods. Reality bows at our very word,” Ashalla declared, “If Azura and Asceal desire, they can circumvent that constraint.”
“My master always told me that even a god’s power has its limits,” Arryn said. Ashalla huffed before Arryn continued, “But I suppose there is not much point in discussing this right now. He has yet to tell me what he plans to do, or who he intends to stand with.”
Ashalla stared out towards the treeline silently. Meanwhile, another tendril of water tried to snake its way across the sand from out of the edge of Arryn’s peripheral vision towards the bird’s new perch. Arryn narrowed his eyes, and flew back to the rock he had first landed on when he arrived. ”Why do you keep doing that?” he asked.
“I want to taste you,” Ashalla answered.
“...why?” Arryn asked, shifting uncomfortably on the rock.
“To know more about you,” Ashalla replied.
“What do you want to know?”
“Your scent. What you are made of. How you function. Anything you have been in contact with recently,” Ashalla answered. After a moment’s contemplation, she decided that further explanation would be beneficial. “Animals have many senses, but usually one is used above all others, such as sight, or smell. For me, my keenest sense is taste. I am acutely aware of the exact composition of everything within me and which I touch.”
Arryn sighed. “Fine. Do it.”
A tendril of water crawled up the rock and licked against Arryn’s feathers, talons and beak. After a few seconds, the tendril withdrew, only leaving Arryn slightly damp.
Arryn was about to say something else, but then four figures appeared in the distance - Pallamino, Chieftain Milos, and two others. “You are Ashalla?” Milos asked as they approached.
As the selka approached, Ashalla drew up taller and faced them. “I am.”
Milos and the two unknown Selka knelt. Pallamino’s expression suddenly flickered to alarm, as if he had forgotten something, and he knelt as well. “I thank you for your visit, and for your gift.” Milos said. “But I don’t think we have anything that can do what you requested.”
Ashalla rumbled. “Then I have more to teach.” Her gaze flicked between the four selka. “Who are you and these others?”
“I am Chieftain Milos, of the Ubbo Tribe. This is Akamu, Keanu, and Pallamino,” Milos introduced them.
“Pallamino the Third,” Pallamino interjected, receiving three sharp glares in response.
“Akamu and Keanu are hunters,” Milos explained. “And Pallamino is one of our best fisherman… when he takes the time to fish.” He gave Pallamnio another sharp look. After all, Pallamino had ran back to the village, clearly showing his injury to be a fake.
Ashalla regarded all four selka with a critical eye. “Can you craft or play music?”
“Music?” Milos asked, scratching his chin. “We make drums out of wood and animal skins. We hit them to make noise. And we have some singers. That’s our music.”
Ashalla nodded. “You should show me. Afterwards, though, when I have shown you how to make a new instrument, and tools with which to make the holes in that instrument. Now, gather what I tell you to…”
Days later...
Word of Ashalla’s command quickly spread throughout the small Selka village, and there was no shortage of volunteers to gather up the materials and assemble the instruments. Such a task took time, but they worked quickly. They carved flutes from bone, made rattles by filling skulls with sand and stones, and carved smooth sticks that could be banged together to make a clapping sound. A fourth instrument was made, which was very similar to a bow, but the string would make sound when plucked or struck.
It took three days to put all this together. After that, they were given two days to prepare and practice; not very long, truth be told, but they did what they could. Pallamino had thrown himself into the task with an unusual amount of fervour, practicing with his conch shell well into the night, to the point where he had to be kicked from the village just so the rest could actually sleep.
When the two days were over, enough Selka had a decent enough grasp of the basics to put together something that was somewhat presentable, at least. And so, those with the most musical skill made their way down to the beach. Pallamino, with his conch, Hoshu, with his voice, Keanu and young Arrino with a pair of drums, Leliana and one other with flutes, Akamu with the rattles, Kurunu with the clapsticks, and Milos himself with the strange bowed instrument.
They stopped by the water, and waited for Ashalla to appear with an air of uneasiness. Once again, Arryn observed from a nearby rock. The ocean heaved and up rose as a great blob. With a faint burble the blob adopted a vaguely selkaish shape. Ashalla cast her gaze across the assembled musicians. “You may begin,” she declared with a voice like a breaking wave.
The Selka exchanged glances and nods. They did not have enough time to work out a way to play all their instruments together in synchrony to one song, so they had instead divided themselves into groups, which now quickly formed. There would be three groups - and thus three performances - in total. Perhaps two dozen other members of the Ubbo Tribe came wandering down from the village to watch the display, marvelling at both Ashalla’s form and the instruments carried by their brethren.
The first performers to step forward carried rattles, flutes, and clapsticks. Kurunu began striking the clapsticks together, maintaining a consistent rhythm. Then the rattles began, shaking at every second clap. Finally, the flutes started, a soft and smooth contrast to the sharp clacking and rattling.
Though the clapsticks and rattles remained mostly consistent, it was the flutes where most of the errors lay. One would occasionally play the wrong note, or fall out of rhythm, but for the most part the performance was passable. It lasted for a minute, perhaps longer, and then the performers stopped to await judgement.
Ashalla had seemed to enjoy the performance. The music was not as skillful as Xiaoli’s, nor was the composition as sophisticated as Vakk’s Box of Orchestration, but it was only natural that the talents of the gods would far surpass the talents of mere mortals. “That was good,” Ashalla said in a melodious voice. She then looked expectantly at the next group of performers.
Leliani smiled, and the others breathed sighs of relief. They took a step back. Meanwhile, Milos and Hoshu exchanged a glance, and stepped forward.
Milos took a breath and put the bow string between his lips, before rapidly tapping it with a stick. The sound that each tap produced differed slightly depending on the placement of his lips. He quickly went through the song, giving it his best, but with so little time to practice, he was no master, and the performance was actually somewhat worse than the previous one.
Then Hoshu began to let out a low whistle. He was old, and whistling was a talent he had practiced since he was a boy. The performance was flawless, and easily compensated for Milos’s own lacklustre skill. Milos himself continued on, though occasionally he would need to take brief stops when his hand slipped or he fell out of rhythm. Then it ended, and Milos sighed - half in relief that it was over, and the other half in disappointment with himself. Hoshu bowed modestly, a light smile on the old Selka’s face.
Ashalla gave Milos and Hoshu a nod. She said to Milos with nothing but kindness, “I expect you will improve with practice.” Then she turned to Hoshu and said, “Your whistling is marvelous.” She then leaned back and awaited the final performance.
Hoshu’s smile widened, while Milos nodded. The two men stepped back, and the final performance, consisting of Pallamino and the drummers, stepped forward and began to play.
Similar to the first performance, the percussion instruments began, making up the backbone of the song. Then Pallamino began, bringing the conch shell to his lips to blow, while deftly moving his fingers to produce a variety of low sounds. Despite only being introduced to the instrument a few days ago, his dedication to practice had paid off. The drummers themselves were excellent as well, for the Ubbo Tribe had ample experience with such instruments already.
The low notes of the conch shell complemented the low beats of the drums rather well, with a harmony the previous performances lacked.
Eventually the drumming ceased, and it was clear the song was supposed to end, but Pallamino did not quite stop there. He continued playing for a few more moments, before punctuating the song with one long final note. With a grin on his face, the Selka gave a quick bow.
Ashalla let out a burble. “Very good, very good!” She leaned in closer to Pallamino. “I see you have found a better use for your time than sitting around.”
The grin faded, and Pallamino nodded frantically. “Yes, yes I have Asha- er, Delphina…uh, whichever name you prefer.”
Ashalla leaned back and gave a thoughtful rumble. “I am known by both names,” she finally answered.
“Oh, uh…” Pallamino looked as though he was about to ask another question, but seemed to think better of it. “Alright then.”
Milos stepped forward. “Thank you for your teachings, Ashalla,” he said with a slight bow. “We will continue to put them to use.”
Ashalla nodded. “That is good, for I have given them to you to be used.” Ashalla’s watery form began to recede. As she departed, she said, “Continue to create beauty, for that is a worthy pursuit.”