Muttonhawk

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Lunise thought to herself for a moment. It took her a few seconds to come to a conclusion. When she did, Pircalmo revealed himself to be distracted by Meesei's mention of extending her life. He turned his eyes to Lunise with his brow low, unsure.

"Father," Lunise said. "I cannot share every detail about Meesei with you. However, I might share one important detail that may prove pivotal. If you would hear it, it would be with the understanding that it must be kept in utmost confidence, even to other Thalmor justicars, or anyone of higher rank. This will be most important for your personal safety, which I would not risk lightly. Are you prepared to keep that secret?"

Pircalmo clapped his book shut and puffed out his chest just enough to brace himself. "Of course I am prepared. I would not let something so significant to my field slip away without my knowing the circumstances, should I have the power."

Lunise tightened her lips, but did not hesitate longer. "Meesei is a lycanthrope."

While Pircalmo's chin lifted halfway up as if suspended partway through an understanding nod, he did not level his face with any sort of confidence. "Ah," he said, not expecting the answer. "Now that is where my expertise runs into...limits? Though, I do have one book that may be relevant that I have not got around to reading..." He raised his fingers and danced their tips along his bookshelf, eventually fishing out a book bound in green-dyed leather. "This was written by an anonymous author from Thorn, as it happens. It was only published within the last year or so, but the academic community is touting it as the most complete treatise on lycanthropy ever written. There are other sources that corroborate its findings, in pieces, but nothing has been this comprehensive before." He held it out to Meesei. "You may borrow it, if you wish."

Whether or not the book was taken, Pircalmo returned to his chair with his other book and put it aside, opened up to some other page. "As for binding yourself to the Hist, I would imagine that is already the case with your Argonian nature." He gestured and held his fingertips together in front of him. "The few cases where -- admittedly less than ethical -- researchers have endeavoured to sever the connection completely only resulted in-" he breathed in "-all subjects deceased within a matter of hours."

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Pircalmo went quickly back to his books while Meesei spoke, though his immediate response at least indicated he was still listening. "What you speak of, Meesei, is corporeal studies. The principals are less restrictive than you might think -- a soul can be made stable by even the most impossible bodies. You might have heard of the metal creatures the Dwemer constructed. Those are both powered by and, to a limited extent, operated by the agency of a soul trapped in a soul gem. Unfortunately, the secrets of how to do such things were lost when the Dwemer vanished."

He put aside one book with a page open on his desk and went for another one.

"The closest anyone has gotten to performing something similar is to make oneself into a lich, but much like the first option, it has the side effect of denying an afterlife rather than going into one without...one's soul collapsing." He quickly turned around. "Can you tell me about this purpose more specifically?"

Lunise finally butted in. "I am afraid that is sensitive information, father. Besides, I think Meesei is more interested in how a soul is kept stable by a body than the methods right now."

"Oh, I am aware," he waved Lunise off without looking up from his next book. "Aha! This may shed some light." He pointed to the page. "This is a research report on corporeal materials from the second era. The author tested many different materials and found gem souls could adhere to just about anything in a temporary fashion. However, without an enchantment binding the soul to divest itself, it eventually dissipated on its own. There is something about living bodies that provides a similar binding on its own, facilitating ease of animating corpses for utility."

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Pircalmo took a moment to process the explanation. He spoke a slow and serious "Right," before lowering his brow and staring at the floor. "I am perhaps not the most knowledgeable person to speak on the nature of souls in general. I do not believe you are lying, but that your situation is even possible is...strange is an understatement. Baffling? That will have to do."

After another while, Pircalmo winced and itched at the back of his head. He stood up and continued thinking out loud as he walked to a bookshelf. "Reincarnation and crafted souls, of course they have happened before, but an amalgam brought together so densely to be unstable?" He pulled out a book and thumbed through it to find a passage. He muttered negatively as he checked each line.

In the middle of his skim reading, Pircalmo turned his head around to Meesei again. "Do you have an inkling as to why you have these memories, Meesei? At the face of it, the Hist are putting them at the risk of being lost forever along with you – who are a part of the Hist."

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

Anshumat

A god is an idiot indifferent to his own violence.

---

Nothing seemed quite the same to those who attempted Gralph's trial. The light of the morning left a suspense in their eyes, as if they were in a dream and only yesterday was reality. Some played it off as exhaustion. A few others, like Anboor, remained quiet and ashamed with themselves. The winners of the trial, or at the very least Wass and Phialu, woke up with an entirely different disconnection with reality.

They were hurried to have a quick breakfast with their friends and families before being ushered to the grassy island of their trials, this time in the company of k'nights. Anshumat had no open family present as the selka did, nor was there an urge to eat, but they were hurried along with the other winners as well.

Their arrival on the island had them on their toes at first. There were no monsters in sight, the stonework shone brightly in the sun, showing off its blood-like veins, and the features of the central hill were now in full view. The were magnificent in their scale and intricacy.

In good humour, the k'nights led the three victors up one of the gently spiralling staircases leading up to the top of the high pillar. The steps were not too steep, but being as high up as they were, even the k'nights were careful where they placed their feet. A surprisingly exerting climb later and they were on the large circular platform at the summit. Five thin pillars were the only solid objects bounding them from the edges, and as such they had a view all the way up and down the coast for further than they had ever ventured before, not to mention a view over the trees and the river in the mainland. The far off mountains to the west barely poked their white caps between the sky and the land on the horizon.

The sun beat on their backs behind them. Gralph spoke to grab their attention.

"Glad you could make it." He turned a hand from its resting place atop his club as it stood propped up on the pavement below and beckoned them all. "Come closer. It's past time you became k'nights."

Anshumat silently watched as Gralph spoke. After a pause, Phialu walked past them to approach Gralph. Wass sighed behind them both and stepped up in turn.

Gralph smiled, giving Anshumat a pointed look to let them know they were not forgotten. "You're all here because you were faced with death and were still able to think on your feet. You're here because you were skilled and talented enough to escape death with something gained. Today's the day you tell that to Kirron, and devote yourself to using what you got."

The biggest k'night besides Gralph, Antoph, stepped up beside Gralph with three whale bone clubs under one arm. He pulled a stone knife from his belt and offered it to Gralph.

Gralph took the knife by the blade and held it out. "Who's first?"

Anshumat slowly stepped forward, putting out their hand to grip the handle of the blade. Wass and Phialu watched on anxiously. Anshumat looked to Gralph.

"Hmph, alright," Gralph said happily. "Open a little cut on your hand. Just enough to draw some blood."

As he spoke, Antoph pulled one of the clubs from under his arm and placed it in one of Gralph's huge hands.

Anshumat pressed the knife against their hand, though no blood emerged. They looked at the knife for a moment, before pressing it down heavily. The demigod briefly strained the knife against their shelled hand, until, suddenly, the knife snapped.

Gralph snorted, put a hand to his head, and broke out laughing, eyes shut and leaning back. This time, none of the k'nights were laughing with him. They were confused, more than anything else.

"I should have thought of that!" Gralph stated. "Bahahaha! Alright, alright! Good thing I've got a backup plan." He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a familiar rough yellow stone. He stepped to take Anshumat by the wrist and planted the stone into their palm.

The stone was hard at first in Anshumat's fingers, but just the tiniest squeeze caused it to collapse like a rotten plum. Immediately, golden juices flowed over their hand and down their arm. The demigod did not get a moment further to realise it was their own blood before Gralph wiped his mouth and became serious again.

Presented from Gralph's hand, thin-end first, towards Anshumat, was the bone club of a k'night. It had no deeds notched upon it yet.

"Take this and hold onto it with your bloodied hand." Gralph said. "This is Kirron's hand you'll be holding. You've got some promises to make him."

Anshumat stared down Gralph with their scratched, milky gray eyes as they grabbed hold of the club, divine ichor trailing down their hand as they did so.

"You are a powerful being, Anshumat," Gralph said in a new, dreadfully present voice. "Like us, you've got anger, you've got pain, you've got fear, grief, and vengeful thoughts."

The essence that Anshumat sensed from Gralph from the moment they met shone out from behind the hulking selka's big dark eyes.

"You can have the power to act on it all. You can earn it by improving lives, and marking your deeds on this here club. With every mark, you'll become more powerful. By the time you're done, your vengeance will already be complete. Do you promise to pursue it as a k'night of Kirron's bloody red horizon?"

Anshumat did not flinch away as the essence flared in their vision, as they firmly promised, “I promise on my honor.”

"Then this club is yours, to record your progress. Take care of it. Anshumat the Eyebiter."

Antoph, having being comparatively dour and sulky up to this point, repeated the title with his deep, hollow voice. "Eye-bite-r...Eye-bite-r...Eye-bite-r!"

The other k'nights joined in one by one, holding up their own clubs in time with the syllables.

"Eye-bite-r! Eye-bite-r! Eye-bite-r!"

All of a sudden, they approached and were all around Anshumat, gleefully chanting the title, pulling on Anshumat's sleeves, patting them on the shoulders and back. Quickly enough, Anshumat was pulled gently away from Gralph, taking their new club with them.

Anshumat, in their part, looked around at all the k’nights, surprised at the sudden energy.

"Anshumat the Eyebiter!" Gralph said with his usual voice returned. "K'night of Red Horizon!"

"Eye-bite-oh! The knife!" the keen k'night Phorea held up Anshumat's wrist. "We'll need this for the other two, Anshumat."

Anshumat opened their hand slightly, keeping hold of the club but letting a small, jagged rock from the broken knife fall out. Another k'night, this one with a bow over his shoulder, quickly stuck out a hand to catch it and bring it back to Gralph.

Wass and Phialu looked on with wide eyes. A smile began to spread across Wass' cheeks.

The ceremony was largely the same for Wass and Phialu, if without mishaps for their softer skin. Gralph spoke with his divine voice and dictated their promises, just the same as Anshumat's. Curiously, neither appeared as sure about being accused of all the negativity, but they agreed to their task all the same. Phialu was dubbed 'Phialu the Determined' and Wass was dubbed 'Wassamuttu the Quick'. After receiving their clubs, both were taken into the k'night's arms with joyful and energetic chants. A couple of the k'nights even prodded Anshumat to join in the chanting.

---

After the ceremony was done and they had all climbed down from the column on the hill, Kyko the Smiling tried to instigate some wrestling matches amongst the k'nights. Gralph quickly broke it up, citing there was little time to be messing around. The newly initiated would have to say goodbye to their village.

The swim back to the mainland was quick and without distraction, largely due to the sombre air. Everyone knew it was coming.

Gralph told Phialu and Wass they had as much time as they needed. The pair of them split away with downcast eyes. The rest of the k'nights wandered to mill about for a while, and Gralph crossed his arms, looking at Anshumat with a raised eyebrow.

A moment passed between them.

"I'd better find the chief," Gralph said, turning on one foot in the sand to walk away. "I won't be long."

Anshumat was left standing. With a quick glance across the village, they spotted the blurry, dim essence of a single selka -- the one they were looking for. Anshumat began the brisk walk towards an outer field near the treeline.

The selka in question was squatting in front of a sprouting plant sticking out of the soil where Gralph had planted its seed a couple of days earlier. He looked over his shoulder, lowering his silken hood with one hand to make way for his eye. His shoulders relaxed and he turned to look down at the plant again. Anshumat could hear him sigh.

Anshumat looked over Toraph, seeing the sprouting plant. Placing their club aside outside the field, they walked over, stepping over similar sprouts to crouch down by the Selka. “What plant is that?” the demigod asked.

Toraph rubbed the back of his neck. "Bean. I think." He spoke quietly. "They came out quickly."

Anshumat nodded. “Bean is good baked over fire in mustard seed paste and molasses. I’ve harvested them wild before on my trek east.” They reached out, touching the delicate sprout. “If you can grow them right at home, then your village will be saved plenty of time they would have had to scavenge.”

"That's the idea," Toraph agreed. He glanced at Anshumat with a flash of a small smile, but there was a prevailing grief in his eyes he was keeping back. "You should come back here to the river mouth some time with...muztard seed and...mole-asez. If we have enough beans, we can bake them and both my brothers can try it, too."

Anshumat nodded, looking at Toraph with their blinded eyes, before asking, “What’s wrong?”

Toraph stared at the bean sprout as his smile faded. He took a while to answer, each of his breaths holding for a thought longer than the last. "I'll get over it," he said. "It's just another in the family leaving soon, that's all. Wass is a k'night now. He's gotta go be a k'night."

Anshumat rubbed Toraph’s head, saying, “Don’t be sad that he’s going, be glad he was here.”

Toraph kept his eyes away. He smiled and found himself blinking rapidly.

The demigod continued. “Eventually, everyone must take their own paths, but those paths do not detract from what was.”

Toraph swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He slowly sniffed his lungs full and turned his large eyes to Anshumat. "Will you watch his back for me, Anshumat? I really want to have you both back to try those baked beans."

The demigod slowly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll keep him safe, I promise,” they paused, lowering their hand to the hood, power snaking through their hand into the garment. “Tell you what. Every day, put up your hood and look north. When we return, even if we are beyond the horizon, you will see.”

"North," Toraph repeated. He recognised the word that some selka dialects used. "Upbeach. Got it. I'll put my hood up each day and-" He finished lifting his hood for effect and drew in a wheezing gasp. He clapped his hands over his eyes as he winced back as if he had been sprayed by a snake's venom, but it did not help him. After a stumble and a few ineffectual wipes over his eyes, he tugged the hood back and stopped.

He caught his breath and slowly opened his eyes again. He peered at Anshumat with his skin paling through his thin fur. "What was that!?"

Before Anshumat could answer, the sound of pounding feet drew their attention from the direction of the village. Toraph felt some deja vu as the two older brothers barrelled out towards the plants with dumb grins on their faces.

Wass was in the lead, even with his new club firmly gripped in one hand.

Anshumat swiftly rose to their feet, leaping over Toraph, and subtly avoiding the plant sprouts, ran to the edge of the field to intercept the two. As they approached, Anshumat stood in the way.

"Woah, watch it, Anshumat!" Wass attempted to dodge around, as did Anboor. Both made surprised noises as they found their faces clasped by each of Anshumat's hands. Their feet flew up in front of them from their remaining momentum.

Anshumat released them once they were fully horizontal, letting them thump onto their backs as the demigod stepped back and sat down in front of them. The two groaned in pain and rubbed their noses. Anshumat waited for the, to recover from the sudden winding.

"Argh, that hurt…" Wass strained to say.

Anboor ran a hand down his face. "What gives!? I was winning just then."

Wass coughed out a laugh. "You wish."

Anshumat looked to Wass, saying heatedly, “So your first act as a K’night and one of your last before leaving your brother for a journey is to trample his crops?”

The brothers' squirming and chuckling stopped.

Before either of them could respond, Anshumat looked at Anboor and admonished him with a similar intensity. “And have you so little care for your brother’s work or feelings that you would destroy his passion without so much as a second thought?”

Neither of the two moved except for the tiny pumping of their hearts at the base of their chests. They peered at one another in unison.

"Err," Wass ventured. "Sorry?"

Anshumat motioned to one of the bean sprouts, saying, “Sprouts do not emerge in a day. Surely he has warned you against trampling them, and yet, here you are, stopped only by force that should not have been needed. Why?”

Anboor heaved himself up to a sitting position. "They're right," he said as a matter of fact. "Toraph said we almost trampled the plants last time, remember?"

"Right," Wass agreed regretfully. He winced as he sat up. "I didn't know it was such a big deal. They're just plants, right?"

Anshumat shot their eyes to Wass, saying in return, “Why does it matter what it is? Your brother is clearly passionate about the project he is undertaking, and he made a request of you. What do the details matter? Do you hold your brother in so little regard that his word is not enough of its own right?”

Anger flashed in Wass' eyes. "What?! Of course not!" He said, leaning into his words. "Don't-"

Before Wass could finish, Anshumat interrupted, a terrible strength in the demigod’s voice that overpowered Wass’ protests, “Then show it! He’s in that field, tending to those sprouts, and he was devastated over how much he would miss you! Go over there, both of you, without harming a single leaf on any of his plants, and apologize,”

Wass sat frozen. His eyes still peered up from behind an angry brow, but his anger was quenched by the immensity of Anshumat's voice.

Anshumat stood up, shooting a look towards Toraph as they finished, “Prove that you value your brother!”

Toraph was looking on with much more fear than Wass or Anboor. He neither moved nor said a word.

Wass was the more decisive. He stood to his feet and began his walk across the field, eyes down at his feet as he carefully stepped over and around the little green and white plants in the dirt. Anboor, seeing no reason to defy Anshumat, followed along behind him.

Anshumat trailed behind in turn. Their blind eyes bored holes into the backs of the two brothers.

It barely took a tense half-minute to cross the plants. Wass and Anboor stood side by side opposite Toraph. The pair looked Toraph in the eyes.

"Sorry we trampled through your plants, bro," Wass said, low and sincere. "Sorry we didn't listen to you the first time."

Anboor added. "Yeah, sorry little bro." He put a hand on his chest. "Wass was just trying to cheer me up with that running race. We didn't mean to make you upset."

Wass nodded to confirm.

Toraph peered down and around to avoid their eyes. "Thanks," he said. "I should dig the holes in rows for the next time. Then when you come back, you can run right through them without trampling them."

"Pfaw." Wass grinned and reached out to put an arm around Toraph's head. "You come up with good ideas all the time, Toraph. How do you do that?"

Toraph did not struggle like he usually did against Wass' headlock, at least not after he was able to twist and hug Wass in return. Tears were forming on the corners of his closed eyes. Tears of sadness -- not the tears of Kirron's loss that all selka weep on the land.

Wass' smile faded. "Come on, it's not goodbye just yet." He pulled Toraph away enough to half-turn to address Anshumat. "Sorry if I pissed you off, too, Anshumat."

Anshumat simply shook their head, saying, “You needed a reminder of what’s important, that’s all.”

"Yeah, maybe," Wass conceded.

"We won't forget," Anboor added. "We don't forget. Even though we don't need to look after each other as much these days, we're there for our bros."

"Just like ma and pa were there for us," Toraph said.

At that, the three brothers went quiet. Not in an awkward manner, but in a quiet reminiscence.

Anshumat had neither seen nor heard of the parents of the brothers.

Toraph broke the silence first, looking up to Wass. "I asked Anshumat to watch your back, Wass. That way I'll sorta be there...but not really."

Wass pat a hand onto Toraph's head, giving Anshumat an unsure glance. "Thanks, buddy."

---

The k'nights had one last lunch with the village before packing up and moving on. Wass and Phialu had to travel light, like all the rest. 'Leave your goodbyes at the village, for your family and your stuff,' as Gralph put it. Wass had a tear-filled goodbye, with Toraph weeping the most and Anboor staying relatively stoic. Phialu had a goodbye that was terse and anxious. There were hugs with her family, but they were not good at goodbyes. Neither was Phialu.

Anshumat had it easy. He just had to thank the chief, upon Gralph's heavily forwarded suggestion.

They travelled for three days along the river bank. During the marches, the k'nights would sing or chant in a sort-of discordant unity. The songs ranged between bawdy tales of 'far downbeach women,' to mischief with tricking monsters, to the odd solemn humming piece. They were wordy and complex to the fresh ear but surprisingly easy to learn, and just as easy to join in. Hiphaeleon the Beautiful One and Kyko the Smiling One were in constant competition for the best singing voice.

Without fail, however, the k'nights' favourite song was 'the Drumming on the Sea.' It was a song with less of a melody as much as a cadence. It quickened and beat up in energy before everyone's voices unified in a cascading tone, like a receding wave.

The new initiates were not spared during the march. Gralph set them to little tasks to gauge and increase their skills. Whittling and stone knapping, amongst other distractions.

It was in the evenings, before sunset, where the rest of the energy was spent. That was when the k'nights sparred and pushed one another to surpass themselves.

Up until the evening of the third day, Anshumat had been fast enough to compensate for their lack of fighting skill with their club or borrowed spears. This time, in the shade of the thick trees against the quietly flowing river waters, Gralph approached the demigod with a new instructor.

"I'd like you to formally meet Karagetak," Gralph said, opening a hand to indicate the surprisingly unscarred and understated selka woman to his left. She wore a sharkskin cut to cover her torso and coconut husk wrappings around her feet. She held her club against her front with one hand and her wrist in the other, relaxed and sizing up Anshumat's spindly frame with a frown. "She's gonna help you fight," Gralph continued. "So pay attention."

Anshumat hefted their own club awkwardly, with a nod to Gralph. They responded, “Very well,” as they then shifted their blind gaze to Karagetak.

The woman looked right back at him. The mirroring stares gave them the feeling that it was not just mimicry, but that she saw some essence that they did not.

Gralph 'hmph'ed and walked to see to another k'night's training.

"I saw you spar with Yim and Reph," Karagetak said. "You ever fought with someone as quick as you?"

Anshumat simply said, “No, I have not.”

Karagetak opened her eyes a little wider and pointed to their club. Her words came out in a consistent stream. "You'd better hope you don't before you learn to use that thing. Someone just a little slower than you could lead you right into a bonk on the head, wha?"

The demigod gave a single look to the club they held, saying in return, “It is rather unwieldy for my tastes. What I would give for a blade.”

Then they looked back at the Selka, saying next, “What would you have me practice?”

"Two things," she quipped. "One - you call me Karag 'cos to say the rest is what everyone forgets. Two - you and me practice with the club so when you get a tasty blade you fight extra wieldy, wha?" She stepped up opposite Anshumat and pointed one step behind them. "Get back a little, I'll start counting and swinging at you, all you gotta do is block, see?"

Anshumat stepped back to make space for Karagetak.

She stepped up and swung slowly to Anshumat's left. "One."

Their clubs met with a light clack.

"Two," to the right. Clack. "Three," from above. Clack. "Four," from below. Clack. Karag kept her club up, making the movements for Anshumat to block as she spoke. "You know why we are going this slow, Anshu?" Clack.

Anshumat answered, “This is a pattern, I think. Is it a warmup?”

Suddenly, Karag's club was heading in from the left instead of the right. Anshumat found their club barring the wrong direction. They had to quickly switch to the left. Clack.

"It is a pattern," Karag held the pose. "And I only needed to be a little slower than you and it would have been a bonk-to-the-head pattern." She stepped back, lowering her club. "That is lesson one. If you don't got speed, you will block the wrong way. You want to make the bad guy do that first. Let's keep practicing, but this time, after I count to four, you take four swings at me with the same timing and we take turns, wha?"

“Very well,” Anshumat responded, waiting for her to count to four before they proceeded.

The four strikes from Karag were not the same as her previous combination. "One, two, three, four." Though Anshumat was wise enough to block without distraction.

When Anshumat took his turn, Karag spoke up before the count was up. "So, you're a traveller. What kinda gods they worship where you from?"

Anshumat kept their focus, though allowed themself to chatter, “The same as you do this far east -- under different names, and with different deeds ascribed to them.”

"Hm, that's boring," she said. Her four strikes took their course. "I always wondered if it were just Kirron, Delphina, and Kalmar. Just wonder if they got mamas and papas, wha? Do gods got mamas and papas, you think?"

“Yeah, some. I don’t know if I would say all, though,” Anshumat answered, continuing to focus on their own strike patterns.

Karag was not discouraged. "What are your mama and papa like?"

Anshumat answered curtly, continuing to focus on the strikes, “Not around anymore.”

The last syllable was the point at which Anshumat noticed Karag's last block angled in a new way -- one that parried and turned the butt of her club up at Anshumat's neck. Even at the slow speed, she came very close to landing a hit on Anshumat before they pulled back, but after that reflex, she showed some regret.

"So, two more things, this time I'm doing," Karag said with a finger on her chest. "First, I apologise for poking. I asked Gralph what'd make you think too much and I didn't know. Second, I tell you why." She stuck up two fingers. "It's lesson two: There are more ways than fighting to make the bad guy block the wrong way, wha?"

Anshumat didn’t respond to the apology, instead focusing on the lesson. They said, “Like what you just d-” Anshumat’s club suddenly snaked to the right, in the hopes of catching Karag by surprise.

Clap!

Anshumat found their club being held by Karag's raised hand. The webbing between her fingers was taut from her sure grip. She smiled. "You learn quick, wha? These lessons'll be done in better time than with Takos, and he's supposed to be the smart one."

"I hear you from here, Karag!" Takos cried out, right before pushing down his own sparring partner -- none other than Wass. Wass fell with a familiar thud, but flashed a confident smile over to Phialu nearby before springing up to fight on. The corner of Phialu's mouth quirked up.

"You are all so distracting!" Phorea the Keen, Phialu's opponent, put her in a headlock for her transgressions.

Then again, Phialu was smiling a lot more these days.

---

The next few days saw a swift change of tone.

Sparring and crafting gave way to mock fighting in groups, in and out of water. Basic survival skills gave way to codewords, body languages, and tactics. In turn, songs and poems gave way to lyrics pounded out against the ground like falling tree-trunks.

It was unreasonable to think that the vocation of a k'night would be peaceful and upbeat all the time, but the lack of knowledge was what perturbed the likes of Wass and Phialu. Not even Gralph knew what was ahead, only that it was something to be prepared for.

'We've had plenty of fun,' the huge selka said to them. 'Now we run short of it. Now is the time for earning more.'

On the other hand, the intense training built a sense of readiness and cohesion in all of them. It was its own kind of invigorating to gain enough strength to throw one's sparring partner to the ground for the first time under the chorus of unified hooting and braying. They all felt Kirron drumming. Drumming in their chests.

It was the middle of the eighth day when the k'nights finished another rendition of 'the Boat Floating Over the Mountain,' a marching and drowning tune that rumbled the throat, when they piped down to rest their vocal chords. Antoph the Strong and Humat the Spiritual tapered off the moment with their distinctively tight laughter, and Phialu stepped to walk abreast with Wass.

"How do you sing as loud as you do, Wass?" Phialu asked with one of her new smiles. "Each time I try to reach the end of the lines and be heard, I either squeal or hurt my throat."

Wass chuckled as they walked. "It's because you always speak too quietly. You need to practice by shouting."

Phialu pouted. "Shouting more, huh? That sounds awfully far-fetched, Wassamuttu."

"Why would I lie to you?"

She grinned. "Because you don't know what you're talking about, that's why." She lifted her chin. "My family doesn't shout. We're hunters."

Wass rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry. "I think you're a better k'night than you are a hunter. At least you're happier here." He looked ahead and mindlessly added. "Makes you prettier."

"Excuse me?" Phialu tilted her head, furrowing her brow and smiling.

"I said it makes you prouder!" Wass answered quickly.

Phialu punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" Wass rubbed the point of impact, but Phialu's expression relaxed and drew to the side. Wass followed her gaze to Gralph.

The huge k'night stood alert, back facing them. Everyone had gone quiet.

The recent song was forgotten. Kirron drummed slowly against their ribs.

Daylight Phantoms

Gralph sniffed at the air.

Something encompassing and soft sounded in the distant trees like a breeze. Growing. Nearing.

"JABS!" Gralph barked. "URCHIN!"

The k'nights dropped their heavy items and fell into a wide ring formation, a perplexed Wass and Phialu included. Each held their clubs up and scanned the foliage. Rephaemle the Fair and Yim the Brief -- each talented bowmen -- stayed in the centre, tugging bundles of spears off baggage and handing them over each k'night's shoulder.

In seconds, the k'nights stood protected on all sides by their comrades, spears at the ready. Gralph stood notably at the opposite side to Anshumat, scanning the trees.

Anshumat took one of the spears, gripping it in both hands as they adopted a middle iron gate stance. They scanned the surroundings, searching for any hint of unknown essences.

The shapes beyond the foliage took a moment to convince Anshumat's reason that they were alive. They were many-limbed, running through with a tumbling, hasty gait on two, four, and sometimes six legs. Some essence drove them, but it lacked a fundamental element Anshumat had never thought to name.

One of the wretched creatures rolled out from behind a bush and leapt for Takos with sharpened talons spread. Phorea thrust the dark shape to a stop with her spear. Two, five, seven more fell upon them in stranger shapes and threw themselves savagely against the formation, shrieking and braying. They were dark-grey-skinned, horned, clambering about with four red eyes each and a jaw of predatory sharp teeth. The smallest were the size and shape of cats, while the largest took on the imposing frames of middling apes.

The k'nights' spears worked to ward them off, but the hides of the grey creatures proved tough. Flint chipped, hafts snapped. The unluckier k'nights were quick to put their sacred clubs to bone-shattering use while Yim and Reph sniped the climbing beasts out of the trees with bow and arrow.

The creatures gave as well as they took. The claws left gashes in their skin and against their hide clothing. But as the grey-skins fell, more spilled out from the forest around them.

One of the beasts, in the shape of some abominable horned mandrill pummelled its way past its lessers, batted away spears, and threw itself at Anshumat.

The demigod immediately brought their spear up, thrusting it forward with a quick jab. The beast faltered and grabbed for the haft, but not before Anshumat had brought the spear right back to guard to prevent purchase. They pushed forward slightly, continuing to make quick jabs to keep the beast at a distance, though it only grew enraged. A huge-toothed roar heralded wild swings forward to threaten breaking the formation.

A nearby selka shrieked in pain with the sound of tearing skin.

Breaking their pattern of jabs, the demigod suddenly thrust forwards heavily, catching the beast off guard as it swung and stuck the spear point in one of its four tiny eyes. It bellowed and backed away.

Once the deed was done, they then looked and saw Antoph the Strong pulled back behind the line, his hand and knees pinning a thrashing grey-skin against the ground whilst slamming his fist into its nose at a dizzying rate. Both his arms poured with fresh red blood that flicked up with every heft of his arm. The beast stopped moving after five rapid crunches to its face and Antoph was immediately seen to by Reph, lest the enraged selka rejoin the fight.

"I crush the stones to sand and breeze them up into a whirlwind!
My hands are all the rising waves, I CRAAAAAAAAAASH!"

Through the din of slathering and croaking beasts, Kyko the Smiling One cried out the opening line to the Drumming on the Waves. A song they all knew. Every k'night that could speak bellowed out the next line.

"I pull the corpses out to rot and brown like kelp on beaches!
I tangle, kill, and pull, and pull, and SPLAAAAAAAAAASH!"

With the cascading pitch of the last word, Anshumat saw a bright red essence light up in every k'night.

"Galing, throwing, boom the trees will bend under our voices!
My heart will drum through clouds and dusk and FLAAAAAAAAASH!"

Anshumat permitted themself to join the hymn, as they returned to impaling the beasts upon their spear. Continuing to jab at every grey horror that got near, the Demigod took advantage of every momentary opportunity to strike the spear deep into the exposed joints, extremities, or organs of the beasts.

"Storm has sung my song and cried to every chief of selka!
We thunder 'til we're Kirron's folk re-BOOOOOOOOORN!"

The melee struggled on for long enough to sing the song halfway over again, though the moments between the crescendos drew out like minutes. The k'nights lost more blood than nerve throughout. But like a wave finally crashing, the beasts drew away. The song broke into a raucous cry of triumph. Those creatures made lame by spear and club were caught and broken, but Gralph barked over the excitement "Let 'em run!" and the k'nights stayed back to taunt from a distance.

The smell of blood and bile finally filled the nostrils. The ground was laden with dark grey bodies and red stains.

Hiphaeleon the Beautiful pumped his arm. "The phantoms of the land are NO MATCH for k'nights!"

"Yeooh!" Almost all of the k'nights shouted out.

A few catching their breath poked at the dead phantoms in question. Humat and Antoph winced and clutched at their wounds. Yim the Brief, Phialu, and Wass stood shivering in place.

Takos the clever picked up a smaller corpse by a horn and quirked his head at its four eyes. "What in the depths are these things?"

A loud crunch sounded as Gralph stomped upon the neck of a barely breathing grey beast. "No good, that's what they are," he said. His face, as he turned around, was a deep, concerned frown. "Eyebiter, you ever seen these things before in your travels?" He asked.

Anshumat walked over to one of the corpses, prodding it with their foot, as they answered, “I have spotted them in chase before, but they have never taken the initiative to spring an ambush upon me.”

Anshumat then turned to look over the party, saying next, “I may not have known much on the art of fighting beforehand, but it seems I picked up quick in sparring.”

"I saw you get one in the eye, heheh," Phassam said, hardly flinching under a growing purple lump over his left eye socket.

Kara shared Gralph's concern. "There gotta be a name for these things, wha? Wild beast'a different shapes working together with more eyes and limbs each than most things have."

"Spiderspooks," Kyko suggested.

"Ragers," Humat gave.

"Scratchers," Antoph said, bitterly clutching his bleeding arms.

"Eaters," Takos the clever said with the most sincerity. "Look at them. Their teeth and claws make their stomachs like nothing. They were made to eat. They're eaters."

Gralph ended the conversation there. "Wash up in the river," he ordered. "Get some skins to tie up your bleeding else Kirron won't like it. We move once I breath in and out fifty times, and you all know how fat and out of breath I can get."

The k'nights scurried to get themselves sorted, whereas Gralph gave Anshumat a knowing look. He nodded to one side for them to follow and walked out of the way of the rest. Anshumat silently followed.

Once in private, Anshumat spoke, “I’m guessing those are why you wished to go upriver.”

"Mm, a few of the reasons why, yeah," Gralph said. He flicked his spear to one side, making a line of dark droplets along the dirt. "How are you faring? Are you injured?"

Anshumat gave themselves a quick look over, saying, “Uninjured. As long as I kept them beyond the tip of my spear, they couldn’t hope to touch me. I would worry more for the others, who did not fare so well.”

They shot a look towards the direction of the party, as if to emphasize the wounded in it.

Gralph leaned his head to one side, looking around Anshumat the same way. "I do. You're just quiet, so I can't say if you'd tell me." He sniffed. "What do you think of the selka, anyway? The k'nights, the tribespeople, all of them."

The demigod huffed, falling quiet for some time before answering, “It’s complicated, I suppose. I travel the world as they would for a reason. What is a mortal to us? We who live years beyond their comprehension, with our feuds and our triumphs. When we fall, we fall farther than they could ever imagine,”

Anshumat continued, “and when we are victorious, it is an epic that dwarfs the collective efforts of all mortals. Our anger can wipe entire planets clean, and our jubilations emerge ascendent. They are shaped by fate; we are shapers. We cut the world as we please, they are but mere subjects to it.”

The Demigod paused, looking down at the ground for a few seconds, before finishing, “Why, then, must they be included in the great plays of gods? Why must they be subject to forces so greatly beyond their ability, that they are but ants to an elephant?”

After a quiet second of staring back at Anshumat's empty eyes, Gralph sighed. "Don't got solid answers for all those big questions, Anshu, but I know why I made 'em." He stepped across to one side to look over towards the river. "I'm learning from them. There are all these hidden things in this world they're helping me find. They'll help you find some things, too." He blinked across to the demigod. "Listen up. I have to tell you something that you'll keep to yourself, alright?"

Anshumat solemnly nodded.

"Up ahead is something that I could deal with, but Gralph couldn't." His nostrils flared. "When we reach it, we're not going to charge in and clean it up, because even if we live longer, we might not be around forever, and these mortals have to know how to take care of themselves so they can keep discovering. When I say so, you'll go with Reph and the others back to the river mouth." His eyes softened. "No one can make you stick around, but give 'em some help, would ya? You've got a lot to learn yourself."

“I made a promise that I would see Wass back to his village after this journey. I’m not leaving until I’ve done that,” Anshumat firmly responded.

"Well...kid, don't lose it if Wass doesn't make it."

“He’s going to make it,” was all the Demigod said as they turned to return to the group.

Gralph let him leave, looking on neutrally. He turned his nose up to sniff the air.

The march resumed quietly after a few minutes.

---

Summary

We open with a scene where Phialu, Wass, and Anshumat are inducted as K'nights of Red Horizon with an official blood oath ceremony. A lot of names are dropped for the various k'nights throughout the post, so if you lose track, there's a reference here on their wiki page.

The oath emphasises harnessing the energy behind one's powerful emotions, mostly the negative ones, to filling out one's club with improving deeds. It's a promise to Kirron himself, as if holding your club is holding his arm. Each k'night gets a distinguishing title when they take their oath. Wass gets 'the Quick', Phialu gets 'the Determined', and, due to Anshmat blinding Stixis in the previous post, gets 'the Eyebiter'.

In the next scene, the new k'nights get some time to say goodbye to their friends and families. While Wass is talking to Anboor off-screen, Anshumat goes to chat with Toraph again, sulking as he is amongst his newly sprouting experimental farm plants.

As is to be expected, Toraph is sad that Wass is leaving, but he tries to hide it. He asks Anshumat to promise to watch Wass' back so they can come back some day and eat the new farmed food together. Anshumat not only agrees, but powers up the hood they gave Toraph as a gift, allowing him to see mana and powerful essences much like the visually blind Anshumat can. The ostensible purpose for this gift is so Toraph can spot Anshumat (and Kirron's) bright essence on the horizon so Toraph knows Wass is still coming back.

Toraph unwittingly puts the hood up before he realises this and ends up getting dazzled by Anshumat's divinity.

In the confusion, Wass and Anboor burst out of the treeline in another running race. Anshumat clotheslines the both of them to the ground before they can trample any plants, before lecturing them about their behaviour and making them apologise to Toraph.

It then turns into a wholesome scene where the brothers demonstrate their special connection. They were orphaned at some point and have had to take care of one another, so Wass leaving is an especially mighty oof. (Granted, they had their uncle and the rest of their village, but this ain't no Dickens tale.)

The k'nights set off. They do two things while travelling beyond the necessities: Teaching one another and singing songs. The next scene is Anshumat learning the basics of fighting from the most skilled fighter in the group; the weird-slanging warrioress known as Karagetak. During the lesson, she teaches Anshumat about mental distraction by prying into his parents. She stops prying when she realises just how much it riles Anshu up.

The training intensifies over the next few days of travel, teaching group combat and such. Most of the selka are trying to hide their guarded thoughts, being so far inland even though they're travelling up the river. Wass and Phialu mix social chemicals.

Suddenly, the k'nights are ambushed by a group of reaper spawn. They close ranks and fight them off with bravery, ferocity, and a strong spear formation. They boost their effectiveness with a song they know, and Anshumat senses that the song channels some blood mana in the process. They kill most of the spawn and the rest run off. When the elation of victory wears off, they wonder what the hell these things are. They decide to call them eaters.

Gralph tells everyone to get patched up and wash off the blood. A few k'nights are rather wounded. He then pulls Anshumat aside for a bit. Gralph checks after Anshumat's wellness, then asks them about what they think of the selka. Anshumat speaks about how they seem odd existing below such mighty beings as gods and questions it all. Gralph says he doesn't know all the answers, but he says that he made them because he's learning from the selka and their mortal propensity to explore.

In addition, Gralph confides in Anshumat that there's something up ahead that the k'nights are going to have to run away from and prepare for at home. Kirron isn't going to clean up the threat because he needs the selka to be able to take care of themselves when Kirron isn't around anymore, whenever that's going to be. However, he does ask Anshumat to help them out once they reach the river mouth again.

Anshumat says he'll keep his promise to take care of Wass. Gralph reminds Anshumat that Wass might not make it. Anshumat says 'no u'.

They march on.

In a bonus segment below, we see Toraph's hood in action.

Then Mutton posted the collab without an extra proofread because he's really tired.

Might Summary

Before: Kirron - Blood, Strength - 6 MP - 11 FP

-1 MP: To grant the K'nights of Red Horizon the title "The War Singers"*

After: Kirron - Blood, Strength - 5 MP - 11 FP

---

Before: Anshumat - Hierarchy - 3 MP - 8 FP

-1 FP: To create Toraph's Hood, an artefact that allows one to see mana and essence much like Anshumat's own blindness allows them to sense more.

After: Anshumat - Hierarchy - 3 MP - 7 FP

---

Before: K'nights of Red Horizon, "The War Singers", "Who Have Faced Death and Lived" - 2 Prestige - 13 Members

+ 1 Prestige for playing a minor role
+ 1 Prestige for playing a major role
+ 1 Prestige for collaboration

After: K'nights of Red Horizon, "The War Singers", "Who Have Faced Death and Lived" - 5 Prestige - 13 Members

* K'nights of Red Horizon, "The War Singers"
Kirron, in the guise of Gralph, taught the k'nights songs to keep the doldrums of marching away and the strain of battle at bay. The k'nights can harness their songs to harmonise the flow of mana in their blood, increasing their prowess in a fight and tightening the cohesion of their formations. The songs are also dreadfully catchy.

Meanwhile, back at the river mouth…

It had been a day since Wass had left with the k'nights. Toraph sat under a tree at the upper edge of the beach, listening to the waves and the village bustle. Many thoughts entered and left his mind like wriggling fish, nipping at an unseen mortal and whipping away.

Anboor was a changed young man now -- helping out everywhere he could and not backing down from any problems plaguing the community. Wass and Anshumat must have inspired him somehow. Just as well, with how inconsolable he was after his failed trial.

Wass' absence was more noticeable to Toraph than the absence of his parents. He had always been there and should have always been there. Now he was just empty space around corners, around the dinner fire, and in the water fishing.

Toraph tried to fill his free time with plant-minding, fishing, crafting, and anything else he could think of, but one thing was drawing his energy today.

He felt the silky hood around his neck between his thumb and fingers.

'Put up the hood and look north...'

The last time he pulled the hood over his head, his eyes stung.

But Anshumat did say.

He scrunched his eyes shut, took the hood in both hands, and lifted it carefully until it covered his skull.

Little lights pulsed by his closed eyelids. The waves crashed ahead, and with them were outlines of flowing shapes moving with the foam. He slowly opened his eyes. The world swam in a muted murk, flashing with dully energetic colours and thrummings. A selka walked towards the beach with a barbed fishing spear in one hand, and within her was a messy net of bright red pulsing around the calm light of her heart.

Toraph stood up and spun around. Everyone in the village was lit up like a swarm of slow red fireflies, and none seemed to notice. The trees flowed with a sap-like runny green. The grass sparkled with the flow of the wind.

And behind the village was a light shining over the trees, as bright as a child of the sun itself.

Toraph smiled and felt his eyes ache with fresh and sudden tears.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Pircalmo listened carefully and with intense interest. The initial excitement at putting his studies to use was quickly added to by the esoteric and unique nature of Meesei's situation.

Such was the oddness of the scenario that Pircalmo had to hunch in his seat with one arm across to hold his elbow and the other clutching over his chin and mouth. His thoughts lasted a while, though not so long as to convey the need to describe further just yet.

"How curious," he answered. "How utterly, impressively curious. The Hist must have a very particular destiny lined up for you, Meesei, for such a thing to be apparent enough to be noticed."

Lunise interrupted her cup before she could sip from it. "Apparent enough? Is this a normal thing, father?"

"No...well, yes, but not exactly..." He stumbled, before finally gesturing in a circle to focus himself. "You must understand, to speak of how the Hist operates with any continuing confidence is as reliable as knowing the names of the next fifteen leaders of Alinor, but!" He pointed to the ceiling. "Broadly speaking, the features of body and soul that are generally dictated by a mix of chance and lineage in any other creature are heavily skewed by the node of the Hist representing an Argonian...or any similarly souled creature thereof. Argonian souls are only a 'blank slate' starting out in the sense that only the barely necessary aspects are generally imparted during the gestation process. It does not mean there are is no presence of disconnected memories in such souls." Pircalmo leant forward with his elbows on his knees and narrowed his eyes curiously. "But I recall you using the word unfortunate...?"

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Pircalmo lowered his eyes. He took a moment to look back up and respond. "Your patience is just as appreciated. And I am glad to hear the garden was to your liking." He was back to his usual energy as soon as the subject changed. "I dare say it is a testament to the gardeners that they nurtured such a work of art. Before I began my studies on anatomy, my original interests were in botany. It grants a certain appreciation for the work the gardeners do, even in such different conditions to the plants' native habitats."

"Well, speaking of anatomy," Lunise said before Pircalmo could get set in a ramble, "Meesei has a question regarding Argonians that we believed you might shed some light on, I was unsure. Meesei, how about you share what has been on your mind?"

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Only half a second or so of silence between them gave any hint that Meesei and Lunise had been talking any longer than the recent moment. Lunise picked up the act quickly. "Indeed. The professor will see you now. I hope your wait was not unbearable." She stepped aside to gesture along the path she came.

Given Meesei's slow wandering, the trip back was far faster. Meesei did not have to wait outside the study for longer than a moment before being invited in.

"Ah, there you are," Pircalmo glanced up from the steaming tea he was pouring into three cups. He straightened with the teapot in his hands and gave a welcome and far more calm and collected smile than their prior arrival. "I am so terribly sorry to have made you wait, Meesei. Please, make yourself at home."

Lunise set herself down on one of the seats around the small round table holding the tea set. She gave Meesei a polite, if detached, smile and took up one of the tea cups by the handle.

The room saw a few differences. Meesei noticed that a few loose parchments and books had been cleaned up and a round hat box had appeared atop Pircalmo's writing desk, fuzzy with dust on its top. The less stark but equally impactful difference to her expectations was just how little Pircalmo expressed any trace of the grief Lunise had described. The whole scene was as if the letter only left a small impression, disguised as it all was.

Pircalmo took a seat for himself, but did not reach for his tea yet, likely as it was still burning hot. "Now, how long must it have been since the last time you were in the city here?" He asked. "I sometimes get so absorbed in my work that I lose perspective."

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

The small gesture was enough to turn Lunise to face Meesei. Lunise smiled sadly. "My dearest Meesei, that will not be necessary." She breathed in slowly. "I have wept enough for today. I need to carry on for now, and should I feel the need to weep further, I shall find the time myself."

She peered around in the direction of Pircalmo's office. "As for father, he asked me to go and find you, lest he be branded a poor host. He is brewing some of his special tea as we speak. Though, it may serve prudence if I stepped in first to check."

Lunise grew bold enough as she stood up to bring Meesei into a close and tight hug. She even planted a grateful kiss on her cheek. The moment passed without words from Lunise, emotionally tender as she was that afternoon behind her smiling face.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Lunise at least made a little nod upwards. "I did tell him. At least, as much without revealing the reason they welcomed us, or any other secret business. That was primarily the reason I was able to swap stories with father." She wove her fingers together. "I did not really know my mother before a few days ago. Not as an adult. And yet, I learnt enough that father recognised who I spoke of."

She sighed again. "I believe father already knew that mother's purpose was for us as much as it is for Tamriel as a whole. That was the impression I got from trying to cheer him up by telling him. Perhaps it does hurt less to know, but if it would make it not hurt at all, I would not be as sad as he was."

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Lunise was at first surprised at Meesei's sudden spell, but her objections were silenced by the kiss. Still, she was flushed at the gesture. "I wish you would warn me before doing that," she murmured, peering around at the frozen faces. "Any one of these people around us could be well attuned to the kind of magical anomalies that would hide our relationship."

She sighed and continued. "Never mind. The letter, it was...I did not get to read it myself, but father was a mess. Weeping into his hands in his chair. He did not even try to hide anything when I walked in."

Lunise turned to sit down on the bench. "I asked after his wellness. He..." She looked at the ground. "He asked me, rhetorically, if she was not coming back. We both knew the answer." She paused, blank faced and staring at the pavement before them. "We grieved. We grieved for some time. And then, true to his blasted nature, father brought out a box of mother's old things. Just little mementos and letters. And we just shared stories of her, quietly celebrating her memory."

Lunise's lungs slowly emptied.