[HQ Ignorance] Scene 12: The Mystic of Vustria

[Dougie Punk]

Blood, lots of blood.

Bright red staining virgin white snow.

The unease had grown with the first Telmori howls and had grown into  
blinding pangs of pain behind Karala-Walks-With-The-Great-White - 
Wolf's eyes as the night grew deeper and the presence of the Hunters  
more obvious. With the pain came visions, nightmares... memories?

A beatiful morning, crisp, clear and cold, birdsong lilting from the  
snow heavy firs of the forest. Her mother smiling over as she scraped  
a reindeer skin to make Karala a new pair of moccasins, her father,  
martin pelts slung over one shoulder, cheerfully waving his boomerang  
in greeting as he emerged from the pines.

Shattered by violence.

Her father suddenly spouting a shaft of wood from his stomach the  
another from his neck before his face had time to register its  
horror... Her mother standing over her, filled with the power of the  
Mother, all bulk and horns, trying to keep the mocking, drooling  
monsters from her daughter.. falling to more shafts launched as the  
beast men danced away from her wicked antlers.. blood everywhere...  
being pulled from under her mothers shrinking form as her magic died  
with her.. being mauled by leering, lecherous, rampant evil..

Then snarls and howls and sleek fur.. and more blood, more  
violence... then darkness...

Awakening in shaggy warmth, the gentle nuzzling and licking soothing  
the fears brought on by the huge teeth of the Predator that curled  
around her...

A hot bowl of steaming reindeer stew was pressed into her hands by a  
Hunter. There where four of them along with their Companions, and  
though their tongue was full of whines and growls and barks, it was  
the tongue of Karala's people. She understood the words but little of  
their meaning. Of her mother and father, their hunting camp, or their  
Herd, their was nothing. The old Hunter talked to her, at her. His  
urgency was lost on her, his stream of words drowned by her grief,  
her loss....

He spoke of visions and destiny, weirds and curses, the freedom of  
his people and how one day they would save hers if  they themselves  
where saved. Karala struggled to understand what this had to do with  
her, but she was only five winters old and the Old Hunter grew ever  
more frustrated, talking of omens and long hard journeys, following  
the Great White Wolf that kept Karala snuggled up in its warmth.

After the Hunters and their Companions had left, the great Predator  
had taken her upon its back and found more of her People, but things  
had never been the same again for among her people was a Prophesy. A  
Prohesy of one who walked with the Reindeer people's Nemesis, who  
heralded the end of their sacred way of life, yet would also save the  
People from a doom not understood by weird-seers... Nothing was ever  
the same again...

Karala, keeping her pain and her vision haunted memories to herself,  
knew that Fate was upon her. She steeled her spirt for the following  
meeting and the questions she must ask, for surely this Mystic might  
have some answers, though she dreaded what they could be...


OOC: Hi Lev, hope this isn't landing too much in your lap - I have to  
admit I'm not quite sure where I'm going from here so all ideas  
welcome:).

 >Been using Uleria cult magic, eh?

Life's definitely looking up at the mo :).

Dougie

-:).