[P] dead dancing

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

It was time to strip the hair from the hides of the deer he had asked the hunters for a season ago.  Spring seemed to be a good time to get the young bucks which had dense but elastic skin that was more resilient to aging - flesh that would dampen the hollow sound of his drums whose heads desperately needed to be replaced.  It produced a deeper, warmer tone, so that the heartbeat of his fire ceremonies could be heard far beyond Tinea - to hopefully reach the ears of those destined to hear the Ilati's call.  In a way, it had, for another curious stranger happened to be happening his way, only to stumble upon a most gruesome scene --


Call it his summer project if you will - for what else was an old bear in the woods supposed to do?  His arthritic body could not move fast nor tolerate much more wear and tear, his journey was coming to an end and he was so close to joining Vespera.  He would be leaving this vessel to enter into a consciousness shared by the universe itself.  What energy and muscle mass he had was saved for ritual and ceremony. The art of preparing drumheads was a juxtaposition of both for Turhan, and so, after a night of soaking three buckskins in water and ash - it was time to scrape the slimy, half-melted fur off of them.


Turhan had finished tying off the skins that would later prepare them for stretching after he finished taking the bristle off of them.  The area surrounding smelled of sacred fire (various resins from trees, meadowsweet, and deep earthy woodvine, another native to Tinea), and sweetgrass which he braided in thick loops, hung, then promptly ignited with magnesium and flint.   He could make fire without magic, and he could hold onto a flame without a candle.  The man was no wizard, but the highly evolved use of telekinesis could make a marvel out of the geriatric just by observing his practiced-finesse with primitive tools. 


Jaxis, bold and brave in her arrival (or so Turhan heard by her sure-footed sneaking) did not follow through with it as her voice faltered.  Caught in the middle of what many considered most-strange, Turhan decided to remark her bravery by overlooking the slip of the mask.  "Bad smell.  I know."  He said gently enough with a simple nod of the painted white nose.  The bullhorns rattled with red threads full of tiny bells -- Pee-Eueh!, he shook his head and chuckled mostly to himself.  Beneath all that hocus pocus smoke was the underlying smell of meat and boiled hair when Jaxis got close enough.  Turhan seemed to be in a jovial and trusting mood today despite the grim-appearance of this encounter.


But again, let it be known if it was not already, he was blind enough to be shameless about the slurry of animal parts beneath his feet -- about the articulated scapular bone between his jagged jungle of teeth which he was using to scrape said texture off.


From the smell of her he could vaguely discriminate her as a sand-walker even though his opinion was entirely neutral.  "Drum. Drum. Drum .." he hummed. Only then, did the swamp seem to have a bit of a heartbeat too, which followed his steady humming. Drum. Drum. Drum .. and then Tinea quietly, near unfathomably, echoed his words.


"I make the drum for Circle."  He mentioned in his broken sort of way, then went on to describe how a hide was to be taken from a deer after it had been hunted with poisonous quills by the indigenous swamp people hiding inside of it.  Turhan made a howling noise with lots of laughter after that - but it seemed the Elder had been micro-dosing some herbal blend to keep his spirits so high.  There simply was no other explanation.


"Come, child of Solis.  You will make drum.  You will take it home to your people."  

T U R H A N
skull to dust

@Jaxis  Your violet-eyed beauty is adorable btw.  Something about her makes Turhan want to show her how to make craft projects that may later induce nightmares/trying to absorb her into the Ilati culture.