The Green and The Green (Dragonsong!) [m]

[DaGlobster]

Indeed, the passing of an axe was an important gesture in Bloodmorrow. They were the holy weapons of Shok himself, used to channel one's inner strength and skill. Nobody in Bloodmorrow went without one.

To pass one along was almost like giving up a part of yourself. And while Motark wasn't as zealous about the religion as other orcs, he still held a deep respect for the traditions and philosophies. It was what made Bloodmorrow into the place he knew.

He rose to his feet.

"Thank you for accepting it. You don't even have to touch it, but wearing it is important for the ceremony."

Finally, he slipped on a cloak made of long eagle feathers and bear fur that clasped around his collar and went down to his elbows. It also sported a hood, but he kept it down for now. Finally, he was ready.

He offered an arm down to her, clad in the thin, geometric markings she'd drawn and traced all over him. He quite liked how it contrasted with the bold, thick lines he'd given her.

"Shall we, Bright One?"

[DragonSong]

The ax was...new. An odd weight at her side that she wasn't quite sure how to feel about. She decided to give it more thought later.

The faun smiled slightly and took his offered arm. "I am honored." And though her eyes once more held that bright, teasing glint, she seemed to mean the words sincerely.

She had to stick close to his side to keep her hand settled in the crook of his arm, to account for their difference in size. The proximity didn't bother her unduly, and she allowed herself to once more observe Bloodmorrow curiously as its chieftain escorted her.

[DaGlobster]

The side of Bloodmorrow dedicated to agriculture stood as a stark contrast to the older part of town. All of the industry and anything that went towards the upkeep of the warriors was found here. This part of town also held the butchers and bakers and all the other things crucial to the nascent civilization that Motark was trying to create.

The few orcs around were all filtering towards the training grounds, where the gathering could already be seen growing in the background.

"Looks like they haven't started yet," he commented. He'd been quiet during the walk, taking the moment to appreciate Bloodmorrow when it was quiet, at least for the moment.

[DragonSong]

"Is there some sort of ceremony?" Fiala asked curiously, tilting her head back to look up into his face. While she was still intrigued by the village around her, she found herself more and more drawn to him, to observe how he reacted to the people and things around him.

"I mean, do you have to be present for the whole thing to begin, formally?"

[DaGlobster]

"Oh yes, all the ceremony is important. But sometimes the people start celebrating before The Dances have even started," he explained. He looked onward, towards the slowly growing sounds of music and revelry.

There was also the curious looks the villagers gave him and Fiala. There wasn't any ill-will towards her, although many had heard that the chief had brought a visitor from the forest. More curious to some, however, was how she held his arm. Or how Motark had a more blissful look than usual on his face...

[DragonSong]

"Mmm..."

Fiala glanced around, just as curious about the villagers as they were about her, though she managed to hide it behind the face of the blithe, riddling forest guardian. She did smile cautiously at a few of the children, an expression that morphed into a laugh when they darted away as though she'd cast a spell on them.

The adults eyed her...differently. She eyed them back for a few moments, then cocked her head and said to Motark, not loud, but not exactly trying to be quiet either, "I think your people know you've mated me. Or at least suspect."

It was a casual enough observation, but there was an unspoken question in it: how would they react to that, if at all?

[DaGlobster]

It seemed her speaking was mostly lost in the sound of the building crowd around them, which was parting to welcome their chief and guest. He didn't quite respond, not for fear of being overheard, but because he'd only had time to widen his eyes and look down at Fiala before the crowd was truly surging around them and they'd arrived at one the ritual plazas.

An intricate ritual circle of interlocking triangles had been made of red stones and a tall, humanoid idol made of kindling and dry leaves was erected atop a grand bonfire mound in the center. The outer edge of he circle was fringed with axes embedded blade-first into the ground to form a ring of axe-hafts.

While the circle itself was clear, there was already food and strong drinks being served.

"Maybe?" he finally answered.

"We haven't exactly been...quiet," he added, gaining a bit of fluster as he remembered their time together.

[DragonSong]

The look of surprise and something close to bashfulness was almost gratifying, in a way, and Fiala smiled a bit as he blinked down at her, then spoke a little haltingly.

"No, I suppose we were not," she agreed carelessly. "Are your people, usually? I didn't imagine so, but I don't want to assume."

Though her voice was easy and almost bored, there was a glimmer to her gold eyes that spoke to humor behind the words. She eyed him sidelong even as she followed him into the ritual space, taking in the crowd and the effigy out of the corner of her eye.

[DaGlobster]

"Well, no, not quiet," Motark admitted. He just didn't quite know what the villagers would make of it, hearing that their chief was having loud sex with a visiting nature spirit. He hadn't exactly known anybody here to be prudish, hell, it might even be a positive thing.

But it was the uncertainty that scared him. He was so close to achieving his goals of building an orcish society that could stand on its own without the need for violence.

"So in that sense, you're very much acting like one of us," he teased back.

[DragonSong]

Fiala glanced up at him with a slightly crooked, clearly delighted smile. She was really starting to enjoy this, the...teasing. The gentle back-and-forth. She'd never really interacted with someone as she did with him--on a number of levels, but she was starting to think that just talking to him was perhaps the most baffling. Fascinating, but baffling.

"Well, I suppose I can be adaptable, when the occasion calls for it," she replied blithely, and skipped ahead a few steps before pausing to turn and look properly around the ceremonial space. She drew a few more curious looks, some of which she returned just as curiously before picking her way easily back to Motark's side and taking his arm again.

"So...how does this begin?"

[DaGlobster]

Motark brightened at the opportunity to share.

"Well, the axe dances tells the sto-"

"The chief is here!" came a cry from one of the revelers, and the crowd turned exultant, and before Motark could speak any more, the crowd was herding the both of them along. Celebrants showered them with feather charms, strings of beads, and handed them frothing cups of sweet-smelling drinks. It all happened in a blur and Motark looked down at Fiala after it had all taken place, curious to see how she'd react to festive orcs.

Drums and primitive horns played a simple, thrumming tune that shook the chest. They were officially in the party now.

"Looks like the ritual's going to start soon. But not yet," Motark said, and he dipped a hand in to tap his wooden mug against hers. He took a swig of his drink, which elicited some cheers and matching swigs from some orcs around them.

[DragonSong]

The faun almost tried to skitter back, but she fetched up against Motark's side as his people swarmed them. She suffered through the touching and the fussing with a slightly gritted smile, though when someone tried to trace a finger over the marks Motark had painted on her hip she did skip backward, using the larger orc as a semi-shield against the crowd.

She did manage to smile and tap her mug back against Motark's and took a small, curious sip. Spirits. That was strong. Why was all of their alcohol so strong?

Well...they were rather large. Hm.

"They all seem...quite excited," she noted dryly, glancing around at the crowd again before back up at him.

[DaGlobster]

"Yes, it's not very often we can just relax and celebrate during peace time," Motark said, unfazed by the curious hands and reverent pats that greeted him as they moved through the crowd. It was hard to keep track of all the orcs greeting or exchanging gestures with him.

His place was near the front, and as the crowd slowly herded him and Fiala on, he instinctively put a hand on Fiala's back, a source of strength to ease and help along.

"It's been a while since the whole tribe has come together to get drunk and rowdy. The harvest season has been busy, even a little dangerous," Motark said, and he took a moment to look out across the crowd, seeing the throngs of joyous celebrants.

When they reached the front, they were greeted by an eager Geshur, who looked much more like a war druid now with his ceremonial wood and chain-mail armor and adorned axe hanging by his belt. His face was brightly colored with full red, yellow, and orange face paint in layered rings. He had two mugs of frothing brew and a puzzled expression on his face.

"Oh, the chief's already got one," he chuckled, and then proceeded to nonchalantly top up Fiala and Motark by splitting the extra drink, solving the problem rather practically.

[DragonSong]

"How do you mean?" Fiala stepped a little closer to his side when she felt his hand on her back. "Dangerous?" She'd admit her own ignorance of how exactly a harvest season worked, but she thought she understood the basic principle, and she was struggling to understand how it could be dangerous.

She didn't have time to ask anymore clarifying questions before Geshur was before them, and no sooner was he there when he was filling up what little she'd managed to drink from her mug.

Ah. Of course. While the alcohol thus far didn't seem to affect her as much as the honey, she had a feeling that even a creature of the fae would start to feel this.

"Should I still be here?" she murmured to Motark, quiet enough that she hoped only he would hear her. "I mean...so close. Do you not have specific duties in this ceremony?" If she was being honest, she was torn: she didn't want to stray too far from his side as he was a rare bastion of familiarity in this place. But on the other hand, by Motark's side seemed to be a rather...crowded place to be at the moment.

[DaGlobster]

"I do, it's just that everyone's getting a little cheery before the warriors-in-training get here," Motark, and despite the roiling crowd of exuberant Orcs, Motark found focus only for her.

"Besides, this festival belongs mostly to the druids. I'm just here to kick it off when the time comes," Motark said with a wink, and he let his hand drift up to her shoulder. He looked past her, across the ritual circle and towards a procession of lights slowly approaching from the other side of the village.

"They'll be here soon. Come along, we can find a quieter spot and I'll answer your questions."

[DragonSong]

She glanced at his hand on her shoulder as though she didn't entirely understand what it was for a moment, but seemed to dismiss whatever she was thinking with a quick shake of her head.

"You're sure I will not...upset this balance, here?" she murmured as she pressed a little closer to his side. He seemed comfortable enough catering to her curiosity and comfort, but she didn't want to interfere too much in this ritual. They may not be her gods, but she could understand the importance of a rite.

[DaGlobster]

While the ground was littered with cushions, there was a spot close to the circle's edge that seemed fit for a chief. The others could see their mighty leader seeking his place, and soon enough the crowd had humbled and quieted.

In the distance, the sounds of bells, ringing drums, and hollering voices hushed the crowd further and brought an excited tension in the air.

Motark took a seat on his knees, and turned his head to meet her eyes.

"You are welcome," Motark said, giving her an affirming nod.

[DragonSong]

With all the wary grace of a doe approaching unknown territory, Fiala picked her way over to Motark's side and slowly lowered herself to sit beside him, legs curled to the side and back straight as she looked around.

She did feel rather small here.

But she could hardly turn back now without drawing attention to herself, which in her current state was the last thing she wanted. So she shifted subtly closer to Motark, hoping the movement didn't read as nervous as it felt, and folded her hands in her lap as she settled in to wait and watch.

[DaGlobster]

The orcs of Bloodmorrow settled, drinks down and eyes patient, as the procession of dancers came forwards. Through all the ritual and lore and symbology of it all, it was ultimately a way for the warriors to cut back and celebrate.

The veteran troops whirled long shafts with axes at both ends, laden with bells and ribbons while the elder instructors danced about nearly naked, skin highlighted with dazzling paints. Finally, the unblooded warriors, each with a pair of axes. Some flipped, others juggled, even more "fought" with their peers with graceful movements. All wore masks, with size indicating veterancy.

Suddenly, the bonfire in the center flared up, and Eukus, dressed in blacks, whites, and blues, appeared on stage with a flash of magical spectacle. He held a ceremonial sword in one hand and a mace in the other. He had a scowling mask and shaggy cowl big enough to conceal most of his body save for his shins and arms.

Everyone gasped, some children squealed. It was Ahwa, Shok's chaotic brother. In a booming voice, he called out, asking if there were any real warriors among his brother's people. The ceremony began and the dancers all tried to banish Ahwa with increasingly elaborate displays of dancing and prowess. The whole thing had a rowdy energy to it, with the crowd calling out and some even standing to dance in the perimeter.

Motark was captivated, but he was right next to her if she wanted to get his attention.

[DragonSong]

Fiala watched the proceeding ceremonies with rapt attention. They may not be her gods, but most of the Folk were fascinated by stories—in every form. It was the closest any of her people could come to a lie, after all.

She pressed a little closer to Motark's side as the crowd began to grow more animated. She didn't truly fear the orcs, but she was very much aware of how much smaller she was than them, and how their attention might be muddled by the alcohol. It didn't seem out of the realm of possibility that someone might injure her on accident.

A fear that culminated in her climbing fully into Motark's lap when one of their neighbors in the crowd stumbled and nearly stepped on her tail. She tried not to make herself a nuisance, other than flashing her sharp teeth at the distracted orc for a brief moment, and wrapped her arms around Motark's neck firmly as she pressed herself against his chest. She seemed entirely unashamed to use his bulk as a shield from the rest of the crowd.