Making Gods 101 [LM1]

[Shinjo Koyama]

People have myths and legends to explain what is incomprehensible or inexplicable to them. Koyama, of all people, knew the feeling. Explain or comprehend how it is to be married to a god.

While bathing in a wild brook he fancied all kinds of ideas; how about making gods from his grime being washed off? He contemplated it watching the mountain peaks, somewhat longingly. A particularly rambunctious god might emerge from his snoot, lurking shadowy gods from his armpits, a very stubborn god from the furrow on his grumpy forehead, a lustful one from his loins, brawny ones from the dirt on his arms and legs and a cocky trickster from the top of his hair.

A certain raccoon was watching this silent silly reverie from the bank in silent sarcastic judgement, slurping beer left for him in a cup.

[Shoji Haka]

Haka wanted a bit of air after her morning in the castle, so cut her wrist and fed some blood to the spirits before she made her way down toward the river. With her senses stretching out in every direction, she was better able to navigate the wilderness, and soon she was making a good pace (by her standards, at least).

As she neared the river, she crouched down and started gathering up sticks, breaking the longer ones into smaller pieces and tucking them away for later use.





(Casting Sense the Void = Pass)

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

After a while, Koyama could hear a strange sound.

It sounded like someone plucking at the strings of an instrument... and then tuning them, and then plucking some more. But it had a sharp, slightly off quality, as if the strings weren't made for plucking.

It drew closer, intermixed with muttered cursing and grumbling, that it wasn't 'quite right.' A fact which would be obvious to anyone listening.

Eventually, around the river bend, a pale woman, eye's fixated on a long necked wooden instrument in her arms, strolled into view. She was an odd sight, with her brightly patterned white, red, and orange garb, the twin red horns which curved up from her hairline, and her ruby eyes, framed by silver white hair.

To the most superstitious, she might look a ghost, were she not acting so distressingly mundane, plucking at her instrument and muttering insinuations about the parentage of the one who crafted it, the moisture in the air, and the hangnail which made her left hand uncomfortable when holding the strings.

[Shinjo Koyama]

The raccoon had sharper senses than his bathing travelling companion; it raised its beer-soaked whiskers and scattered the droplets by wrinkling the nose, sensing the faint smell of blood.

Koyama would eventually notice; it was not usual for Xiao Bao to make breaks from drinking until it was done.

"Wha comes this wey?"

And then there was the strange sound.

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

Ryoko started in surprise, and then looked up.

There was a naked man in the river!

It wasn't extremely surprising - but there was a bath in town she heard, so it seemed out of place.

Ah well... shouldn't stare.

Glancing to the side, she waved, fixing her gaze on the raccoon.

"I'm Ryoko. I hope I'm not bothering you!"

With the instrument cradles in her left arm, she added, cheerfully, "I was trying to see if I could find a way to play it while I was walking - after all, we may want some marching songs for the hike... but it just doesn't sound quite right!"

[Shoji Haka]

Haka looks up at the man's call, but when another voice responds, she returns to her searching and stick-gathering, assuming that the two were involved in a conversation that didn't involve her. It was rude to assume otherwise.

[Shinjo Koyama]

The raccoon scurried away, having experienced unwanted attention. It could well be sarcastic from some vantage point.

Koyama ultimately noticed some sylvan passer-by through the thicket beyond the bank, but if he recognised some universal rights, roaming around was one of them so he chose not to call again if the person wanted to keep to their own. Threat-sense wasn't his highest-developed instinct either way.

And then there was a horned girl who seemed perplexed for some reason the man couldn't fathom.

"Ah'm Koyama. Ye neednae explain yersel', lassie. Speil as ye like." He squeezed his hair. ""Unless ye'r asking fur mah opinion?"

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

"Well, if you have one, I don't mind."

He was hard to understand, but that last line made sense, so she clung to it.

"Who am I talking to?"

It seemed reasonable to ask, right?

[Shinjo Koyama]

"A've heard better bit it doesn't mak' me wantae murdurr ye. Aye better than whin ah speil xun." He paused, contemplating the horns. "Tis some ogre tune?"

"Ko-yama." He pronounced clearer, finding it cheap to emblazon himself with his wife's name. Maybe the horns were impairing the ears, he thought.

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

"It's a tribe song, from my caravan, not a spell."

She frowned faintly. "Koyama. Oh. I admit I don't well know your way of talking, I'm sorry if I seem... confused."

That was being polite, right?

Plucking at the strings idly, she took a seat on the bank, locking the instrument between her knees and pulled out the bow from her chest pocket, where she had stashed it.

"You much like music?"

[Shinjo Koyama]

"Ah ken ah dae." He shrugged, returning to kami-making ablutions. "This is Hikaru wey o' talking. Ah come fae th' bens."

He must have got this dirty from an earlier hunt, but the bounty was nowhere to be seen...

LM1. Hunting for Provisions. Highlander Tech. VP. 3R.: 7d10o10k6 33

[Failure by 2]

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

Hikaru... interesting.

"Well, I will try to learn this 'bends' way of talking then." She nodded. "Aiken the day, yes?"

Setting the bow to the strings, she didn't comment on his failed hunt - her own tribe looked a heck of a lot worse after a day in the swamp, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her.

As she began to draw the string, a tune was pulled from the strings, with a surprising and desperate energy, like a tale of a hunt told by hunter and prey, slow, and then swift, and then easing back into silence as both returned to the stalking, their meeting momentarily averted.

It was a haunting melody, and perhaps he would see in it the results of his own day - energy spent without the satisfaction of the kill... the work of the harvest begun, but no reward yet reaped.

----

3 raises for quality - https://orokos.com/roll/807788

[Shinjo Koyama]

"You can learn to speak like a Highlander the same way I can speak like your folk." He commented carefully after the song. "But ah wale nae tae. Mah leid is dear tae me."

He managed to wash himself and started coming ashore, revealing more of his tribal tattoos.

"Ah liked it. But let's nae be tae depressed aboot th' hail thing o' gaun south."

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

"Perhaps I could, but I'd definitely need a teacher."

Ryoko chuckled, putting her instrument to the side of the rock, crossing her left leg over the right and resting hands on her knee.

"I met another Shinjo who didn't share your high-land speech - is your clan so big that it has many tribes?"

[Shinjo Koyama]

""If ye march wi' us, ye kin pick a bawherr fae me oan th' way." He remarked, wondering about those horns. Not that he minded, it's just highlanders weren't built for irreflexive cosmopolitanism. The girl sounded like a nice person though. " He then shrugged. ""If thay wale tae speek lik' sassenachs, that's thair betrayal, nae mine."

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

"Did your entire tribe... or clan... speak that way?"

She seemed puzzled. "Or just some?"

[Shinjo Koyama]

"Mibbie thay ought if thay respect whein thay come from." He shrugged. ""But thein, ilk o' us respects oor heritage in different ways. 'n' tis fine."

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

She thought she followed that, at least.

"Well, it's true, that. I know I hope to honor mine for generations to come."

Shaking her head, she added, "It's coming on the lunch hour - I should get back to the city. Good meeting you, perhaps we'll talk more on this journey."

[Shinjo Koyama]

"Hae yer way, lassie." He nodded. "Cheers fur th' blether."

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

"You as well."

Then she rose, dusting herself off, and heading back toward the city with a little wave.

/exit to avoid time paradoxes