#THIS FUCKIN BROUGHT OUT MY NATIVE CACKLE

[evilminji]

Ngl, I'm kinda really big on "Accidentally Fixing Things While I Was Off, Minding My Business/Indulging My Hyper Fixation"

With a side of "huh, why do I hear jaws music?" *Og!Protagonist Approach-ith*

Cause like? Who WOULDN'T want to play around with QI? Talismans? Get REAL deep into the esoteric Cultivation Lore??! What do you MEAN "boring", native to this universe!? This shit is MAGIC! We're literally playing with MAGIC here! I can write squiggles on a peice of paper and BEND REALITY! Concentrate REAL hard and have the universe around me just... shrug and OBEY!!!

That's SO COOL!

Sweet backflips and flying swords! Mythic animals! Forget being a wizard, this is WAY better! *cackles in glee*

Imagine if a SI-OC aims for a Peak that was never even brought up in Cannon! The Talismans and Artifacts (don't get them started. Yes, it's both two seperate fields. But somehow ALSO a spectrum? And can be both at once, depending on the age of the object? No one else is quite sure...) Peak. She finds her people.

First you study the general, then you specialize.

Everyone there can info-dump for HOURS on their niche field of study! Lots of cross Peak cooperation! Half of them are never ON Peak because they can't MOVE their objects of interest! Gotta study them at location! Which, yes, includes hidden realms! AND THE CREATION OF THEM.

Their last Peak lord? Fuckin DIED to Tianlang-jun's sealing. Their CURRENT Shizun? Hates the Old Palace Master with the fury of ten thousand suns. Bastard just... just DUMPED a project like "seal a Heavenly Fucking Demon Emperor" on everybody LAST MINUTE. And WIPED OUT an ENTIRE GENERATION of Masters.

If ANY of them work with ANYONE from Hau Haun? They are DEAD to him.

DEAD.

So like.... fuck those guys. It's the formal stance of her Peak. Fuck those guys forever. *spits*

Oc agrees. Cause wtf. That sounds like it was unreasonable and deeply fucked up. And that kid of demon? SUPER dangerous! Good thing there aren't any more of them! She says... having never read the book. Either one. Granted, things KINDA sound familiar? In that her brother used to talk about a series from overseas he was slowly moogle translating to read.

But like? It's the Multiverse. Not impossible odds. Maybe her soul just clung to a Cultivation Universe that VAGUELY sounded familiar, over the countless that DID NOT. Not like she knows how Reincarnation works...

Anyway~ Back to her projects!

She's industrious AF. Exceeds her Talisman goals. Constantly. Which means she gets to keep or sell the extra (it's motivation to work hard). She likes to give some to people who look like they need um. Like that miserable kid on Qing Jing. She sees him every time she stops by to hit up their, frankly, Gucci Library. VERY fancy.

Here, kid, have some warming and protection talismans. Perimeter alert ones. Kinda weird you go through so many, but meh, I don't know your life. Want one of my practice Qiankun pouches? It's ugly af. But since our peak makes them, I gotta practice.

The kid gives her snacks. They're pretty good, not gonna lie.

He IS... kinda creepy though. Very "you should skip school tomorrow" quite kid with too intense eye contact. You... uh... you GOOD, kiddo? Wanna talk? Should... should she, like, do something about this, or.....

No, no! He insists. With the flattest, fakest smile she's ever seen outside of a Serial Killer. He's Fine™! No need to worry about HIM!

......okay, but, see, when you SAY shit like that....

Creepy™ "probably gonna murder everyone on Qing Jing" kid aside? She has a GOAL! Wants to make a MEDICAL Hidden Realm! Yeah, that's right!! See, you can dictate the "rules" of reality (somewhat) inside the Realm you create, right? SO! It occurred to her! She should make a Realm?

That DOES NOT ALLOW QI DEVIATIONS!

Something that forces the Qi inside one's body to smooth and heal! Calm and rich! Like Ling Xi caves but for healing instead of breakthroughs! It could be a lifesaving realm, where one goes to ride out a Qi Deviation or face their heart demons! In an environment that will not ALLOW them to fatally spiral!

Of course, she needs to find a whole bunch of rare and soothing legendary flowers to plant. Trees, too. A couple rare beasts, known for their intensely soothing auras. Just... REALLY stack the odds. THEN off course, she'll have to lay the ground work of the realm itself. Find a good place to PUT it!

Maybe Qian Cao Peak? Or could she connect it to to the Ling Xi to take advantage of the natural Qi and protection the mountain itself gives? She would need permission either way... she should draft a consultation request...

All this? As the immortal conference gets closer and closer. Fate LOOMS.

Only to slide wildly off the rails, as she get approved by THE SECT LEADER to make her "Anti-Qi-Deviation Realm" in the Ling Xi Caves as her final project. Her Master Work as an Inner Disciple, as it were, Proof of studies and skill. All HE saw was "anti-Qi-deviation" and thought "this could totally help Xiao-Jiu". Immediately gave the go ahead.

(And as for Lui Qinggi? This is NOT a new idea of hers. She'd long gotten Mu Qingfang on board. What luck, for EVERONE involved, he was in the caves that day. Once again looking for a good place to anchor the realm, for a maximum effect to ease of access ratio.)

She anchors the Realm. Starts planting like mad. Transferring her legendary Soothing Plants and Soothing Trees. Constructing a few buildings in accordance to the feng shui MASTER she hunted down and consulted. Requests Shen-shibo himself come and be in charge of paintings and other decorations, as he IS the master of the scholars peak.

(And most at risk of a Lords or a Qi Deviation. So would be a splendid test case.)

(Is what she does not say...)

(But they are both aware of anyway.)

And? Shen Jiu? Has... never felt so calm and safe in his LIFE. Unnatural! Doesn't like it. Disgusting. What coddling nonsense! He's never going... going... to go... *stands at the entrance and glares, like the realm personally offended him* *carefully inches back inside like an abused cat*

He stops paying attention to his peak almost immediately. Yes, he does his job. But... his brain is no longer wrapped up in it. Obsessive over it. Constantly comparing and jealous and spiteful. Don't get him wrong! He's still a petty, spiteful, bitch of a man. But...

True, restful sleep? Changes a man. The complete lack of constant minor Qi Deviations, like mini-seizures, in the night. Throughout the day. Constantly wearing him down, tearing him down. Exhausting him and hurting. That... gentleness. Calm. Escape from pain, which he has lived with for so, so long.

What was he doing? Comparing himself to brats?

Being jealous of and competitive of tiny little IDIOTS. They're morons! He's a Peak Lord. He's WON.

He starts ignoring Bingge. Noticing things he'd overlooked before, in his exhaustion. Like the fact that his daughter is, apparently, very susceptible to rumor mongering and not AWARE she is just and ONLY his daughter. (Ying-er, sweetie, Baba loves you... but sometimes you make him very tired...) (also it will be a cold day in hell, when he allows to to marry that little cretin. Chose better.)

Oc? Getting SLOSHED with Mu-shibo! WOOOOO~☆ we DID IT!!! The Realm was a SUCCESS! We're GENIUSES! We can't wait to see how this develops!!! *celebrating noises*

Immortal Conference, happens. SI-OC? Just graduated. Missed it. Meh... it should be fine. Still... here, kiddos. Her backlog of Talismans and pouches. Never know when that might be useful! Oh, hey, Creepy I mean, that Kid from Qing Jing who thankfully hasn't killed anybody yet! Still got the Weirdly Intense Eye Contact, I see! You all packed?

....that's... a little light.

Here, Talismans and Pouches, just like the kids from her Peak. Stay safe, okay? There's food and water in there. Medicine too. Some emergency blankets. Flares and stuff. Don't hesitate to use um. They are made to be used. Everybody be good!

And remember! This conference isn't worth your life!

[♡Luo Binghe Will Remember This♡]

W...why do I hear jaws music? Hello? Helloooo?

Cause like? Shen Jiu? Doesn't throw him in. He's too busy saving students he Actually Cares About. You know... like a RESPONSIBLE Peak Lord. But does that STOP fate? Ha! No. Down Binghe goes! With a bunch of pouches he begged of Talisman Peak disciples who were dropping out. Since... they didn't need them... *puppy dog eyes* c-could he steal borrow them?

He ends up in the Abyss with a small warehouse of supplies. Which is GREAT! Will get him through this hellscape!

Assuming he can protect it.

Every meal. Every night of sleep where he DOESNT have to twitch at every sound, thanks to the talisman arrays. Every drop of clean water. Scrap of medicine. It's a reminder of the One(1) Sister who was nice to him at no cost. Didn't want to fuck him, use him, in some way. Have him a part, like some sort of emotional crutch. Was just... kind. For the sake of kindness.

Saw him, not the mask he wore, and recognized he'd be strong. (Why else would she look so wary?) And he wants and wants and Wants AND WANTS.

Aren't I strong, now, Shixiong? Aren't you so very proud of me? Look how powerful Luo Binghe has become! I came back for you. Brought back the things you gave me. A little stained, but that's okay. We can make new ones. Can finally move on. No more Cang Qiong. Isn't it great? Tell me it's GREAT, Shixiong.

Please stop running. Or I'll have to burn the mountain down.

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hdgnj @spidori @leftnotright

[plumprussianpiglets]

The Legend of Neesan

Liam Neeson  (Neesan) was a sensitive soul. A man blessed with a native irish accent, unfortunately sounding like a cheap rasping third rate imitation. You see, it was not poor Neesan’s fault that he could not muster his own sweet brogue. Neesan felt himself severing from the spirit of the emerald Isles, and had grown nervous and scared to speak his native tongue. Imbued with insecurity, he spent weeks wrapped in a duvet sobbing and watching classis irish films like... Anyway. He spent this time morose, yet contemplative. He wracked his mind for the answer, his thought plagued with nothing else. 

One night while warming some hot milk, he got it. A voicebox. Neesan cackled gleefully as he pondered his scheme, how those critics would fall to their knees with prostration of error. He sent his minions at once to work, to fetch him his prized career saving auditory gold. His minions were sent to only the finest larynx outfitters, but they spent all of poor Neeson’s money on crack and got him some voice boxes from the car boot sale. You see, it began with Mandela. Mandela had always rejected Neeson, sexually and spiritually, finding him to be, in Mandela's words not mine, 'the most repugnant shit in the entire world', but Neeson had viewed Mandela as a tough nut to crack, a tease, a flirt. Neeson knew Mandela wanted it, Mandela just wasn't aware of it yet. Neeson had hit that sexy apartheid fighting slut with all his most sensual of charms. He couldn't understand why his smile seemed to have no positive effect on Mandela, infact, Neeson recalled how Mandela had promptly expelled fluids from both ends repeatedly and with a stench straight from hell to accompany. Neeson just didnt understand. He gazed like a proud gazelle into the distance, hungry for the truth searching for answers with every thought that pulsated through him, pondering the complexity and decisiveness of the situation, the mystery that was Mandela. 

Neeson vowed he'd have Mandela- he wasn't used to being rejected like this. Plus as we all know, Neeson has had designs on South Africa since he aligned with Gillette and time travelled with dire consequences (see Volume 4: origin of the smile) so Mandela was a target he couldn't ignore. Plus that tight little ass on him made Neeson froth at the mouth and howl like an angry weasel into the moon's depths. Neeson had a plan. Knowing he could trust his beloved minions with his business given their intense psychological fear of him, he sent them out to find a south african voice box. 'Get a south african voice box from the same series the others came in, whatever boxset it was, those others are simply divine minions, simply divine.' His minions glanced at eachother, their faces ones of sheer disbelief, an expression almost permanently fixed on these poor minions mugs ever since coming into Neeson's employment. His minions watched as he swarthed around in his robes, preening and changing his voice boxes. 'God, i'm gorgeous' he mused as he caught his smiling face in the mirror. The mirror proceeded to crack and shatter, and with that his minions ran off into the night before Neeson's cries enveloped them. After all, they had some crack and a budget south african voice box to buy. 

Neeson paced his halls, thinking of his conquest of Mandela. A maniacal laugh escaped his lips as he trembled with glee, shaking and snorting and howling he didnt notice his robes getting caught on his hot wheels set and promptly fell down his sixty story staircase shrieking. Neeson wasn't having a good day. Soon he'd make Mandela his though, he thought grinning, the blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. He knew the voice box would be the key, that sultry, sensual, sexy south African drawl... his cock hardened just thinking about it, he knew it was the final piece of the Mandela puzzle, and he, Liam Neeson's acquisition of further power! Curling up like a snake, he dozed off where he had landed on the floor, snoring and drooling and murmering about Mandela's tight asshole as he slumbered. 

The morning came, and with it brought the influx of minions, spent from their crack binge and with a shitty cracked pirate south african voice box in tow.

 'He'll never know the difference, Neeson's eyes aint too sharp anymore after his stint in Iraq you know...' a minion laughed , pushing open the door, only to be met with the sight of Neeson lying on the ground, pools of sticky crimson surrounding him. 

'NEESONS DEED MATE! HES FUCKIN DEED! SOUND OUT THE BELLS, PRAISE ONE OR MORE OF YOUR GODS LADS, THE TYRANT HAS FALLEN!' the minions celebrated and cheered, embracing one another and crying with joy. Neeson's reign was over! Amongst the happy chatter though, they didn't hear the light breathing... Neeson was listening. His lips curved menacingly as he began to smile, a small laugh escaping him. 'G-g-guys? Can you... can you feel that?... the air just... changed. I can feel an icy coldness in my bones... Its almost as though pure evil just walked into the room... Like the devil himsel- OH FUCK ITS NEESON! NEESONS ALIVE!' 

Neeson has locked eyes with the minion, smiling as he did, and like a viper, he jumped effortlessly into stance. 

'Well well WELL boys, celebrating my death were we? Planning on getting a nice big cake? A celebratory pie binge at Mrs Miggin's Cafe? A communal nineway to truly set the news off with a bang? Hurhurhurhurur...' Neeson glared at his minions, laughing hysterically, his head thrown back in manic shoulder heaving guffaws. 

His minions looked at one another uneasily. They knew what Neeson could do. One Minion, Meen-yon, smiled to himself quietly. He'd kept himself at the back of the troop, but now came forward to meet Neeson eye to eye. 

'You're all washed up Neeson! We've got the youth and the ninja skills to take you down old man. There's only one of you, and nine of us, I don't like those odds for you Neeson. Perhaps my courage to stand against you will motivate the others to stand alongside me, eternally bound in the quest for noble revenge, I will avenge the souls you have wronged NEEEEEEEEESAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!' Neeson pinged the cuban cigar he had acquired from nowhere.

 'FUCKINNNN MOAAAANNNNN THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!' he shrieked, and with that, double back-flipped the entire length of the sixty story flight of stairs in one swift swoop. 

'My god, are the legends true!? He's a demon, a demon!' screamed one of Neeson's crack addled minions. 

'OH. YOU'RE NOT WRONG THERE.' came a booming tone from the darkness. 

The minions eyes darted around... Neeson could be anywhere in the inky darkness that stretched out seemingly for miles before them, Swallowing hard, the ballsy minion that confronted Neeson cautiously moved forward.

 'You're done for ya auld git. let the new blood take over the power of the Smile! You're nothing but a husk Neeson, A HUS-’ 

‘AAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!' Neeson shot down from the impenetrable darkness and engulfed the minion in his cloak, as he swooped upwards once more, an audible crack was heard as the minions neck broke under Neeson's strength. 

'MUWHUAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHWAHWHHWEHWEHEHWHAHHHEWHEHWEHHH' echoed around the dark hall. 'Come little minions, I've got a date with Mandela and this is taking up my beautifying time, LETS END THIS NOW!' And with a final lunge from the upstairs chandelier, Neeson descended 100 feet in as many microseconds, swirling in a vortex of Neeson Power.

 'ILL SHOW YOU WHAT THIS OLD MAN CAN DO, BOAYZ!' And with that, Neeson was unleashed. Grabbing as many minions as he could at once by the hair, he emulated his favourite fighter with a hammerthrow takedown. Dear Agatha Trunchbull. He grabbed at any hair he could, and with his intense Neeson-strength began spinning at lightspeed, becoming nothing but a blur of a smile and a wink as his minions flew around, screaming as their hair pulled at the roots, leaving bloodied clumping masses on the floor, the scarlet fluid cascading everywhere as no features other than Neeson's smile could be distinguished in the swirling chaos, only the blood spatters that stained the surrounding area were visible. 

'I CALL THIS ONE THE MATILDA FUCKER LADS!' he cackled as he sent them crashing through the walls of his fortress, dead on impact with the force of hitting the stone. Blood seeped down Neeson's face as he cackled, hands filled with two thirds of his minions hair. He laughed as the balding corpses lay twitching, wishing to butter their heads, but now was not the time. He adjusted his leather coat and shades inexplicably acquired in the fighting process and spun round, searching for the voice box amongst the fallen. 

'Not so fast, Neeson.' Neeson's heart skipped a beat. All his minions were eliminated, were they not? And he was really going to have to quicken pace if he wanted time for his seaweed mud mask to take effect. Sighing, Neeson swiveled his head around 360 degrees with a horrific snap to meet the face of his foe. The minion that had given him the auld cheek stood before him, dangling the voice box in front of neeson and sucking hard on his crack pipe like he was the only choirboy in the vatican.

 'Looking for this, Neeson? Its your only method of getting Mandela getting hooked on your cock... I know all about your plans you idiot, you would tell us all, loudly and proudly about your evil schemes. Guess that's coming to bite you on your decrepit old ass now huh Neeson. I wonder what would happen if I just...-' before Neeson could spring into action, his natural cat like agility in full swing, the minion spewed out his own voice box and quick as a flash, inserted Neeson's only South African voice box deep into his larynx. An explosion of purple smoke enveloped the two at that time, the wind howled and Neeson could, if he was not mistaken, detect some ominous string section, which meant evil was afoot, of course. The smoke cleared slowly, Neeson had been thrown off his feet into a nearby painting of himself. 

'I am a GOD' he thought as he emerged from his behind his ripped canvas smile. 

'YOU GIVE ME THAT VOICE BOX BACK, REGARDLESS, ITS THE END FOR YOU, BOY, MY IRISH CHARMS CAN STUN A MAN AT FIFTY PACES-' 

'FUCK AFFF NEESON! FUCK AFFFFF! THE SOUTH AFRICAN VOAAAWCEE BOAAAXXX HAS GIVEN ME THE POWERS I NEED TO DESTROY YOU ONCE AND FOR ALL!' Neeson casually lit up the minions crack pipe, and with a bow of his head uttered, 'Lets do it, ya jive ass MUTHAFUCCKAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' The two launched themselves at eachother with a ferocity only seen in the finest of gay pornographic films. Neeson flung the crack pipe expertly at the minion, severing his left ear in one swift strike. 'That was a truly CRACK-ing shot wasn't it?' Neeson howled to himself, tears streaming down his face. The minion clawed at the floor, pulling himself up with a roar. 

'I WONT LET YOU WIN NEESON, FUCK AFFFFFFFFF!' and with a leap, proceeded to downwards headbutt Neeson. 'Oh you fool!' shrieked Neeson mirthily. 'You forget, us Neeson's are made of stone after all!' the minions skull cracked instantaneously upon impact, sending a spike of pain throughout his entire body. His face contorted, teeth shattered, blood staining every pore, he lay on the ground next to Neeson catching his breath. Was Neeson truly unstoppable? No, he couldnt be... But his power, his skill, his strength, his overpowered nature... Could it be... COULD IT BE NEESON WAS... IMMORTAL!?!?' With a wink, Neeson, cloaked in all his full glory bend down over his mangled minion. A fire burned in his eyes, and with one swift motion proceeded to shove his fist into the minions mouth and dislodge the precious South African voice box. Neesons eyes bubbled with tears as he swallowed the device, contemplating his final acquistion of Mandela. His vanity got the better of him as he preened and swooned at the prospect. 

'Naoowww minion, how do I sound? Shexehh baybeeh?' 

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NEESON, NEESON IT SOUNDS... IT SOUNDS TERRIBLE, MY EARS BLEED, PLEASE GOD WHY, WHY WOULD SUCH A CREATURE EXIST TO MASSACRE ACCENTS THE WAY HE DOES, NEESON, NEESON YOU ARE... TRULY EVIL!' the minion writhed on the floor, the sound unbearable. Neeson's face dropped as he stifled a small cry. 'How... dare. you.' Neeson shook with rage. The half dead minion could see something swelling up inside of him, an attack so potent, so powerful, he would surely destroy everything in the surrounding area. His face contorted, smoke shot from his eyes as his entire body became framed with a firey ring. 'Say goodbye, minion' and in that instance, Neeson shot out a smile so warped, so vile, so disgusting and hideous, the enitre room sighed 'NEESON' in hushed demonic tones. A shadow erupted from his hingin' agape mouth and swirled around Neeson, protecting him so the Smile could do its work. The minion shrieked in horror as he witnessed Neeson's smile contort and twist in ways he had never seen before. His entire body felt stiff, and as Neeson continued to grin like a broken madman, the minion turned to stone. Neeson continued to smile to himself, marvelling at his fine work. And with a last look at himself in the mirror, went to find Mandela to turn on the old Neeson charm.

[autumnpawtribe]

The Spirit of the Greatmother

The fire was set up inside the little hut Jocamo kept now outside Dazar'alor.  It was the home of their ancestor's nativity and close enough to Bwonsamdi's realm that she might come more willingly than in the Echo Isles or Hillsbrad.  She had connection to this land and was a staunch worshiper of the Loa of Graves.  The ritual was Uncle Jack's idea, since he had no earthly clue where the artifact had gone.  The questioning of the heretical abbess and her abomination of a minion was fruitless.  The artifact had not been in the old Shaman's belongings either after her death.  None of the errant and living children of the Old Oracle apparently had it either.  It was needed now, the last time it was seen having been when Vahari's daughter Ki'la had been given her name. 

What they sought was the book that held the names of the old Farseer's descendants, and the rituals for naming, dedication and death in the old ways.  With a new infant in the family, it was needed once again and mysteriously disappeared after Ki'la's naming and Han'dali's death.

Kit and Jocamo had set up the bowls and incense, Hari had brought the sacrifice, which no one said anything about nor questioned.  Reshka had been tasked with gathering wood and Vol'raka with the words needed and the sacrifice itself..  He'd spent too long with elves, pandaren, and others.  He needed to remember that he was a troll and all that entailed.  He had left Tiny with Xiao for the day and told him to not ask questions when he returned.  There was no room for argument in Vol'raka's voice when he left.

The flesh that was in the bowl smelled heavily of dwarf.  The Dark Iron Male struggled little when Vahari did what she did best.  It knew nothing of its death and probably only remembered the moments before it was taken from Boralus.  Vahari's knowledge of a clean death and quick kill was useful in many circumstances.  She claimed it meant the meat was not sour when she would take the body back to the Echo Isles for her family that evening.  “Fear makes it taste off.”

The wood smelled sweet and Kit praised Reshka for what was chosen.  She'd learned well in seeing rituals to call spirits before and had picked that which would smell sweetest and call out the old Farseer from the Other Side.  Kit'raka's herbs were sweet as they filled the air, set off and flavored by the salt of the Great and South Seas.  All things had been chosen to call more than one spirit, though not everyone wanted speak to one that they would call upon.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

"Farseer Azu'lana.  Servant of Bwondsamdi and Oracle of Nyx.  We seek you for your knowledge.  I, your grandson Vol'raka Raptorblood, Vol'raka Shadow's Son, ask that you come."

The big troll was bowed low beside the fire, arms forward and head to the bare floor.  His war paint was gone, replaced by ash bound by the blood of their dwarven sacrifice.  His chest was bare, and his kilt one he had not worn in a long time, since he had last led a true ritual to send his father to Bwonsamdi's care.  His words were a true song, a steady beat and soft dance of tongues as he spoke, the language he had been raised to speak.  He'd coached his cousin heavily to make sure her accent was not too terribly off.  They didn’t need to annoy or call some spirit she didn't quite mean to. 

"Greatmother Azu.  We seek you for your wisdom.  I, your granddaughter, Iresh'ka Daughter of Rhunak'hor, ask you to come to guide my cousin." As the Mag'har girl knelt, she kept her arms tucked up next to her chest,  palms down and head bowed against the ground.  She had Vahari braid Star Moss into her hair, the earthy smell mingling with the smoke that was thick in the air, adding to the scent of the herb that Kit'raka had provided.  

Vahari knelt with her arms out, letting the heat of the fire lick her hands.  She relished in the feeling of pain along her skin and let the feeling flow into her words.  She had called spirits many times before, just not these three in particular.  "Father, Un'lai Shadowsear.  We seek you for your guidance and the benefit your granddaughters.  I, your daughter, Vahari Hearteater, daughter of Han'dali, Ask you to come "

Kit'raka's head was bowed, but not low.  Her eyes were closed and the elements came to her with her part of the song.  Fire and water danced in her hands, earth swirling before her, wind teasing along her long braided blue-black hair. 

"Azu'lana, daughter of Saren of the Zandalari.  We seek you for your power, that which you gifted your blood.  I, your daughter, Kit'raka, born of the Redwalker, I ask you to come."

"Sister, Handali.  We seek you for your stubbornness.  I, your brother Jocamo of the Raptari, Son of Azu'lana, demand you come."  Jocamo stared into the fire, the flames dancing in his amber eyes.  He had no fear and could demand that his twin came.  They were blood bound to Bwonsamdi at birth, though he had left the teachings of Death for that of the Master of Shapes.  He had told his sister and niblings quite plainly that he would ‘make the old bitch do as she was told for once’.

The flames danced and turned grey slowly, the song now taken over by spirits. 

The five that surrounded the fire sat up, Hari and Reshka’s job to maintain the beat of the song until the trinity of spirits came.  Intent on learning, the orc watched her cannibal cousin as Hari helped her maintain the pitch and tone that the old language was based upon.  

The three that came forward were as far apart in demeanor as could be.  The male troll, small and obviously Darkspear was grinning brightly as he sat between his son and daughter  his head was bald and he looked only barely older than his youngest son, green skin once again unmarred by the ravages of shadow that had taken his life.   “Someone got laid….  Cute kid, Little Raka. Takes after her grandfather, I can tell.”

His wife materialized between her brother and sister with the most sour look on her face, glaring at Jocamo as her grass green and sun-gold hair flowed down in a loose river over her back.  She sat between her brother and sister, arms crossed and pouting.  “Shut up, Un’lai.  That abominable spawn does not deserve that sweet girl.  If I didn't know better..”

“Say nothing, Han’dali.  You will regret any words of negativity or hate against anyone in this circle.  Your brother called you in peace, do not break that peace.” The old farseer smiled as she materialized above the fire and floated to settle between her adopted granddaughter and her giant of a grandson.  “They mean you no harm, so neither should you mean them any.  No sense in being a bitch, daughter.”  Azu’lana smiled, her younger image gazing between those who had gathered.  This woman was Zandalari born and bred.  Tall, thin and not quite willowy, with blue-gray fingers that ran through spiked up bright violet hair, the amber eyes that all of her children and grandchildren had inherited giving the full effect of her smile.  All of them knew to trust, but be wary of the farseer.  Grandmother or not, her wrath was terrible when crossed.  Vol had sincerely hoped that she would be able to help them.  The command she seemed to have still reassured him greatly.

“Now.  Business, I have no intention of being in the mortal world more than I need to.  Tell us what you seek, we will tell you what you wish to know.” “Within the bounds!  I mean, yeah just because Vol got himself a peice of Zandalari ass…”  Un’lai nearly cackled to himself.  “Thre are rules, you know the rules of calling.  We can only do so much, ya know.”

“By the ancestors, Un’lai!”  Han’dali looked appalled and swatted at her husband with a spectral hand.  “You will corrupt Little Iresh’ka with your filth!  She does not need to hear about your disgusting proclivities.”

“Azu!  Are you sure this one was not raised by elves, I was saddled with frigidity…”  Un’lai scowled, not something he usually did.  “Of all your daughters, you gave me this one.”

The Mag’har woman just rolled her eyes as Jocamo and Kit laughed at their sister and her husband's continued bickering.  It was well known that Un’lai had wanted another and would have waited for the younger daughter, but the mating had been dictated by a Loa and would not be undone.  Everyone knew who that younger daughter was Kit’raka.  

“Oh shut up, Dali.  She is not little ANYTHING.”  Kit smiled at the half-orc girl and then looked back at the spirit of her older sister.  “Trust me, She’s got a mate, Un’lai is the least of the corruptions.  Of all trolls, you act most like a passionless human.  How you two produced seven children, I will never know.  For right now, can you two both please focus on the here and now, not whose cock is fuckin who or what?”

The spirit of Han’dali went to open her mouth before she was silenced by her mother’s sharp tongue.  “Not another word from you, Han’dali.  I told you plainly.  I do not wish to be here.  Say no more unless a question or task is asked of you.”  The spectral druid looked away, shaman and shadow priest actually turning to business.  “Speak your request, children.  I will not give you much time for this.”

“Your book is missing.”  Reshka blurted out the words, the spirits turning to look at the little mag’har girl.  Her hands went to her mouth, covering them up as if she knew she would be in trouble.  Jack shook his head right along with Azu’lana’s, Un’lai and his children stifling laughter.  Kit’s shoulders were shaking with holding back her own giggles.  The girl scowled, looking between all the trolls that she had know for her teen years.  “I’m.. “

“She’s as impetuous and impulsive as her mother, that hot little Sin’dorei.  If only my brother had not snapped her up first.  Should have taken more than one wife….”  Reshka turned red with fury, Azu’lana’s gaze at the shadow priest’s apparition.  “Don’t look at me like that.  She has an ass that won’t quit.”

Reshka’s face kept the scowl as Azu’s voice boomed through the room.  “Enough.  Un’lai.  Silence!  We will forgive the child for her words.  She will say NO MORE!”  The scowl fell from the huntress’s face as she looked away.  Azu’s tone became angry as she turned to the one who began this call to her when she did not wish to be there.  Vol stiffened up and stared his grandmother down hard.  This was his job and it was now at the hard part.

“Speak, Raptorblood.  Make this worth my while.  You have a great granddaughter of mine, and for that I came.  Speak your words, ask your question.”  

“Where is the Book of Rites, written by You as Oracle of Nyx, as Matriarch of our family.  We are in need of the rite of names and dedication.”  His voice was strong and rang out, not demanding outright, but making sure his request was heard and heeded.

Azu’lana smirked, waving her hand dismissively.  “You did not need it for the child’s birth.  You knew those well enough.  They were not OUR traditions, but you made do.”

“I had too little time to track it down.  The ritual used was of her mother’s family.  The child is no longer hers, and it is MY right to name my daughter.  The book is not with your things, No one has seen it since Ki’la was named and I am going to name my daughter properly.  Kit has agreed to help on the day of the ritual, but..”  He sat up straight, looking the old shaman directly in the face.  This was an old woman who respected strength of character, loyalty to the family, especially the ones you choose for yourself.  Excuses were nothing to her, she wanted to know plain and clear what was wanted.  She craved solid things, not honey sweet words.  He knew how to get what he needed from his grandmother, he needed to show he had not forgotten.  

“I will name my Child.  Either she can be named as the rest of her kin, or I will find my own ritual and bind her to her Loa on my own.  Your call, Mama Azu.  She is your great grandchild, and I know how selfish you are over those born of your blood.”

That made the shaman spirit smile brightly.  “Vol’raka still has the spirit he was born with.”  She turned her face to Un’lai and then Han’dali.  “It is your son who took the book from my things.  I task you two to find him.”  

The five living ones in the room blinked as both druid and priest disappeared.  Azu’lana smiled toward her grandchildren, her son and daughter sitting in relaxation. “Now that they are gone and off to do something productive, I will tell you my prophecies.  Vahari, a good choice that shifter.  I expect more great grandsons from him.”  Her gaze rested on Iresh’ka, letting her eyes soften.  “Let no one give you shit over your mother.  She may one day be a good mother to her brood.  She has to find out once again how to be at peace.  One day you may forgive her, but I am not sure you will forgive her your ancestry.”   Finally she settled on her grandson.  The hunter took his height from his grandfather, her amani mate nearly as tall as her gentle giant grandson.  She’d favored the boy, if only the reason being that his mother actively despised him.  “You do not get to keep the book.  Vahari will keep it in her care.  Your brother Alash’zu has the book, he thinks that it is his.  He may have been my apprentice, but he is an idiot.

“Listen all who hear my voice, for I will not speak of it again.  There are to be five that will be called by their own.  Jani, Gonk, Pa’ku, Bwonsamdi and the Shadowhunter will call upon each in turn and in kind.  Some are born, some are not, but all will know who calls their service.  Old ways must be taught.  They must be brought up in that strength.”

Azu’s voice quieted as Han’dali and Un’lai came back, the druid huffy and Un’lai laughing hysterically.  “That idiot took it to the Maelstrom.  He thinks it will be safe and no one else in the family will come looking there.”

Azu sighed loudly, pointing at Kit’raka then to Reshka.  “Like it will be safe there.  You two get to bring my book back.”  Vol and Hari both scowled as Azu spoke, confused as to why Iresh’ka.  “Tomorrow, Kit’raka.  She needs training anyway.  Spirits do not come as well as they should for her and only being a wolf is not enough.”

With that, all three phantoms disappeared,  Vol’raka and Vahari eyeballed between Kit and Reshka.  The older female smiled and stood.  “Just because she's elf doesn’t mean she didn’t inherit shit from her father too.  Someone found their latent ability to call elements.  I’ve been lax in finding her a teacher, guess its my time to teach you how to be a Shaman, huh kid?”