Date: January 26, 2000 (Aether: December 6, 3905)
Place: Sylvan Glen - Forest
Cast: Aine, Gliding-Eagle, SnowBreath
Scene: Visitors from Delphi are staying among the Ettowealona for a time, including an Atlantean shaper-mage named Aine. One morning, she and the tribe's venerable shaman engage in a theological debate and discuss the proper place for each race.

Sylvan Glen - Forest:
      The serene beauty of this forest glen would seem to have been crafted by the loving hand of a beneficent deity. A natural amphitheatre allows for a spoken voice to carry well within its confines, but leaves it muted to the outside world. In the depths of winter this area becomes a smooth bowl of sparkling white, but by summer the graceful curves of the green grassy hill are dotted by the colorful presence of wildflowers. Trees of the thick greenwood surround this placid break in the forest's growth. Knotting and interweaving, they seem to work together to maintain a natural border between woodland and glen. Well past the bottom of the amphitheatre's slope, near the far border of the wood, stands a massive oak tree.
      Its girth is near unspeakable, for it has grown older, and far larger, than any other oak in the forest; only the land's natural sweep in this area would keep it from being seen above the other trees. Majestic in its grandeur, the ancient oak rises from the earth like a symbol of Nature's enduring power and strength. Neither time nor storm would seem capable of felling this titan of the forest. Roots as thick as a grown man's thigh twist and tumble together in an arcane pattern as far across the ground as a house is wide. From this base springs a trunk of legendary proportions; vast and thick, gnarled by age and hard as stone, rising up past the height of three men before the foliage thickens so deeply as to hide the top of the tree within an impenetrable leaf-green mask.

Gliding-Eagle strolls into the glen from the Great Oak, rubbing eyes still tired and bleary.

Up with the dawn and apparently impervious to the chill weather, the Atlantean visitor is already ensconced between two roots of the great Oak in the center of the clearing, a fire burning nearby. She does not huddle to the flames but rather leans back against the frost-touched bark, eyes cast skyward through the bare branches of the tree above.

Gliding-Eagle doesn't notice the Atlantean visitor as he passes directly by her. A night of fitful sleep has muddled his senses. Instead, he makes his way directly for the communal fire-pit, settling himself down on a log and huddling as close to the fire as he can get. It's cold. He looks to the sky, and smiles as he sees a familiar golden shape winging through the clouds.

It is the thump that draws Aine's attention: Gliding-Eagle's butt hitting the bark of the log set nearby and his tired-wobbly stance in his seat. She grins wryly at the man's back and comments softly, "Don't fall in. Its flames may warm... but only if you stay far enough back."

Gliding-Eagle grins as he hears the voice from behind. He turns, a wry smile of his own evident. "I fear the trials of raising a child kept me awake through the night." He chuckles. "Rest I need, but not of the sort that this fire would give me."

Children. Now there is a point of commonalty between herself and this strange Sylvan. Aine smiles brightly, "They are wearying at times, are they not? But I have a trusted nurse for my own... and the boys seem just as content to have her wake with them as I."

It is at this time that SnowBreath, the cold-eyed Shaman chooses to make his entrance. Yes, chooses. He's chosen to enter. Now, you get to wonder if he decided to come out at this time of day, or if he chose to come at this particular moment, when things are as they seem to be at the moment. They say he does that all the time, you know. Of course, they also say that he eats small children and that he can curse you with a look. He's got quite a reputation around here.

That he certainly does. Even the proud and brave Gliding-Eagle is intimidated by the Ettowealona's Shaman. As he sees the foreboding man enter the glen, he leaves off his smiling chatter with Aine to rise and salute the man. "Chinchookma, Shaman SnowBreath," he calls.

Aine leaps to her feet for no person, although she does often rise to greet Many Shadows, that woman having earned her respect many times over. Curiosity, however, does shade her features as she watches Gliding-Eagle's reaction, as well as the actions of other Sylvans nearby. It is from this that the Atlantean decides to at least bow her head to the approaching man, although she offers no particular greeting to him.

The response to Gliding-Eagle's greeting might not seem like what one might expect, but it is how this particular Shaman returns all such greetings. A simple nod, with no trace of, well, anything. That's just how the Shaman is, especially with people who feel the need to single him out of a crowd and yell his name. His eyes, however, stop their tracing across the clearing as they touch upon Aine. A moment's examination, and he moves in that direction, coming into proximity with the Delphic Shaper, and thus Gliding-Eagle as well. "Chookma, Aine of Delphi."

Gliding-Eagle tips his head to the Shaman in a slight bow, and moves towards the tables of food. Morning has come, and it's time to eat. Besides, he thinks, it's best to give the Shaman his space. They say he eats children... And we wouldn't want him growing angry with Gliding-Eagle and harming SwiftFox.

One coral brow rises in surprise at the greeting. But, of course, this man has been hailed as Shaman. Clearly, Many Shadows has spoken with him. "Chinchookma, Shaman." No. She does not presume to use his name. Not this one. The Sylvan syllables fall easily from her tongue -- ease borne from much practice upon her friends within Delphi.

There is a moment, the space of just a few breaths, where SnowBreath conducts an examination of the Atlantean, a sight not often seen inside of the glen. He seems to accept whatever he sees, because his next movement is one that might even be a little welcoming. But just a tiny bit. Even he can't fully ignore the general racism most grow up with. "How long will your stay be, if you know?"

Aine glances down at her hands and the webbing stretched between each finger that shows signs of dehydration and mineral lack -- not that any would be likely to call the ailment by those names. She rubs her palms together slowly. "Another week, perhaps. Little more than that. I cannot leave my duties at Delphi for so long... and I miss my sons."

Only another week? She'll leave before the Celebration, then, which isn't for another two. It will be better that way. SnowBreath adjusts his unusual staff slightly before him, held there from when he crossed the glen, when he used it as a walking stick just like all the rest of the time. "If you need anything until then, do not hesitate to ask." Hey, wait, was that a bit of sympathy in his voice? Well, stranger things have happened

Aine smiles sweetly at the man before her. "My needs, those that can be met, are well served by your tribe, Shaman. I thank you for your hospitality... on behalf of myself, and of Greycloud and Starsong as well. It is good that they can return to Sylvan lands and be so welcomed."

Certain comments spring to mind, at that, about how they would be substantially less welcome in most other tribes, unless they were planning to stay, but the Shaman is a man of restraint -- sometimes too much restraint. "As long as they do not harm the Earth Mother and do not try to corrupt the young ones, forest brothers and sisters are always welcome here, even if they have strayed from our ways for a time." Sounds like he's said that more than once, before.

"Your ways are very narrow, Shaman. Sometimes it does not hurt to see what is beyond them, to understand them better. If you do not look beyond your own path, you cannot know that the one you take is the best.." Aine's expression remains pleasant and polite, her words softly spoken and given to the man before her with deference.

SnowBreath senses: The sea surrounds her, fleeting images of depths that no Sylvan eyes have beheld -- fleeting impressions of cold and pressure. In these depths play two tiny figures -- nothing more than infants, and yet they cavort almost effortlessly in the embrace of the sea. The depths are blue and they darken as if one were sinking deeper -- and yet on second thought it is not the depth which causes the darkness. Shadows hover in the recent past, still clinging to Aine like shreds of seaweed that cling in inky shreds on her skin. The future, too, seems clouded by a darkness brought on by her own needs -- an evil grown out of the past and flourishing in wait.

There are some things the Shaman does, and some things he doesn't do. For example, he does walk around watching people, but he doesn't say much. He does help people with whatever problems they have, but he doesn't always take their sides. Most of all, he doesn't laugh. Except, that's exactly what he does now. A short, punctuating chuckle falls from his lips, allowing a tiny bit of amusement to show on his face. "You tell me that I must look beyond my narrow ways because you notice that they are not the same as yours? To me, that sounds narrow in its own right." Then, becoming more serious, he continues. "My ways are given to me by my gods. Tell me, Aine, what gods other than Greed and Selfishness tell people to live in the city and damage the earth?"

"What gods tell you that difference is damage?" She shrugs. "Haven does not live your ways, true. Neither do you understand Haven's ways, if all you see is destruction. There is much growth of a different sort, within Haven -- growth that no forest god strikes down as being unworthy, for Haven and other cities certainly still stand." Aine's ocean-depth eyes rest on the man before her. "My first world was that of the waves -- a place where all dance together through the ocean's waters in harmony. We live in peace with the creatures there, hunting for our food and harvesting from the great beds of kelp that wave with each passing current. It is not like here." She gestures to the trees, barren of leaf and fruit and the ground burned sere by the cold. "Nor is it like the city, where other creatures have found a completely different sort of harmony with stone, wind and tool. I have my own goddess, and she teaches that all can live in peace in their proper place in the world, and that never is there something that exists that does not have some worth."

The Shaman is totally serious now, his eyes focused totally on Aine. His voice reaches out again, cold and stiff. "Healers and Shamans have sometimes found bad places in people, bad things which grow inside them, and eventually kill them. There is growth in Haven, but is this kind of growth. As Haven grows, it destroys. They fell trees so that there is more room for their filth. They kill animals for no reason other than fun. They kill and dislocate countless amounts of our plant and animal kin, so that a few may fulfill their greed and become smarter or more powerful. I have been in the city, and I have seen how so many are hungry or starving, how mothers and children work dusk till dawn every day so that they can survive. Now tell me, what is there in that city that is good enough to make up for all of its wrong?"

"There is light. There is life. There is growth of a healthy sort. The Grove thrives in the citadel. The Garden grows in the city. What you see is difference. Do you also not suffer from hunger when the hunt goes ill? Do your people not die when attacked without provocation by the creatures of the forest? There is a world that thrives in the streets of Haven, and it is as strange and different to this world as this world is to the world under the waves, and to the city of the Empyreans in the sky, and the Varati underground. Those that created us made us each with our own nature. One to live in the forest, one the stones and fire, one the waves, one the skies. One the cities." Aine gestures with each naming, as if a great god were plucking people from a pot and placing each where they need to go. "Your place is clearly in the forests, as mine is clearly not." She smiles wistfully and gestures with a hand where the webbing shows obvious signs of impending damage from the chill and the dry air. "Why do you deny others their proper place? You are not a god. If they feel that the city should not exist, can they not remove it from the face of this earth of their own powers? And yet it continues to grow. Maybe your place should be to go there and to teach those of the city how to grow in better harmony with the lands, rather than to destroy it completely."

Of all the phrases Aine could have chosen, the words 'You are not a god' are some of the worst. "You assume that you understand too much, Aine. But those in Haven were not placed there by any god. Nor do you understand how the gods work their ways. If they wish to live on the land, our ways are best. If they wish to live in the seas, your people's ways are best. If they wish to live below the surface, the Varati's ways are undoubtedly best. And if they wish to live in the sky, then the Empyreans have a city in the sky. But the city is there only because they destroyed what once was. If they wish to live in harmony with the land, they will have to remove their city. Groves and gardens are simply lies and hiding places, made by people."

Aine shakes her head. "And does not fire sometimes destroy the land so that something new may grow there?"

"Fire removes the old so that its young may grow. When fire takes the trees, their children rise from the ground quicker than before. What was there before returns, like the seasons we must weather. After death, there is life. After life, there is death. But it is the same life, the same death...." And then, in the manner of things, something happens. SnowBreath trails off, and his eyes quickly dilate, his rigid expression slipping away.

Aine presses her palms together, ready to continue her argument, but it is the Sylvan's expression that halts her. The look of one lost in Sight is not unfamiliar and so she stays her argument, knowing it would likely fall on deaf ears and leaves the Shaman to his own vision in silence.

After a few moments, he shakes his head and looks back up. The look on his face is plain to see, and he doesn't look too happy. Rather annoyed, perhaps a bit disgruntled. Then, that's swallowed back up by his shell. Casting his gaze on Aine once again, SnowBreath asks one question, acting as if what just happened never did. "Tell me Aine, have you ever spoken to Many Shadows about the city? Ask her to tell you how the earth feels about the city upon it."

Aine lifts her chin. "Many Shadows and I have spoken often, Shaman. Never once has she told me the earth screams for release. Instead, we spoke of what it might bear... how more of the forest might be returned to live with the city in harmony once more, much as the maze and grove within Delphi's walls."

Well, differences in philosophy aren't all that unusual a thing among the Sylvans. "While I might like to attempt further to convince you, I must now retreat. I'm sure you're well aware what a vision looks like, so you'll understand." This the Shaman says, and then turns, his staff lifting to aid him, hiding any signs of weakness.

The Atlantean's expression doesn't change a hair. She nods once and quietly wishes the elderly Sylvan a farewell, "Pasiphae's blessings on you, Shaman, and that of your gods."

FIN  

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