Somewhere in the Hunting Grounds

some mood music

There is darkness.

Somewhere, incense is burning. Somewhere, a rattle is being shaken, and holy chanting calls to the spirits to aid in his recovery. Somewhere, herbs are being pressed against his battered form, and soothing oils applied to his broken collarbone. Somewhere the pain is fading.

But it all seems so very far away. Charging Bear sinks into darkness for a time.

Sensation returns. Charing Bear feels stiff and sore, as if he's been laying in one spot for many days. He finds himself in a round hole beneath the ground. On the walls are colorful woven tapestries, depicting the Four Colors of the World--red to the east, yellow to the south, black to the west, and white to the north. He finds himself on a woven green rug. Above, a dome made of stitched hides and wood catches the steam rising from a circle of hot coals in the center of the pit.

Crouching by the ring of coals is a man wrapped in a coyote skin, his head hidden beneath the fur cloak. Pouches, feathers, beads and other things hang off of him. Next to him lie a flute, a carved stick decorated with feathers, a long pipe, and a bucket with a ladle. He's chanting softly to himself and shaking a rattle, watching Charging Bear come to.

It's stiflingly hot in here. As the native son watches, the fur-wrapped figure grabs the ladle and drips water on to the coals, sending up a fresh gout of steam. How he hasn't passed out by now, wrapped in all those skins, defies understanding.

The coyote head tilts in his direction, and the chant stops. He sets the rattle down and picks up the carved stick.

"Well?" The figure asks, expectantly.

((OOC: CB is now at full health. LaD had to spend four chips to get you to this point, so be grateful...as long as you can stand his presence ;) .))

"Thank you." Charging Bear manages to croak out as he slowly sits up, and his body objects such action. His eyes adjust to the dim light as he glances around the room he finds himself in, though his eyes never stray more than a few seconds from the Coyote wrapped shaman before him.

"hehhehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahaaaa!" The coyote-wrapped shaman cackles. "SMART! And so polite, too. It's refreshing. Last person here was a rather rude white man." He half walks, half hops over the native son's bedside. He offers a hand up.

"So. Here we are." He says.

There's a long pause, as if he expects Charging Bear to speak.

But just when the native son opens his mouth, the shaman speaks again. "You owe me a favor, you know. I wasn't supposed to get involved. I just hate seeing Raven win, and Raven's annoying cousin Shrike was giving you quite the bashing. And he's done you so much harm already. It did not seem...fair."

He begins to laugh again. "hehhehhehhehHAAAAAA! As if I've cared what was fair or not before. Still. Not pleasant to watch, and not right to do nothing. So here you are."

"Itza-Chu doesn't know the meaning of fair, shaman."

"Shrike... " Charging Bear mutters as though he doesn't quite grasp what the strange shaman has said. "The little bird that impales its meals? Grandfather used to say that most everything had a spirit, but I never thought he meant it quite that literally."

"Will you call in this favor now?"

"hehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahe!" The shaman cackles. "You don't know half of it! Crying Hawk doesn't just cheat, he cheats big. Do you know what makes him so impossible to kill? He stole your name. He stole it from you, offered it to Shrike, and then went about wiping up all kinds of shit with it for fun."

He cackles again. "Smart! That's the one! Your grandfather was a wise man. I met him once, but he was Wakan Tanka's, and I have no quarrel with Buffalo, so I did not try to annoy him overmuch. Anyhow, smart, smart man. Knew the ways of the land well."

The coyote head nods so fast that it's a wonder the hood doesn't fly off. "Heeheeheehee! So smart! Your grandfather would be proud. But do not worry...it's a favor to both of us. I want you to steal your name back from Shrike."

A slight look of sadness falls over Charging Bear as Coyote speaks of his grandfather. He looks at the small worn out doll hanging around his neck and a frown forms his lips. "He was very wise." The native son slips the doll back under his tattered shirt.

He shakes his head slightly before he looks back to the shaman as though to dispel the melancholy that was coming upon him. His eyes now a little harder than they were. "I will have my name back, but I have to ask ... how did he steal my name in the first place? I thought name were tied to things or person, and it was rather difficult to take or change them."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:01, Wed 23 May 2012.

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" The shaman says. "But it is no real trick to borrow a name and use it, especially among those who would not know or care the difference. He started small, borrowing your name for use among the white men so they would not know his real one. The white men call this an alias. He used this alias to shield himself, to have another blamed for his misdeeds. Then he killed someone who knew you both...and did so while convincing the victim he was you."

He sighs. "That was when the true theft occurred. It was when the spirits themselves began to make the same mistake. It did not gain power until he offered it to Shrike in ritual, who stole it away to her larder. From then on, he could do many, many ills, and the curse of them would fall on you, instead. It turned the spirits against that name, drove them away so they would not help. I know it was Crying Hawk, not Charging Bear, who attacked the woman Rose and tried to violate her so. I know this because I have had practice using other names, voices, and skins to conceal my own pranks. But the other spirits were quite fooled."