Somewhere in the desert sands of Calimshan lay a small oasis, hidden by the huge rolling dunes surrounding it. All around the spot tents had been set up, and dragonborn men, women, and children moved among them, going about the business of their daily lives as nomads of the desert. But one in particular moved with a kind of purpose to her step, a determination in her eyes.
"Rissa!"
As her sandy-brown dragonish head turned sharply, the pale gold eyes spotted a flash of a darker brownish color against the sand, hurtling towards her legs. Then she felt something slam into her.
"Don't gooooo!" wailed the dragonborn child, attaching herself to the left ankle of her elder.
LaRissa av Dian allowed the child an indulgent smile, patting her on the head while at the same time somehow managing to disentangle herself from the iron grip. Squatting down, she put herself on eye level with the younger dragonborn. "But I must, hatchling," she replied affectionately. "If I am to become a great shaman as is NeTani av Serah, and protect the people when he is gone. Don't you want your big sister to protect you?" she teased.
"Of course" Rissa's sister whimpered, her eyes beginning to turn liquid. "I'll be good… You can go on your spirit journey… But please protect me from the genasi, Sister."
Rissa sighed. She hadn't meant to scare the young one. "LaBari av Kint," she used her sister's full name seriously, then softened as the young hatchling gazed back at her with innocent eyes. "I've always protected you. And I always will. I promise.
"Now, run along, Bari. I must meet with NeTani and Father for the ceremony" The child dashed off, happily forgetting her fears as children often do when there is play at hand.
"Wait for me, Kami!" her cry faded into the distance.
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As she waited outside the shaman's tent for the guards to announce her, Rissa could feel the desert sun radiating off her scales, making little heat waves next to her body. Being used to living in the desert made the heat a bit more bearable… but only a little.
The guard returned from inside the tent, and silently signaled for her to enter. As she did, she could feel a tangible difference between the heat outside and the cooler inside of the shady tent.
The tent was roomy inside; when they had had visiting humans, when Rissa was much younger, they always seemed surprised at how large the dragonborns' tents were. Apparently their nomads built smaller tents, with a circular base and a point at the top, only large enough to sleep a couple of people, at most. The tent Rissa was currently in (and the others in the mobile village that was the dragonborn's home) was large enough to hold an entire family, great-grandparents down to great-grandchildren. In fact, this one was usually home to the Ne family. But the only member of that family currently present was NeTani av Serah, the village shaman and Rissa's master.
Also present was a large, imposing dragonborn male, wearing a necklace of bones and claws, one of the symbols of the tribe's cheiftain.
"Father," Rissa nodded at him, earning a disapproving frown for her informality.
She swiftly corrected the error, making a deep elaborate bow while addressing him this time as "LaSika av Cef." She hated using his full name, knowing she would one day inherit the honorific title of Cef, which denoted his status as cheiftain. She much preferred the one meaning shaman, or even her current one, which indicated that she was an apprentice – slightly above the Kint, or children, but not as high in status as those having a true title. But she did not wish to rule the tribe, although she unquestionably one day would, when her father joined the great spirits of their ancestors.
Rissa's father nodded approvingly and returned her bow, in a less elaborate form that was a sign of his status above her in the tribal hierarchy.
After she exchanged similar bows and greetings with NeTani, the shaman asked her "Are you ready to begin?"
Nodding, Rissa followed him towards the rear of the tent, where a flat stone was set up with various implements and components of the ritual they were about to perform, one that would grant her the ability to see and hear spirits, and mark the beginning of her spirit journey.
"LaRissa av Dian," her father began gravely, "do you accept the mantle of Serah, the tribe's shaman, and the responsibilities and duties that come with such a title?"
"I do," she asserted in a confident voice as she held out her hand.
The cheiftain grasped his spear in one hand, and her hand in the other. Then he swiftly drew the tip of the spear across her palm, making a line that rapidly welled forth Rissa's blood. The shaman quickly held out a stone bowl to catch the crimson droplets before they could fall to the sandy earth beneath their feet. Rissa's father studied her expression intently, but she allowed no shadow of pain to cross her face.
NeTani av Serah began speaking words of magic as he combined the blood with several other ingredients in the bowl. Then he turned and, dipping his fingers into the mixture, began to paint Rissa's face with lines of scarlet.
Her father continued his part of the ritual, "and do you promise to protect the village of Sandeim for as long as there is breath in your lungs, as long as there is blood in your veins?"
"I do," Rissa almost smiled, thinking of earlier when she had made a similar promise to her sister, Bari.
Tani had finished painting Rissa's face, and now picked up his totem, beginning to shake it all around her, so that the tiny bones attached to it rattled and the feathers fluttered wildly, as he continued his magical vocalizations.
Sika turned to retrieve something from behind him, which Rissa had not noticed was there before. It may have appeared to anyone else to be ordinary leather armor, but Rissa recognized the design stamped into the leather with hot iron. It was her mother's armor, the armor she had died wearing while defending the village just after Bari was hatched. The chieftain turned back to his eldest daughter and began to ceremoniously fasten the armor onto her torso. When he had finished, he stepped back.
"This aid I offer you for your spirit journey," he told her, "The armor of the most honorable warrior, LaMiak av Lesk, and the spear that has helped me through many a battle." With that, he handed her his most prized possession, the self-same spear he had used to slice her palm, another symbol of his rulership over the tribe.
LaRissa was speechless, knowing what belief in her he must have had to present her with such gifts, even if only for the duration of her trials. For if she failed, and died in the desert wilderness, how was she to return them? But the show of confidence was not over, for her teacher stepped forward and offered her his totem.
"This totem I give you as well, my apprentice, my Dian. May it serve you well in your quest of the spirit."
Then they both bowed to her, the bow reserved for one who held equal rank within the tribe. LaRissa av Serah bowed back automatically, for her mind was overwhelmed with thoughts. She had not known her father and her teacher had such confidence in her!
Mechanically, still attempting to keep any flicker of emotion from her face, she turned and left the tent, letting herself be guided by unseen spirits into the open desert, where she would face unknown trials.
"Have we done the right thing, Tani?" Sika asked the shaman when he was sure his daughter was gone. "Will sending her on her spirit journey now save her from what you foresaw?"
"Only time will tell," the old shaman replied. "Only time."
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Rissa trudged through the hot sand, feeling her feet nearly scalding at the touch of it. The sun, although nearing the horizon, was still sweltering, the air was dry, and the wind kept blowing sand into her eyes. It was the fourth day of her spirit journey, and although she had been rationing her water carefully, it was practically gone now. It sloshed loudly in the almost empty waterskin, with every step reminding her of how thirsty she was.
She had already helped several animals on her journey: returning a baby bird to its nest inside a cactus on the first day of her journey, helping an injured rabbit back to its burrow on the second, and offering a spot on her small sun-warmed rock to a rattlesnake in the cold desert night last night. But none of them appeared to be her spirit-guide.
As she reached the top of a dune, Rissa spotted something on the other side. It appeared to be the ruins of some sort of temple or tomb, crumbling but still a shelter no less. The stones of its construction had sat in the scorching sun all day and would give off plenty of heat to warm her cold-blooded body after the fiery orb had set. There would be no hunkering on an undersized rock to keep warm tonight.
She reached the doorway just as the sun began to dip past the top of the nearest sand dune in the west. Sighing with fatigue, she set down her backpack and began to sink to the warm floor. Suddenly, she heard a sound from deeper within the structure. She rose cautiously and moved slowly, quietly towards the sound. Peeking around a corner, Rissa saw what had made the noise – a wounded coyote had been cornered by an enormous scorpion!
The scorpions talon-like feet clicked on the stone floor as it advanced towards its prey. It was easily as large as Rissa, perhaps three times larger than the coyote. Rissa imagined it using those horrible mandibles to devour the poor animal as if it were only a morsel to whet its appetite, then turning on her. As the monster's claw lashed out with a snap towards the coyote, an involuntary gasp slipped from her mouth.
More quickly than she would have thought possible, the creature whirled to face the direction from which the sound had emitted. A sliver of the rapidly diminishing light gleamed off its deep purple carapace. Now that it faced her, Rissa had an even better view of the mandibles, as well as the claws, which now began to crackle with electricity that reminded Rissa of heat lightning.
The spear! Rissa had seen her father use it, and it occasionally flickered with a similar electrical current, wounding his enemies with lightning.
It was her only chance.
Diving out into the open, she threw herself under the scorpion, gave a fearsome warcry, and drove the spear into the soft underbelly of the beast. Lightning crackled down its shaft and onto the creature's body…
…but didn't seem to have any effect. The spear bit into the scorpion's flesh, dripping black blood onto the sandy stone floor, but the lightning simply seemed to play along the outside of its carapace until it faded away. Rissa had no doubt a creature of more intelligence than the scorpion would have been laughing, as it clamped one claw on the spear, yanked the weapon out of its body, and tossed it aside as if it were nothing. She shrank back in fear as she saw the other claw coming towards her as if in slow motion, open wide and crackling with electrical energy.
Suddenly, she heard an earsplitting howl coming from the coyote. Rissa and the giant scorpion both froze in place. Eerily the howl seemed to split into two, then four, then more harmonizing howls than she could count. Materializing around the room were what could only be coyote spirits – larger, translucent versions of the coyotes she was used to seeing. At once they converged on the scorpion, tearing into it with claw and tooth. It was strange to Rissa to be able to see through the claws as they tore through the monster's carapace, drawing more of that horrible, sticky, black blood.
Finally, the monster fell dead.
One by one the spirit coyotes faded from sight, their howls of victory echoing in the distance, until only the wounded coyote was left. But he had transformed. No longer a small, wounded runt of an animal, he had grown larger than any of the others and his wounds seemed to miraculously heal themselves. Now, like the others, he was translucent – Rissa could see the wall of the structure right through him.
Slowly she approached him, eyes downcast. "Thank you, great spirit," she began, "I apologize for my inability to save you from the scorpion, although I realize now it was simply a test, as you had the power to save yourself all along. I will return to my people a failure, if they will allow me to return at all."
"No," said the coyote, "You have not failed. Against an enemy clearly stronger than you, you risked your life to save the life of an animal. This, along with your other deeds these past days, proves your worth. My name is Frisan, and from now on, I will be your spirit companion."
Once again, LaRissa av Serah was speechless. But the coyote was not finished.
"Now, you must return to your people, for a great tragedy has befallen them. Follow me." With that, the spirit coyote leaped into the air, and flew out the door and across the desert, Rissa stumbling in the sand in her haste to follow.
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Surveying the carnage before her eyes, Rissa could do nothing at first but sink to her knees in the desert sand and choke back her sobs.
The entire village had been burned to the ground. Every tent, every tree, every last flammable object was destroyed, including the people. Most of the bodies – men, women, and children of the dragonborn tribe – were charred beyond recognition. Those that had attempted to flee had been cut down with arrows and spears.
"Why-" Rissa began, before choking off the words. She tried again, "Why couldn't I have made it back sooner? Why couldn't I have been here in time to help defend the village, as I promised I would?"
She was not expecting an answer, and so was quite surprised to receive one from the coyote spirit. "You could not have made any difference," he told her gravely, "NeTani av Serah foresaw it: your death along with the deaths of everyone else in the village. It would have gained nothing for you to die along with them. Instead, he sent you out at exactly the right time, knowing you would be gone long enough to be spared."
"NO!" she cried, surprising even herself with her emotional outburst. "He knew? He let this happen without me here, on purpose?!"
The spirit continued to try to reason with her, but she could not be comforted. The wracking sobs came freely now, unheeded and unchecked. If reptiles could cry, there would have been tears flowing down her scaly cheeks.
Whether it was hours or mere minutes later when she was able to stop, Rissa could not say. But finally she climbed to her feet and set about the work that had to be done.
The sun was beginning to rise again when she finally finished the job. She had dug a great hole in the sandy ground and carried each of the bodies of her former tribesmen carefully into the pit. She could not bear to look at each face and wonder how well she had known them. Was this one her first love from when she was but a hatchling? Was that one her mother's best friend, who had comforted Rissa at that funeral? She did not try to figure it out, merely went about the foul business mechanically until it was done. Then she covered the bodies with the scraps of tent that were left over from the fires, in order to protect them from the vultures, and buried them under the sand.
When she was finished, she stood on a rock near the mass grave, and spoke as if giving a speech to a large audience. "My people," she said grimly, "I failed to protect you as I promised. But I vow at this moment that I, LaRissa av Serah-" she faltered, realizing she had another title now. She began again, "I, LaRissa av Cef, will avenge you, my people, my friends, my family" And with that, she set off into the distance, to begin her life's quest.
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Note:
This story is simply to get a glimpse into what LaRissa's life was like when she first became a shaman. I may write more later, if I come up with ideas about what she did in between 1st and 11th levels.