The Herb is Mightier Than the Sword

There was a time when this one so dearly wanted to learn the art of fighting. This one sat and watched the guard train for long hours – sparring matches to keep their skills sharp. Meanwhile, this one's parent was viewed as incessant. A burden. One slave driver who made this one run for the loathed parts and need to recite everything perfectly or face the punishment and humiliation of cleaning hut with tiny paintbrush.

And paintbrush clean must be perfect. Spotless. Needless to say, this one hated paintbrush duty more than fetching plants and testing. It kept this one in line – but there was always that one time when Rakathass failed – and met the loathed paintbrush nemesis again.

To fight – it was all this one wanted. To become a young beacon of Kaasha's might and glory – to guard its shrine from aegis. The dream of the youth. But how did the dream change you ask this one...?

It was one day this one does not forget.

My predecessor, medicine-shaman it is, brought this one to the fighting ring. How pleasing it was to think that perhaps I would become the warrior – to go on my first hunt and come of age.

Rakathass is Incorrect. It would seem that the trainer needed to bruise ego on one of its students (A hulking mass of muscle it was), and likewise, this one's parent felt that need to bring Rakathass from the dreamcloud its mind sat on for long long time. The student failed to see reason in combat not being about just strength and skill, consequently badmouthing everyone weaker than it. Rakathass failed to see the value in work it and parent did, and often bad-mouthed the parent and its paintbrush torture.

The parent challenged prideful student (it is sad that I do not remember the name of student!) to a duel. Clearly, in the mind of warrior-youth, it would win without question. No challenge.

Student is Incorrect. VERY incorrect. The duel lasted a few seconds – student ran forward and before the wood blade even was raised, it was skidding on its face out cold. This one looked in shock – it has utterly missed what happened.

It would turn out that without breaking a sweat, the parent had felled the mighty warrior with a simple wooden feather dart coated in a noxious dust. When it woke again two days later still feeling sick – its ego was back at levels of 'acceptable' – or so this one was told.

That day, Rakathass no longer respected the warrior. It could fall like any other. Its divinity faded in the wake of the plant, which held more power over everything when used correctly. In time and age – it has come to respect it. Rakathass now takes the mantle of the medicine-shaman – an old practice on the verge of death with magic everywhere.

We continue to use the old ways despite the magic. Magik does not solve all problems. Plants do.

I love the sslik perspective. :-) Thank you for sharing!

Hehe, cute, and I love it =) Paint brush torture! I giggled.

Fun story!

nice job, rune!!

Dawn would have occurred, but instead was blotted out by the storm. Lightning and rain blanketed Sslanis. Kaasha certainly was here today and making itself known to its people.

Rakathass' parent and mentor peered out the window and turned to nod at it. "Rakathass, it iss time. Kaasha roarss in the ssky today - and thiss will mark the sstart of your life." it croaked. His parent had been bedbound - old age had finally struck the elder down. "Go now. Meet the sshaman under the gaze of Kaasha... and become an adult. If this one passes while Rakathass is gone - this one gives its hut as inheritance. If Rakathass passes in trial - then this one will die saddened in loss. Take the plants with you and use what you have learned."

Rakathass knew too that time was out for its parent as well. While it had held resentment for the strict discipline regime - it was honestly terrified of living on without the days of scrubbing with a paintbrush. Its what it knew and now a great unknown was approaching. And the ssilk had to face it just as his ancestors before had to.

It collected a few things it thought would be useful - various plant based substances and dried fungus powders - placed them in a pack, and left into the rainstorm.

The Shaman was decked out in a traditional wear. He had a feathered staff in one hand, and was seated in a chair covered in some sort of animal fur placed before a fire.

"Rakathass, young one. Your predecesssor hass offered you up to grow into adulthood. Thiss iss no eassy undertaking. You musst do ssomething to earn your place here and prove you can wear your parent'ss mantle of the tribe's medicine maker. Do you accept this journey and tassk I besstow upon you?" the shaman said, standing up.

"This one acceptss. What do you need this one to do?" Rakathass inquired, kneeling respectfully.

The shaman tossed a pinch of some substance on the flames. They began to burn blue, and the smoke smelled sour. As Rakathass had been taught in the practice of this ritual - he took a meticulously braided cord of jungle grass and offered it into the fire. They consumed them and the flames became purple. The smoke became sweet and yet bitter. Rakathass sat and relaxed in front of the roaring flames.

"Breathe deeply of the ssmoke. Life is bitter, and sssweet, and ssour, ssometimes all three. It hass sshades of blue and red all the while." The shaman spoke. "And now you will ssee through the ssmoke - that you will gain a vision of your ssteps to adulthood."

Rakathass inhaled deeply - and the world fell away as it was knocked flat on his back for hours to come.

It was in the jungle. And everything looked at as if the young ssilk were food. The plants even, were ready to gnaw its ankles off as Rakathass trod through the brush and looked around. The Ssilk glanced behind - and he saw them. The spiders. Everything was covered in a sheet of endless spider silk with red spiders, many tiny ones servicing the needs of the colony queen. These were the enemies of sslanis, the spiders that consumed the livestock and the young hatchlings. One even had been bold enough in the past of kill and take away a fully grown ssilk.

And as suddenly as it had glanced at them, it had tried to run away. The jungle had turned to dust as skeleton parrots squawked and flitted between erupting thorns. The skeletons dug up from the ground and Rakathass was forced to run back into the spiders. They too started to chase - and the ssilk ran deeper into the webbing. When at last the ssilk got stuck, it noticed the little spiders no longer had been chasing him, they had stopped and sat watching. The red queen was above. As she went in to kill the ssilk, she was struck down by an even bigger spider, blacker than night itself.

Rakathass woke then, returning to a world in a hut next to dying embers. The shaman was there, and they discussed what the young ssilk had seen in the dream. The shaman believed that in the dream, he had seen a spiders that lives by consuming the other spiders. A great black shadow that even the red spiders feared.

Tonight Rakathass would rest. The next day - the shaman wanted him to see if it was real. And if it was - Rakathass was going to tame it.

Love how good you are at including the lore of Ista in your story! Keep up the good work~

-Sili