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.
