It's an Ice Age - Group Rp - 18+

[BlaqueCatt]

“He will not be able to hunt for some time, chief,” he said, his words polite and formal, “but once he has healed he will be able to hunt again.” His father was immensely pleased by this information, and he waved to his wife and three other women as they walked by.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed in that same loud voice, giving his son a prideful look that was only seen once every decade. “El was right to make you his apprentice.”

The memory of El’s decision to make Misha his apprentice was still fresh in the tribe-people’s minds even though it had happened over two years ago.

 

The sun—bright and hot against the bare backs of the men gathered in the center of the camp—signaled the perfect weather for a hunt. This hunt, however, was not a regular one. The chief’s son was going to become a man; he was going to go through his coming-of-age ceremony and make his first kill. The men let out hoots of support when a young Misha emerged from the chief’s hut; his hair was extremely short, as was customary for both men and women of the tribe, and he wore only light deer skin on his legs, cut short and stopping above his knees. His father followed him out, carrying a long spear in each hand. The men made a circle around the pair and fell silent when the chief began speaking.

“Today, my son becomes a man,” he chief began, “Today he will make his first kill and become a hunter for our tribe.” Once again the camp was filled with the harsh cries of the men. Misha gave a small smile, but his pale green eyes held nothing but uncertainty.

Before the group of men could take their leave, a strangled cry came from the cave of the shaman. El, with his long gray hair and dark brown eyes staggered out into the open, his hands raised to the sky. His wrinkled, tanned skin shook along with his body as he let forth another cry. The chief was soon by his side, demanding to know what was going on.

“My apprentice!” the old man wailed, “Shi is dead!” A stunned silence followed his words before Shi’s mother fell to her knees in front of the other women, sobs wracking her body. While the women comforted the grieving mother, the chief stared at El with disbelief in his eyes.

“How did this happen? He could not have been attacked!” El shook his head, his tired eyes darkening with sadness.

“It was not an attack, chief. It was an unknown illness that caused his heart to stop beating. He collapsed right before my very eyes.” El turned away from the chief and scanned the crowd, appearing to be searching for something. “I will need a new apprentice soon; my time on this earth is almost up.” He paused, waiting for a sign; and then his eyes landed on Misha, who was standing next to his father with a shocked look on his face, his green eyes focused on the weeping woman behind him. El saw the flicker of empathy in the young man’s eyes, something that was not common in the tough men of the tribe; something that was only ever seen in the ranks of shaman. El’s face softened into a gentle smile, and he reached out, placing his trembling hand on Misha’s shoulder. “You,” he said softly, causing everyone to look their way. “You are to be my apprentice.”

While Misha looked completely confused, the chief’s vague concern changed to anger. “My son is not to be your apprentice!” he roared, his eyes full of red fury. “He is to be the next chief, a warrior! What makes you believe that he—“ El lifted a hand for silence, and the chief’s rant was cut short.

“I have received a sign from the gods,” he said calmly, which replaced the chief’s angered look with fear; no one wanted to disrespect the spirits. “Your son is to be my apprentice.”

That last sentence stopped any kind of protest that could have followed. El pulled an unresponsive Misha into the cave after instructing two of the men to remove Shi’s body and leave him outside to be prepared for burial. It was that moment when Misha’s training began.

First, Misha was given a ceremonial bath in the river behind the camp; the tribe’s home was located in the northern hemisphere, with forest to the east and west, the ocean to the south, and mountains to the north; they had harsh winters and summers with mild springs and autumns. He was given new clothing—it was tradition for the shaman to cover his body completely—and was told to allow his hair to grow long—another tradition. El gave him a special tea to drink, one that would cause the body to stop growing hair on the legs and chest; the herb had been discovered by accident by a shaman many, many years ago; he had used it to flavor his water, and somehow the results were favored. Misha could no longer take a wife or have children—which spurred the chief to have another son—and was no longer allowed to leave the camp without an escort. He was also unable to kill anything, except a single wolf. The final part of the initiation ceremony was to kill a wolf, the tribe’s sacred animal; he was to wear the pelt every day for the rest of his life (regular men were not allowed to touch the wolves unless attacked). While El’s wolf pelt was gray, a common color, Misha was lucky enough to slay a rare black wolf; El said that it was a gift from the gods, signaling that he was to be a great shaman.

Misha studied very hard to become a shaman, and he found that he enjoyed healing people much more than fighting and killing, though even as a shaman he had to learn defensive techniques. He was very talented in the craft and had a good memory for herbs and illnesses. He also found that his connection to the spirits was stronger than El’s; he became adept at reading signs and looking for them.

Misha replaced El after he died just a year after the beginning of his training. The young man was satisfied with his work, but always felt as though he had let his father down; since the day he gave up the life of a hunter, they had been on bad terms.