Revel of Rot Ch. 1
Ugly, poorly wound ropes suspended Coda’s heavy drums while their bearer got into position. On either side of her, Raucous and Rotian, standing on the ropes that steadied the instrument, lifted their weight and let the cords slip slowly from underneath their paws and the tack lowered. Coda craned her neck forward and held her head high and wings outstretched as the harness descended onto her broad, weathered shoulders. The leather creaked loudly as it settled on Coda's withers and as its full weight fell onto her frame, she shifted her body and took a lungful of air, settling the custom harness into a comfortable position. She then stepped aside as Raucous' drum harness was then loaded onto the rig and lifted into the air.
It was the evening before Riot of Rot, and Clan Rapacious had a lot of preparing to do for the opening ceremony at Moonhigh. The whole clan would be gathered to watch as the Mirror pack arrived and began the festivities. Out of all the traditions Clan Rapacious had, this one was probably the favorited by everybody, especially the Mirrors.
In synchrony, Coda and Raucous stretched their wings out and upwards, and then to their sides as routine, before tucking them tightly to their bodies where Rotian could fit their mallet gloves over their folded wings. Coda shifted anxiously, eager to get started. Raucous let out a soft hurgle, and Rotian echoed with a bit of a scolding tone. It wasn't quite time yet, but they were free to get into position. Rotian led them out.
The drummers moved slowly as they lumbered out of the torch-lit cave. It was darker outside than it was in, the only light from the stars where the moon was absent and the faint orange hint from the mouths of dens up and down the canyon walls like jack-o-lanterns. As the clan arrived that would quickly change however.
Rotian sat at the mouth of the cave they had just exited, guarding it from any possible intruders during the ceremony. This was the Drummers' personal quarters, and no one else was permitted entry, especially during the events. Blood was impossible to get out of the leather.
Coda trotted off towards the left down the canyon. She made it to the narrowest spot, and turned around carefully, as not to scrape her drums against the red stone walls. She then reached her wings up to get a feel for the space she could allow herself, and then back down into playing position, the gloves serving as mallets resting delicately over the drum heads. She let out a low grumble to alert her other Guardian companions that she was in position and ready.
Raucous headed right, up the canyon in the opposite direction and did the same. He growled when he was prepared, and nodded to Coda. This was only the third year that they worked together for this ceremony, only coming around for the Riot of Rot, but between their established friendship and the many hours of practice, it seemed as if they had been doing it for centuries.
Now in position and prepared to begin, Rotian nodded to the both of them, and suddenly a bonfire roared to life dead center between the three of them in the very middle of the canyon. The yellow light reflected off the orange canyon walls and bathed them in warm a glow. Without any further prerequisites, it was finally time.
Raucous and Coda met each others' eyes across what easily could have been 200 yards of canyon, which now sat as a makeshift arena before them. Perfectly in sync, they each raised a wing, mirroring each other identically, and together they brought their mallets down onto the tough leather of the drums. The sound boomed through the canyon. It was not a sound that was heard, but rather felt. It made the walls rattle so viciously stones fell from their place and fell onto the deep valley floor. Rotian audibly gasped and braced himself as the vibrations tore through his chest. Every year it took him by surprise how aggressive the echo of these drums were, and how strongly the drummers managed to beat on them. They were truly masters of their craft.
The drum hit rang out for what felt like it could have been hours, and eventually silence surrounded them once again. The drummers took a moment, before each raising their other wing and slamming it back down onto the drum on their other side. Rotian's body took this one better in stride, and he could hear pebbles bouncing off his hide and falling to the ground around him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming his exhilaration and letting the sound run through him.
Right on cue, the beginning of the cadence summoned the clan. From almost every direction they appeared in a mob, each carrying a lit torch. Some walked, filling in the gaps between the two Guardians' legs, and some flew in, and eventually the canyon was filled with dragons, each staking their torch in the ground around the perimeter of the battlefield before taking their place on a ledge up the vertical walls of the canyon like a stadium. There was absolutely no organization to it. Everybody at once crowded into the coliseum. Families tried their best to stay together, calling each others' names to keep tabs. The more docile, white collar workers made their way up higher towards the rim, making their best efforts to stay out of the soon-to-be fray. Other dragons, more excited and rearing to go, took seats as close to the action as possible, standing directly behind the ring of torches that was beginning to accumulate.
The last to arrive were the young dragons and hatchlings on the cusp of adulthood. They sported war paints of different colors, representing both their houses and their intentions. They were here to fulfill their rite of passage and earn their Badge of Age, symbolizing their pledge to Plaguebringer, and their right to bear the Mark of Rapacious. Every worthy dragon born of Clan Rapacious wore the Mark on their hide to prove their allegiance and just like every dragon before them they also had to earn it through the Rite these hatchlings stood before. They shuffled and pushed among themselves as the rest of the clan took their places.
Once every dragon had settled into their spots and the crowd quieted to a dull roar, Rapere, clan patriarch, took center stage. He was slightly older than the rest of the dragons in the clan, but still well into his prime and a force to be reckoned with. At this time, he wore his ceremonial garb made up of treasures the clan had gifted him throughout his leadership. Skulls and bones and scales from countless types of fauna and even other dragons hung around his muscular, stout frame, rattling against each other and knocking loudly as he made his way to the large fire-pit that was still burning brightly in the ring. He gazed into the flames, and onlookers grew quiet until the entire crowd was in a silence. Almost lazily, he circled around the blaze, its orange glow reflecting onto his dark scales and giving him and ethereal appearance. Swiftly, he reared and spun on his hindquarters and faced the audience. When his forelegs hit the ground again, another much softer boom shook the canyon, and both the drummers sat mechanically, and then lowered themselves onto their barreled chests, and their broad bodies effectively blocked all foot exits from the canyon.
“We are gathered here this night-” Rapere began, his body much smaller than the Guardians on either side of him, but his voice just as booming as they drums they played, “-to welcome the Revel of Rot!”
The Mirror raised his impressive wings into the air, urging the crowd into a frenzy. Dragons stood and cheered and roared into the night and red bolts of energy from unknown origins went flying into the moonless sky. Rapere smirked. He was indeed very proud of the clan he led.
His wings fell, lowering to the ground until his fingertips very gently grazed the pulsing earth beneath him. Another drum hit sounded, and the crowd found a tentative grasp on their composure. Energy was high and keeping it together was definitely a feat of great restraint for everyone involved. The Chief pulled and tucked his wings back into his body, tucking the smaller inner pair neatly against him.
“Tonight these young warriors find their strength! And their courage! And their voracity.”
With his last word, Rapere's lip upturned into a very devious kind of smile. There was nothing he loved more than weeding out the new hatchlings and hand picking those destined to carry the Mark. Every hatchling here was well prepared, but this challenge would determine who really had what it took to be a dragon of Clan Rapacious. In their excitement, the hatchlings before him jostled more energetically. It was almost their time to shine.
“Before we get started, Rapacious takes a moment to thank The Plaguemother, for without His guidance and bounty, Rapacious would be no more than our neighbors, feeble and weak-hearted. And we pledge our loyalty to His will, to spread his love and spread his fear. And we honor our commitment to the Plague, and our commitment to the survival.”
Each word was more pointed than the last, and each pierced into the audience. Rapere circled back around to the rear of the fire-pit and circled his wings around the blaze. It took a moment, and then he began to hum. The drummers began a very soft, uniform beat, keeping the tempo steady and focusing their energy. And then the entire clan began to hum.
It was the most dissonant sound. Chords wove in ugly and horrifying ways. It nearly made ears burn and curdled milk. Every dragon with their head bowed growled their hideous note and in front of everyone the fire began to surge and transform into a sickening shade of red that seemed to pulse along with the earth while the drums kept pace. The fire mimicked the heartbeat of the Wyrmwound and it was then that they knew the Plaguebringer was prepared to bless them. As the humming from the clan became louder, the flame grew in size until it spilled over the sides of the pit and nearly singed the feathers of Rapere's dress. He raised his wings in triumph, fanning the blaze to encourage it taller, hotter, more powerful.
“Plaguebringer is with us!”
Rapere stood on his hind legs, spreading his wings wide as he cheered on his clan. Few broke from their prayer to shout along with him, basking in the energy of the Plague and feeling the warmth of the fire, the warmth of the Mother that brought them here and gave them all life and strength. One after another dragons stopped humming to share in the glory that their Mother brought to them on the eve of the Riot. Snapping jaws and clacking talons moved in a wave over the clan and it neared the verge of getting out of control.
A single powerful drum hit rocked the canyon and all the dragons silenced at once. Everybody sat back down, reining this powerful energy internally and held onto it, keeping it ready for the ceremony to empower their patrons below fighting for their lives.
“We bring forth our first challengers!” Rapere bellowed, and landed his weight back on all six legs. He stepped forward to the row of hatchlings that were bouncing and circling in place, their eyes glowing with blood lust. Two young dragons shot forward with absolutely no prompting and it was decided they were to be the first to compete. “To the pit!”
The first to enter the ring was a Spiral. Chuckles could be heard from the crowd as the young dragon zipped around the arena before settling to Rapere's right. Her scales seemed to ooze what looked like slime, and her eyes shifted nervously through the crowd above her, and to the row of hatchlings who could be next to step forward. She coiled herself and sat quietly, but it was obvious she was not feeling patient.
The next contender was a small Mirror, only about double the size of her rival. The pup approached, and she kept her head lowered, fins pinned back and eyes locked on her target. She came to the patriarch's other flank, and paced anxiously.
The chief approached the flame and shifted his weight to his haunches to reach into a bag that had been secured to his waist underneath his decoration. From it, he retrieved what could only be described as a necklace adorned with a skull, but what from what kind of creature was unknown. He raised it high for the clan to gaze upon.
“The Badge of Age,” he beamed, “will be bestowed upon the winner of this challenge, and with it, will have rightfully completed their rite of passage, and earned not only Plaguebringer's respect, but also my own.” Rapere passed the badge from side to side, showcasing it in front of everybody. “For those contestants who impress Our Mother with their skill and virtue, this should be no contest. For those who do not-” Rapere glanced back at the mirror pup, eyeing her with scrutiny, “-this challenge may be more difficult than it appears.” The chieftain turned back to address the crowd, and then without another word, Rapere turned and tossed the skull into the flame, where it sunk to the bottom of the pit, and the battle began.