Berra — Mabana 1
????, Storm Season, Disorder Week
Storm Season, Disorder Week. [[[s02:session-24|Session 24]]]
In a small yurt by the edge of the camp, with a couple of brawny warriors waiting casually around, and Mabana sitting staring moodily at the plains nearby, and some splatters of blood on the snow…
The door flap to the yurt opens and Rajar’s wife steps through. She looks over her husband a moment, makes a quiet noise of satisfaction, then turns her gaze on Berra.
Something about her expression suggests well-contained danger.
Berra is staring down at the ground in front of her, which instead of Rajar now has a bit of hide, fur side down, and on it a dozen small bits of jerky and some larger ones. Her iron sword is at her side, unsheathed, and her right hand on it, but it seems to be for company, not for threat. She is telling it, “I think there was a bit more weight on the left. Something… maybe that one was closer in?” Then Mabana comes in and she bows her head, and looks up at the woman. Small. Tiny. Armed but not holding her weapon properly.
“Why? My husband, not yours.” The words are clipped, tense.
(( looks at dice Oh thanks, fumbled Praxian. ))
<< He would not want you here, >> Berra replies1Fumbled Praxian. Opposite of what was intended.. It sounds like she has worked out how to say that in advance.
Mabana’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. She turns on Rajar and in rapid Praxian she says…
<< Does the Deathchild speak truly? You would not want me here when you wake? You prefer her to your own wife? >> She gives him a look of pure disbelief.
When he doesn’t answer her immediately, she rounds on Berra. “You spell him?”
“Um,” says Berra, managing Heortling at least. Then she settles on Trade-talk. Your husband. Very dangerous. Not want to hurt you. He wakes angry, could kill anything. Fight anything. She looks proud. Great warrior. Mad rage though. Sometimes.
Mabana looks at her silent husband again. Not hurt me, she replies stubbornly to Berra. We understand each other. There is pride in her eyes too. You take what is mine, she accuses. You are jealous because you do not have.
Rajar in anger, berserk, knows only battle. Loves you when Rajar. Does not know anyone when battle-drunk. The Urox-spirit touched him. Was very angry. Berra keeps calm, like she is unworried.
Mabana looks sceptical. But he sleep after berserk, she stumbles on the word in Tradetalk. He wakes, he is Rajar. Urox does not stay.
Berra nods. “Usual…” Usually. But so sad for Billy. Attacked Storm Khan. So... I worried.
This gets a frown and another long look at Rajar. Mabana closes the distance between them to stare at his face. He is tired. Not dangerous. Mine now. The glance she throws Berra’s way suggests she would be willing to fight if Berra dares to disagree.
Berra nods. I like girls, she says. He's my brother. Not boyfriend.
The last word gets a raised eyebrow again. Perhaps it doesn’t translate well. But she replies to Berra with an abrupt nod. Switching back into Praxian, Mabana chivvies Rajar from the yurt. Her tone is one of exhortation, rather than coddling. He needs to show the clan that he is strong, unbroken by his loss.
She doesn’t look back at the odd little Deathchild.
Berra goes back to looking at her little bits of jerky, and talking to her sword.
- 1Fumbled Praxian. Opposite of what was intended.