Bone Kenning -- Assorted Dead

The Walking Dead
Dragon Silver Mottle Female Taiyoth -- Tangle
Hellhound Warrior Female
Hellhound Hunter Male
Firemane Wraith
Starmane Cherub ______ -- Gertude
Kitsune Fire Clan Male
Firelizard Copper Mottle Female
Caradras Zahanzai Male
Gryphon Order of the Squire Male
Mistwatcher Smoke Male
Hippocampus Reef Female
Illaro Ilythiir Male
Unicorn Compassion Mehros

---

Leave the Sin-Eater Lie Compassion, Mehros
Italic#a3f0f0

“It is an audacious project, raising the bones of a unicorn,” Lamia Dunlappe mused, ghosting a hand over the assembled skeleton Melonwei had fit into the ritual sarcophagus. “Somehow I doubt you really want to start with this one. His bones reek of pain.”

Melonwei’s answering grin was sharp, and not at all kind. “His pain was why I chose him. Blame old habits if needs must. But he is interesting, moreso than most of his kind. Also, his bones were intact, apart from the sternal scoring. He was stabbed to death, or gored by something with a sharp horn, I suppose, not a fellow unicorn, the shape is wrong.”

Lamia shook her head. “A death he welcomed. Reanimation will not be easy with this one.”



Once, in life, Mehros wore the mantle of Sin-Eater. His rank, Compassion, is known for keeping the seal of the confessional, but Mehros was special. He absolved the sinners, leaving them sanctified of their wrongdoings, bearing their transgressions within himself. Time and again he ate of the bread of their sins and time and again he absorbed their filth and their rot and their sheer human horror. Human immorality is no surprise to Mehros, not anymore, and he...burned out. Ultimately, when a rival Caradras threatened to gore him through the heart, Mehros welcomed death.

He was tired. He had had enough. Let the sinners carry their own wrongdoings for a change. The Caradras’ horn sank into Mehros’ heart and the Compassion knew blessed oblivion.

...at least until some audacious wench dragged his soul back to his empty bones. Mehros fought to remain dead, but in a battle of wills with Melonwei, he ultimately lost, and here he stands, literally a skeleton of what he once was. Fleshless, a Unicorn is a study in pristine perfection, the magic of their being keeping the bones ageless and white, undamaged but for the deathstroke that felled them. No amount of weathering will ever betray how much time has actually passed since Mehros died. The only parts of him that are not pristine white are his horn and hooves, which remain the same rose gold his rank is known for.

Ultimately his remains are all that remain beautiful about Mehros. Disheartened, disillusioned, and bitter, Mehros is no less tired now than he was when he all but baited that long-ago Caradras into killing him. Now he’s also just a little angry. Oblivion was nice, damn you all! No sinners to absolve, no petty transgressors expecting him to listen and forgive them for the unforgivable.

Perhaps someone will someday change that point of view, give him reason to hope again, but that day is not the day of his reanimation.


Gotcha From Beyond The Grave Copper Mottle Female

“Firelizard bones are a rare find indeed,” Lamia observed, watching Melonwei arrange what had been a Copper Mottle, female of the species, in the ritual sarcophagus. “Ordinarily the little darlings go between to die. No bodies left behind, not a trace.”

“I can barely hear the story of the bones over the mischief,” Melonwei deadpanned, “but I need not hear the bones to see the damage. This one was sick. See the pitting here, and here?” She held up a wing for inspection. “Infection. Virulent. Virulent but as long-dead as she. If I had to venture a guess, that guess would be she was too sick to go between and died as any other living creature dies.”

“A pitiful end for what must have been a lively and colorful creature,” the senior thanaturge mused sadly, watching Melonwei articulate that display wing into the total skeleton. Technically the ritual of reanimation could do the work for her, but Melonwei was exacting and precise and Lamia had to appreciate the attention to detail.



Did those bones just move? Wait, where’s your jewelry? Are those… crayons stuffed into your ears? The answers are likely yes, somewhere special, and yes, yes they are. Not even death can stop this little missy from being a class-A prankster. In fact, reanimation seems to have simply expanded her arsenal of prank materials.

She’s all bones now! There’s so much she can do with her new skeletonized appearance. Jump-scares, sure, but now she fits places her fleshy self wouldn’t have been able to and there’s no better hiding place than simply holding still. Very few people suspect a pile of bones is going to be guilty of much of anything. Her pranks aside, though, she really is a sweet little thing. Zany, weird, obsessive over her practical jokes, but sweet.

No skin or scales remain to give away her rank, but her propensity for pranks is a fairly obvious stamp of the Copper Mottle. Her bones are pitted and pocked, the remnants of the disease that ended her life before she could fly between to die like the rest of her species is wont to do.


Wrath of the Earthbound Fire Clan Male
Italic#e77300

“A Kitsune,” Lamia mused, turned the kanji-branded skull over in her hands. “An angry Kitsune. I question the wisdom of waking these bones, Melonwei.”

Melonwei’s grin was nasty and humorless as she rejoined shattered pieces in her ritual sarcophagus, articulating the vulpine remnants. The tails were tricky to sort out, there seemed to be six, and it took the eyes of an expert carefully turning each vertebra over in hand to examine and determine which belonged with which tail and in what order.

After a pause, about half done with her tails project, the junior thanaturge finally spoke. “Wisdom has nothing to do with this one, I must admit. It has everything to do with… I suppose you could call it resonance. Injustice. Rage. Vengeance yet left unfulfilled. These bones speak to me on a deeply spiritual level. Injustice and unfulfilled vengeance made me what I am, who I am. They define me. This creature here is-”

“A kindred spirit,” Lamia filled in, completing Melonwei’s thought with apparent correctness as the former Veiled Sister simply nodded.



The nature of a Fire Clan Kitsune is to collect injustices and repay them as debts, bringing vengeance down upon the heads of the wretched sinners, justice swift, poetic, and often cruel.

The nature of an earthbound spirit is to be angry, a tormented thing chained to consciousness by pain and unfulfilled rage.

One might imagine that an earthbound Fire Kitsune might be a dangerous specter indeed. And he is, oh he is, all cold fury and half-mad with grief and betrayal. He fought to see justice done in life. An old, six-tailed Kitsune, he was wily, he was powerful, but he failed to account for the greatest weakness of his species, and that weakness is other Kitsune. He failed to see the pattern of injustices that he was following all lead back to the same source -- a Void -- and when the trap was sprung, even a canny old trickster had no hope of surviving. That Void still wears this Fire’s pelt as a trophy to this very day, the only part of his mortal coil aside from his weathered, half-shattered bones to survive the passage of time.

Broken bones have been meticulously reassembled and held together with pins and resin, done with such care it’s very difficult to tell without looking very closely that this Kitsune suffered a crushing death of some kind, a traumatic impact that would not have killed him instantly. The kanji for ‘fire’ remains stamped upon his skull as if painted there, or perhaps branded.

Death has not stopped the mission begun in life. He WILL have his justice. Failing that, he will have vengeance, and it will be awe-inspiring and terrible. Perhaps a bondmate might help him secure that vengeance, fulfill him. Being as he was reanimated by Melonwei’s thanaturgy, he’ll never precisely rest, but he may eventually exist in peace, at least. He was a much kinder creature once. Still vengeful, but only for those too weak to take their own justice.


Requiem of Angels Cherub

“These bones belonged to a Starmane,” Lamia began explaining, handing Melonwei an equine femur. “They’re curious creatures, mostly horse, but also-”

“Starmanes are the descendants of Celestial Chargers bred with the finest steeds of the Elven Kingdoms, aasimar in horseflesh,” Melonwei interrupted, rolling a droll gaze toward her mentor, who raised her eyebrows in turn. “Starmanes originate from Kassan’ha, as do I. I would never have been allowed to look at one, much less lay hands on the bones of one, back home. Even before the Withered Mask took me in, I would not have been considered worthy.”

“I see.” Lamia rocked back onto her heels, musing over this new information. “What do the bones tell you, then?”

“What I see and what I hear both speak of a brutal end.” Melonwei held up cracked ribs between her fingers, fanned out for Lamia to see. “He was his Host’s general, if you want to call it that. Their protector. His bones speak of plans and strategy, a tactical thinker. This damage speaks of a beating. Few of his bones are not at least cracked. Ah, no, not a beating. He was dropped from a very great height. Pardon my incorrect initial deduction. This is all fall damage.”

“Roc or wild dragon, do you suppose?”

“Lamia, I am not in the habit of supposing without evidence.”



One doesn’t normally associate Starmanes with violence, but they do have capable warriors among their number. They have to, certainly, or the Hosts wouldn’t survive. Disliking violence does not mean it will not search them out, after all. And every Host needs its Cherubim to direct and coordinate, to plan and counterattack, to riposte and strategize. Wide and varied are their roles, and such was the place this Cherub served in his Host before he died.

It’s a role he’ll serve again, now that his bones have been reconstructed, some held together with pins and resin to repair and strengthen them, mend the damage of death. For all that Starmanes can manifest ghostly wings, they cannot actually fly.

Flight certainly would have helped this poor fellow when something vastly larger picked him up and flew away with him. Was it a Roc? Was it a wild dragon? He never really got a good look at his assailant before he was let go, dropping at terminal velocity to the empty field that caught his body. He died on impact, mercifully, and there he remained until a pair of thanaturges out scouting for bones found his broken skeleton half-buried in dirt and dry grasses.

His bones are a little dirty, a little weathered, but they still seem to glow with some kind of angelic Grace. It’s subtle, but it’s there. With reanimation, the light-strands and stars that comprise the mane, tail, and fetlocks of a living Starmane have returned, a burnished copper that glows brightly against the dim of his skeleton. His hooves still glitter like diamonds, still tread as softly as cats’ paws.



MORE SHINIES STILL BEING WRITTEN~!

Live it ‘til I’m Dead and Gone Wraith

“Oh, this is a lively one,” Lamia observed, handing Melonwei an equine humerus. “She believed in strength in numbers. I would wager she did her Inferno proud.”

“Is that what they call a group of Firemanes here?” Melonwei mused, accepting the bone and wiring it into place in the sarcophagus. “They originate from my world, you know. Of course it was the Great Magocracy that thought it was a brilliant idea to breed horses with demons. Mages. Intelligent, not wise. But Teragaia has seen the Firemanes thrive above and beyond as their own species, hasn’t it. They even have their own culture, of which this one was a warrior. And she itches to fulfill that role again.”

“Twitchy bones,” Lamia agreed. “It’s almost as if she has no awareness of having died yet.”

A Wraith’s job in an Inferno of Firemanes is to be underestimated, and to coordinate with her sister Wraiths to absolutely demolish anything that gets in her Inferno’s way. And this one absolutely loved her job. It was her passion. When her Inferno rode, it was a small apocalypse for whatever was in their path and she loved it. The death, the mayhem. Together, she and her sisters were unstoppable.

Together was the key word there, though. Problem being the day they decided they were going to take out a Host of Starmanes, assuming that generally pacifistic Starmanes would be easy prey. They forgot that Starmanes are tactical fighters, and the Host’s Solar worked the Host into formation to scatter the Inferno, dividing the Wraiths away from each other. United they stood, and divided they fell. So it was that this Wraith died, a diamond hoof caving in the back of her skull. But she’s back up again now, all bone but exactly who and what she was when she still had flesh to match her flames. Outwardly demure, fostering underestimation until the time to strike is nigh, and then the ultimate team player when it’s time to go murder something to death and back.

The back of her skull still bears that hoof-shaped hole, but it’s mostly hidden beneath the flames of her mane. Her bones are blackened, not by fire, but because that is how Firemane bones naturally are. Her mane, tail, and fetlocks have reignited into proud violet flames, and her hooves remain metallic and just as destructive as they were when she was alive. Her eye sockets also burn with violet fire where her eyes used to be, leaving her something of an eerie creature.

Until Death do I Serve Order of the Squire Male
Bold#005fb8

“It seems like gryphon bones are as rare as those of dragons,” Lamia murmured, helping wire wing bones into place while Melonwei articulated a foreleg. “Gryphons have a strict caste system and they take care of their own. It’s rare they leave remains for outsiders to find unless an individual was doing something… shameful, I suppose you would say.”

Melonwei snorted. “You mean like theft?”

Lamia nodded, twisting a wire off and clipping it neatly. “Gryphons are expected to have more honor than that. But this fellow didn’t, did he.”

After a moment of communion with the bones, which Lamia had to admit Melonwei had a special gift for, the junior thanaturge snorted. “It is singularly not a question of honor or honesty. There is too much confusion in these bones for him to have met his death knowing what he was doing. This poor fool is a victim of stupidity, not greed. Perhaps I should say he was not a victim of his own greed.”

The Order of the Squire lives to serve.

Ordinarily, this is a noble endeavor. Without the Squires, where would the rest of the world be? They’re the unsung heroes who make sure the sung heroes are always prepared, always kempt, always in good health and humor. Sometimes, however, this sense of duty and service can go horribly awry.

Our Squire’s last escapade was to retrieve a magical artifact for the hero he served. The hero he served neglected to tell the Squire that the artifact was in the possession of a powerful lich. And that it actually was the possession of self-same powerful lich. So into the bowels of the dungeon goes our poor gryphon, expecting to simply find and collect something long lost, only to be confronted with a justifiably angry lich who terribly disliked the notion of getting robbed.

One can imagine he never did get his talons on that artifact. No, no, the lich made short work of the clueless would-be thief, by which is meant a slow and painful death, and the Squire’s remains were staked out on the lich’s doorstep as a warning to all comers until Melonwei and Lamia took down the fleshless bones.

He’s determined to be slightly more cautious this time around, although in his defense he isn’t the brightest candle in the chandelier. Even creatures as fiercely intelligent as gryphons have to have a few duds among their number who are, perhaps, a little bit gullible, just the slightest bit too trusting of strangers, not quite skilled at stringing clues together into a logical conclusion. He’s a sweet creature, eager to serve, eager to be useful, but what he isn’t is wise.

A wiser creature might not have died his death. Of course, a wiser creature would not have served the lord he was serving, either. This boy isn’t the fairest judge of character or intention, despite his best efforts. He tries, bless, but he isn’t good at it. Set him to a physical task, and it will be accomplished adroitly and with a measure of skill, but asking for intuition from this Squire is entirely out of his skillset.

Blood in the Water Reef Female
Italic#429c42

“Are you even sure we sifted all of the pieces out of the sand?” Lamia demanded, trying to parcel out which pieces of cartilage belonged to what fin. “You know how the ocean is.”

Melonwei gave her mentor a flat stare. “Collecting this skeleton was my first excursion to an ocean, factually. But the skeleton tells me it is complete, if not yet intact.”

“Oh, you poor, sheltered child.” Lamia sighed and shook her head, olive-complected hands still dancing spider-like and confused over the mess of random sticks and pins and vertebrae. “Is there any particular reason you insisted on this specific set of remains?”

The answering smile was vicious. “I like a challenge.”

Equine skull. Bone spine, scapulae, front legs terminating in hooves… and a rear built in cartilage instead, comprising the back end of a shark. A black-tip reef shark, though no one is to know that now that all the flesh is gone and the fins are just little fans of spines that used to support muscle and skin. Nothing too alarming about the skeleton unless someone tries to look the horse in the teeth, perhaps, because there is a distinctly Zaithand-like triple row of shark’s teeth set inside her jaw, though hers rattle in place now and will never grow back when they inevitably fall out. Such vitality is for the living.

She was a predator once. A creature that blended into the reef she called home, a savvy hunter that knew how to use terrain to her advantage to take down anything that trespassed into her domain. She never hunted senselessly -- she isn’t a Firemane -- she ate her kills, but she brooked no encroachment into her territory. Other Hippocampi, Merfolk, sharks, tourists, Zaithandi, anyone and everyone was at risk for being hunted if this Reef was hungry and awake in her reef and they happened to trespass. Anyone foolish enough to bleed in her waters was going to be hunted regardless of her hunger. Like a true shark, she could smell blood in the water from at least a mile and it would drive her into a predatory frenzy.

One time, that blood in the water was from a Zaithand hatching. And, with the arrogance of every predator, this Reef went in for the attack assuming she would have the sharpest teeth there. She forgot it is the duty and sometimes pleasure of the Delta Zaithand to kill any threat to Zaithandi young, and that a motivated Delta is fast and brutal. The Reef never even saw what hit her before it was over, and there she was left, dead on the shore until Melonwei and Lamia gathered up her pieces.

She’s just as territorial now, this Reef, but in some ways death has mellowed her out. For one thing, she no longer has a sense of smell, so her fits of blood frenzy are long since over. For another, she’s smart enough to realize she doesn’t swim as well as she used to, and initiating aggression is liable to get her smashed to bits, which is a fate she would like to avoid. So, yes, time to take on a bond and share her savvy and her wealth of experience with someone alive, because it’s the last chance she’s going to get to have a legacy; she never reproduced or left any kind of mark while she was alive.

Gonna End Up In The Ground Warrior Female
Italic #db4d00

“Hellhounds seem to be a popular topic for this little experiment of yours,” Lamia mused, turning over a blackened and chipped bone in her hands. The blackening was natural to the species. The chipping was from a savage mauling.

“I can hardly help it if Hellhounds are a species that leave a preponderance of their bones lying around to be found,” Melonwei muttered, articulating the many small bones of a paw with wire. It was all work that could be done with magic rather than by handicraft, but Lamia wasn’t quite sure if Melonwei was a purist, a control freak, or simply OCD. The junior thanaturge continued, oblivious to her mentor’s thoughts, “Instigators, Hellhounds. Always looking for trouble, always sure they are superior to the trouble they stir up, always surprised when they die as a result of their shenanigans.”

“Rather a lot like humans in that respect, I suppose you could say,” Lamia agreed, handing over the bone she had been holding so that Melonwei could weave it into the skeleton.

Terrors of Hellhounds are infamous for their fractiousness and infighting, as each individual Hellhound looks out for him or herself, constantly battling for a better place in the Terror. Very rarely, however, there are Terrors that are infamous for running like well-oiled clockwork. This female Warrior -- and you can see the flames in her chest as well as her eyes that betray her rank -- used to belong to one of those. The Alphas were powerful, the Warriors were kept busy with glorious battles, the Breeders produced only the strongest pups. They owned their corner of the continent. And they enjoyed it when someone, anyone, tried to oust them.

It was their idea of entertainment, and most who tried ended up burning into the ground. Survivors, rare, barely escaped the flames, and never with their hides intact. So, naturally, the Terror thought nothing of trying to expand their territory into the territory of a family of Sahrimnae, and they finally found a fight they couldn’t win. This Warrior met her end with the tusks of a Vaylkree piercing her heart, and then there was only darkness until a pair of thanaturges on the hunt for complete skeletons happened across her, still in the same forest clearing where she’d been struck down.

Reassembled, she’s marginally wiser, but no less self-assured. Okay, yes, she’s learned that Sahrimnae are not a fight she can win, but if she could beat everything else while she was alive, there’s no reason being dead shouldn’t be an advantage now. All she needs is a new Alpha to lead her, and she’ll make ‘em feel the fire. She owns the ground she’s standing on, and taking it from her is going to hurt. A bond should be careful with her, however, as she has very little regard for how much she burns -- fire is good, fire is best, fire is life (and previously-wild animals [even very smart ones] don’t put much stock in personal possessions).

It was all Cain could do not to bang his skull against the table as the drums sent out their message. Raising the dead? Again?! This was, what? The fourth time? Fifth? He had honestly lost track by this point. It seemed like every time he turned around though, the dead were either dragging themselves out of their graves or being dragged from their graves.



If they were ever buried in the first place.



And what was this about bringing food to the potluck? Was this some weird Haven tradition that happened once in a blue moon or something that allowed people to speak to their dead relatives? Wasn't that just a little bit creepy? As he looked down at the fact that he was currently in nothing but a pair of jeans cinched by a belt and nothing else, he decided he wasn't exactly a good authority at what was and was not creepy.



Standing up, he dug through the clothing pile to look for a shirt. Ever since Susan had made it known that she could actually see him in the flesh and blood, he had gone back to wearing clothes full time now. He had been relaxing on dressing himself since coming to Haven (after all, with no fleshy bits, he could walk around naked and not have it be any issue at all), but that was a thing of the past now. At least he didn't have to constantly cover up completely now and could wear t-shirts now. Which is exactly what he found. Looking at it, he decided that either Taki picked this one up not realizing how it might be taken, or a certain canine of his had found it and dragged it home for him. He suspected the later.



Damn dog.



But might as well wear the 'Down to Bone' shirt with its little cartoonish femur bone. It was appropriate in his mind at least.



So that ensemble plus one of his guns (just in case someone needed to go back to being perma-dead) and his hat was what Cain was wearing as he strode into the graveyard. Coming upon the scene, he tilted his head back and let out a low whistle. Catching sight of Melonwei, he shook his head. "Should have suspected ya. These aren't going to start eating us right? I mean. I'm not exactly chewy here. Lack a bit of fat for that."



He was mostly joking even as he gave a sidelong glance at the bigger skeletons and took into account of who was already here. He knew Melonwei had turn over a new leaf. For the most part anyway. He wouldn't trust her not to stab him in the back should it suit her needs or ensure her surviving a situation, but she was also very up front about that part. He couldn't exactly blame her either for wanting to live. So to speak. He was in the circumstances he was in cause he had wanted to 'live' too. That and somethings having a grudge could be a great motivator.



"So what did ya bring to this pot luck? I'm starving." He gave a skeletal smile before moving over to stand by Keldos. It was a complete and utter joke as Cain literally did not eat, but that wouldn't stop him from joking about it. And possibly trying to get a raise out of Melonwei. He didn't know that his very existence offended her. All mistmatch paddywak bones and whatnot. He was just glad that they all functioned actually. Which reminded him...He still needed to find toes.


Oops.  

She tilted her head, the sound of drums an heart-achingly familiar sound. Tangle had played this game before, the drums a coded message just like her original home though the pattern was subtly different. She at least could discern WHAT the message was but it took some deciphering. That would be a pain for awhile, her drum alphabet some what different to this new planets.
Tangle puffed her cheeks and let out a sigh, she had no food to bring, nor did she see the need to really if this was about raising the dead. The dead do not eat, why bring food? for those bonders showing up? who in the world besides necromancers and day of the dead festivals thought to throw a pot-luck during dead raising?

"Never really have to worry about that too much around the undead." Raising a bony hand, he wiggled his phalanges. "Not much call for calcium in their diet, ya know?" Didn't mean they hadn't tried to gnaw on him the few times he had to deal with them. The undead didn't get much of a chance to do any damage between the fact that Cain was a great shot and that bone really wasn't on their menu.

Nodding at Lamia, Cain watched the demonstration with half an eye. It was basically necromancy without the complete control the person who raised the dead normally had. A plus in Cain's eyes even if the unicorn of the group so far wasn't exactly appreciated of his new found life.  That dragon certainly was though and a grin spread across his face. Which was essentially him dislocating his jaw slightly before putting it back into place.

Filtering out the debate between the resurrected , he would shrug at Lamia's comment. "I also belong in a science room. Though getting my arms stolen by ten years old got tiresome." The fact that none of the companions meant no harm was a relief. While not arriving completely without a weapon, he was grateful he didn't have to fight off thirteen bone companions and one of them being a dragon of quite a good size. Been there. Done that. Kicked the helmet from the suit of armor far, far, away.

A sidelong glance at Kemori when he yelped proved that no serious reaction was going to be needed beyond trying not to laugh. Green certainly wasn't the fox's color at all.

Cain watched as Taki entered the graveyard, waving back as he watched her. He often felt that Taki was his responsibility to keep out of trouble. Not from some high handed sense of duty, but because he thought of her as family. Plus she had a track record of finding trouble very easily and the last time they had to deal with undead...She seemed okay though as she moved towards the grumpy butt of a unicorn. Didn't surprise the skeleton one bit when he got down to it. The grumpiness one so far was Mehros and Taki just couldn't let a negative emotion stick around for long. 

He really had to love her solution though. It was certainly a new way of looking at being undead.

Mildred

They were late. That really wasn't too much of a surprise. Mildred had a hard time finding someplace that would give her brains with minimal questions asked. She had thought that in a world where the illogical happened on a daily basis, a request for ten or so odd brains wouldn't seem that unusual. She was wrong. Which had her late to this party and a bit pissed at that. 

Being late to an undead party was so last century.

Then there was the fact that Jeremi kept dragging his feet as he followed behind her. If she had known he was going to be like this, she wouldn't have invited him along to begin with. But she hadn't really thought through the fact that someone involved in saving people's lives wouldn't want to be around people that he can't technically save because their time had already passed. That part had completely slipped her mind. She had just thought it would be a nice outing without Kemori butting in. Some part of her knew the unfairness and what a hypocrite she was being, but right not, she didn't quite care enough to work through the issues and the problems. Maybe later. Maybe never and she would just bury the issue deep inside.

Either way should work...Right?

As she entered the graveyard, she stopped a blinked, feeling her cousin running in behind her as he hadn't been paying that much attention. "Holy mother of...I feel like I shouldn't have wasted so much time for food you guys can't even digest." Moving forward, she dropped the sack of brains a few feet away from Melonwei and Lamia, eyes tracking the larger skeleton that was Eve. "Unless they do in fact eat. Which in that case, eat up. If not, I can drag do something with them. Maybe tease that giant zombie dino I've seen running around here. See just how much of threat it actually is."

The skeletons were intriguing if she was being entirely honest with herself. The fact that these two bone raisers had found an intact dragon skeleton to work with. Not to mention a kitsune and a...She was fairly sure that was a unicorn the feline person was talking too over there. She also noticed the piles still needing to be brought to life and figured they were in for a long night ahead of them. Oh what fun.

Jeremi

Jeremi had stopped walking at the entrance. Hands over eyes as he seriously considered turning back around and leaving. Dead things...They didn't set well with him. He felt that once the life had left their bodies, they were well out of his jurisdiction and comfort level. Technically, it could be reasoned that in fact, life had re-entered these bones and they were among the living once more. 

They just didn't need sleep. Or food. Or water. Or air. Or proper muscles and tendons to move. You know the important things.

Glancing around, the only reason he entered the grave yard was the fact that he saw Kemori stalking across the headstones. The green stuck out like a sore thumb and Jeremi didn't even bother to hide the laugh that bubbled out. It was rare for someone to get the drop upon Kemori like that and while Jeremi would have to help clean out the paint (a task he was looking forward to), he didn't feel a bit sorry for the kitsune. Now if Kemori had looked a bit more upset, it would be a different story, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like he was having fun trying to ferret out the prankster. 

Not really knowing what else to do, he moved over to where Melonwei and Lamia stood. "Sorry we are a bit late Melonwei. Harper Tomlin's message...Well, you know it. You heard it. Mildred insisted it would be rude to show up to a potluck without food." Pointing out that it probably wasn't a potluck hadn't deterred her from her quest, so Jeremi had just followed along. Better than arguing with her over it and becoming even more late to the party. "Am I right to assume you need some help finding homes? Or is this like a piano recital except for the raising of bones?" 

Gertude

In all the activity and movement, Gertude moved silently among the headstones. When she slipped in was a bit of a mystery to most (it was a bit before Mildred and Jeremi, but after Taki for those with keen eyes). Familiar faces were everywhere and she took up a position to where she could listen and watch the events unfold before her, eyes sparkling with curiosity at what would happen next.

<<Here we go again.>>

“No need to sound so glum, bug.”

<<This is how it always starts. ‘We need help! Come save us! That’s what Guardians do!’ Crow spun an unhappy aileron roll, metal clattering as the pieces-parts of his shell slid against each other. <<And then you wind up paying the price. I don’t like it.>>

Touched, Dust reached up to snag his Ghost out of the air. As ever, Crow put up the briefest and most perfunctory of protests before nestling into a fold of his Guardian’s cloak.

“I don’t like it either, but I get the feeling that’s not what’s going on here.” The exo jabbed a finger skyward, and for the first time Crow listened to the drummer’s message in full. Harper Hall was calling for aid, but not in the same desperate tones that had accompanied previous summons. This was more suggestion than demand, a rolling, rollicking beat that nevertheless invited all and sundry to try their luck.

<< What do you think is going on? >> Crow sounded calmer now, steadier, his Light bright with curiosity rather than burning with annoyance. << Nothing too dangerous, from the sounds of it, but ‘bones’... that doesn’t sound good. >>

“No Taken here, bug.” Dust sat up and stretched wide, unintentionally echoing Crow’s earlier metallic musical. “And even if there were, I don’t think the Harpers would be inviting us to eat dinner with ‘em.”

<< You trust too easily, >> Crow accused, but rose back into the air with minimal fuss. << I take it you’re going to go investigate this insanity? >>

“Sure am.” Nonchalant as ever, Dust ambled over to the closet nearest the Shadowed Dawn’s airlock, his Ghost moseying in his wake. “You gonna come with?”

<< Dust, do you really think I’m going to let you do something dumb without adult supervision? >>

The exo in question paused halfway through the process of donning his chestplate.

“...okay, point taken.”

Given that neither Crow nor Dust were actually capable of eating, providing a dish for the potluck proved more difficult than convincing each other to attend. In the end Crow trans-matted in an assortment of bottled drinks and a bag to carry them in. Thus Dust arrived with a net bag slung over one shoulder, fully expecting to watch everyone else eat, drink and make merry.

That didn’t happen, of course, but what did happen was so damn cool he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Holy shit, lookit that, Crow!” Dust all but vaulted off his Sparrow, leaving his long-suffering Ghost to trans-mat the vehicle back to its place aboard the Dawn. “I didn’t think shit like this existed on Teragaia!”

<< I don’t think it does. >> There was no mistaking the note of wariness in Crow’s voice, a fact that put a significant dent in Dust’s exuberance. << Eyes up, Guardian. This has the potential to get really ugly really fast. >>

Enthusiasm thus somewhat dampened, Dust padded forward to join the little gaggle of apparent bonding attendees, bright optics fixed on the darting form of what had been, in life, a firelizard.

“This is so cool.”



Jessera had learned a great deal about a great many things in her first few months outside the proverbial nest. She’d learned that hellhounds couldn’t be trusted, for example, and that dragons existed on just about every world ever. (Even if they didn’t really look like dragons as she knew them.) More to the point, she’d begun the arduous process of learning the ins and outs of Haven Weyr. She knew to avoid the wher’s nest at the bottom of the spiral stairs, for one, and had begun to understand just when she was best off visiting the cafeteria in search of bacon.

She’d also learned that a solid quarter of the messages drummed out by Harper Hall couldn’t be trusted.

All of which meant it was a most skeptical Jessera who looked sideways towards Aivas and asked the question of the hour: “Am I crazy, or does that sound like trouble?”

Ever-logical Aivas tilted her head to one side and considered Jess’ query with all due seriousness. On the one hand, her bondmate had a point: walking bones were not a standard part of Teragaia’s faunal fabric, in fact had never been mentioned in any record the insectoid archivist had access to. On the other hand... this was Teragaia. The planet fairly thrived on the new and unusual. Just because something had never existed before didn’t mean it couldn’t exist now, and if something existed, there was a 50/50 chance you could bond it.

Aivas said as much, happily rattling off facts and figures until Jess held up a hand.

“Alright,” She giggled, “Alright, I get it! Could be trouble, could just be something new. I guess the better question is, who all’s coming with me?”

Sounds of assent rang out across her quarters, but in the end not everyone could tag along. Hightower, frustratingly stubborn creature that he was, insisted on accompanying her. ‘Just in case’, he said, and his tone made clear just what ‘case’ he was prepared for. Not for nothing did the big red gryphon belong to the Shield caste. His protective instincts ran deep, and they ran angry. Perhaps predictably, Aivas crawled right up and made herself comfortable in Jess’ collar, and absolutely would not accept ‘no’ as an answer.

They arrived in style, at least, Jess perched atop Hightower’s back with both hands fisted in his crimson pelt. Jess hopped off the gryphon’s back at the edge of the apparent graveyard, smoothing fur and feathers into place whilst she gathered her nerve.

She’d never admit it, not on pain of torture, but the sight of a graveyard practically spilling over with animated bones was just a bit unsettling.

But Jessera of High Reaches was not in the habit of backing down from a challenge. More importantly, she wasn’t about to get in the habit now. Back straight and shoulders square, Jess strode forward to join the hopefuls-

Only to freeze anew as a skeleton larger than any other rose, roared, and fairly radiated pain.

“Oh, dear heart,” Jess choked, and staggered sideways into Hightower clutching her head. The gryphon flinched, crooning, and stood dead still until his bondmate pulled herself back together. “Eve, you said you were calling yourself? I’m... I’m so sorry.”

Dominic turned at the sound of the Ilythiir's voice. "Then I would hope she might have brought enough for you and I both," he replied, a slight smile playing about his lips despite how fearsome his smile might be taken given his appearance. He had the feeling that the joke wasn't quite malicious in nature even if the Illaro didn't care whether he offended him or not. "Though I might be tempted to take a bite out of what you're given." Joking aside, he much preferred hunting down his own prey; the fresher the better, otherwise it wouldn't sate his hunger. "Not that you would probably need them, in all truth."