Shir'kardyr - The dance of bones

For as long as the childrens of the plains can remember, the bonespeakers of the Bar'kashyr have kept the souls and stories of their people alive, carried on the wind's breath and carved into the bones of the earth. Chosen from the most clever and ingenious pups, those shown to be worthy by portents and signs, the bonespeakers wear their role with pride: clad in ornate, carefully woven clothing that is covered in dangling bones both large and small, each carved with a multitude of notches and ornaments and bleached and yellowed by wind and rain.
They are forever wandering the steppes, sacrosanct to any violence and welcome everywhere by any kashyran soul, a living , wandering library of a peoples memory that visits each clan in turn.

Every significant event, from the softest whimpers of newborn pups to fierce and deadly battles or hunts, is etched onto the bones of one who witnessed it, with the significance of the event reflected in the power of the chosen bone. A delicate bone, perhaps from a swift hare sacrified for luck, might mark a new life, while a major deed or a clan's blood-bond is etched onto the bones of a pack leader after their death, to be kept as an eternal tale of the people's story.

"To choose a bone"

A saying amongst the kashyran people that shows a decision is important and has to be weighted carefully.

And so it is with great joy and celebration when a bonespeaker, one of these eternal wanderers of the plains, arrives at one of the tent cities. The Shir'kardyr, known in the common tongue as the dance of bones, is - despite its sinister name - an joyous festival celebrated by the Bar'kashyr. Once a bonespeaker arrives, the villagers gather, their eyes fixed on the newcomer. He is greeted solemnly by the oldest members of the tribe, then the mightiest warrior of the clan leads them to a specifically prepared tent that every camp keeps as a home for these rare visitors.

A Kardyr'mashan - A kasharyan storybone

Meanwhile, the rest of the village prepares a raceous feast of only the best the lands have to offer. The rich aroma of roasting meat fills the air as the bonespeaker, secluded in the lovingly prepared tent, carefully chooses those bones out of his collection that might speak to this pack the most, each choice taken with slow and careful deliberation. Once the red sun begins to sink below the horizon, a solemn silence descends upon the gathered village. very unlike the usual yapping and laughter that can be heard in the evening, leaving only the rustling wind that quietly whispers over the endless grasslands.

Then, suddenly, into the silence, a , deep thrumming horn calls out with a single long and longing blast that echoes mournfully to the horizon. As the last echoes fade, the towns modest campfires erupt in into a towering inferno, a pillar of scorching flame, casting dancing shadows and glowing embers into the air. Out these flickering embers, the bonespeaker strides out, a specter clad in carved bones out of a primal, more feral time.

With a guttural cry the bonespeaker raises one of his chosen bones to the moonlit skies, an offering of the soul and history of the people to the heavens themselves. The whole village joins in, a cackling howl that rises to a crescendo, soaring to the watching twin moons above.
Into this howl a drumbeat rolls out, slowly, the thrumbing heartbeat of the Bar'kashyr and the land itself. The drumbeat quickens, each strike more forceful than the last until there is nothing but a blur of thunder rumbling trough land and bones alike. And then, just as it reaches the peak...the beat stops, leaving only the lingering echoes that roll out over the grasslands, leaving only the quiet, ever whispering wind to tell of the fates. The bonespeaker then strides back to his people, his eyes still glinting with the last dancing ember's reflection. Under the watching eyes of the moons, this night the horn will sound again and again, and each time he steps into the circle, his piercing gaze sweeping over the crowd as he begins to read and teach tales from their library of storybones, telling of past glories and deeds, so that the legacy of the Bar'kashyr might endure.

Grash'kradyr - The carving of bones

Most people might not even take a second glance if they found a bone carved by the Bar'kashyr , children of the plains, but each of these seemingly ordinary notches and dents has a subtle meaning to the kashyran people that is a rival to any written language.

Tales from the Great library of Al'nahar

One wonders what stories are so very important to these people that they carve them into their very bones. What wisdom and terrible secrets do they guard? By the grace of the gods, what would I give to learn from them...

Turah Sha'mir, HIstorian

It's a bunch of bones with some random notches, I don't get the excitement...

Aryb Kal'dar, Acolyte of the first circle