[Plot Topic] The New Avatar [CLOSED] (Sara, Niya)

Atarnjuat rolled in his sleep peacefully.

His dreams betrayed the storm beneath his otherwise calm surface.  A stick of sage, sweetgrass, cedar and tobacco burned in the corner, gently letting smoke wisp up into tiny phantom creatures.

The Four Sacred medicines were burned by Atanarjuat as an offering to the Ancestors and the spirits he communed with.  And he burned them to ward off wickedness and bad dreams.

Sometimes, his gut would tell him to light it before bed to ward off bad dreams...or call the spirits forth to bring him news of the past...or present...or the future.

Whatever it was they saw fit to bring him really.

Tonight they brought forth visions of the Ancestors.

But not his...

No, the Hotamétaneo'o came to him tonight.  A warrior society as old as the Great Spirits.  A society as old as the foundation of the Tribes.  As old as the honoured Eagle-Raven who created the humans of the tribe from chitons and the first men he pulled from the clam shell millennia ago.

They were made outlawed by Katara after the 100 Year War, but during the days of the war, the mysterious society were one of the last resistances against Fire Lord Ozai and his armies in the Southern Tribe.

Even after he had killed off or kidnapped the last of the Water Benders of the Southern Tribe--save for Katara--the Crazy Dogs, as Ozai's men called them, continued to fight.

Half man, half spirit--all animal.

Some say they went underground after their supposed disbanding by Katara...no one really knew the truth.

The Atanarjuat of Dreams approached the dancing chanting Warriors.

They chanted another forbidden song and dance from the days of Katara...the Ghost Dance.

Not only could the society transform themselves into wolf-like creatures to defeat their enemies...they could supposedly raise the Ancestors from the dead and allow their spirits to fight alongside them once more.

They used the Ghost Dance to call on the Ancestors for help and achieve this end.

No one had ever proven this though...

What puzzled Atanarjuat...was why they had called upon him tonight, specifically.

Why did they come before him?

What would they show him?

"Shé:kon," he said simply to the men.

They continued their chant, paying no heed to Atanarjuat.

They were tall, muscular, built like trees of the thickest wood.  Their shoulders were broad.  They wore nothing but leather pants and a long leather strap--the one they would stake themselves to the ground with and fight to the death.

They carried and assortment of weapons--axes, spears, clubs, shields.  But they all had a small quiver of arrows at their side, and a bow across their back.

Their boots made no sound as they stomped at the ground.  Simple leather "socks" tied together with leather cord.  Better for silencing the footsteps and stalking prey...or enemy soldiers.

Atop their heads were a crown--a war bonnet of great splendor--of crow feathers, black as night, but tipped with white.

Their faces, and entire bodies for that matter, were white as the snow outside.  They had painted themselves in the ashes of their Ancestors to better call upon their power.

The only piece of colour on them was the black streak of paint that covered their faces from side-to-side for about two inches, right where their eyes were.  Like a blindfold almost...

Atanarjuat was in awe at these men.

He witness folk-legends up close.

They had been real...they were not just myths.

"Shé:kon," he called once more, hoping to say hello.

The men did not respond once more...at first.

They finished their chant, their dance, and then turned to face Atanarjuat with serious faces.  They were an imposing sight.

"Aniin," said the tallest among them, likely their leader.

He spoke the Southern Dialect...Atanarjuat was rusty on that.  Clearly they did not appreciate the Northern greeting.

"I am honoured by your presence," continued Atanarjuat, trying to get back on the right foot, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The Dog Men laughed.  "You talk pretty," laughed their leader, "But you are half Southerner yourself.  Do not ever forget who you are, young one."

Atanarjuat bowed his head, mostly to hide his red cheeks.

"We come to tell you the most important news of all," smiled the leader.

"And what is that, O Great Ancestor?" asked Atanarjuat.

The Dog Soldier leader laughed.  "The identity of the next Avatar."

Atanarjuat was stunned.  Speechless.  He had no words.  "Who is she?  And why have you been chosen to tell me?"

"We may not be your Ancestors, Wise One," replied one of the other Dog Soldiers, "But we are hers."

"Hers?" asked Atanarjuat, "What is her name?"

Atanarjuat ran through the palace of ice and snow. He didn't bother to throw on much more than his boots and pants.

"Wake the Waneek!" cried Atanarjuat, "I have had a vision of the spirits!"

All the guards watched him as if he were a madman, running around at the crack of dawn towards the Bonfire Room where the Council of Elders met with the Waneek before the Sacred Bonfire.

He would be meeting his grandmother alone, and the Elders would be notified later, but the importance of the situation was no less than before.

"Did you not hear me?" cried Atanarjuat as he passed by more confused, sleepy looking guards, "Awaken the Waneek, now!"

"On what grounds, sir?" asked the guard, "She has retreated to her room to engage in a Sweat Ceremony and was told not to be disturbed for anything."

Atanarjuat, usually a peaceful man, grabbed the guard by his leathery lapels. "The Spirits of the Ancestors have given me a vision."

"Can't it wait?" yawned one of the guards.

Atanarjuat shot him a foul look. "The Ancestors do not wait." Atanarjuat spat every word back at the young fool. "We have been gifted with the identity of the new Avatar...call the Waneek at once! Or let her anger at not being notified be on your head!"

Immediately the two guards ran off to find the Waneek, Atanarjuat's grandmother.

It was a mere ten minutes before Tekonwenharake, the Waneek of the North and South, arrived, fully clothed, in the Bonfire Room.

In this time, Atanarjuat had prepared the logs for lighting, but had not yet lit the Bonfire that would call the Elder Council to meeting.


The Waneek had left her white hair to flow freely about her shoulders, and she had not put any any of her necklaces, feathers or beaded ornaments, or her bracelets. But she walked around frantically, looking at Atanarjuat.

"Is it true? Did the Ancestors tell you the identity of the new Avatar?" asked Tekonwenaharake.

Atanarjuat nodded. "The Ancestors did...though the Ancestors were not ours."

"Whose were they?" wondered the Waneek. Rarely did another family's Ancestors interfere with the mind and dreams of those who were not kin.

"Hers," replied the Shaman.

Atanarjuat's grandmother nodded sagely. "It makes sense...She, you say? A female Avatar?"

Atanarjuat nodded. "Kaniehtí:io of the Aarushi Clan, originally from Dezadeash."

"A Northerner...a good, traditional Water Tribe name," smiled Tekonwenaharake, "I am glad. This will be good for the tribe. The Aarushi Clan...a small clan, originally from the South but now from the North. I knew one in my youth, a young boy...he must be old or dead now. I outlived most of my generation."

Atanarjuat sighed at his grandmother's poorly timed reminiscing. "Grandmother..."

The Waneek cleared her throat. "Yes, you're right. My apologies. Did these Ancestors say where to find her?"

Atanarjuat shrugged. "You know how the Spirits are. They did and didn't. They gave me a bunch of riddles and half-words that I'm supposed to figure through myself. Shes sleeping in the bellow of two dead beasts, dressed in the skin of another. She's alone, without kin. But they're not far from here. She's apparently in the city though. That was the only specific I could wrestle from them."

"Them..." wondered Tekonwenaharake, "Tell me more about these Ancestors...what were they like?"

Atanarjuat was not sure how his grandmother would take the Avatar descending from Dog Soldiers news. His family, his grandmother's grandmother had had been chosen to rule over the tribes by Katara's children, and had been friends with Katara herself.

Katara was the one who outlawed the Dog Soldiers tradition...would Tekonwenaharake feel the same?

"I cannot share the visions of the Ancestors," lied Atanarjuat, "There is much they would wish to keep secret from the living. I share only what I can."

He figured for now, he would play things safe. He could always reveal more later...or not.

If Tekonwenaharake knew her grandson was lying she did not show or share it. She merely nodded and smiled and turned towards the small window that overlooked the city. "Light the fire, Grandson," stated the Waneek, "Call the Council. I let inform them of what you have told me. In the mean time...you may search for the Avatar. The Ancestors saw fit to divulge the information to you...so it must be you who finds her."

Atanarjuat did as he was told, and dropped the flaming torch he held into the bonfire. Within minutes, the logs, tinder and bark had erupted to a roaring bonfire, and the smoke fulled its way into the small hole in the ceiling...the Elder Council would soon notice, and convene.

Within hours they would know about the new Avatar...and the politics would begin.