(no subject)

[jack_inthegreen]

Jack is carving today, outside under the trees with a view of the new grave. He is humming to himself.

Under his hands the block of wood is taking on a curving horn-shape, with a texture as if it were woven from reeds. There are almost no shavings on the ground.

Comments

[gris_bug_man]

He is not going red. He's simply sitting in a sunny area.

"Many mythological scholars have theorized along those lines," he nods, "though the thought of a human sacrifice in any respect that involves death is one I personally find objectionable."

[jack_inthegreen]

"What great offering to give a god than his enemy, or a prime example of his creation?" Jack says with a shrug. "We weren't so bound by nicities back then. Things like the Geneva Convention would boggle someone like Ramses the Great or Boadicea."

[gris_bug_man]

"What right would I have to demand a fellow to make such a sacrifice?" he counters carefully. "If anything, I would rather see myself killed than anyone else. But I do understand."

[jack_inthegreen]

"If the chieftain or the shaman said the god demanded a sacrifice, sacrifices were made. They were different times. Lack of proper sacrifices could mean the sun wouldn't rise or the winter would never end.

"But it often was the best of the tribe, the fiercest warrior, the most beautiful maiden. It's not a sacrifice unless it's something you truly miss."

[gris_bug_man]

Not something they could ever agree upon, for they are from very different cultural backgrounds.

Intellectually however, "I see what you mean."

[jack_inthegreen]

Jack carves for a moment. "You must find me terribly barbaric."

[gris_bug_man]

"Not barbaric. Different. I am reminding myself to walk softly here--I cannot judge people by my cultural standards. And I refuse to judge you, Jack."

[jack_inthegreen]

"Thank you," Jack says quietly.

"I never asked for a life in my time. Those were younger, rougher gods, mostly.

"Which is not to say at times lives were offered," he adds with a frown.

[gris_bug_man]

"You did not dictate those actions, Jack. That was not your fault." His voice has gone quiet.

[jack_inthegreen]

"I know." He smiles at Gil. "Perhaps that's why it was easy to forget me--my requests were small and my effects subtle. I never wanted golden temples like Zeus or the beating hearts of my enemies like the Aztec crowd."

[gris_bug_man]

"True, but I doubt you are abhorred in my time the way the Aztecs are," he counters gently, "by those who do remember you."

[jack_inthegreen]

"I'm a garden ornament." He blows off more sawdust and studies the carving critically. "Or grafted into Wicca, which could be worse."

[gris_bug_man]

"I did not think Wicca dealt with dark magic," he replies, somewhat confused.

[ooc: Can we wrap in a few? RL interfering. :)]

[jack_inthegreen]

"Wicca is not dark magic. Do you find me dark magic?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Earth worship, Gil. That's all."

[ooc: sure thing.]

[gris_bug_man]

"I was just wondering how you being blended into Wicca would be a bad thing." Cue in the clueless scientist.

"And no, I do not find you dark, Jack."

[ooc: See ya!]

[jack_inthegreen]

"It amuses me, that's all. Wicca is a pastiche, anyway. Better Wicca than many other religions, but they have no need of me, anyway. They already have their he-who-rises."


[ooc: g'night]</small.