1 Ceremony

The Hero was as still as he could be: kneeling on a ceremonial coconut quilt inside the Shaman's tent as two of the Shaman's aids ran their soft hands on his bare chest. The two maidens, who the Hero had grown up with, were painting his body with an ink that came from one of the deadliest creatures to wade these waters: Serpent Squids. Their ink was said to bestow those who wore it strength of a thousand men, yet the Hero only felt the sting as they pressed the liquid into his body.

The two woman wore little, leaving almost nothing to the imagination; they wore blouses that covered their breasts and wrapped around their backs woven from coconut husks, and had loincloths made from the same material that covered their lower bodies up to the middle of their thighs. The Shaman claimed that they were necessary, and even insisted that she wore them when the Hero's grandfather went on a quest to save another island from the blight of a great King Serpent Squid. The Hero did not quite believe her, but was more focused on staying still as the maidens continued the pattern on his body. The pattern they were putting on his body was something along the lines of this: the pattern began in the center of his chest where the two maidens maid mirrored lines that ran to his chest and down his abdomen. After stopping on the same level as his naval, the two moved their hands to his back and met in the middle of his spine, running along his back, breaking off occasionally to form solid lines. The pattern broke off once more when they reached his shoulder blades and ran up to his shoulders and down his arms. This is the portion they were working on currently, and the ink would end on his wrists.

He focused on the maiden marking his right arm, the woman gently applying the ink to his elbow and began running her hands down his forearm. This was the woman he would lay with tonight before his journey, of which he may never return, to ensure that his bloodline would not fade away into the ocean. The Hero closed his eyes and held his arms out to allow the two to complete their tasks.

The two maidens neared his wrists and wrapped their ink covered hands around them, covering his wrists in the substance. That part of the ceremony was complete. It was now for the final task before the night was done: to face the village and prepare for his send off. He took a deep breath through his nose as the two women backed away behind him. He let loose a heavy breath from his mouth and stood up, his loincloth crafted from husks and leafs rustling as his legs unfolded. As he stood up, he rolled his head, receiving a few cracks as his head moved from left to right. He tightened his muscles and released that tension to loosen himself up. His attention focused on the hut's exit and psyched himself up. "Alright." He said to himself, taking the first step forward. He heard the soft foot falls of the maidens following behind him, knowing that the one to his right would break off to his private hut at some point. He felt bad for her, but couldn't dwell on it. If he did not go, the world would end. He needed to succeed.

Stepping out of the Shaman's hut, the Hero looked out over the village he called home, a small community that overlooked a beach. There was an aisle made of burning torches that lead to an alter that held a breathtaking view of the ever expanding ocean. Standing near the alter were the village shaman, the chieftain and the Hero's parents, the Shaman's son and his wife. The Hero walked down the aisle, trying to ignore all of the eyes looking at him as he moved closer to the alter, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone he knew. He wanted to get this over with so he could begin his quest. The grass felt soft against his feet as he moved, taking another deep breath as he went forward taking in the smell of the burning dried plants. The Shaman's face came into clear view, white markings going across her wrinkled face and making her eyes stand out in the torch lit village.

The Hero walked up to the Shaman, puffing his chest out to accentuate his muscular form. The Hero of any village should be the image of strength, as he was taught. The Shaman, her hands covered in coconut powder, gave him a faint smile, moving closer to him to mark his face with the fine white powder. "You are now the Hero of Wanakonopa, the Isle we call home." She began as her fingers ran over his eyes and to the side of his head. "You have relinquished your former life and are now the avatar of our salvation!" Her hands then moved down his jaw line, connecting at his chin. "As our avatar, you will go out on the ocean and find the Fallen God. He will aid you in your quest to save our world." She slid her hands up his chin and to his lip, completing the markings. Stepping away and to the side, she faced the ocean and pointed to the stars, the Hero opening his eyes to gaze upon the night sky. "Follow the hand of Garima, the All Mother. She will guide you to the Fallen one." The constellation she pointed out seemed to become brighter, catching the Hero's attention. The Hero nodded and focused on the Shaman once more, giving her an affirmative nod.

The Shaman returned the gesture and then turned to the people, all of them gazing in anticipation. The Hero turned as well, looking back to those whose life depended on him. He would not fail. He could not fail. The Shaman grabbed his right hand and tried raising it up, but due to her old age, she was struggling to get the arm up. The Hero followed her motion, and not wanting to harm her accidentally, slowly lifted his arm up. Once it was in the air, the Shaman addressed the people. "The gods have spoken his name, and he answered the call. The Hero shall save our world from the threat of destruction!" She cheered, the village responding in a similar way. The Hero stood there, watching over the people cheering him on. Now all he had to do was begin his journey.

As well as not die in the process.