Anathea inhaled the air of this new world.
Anathea exhaled the air with a faint puff of iridiscent smoke, letting her body acclimate to it.
Anathea looked around, clamping down on a roiling confusion and mounting frustration, taking the vistas of this new world in her; she frowned: something was not right. Just a moment ago, she was lazing about in the inchoate emptiness, musing about her next scheme, before being dragged here; not an unusual occurence to one of the Rhishands, not in the slightest - what was strange is the world around her didn't sang to her, as if already murdered to a lifeless shell of itself by some passing scourge - so empty was the world of any dharma or purpose that for a moment, she doubted if it was not a phantasm of the void utterly vivid, tricking her weary mind in a fancy of convulsive action of one of the blind idiot gods of Is Not.
It was not, however, for the structure surrounding her had the stability of what Is - which meant that somehow, this new reality she found transfused herself in lacked in purpose wholesale - and Anathea dearly hoped that this is just a fluke of locality, some terrible curse laid by cruel and surely uncaring "Gods" of this place upon the world for some unperceivable slight, and not a qualifier of the world altogether.
Irritatingly, her idiot of a brother managed to get separated from her along the way and wandered off somewhere else; he must be somewhere in this world, for the Rhishands are inseparable until the day they would have to leave the stage and leave the story for others to tell, but that was not the first occasion he got lost and she had to retreive him. Thoughts of destruction he would wreak without her keeping him in check - again - made her right eye twitch a little bit.
Still, those two legends here may be of some help; it's not the first time Anathea would have to cooperate with one of - presumably - Creation-born to get her point across, and would [i]probably[/i] not be the last. Woman's eyes filled with glittering stars for a mere moment, before clearing up again as she nodded to her thoughts and rose her hand with three fingers outstretched:
[color=f26522]"First, introductions are indeed in order. I am [u][b]Anathea Rhishand[/b][/u]."[/color] - the woman's name dropped on those who listen like a block of heavy metal, resounding across the moat with echo born not of the volume of her words, which were spoken calmly - [color=f26522]"One of the Rhishands, a rider - an agent, if you will - of Mythical Judgement. I cannot say whether you would be pleased or not to make an acquaintance with me, False Arbitrator, for you are unlike the agents of Heaven or Hell I have seen before; as for you, you [u][b][REDACTED][/b][/u] clown..."[/color] - Anathea shifted her gaze towards the jester sipping tea - [color=f26522]"I would take my second and third questions to you, as you seem to be more knowledgeable in the ways this world moves; or, rather, [i]not[/i] moves. Tell me, oh masked one, what is it with the lack of purpose that seems to pervade this world? How do people even live here, with this terrible emptiness stilling their hearts and snuffing their souls? I could hardly imagine a great and terrible ambition arising in such a set of conditions in any but the most fiery of the hearts, and the world without heroes is a sad, empty place, barely even worthy of judgement."[/color] - she paused in her tirade, exhaling and taking a moment to compose herself - [color=f26522]"Finally, could you, perchance, tell me where to look for my wayward brother, one [b][u]Wynther Rhishand[/u][/b]? We got separated on the way here, and I am a bit worried about what he could be up to all on his lonesome."[/color]