[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/vVKfCjO.png[/img] [colour=f7941d][i]Level 7 Dormant-Goddess of Magic (Pacts) [b]Might[/b]: 0 [b]Free Points[/b]: 8 [b]Concelmeant/Detection[/b]: 10[/i][/colour] [hider=Summary] Extensive usage of the following links: http://www.ancient.eu/Egyptian_Culture/ http://www.ancient.eu/article/58/ https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Zoroastrianism https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Persian_wedding https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Jewish_wedding Belruarch sits by the dead body of the Vicegerent and contemplates her life She eventually gets her self together, vaporises the corpse, puts it in phials, and goes on a long walk She eventually arrives, all sunburnt and not very healthy-looking, at the Venomweald She stays there a while and collects various things She stumbles upon the corpse of the Writhe and harvests a large part of it While leaving, she senses a divine presences and discovers the Crown of Death which she takes with her Years later, she has become the Witch-Priestess Yara A man comes to her seeking youth for his mother, and she eventually grants it to him on the condition that his daughter, Chjekaya, is sent to her to become a priestess, and that his soul will be her's upon his death One Gadar is mysteriously injured and is rushed to the Yara's temple, the Temple of the Bond His injuries are strange, but Yara eventually heals him It turns out he has lost sight in one of his eyes, along with his memory Yara allows him to stay in order to serve the temple and be its link with the outside wall (as Yara's priestess' are not allowed to leave the temple ever) One day, Yara and Gadar sit down in the library and go through some stuff about Vetruvian culture He brings up the fact that the reclusiveness of the priestess' makes the people more suspicious of the Temple and encourages the thought that they are in fact heretics, he tells her that she should allow priestess' to leave the temple and marry Yara thinks it over and it is revealed, after some years, that she in fact allowed it One night, she sits on a raft ont he Mahd admiring the moons of Galbar, which are, on this rare night, all out and full The Vetruvians consider this holy, and Yara deliberates on the Vetruvian beliefs about the moons Thereafter she falls asleep and has a bad dream, from which she awakens screaming and sweating and trembling, hearing the voice of someone from her past She shakily makes her way back to the temple and rest by its entrance until Chjekaya finds her there and helps her get inside The discussion turns to marriage, and an embarrassed Chjekaya rushes ahead Hearing voices ahead, Yara hastily goes to her room and sits on her bed - only to her the voice clearer than before It is none other than the Boy, now all grown and deathly They converse, he warns her of the 'stars falling' and makes it clear that he wants the Crown of Death They strike a deal: a sample of his powers, his essence, for the crown When he suggests she tell him everything she discovers from looking into the essence, she refuses, and he calls her vile The exchange takes place and she leaves She tells the emptiness that...she isn't vile...): On Chjekaya's marriage day, Yara and the girl sit and talk about the Vetruvian marriage traditions [hider=Oradin-Thulemiz Khookies] 4 Khookies Base 11,136 relevant Kharacters 4 Kharacter Bonus 8 Khookies to Oradin-Thulemiz, 30 Khookies total[/hider][/hider] [/centre] He was dead. She had not known the turtle long, of course, but he was dead and within her was a certain degree of unhappiness. And she could not say, with any confidence, that she had liked him very much at all, but she had been most grateful to him. And he was dead. And she could not say that she had very much appreciated him taking her into the midst of a divine stand-off, but she had been indebted to him and did not complain. And he was dead. And he had seen the danger of it all and, perhaps, saved her a second time. And he was dead and she knew not how he had died, exactly, though his wounds hinted at the cause. And yes, he had been an odd fellow, for he was of Vowzra yet was not cold, and he was of Vowzra and spoke not like him, and he was of Vowzra and maintained none of that aloofness and disdain. Yes, he was of Vowzra and was in every way not of Vowzra except that he argued just as vehemently as that imperious one did. Yet he was of Vowzra, and she had been grateful, and she owed him a debt. And he was dead. There he lay, the desolate shadow of a god, upon his stomach, his noble chin buried in the sand and his eyes - which had only been open for a short while - forever closed. His shell defied the unrelenting glare of the desert's furious eye, and his shadow provided her with some shade. Even in death, with his very body, he protected her from the manifest danger of the desert's heat, and he shaded her from the whipping of the winds and the sizzling sand. But in her mind was one thought, one singular desire. And yes, it was selfish. And yes, it was ungrateful. And yes, she felt guilty about it and hated herself for it. And yes, she thought it still. [colour=f7941d][i]Leave me alone.[/i][/colour] It was odd, of course, for one to desire the departure of a creature already dead. But Belru desired it. She desired the turtle's departure, and she desired Vowzra's. She had grown to hate how he had pervaded every aspect of her life, every movement and thought, every relationship. She hated the fact that he was her only friend. Her only hated foe. Her only love. He was her brother, yes, and a father now, and were it not that he was the sire of her child, and were it not that he was the one ever protecting her, she would have said he was as her own child also. Yes, his only redeeming factor - for she hated him so! - was that he, out of all of them, had not forgotten her and had become all those things to her. [i]They had all forgotten her.[/i] And so while she hated him for his overbearing presence and his imperious Eye and his uncompromising Sight, she loved him because he remembered her. And perhaps, in his own strange way, he honoured her. Yes, he alone had Seen her, and even if he had not meant it, he had come to her and had comforted her and he had birthed, where there had only been numbness before, love and hate and joy and misery and pain. So much pain! But it was far better than that [i]numbness[/i]. And now, she wanted him to leave her alone. Forever. She wanted him to be like the rest of them. She wanted to hate him without reserve - that peremptory Eye, that Sight, the innumerable voices in his voiceless voice. All he had to do was leave her be, and she would be able to hate him for what he was to her just as she hated the others for what they had not been - or even tried to be. [colour=f7941d][i]Damn you, and damn them; damn the essence which sustains you all, and damn the hubris which elevates you all beyond your true stature. No, I shan't be sad that you have not soiled me with your friendships and enmities. I shall mingle with beings of far higher rank and stature than you...[/i][/colour] and even as she thought it, an ant passed by and she smiled and picked it up and stared at the beautiful little thing. And then she remembered its creator and her eyes darkened and grew cold. And she crushed it between her fingers and ground it into nothingness. Then she stood and turned around to face the corpse. And she raised a hand of power, and she subdued the flesh and bone of the carcass to her will, and she rent it asunder and shattered it, and even as she did to that ant, she did to the shadow of god. And there in the dry and torrid air, a cloud of cremated god hovered. And the sand below it also was subdued and rose to encompass the cloud of divine dust, and a quill appeared in her right hand and she wrote upon the back of her left, and a pact with blood was signed, and it was thus: that the subdued sand would heat itself and morph, and would carry the cremated god in phials of glass until a date decreed. And the pact forged on the back of her left hand disappeared. And another was written; and what sand remained clumped together and was watered with the dormant goddess' blood also. And what was sand was not sand, but a bag which would never be full. Into it went the phials, and round her shoulder went the strap, and the quill disappeared. And, though her mortal body was suddenly exhausted by her unnatural divine exertions, she pushed on and began her trek beneath the blazing hole in the sky. [centre]***[/centre] When she, at long last, reached the edge of the desert, her skin had darkened and flayed, and her lips seemed to have burst in countless places, and the sand seemed to have found a permanent place in the ink-black of her dishevelled hair and brows and eyelashes, and had become deeply lodged in her wounded lips and crispy, abraded skin. And a jungle wilderness now rose like a never-ending wall before her. It was dark, and it was deep, and it was dank and reeked of death and poison and all the terrors that mindless life goddess could concoct. But at least there was shade in there, and at least the Mahd ran just as pure within it as in the desert, and cooler. And she knew that there would be in here things to fill her empty phials, and there would be things forgotten by gods and time. She entered the Venomweald in that weak and delirious state, and she stayed by the river and drank often and bathed in it, and she ate what fruits she saw were safe, and she kept the small animals at bay with a stick she broke and fashioned. But that did not keep the larger ones at bay, only her stealth - and it surprised her just how great that was! - could keep her from those sauntering, predatory monstrosities. And despite the horrors of the Venomweald, it was brimming with life and energy and health, and that harmonious state was very soon clear in her as her wounds began to close and her skin began to heal and the sand, after many bathing sessions in the Mahd, began to leave her hair and skin. Feeling far better than she had in many weeks, she dared to wander deeper into the Venomweald, and in that manner crossed the strange pools festering with nothing other than pure poison. And she gently pulled the liquid out with what divine energies she could muster without exhausting herself, and filled of her empty phials what pleased her. What did that Vowzra think she was? What had [i]she[/i] grown to think she was? Yes, she had grown somewhat...soft. A side effect of motherhood, perhaps, of a little too much...well, love. She looked into the phials and her eyes were cold. It was not bad, what she had become. Not completely, at least. But she had allowed Vowzra and all he had done to her to affect her far too much. Too soft had she become...miserably weak. She had forgotten her inner strength. She did not need a saviour. She moved on. And as she wandered further into the jungle, she collected of the Venomweald's leaves, and she peeled off portions of the barks of the trees and took of its moss, and flowers, and fruits, and she pulverised of its creatures what she thought useful and placed them in her phials. And there was a calculated coldness about her as she did it all, a sharpness. Cold and sharp as a quill scraping papyrus. Cold and blunt as the decisive full-stop. And when she happened upon a particularly large and predatory creature which had fallen at last before the greatest predator of all, that relentless predator [i]Time[/i] and his closest consort [i]Death[/i], she would take of them also. Then came the day when she stumbled upon none other than the greatest of the Venomweald's predators, the monstrosity before whom all monstrosities - even divine ones - waned. The Writhe of the Venomweald lay dead. It was as though Fate itself had brought Belru to it, and she spent many days circling it and taking from it samples and pulverising of it what she thought useful. And even in death, the strange, demented energies flowed freely within it. It was unlike anything Belru had ever witnessed - nothing could quite compare to this fascinating thing! If she had the power, she would have pulverised it all and taken it with her, but it was a behemoth, a leviathan of the land, and so after weeks had elapsed in her study of the creature (for even in death no other Venomweald being dared approach it, and so she was safe to sleep and remain in its vicinity however long she pleased) she at last set off once more the way she came. But as she passed by the last of the Writhe and was leaving it behind her, the strangest sensation ran through the dormant goddess, and she froze. For she felt the presence of a god. Turning slowly, she looked in the direction of the pulsing divine essence. She could see nothing, and nothing in the area moved. Half of her wished to run away and ensure a tremendous distance lay between her and this presence, but another part of her was curious and she remained still and watched, like a squirrel who stood frozen with an acorn in its clasp in the midst of a clearing waiting on its suspicions to be confirmed. And nothing moved, and the divine essence pulsated as clearly as before. Belru looked from side to side before taking one cautious step towards the source of the pulse. Nothing happened. Nothing moved. She took another and stopped. Again, all was silent, all was still, and the pulse was clearer now than before. It came from the ground not at all far from the Writhe's looted remains. With more confidence now, she approached the place of the pulse and kicked at the roots and grasses until her foot hit something hard. Bending down and clearing the area, she found herself staring at a muddied object of some kind. And the pulse was coming from it. What was this, some artefact one of her siblings had left here? She brought it close to her and slowly brushed the mud from it and dusted it, and it became clear that it was white. And it became clear that it was a human skull. Or at least the upper half, for the lower jaw was missing. And oddly enough, skeletal fingers were protruding from the top of the skull, like some kind of morbid crown. She stared at it for the longest time, trying to work out what its function was and who could have simply left it here. After some time, she gave up the useless pursuit and decided to place it in her bag and examine it further at some other time. The very fact that it had some kind of divine presence made it useful, that was certain. If it came to it, she could always pulverise it too and use it for some other purpose. She would soon be mingling with beings who were, in her view, higher than gods after all. She would have to make herself useful. She would have to be...she thought back to the Treeminds and to their ancestors who had cared for her and Vowzra and Belvast so long ago...she would have to be [i]part of the community[/i]. And a [i]useful[/i] part at that. She looked around in the area for some time afterwards to see if any other such objects happened to be around, but finding nothing she turned away and made her way back to the Mahd, and from there she began walking along it back into the desert. For she had passed human settlements on her way here. There would she establish herself, and there would she live and give to those strange and beautiful beings. No Vowzras were they! No, no lonesome, cryptic autocrats, no dominators or imprisoners, no selfish forgetters. They were [i]a community[/i]. Ah! How beautiful was that? The very notion was so...well, romantic. No member of that species could, alone, survive. They were all dependent on one another, all lived together and by so doing confessed their greatest weakness and embraced their glorious strength. Ah! A community! [centre]***[/centre] The room was dark, the ceiling high and the walls lined with shelves. A ladder was standing by the entrance and the floor gave way to gloom the further in one looked. But there, on what may have been a table of stone, or a high altar, were two glowing phials of glass - no, two phials which had within them some strange, glowing, green concoction. Even from here he could see it bubbling and simmering. Even from here his body knew it to be most dangerous and his hairs stood on edge. And the shelves were lined with an unknown number of similar concoctions and powders and bits of things from far off times and places; things eyes had never before seen and ears had not heard, things the nose had never before smelled or skin felt or tongue tasted. Far off sensations and sights, far off dangers and darknesses. [colour=f7941d][i]'Are you planning to stand there gawking all day, or will you come in and make your business known?'[/i][/colour] his head turned in surprise at the voice, and he unconsciously stepped away from the entrance of the so-called Miracle Room, back into the light of the hall outside. 'I...uh, I...I'll come in,' he swallowed uneasily and stepped into the dark room, the curtain falling behind him leaving the large room in darkness bar what little light the eerie green concoctions in the phials gave. 'You are Yara, yes? The one claiming to be Master Zephyrion's Witch-Priestess?' [colour=f7941d][i]'I claim nothing of the sort.'[/i][/colour] 'They say that the blood of the Great Prophet Primus flows within you also, and that none but the Priest-King is esteemed more highly in all the land by Master Zephyrion than you. Is it true?' [colour=f7941d][i]'Let them say what they will, and let he who believes it believe, and let he who will deny it deny.'[/i][/colour] 'They...they say Master Zephyrion has blessed you and that you can, with his will, work miracles.' [colour=f7941d][i]'They may say what they will, but only the eye can ascertain the truth of it, no? Come, come, tell me what it is that you need, and if you have what it takes, you shall take what I have.'[/i][/colour] 'I...my mother is ill. She is old and feeble, and she is dying. Will you cure her for me and restore her youth to her?' [colour=f7941d][i]'And do you have what it takes?'[/i][/colour] 'W-what do you want?' he looked into the darkness but saw nothing. It was as though the darkness itself was responding and there was nothing truly there. [colour=f7941d][i]'To restore youth to your old mother, I shall need the years of another. Wherefrom shall I get these years? For as you know, there must be absolute balance in the world, your mother cannot be granted years from nothing, another must lose the years that she will gain - else He Who Over Death Presides shall smite you, and your mother, and me, and the earth and all that is in it. Wherefrom shall I get the years?'[/i][/colour] The man stared quietly for a few moments, hesitant to say what was on the tip of his tongue. 'F-from...from me...?' [colour=f7941d][i]'And you would give up your health and youth that your mother may regain her's?'[/i][/colour] He gulped and nodded. [colour=f7941d][i]'That is all very well. But do you have what it takes to make me go through with it? I may be, as you say, Witch-Priestess to Zephyrion, but this is not a charity that I run. What shall you give me that I may render this service to you?'[/i][/colour] 'I...I have some precious stones, it is of value in the markets.' [colour=f7941d][i]'I have no need for such things, the temple's coffers are brimming with such useless things.'[/i][/colour] 'I can work for you, I will be at the service of the temple for however long you wish it.' [colour=f7941d][i]'What need will I have for you and your service once I render my service to you and you are a crumbling ancient of faltering health?'[/i][/colour] Tears seemed to gather in the man's eyes as he desperately thought for some way to incentivise the holy woman to aid his mother. [colour=f7941d][i]'Have you any children? Wife?'[/i][/colour] He nodded slowly, 'yes, a wife and four children. Two boys and two girls.' [colour=f7941d][i]'Then the matter is settled. I shall have the youngest of your children.'[/i][/colour] At this, the man stood frozen and wide-eyed, unable to believe what he had heard. 'N...no...you can't mean that. Not little Chjekaya,' he bent down until he was on his knees before the altar, and he stared at the witch veiled in darkness, 'please, anything but my children. What use have you for my family?' [colour=f7941d][i]'What matters it to you? Are you not resigning yourself to death that your mother may live? Are you not damning your wife and children, and even your mother, to a life of poverty and hardship without you to protect and serve them? You can rest assured that, at the very least, your youngest, this Chjekaya, will be cared for well here at the temple, and she will be fashioned with my hand and will grow under my unfaltering gaze. And I will be pleased with her, and bless her, and teach her as I have taught the many priestesses you see.'[/i][/colour] 'But...but the life of a priestess is one of difficulty, and many amongst the people look upon you with...suspicion. Not all believe that you are truly a servant of Master Zephyrion. They say-' [colour=f7941d][i]'Let them say what they will, boy. It is no concern of mine. Have you what it takes to take what I have? If not, then begone and waste my time no more.'[/i][/colour] He nodded, 'but you cannot take my youth. I must remain, and I must watch over my family as you have said.' [colour=f7941d][i]'And where shall the years come from?'[/i][/colour] 'I don't know, but they will not come from me, and they will not come from any member of my family. Chjekaya is all you shall take from us!' [colour=f7941d][i]'Very well, if you shall not give up the years, then here, I offer you this. Surrender not your life to me, but your death.'[/i][/colour] Confusion was clear on the man's face, 'what do you mean?' [colour=f7941d][i]'I mean that when you finally breathe your last, you shall not die. But you shall come to me, and you shall be mine.'[/i][/colour] He frowned sceptically at these words, 'I do not think you have the power to seize me when I die, blessed as you may be by the Master.' [colour=f7941d][i]'Think what you will, for I know what you know not.'[/i][/colour] 'Then you shall have it, this "death" of mine, and much good may it do you if what you say on this matter is true - and I do not think it is.' [colour=f7941d][i]'I am many things, boy, but a liar I am not. And there is no promise that I give, and no promise given me, except that it is written and shall be upheld. And that is an oath written in the fabric of all that exists. You can take my word on that. Yara does not lie.'[/i][/colour] 'Very well, I, Makinatos, agree to all that we have discussed.' There came a scraping sound, and there came glowing red blood, and a perfectly white and smooth hand was extended, across the altar-table, to him. And he shook it. [colour=f7941d][i]'You shall be held to it.'[/i][/colour] And a knife was placed on the altar-table, and he was commanded to cut his thumb and place one drop of blood on the papyrus upon which the contract was written. And when that was done, it was rolled up by her two marble hands which swiftly disappeared into the gloom behind. Makinatos heard a rustling, and what must have been the placing of the papyrus where many others were. And that was all. [colour=f7941d][i]'When your mother wakes tomorrow, she will be younger than even you. And I shall expect Chjekaya here before the midday sun begins descending in the sky. And when death comes for you, it will be to me that you come.'[/i][/colour] [centre]*** [img]http://s11.postimg.org/i0j414fvn/Gadar.gif[/img] [i]'By the Master, look at his face. Was he scarred in the wars?'[/i][/centre] 'Gadar! Gadar!' 'What happened to him?' 'By the Master! His face! His neck! Somebody stop that bleeding. His back!' 'How? How did it happen?' 'I-I don't know! One moment we were carrying the grain to the- then he was writhing on the ground! All blood, all that.' 'Master protect us all. Will that bleeding not stop?! The man will die at this rate! Somebody do something!' 'I know! To the Temple of the Bond, let us take him there. The Witch-Priestess will surely be able to stop this unearthly bleeding.' 'What, that temple of heretics? We can't possibly-' 'Oh shush you, babbling ingrate. To the temple, let's go!' And they heaved the unconscious Gadar and together walked him speedily to the Temple of the Bond. When they got there and had walked through the courtyard and up the large steps into the visitor's chamber of the temple, they were met by the two priestesses who stood watch over the chamber, and they saw the predicament at hand well before anyone tried to explain it to them. And the other priestesses were called and the bleeding man was rushed into one of the wards in the temple's left wing, which was dedicated to caring for and curing the ill. But much as they tried, the priestesses, even those personally trained by the Witch-Priestess herself, could not stop the bleeding. 'Sister Olakhat, please call upon the Witch-Priestess. This is a most unnatural injury, and only her expertise can save the man,' and with a small nod, Sister Olakhat rushed off to get the Witch-Priestess. It was not long before Yara made her way into the ward, floating in and bringing with her the sweetest scents and the brightest smile. [centre][img]http://s16.postimg.org/9chu1ecfp/Yara.gif[/img] [i]'It is said that the Witch-Priestess has been blessed with half the world's beauty! But no man has ever laid eyes upon her...'[/i][/centre] [colour=f7941d][i]'Sister Olakhat speaks of a patient in need of my attention, an incessant bleeder she says. Let me see,'[/i][/colour] and she walked beside the stone bed upon which Gadar lay. She touched his bleeding face, and the white of her skin and dress was dyed crimson. Her eyes narrowed and the slightest hint of confusion showed for a few moments, before it was once more replaced with a carefree smile. [colour=f7941d][i]'Oh! This will not do. Sister Malikhet, bring me one of the phials from the third shelf please, and some of the Mahd Monitor blood you recently had harvested. If we still have any of that Crocodile meat, that will do some good also.'[/i][/colour] As they waited, Yara dabbed away at Gadar's bleeding face, trying to stem the relentless flow of blood in whatever way she could. It was particularly difficult as it was not only his face and neck which were injured, but his back also. By the time Sister Malikhet returned, he was more or less swimming in his own blood. But Yara was not at all worried. She took the phial of powder and poured the slightest amount of it into the phial of Monitor blood before shaking it until the powder had dissolved completely. Then, parting Gadar's lips ever so slightly, she poured some of the liquid into his mouth. 'And the Crocodile meat, Mother Yara?' [colour=f7941d][i]'Yes. He should stop bleeding in the next few minutes, and should wake up in an hour or so. When he does, make sure that the meat is ready for him so that he can eat and regain some strength. Feed him well until he has managed to replace the blood he lost, and I shall come see to him then.'[/i][/colour] And so they did. When Gadar woke up, his bleeding having stopped and his wound having already closed up, they brought him the cooked meat. But he could not bring himself to eat anything, and they resorted to feeding him - almost forcefully at times. But over the next few days, he grew in strength, and he spoke somewhat, though anything he said was rather confused and delirious. Whatever the injury he had received was, it was clear that his mind had been somehow affected. After a week or so, Yara returned to see him, questioning him on how he received his injury. But he remembered nothing. Even his own name, Gadar, had been told him by the priestesses who fed him, and he had taken it up as a matter of fact. But other than that, he remembered nothing at all. Moreover, the injury to the left side of his head meant his left eye was no longer functioning, and the scars, despite the concoction she had given him, remained. It was unusual, to say the least, but there was nothing that she could detect from him to suggest that any divine being had caused the injuries. A freak accident of some kind? A glitch in the Universe? One of the unfavourable consequences of the Codex's process of creation? Who could know? [colour=f7941d][i]'Gadar, there is nothing more that we can do for you here. We have nursed you back to health, and you may return to whatever life you can salvage.'[/i][/colour] He stared blankly at her - whether confused by what she was saying or mesmerised by something he saw in her, she could not tell. 'I...would rather stay here,' he said at last. [colour=f7941d]'Whatever would you do here? The priestesses certainly have no time to babysit you, if that is your intention. You are no longer ill, and so you must leave.'[/colour] 'I...don't mean that. I can't remember anything much of what's beyond this room. I'd much rather stay with you. I don't know, whatever work needs doing I can do. The priestesses told me that none of you can leave the temple - let me be your permanent link to the outside world. I will get you whatever you need and do your work beyond the temple walls. Consider it...well, my way of repaying you for bringing me back from the brink of death.' Yara raised an eyebrow and sighed, [colour=f7941d][i]'very well, you make a good case, and we do indeed need some kind of permanent link with the outside. Some of the...unsavoury rumours that spread about us certainly need combatting. Sister Malikhet will be your contact point. Try not speak to the others as much as possible. I will arrange for separate sleeping quarters to be prepared for you,'[/i][/colour] and with a brisk nod, she turned and walked out of the ward. Gadar watched her leave, a frown on his face and a thoughtful look in his one good eye. [centre]***[/centre] 'You summoned me, Mother Yara,' Gadar stood at the door, lifting the curtain to the well-lit Temple Library. It was a large, long room, with a high ceiling which let light in from the top and torches on the walls. Stone desks sat to either wall, with a stone bench behind each, and the largest of these desks was at the very back, behind which the Witch-Priestess now sat reading from a manuscript. Behind her, on the wall, were numerous shelves which held many other such manuscripts. From what Gadar had learned of this place, the manuscripts held in them the Vetruvian historical narrative, some religious practices and some things written by Yara herself on medicines and other such things. Despite its status as a temple, however, the Temple of the Bond was only marginally involved in the religious life of Vetros, it was far more a place of learning for the priestesses who came here and a place aimed to cure the ill and care for the health of the community at large (and, Gadar confessed, it was known far and wide as a pre-eminent place of healing, there was no ail but could be cured by the miraculous power granted the Witch-Priestess). [colour=f7941d][i]'Yes, Gadar, please come here and be seated,'[/i][/colour] came Yara's reply. She closed the manuscript and placed it on one of the shelves, before returning to her seat and surveying Gadar. [colour=f7941d][i]'You have served the temple faithfully for years, and due to your vigilance the reputation of the temple has been cleansed of many of the vicious rumours which plagued it before. And you have become more learned on the workings of the city outside than any other within this temple's walls. More even than I,'[/i][/colour] and with this, she brought before her a plain piece of papyrus, an inkwell and a quill, [colour=f7941d]'and so I will require your services for the foreseeable future as I document the ways and life of the people of Vetros. It is all good and well reading the religious books and history, but that tells us nothing of what is occurring in reality. You know, and you shall tell me.'[/colour] Gadar scratched his head anxiously, clearly daunted by this tremendous thing she was asking of him. 'Well. I mean. I can try, I guess. Where do you want me to start?' the priestess considered him for a few moments before smiling and nodding. [colour=f7941d][i]'Start with the land. It is holy, after all, is it not? And all of Vetros is built around the sanctity of the land and the life it gives.'[/i][/colour] 'Ah, yes. Well, it is as you say. The land of Vetros is viewed by all as the source of all life, and the Mahd a blessing. The very soil is said to be blessed and when one dies, they can never rise up to Master Zephyrion except that their body should be returned here, to the land of the Mahd, cremated and thrown into the river. In that way, one's body returns to the land and from death comes life, and one's soul, with the body rooted deeply in the earth, can at last rise up and join the Master in eternal tranquillity. He who dies far from these lands can never know salvation, and will become in death as though he had never been. The armies of Vetros, for this very reason, seldom wander far from the homeland - not even when giving chase to marauding Horse People. It is best always to remain in the cradle of the holy land to which the great Prophet Primus brought us, and to breathe one's last here that one may be saved,' as he spoke, Yara nodded silently and wrote away on the papyrus. 'For as you well know, the people of Vetros came here many, many centuries ago, guided by Master Zephyrion's elect. And those who persevered and endured the hardships, and stood steady by the Prophet, arrived here and were blessed and were chosen by the Master. And those who were weak of heart, and who rebelled against the Prophet, remained far from this blessed land - and today their descendants, those Horse People, constantly attempt to invade and loot this blessed land. But they are forever denied the sweet fruits of this bountiful place for their rebellion.' [color=f7941d][i]'And this despite the fact that they worship Zephyrion just as faithfully as Vetruvians, is it not?'[/i][/color] 'Well, yes, they do claim to worship the master. But what they say and what they do are at complete odds! For they glorify the name of the Master even as they butcher the faithful, and they oppress us and each other, and they live lives which are directly in conflict with the sacred and eternal Law of our Master. So they may well believe that they are worshipping the Master, but it is agreed by most people, and by most priests whom I have spoken with, that they are heretics and ascribe partners and brothers and children to the Master. Such a thing is manifest heresy! There is no god beside the Master, and he has no partners or children or siblings - what is he, a lowly animal that he may rut and eat and defecate as we do? And even were they not heretics, they live in lands unblessed, and when they die are not cremated and so have no hope of salvation. And even were their land blessed, they did not follow the Prophet and the Priest-Kings after him, and so the anger of the Master is ever upon them. But surely, I am speaking to one who is more knowledgeable on this matter than I!' [color=f7941d][i]'Oh no no, don't worry about that, it is certainly interesting to hear it from a living tongue, rather than reading it,'[/i][/color] Yara smiled and waved for him to go on. 'Ah, yes, of course. And the people here, despite the hardships, tend to be rather happy, for they live here and are grateful for all that they have. In fact, being ungrateful is a grievous sin, as you well know, and to ensure that all are grateful for what the Master has blessed them, all are reminded yearly of the Five Gifts of Zephyrion,' Yara looked up quizzically at this. [colour=f7941d][i]'And what are these gifts? And what is this reminder?'[/i][/colour] 'Well, every year there is a week-long festival - and I have never seen the temple here take part in it, though I would have liked it - where the many people of Vetros make their way to the temples, and they are lined up before the priests and the priestesses, and one by one are reminded of the Five Gifts. Whenever one steps forwards towards the priest, the priest takes their left hand and raises it, and commands them to say what the five most important things to them are, what are the five things they would most miss should they die. And once that is done, the priest looks to that left hand and raises it high, proclaiming: "These are the Five Gifts of Zephyrion, you have these things to be grateful for always, and should one be lost, you gain another in its stead." 'And so, when the worker goes out to work the fields under the unforgiving heat of the sun, and he sees his left hand, he is reminded of the gifts and endures his hardship, and when the highest of the high, the sanctified Priest-King himself, is beset by the hardships of kingship, he too sees his left hand and is reminded of the Five Gifts and endures. And all are grateful for what they have, and all are, for that reason, for the most part happy,' Yara seemed amazed by this revelation and was writing eagerly away. [colour=f7941d][i]'When this festival comes next, we must partake in it!'[/i][/colour] she announced once she had written of all he had told her. Encouraged by her reaction, Gadar leaned in and continued eagerly. 'Now, Vertuvians believe strongly that the Master created all things from original chaos, and he brought order and harmony to all things and has stabilised it that mankind may live in peace and prosperity under his caring and benevolent eye, and he fashioned the mighty Djinn, his messengers and warners and carers for those who praise him and glorify his name. And when he created man, he fashioned him first of eternal wisp and air, and then clad him in the mud of the Mahd - and so, when that mud of the body at last returns to the Mahd, so too will the wisp and air of the soul return to the Master. Now they say many things about the nature of the soul, and I truly can never get my head around it-' [colour=f7941d][i]'Oh worry not about that, I have read about the soul in more manuscripts than can be counted, and I well know of this tradition of pseudonyms which are used in place of one's "true name", so you have no need to worry about all that. Go on,'[/i][/colour] and at this Gadar nodded and continued. 'It is very clear to me that Master Zephyrion has blessed the people of Vetros unlike any other creatures on the earth, especially the disgraced Horse People. For here we have unlocked the secrets of glassmaking, and the very papyrus you write on was invented here who knows how long ago. And where the Horse People can only utter their twisted and guttural tongue, here we have those who read and write and keep record of our history and ways - though I, as you know, cannot read or write and very few are those who can beside the priests. And whereas, it is said, the Horse People live in tents, we here live in grand structures and build great temples and palaces, and whereas they must hunt for survival, we have the fertile soil of the Mahd from which grow things as diverse as wheat and peas and lentils, and many other such things. And we can ride the waters of the Mahd itself on our boats, and we have tamed the noble ox, unlike those wild Horse People who have tamed the savage horse, and we do not dishonour ourselves or the ox by riding it, but have invented the wheel and the cart and the plough also. And as is apparent from the near-miracle you worked on me, our medicine here in Vetros is unmatched by anything anywhere in the world. What we have discovered here, when it comes to the body of the human and cures for illnesses, is as magic and divine intervention to savages elsewhere. And we clean ourselves regularly, and our teeth, and we have perfumes and cosmetics for men and women, and our beer is to the beer of the Horse People what the waters of the Mahd are to sewage - though I have been in temples where they forbid the consumption of intoxicants like beer! 'And men are dressed in the loincloth of dignity, and free woman are dressed in full-length dresses, more elaborate depending on wealth from what I see. And as for slaves, they tend to be naked as is right for their status. It is said, however, that in times past it was highly fashionable for women to bare their breasts! Now that is quite something!' he chuckled to himself as Yara wrote away and unconsciously smiled. [colour=f7941d][i]'Yes, quite something. I wonder whose idea that was...'[/i][/colour] she gave him a cheeky sidelong glance, [colour=f7941d][i]'doubt it was the women.'[/i][/colour] He rubbed his head in embarrassment and nodded vigorously in agreement, 'of course not! What sane woman would come up with that of her own volition...after all. But of course, Master Zephyrion has given men and women equal status, and much as men may suggest to women what to wear, it is - as far as I can see - entirely up to women how they wish to dress. And many of the men I speak to tell me that there is no issue with it all, a woman's chest is no more strange than a man's - and we men walk around all day with nothing but the loincloth on, exposing all our chest to the sun and prying eyes,' Yara nodded thoughtfully as she noted down what he said. [colour=f7941d][i]'That is indeed interesting, for the Horse People dress in furs always, do they not?'[/i][/colour] 'Ah yes, wild people with no respect for the beauty of the body Master Zephyrion has fashioned. And they oppress their women something vicious! And they oppress our people too - why they kill the innocent and the young and- ah! Are they humans at all? Have they no remorse? It must be that the viciousness of the land on which they live has filled them with viciousness also, don't you think? For I have heard some priests say that the earth and the water and fire and the air are all alive, just like the Djinn. And some lands are better than others, and they who live on good land are good, and they who live on evil land are evil. Surely the land of the Horse People is amongst the most evil there is, and the air they breathe full of poison, and their waters hideous, and their fires full of rage, and so they are too,' Yara shrugged at this. [colour=f7941d][i]'Who can tell with these things. Perhaps you are right.'[/i][/colour] 'Now on that matter, it appears to me that men and women both are far better off here in Vetros than anywhere else - least of all that land of barbarian Horse People. For there, it is said, a man possesses his wife like any other property! And not only that, the villain can marry as many wives as he pleases! Imagine the disorder and chaos it would create! Here things are far simpler and in line with what the Master wills. A woman marries, usually, at the age of thirteen and upwards, and men from around seventeen, and all that a man possesses is shared between himself, his wife, and whatever children they have in the future. And unlike in the barbarian lands, women here can own homes and property, and can be merchants and, as you are, priestesses, and in all manners are free and happy. For it is the purpose of the Master that all be happy and at peace, and it is the duty of the Priest-King to ensure that that purpose is achieved - and what is the home and marriage but a source of peace and delight? And I cannot fault the Priest-King when it comes to upholding these things, may the Master reward our great Priest-King for all he has done for us, and keep him ever in the best of health, and bless his progeny and descendants until the final day. 'Now, as you may well expect, those such as you and I, and even the priestesses here in the Temple of the Bond, who are adults and unmarried, are deemed very odd indeed. It is, in fact, one of the things that still cause the people to suspect the temple. Why is it, Mother, that the priestesses here must remain unmarried?' Yara cocked her head at this question and pursed her lips. [colour=f7941d][i]'It is not that, so much. Rather, it is just that none can leave the temple. That makes marrying very difficult for obvious reasons.'[/i][/colour] 'Can the priestesses not do their jobs equally well if they lived outside the temple?' Yara blinked blankly at him for a few moments before managing a response. [colour=f7941d][i]'Uh, well...I never...I never really thought about that.'[/i][/colour] They stared at each other for a few moments before Gadar suddenly looked away and an awkward silence grew between them. [colour=f7941d][i]'I...um. Will think about that. Is...is there anything else I should get down? It is getting rather late now, after all...'[/i][/colour] 'Um, no, nothing much really. I mean, Vetruvians love swimming, of course, and boat sports. And there are many sources of entertainment and whatnot, but I think we can go through all that another time if you like.' [colour=f7941d][i]'I shall see. Thank you for your time Gadar. I will let Sister Malikhet escort you to your quarters,'[/i][/colour] and at the mention of the priestess' name, the curtain covering the temple library's door was parted and Malikhet stood waiting on Gadar to come. He turned one last time, before leaving the room, and thanked Yara for what had been an oddly...nice evening. Yara sat back and thought on what he had said. Perhaps...perhaps he was right in a way. She looked back over all that they had written and frowned. [color=f7941d][i]'Damn it, we didn't get into any detail about the Priest-King...'[/i][/color] even in her weakened form she could feel the implausible amount of power pulsing from the the Priest-King's palace. How that could simply exist there without drawing attention from any of the divines was rather bizarre. But it did not truly concern her all that much, really, she was merely curious. [colour=f7941d][i]'Ah well, I doubt Gadar, trusty as he is, would know about all that.[/i][/colour] [centre]***[/centre] The night was dark, the moons were out, and no one was wandering about. At least, not here on the banks of the Mahd where Yara sat gazing into the starry sky. The air was cool, the wind was soft, and her onyx eyes were hoisted aloft. The Dark Moon, Azmund, drifted like a shadow, a cancerous nothingness in the night sky where no starlight could break through. And there, Zephyrion's Eyes, Ayzof, blazed like two small suns in the ocean of the heavens. And there was golden Mamoor, and there was the scarred 'Victor', Manzor, and last of all was the Strange One, Ghurab. And there were the two roads in the sky where it was said Zephyrion ascended and descended to and from his great palace in the heavens, the mauve roads known simply as the Torgs. It was a rare night indeed when all of Galbar's moons could be seen, and it was considered by the Vetruvians as a cause for celebration. But unlike most of their festivals and celebrations, this was cause for private celebration in the home with one's spouse and children. And so on this night, not even a shadow of a living being - other than the odd cat or dog, or the odd crocody doggle - could be seen. Only Yara was out, sat on her little raft watching the rare night, listening to the crickets and the strange noises of the animals in the night. And every now and then a monitor would swim lazily past and Yara would watch it go; two strangers crossing paths in the night, saluting one another with a brief secretive glance, before moving on. But her raft did not move with the river's flow, tied as it was to a damp wooden post hammered into the soft riverside. There she sat, in an unmoving raft while the river swept past to who knew where. Some years back, she would never have dreamed of finding herself outside the temple, as she now was. She had committed herself to forever living within the temple and building around her a community therein. But she had thought on what Gadar had said to her and had realised that it was of significant importance for human women, who had but a limited life, to find love and build a family. At the very least, it was particularly important in Vetruvian culture from what she could see. And yes it was true, the priestesses were now more distracted, but she did not remember seeing them quite as happy before as they now were. Happiness was important for a successful community, it appeared. Happiness. Yes, happy communities were made up of happy individuals, and the Vetruvians attached utmost importance to the happiness of all, no matter their status within society. All were important for the survival of the community, and all were important for it to thrive. It was alive. Yes...a [i]living[/i] community. She looked into the night sky, filled with those moons, and the ghost of a smile seemed to dance around her lips and glisten in her eyes. It was said that Azmund, the Dark Moon, was the abode of Azor'Inyu, the manifestation of evil and darkness in the world. It was not a living, conscious being, but rather a force. Within each person the forces of Azor'Inyu and Zephyrion clashed, and one's choices decided who it was that emerged victorious. By living happily, caring for those to whom one had a duty (including one's family and the society at large), observing the commands of Zephyrion, and by staying ever close the land of the Mahd, one could ensure that the forces of Zephyrion within them prevailed over those of Azor'Inyu. And so when only Azmund could be seen in the sky, it was universally acknowledged by Vetruvians as an omen of misfortune and a sign that they needed to return to the light of Zephyrion. They were rare nights indeed, when Azmund alone could be seen in the sky, but they sometimes came about. On such nights, every temple was expected to light a Zephyronian Fire in the front courtyard, and the priests and priestesses would have to keep up a continuous chant from the moment Azmund was spotted until the sun rose in order to keep the forces of Azor'Inyu and misfortune at bay. Indeed, every temple had in its front courtyard a huge brazier which was always full of wood and kept covered for just such an occurance. Fire, after all, was light. Fire was warmth and hope, the shedding of wrongs and the embracement of purity. All things were cleansed by the flame, darkness was routed by the flame, and in it light waved its banner of victory. The fire was everything that Azor'Inyu was not. The fire was the worldly manifestation of that Zephyrionian force which inhabited every human. Praise the flame! That was not to say, of course, that things like water and soil and air were not also manifestations, but it was the flame which tradition had elevated above the others in the Vetruvian psyche. The two moons Ayzof, unlike Azmund, were representations of Zephyrion's all-seeing eyes and blazed with the light of his Truth which shone the way towards a blissful, happy, and successful life in the material worldly, and salvation in the next. They guided the way and seeing them was always cause for hope and joy - though these two moons appeared so often that a festival occuring whenever they were spotted was deemed (probably by some rather wise long-dead priest) as insane at best. It was said that the two moons Ayzof were created of the same mud and clay as the land of the Mahd, and that was why they glowed in the darkness of the night, just as the Mahd and its surroundings glowed to the celestual beings who looked down upon it from there. Mamoor was one of the odder moons, for it had not appeared to Yara - when first she began reading on the matter of the moons - that its name had anything to do with the Vetruvian religion at all. The source of its name and what it symbolised seemed to have been lost to mainstream Vetruvian society altogether. However, in a strange little tome which had been falling apart long before the Witch-Priestess acquired it, and most of which was indecipherable even to her, she had been able to read enough to make an educated guess on this mysterious matter of Mamoor. It appeared, from what she could make out, to have been named after some great and powerful Djinni by the same name, 'Mamoor'. Strangely enough, however, he had never had any direct contact with Vetros, this powerful Djinni. Vetruvians had learned of him through lesser Djinnis who spoke of his relentless hunt in the heavens. What he hunted, she had not been able to find out, but she had been able to read therein that he had a loyal companion, one 'Zakeer' or 'Kameer' or some other such name which she could not quite make out, for the papyrus had been terribly ripped and the ink faded. In times past both Mamoor and Zakeer had had quite the following in Vetros, it seemed, an entire cult dedicated to them and their mysterious, perpetual hunt. But all of that seemed to have faded away, just like the ink in that ancient tome, and all that remained was the name of the golden moon. Manzor, on the other hand, 'Victor', the scarred harbinger of war and victory, could not have been more well-known in the Vetruvian psyche. While the Temple of the Bond was not the first destination of soldiers and generals, they sometimes had the odd military man come their way, and it was always Manzor they asked about. For Manzor was not only the harbinger of victory over the foes of Vetros, but also the manifestation of Zephyrion's just punishment and ultimate victory over all things. When all things returned to dust and the souls were gathered, it would be Zephyrion who would inherit the world and all that is in it. Absolute victory would be his, and through him would the faithful also be victorious. And Manzor's appearance spoke of worldly victories in preparation for Zephyrion's ultimate one. Or at least, that was what the Vetruvian priest-books said. It did not matter to her whether it was true or not, but what fascinated her even more was what such beautiful belief inspired. They embellished the gods and gave them virtues they did not possess, and they were inspired by what they created, and in that way inspired themselves towards works of greatness and propelled themselves towards both happiness and glory. She had been right. These beings were truly greater than gods, for they did not think that they were. Ghurab, much like Mamoor, seemed to mean very little to contemporary Vetruvians, other than the fact that it meant 'Strange One' or 'Stranger'. Some older books, however, contended that it meant 'Crow', though Yara thought that odd. What was more odd was that there was absolutely nothing else on the origins of the name, not even neglected, half-disintegrated manuscripts. Most strange, but that was only natural given the more accepted meaning of the moon's name. Suddenly tired, Yara rubbed her eyes and lay down on her back, looking into the starry sky. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would be able to lose herself in this place. Perhaps she could become human. Perhaps she could become...well, happy. Just like them. And the stars blurred and darkened, and her eyes closed, and she fell asleep in that cool Vetruvian summer's night. [centre]***[/centre] The moth fluttered slowly around her upturned face, as though caught in a whirlwind which eventually caused it to, ever so gently, land on her nose. She lay there, in a bed of darkness, her long, inky hair spreading out around her head in all directions, and her onyx eyes staring blankly above her even as she drifted in the strange darkness. Had she fallen into the Mahd while she was sleeping? She did not feel wet though... And there were no stars above. And there were no moons. Her head turned deliriously from side to side. Had she been kidnapped? Perhaps she had been drugged... [colour=black][b]'Bel, Bel, Bel,'[/b][/colour] a strange voice almost tutted, almost hissing. The voice seemed to slither across her skin and up her neck, before crawling into her ears. An empty scream left her throat and she attempted to shake her head and move her body, but could barely move. It was enough, however, for the moth to take flight and disappear into the darkness for a while. She could still hear it, though, as it fluttered blindly around before returning to her as though she were the sun and her nose its ultimate perch. [colour=black][b]'Did you think...I would forget?'[/b][/colour] the voice crawled across her, and she looked down half-expecting a snake to be slithering across her body. But there was nothing, and the sensation continued its movement until it once more forced its way into her ears and she convulsed and shook in primal disgust and nausea. [i][color=f7941d]'Stop...'[/color][/i] she managed. And the moth once more fluttered away at the movement. Once more the moth fluttered around, and she expected it to return. And she was surprised to find that she involuntarily moved her nose upwards to greet it. But it did not come. From the gloom above, their descended a face from the most freakish of nightmares. And when she screamed this time, her voice was unlocked and she found herself sitting up in the raft and near enough falling into the Mahd. [colour=black][b]'Why...don't you[sub]...give it,'[/sub][/b][/colour] she looked around as the voice faded away and her quick breath and thumping heart became the most apparant noises. She gulped and wiped the sweat from her brow with an equally sweaty hand. On shaking feet, she got up and managed to crawl off the raft and onto solid land. After a few moments of lying face down in the mud, delirious and confused and nauseous, she managed to get up once more and began making her trembling way to the temple. And the streets were empty, the night was dark, and nothing could be heard but the odd yap or bark. Arriving at the temple entrance - which was a large, open, sandstone arch - she slid down to the ground and sat with her back against the stone and allowed herself to rest, all the while looking around herself in the darkness for any signs of that face - [i]those cold, imperious eyes[/i] - and that voice. It had been some time since she heard it, but she could not forget it. How could she forget it? And the winds drifted softly by, and they seemed to carry his whispers and a promised return. She had never understood what he had truly wanted from her, and she did not understand now, but she would have to be pre- 'Mother? Is that you? Are you alright?' she turned her head slowly and stared into the courtyard beyond the arch, and saw the shadowy figure of Chjekaya coming closer. [color=f7941d][i]'Ah, little Chjekaya, am I glad to see you. Come here and help me to my room,'[/i][/color] and the young woman nodded and hurried to help the Witch-Priestess. 'You are very hot, Mother. Are you ill?' Chjekaya asked as she helped Yara to her feet. [color=f7941d][i]'Not at all, not at all. Just...slightly rattled,'[/i][/color] and the two began walking through the courtyard, [color=f7941d][i]'how is your father these days? And your grandmother.'[/i][/color] 'Father is very well, Mother. He sings your praises daily and has been tremendously happy ever since you allowed us all to leave the temple and visit home and marry. And grandmother is a monument to health and youth! Master Zephyrion has truly blessed you and elevated you above many of his faithful servants, and has brought contentment to our hearts through you,' Yara nodded absent-mindedly as the girl spoke. [color=f7941d][i]'Yes, yes. Of course,'[/i][/color] she was silent for a few moments, [color=f7941d]'and when shall you bring delight to us all, Chjekaya, by starting your own family, hmm?'[/color] The girl smiled and looked away, then shrugged. 'Is it not I who should be asking you that? How can I go and marry when the Witch-Priestess herself has not done so yet?' Yara slapped the girl lightly on the shoulder and chuckled at her elusive words. [color=f7941d][i]'You cheeky girl, I know exactly what those words mean. Who is it then, hmm? What lucky boy has managed to steal our beautiful Chjekaya's heart?'[/i][/color] and with that, the young woman, blushing profusely, let go of Yara's hand and rushed ahead. [sub][colour=black][b]'How [i]cute[/i].'[/b][/colour][/sub] Yara stopped in her tracks and turned around, eyes wide and fear gripping her once more. She was not sure if it had somply been the wind or her mind playing tricks on her...but she had heard his voice again. Without waiting around to find out, she turned and rushed up the stairs and into the temple, and when she arrived in her room she closed the door's curtain and stood frozen at the doorway for a good minute or so before backing away towards her bed and sitting there. [colour=black][b]'And do you still think that those stars you saw were indeed stars?'[/b][/colour] he asked her. Her head snapped to the side and she saw his figure hovering there in the darkness. [i][color=f7941d]'What do you want?'[/color][/i] [colour=black][b]'Answer my question. Did you see the stars?[/b][/colour] [i][color=f7941d]'I said, [b]what[/b] do you want?[/color][/i] she repeated, raising a hand sizzling with magical energies and an eye glinting and cool. [colour=black][b]'Calm down, Bel. No need to be so...edgy. I only come to warn you, for you have grown lax here and have failed to see the obvious. For instance, the massive well of divine power which sits festering in the Priest-King's palace.[/b][/colour] [i][color=f7941d]'There is a difference between noticing something and being worried about it. It is of no matter to me what divine energies lie hidden in the palace.'[/color][/i] [colour=black][b]'But surely something so great, so unparalelled, must have piqued your-'[/b][/colour] [i][color=f7941d]'I. Don't. Care.[/color][/i] Oradin-Thulemiz emerged from the shadows, and she saw the full horror of what he had become; light green skin melting and decaying, yellow-green eyes glowing, lips flayed and dark, hair long and thinning and a deathly yellow, and huge ulcerous wounds and various swellings dotting his body. [colour=black][b]'The stars will soon descend on this misbegotten world while you are here playing games. The strength you have is wasted, and you will be no use in combatting the coming horror - even the dead will have no respite from it. But you seem to have found something which could be...quite useful. Give it to me and I shall leave you in peace - though you shan't enjoy that overlong anyhow.'[/b][/colour] Yara's eyes narrowed at his words. She had been actively blocking the growth of her divine senses, which had over the past years been growing more and more active for no reason she could fathom. [i][color=f7941d]'What do you mean? Stop speaking in riddles. What is coming?'[/color][/i] [color=black][b]'Give me the crown, and I shall give you what I know.'[/b][/color] [color=f7941d][i]'Crown?'[/i][/color] she asked, clearly confused. [color=black][i]'Don't play dumb with me, I can feel it pulsing with deathly energies even now.'[/i][/color] [color=f7941d][i]'Ah...so you want the crown,'[/i][/color] she looked at him as realisation dawned upon her, and she knew she had him now, and she smiled, [i][color=f7941d]'but truth be told, I don't think this mere "information" of yours is sufficient consideration,'[/color][/i] she circled around the Necromancer and surveyed him, [color=f7941d][i]'well? What do you have? An undying thing such as yourself cannot give up its soul. I have no interest in possessing you either way, but...'[/i][/color] and here she placed a hand upon his shoulder and peeled off a layer of decaying skin. [colour=black][b]'Spit it out already before I take what I want and leave.'[/b][/colour] [i][color=f7941d]'Truth be told, you are an odd being. Your existence is strange, and your powers are not of this world. Give me a sample of your powers, your essence, and you shall have your crown.'[/color][/i] Oradin-Thulemiz nodded slowly. [color=black][b]'On the condition, of course, that you not only give me the crown, but that you also inform me of any...discoveries...you make from experimenting on this essence,'[/b][/color] Yara laughed and shook her head. [i][color=f7941d]'Oh no no no, if you want that you would have to come and make another deal. The crown for your essence, or you leave empty-handed.' [/color][/i] [b][color=black]'I guess I should be honoured and all that, what with you showing me your vile true nature,'[/color][/b] he whispered loudly enough for her to hear. Her smile disappeared and she stood there uncertain of what to say, and when he raised his hand to affirm the agreement she could only shake it numbly. [colour=black][b]'Then, we have a deal.'[/b][/colour] She turned away and signalled for him to follow her. They walked the largely empty hallways of the temple until they reached the temple's dark Miracle Room. The Necromancer surveyed the shelves of phials while the Witch-Priestess rummaged about in the back. It seemed that behind the altar-table was a small door leading into another room where the woman kept more of her collections. Curious as the Necromancer about what the Witch-Priestess had in her collection, he stayed put and kept his hands to himself. It was best to not fiddle with things one was not familiar with, after all. Yara eventually emerged from that small room with the crown in one hand and a medium-sized phial in the other, and she placed both on the altar-table and looked at him, nodding for him to take the crown. And he reached for it. His decaying flesh met the crown, and almost immediately - aye, without much pomp or ceremony, without a sound or a flash, without pain or shock, without a lengthy process of essence-extraction - the phial next to the crown filled with a translucent, dark substance. [color=black][b]'Ah, black. Fitting,'[/b][/color] he muttered approvingly, and with that, he looked one last time at the Witch-Priestess before collapsing and melting away into a thick impenetrable smoke, and he disappeared into the gloom of the room and was as though he had never been. She was uncertain how he did that, but she knew he was gone. She turned to her phial and looked into it, and a certain sadness overcame her. [color=f7941d][i]'I...'[/i][/color] she whispered, [color=f7941d][i]'I'm not vile.'[/i][/color] [centre]*** [img]http://s15.postimg.org/g9yso4azf/Wilted_Rose.gif[/img][/centre] 'What's wrong with it?' [color=f7941d][i]'Hmm?'[/i][/color] 'You called it a rose, no?' [i][color=f7941d]'Ah, yes. Nothing is wrong with it. Now come here, let me sort out your hair,[/color][/i] Chjekaya gave the wilted rose another glance before doing as Yara bid her. She turned around and sat on the stool while the Witch-Priestess brushed and perfumed her hair. [color=f7941d][i]'You have to look your best for today, after all most girls only ever get married on-'[/i][/color] 'But look at it! It's drooping and looks ever so sad, and the colour is gone from it!' [i][color=f7941d]'And what of it? The date palm droops too, and many beautiful things are lacking in colour.[/color][/i] 'But that's a different drooping and a different colourlessness. This here is a wilting drooping, a colourlessness of death,' Yara tugged on the girl's hair as she brushed it and Chjekaya winced slightly. [color=f7941d][i]'The rose does not wilt, Chjekaya. It does not die,'[/i][/color] she said as she oiled the girl's hair and ran her fingers through the obsidian silkin strands, [color=f7941d][i]'no, it melts. It carries a great weight and heat within it, you see. A mighty burden, an impossible furnace. And when that all bursts forth, the rose melts away with a flourish,'[/i][/color] she circled around the bride and looked into her eyes. [color=f7941d][i]'It melts with love. For what physical body or heart or rose-at-full-bloom can hold so great and pure a love and hope to remain intact? A rose at full bloom has not yet reached its acme, for that is merely as far as it could go by containing what love it can within itself. It is at its acme when that love grows so great that it must be released, and the rose melts and burns and bursts for love. Do you understand?'[/i][/color] Chjekaya stared with wide eyes at Yara, mouth slightly agape. 'I...think so...' she said slowly, before frowning and shaking her head, 'no, I'll need to sit down and think about that for a while,' Yara chuckled and reached out for the intricately designed kohl bottle. [color=f7941d][i]'Don't worry, you will understand it soon enough. Chin up, stay still,'[/i][/color] and with care, she ran the small rod along the inside of Chjekaya's upper and lower eyelashes, before doing the same with the other eye, [color=f7941d][i]'there we go. My, that really does bring your lashes out. Would put the eyelashes of a camel to shame!'[/i][/color] Chjekaya blushed and looked away. 'Don't say that...' Yara smiled at the girl and bid her stand. She circled her and nodded approvingly, before taking her by the hand and seating her by her on the bed. [color=f7941d][i]'Now,'[/i][/color] the Witch-Priestess said, [color=f7941d][i]'tell me one more time how this whole marriage process works,'[/i][/color] smiling, and biting her lower lip slightly, Chjekaya nodded and began. 'Well, there are three parts to the process: the first occurs before the wedding, the second is the wedding itself, and the third occurs afterwards. And each of these parts is split into various procedures and ceremonies. 'First, when a son or daughter of the family reaches a marriageable age, the parents begin looking for a suitable potential spouse for their child. In most cases, the child already has their eye on somebody and things proceed from there. Once the potential spouse is decided upon, the Zayra-Seghr ceremony takes place. For this, representatives of the man's family are either invited to pay a visit by the woman's family, or themselves request to visit her family. This visit is meant to acquaint the families with one another more than anything and does not involve any commitment. The Zayra-Seghr can take place more than once, but usually not more than twice. After this, both the man and the woman can consider each other more seriously and, if both are interested, they can arrange to move on to the next stage, the Zayra-Kebr. 'At the Zayra-Kebr, the man's family must make a marriage proposal - and it is accepted tradition that it must be the man's family who does so, as he will be the head of the household and the one whose property is shared between himself, his wife, and his children; unlike the woman whose property remains her own. 'The man's family is usually seated in the main reception room (usually the [i]only[/i] reception room!), and the woman's family tend to be first to speak. They extol the woman's virtues; her modesty, her loyalty, her intelligence, her cooking and embroidery skill, her ability to entertain guests - here things such as singing or whether she plays a musical instrument may come up - her piety, and her loyalty and ability to endure hardship. After this, the man's family responds in kind and lists his virtues also; this includes things like modesty and loyalty and intelligence, but rather than cooking and embroidery, things such as diligence and skill in his craft are highlighted. And of course, his financial situation and ability to provide for the happiness and security of the family's daughter are important. 'Once all this is agreed, the woman is usually called in to serve the man a special drink, a mixture of warm milk and honey if she approves of him and wishes for the marriage to go on, or a mixture of warm milk and salt if she does not approve. And I have heard of times where the milk has been so sweet that the man could not finish it (to much teasing and laughter!), and times where it has been so salty that the poor man let up the content of his stomach all over the wretched girl! 'Where the families and the couple-to-be already know each other, or are related as in the case of cousins, the Zayra-Seghr and Zayra-Kebr are in fact done together in one go. After this Zayra-Kebr, the intention of the couple to marry is made known to everyone in the neighbourhood, and the family and couple must go to a temple as soon as possible and sit around the Taal-e Aqd, the table of contract, where the priest will write down the marriage contract, detailing all the obligations of both the bride and groom, as well as any unique agreements the particular couple have come to. This contract has a divine mandate, and can be enforced by any priest should either husband or wife break it. Breaking it can even be a ground for a dissolution of the marriage altogether, though this is extremely rare. I have never heard of a marriage ending in any other way but the death of either the husband or wife. 'With the Taal-e Aqd done, the woman is officially prohibited from being with any other man, and the man prohibited from being with any other woman, and either of them must seek an official dissolution in order to cancel the rest of the wedding. In order for them both to become husband and wife, the man must, first, present his bride with the necklace and the bracelet, and she must present him with the ring, and this must be witnessed by two priests, two members of the groom's family, and two members of the bride's family. 'This happens at the wedding ceremony itself, which usually takes place in the main courtyard of a temple. A special canopy must be constructed where the exchange happens - representing the new family and home they are building together -, and a small fire must be lit just outside the canopy over which both the bride and the groom must leap, while holding hands, after the exchange. The fire represents light and purity, and by leaping over it the couple purify themselves of all past misdoings, and bring upon themselves the blessing of the Master and good fortune. The groom's mother then places a finger dipped in honey in the mouth of the bride, and the bride's father does the same for the groom, and the sweetness of the honey is a symbol of hope that their lives together would be just as sweet. 'With this all done, a large feast is had - usually hosted and financed by the temple, though if the couple's families are rich enough they tend to contribute to it. All members of the community are welcome to come and join in the festivities; the eating and the dancing and the singing. And thereafter, the couple retire to their new home and, in seclusion, complete their spiritual union through physical oneness,' Chjekaya rubbed the back of her hand softly as she finished, and Yara - who had lain back onto the bed - gave a small sigh. [color=f7941d][i]'Isn't that just beautiful? How many times have you told it to me now?'[/i][/color] 'At least ten times!' Chjekaya laughed, lightly slapping the Witch-Priestess' knee. [color=f7941d][i]'I just never tire of hearing it. And soon enough I'll see it here for myself, and you will fill all our hearts with great joy,'[/i][/color] Chjekaya smiled and nodded at her words. She was silent and thoughtful for a few moments, before reaching for Yara's hand and gripping it with both her own. 'Moth- no...Yara. I just want you to know that I'm ever so-' [color=f7941d][i]'Oh shush you, getting all emotional all of sudden. Let go, let go. Won't have any of that!'[/i][/color] Chjekaya could not help but giggle slightly as she fought to keep a hold on Yara's hand, only to have her ultimately escape, [color=f7941d][i]'come on now, you better get going, I'm sure both your mother and grandmother want to fuss over you too,'[/i][/color] the Witch-Priestess said. Chjekaya sighed and nodded and, glancing at the wilted rose one last time, got up and made for the curtained doorway, only pausing to look back one last time at Yara grinning like a crocody doggle on the bed.