"...She of the Scourge" [Open]

The Umbrian devout quietly express their worship.

The Umbrium is the lower half and secondary seat of the Solunarian Capital and one of the dual-cities that comprises Solunarium Proper. Before the rise of Aværys, mining revealed the site of a ruined, underground city which they dubbed Oblitium “The Forgotten City”, the foundations of which were incorporated into what is now The Umbrium. Warmed by the magma that churns just behind the walls, the Umbrium houses the Palatium Umbrarum (The Shadow Palace) which was constructed directly beneath its sunlit counterpart, the Blazing Palace. This palace serves as the primary seat of government when the sovereign is moonborn, and houses the headquarters of The Silver Sentinels.

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"...She of the Scourge"
21 Ash 122
Templum Mediæ Noctis Matris
Sanctine District, Umbrium
► Show Spoiler
It was a strange day in Solunarium. One which would change the realm evermore, if some rumours from above were to be believed below. Sun had fallen and moon had risen in the realm above, though such celestial events were obscured from view in the Umbrium.

The Temple of the Blazing Sun in the Luxium had been constructed in praise of Aværys millennia ago. That might be considered ancient in some cultures, but it was nowhere near as old as the Templum Mediæ Noctis Matris. It was the seat of an old, dead religion that once thrived on the site of present-day Solunarium in remote antiquity before memory for even the Draconic Dynasty. It hadn't been built in praise of Varvara or Aværys- in fact the latter had been one of the mining slaves who'd helped excavate it before His ascent. It had been the sight at which he'd found two mysterious amulets that played a part in unlocking access to divinity. Only the most devoted scholars knew to whom this temple once belonged or what it represented, but this was a place for such people.

Though grandiose in size and scope, the Temple of Midnight's Mother was a shadowy, quiet place when compared to its sunlit counterpart in the Luxium. There were no awe-inspiring implements blazing overhead, only cold stone and faded carvings depicting an ancient war between forgotten cultures led by extinct sentient races. No one flaunted glitz or glamour as the congregants gathered for the final Waning Prayer before the Equinox. The attending clerics wore simple robes of black, and most of the congregants didn't concern themselves with garb. The devotees of Varvara were less concerned with ostentation than those who held her brother-husband in highest esteem.

The great hall of the temple held a shrine erected to Varvara during the Epoch of Aværys. A great statue of the erstwhile god-empress was carved from magically reinforced obsidian and ornamented with silver mined from closeby. Worshippers bore candles to place at the feet of the statue, as they whispered their private prayers. Priests and priestesses were present, should any seek their guidance, but no formalised mass or sermon of any kind would be offered in a public fashion tonight or most evenings. Those who followed the Silver Path tended to be more private, or at least more intimate with their faith than those who worshiped in the Platinum or Golden fashion.

The temple would be active throughout the evening, as people queued up and brought forth their sacrifices to be made upon the altar before Varvara's shrine. Animals, though never reptiles, had their throats slit quietly- their blood pouring into the spillways of the altar and in some unseen chamber somewhere below the great hall. Humans, too, were put forth as offerings- their blood mingling with that of the other creatures sacrificed to the Founders here. Some were slaves, or others subjects of Lex Agni who would hear the prayers of argent ardent whispered in their ears before a silver dagger kissed their throats to pour liquid rubies into the artfully carved spillways.
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"I am pleased that you decided to join us, Finn." Cithæra inclined her head to the human. She donned her Sentinal black with the veil lowered to cover her fair face, leaving her features little more than a silhouette. Despite Arry's concerns about being underdressed after the morning's 'Radiant Mass', Phocion had urged him not to don anything too extravagant for this outing. He was relieved to find that Phocion had not been putting him on and was glad he decided to wear his sentinel uniform, albeit sans veil.

"This... is very different from this morning." He noted quietly.

"Indeed." She nodded once, "There are many ways to observe The Varværyn Faith. What you saw at the Radiant Mass was the more populist approach- Glamour, gold and glory. It is easy to understand for even our simplest citizens, and it reinforces their commitment to the Founders... Shores up the covenant that ties the Vastian Race to the Chosen of Re'ha." She gestured around them,

"But this place is frequented by those who recognise that not all power inspires awe. That some of the mightiest tethers that bind our souls are unseen. Did you know that Phædryn was the favourite child of Varvara? She called him her 'Child of twists and turns'" One could almost hear the smile behind her veil.

"This is why so many of Phædryn's heirs over the years have followed the Cursus Argentus." Entering the great hall, she gestured to the shrine and the bloody altar upon which sacrifices were being made.

Arry looked to Finn, checking in as to whether he was all right with what was transpiring before them. Sensitive to his lover's comfort, he inquired:

"It is always blood that must be sacrificed?"

"No." Cithæra tilted her head, "But blood is a potent thing in this world and that is not lost on She of the Bound and the Binding. But anything of worth may be sacrificed... Except the lives of reptiles. This is an old tradition and signifies our deference to the Draconic Dynasty, who do suffer us to rule without asserting their claim to this realm... Leaving it in elven hands until the Founders reawaken," She paused, "Or they change their minds."

Arvælyn looked to the silver altar and the patterns upon its surface. A goat bleated its last as the spillways ran red, and send rivulets of blood down circuitous paths down to some unknown terminus point.
word count: 417
“O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention...”


Phædryn Sol'Zalkyrion Arvælyn Princeps
['faɪd,ɹɪn solˌzæl'kiɹi,on ɑɹˌvɛɪˈlɪn]
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The fair human had managed not to react so far. His symphony was schooled to the stateliness of a metronome. Nothing perturbed him, though he knew he would have to confront everything he had seen at some point soon. When they had gone to change, he assured Arvælyn that he would join him for whatever black sabbat awaited them; he didn't call it anything but its name, of course: the Waning Prayer.

More blood, more sacrifice.

He was stoic, even pleasant, though Arvælyn knew him too well to think this would not put a strain upon him. But he was sacrificing his comfort for his love. He could have wished for a drink, or to wear a veil, but then that would have made his sacrifice easier.

"Thank you for inviting me, Your Serene Highness," he said to prove that he had been putting the tutelage of the Silver Sentinels to good use. They were no longer in a private dining room, so he showed her all due courtesy. Finn had the sense of any lowborn man who had learned to swim the shark-infested waters of his betters. His Vastian was improving, though he wondered what else they might want to teach him.

At Arvælyn's sidelong glance, his question, and Cithæra's reply, Finn could only recite a line of poetry that came to mind. This in Vallenor:

"All gods who receive homage are cruel.
All gods dispense suffering without reason.
Otherwise they would not be worshipped.
Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear is the most divine emotion.
It is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom.
Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers.
Real gods require blood.
"

Solunarium was certainly proving an education; he just wasn't sure what lessons he was learning.

But Finn kept pace with the conversation, replying when necessary and otherwise observing. Eventually, however, he excused himself and got into line. When his time came, he pulled back his sleeve and he cut into his flesh, eyes rising to contemplate Varvara's face.

I am not one of your people. I may not be welcome in your house. But it seems that blood is valued, so I shed it in your name. I do not ken the plots within plots here, but I love one of your children. He has many names. Today, Arvælyn, though I will always think of him as my Arry. He has sacrificed much to live, and more to find this place, his people. All I ask is that he not be made a sacrifice for the machinations of his family or anyone else. I am not attempting to bargain, just to ask... Please. I love him.

Perhaps he looked as though he were in an ecstatic trance. His gaze fell back down from the heights to find a kindly faced cleric helping him staunch the flow of his own blood as he was led away to make room for Varvara's faithful.
word count: 521
we keep on churning and the lights inside the house turn on
and in our native language, we are chanting ancient songs
and when we quiet down, the house chants on without us
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Hilana Chenzira
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She was in a better state than she had been that morning. Vasilei had reamed her out for the better part of an hour between clients and patients, especially once she had unwrapped the bandages covering her torso. “At any part of this did you ever consider that you got in over your head?” He asked her. “That was foolish. You could have been killed.”

“Hayima’el was there,” she shook her head as she unwrapped the bandage from her bicep, tilting it to look at it. “It was fine. I used to do it with the herds anyway, we all had to—“

“That was then, and you had more people there. This is now. This was Founders know how far outside the city, on your own, and bleeding. You could have attracted the wolves, or jackals, or something bigger.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, holding up a hand to stop her before she interjected. “Your Aunt said you were in control of your Wildness… not the other way around. You need to use your head, Hilana. You could have asked any number of people to go with you, they likely would have, and you wouldn’t be standing here looking like someone had taken a club to you,” he let out an exasperated sigh. “There was no need. You are dutiful and you follow your prayers—“

“There is every need,” Hilana looked up at him. “I owe Them. Else I would be stuck in Tertium and trying to get my hands on whatever herbs I could. I would have chewed my own arm off like a jackal in a trap to get away from him if that had gone through, and They made sure it didn’t. I owed it to Them. None of this is fatal. It hurts, but I will be fine.” Her mentor looked at her for a while, and very casually, and quite firmly, poked the darkest bruise on her ribs with two fingers. She couldn’t quite bite the gasp back, twisting away from his hand.

“‘Fine’,” he mimicked her, and shook his head. “Get the big book. You can make your own medicine, Hilana. Start with the cleansing spirits and then go onto the calendula and marshmallow gel. Then the arnica and comfrey salve. Put that head of yours to good use instead of acting like one of those rams that needs to headbutt a problem to fix it.”


The pain had receded considerably by the time she had finished work, and she had followed up the medicine with brewed teas for renewed energy. But that didn’t mean she had gotten to relax: Vasilei kept her busy to prove the point once her wounds had been cleaned and dressed once more, with the extra supplies tucked in her bag for later, and her torso wrapped once again. She had gotten changed out of the bright skirt before she left work, changing to a plainer, single-coloured navy. The ribbons were gone. She was able to collect the last remaining ram, and start the walk down to the Umbrium, leading it along like she had the first with a bribe of hay, Tiaz back around her shoulders and torso, his coils brushing against the bruises. Pain. Sacrifice. She knew she would sleep well tonight when she finally got home, but she still had a ways to go. It was time to visit the Temple of Midnight’s Mother.

She joined the line with the ram, standing quietly and keeping her weight on the uninjured leg for now, though with her skirts her stance was normal enough. She glanced about here and there, and thought that she recognized Arvaelyn, but as he was with others… best not to embarrass the Dominus. As the line moved up, she did recognize a familiar face being led away. Finn. And he was bleeding. Her gaze followed him as she watched to see where he went, if only because she had supplies in her pack to deal with it. Doubtless they had people aplenty nearby, but…

► Show Spoiler


Once it was her turn, she led the ram to the altar, looking up at the statue before lowering her head and accepting the knife from the priest. Gentle fingers lifted the drugged ram’s head, scratching along his jaw to relax him further before she grasped the horn and held it, bracing herself in the utterly unlikely event the Mesmers nearby would not keep the sacrifice calm. The silver knife bit deeply, and cut cleanly through the heavy beast’s throat. Hilana gave the knife back to the priest, stroking the ram’s head until he was gone, bowing her head before the statue again.

For you, Midnight’s Mother. May his blood and strength please you. Please continue to help me follow my path, and show me what lurks in the shadows along the way.

She rose after a breath, Tiaz quite calm despite the scent of blood. His tongue was flickering, and he had tightened around her somewhat. Hilana gently adjusted the python’s coils, because his muscled body was starting to push down hard on the bruises, coiling the rope as she left the altar to make room for the next supplicant. She was instead heading in the direction where she had seen Finn go, and when she found him, she had wiped her hands in her skirts and offered him a smile. “Hello, Finn. May I treat that for you?” She asked him gently, indicating where his self-inflicted cut was, shifting her backpack despite her snake in order to get out the supplies.

word count: 973
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"Of course, pet." Cithæra placed a gentle hand upon Finn's upper arm and stroked there twice with a ginger touch. "When I am veiled, you may call me, simply, Vigilia. I know that our ways are byzantine to foreigners, but there is intention behind these details." And she had purposely elected to veil herself as not to draw attention to Finn or Arvælyn. Barefaced, hers was a face that most would recognise and not all would look favourably upon those who kept the company of the tacit head of the Immaculist Faction.

She slowly drew her hand away, as Finn spoke his quotation. Arry, furrowed his brow, only able to glean a few words that were cognate or at least similar to their Mythrasi counterparts, but Cithæra's posture softened and what could be seen of her expression through black mesh seemed moved.

Her gloved hand rose from his arm to his face, and she sought out his light blue eyes peering deeply. Beyond the surface and into his very depths.

"There is grandeur in this way of life..." She offered, tenderly in Vallenor, drawing her fingers down his cheek. "Repeat these words until they are scrivened into your blood, and you will see that our gods are no crueler than any other. They are only more honest." Withdrawing her hand from Finn's face, she placed it on her son's shoulder.

"I wasn't sure what to sacrifice, but... I found a cart in the Forum that sold toys. Just like the ones papa used to make." He unslung his pack and withdrew a little, enchanted airship. The Grand Master Sembler's eyes could see plainly enough that it was capable of actual flight, or at least hovering a bit. "I lost everything I had of his long, long ago, but... This felt symbolic enough that I thought it might serve."

"You would sacrifice your childhood, Arvælyn?" She smiled behind the veil.

"I am a man, now." He nodded. "Is there a place to sacrifice something like this?"

"This way." She inclined her head to Finn, as he excused himself to the altar queue and led Arry to another altar on the other side of the statue. It was warmer, there. The air above the ground looked warped from the rising heat and it felt hot on boots as he made his way closer. There was another queue, but it moved quickly enough and the Vigilia Magna gestured. "There."

He stepped up to this altar and found that it was designed like a well. There was a surface, but it was a ring and orange light rose from deep down. Heat washed over his face as he drew up to it, and peering into its depths he saw the source of the light and warmth. Magma. He glanced over his shoulder to his mother,

"I didn't know the volcano's core went this deep under the Umbrium."

"Spillways." Cithæra replied. "Now, pray." She urged, and Arvælyn nodded. He placed the little toy down on the edge of the ringed altar, and looked up at the statue. It seemed it was built with a face on either side, mirror images facing away from one another with the same, stoic stare.

Even when I did not know you, I think my heart was yours. Tethered as I was by circumstance, I knew you and longed to know your brother withal. You hallow my blood. Through you I have survived, and for you I will thrive. Take this symbol of my childhood. I have since been baptised in blood and have renounced the original sin that is innocence. Take what remains of it. In your name, I offer this prayer, oh She of the Scourge.

He pushed the toy forward and for a moment it hovered in place, before slowly descending- catching fire before it even reached the churning magma beneath.

Meanwhile on the other side of the statue, human blood was being spilled- foreign and fresh. As it poured onto the altar, it seemed to defy the laws of physics- spreading beyond where gravity would take it and coursing down several spillways, steaming and bubbling with sudden heat as it was drawn down as if being sucked through a straw, and then Finn's blood was beneath his feet. As his eyes fixed on those of the statue they seemed to flash with moonlight as they regarded him, and a whisper entered his mind, speaking only one word.

Kaladon.

At the same time, the same word entered Arry's mind as he gaped in shock at the flash of silver in the same statue's eyes.

Cithæra took Arry by the arm, as the cleric aided Finn offering a cloth to hold against his wound. The three reunited, but Arry was still staring blankly at the statue in disbelief- dumbfounded.

"This has been a year of great bloodshed." Cithæra observed. "They grow stronger." As these three conferred, another was approaching the first altar with a sacrifice. The goat's blood filled the spillways and gushed down toward the terminus beneath. Just like Finn's blood, it was drawn downward until nothing of it remained on the altar but warm vapour wafting up. When the beast was wholly exsanguinated, the altar was dry and clean as it had been when she'd approached.

I watch.

The words were in her mind, not her ears. They felt somewhere between foreboding and entreating. A threat or a challenge... Or both?

When she drew away and joined the others, acolytes attended to the removal and disposal of the goat corpse. Cithæra stood aloof, regarding the statue. as Hilana approached. But Arry smiled, still awed by his experience, and looked to Hilana without greeting her. His thoughts were in places beyond such a pittance as small talk.

"Did she speak to you?"
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There was much to meditate upon.

Cithæra, perhaps, was both a master sembler and master dissembler; he just didn't know if she was so skilled at schooling her feelings that she began to believe them, that she could fool a master mesmer, or if, perhaps, it was merely her heart and soul's commitment to her philosophy that gave her such surety. Finn certainly didn't have that, and while he doubted her, the touch to his face seemed sincere, reminiscent even of his own mother's. Her advice in ancient elven seemed sincere, as well.

The bloodletting was mundane enough, but the way it was accepted was not. It wasn't that he didn't believe the Moritasi existed; he just didn't know whether believe mattered. Here, Their way was law.

Kaladon. A pilgrimage, then. The exchange was subtler than anything he had seen from Talon, but he hadn't seen Talon reach from so far away, not to answer a prayer.

His eyes were downcast in thought, ostensibly focused on first aid, when Cithæra and Arvælyn found him. Then Hilana, as well. He looked up, dazed for a moment, then smiled. It wasn't blood loss, but deep thought; at least, he hoped so. If he was swooning whenever Hilana showed up, Arvælyn was going to be so upset.

"Ave, Hilana," he said. Then, "Is that allowed?"

He glanced from Vastian herbalist to Vigilia Magna. He honestly didn't know if Varvara would be offended if he didn't let it heal naturally, but he supposed he wouldn't have been given something to staunch the wound in that case. The man nodded to Hilana and held out his arm, still holding his blood at bay.

"Oh, ave, Tiaz."
word count: 313
we keep on churning and the lights inside the house turn on
and in our native language, we are chanting ancient songs
and when we quiet down, the house chants on without us
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Hilana Chenzira
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Letters: viewtopic.php?t=5196

Image

“She watches,” Hilana offered to Arvaelyn at his query, whether it was directed to her or to Finn. Tiaz’s tongue flickered, though, tasting the air around him and the scents of the people that he now found himself amongst. Familiar. The sturdy python barely shifted as the girl removed a few bottles from her backpack, along with a roll of fresh bandages. She did, however, seem content to use her snake to help hold the items she retrieved from her backpack. There wasn’t somewhere else to put them down and she was not about to demean Arvaelyn in front of a Vigilia by asking him to hold them, after all. “Did She speak to you?”

“It is allowed, at least in the Sands,” she answered Finn’s question, shifting her foot out to adjust the hem of her navy skirt, extending it so that it was under the bard’s outstretched arm. It would not do to spill something, even if it was a purifying rinse, upon such hallowed floors. One of the benefits of wearing so much fabric about her, at least... “Leaving a wound open after a blood sacrifice to Deus et Domina means something or someone else is going to have a better chance of sacrificing you to their god or belly if you do not take care of it, and what can we do from the belly of a golden wolf for Them? No, better to treat it, regain your strength, and continue on... and make another sacrifice later,” she was smiling, at least.

The girl opened the first bottle, sprinkling some of its clear contents on one hand and then the other, before gently lifting off the cloth that Finn had pressed to his wound. She didn’t seem surprised at it, just began to rinse it with the translucent liquid. “Cleaning first. Purify, like the fire.” It didn’t sting, at least, but it did tingle as she flushed it before tucking that bottle in against Tiaz’s coils. It didn’t matter to Hilana that they were in a temple and this was likely about as clean a wound as anyone would ever have; there was a method and she had the means to stick to the method, and that meant it was better to do it. It also offered a temporary reprieve from the bleeding, which gave her time to move to the next step.

The next bottle contained something much thicker with a faint orange tinge, and she dipped her fingers into the ointment. “Calendula and marshmallow,” she murmured. Finn was interested in survival, and that was why she told them what it was. It also tended to be her manner when she was seeing to a patient - to explain the steps and help calm upset people down, though the bard didn't seem upset to her in the slightest. “It will keep infection out, and help it heal quicker,” Hilana’s touch was light, smoothing the surprisingly cool gel into the wound. With the ointment in place, the bleeding had stopped entirely now. “Good for coagulation, since it is so thick.” Her next step was to wrap the bandage around his arm, keeping a good tension to it - not so tight as to disrupt the normal flow, but not so loose that it would slip and slide. She tied the ends in a little knot off to the side, and surveyed her handiwork before nodding. None of what she had used would take the pain away; but they were the same concoctions that she had used on her own arm and leg. Feel the pain, remember it. Remember the sacrifice for Deus Avaerys and Domina Varvara. “There. Try to keep it dry for two days, if you can... after that, you can take the dressing off. It will be fine.” She placed the bottles back in her backpack, letting the rucksack settle once more.



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Arvælyn had really been asking both Finn and Hilana whether they'd been spoken to, though it was only Hilana who replied. He supposed it was less likely that Finn should have received answer to his sacrifice, which Arry was just noticing now...

"Gods! Did you cut yourself for Varvara?!" Though exclamatory, the question was whispered, the environment being as quietly reverent as it was. He blinked down at the bloody cloth he was holding to his arm, and placed a hand on his back as Hilana moved to attend to it.

Arry was well and truly shocked by this gesture on Finn's part. The human minstrel had his doubts about the Varværyn Faith. He found it severe. But Arry was severe, and Finn still loved Arry. Perhaps he was coming around to Solunarium as well. He was sorry for Finn's pain, but grimly proud of him for making the sacrifice.

"It is allowed in the cities, as well." The voice behind the veil spoke up, as Cithæra regarded Finn with furtive interest. "To give Her all your blood is to make another sort of sacrifice... promise another sort of service, but what falls not with intent is no concern of Hers. When he stepped from the altar, the Covenant was complete." The sentinel nodded to Hilana's interpretation, and then looked to her son.

"You never answered the girl, Arvælyn. Did She speak to you?"

"She said, 'Kaladon.'" He replied, though his attention was still upon Finn and Hilana's dressing of his wound. Still, he would feel a surge... a thrill in Cithæra's typically guarded Symphony.

"Then the next epoch is at hand." To those with no Mesmer, the comment would have sounded just as stoic as anything she'd said prior. But to the two Masters present, the potency was palpable. Long had she and hers striven toward aims passing close to fruition. The hour was nigh, and it seemed the burgeoning strength of ancient powers was calling out to some.

"Valæra returns from Auris in a few weeks. After that, it is high time you returned to Ailizane, Arvælyn, to the site of the Rending. Our long-reticent Founders have broken their silence and given voice to a summons. It must needs be answered." It was no surprise that Varvara should whisper like a shadowy seneschal, while Aværys stood aloof. Even when he was cast down in the flatlands, the mountain had risen to meet him to serve as his monolith monument. He didn't call Kaladon, it merely came because it was time for it to come. The veiled sentinel regarded the daughter of the Vastii.

"And you, Vastiana. You may join the pilgrimage party, if you wish. If She of the Scourge would cast her eye toward you, then so should we."
word count: 479
“O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention...”


Phædryn Sol'Zalkyrion Arvælyn Princeps
['faɪd,ɹɪn solˌzæl'kiɹi,on ɑɹˌvɛɪˈlɪn]
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Finn
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"For you," he corrected quietly, but his symphony was not discordant. It welled up at Arvælyn's hand upon him and he didn't try to hide that from Cithæra.

Much was said around him as he considered whether to share here with everyone or later in private with Arvælyn alone. It seemed to him that if a deity spoke in the silence of one's soul, one ought to keep it to oneself, but he was a stranger in a strange land and he supposed if everyone was sharing.

"I should think it would be desert mallow or oasis mallow, but I suppose there must be some marshlands around the river, especially if it floods in season," he considered as he tried to learn from what was being done to him. The pain was a dull throb, but he didn't mind it. He had suffered through worse before and it was meant to be a sacrifice. "Thank you, Hilana."

Finn took a thoughtful breath and then shared, "I was also given a single word: Kaladon." He smiled to Arvælyn. "I suppose my sun prince has been granted an entourage." He looked then to Cithæra, curious but not challenging. There was a question on the tip of his tongue and he didn't know whether he expected an answer or, if he was given one, whether it would be straightforward or serpentine. "And you, Vigilia? Will you share with us?"

While carefully pulling his sleeve down over Hilana's expert care. Perhaps it would behoove him to learn some of those skills as well. He wondered if Phocion would allow him to learn to ride a wyvern or if his farce cadetcy would have limits. They had marked Arvælyn with a Rune considered a family rite of passage, but as many times as Finn had asked questions that Arvælyn hadn't, he had yet to ask what would be expected of him were he allowed to remain with Arvælyn when his true identity was revealed.

But her fervor seemed unfeigned, and between the secrets about Arvælyn's paternity and hints at prophecy and portent, he half-expected her to pronounce Arvælyn an immaculate conception with Deus Aværys. He half-expected Varvara had given him the word so that he might be sacrificed entirely for his lover.
word count: 414
we keep on churning and the lights inside the house turn on
and in our native language, we are chanting ancient songs
and when we quiet down, the house chants on without us
User avatar
Hilana Chenzira
Posts: 880
Joined: Fri Aug 19, 2022 3:14 pm
Location: Solunarium
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Hilana nodded as the Vigilia spoke in affirmation with regards to the care of wounds from self-sacrifice. She had said it better than the nomad girl could, but that was age and experience. The girl could only explain it the way it had been explained to her, but Cithaera was right: intention was everything. If you didn’t direct it to them, what use was the spilled blood?

As Arvaelyn mentioned Kaladon, the Vastii’s eyes widened, though she remained quiet aside from explaining her steps as the words were exchanged. The Rending. She could not detect anything beyond Cithaera’s tone as she continued, not that she knew who this Vigilia was for such hints. She clearly knew her friends and knew further it was not her place to ask or question. But she understood the words... especially the talk of a summons. Her gaze went up to Finn’s face, when he also said Kaladon. Forces beyond anything they knew were marshaling for something. The only question was what. Perhaps They were ready to return to them.

She almost, almost launched into a discussion about oasis mallow versus desert mallow versus marshmallow, considering all three of them grew within Atraxia. She could tell them that it was just a matter of where one went and found it... but that they grew marshmallow in the greenhouses where they could baby it along and keep up a constant production. Arvaelyn and Finn doubtless knew she was ready to, considering Hilana’s tendencies on the subjects and she was biting her lip to keep it all from pouring out... but she had to restrain herself. “We have all three here in Atraxia. But all have different potencies and properties... We like the marshmallow for making this particular gel.” She would have to explain to him why later, lest she start word-vomiting all over the place...and that was taking a lot of effort not to. It probably helped that she had not slept the previous night, and the energy tonics were keeping her going until Varvara had whispered to her. That had been a new shot of unexpected awareness and energy, but all the same...

With Finn’s arm bandaged and doctored, she nodded when he thanked her, smiling at him. It was something that she could do for her friends and her people, at least. She brought her toes and skirt back in line, letting the fabric settle once more. But she bowed low at the waist to the Vigilia at the extended invitation to join the pilgrimage party. The offer surprised her, as she had never expected to go to such a place, even though others had made pilgrimages there. It was talked of, but with the way things had gone with her circumstances, leaving Atraxia... Still, she and Hayima’el were always down for a trip. “I would be honoured to join, if you would have me along. Thank you, Vigilia,” she told her once she had straightened. Tiaz’s tongue flickered, the python regarding the Grand Master Sembler, even if Hilana knew better than to do so.

Maybe they could find some Orks there to sacrifice. You just didn’t come to another’s fire without an offering.



word count: 559
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