Sister Nasventesh

One of the beams of light flooding through the window resolves into the shape of
Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound.

A handsome, white-paneled room.
A soft light filters through clean glass, creating a serene glow about this
room. Its walls, white paneled, seem absolutely clear of scuffs and age, which
reflect the given light about the room. The hardwood floors seem to be made of
an ash lumber and sealed, creating a grainy hue to add to the homeliness. The
area is fairly wide, almost as if it was meant to entertain a multitude of
guests. The positioning of the window on the north wall creates a mood, showing
the constant flow of light, unhindered by the passing of time by both the sun
and the lantern visible out the window Lying flat on the ground is a key-shaped
sigil. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. Damariel, the
Unbound is here, His form encased in dark fullplate.
You see a single exit leading west (closed pine door).

Maite jumps, letting out a startled squeak. "I, uh, evening,
Father."

"A good Arios to you, my dear," Damariel says, smiling broadly. He clomps across
the hardwood floors, the light playing strangely across His fullplate.

Maite tucks a stray hair back under a draping viridian
headscarf embroidered with jet-black, smiling. "I'd offer a chair, but I keep
things simple. I am glad you got my message about wanting to speak, though."

"Oh, of course, child. I've had many prayers on the subject. It seems to be..."
Damariel's arms spread, as if in a gesture of helplessness.

Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says, "Rather out of hand."

Maite cants her head to the side. "The orphanage, or the other
matter?"

Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says to you, "I've heard both, truthfully.
Which concerns you at this time, child? Poor of Me to presume."

You say, "The orphanage I am not too concerned over. It's not a pressing need,
just an idea I thought would be good for us to do...It was more having
Nesven..The Mhunna herself, say she needs help setting her people free..how
could I not ask You to help her?"

Damariel hesitates - He pauses before the window, as if transfixed in its light,
staring outward at the City. His lower lip sucks inward, and His hands fold at
His back.

Maite merely watches, not wanting to press.

Without turning, Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says to you, "I have
nothing but sympathy for their plight, child, but My involvement would only
invite the involvement of Others. It is a large undertaking - a severe indirect
blow against the 'Loch."

"I cannot be seen, directly, to have taken a hand in that. Not without placing
everything in jeopardy." Damariel's arms fold together. "I tried to take a
direct hand in the dealings of the Trolls, Maite, and it did them little good.
They are a broken, scattered people, sundered by the Demon Blade."

Maite chews on her bottom lip as she listens, taking a moment
to answer. She turns as if to start pacing, and then stops, asking, "How could
You, or myself, help indirectly then? I can't go back to Nesventesh and tell her
that no help can be given."

Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says to you, "You are free to offer aid. My
own hands are shackled in this instance, but I of course fully support Mhun
freedom. I will say as much, when asked, but My involvement would do no one any
good. If I become involved, My Sisters - Chakrasul and Iosyne, at the least -
will press Their plans more directly, and the situation will devolve."

"When Gods fight," Damariel adds, with a sidelong glance at you, "Mortals die."

Maite glances away, wincing for a moment before turning her
attention back to Damariel. With a long breath, she responds. "I will let her
know what You have said. I only asked because I don't know what I could do to
help, but I will offer that to her at least. If others are bothering You about
the situation, I can field that, so You do not have to keep answering." She
waits for a moment, and then asks in a quiet tone, "It must be...difficult to
not be able to help like You would want."

Damariel smiles sadly out the window, pacing across. His arm goes around your
shoulder, and He claps you softly on the back. "Yes," He admits, "But that's why
I'm delegating it to you."

Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound smiles and says to you, "If not in My
hands, yours are second-best."

Maite shakes her head, words starting and then stopping a few
times before able to come out correctly. "I will do what I can to help."

Damariel gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze, moving back to the window.

Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says, "That's My girl."

Damariel is gone, vanishing into the morning light.


**A while later**

There is a knock on the west door.

Nesventesh enters from the west.

Maite pulls open the door, only mildly surprised at who is on
the other side. "Come in, even if it is a bit sparse."

Sister Nesventesh's eyebrows rise, and she bites back an amused smile. She walks
out into the wide room. "Thank you, Maite," she answers; the room seems to
beckon her, and she drops into stance, cutting a form right across the floor.

Nesventesh presses her palms together and bows low, ready to perform the Form of
Tykorima.

Nesventesh draws herself back into a well-formed Cat stance.

Nesventesh begins to circle with wary precision, muscles tensed and ready to
spring into action at any moment.

Nesventesh hurls herself backwards through the air, and lands, surprisingly, on
her feet.

Nesventesh launches into a devastating combination of jab and hook punches,
fists flying.

Nesventesh fakes a step backwards and lets fly with an elegant, arcing
moon-kick.

Nesventesh forms a blade with her hand and slices it firmly through the air
ahead of her.

Nesventesh completes her motions and stands at rest.

Nesventesh presses her palms together and bows, the Form of Tykorima complete.

Maite just stares, hand still on the door as she slowly closes
it behind her. Regaining herself, she states, "Your ears must have been burning,
since I was just speaking about you."

You close the door to the west.

Sister Nesventesh stares at you and blinks.

Slowly, Sister Nesventesh reaches for one of her vials, brushing her fingertips
over her ears.

Sister Nesventesh says, "What?"

Maite lets out a rather long giggle, shaking her head. "It's..a
turn of phrase. A common saying that if someone is talking about you, your ears
will burn. My father used to say it, is all."

Sister Nesventesh says, "It's an odd phrase. Why would your ears burn? I don't
see the symbolic..."

Sister Nesventesh searches for the word, but gives up after a moment, scowling.

Sister Nesventesh says, "It's just odd. What were you talking about me for? Who
to?"

Maite leans against the door, with her arms crossed beneath her
chest. Her smile fades at Sister Nesventesh's question, and her tone is quiet.
"I promised I would ask Father for help on your behalf, so I did."

Eagerly, Sister Nesventesh says, "What did He say?"

"That if He could directly help, He would," Maite answers
quietly. "Direct involvement would have ramifications, and Others would likely
step into the conflict, complicating it and likely causing more death than
necessary." A moment, to let those words settle before she adds, "I am offering
to help in His place. Whatever it is you need, if I am able, I will do. That
is...all I can do, Miss Nesventesh."

Sister Nesventesh says nothing at all in a very pointed way. Her silence is
deafening.

Sister Nesventesh lunges forward, pulling you into a firm, tight hug.

Sister Nesventesh says, "He has blessed us. That is more than I could have ever
expected."

Sister Nesventesh says, "Thank you, oh, spirits, thank you, thank you..."

Maite is taken aback, her body tense initially in the hug. She
does relax, and lightly returns it, although her gesture is awkward. "I..You're
welcome," she offers.

Sister Nesventesh pulls back, holding your at arms length, a beam on her face.
She spins round, pulling you with her, laughing. "I expected so much less!"

Maite stumbles at first, following Sister Nesventesh, but ends
up grinning back, swept up with Sister Nesventesh's happiness. "I think you have
unrealistic expectations of what I can do, but that smile was well worth telling
you. And here I thought I would be bringing disappointing news to you."

Sister Nesventesh says, "No. I never expected direct intervention. Ever. I never
expected He'd let you help us. I'm not overestimating you. You..."

Sister Nesventesh's face goes deadly serious, and she cranes forward, looking
you in the eye. "You're powerful, you know that? You speak with your Lord's
conviction. I hear the same tone in your voice that I have in mine when I speak
of the spirits. Something burns in you and the light shines on everything."

Maite holds the stare, although her shoulders tense at the
direct look. "I heard you speak that way, yes. Hard to not pay attention when
you speak, even if it is about something small. I get it. You speak that way
because it how you feel. The only way you know how to. Speaking only goes so
far, though, Nesventesh. It always ends up in blood and death and pain, even if
resolved for the good."

Pausing, Sister Nesventesh says, "I killed an Empress of Bloodloch in single
combat."

"If you help me..." Sister Nesventesh's hand slips down, squeezing your a moment
before pulling back, "I'll protect you. Promise."

Maite's cheeks flush deeply, her head shaking a moment. "I was
more concerned over you and your people, not myself. Seems that worry is not
much warranted, then." Her smile to Sister Nesventesh is somewhat sheepish, but
genuine.

Sister Nesventesh says, "I cannot defend them alone. I am only one woman.
Everyone extra counts. Even if you don't count yourself for much of a fighter."

Sister Nesventesh smiles at you.

You say, "I know Duiran seems rather protective of you, as does many of
Enorian's citizens. If there is a fight, I am sure you have plenty of support in
that regard."

Sister Nesventesh smiles at you.

"...So." Sister Nesventesh shifts, suddenly, her expression pensive and curious.
"You don't drink alcohol, you don't eat meat, you abstain from myrrh and cactus
weed. Is there anything else you aren't allowed to do?"

Maite relaxes more now, her arms crossing in a comfortable
position. "Sure, but they are mostly common sense things for one who follows the
Light. Allowing is such a..it isn't how I view it. Choice. What are you really
asking, though?"

Pausing, Sister Nesventesh says, "I'm interested in the food, actually. Unclean
food. We have something like that, too, and I wanted to know how similar it
was."

You say, "What constitutes food being unclean for you?"

"It needs to be blessed by a..." Sister Nesventesh gestures, vaguely. "You don't
have the word for it. It's literally 'food-crafter'. It has a lot of the same
meaning as 'cook', 'baker'."

Sister Nesventesh says, "If there's no food-crafter, any crafter will do. Or
anyone higher than a miner."

"However," Sister Nesventesh adds, holding up a finger, "Animals from beneath
the earth need no blessing. They're already close to our spirits. Creatures that
walk upon the earth do, and we eat nothing that flies."

With an amused tone, you say, "Good, glad I am off the menu then."

You say, "But our teachings speak of cleansing our food. Blessing it. I do my
own little blessing over food before I eat it, although I am sure others in the
order do things differently."

Sister Nesventesh nods her head at you.

Sister Nesventesh says, "Our words are 'Chesh', or 'Chesha', 'Mhuin baar.'
'Chesh Mhuin baar', 'this of the Mhun shall be'."

Sister Nesventesh smiles at you.

Sister Nesventesh says, "What are yours?"

Maite fidgets for a moment, before answering. "We only need
purify by water and fire, so I usually flick water over a candle flame over the
food. There is no requirement for what is to be said, but I usually ask that
that the food I am about to eat be cleansed and suitable to Him in my native
tongue."

Sister Nesventesh's head dips forward - a small nod. "What does that sound like?
Or... are you only supposed to say it over the food?"

Sister Nesventesh says, "I understand if that's so, I'm just fascinated."

You say, "I do not mind saying it for you, but it is just my own personal
practice."

You shall now speak in Atavian.

Sister Nesventesh nods her head quickly and eagerly.

You say, in Atavian, "May the food I am about to eat be cleansed and suitable to
You."

You shall now speak in Aetolian.

Maite gestures openly, shrugging her shoulders. "Not that much
really. Just simple. I like simple."

Sister Nesventesh's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

Sister Nesventesh says, "Your language flies. Ours burrows. It could not be a
stronger contrast."

You say, "I am a bit rusty, really. I have only spoken it on a rare occasion
since moving here."

Hesitantly, you say, "Can I hear yours? I can't say I have really heard it being
spoken."

Sister Nesventesh leans a bit closer, meeting your eye. A moment passes before
she speaks.

With conviction, Sister Nesventesh says something unintelligible in a language
of muted syllables.

Barely able to keep the eye contact Maite asks, quietly, "What
did you say? It suited you, whatever it was."

Pausing, considering how to repeat it, Sister Nesventesh says, "I the great
Mhunna am. I my people intend to..."

Sister Nesventesh ponders the situation.

Sister Nesventesh says, "That's the order of the words in the Mhun. We put
things a little back to front."

Sister Nesventesh smiles wryly.

Sister Nesventesh says, "I said I was the Great Mhunna. I intend to free my
people. Let it be known, let it be heard. The Mhun deserve freedom."

Maite considers, and then places a hand on Sister Nesventesh's
shoulder. "How could you not achieve it speaking like that? Your people are
lucky to have someone like you, working to free them."

Sister Nesventesh flushes, her cheeks suffused with color.

"It is hard to hear words," Sister Nesventesh answers, staring down at your
hand, "When there are swords pointing at you. You do not think of what is being
said. Only the blade. Only the sand."

Maite lets her hand drop when it is noticed, clasping both of
hers together tightly. "I can't understand that at all. I've never been
threatened. Never been hurt, or attacked by someone."

Sister Nesventesh pauses, looking up, biting down softly on her lip.

Sister Nesventesh says, "Would you like to understand, Maite? You wear those
chains because your Lord wishes to reclaim them in the name of freedom, don't
you?"

Slowly at first, you say, "I am willing to. I know if I help you, that can
happen. Yes, that is why I wear them."

Sister Nesventesh takes your hand.

The tall grasses whip and swish around you, casting their long shadows across
your face. There is the scent of greenery, and earth, and the hot sun beats
downward upon you.

You're not in Enorian anymore.

Whispering, you say to Sister Nesventesh, "Where?"

Gently, Sister Nesventesh shakes her head. "Except not the Mhojave plains. They
heard us wrong, when they asked us where the place was. The Iviofa Mhuin."

Within the plains of the Iviofa Mhuin.
Tall grass extends in every direction, and the wind rushes by with low swishes,
stirring the stalks around you. The mountains rise high, and there is plain
green, clear sky, and endless sunlight. You have the clear sense that you are
not standing in the present anymore. Sister Nesventesh is here.

Quietly, moving through the grass and pulling you after her, Sister Nesventesh
says, "This is what will become the Mhojave desert. Except it's not quite a
desert yet."

Following along easily so far, you say to Sister Nesventesh, "Beautiful, in any
case."

Sister Nesventesh parts ways with the ground - and along with you, comes to land
on a tall rock above the grasses. She points, into the distance, where a set of
tall, pristine walls and innumerable beautiful buildings stand.

Overlooking El'Jazira.
Tall grass extends in every direction, and the wind rushes by with low swishes,
stirring the stalks around you. The mountains rise high, and there is plain
green, clear sky, and endless sunlight. You have the clear sense that you are
not standing in the present anymore. A set of tall, pristine walls and
innumerable beautiful buildings stand in the distance. Sister Nesventesh is here.

"It used to be a great city, before the bad days happened," Sister Nesventesh
reflects. "We traded there with all manner. Look, along that road..."

Smiling, Sister Nesventesh says, "You can see Ophidian traders with their stock
of poison."

You say, "Poison?"

"Poison." Sister Nesventesh flattens out along the rock, folding her arms
beneath her chin and staring outward. "The Ophidians used to rule the lands to
the north. You can see, if you squint..." She cranes her head and points.
"The... Great Rock."

Sister Nesventesh says, "That's their stronghold."

Maite moves to be beside Sister Nesventesh on the rock, her
chin resting in the palms of both hands. "It was a beautiful place, but I have a
feeling the rest of what I am going to see is not."

Sister Nesventesh shakes her head quietly, turning to gaze at you. "Let's just
stay a bit. It gets worse, but let's just stay. Right here." Her voice drops -
her eyes take in the distant city of El'Jazira. "Stay in the middle of the First
Epoch."

Maite glances over at Sister Nesventesh and then out towards
the city and grasses, watching the wind move the grass in its direction. "I
would want to stay too."

Sister Nesventesh says, "It wasn't great for us, just now. We had problems with
the Rajamala. They had a mighty empire in the Itzatl, and they wanted gemstone
vials."

"The Tsol'aa wanted us to stop, too." Sister Nesventesh purses her lips. "Wanted
us to stop making our vials so they could sell theirs. The Dwarves... Well, the
Dwarves were a problem, but only in this Epoch."

A rush - a scream - the sounds of sudden warfare, as the light changes.
The rock beneath you has eroded somewhat, and deep pockmarks score its sides.

Overlooking a war-torn landscape.
Desolation, ruin, and destruction surrounds you, and the corpses of innumerable
men and women lie fallen, brutalized, and destroyed in scores. The smell of
smoke and rot hangs in the air, and the air itself is clouded with darkness. The
grass lies dead, and the earth is dry, cracked, devoid of moisture. Sister
Nesventesh is here.

Softly, Sister Nesventesh says, "The Indorani and the Priests."

Maite doesn't speak, just looks on with a look of horror on her
face, skin now pale.

Sadly, Sister Nesventesh says, "Not a plain anymore, is it?"

Whispering, you say, "All those people. But why? I..don't get why this
is..ever..."

A rush. Beneath the ground, now, far beneath.

Inside the mines of Moghedu.
Dark, cramped tunnels - innumerable miners, their sweaty bodies a press.
Screams, moans, and the clamoring sound of 'mun, mun, mun...' Sister Nesventesh
is here.

The chains you wear - they are not broken shackles. They are whole, and mended,
and there is a pickaxe in your hands that is far too heavy for you. Your babe is
wailing, but the Indorani is standing there, if you stop to feed him, if you
stop for a drink, that's another few scars for your back...

Quietly, Sister Nesventesh says, "Weapons. Weapons for the Orc, the Ogre.
Weapons so they can go fight the Priests. We suffered and died in these tunnels
for metal. We suffered and died at the hands of sadists, murderers, rapists. The
Priests came and went."

Sister Nesventesh slams her pickaxe into the wall, chipping free fragments of
rock. "We weren't heard."

Maite's hands move over a pair of blackened steel manacles on
her wrists, unable to shake the feeling of a chain between them. "Someone should
have," she answers, tone a mix between anger and sadness.

An Ankyrean appears, silhouetted against the dim light from the tunnels above.
"Mun! Iot demdeza... Voliieni oldan."

Swinging the pickaxe again, the resonance of the strike rippling through the
air, Sister Nesventesh says, "Then they came, Maite. The Ankyreans, they came,
and for the duration of their Second Epoch, their Order, we produced their
stone, their metal. We mined it. We refined it."

Gently, you say to Sister Nesventesh, "And now? Tell me. I want to hear it."

Sister Nesventesh shakes her head.

A Consanguine vampire lunges out of the shadows, grabbing you, forcing you
against the wall. You try to fight, but half your bones are already broken, and
your head is being pried aside as the creature - a Rajamalan in life - slices
through your flesh and drinks greedily, its snarls echoing in your ears as your
sight fades.

Sister Nesventesh only watches, her jaw set, her eyes full of fire.

Quietly, Sister Nesventesh says, "Go on. Call for help. See if anyone hears you.
See if anyone cares about you."

Maite refuses, jaw set in a hard line, to keep herself from
doing what Sister Nesventesh says, purely out of fear. "Nes.." A sharply inhaled
breath through her nose follows, then, "I couldn't do this."

Sister Nesventesh is something fearsome, there, in the darkness of the mines.
She is not kind, nor sweet - she is only darkness given form, with eyes of fire.

Sister Nesventesh says, "I don't care. You're a Mhun. You're born to do this.
You're born to suffer. This is your life."

Sister Nesventesh says, "Now get to work."

A handsome, white-paneled room.
A soft light filters through clean glass, creating a serene glow about this
room. Its walls, white paneled, seem absolutely clear of scuffs and age, which
reflect the given light about the room. The hardwood floors seem to be made of
an ash lumber and sealed, creating a grainy hue to add to the homeliness. The
area is fairly wide, almost as if it was meant to entertain a multitude of
guests. The positioning of the window on the north wall creates a mood, showing
the constant flow of light, unhindered by the passing of time by both the sun
and the lantern visible out the window. Lying flat on the ground is a key-shaped
sigil. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. Sister
Nesventesh is here.
You see a single exit leading west (closed pine door).

Maite finds herself back in her own home, and simply crumples
down against the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees, head pressed against
them.

It isn't long before Sister Nesventesh's arms are around you, and she's sitting
beside you, stroking your back, whispering soft and soothing.

Sister Nesventesh says, "That's what chains are. That's what slavery is. Now you
know. You had to. May the spirits - may your Gods - keep it from ever befalling
you."

Maite shakes her head, leaning against Sister Nesventesh for
the warmth and closeness. She swallows, saying, "Only read about it. Imagined
it. It was a very poor interpretation." Her words are clipped, incomplete
thoughts. "Felt the chains. Heaviness. Hopelessness."

"Now you understand." Sister Nesventesh's hand squeezes your own, and her voice
stays gentle. "Now you understand."

Maite squeezes Sister Nesventesh's hand back, refusing to let
go for the moment. "I can see why you wanted to stay on that rock."

"Even the rocks erode. So do we... only much quicker and much more easily."
Sister Nesventesh's hand trails over your back.

Sister Nesventesh says, "It's important we use ourselves before we go brittle."

You say, "Or are swept away."

You say, "How could I not help you, Nesventesh? I have to. Have. To. Stop that
from continuing."

Sister Nesventesh says, "So does anyone with a conscience."

Maite sits back up, using a jet-black-hemmed viridian burnoose
to wipe at her face, trying to regain composure.

"I should..." Sister Nesventesh hesitates. "Should I go?"

Maite shakes her head, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry, that
was just a lot. I don't want you to feel like you are not welcome to be around
me. But you have duties. Work to do too. I won't keep you from that either."

Sister Nesventesh straightens up - but her gaze fixes downward on you. She's
quiet for a moment, her lips drawn tight.

Sister Nesventesh says, "I'll find you again soon."

Sister Nesventesh opens the door to the west.

Nesventesh leaves to the west.