Kemena

Slowly an idea began to form, at first in black and white, and then  in living, breathing color as it took on new dimensions.  At first it was vague and hazy, then, as weeks passed, it became vivid in its imagining.  

She saw it every time she spent silent in prayer.  Every time she tried to communicate with Mitra - there it was. 

Whether He was directly talking to the priestess, or whether it was just a result of her mind becoming immersed in the rare purity which prayer bought her, one could not really know.  Whatever the cause though, the visions she saw each night and morning were vivid and alive.  She could smell, touch, feel and see it. 

Tesso always wore on him. The social nuances and lack of security held dual strains over him at each visit. He did enjoy meeting the Alkeemon people, their story was fascinating. He lit another candle in his room. The Captain had given him one of the towers along the keep wall and he was grateful for it. The library was not secure or private enough. Incense filled the room now and soft light danced many shadows on the walls. His books, scrolls, artifacts, and other items were still askance in this place. He reached for the brew from the agave cactus that his master taught him to make. This particular brew was used to inspect one’s visions.

November 25th,

(Continued from WAR: Neverlin's Terms.  http://aoc.rp-haven.com/story/neverlin/war_neverlin039_s_terms)

Neverlin paid no attention to the warm blood threatening to spill over the tops of his fashionable single-strap sandals.

 Instead, the Necromancer devoted his focus on the heavy leather tome he clutched in both hands.  Immersing himself in the monotonous text, he scrutinized every word, silently searching for a single name.  Torches lining the stone walls of the Mitran temple sputtered in protest as a gust of wind swept through the cold chamber.  The shift in light momentarily illuminated a corpse sprawled face down before him on the white marble steps.  Her visage was a mask of desperation; her stiff hands still clinging to Neverlin’s calf.  As the evening wore on, the dead Mitran Priestess’s brilliant azure robe slowly turned a shade of dark plum as a currant of blood seeped from the slash across her throat. 

((this is a sneak preview of sorts. Neverlin is the master of the pen and he will write up truly amazing accounts of all that happened. However I thought it would be nice to put this up so that people can read and see how great we are! j/k

 For those who don't want to spoil the surprise and read all in sequence, don't read what's below. What is below is the actual copy of our say's when we rp'ed Kemena meeting her mother. The background story is:

 As you remember, Neverlin conducted an experiment on Kemena (read his earlier post in rp haven), creating a connection into her mind. He presented himself as her mother, who she knew not was dead or alive. Neverlin further conducted a ritual on Mandisa, with Inoxia's and Terralia's help, and now Mandisa is able to summon the appearance of Kemena's mother.. that's the rough explanation.

 “…..The Daughter of the Old Serpent……”

Neverlin leaned heavily against the tall marble pillar as he mentally dissected this peculiar appellation.  His mind raced through the convoluted chronology of the prophecy, tracing and retracing the linkage of thousands of key events of the past, present and future.  This exact term appeared in two hundred and eighty three other passages, but its meaning remained elusive to Neverlin.  His finger unconsciously trailed down the small scar on his left cheek as he pondered the six words in the flickering torchlight.  Unexpectedly, his eyes went wide with comprehension as an epiphany struck him like lightning.  His heart nearly burst with excitement as the tricky line of prophecy seemed to unraveled and became clear.  The moment proved fleeting however.  Exhaling slowly, he shook his mane of long blond hair in renewed disappointment. 

No, too obvious he thought.

The dim light makes him squint. His head pounds, but thats the least of his worries.  He winces as the large, pale hyperborean drags him up the stairs, but he makes no noise. He won't give them that satisfaction.  This last bout of torture... it was bad. He cant remember much about it, except that they finally got him to scream.  He curses himself silently as his jailor throws him into his cell once more, locking and barring the door.  The darkness covers him like a blanket, caressing him like a lover.  The darkness is his friend.  The light means pain, the dark means rest.  He likes the dark....

NO!

A fist sized stone drops in the market area of Old Tarentia.  Wrapped around it, and tied off with a leather cord, is a note. It is written in neat Vanir runes, in a nearly archaic form.  This note reads:

"To whomever may find this, I ask a task...

                 The task I request, is that this note be delivered to Moki or Aryanna of Anx Ma'at, Kemena of Invicta, Wulfran of King's Guard, or Lluna of Keeper's of the Ways.  "

The second part of the note, is sealed, the bottom half folded up and sealed with melted wax. When opened, it reads:

Moki, Ary, Kem, Wulf, and Lluna...

The light in the tavern was dim compared the bright light of Tarantia’s early afternoon sunshine. The air was a little smokey from the fires and smelled of stale ale with some more unpleasant undertones. The Green Man wasn’t crowded at this time of day, but there was still a healthy group in for a midday meal and pint of ale or goblet of wine.

The red headed Cimmerian paused briefly at the door as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He felt more than saw the mug come sailing at by his head and felt it graze his ear as it flew past.

“Yer aim’s off a bit today, Moki.”

“Faek ye, Old Man.”

The four figures stood on the concourse to the inner gate in Fort Invicta. The dark haired Cimmerian glowering at the his red haired kinsman and the blonde Aquilonian, while another Aquilonian, a finely garbed young woman,  stood watching with a mixture of hope and concern.

“You two will make peace!”

Kyzafi sat in the fort library the day after the wedding scribing in his journal. It was a small building with many unpacked boxes. He had taken it upon himself to try and organize things, but he knew others used the library as well. Tomes of Mitra were undoubtedly left by Tereska. The room smelled of coffee and cinnamon which he had brought back from Khemi. They were some of the luxuries he had missed from his youth. Perhaps he could introduce the northmen to coffee?

His thoughts were wondering as he tried to write. His discipline and focus were waning recently. It was unlike him to let his mind wander to far. Shelaith had been a hardened task master, but also distilled great wisdom into him. The old mage would sit for hours focused on deciphering some tablet or watching water fall down a leaf. Perhaps that was the source of the old man’s power?

Isabela is tired.  

    Tired of the constant pain, mental images of pain, physical pain, the emotional pain.  She sleeps rarely and when she does she dreams.  Of pain, her daughter screaming in pain.

    Sitting in the dark, listening to the sounds of night, the distant howl of the coyote, the soft footfall is out of place.  Focusing her eyes on the figure shrouded in darkness she realizes that he is speaking.

Neverlin’s horse took one last burning breath, and then died of exhaustion. 

The cherry-black steed neighed pathetically in death throes as it tripped over its own legs and began crumpling in a heap at the foot of the red brick fortress.  As the corpse of his warhorse collapsed, Neverlin leaped from its saddle like a panther and alighted nimbly on the blood stained granite steps leading up to one of the many undisclosed lairs of Nox Eternus.  Without braking stride, he landed and stalked coolly up the long familiar staircase.   

The following is the account of Brotherhood's actions in their aiding the most dear ally Nox Eternus, as recorded by Mandisa, the priestess of Set.
 ((took place on Friday night, Sep.26th))

'Halt!'
 The cry echoed from the surrounding walls. Two women stopped, finding themselves surrounded. Kemena tried to run for it, but - 'Cobra Stare!'. Her feet rooted to the ground, she swayed around dizzily. Yes, it is hard to resist that gaze..
 I snapped out of my reverie when Sontlux shouted the order to get the emblem. Emblem? Everything was happening so fast, I haven't even had a chance to get a good look at it. The path to the boats was clear and we took off. The plan was to take the woman to the island of the dead, Pashtun. No doubt Lord Neverlin had only to snap his fingers and the countless dead would bend their will to his, protecting the captives from any attempt of rescue.