Mandisa

Continued from: http://aoc.rp-haven.com/story/neverlin/war_family_reunion_part_i

"Seize her!"

It was the signal.

Voices in her head competed for Dawn’s attention as she wavered, steeped in the serious moral dilemma Neverlin placed her in.  It felt like a blanket smothered her thoughts, suffocating them before reaching the surface.  She turned to face the Invictan, as if seeing her would help Dawn reach a decision.  It only complicated the matter.  Kemena was slim, her ample bosom concealed under a modest homespun dress.  The embroidered neckline of her white gown revealed the Lady's graceful neck. Dawn thought Kemena stood as a statue of righteousness, an epitome of mankind. She sighed, while Wardawn was hardly a stranger to violence, Kemena's aura of sincerity contrasted sharply with Neverlin's clever sophistries

She swallowed hard, wishing she was back in Pollopont.

((I loved the chatter so I'm posting it here for myself mainly :) It'll tell you something of Victavius I guess, and the prelude will tell you a bit of what happened to Mandisa recently, but otherwise it's just a load of fun for me :D))

Serpent's head inn was full, yet again. It must be the time. She kept feeling like she must go there every other evening at least,  a hunch, no more. Something of the right time right place kind. Plus she had work to do, and the elusive mage was most likely to show up here. It was good time to come up with that letter of blackmail supposedly written by Thorious. Neverlin's help would be nice, she never wrote as well as him, plus he is a man after all, the letter should be written by a man.

Continued from:

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

and

WAR: Grave Digging: http://aoc.rp-haven.com/story/neverlin/war_grave_digging

 Neverlin seldom asked favors....

Wardawn reflected as she tethered *Beauty, her majestic warhorse to a palm.  As her strong hands carefully looped the reins around the trunk, she pondered why the strange tree leaned at an awkward angle so close to the ground.  She surmised the palm probably blew over during a dust storm while young, continuing to grow outward in an elegant arch thereafter.  Why did she choose this strange tree from among a crowd of perfectly normal appearing ones?  Perhaps she just fancied the oddities of life, oddities like her friend Neverlin.  Giving the rope a final tug and letting out a satisfied sigh, Dawn cleared her mind of the peculiar thoughts.
 

A searing breeze wafted through the outlaw camp whipping up the Necromancer’s ice blond hair.  Neverlin sat on the jagged lip of an old well dabbing perspiration from his forehead with a fine silk cloth.  Stealing a glance down the deep hole, he noted the slightest hint of bubbling on the surface of the water. 

“Well, what is the cause magician?” Satet-ka inquired in tone more contemptuous than curious.  Without answering, Neverlin withdrew his attention from the fetid water and examined the circular ridge of the well.  Tainted water had plagued the surrounding villages in Keshetta for a few weeks now.  Hundreds had perished and thousands sick with fever.  The High Priest summoned Neverlin ostensibly for assistance in solving the riddle of the poisoned water supply.  Nevertheless, Neverlin knew him well.

Satet-ka's wishes were seldom one dimensional.

The Serpent's Head buzzed with talk, and at the main table a large group could be seen, including priestess Mandisa and Fenixx, the herald. Mandisa was leaning close to him to listen to his whispers, when a pause at the main table permitted it.

The Herald must have divulged something that held great value for the woman for her eyes flashed with living fire for an instant, she grasped her wine goblet hard and took the final sips of drink from it. She then put it down, pondering, leaning in again to whisper something back, smirking evilly, and listening to the reply.

...

'So, my dear, have you brought the items?' Mandisa turned to a young woman sitting to the right of her, Khama-Srim. Her and Fenixx weren't talking anymore, but a malfigured form could be seen where a wine goblet was, the mass of gold melted and burnt deep into the wood of the table.

"Wisdom confers power, and power confers right."

Her cloack was covered with the dust of the road, hood concealing the tired visage. Mounting the tall stone steps leading to the front door of a mansion, she picked up and let fall a knob shaped as a serpent's head three times. For a minute nothing could be heard. Then shuffling footsteps approaching, very slowly, indicated that someone was coming, someone old. Fumbling with the lock could be heard, then whisper, and the door opened with a creek. A wrinkled face peered out.

'Yees?'

'Greetings my dear Em'

The old lady peered under the hood, her face wrinkling even more in disbelief.

'Lady.. my child is that you?' Her voice was faint and shaky, many years have passed.

...

((

When I returned to the brotherhood I had serious doubts about whether I should. Seems like I shouldn't have.

I sincerely apologize to all the guildies. I know not what you came to see in me, but the situation is a simple one. I cannot be in the guild for certain personal reasons simply because.

I do not want to say more. Just think of it this way: Mandisa isn't right for this guild. She can't roleplay a true stygian effectively, it's not much fun for her.

But this guild - I cannot, do not want to handle.

I know I'm being an asshole  leaving again. A big one at that. But staying at the expense of my happiness - I can't do that. I am going to do what I think is right. And I will not listen to any arguments in favour of me being in that guild, simply because I'm a wrong person for it.

November 25th,

The black horse snorted and pranced as Mandisa pulled on the reigns to hard, stoppig just in time not to collide with the inn's wall. She was on her way up north when Dute, a warrior of the order, happened to catch up with her on his stallion.
'Greetings my lady!'
'Greetings warrior of the order..'
'Why, did you not go to the meeting?'
'Meeting?'
'Yes, the High Priest is having a meeting with lord Amunsol..'
She turned her horse around and hit her heels hard on its sides, face contorted with rage. 'Is this then how you are going to play this, my 'love'? A puppet to cuddle by the fire? If you ever fooled yourself into believing I will follow blindly and watch you do what you do.. without knowing the reason behind it - you are wrong.'
The horse raced as memories swam before her mind:

Her travels to the north were fruitless. There was none she could find to question or torture the information out of. The Mitra magics yet kept eating at her own powers, preventing her from calling on self-healing as effectively. At the end she just decided to give up. Why after all wasn't anyone skilled enough at arcane arts able to help? It was worth a shot.

Khemi greeted with the usual noise and stench coming from the market. She rode to the traders as the wind swirled it seemed right into her ear, bringing a voice. She pulled on the strings a bit too hard, causing the horse to rear.
'Meet me in the Purple Carp now.. to discuss Stygia'

The trade wasn't going well that evening. It never seemed to go well, especially with gems. The world of beggars and hungry dogs. There was more coin to be earned by selling food than jewelry.
Mandisa exited the Trader's post in an annoyed mood. For her it hasn't been too bad. She managed to get quite a bit from this, but it mattered not for it all went to the High Priest. She gave him gold, and he seemed to make it disappear. There was no point in asking where he spent it for it would be the same reply:
'Do you not trust I do Set's will?'
Well she saw better ways of doing Set's will lately. She shook her head - thinking about that made it hurt.
There was usually nothing interesting or noone special on the plaza in front of the river. Not this evening though. She couldn't believe her eyes. She hasn't seen him in ages.
'Lord Amunsol! What a.. pleasant surprise.' Mandisa bowed to gree the leader of the Order.

She stretched her legs out and the setting sun reflected off the smooth skin. The waters splashed gently against the stone walls of the docks, the shouts of the trader's were dying out.

She didn't even feel like making the journey back to Sepermeru. The tiredness was all-consuming. And why? Surely not because of that small journey to tackle another frost-covered ape. No it was something else.

The priestess took out a leather bound book from her bag, an ink bottle and a quill. She put an inkbottle right there next to herself, not disturbed by any as she was sitting so close to the water. Her eyes grew thoughtful, thinking, trying to sort out what has happened. She finally dipped her quill and started writing..

Excerpts:

The night wind rustled through the low bushes and palm trees of Sepermeru, and only few lights were visible - one of them in a small window adorning the corner of the inner yard of the main temple. If one came very very close, a scratching of a quill on parchment could be heard. Eventually it stopped, and moments later the light trembled and died. A door could be heard opening with a creak somewhere inside, rustle, a bump, then the sound of that same door being swung shut, and measured paces along the stone corridor leading to the yard. A woman emerged, carrying three cages each containing a bird. The moment she left the cover of the temple, she opened the cages, one by one, and sent the birds into the sky, whispering to them slightly.

 That done, the woman sprang swiftly onto a horse standing nearby, made a few circles across the yard, the beat of hooves echoing, and being satsified with absense of any observers, exited through the arched gate.

(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.

October 27th

 “…..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.

((letter from Satetka is in the comment to Mandisa's previous blog entry)) 

Month of October, day 20th

Warning: this is (ooc + ic) divided by 2

Mandisa's Diary

Day 19th of month October

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!”