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[Exalted 2e] Chosen of the Second Age
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<blockquote data-quote="Delemental" data-source="post: 4965389" data-attributes="member: 5203"><p><strong>In the Mind of the Northern Flower</strong></p><p></p><p>The fourth and final of the Chrysanthemum stories.</p><p></p><p>------------------------------------</p><p></p><p> Zanka hung onto her mount for dearest life, nauseous with the stench of rotting flesh, the sight of mangled and yet moving corpses and terrified by the overwhelming presence of the undead. It mattered little that Kaliel - strong, brave, valiant Kaliel - and the Knights were making short shrift of the zombie horde. They still surrounded the warriors who surrounded her and that was far to near for her comfort. She felt a scream rise in her throat...and she awoke, clutching her covers to her mouth as if to stifle the scream. </p><p> </p><p> Sitting up she thought that even if she were back in Crystal, the zombie horde outside the gates of Chrysanthemum would still be far too close for comfort. Zanka made no claims to being a brave woman. She regretted the ghost stories she had told the older children in her care back then - was it really that long ago? It seemed forever - when she was tired of dealing with pranks and teasing or when she was simply in a bad mood. She vowed at that moment to never tell an unasked-for ghost story ever again. Unless the story was about Ghost, of course.</p><p></p><p> Her mind turned to her companions. Kaliel she was comfortable with. He was big, he was strong, he embodied everything the Dragon-blooded wished they were. And, Zanka admitted, she had a bit of a crush on him. Any young woman would, wouldn't they? How many times in one's life were they rescued from a horrible fate by a real knight in shiny arnor? Well, all of the time in her stories to starry-eyed little - and not-so-little girls - but for real? In Zanka's stories, the knight and the damsel always ended up living happily ever after. It was classic. But somehow, Kaliel didn't seem to feel that way towards her, and Zanka wasn't sure she wanted him to. It was much easier traveling with someone you weren't, well, tangled up with emotionally. Or at least that's how it went in other of Zanka's bedtime stories back home.</p><p></p><p> Ayama was also very comfortable to be with. Zanka felt safe with Ayama, but in a different way than Kaliel. The older woman exuded comfort in the same way Matre, Tante, and Oomatre had. Like warm furs on a colder than usual night, like tea around the homefire, like Vadre's predictably bad jokes and Patre's bearhugs.. Zanka knew that Ayama had been a mother and wife at some point, and would bet that she'd been a very good one. Zanka could tell. Even as a little girl, she had been an excellent judge of character. It was part of what made her such a wonderful companion for old and young alike. She knew temperaments like she knew her own mind and could infallibly soothe, entertain or scold just enough to be effective at whatever verbalization was needed at a given time. Except maybe with those ghost stories...</p><p></p><p> Which brought her to her third companion. Resplendent Ghost of Midnight. A pretentious name, to be sure, but wasn't her own when it was translated? She reflected for a moment...Beguiling Flower of Dancing Lights...no. Her own name was simply descriptive. It was what she was. Ghost, on the other hand, wasn't resplendent at all as far as she could tell. But he was definitely good looking. Very easy on the eyes. But she wasn't sure how to take his teasing. Even if she was of an age to have been married already, Zanka had very little experience with boys. A kiss here and there, but while she was the prettiest girl in Crystal - everyone said so - she was too delicate to be considered as a good mate. So she'd kept to what she knew best - sitting with the old and young who wanted her for her talents at conversing and storytelling. And most of the boys back in Crystal were usually covered in furs and heavy clothing, even in their homes. Climate demanded it. You couldn't live on the doorstep of the Icewalkers and not be covered up, even when sleeping.</p><p></p><p> Ghost, though... Zanka could tell that he had a lithe and athletic figure - very different from Kaliel's and powerful in a very different way. His wit was sharp as well, but Zanka could hold her own with that any day. No, it was the way that her heart skipped once in a while when Ghost teased her sometimes, or when she caught him looking at her in a certain manner, as if he was appraising a fine piece of jewelry or a beautiful work of art. Both of which Zanka identified with, of course. She was a rare sight for most folks.</p><p></p><p> She sighed and rolled over, wondering how many nights her zombie nightmares were going to torment her. It had been a good while since the attack and Zanka didn't generally suffer from repeat nightmares of any sort. Except a few now and then about the cursed Dragon-blooded scum who had stolen her from her beloved home. Of course Kaliel had made very short work of them... </p><p></p><p> She was guilty of harboring uncharitable, even violent fantasies regarding those Immaculates who had invaded her home in order to pave the way for more Immaculates and Dragon-bloods who were working to get the whatever-it-was under the icemantle near Crystal unburied as quickly as possible. They had no business being there, turning her people's easygoing faith into something so rigid and oppressive. Something that glorified people and ideas that Zanka was sure weren't at all they were made out to be. A religion that scheduled worship? Like the gods cared what time you chose to honor then, as long as you didn't forget to honor them. Those Immaculates even usurped on her time with the little ones, whisking them off to indoctrinate them before they were even old enough to think for themselves! And scaring those who were old enough into the new religion with veiled threats and not-so-veiled punishments. Never mind the harsh round-the-clock schedules for those who were unfortunate enough to have to help free the "factory-cathedral" from its icy tomb. Crystal had a finely tuned sense of seasons, and the new order enforced by the intruders would throw that off and her people would go hungry if the local gods weren't properly honored, if the local tribes weren't properly paid, if the herds weren't properly tended and culled.</p><p></p><p> Zanka sat up and wondered if her hosts would mind much if she made herself some tea, but then she realized that she didn't know where most of the cookstuff was kept. Her hosts assumed, like most people did, that she was simply too fragile to be of use in the kitchen. Or anywhere else for that matter. Unless there were people to keep entertained. Or pep talks to be given. Or encouragement to be supplied. She had to admit that hers was a very useful talent. She also had to admit too enjoying what pampering could be had in this fortified and bleak-looking town.</p><p></p><p> That was something the rest of Creation was never going to see beyond, Chrysanthemum's bleak facade. But once you were inside some of these homes, the colors and textures were as rich and varied as the local artisan's could make them. They were as fine as anything back home in Crystal. And some of the libraries were incredible. Zanka spent most of her free time here indulging in books she'd never heard at home, digesting new lore and plays when she could get her hands on it. Of course the really interesting magical stuff was only hearsay and usually mentioned in tales of sorcery, so there weren't many details. But it was a blessed break from cheering the wounded and reassuring the battle-weary. </p><p></p><p> Another pastime she found fascinating and oddly enjoyable was her martial arts training with Ayama. Now, granted, Zanka had no plans to become the next master of any fighting art, be it brawling, martial arts or group warfare. No thanks, all she needed to know was how to protect herself if she accidentally found herself in the middle of an unavoidable brouhaha. Which she had no plans of doing. Especially if she were to continue traveling with three such strong companions. They could easily protect her from violence and she, in return, would ease their passage through any bureaucratic tangles and talk them out of large-scale fights in the first place. She also would keep them from paying too much to disreputable traders, which most traders were. Especially if they were connected to the Immaculates. Or the Guild. Or were Dragon-blooded. Or Realm controlled.</p><p></p><p> Suddenly, Zanka caught herself yawning hugely. She ran her tiny hands through her long silver-blonde hair to dislodge any snarls, tucked her hair behind her head and thought that maybe Ayama's training could be useful as an attack. Zanka pledged to work that into her training, and fell asleep to pleasant images of her kicking the life out of Immaculates and Dragon-bloods alike as she and her companions saved Creation from their oppression.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Delemental, post: 4965389, member: 5203"] [b]In the Mind of the Northern Flower[/b] The fourth and final of the Chrysanthemum stories. ------------------------------------ Zanka hung onto her mount for dearest life, nauseous with the stench of rotting flesh, the sight of mangled and yet moving corpses and terrified by the overwhelming presence of the undead. It mattered little that Kaliel - strong, brave, valiant Kaliel - and the Knights were making short shrift of the zombie horde. They still surrounded the warriors who surrounded her and that was far to near for her comfort. She felt a scream rise in her throat...and she awoke, clutching her covers to her mouth as if to stifle the scream. Sitting up she thought that even if she were back in Crystal, the zombie horde outside the gates of Chrysanthemum would still be far too close for comfort. Zanka made no claims to being a brave woman. She regretted the ghost stories she had told the older children in her care back then - was it really that long ago? It seemed forever - when she was tired of dealing with pranks and teasing or when she was simply in a bad mood. She vowed at that moment to never tell an unasked-for ghost story ever again. Unless the story was about Ghost, of course. Her mind turned to her companions. Kaliel she was comfortable with. He was big, he was strong, he embodied everything the Dragon-blooded wished they were. And, Zanka admitted, she had a bit of a crush on him. Any young woman would, wouldn't they? How many times in one's life were they rescued from a horrible fate by a real knight in shiny arnor? Well, all of the time in her stories to starry-eyed little - and not-so-little girls - but for real? In Zanka's stories, the knight and the damsel always ended up living happily ever after. It was classic. But somehow, Kaliel didn't seem to feel that way towards her, and Zanka wasn't sure she wanted him to. It was much easier traveling with someone you weren't, well, tangled up with emotionally. Or at least that's how it went in other of Zanka's bedtime stories back home. Ayama was also very comfortable to be with. Zanka felt safe with Ayama, but in a different way than Kaliel. The older woman exuded comfort in the same way Matre, Tante, and Oomatre had. Like warm furs on a colder than usual night, like tea around the homefire, like Vadre's predictably bad jokes and Patre's bearhugs.. Zanka knew that Ayama had been a mother and wife at some point, and would bet that she'd been a very good one. Zanka could tell. Even as a little girl, she had been an excellent judge of character. It was part of what made her such a wonderful companion for old and young alike. She knew temperaments like she knew her own mind and could infallibly soothe, entertain or scold just enough to be effective at whatever verbalization was needed at a given time. Except maybe with those ghost stories... Which brought her to her third companion. Resplendent Ghost of Midnight. A pretentious name, to be sure, but wasn't her own when it was translated? She reflected for a moment...Beguiling Flower of Dancing Lights...no. Her own name was simply descriptive. It was what she was. Ghost, on the other hand, wasn't resplendent at all as far as she could tell. But he was definitely good looking. Very easy on the eyes. But she wasn't sure how to take his teasing. Even if she was of an age to have been married already, Zanka had very little experience with boys. A kiss here and there, but while she was the prettiest girl in Crystal - everyone said so - she was too delicate to be considered as a good mate. So she'd kept to what she knew best - sitting with the old and young who wanted her for her talents at conversing and storytelling. And most of the boys back in Crystal were usually covered in furs and heavy clothing, even in their homes. Climate demanded it. You couldn't live on the doorstep of the Icewalkers and not be covered up, even when sleeping. Ghost, though... Zanka could tell that he had a lithe and athletic figure - very different from Kaliel's and powerful in a very different way. His wit was sharp as well, but Zanka could hold her own with that any day. No, it was the way that her heart skipped once in a while when Ghost teased her sometimes, or when she caught him looking at her in a certain manner, as if he was appraising a fine piece of jewelry or a beautiful work of art. Both of which Zanka identified with, of course. She was a rare sight for most folks. She sighed and rolled over, wondering how many nights her zombie nightmares were going to torment her. It had been a good while since the attack and Zanka didn't generally suffer from repeat nightmares of any sort. Except a few now and then about the cursed Dragon-blooded scum who had stolen her from her beloved home. Of course Kaliel had made very short work of them... She was guilty of harboring uncharitable, even violent fantasies regarding those Immaculates who had invaded her home in order to pave the way for more Immaculates and Dragon-bloods who were working to get the whatever-it-was under the icemantle near Crystal unburied as quickly as possible. They had no business being there, turning her people's easygoing faith into something so rigid and oppressive. Something that glorified people and ideas that Zanka was sure weren't at all they were made out to be. A religion that scheduled worship? Like the gods cared what time you chose to honor then, as long as you didn't forget to honor them. Those Immaculates even usurped on her time with the little ones, whisking them off to indoctrinate them before they were even old enough to think for themselves! And scaring those who were old enough into the new religion with veiled threats and not-so-veiled punishments. Never mind the harsh round-the-clock schedules for those who were unfortunate enough to have to help free the "factory-cathedral" from its icy tomb. Crystal had a finely tuned sense of seasons, and the new order enforced by the intruders would throw that off and her people would go hungry if the local gods weren't properly honored, if the local tribes weren't properly paid, if the herds weren't properly tended and culled. Zanka sat up and wondered if her hosts would mind much if she made herself some tea, but then she realized that she didn't know where most of the cookstuff was kept. Her hosts assumed, like most people did, that she was simply too fragile to be of use in the kitchen. Or anywhere else for that matter. Unless there were people to keep entertained. Or pep talks to be given. Or encouragement to be supplied. She had to admit that hers was a very useful talent. She also had to admit too enjoying what pampering could be had in this fortified and bleak-looking town. That was something the rest of Creation was never going to see beyond, Chrysanthemum's bleak facade. But once you were inside some of these homes, the colors and textures were as rich and varied as the local artisan's could make them. They were as fine as anything back home in Crystal. And some of the libraries were incredible. Zanka spent most of her free time here indulging in books she'd never heard at home, digesting new lore and plays when she could get her hands on it. Of course the really interesting magical stuff was only hearsay and usually mentioned in tales of sorcery, so there weren't many details. But it was a blessed break from cheering the wounded and reassuring the battle-weary. Another pastime she found fascinating and oddly enjoyable was her martial arts training with Ayama. Now, granted, Zanka had no plans to become the next master of any fighting art, be it brawling, martial arts or group warfare. No thanks, all she needed to know was how to protect herself if she accidentally found herself in the middle of an unavoidable brouhaha. Which she had no plans of doing. Especially if she were to continue traveling with three such strong companions. They could easily protect her from violence and she, in return, would ease their passage through any bureaucratic tangles and talk them out of large-scale fights in the first place. She also would keep them from paying too much to disreputable traders, which most traders were. Especially if they were connected to the Immaculates. Or the Guild. Or were Dragon-blooded. Or Realm controlled. Suddenly, Zanka caught herself yawning hugely. She ran her tiny hands through her long silver-blonde hair to dislodge any snarls, tucked her hair behind her head and thought that maybe Ayama's training could be useful as an attack. Zanka pledged to work that into her training, and fell asleep to pleasant images of her kicking the life out of Immaculates and Dragon-bloods alike as she and her companions saved Creation from their oppression. [/QUOTE]
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