You can tell Rasenef that his diaries have travelled the stretching nothingness to be sold in the marketplace of Nyssa. He would be offended at the paltry price asked for the volume I found, but between you and me, amanatel, his pride has made that price appropriate. Never have I met another, dead or breathing, so willing to recast events to his own benefit! Whether because of my grace and the knowledge I showed of our culture and history, I was able to acquire a library of Dharian texts for a mere pittance. Some are titles I don’t remember seeing on the order’s shelves. Amanatel, do you know aught of the following:
* Skinner Of C'thognnutl
* The Crypts of Umhodr'drosh
* The Kitab al-Piltdown
* The Qabbalistic Void of the Stars
* The Imhebrul Codex
I have taken some time during our journey to explore them, but I am eager to know what you could teach me, as you always have.
I do hope yesterday’s letter has not caused you undue worry at my fate. I had been too full of questions at the strange events that ended our fray in the marketplace to think to tell you of our fate at the hands of those empowered to enforce the decrees of the Four Towers that rule Nyssa. The city watch did, as you might have guessed, look upon our killing of those three seeming wretches with suspicion, but the simple invocation of Lucia Masia Flaccus’s name as our patron was enough to prevent them from transmuting that suspicion into action.
You would be proud, amanatel. Your rayad assisted my fellow adventurer Zara ~ the Polarite half-orc I mentioned yesterday ~ in performing funerary rites for those we’d killed. These barbaric cities know not of Inpu and his scale, so his blessings were not what the two of us were asking for the many souls of these three. Instead we gifted them obsidian so that Tacitus might aid them in their journey to the afterlife. It seems the foreign dead must not make account for the value of their lives and how they were lived, but instead must wander the worlds until they find somewhere to settle. It is odd, but I have some ideas how Tacitus and Inpu might work together. I will write you more when I have had more time to think on it.*
Zara . . . she impresses me, amanatel, with her devotion and her praise. Here on the ship, while we completed the liturgy we’d begun in the watch station, I felt her draw upon the calm with which my childhood at Zekhimat blessed me. Her voice as she sang to Tacitus, weaving their harmonies around my entreaties to Inpu in our own language, quivered with the same frenzy she’d had as she burst that man’s head across the street. My presence, kneeling naked beside her, seemed to aid her in collecting herself so that this didn’t interfere with our work. She feels things deeply, and she does not bury them.
Before we left Nyssa, we attended a party at the temple of Iduma, and he it was who reminded me of forgotten matters. Iduma’s lover Lupa had my eyes, the one who has been with all whom I’ve served, and if not for Zara’s natural Dominance and attention to cultic etiquette, I would have totally forgotten to pay my respects to that deity who presided over the celebrations. After our respects were paid, we spent all of the party together, enjoying an easy companionship.
It seems the watch also looks poorly upon displays of lust in their garrison, as we could not finish our work before being driven out from its walls. It seems that Aster and Damon, growing bored as we prayed, had begun to entertain themselves. Luckily, Zara had the deftness to acquire some scraps of our assailant’s clothing. We were able to complete the rites just a short time ago as I write this, spilling the ashes of their clothing to trail behind us through the void between Nyssa and Arcadia.
Speaking of my companions, I must confide in you, amanatel, that I am unsure about Damon. My fellow duellist, in truth, puts on a cocky face and a posture like that of an actor on the stage. However, he seems anxious about the impression he makes, looking for success from outside himself. Allow me the chance to give you an example. While we had been shopping, we were invited to an event at one of the local temples. Have you heard of Iduma? He is the god of wantonness in this strange place, and the lover of both Tacitus whom I mentioned earlier, and Lupa, the one whose face I have seen in that of every noble I have served. Damon, in response to this invitation, embarked on a quest to find a concoction that might, by means of alchemy, herbalism, or pure enchantment, allow him to engorge beyond what he might naturally be able to accomplish. Thankfully, his quest to, as he said, “stack the deck” was brief, finding his treasure at the very first shop we visited.
What will happen if he is ever given the choice, I wonder, between a gilded image and the lightening of his heart? What if that balance is against aiding us his fellows? I cannot be certain which he would choose, and so I am finding my trust in him to be flimsy and cracked through.
As near as I can tell, the courtesan didn’t so much as uncork the potion he’d bought when we visited the temple party, despite spending all its money hours absorbed into the orgy at its center. Why would he go to such trouble, amanatel, only to leave it hanging from his belt?
You might have enjoyed the temple of Iduma, ‘adad, as richly decorated as it was, filled with sweating bodies writhing all slippery against each other. Do you remember when you used to tell me, sometimes daily during my early adolescence, that you serve the dead but love the living? I know I’ve told you this before, but that one saying of yours echoed in the chambers of my heart until they became the call that took me from Zekhimat to Menefhyt, and from there across the void. Your words were the living part which, when fitted into the corresponding gifts our ancestors had laid upon me, still guide my steps and direct my hand.
Iduma wears red, bright like freshly-spilled blood and what few scraps decorated the people there were in his color, and all the temple was swathed in it as well. Knowing this to be the case, I wove a type of flower known on Myyrin as an allisus** that blooms the exact shade of a deep bruise, a purple far darker than the snail-dyed clothes that marked both those we serve and those who have replaced them in arrogance. This is the color of Iduma’s lover Lupa, whose worship I have found in my work. Do not worry, amanatel, for I do still serve the dead. And I love the living, as well. Besides, they looked so handsome nestled in among the fur that was ‘amad’s gift to me.
I was not impressed by the ways of Delphinia, the priestess who had invited us. She seemed to treat me as just another amusement, a conversation piece to titillate the guests. Worse still, she lacked even the grace to have me rise from my curtsy when she was done with me. A truly crass woman, Delphinia disgracefully used our invitation to worship as a means to entrap us into fulfilling a task we no doubt would have happily completed with a polite request. I have reflected upon her actions since, and I do wonder ~ if Iduma is the god who throws away the chains that restrict one’s desire, then how could his devotee justify using force to accomplish her ends, whatever they may be? Amanatel, your life has been dedicated to spiritual practice. Though the ways may seem foreign and strange to you, mayhap you could advise me on this?
I also need advice about Aster. I wrote you yesterday of my concerns about her, and I fear some have been confirmed. Her offerings and tools seem to be chosen more for their cheapness than anything else ~ the cheapest book she could find, a bell so cheap the shopkeeper seemed insulted when she asked for it. Can this truly be Ailuros’s way? Do they really not wish to be given fine things, and to invest only the precious with their divine power? Surely no god is that way; we have spent centuries making ornate treasures for the dead of Zekhimat to use. I see no honor in cheap gifts, and in fact feel somewhat offended on Ailuros’s behalf.
But the concerns I fear most to have been confirmed, amanatel, revolve around her ability to discuss divine matters with me. I had hoped, since she is so loud in her devotion ~ and her devotions, I have since learned ~ that I could look forward to travels spiced with intriguing conversation. I approached her with my concerns about what she was planning for the ghosts who haunt the inn being purchased by Lord Graysong, and she could tell me little about how she viewed the afterlife, or even what the exorcism she planned to do would do. My chest hollowed out with a despair as empty as the void we travelled at this missed opportunity. I can only pray that Dulthir, whose secrets our antique cousins still keep beneath their peaks, sees fit to show me soon what I am to learn from her, and that I can maintain my awareness until then. I hope I do not miss Dulthir’s efforts from lack of hope.
Mizmithk***,
Yasath Lasl no-Dulanei
* Specifically, I imagine Yasath Lasl will be developing a view of the two based on that in ancient Egyptian religion between Anpu/Anubis (whom Inpu is obviously based on) and Wepwawet (whose role would be fulfilled by Tacitus).
** Actually meaning “bruised” in Latin.
*** “Your young jewel”, from Khuzdul or neo-Khuzdul “mizmith” (jewel that is young) and the almost certainly wrong application of the ancient Egyptian suffix pronoun for the 2nd person singular masculine
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