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This was not the first time Osiria had appealed to Osiris. Nor would it be the last. While she considered herself a worshiper of Hathor and Ra, it would be probable that her time spent in Osiris temples was nearly equal. Her name had been taken from the god's own and, after the death of her parents, she felt something of connection to the Lord of Silence. She prayed that he had ensured a benign end to her parents' earthly walks, particularly since their last moments had been painful. Surely, because they selflessly died to save the lives of their children, they had been judged well.
This visit did mark, however, the first time she entered the temple as a noble woman. She had just come from the temple of Hathor, having left an offering of gratitude for the goddesses' blessing upon their family. Now, she would again beseech Osiris's benevolence upon her brother, and an honorable death should he fall. Then, she would seek Sekhmet's aid for his victory. These had been her prayers to the gods for many years, since Sethtah's first days as a soldier. Ressiah would have her own prayers, no doubt, but this duty was one that Osiria bore with pride and would continue to enact.
Before embarking on her journey to pray, Osiria had cleansed herself with water and oils, unwilling to appear before the gods with the dust of the day upon her skin. Her hair was bound up in a simplistic style and her makeup light. Even though her new station called for more decoration, she preferred not to spend the amount of time needed to achieve the styles of her fellow women. She simply had other things to do. She did, however, allow herself one of her recently acquired kalasiris and two gold bangles and an accompanying necklace. Her mother's ring shone on her right hand, repaired and polished to preserve what its many years of wear had threatened to diminish. That bit of vanity she would allow herself, for the sake of the accompanying memories.
Bearing her customary offerings to Osiris, she slipped past three noble women exiting the temple, paying them little mind. Even beyond the door, she could hear the prayers of others who were brought by the looming of war. Entering the temple proper, Osiria moved quickly to the foot of the idol, where already the gifts of others had been laid. Kneeling down,she placed a number of fresh fruits at the god's feet, accompanied by a tasteful wine and a bottle of perfume from a foreign land. Then, she set a small cup of incense with the rest. Already the fragrant stick had been lit, producing a familiar spicy scent that filled her senses as she bowed and began to pray.
"Great Osiris, I ask that in your benevolence that you once again turn your blessings and protections upon Sethtah. Grant him victory once again and spare he and his men from our enemies. Should he fall in the protection of our kingdom, grant him a peaceful entrance into your lands..."
The prayer continued in the same fashion, a plea for protection, victory, and a safe return. Her words mingled with those of the others gathered there.
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This was not the first time Osiria had appealed to Osiris. Nor would it be the last. While she considered herself a worshiper of Hathor and Ra, it would be probable that her time spent in Osiris temples was nearly equal. Her name had been taken from the god's own and, after the death of her parents, she felt something of connection to the Lord of Silence. She prayed that he had ensured a benign end to her parents' earthly walks, particularly since their last moments had been painful. Surely, because they selflessly died to save the lives of their children, they had been judged well.
This visit did mark, however, the first time she entered the temple as a noble woman. She had just come from the temple of Hathor, having left an offering of gratitude for the goddesses' blessing upon their family. Now, she would again beseech Osiris's benevolence upon her brother, and an honorable death should he fall. Then, she would seek Sekhmet's aid for his victory. These had been her prayers to the gods for many years, since Sethtah's first days as a soldier. Ressiah would have her own prayers, no doubt, but this duty was one that Osiria bore with pride and would continue to enact.
Before embarking on her journey to pray, Osiria had cleansed herself with water and oils, unwilling to appear before the gods with the dust of the day upon her skin. Her hair was bound up in a simplistic style and her makeup light. Even though her new station called for more decoration, she preferred not to spend the amount of time needed to achieve the styles of her fellow women. She simply had other things to do. She did, however, allow herself one of her recently acquired kalasiris and two gold bangles and an accompanying necklace. Her mother's ring shone on her right hand, repaired and polished to preserve what its many years of wear had threatened to diminish. That bit of vanity she would allow herself, for the sake of the accompanying memories.
Bearing her customary offerings to Osiris, she slipped past three noble women exiting the temple, paying them little mind. Even beyond the door, she could hear the prayers of others who were brought by the looming of war. Entering the temple proper, Osiria moved quickly to the foot of the idol, where already the gifts of others had been laid. Kneeling down,she placed a number of fresh fruits at the god's feet, accompanied by a tasteful wine and a bottle of perfume from a foreign land. Then, she set a small cup of incense with the rest. Already the fragrant stick had been lit, producing a familiar spicy scent that filled her senses as she bowed and began to pray.
"Great Osiris, I ask that in your benevolence that you once again turn your blessings and protections upon Sethtah. Grant him victory once again and spare he and his men from our enemies. Should he fall in the protection of our kingdom, grant him a peaceful entrance into your lands..."
The prayer continued in the same fashion, a plea for protection, victory, and a safe return. Her words mingled with those of the others gathered there.
This was not the first time Osiria had appealed to Osiris. Nor would it be the last. While she considered herself a worshiper of Hathor and Ra, it would be probable that her time spent in Osiris temples was nearly equal. Her name had been taken from the god's own and, after the death of her parents, she felt something of connection to the Lord of Silence. She prayed that he had ensured a benign end to her parents' earthly walks, particularly since their last moments had been painful. Surely, because they selflessly died to save the lives of their children, they had been judged well.
This visit did mark, however, the first time she entered the temple as a noble woman. She had just come from the temple of Hathor, having left an offering of gratitude for the goddesses' blessing upon their family. Now, she would again beseech Osiris's benevolence upon her brother, and an honorable death should he fall. Then, she would seek Sekhmet's aid for his victory. These had been her prayers to the gods for many years, since Sethtah's first days as a soldier. Ressiah would have her own prayers, no doubt, but this duty was one that Osiria bore with pride and would continue to enact.
Before embarking on her journey to pray, Osiria had cleansed herself with water and oils, unwilling to appear before the gods with the dust of the day upon her skin. Her hair was bound up in a simplistic style and her makeup light. Even though her new station called for more decoration, she preferred not to spend the amount of time needed to achieve the styles of her fellow women. She simply had other things to do. She did, however, allow herself one of her recently acquired kalasiris and two gold bangles and an accompanying necklace. Her mother's ring shone on her right hand, repaired and polished to preserve what its many years of wear had threatened to diminish. That bit of vanity she would allow herself, for the sake of the accompanying memories.
Bearing her customary offerings to Osiris, she slipped past three noble women exiting the temple, paying them little mind. Even beyond the door, she could hear the prayers of others who were brought by the looming of war. Entering the temple proper, Osiria moved quickly to the foot of the idol, where already the gifts of others had been laid. Kneeling down,she placed a number of fresh fruits at the god's feet, accompanied by a tasteful wine and a bottle of perfume from a foreign land. Then, she set a small cup of incense with the rest. Already the fragrant stick had been lit, producing a familiar spicy scent that filled her senses as she bowed and began to pray.
"Great Osiris, I ask that in your benevolence that you once again turn your blessings and protections upon Sethtah. Grant him victory once again and spare he and his men from our enemies. Should he fall in the protection of our kingdom, grant him a peaceful entrance into your lands..."
The prayer continued in the same fashion, a plea for protection, victory, and a safe return. Her words mingled with those of the others gathered there.
She was aware that she had a lot of good reasons to show her devotion and also to hope for some intercession that the men of her family, now gone to war, would eventually return home.
Safiya knew that she was supposed to also pray for the victory of the army against their enemies, and it would be a good thing but her main concern was a selfish kind of one. Born of the love of her family and the need to have them returned to her, Safiya had already lost her father, she didn't want to think about the loss of anyone else.
It was why she as at least attempting to take this relatively seriously, from the black kalasiris, to the formal wig on her head. Even the sure touch of makeup had been applied to add kohl rimmed eyes and accent the beauty of her mixed heritage, it immediately made her more exotic than before and that was something that Safiya knew to be true as a result of her sister having done virtually the same. After all, they were both interested in seeing their loved ones coming home.
"Hathor..." she was not really aware of speaking aloud but then her focus was on finding the right place and god to begin her devotions. She had always been attached to that particular member of the pantheon and it seemed right to start there when she was here to start begging for some favours. Of course, she was not alone and some familiar figures managed to pull some of her attention, enough to make her forget about some of the seriousness of being here and result in her waving at the sight of her friend, Neithotep as well as going the same to Nenet before she caught sight of one of the priests looking at her sternly.
For a moment, she just grinned a little sheepishly and then threw back her shoulders and tried to make sure that at least from the outside Safiya was looking like a proper and well-mannered noblewoman
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She was aware that she had a lot of good reasons to show her devotion and also to hope for some intercession that the men of her family, now gone to war, would eventually return home.
Safiya knew that she was supposed to also pray for the victory of the army against their enemies, and it would be a good thing but her main concern was a selfish kind of one. Born of the love of her family and the need to have them returned to her, Safiya had already lost her father, she didn't want to think about the loss of anyone else.
It was why she as at least attempting to take this relatively seriously, from the black kalasiris, to the formal wig on her head. Even the sure touch of makeup had been applied to add kohl rimmed eyes and accent the beauty of her mixed heritage, it immediately made her more exotic than before and that was something that Safiya knew to be true as a result of her sister having done virtually the same. After all, they were both interested in seeing their loved ones coming home.
"Hathor..." she was not really aware of speaking aloud but then her focus was on finding the right place and god to begin her devotions. She had always been attached to that particular member of the pantheon and it seemed right to start there when she was here to start begging for some favours. Of course, she was not alone and some familiar figures managed to pull some of her attention, enough to make her forget about some of the seriousness of being here and result in her waving at the sight of her friend, Neithotep as well as going the same to Nenet before she caught sight of one of the priests looking at her sternly.
For a moment, she just grinned a little sheepishly and then threw back her shoulders and tried to make sure that at least from the outside Safiya was looking like a proper and well-mannered noblewoman
She was aware that she had a lot of good reasons to show her devotion and also to hope for some intercession that the men of her family, now gone to war, would eventually return home.
Safiya knew that she was supposed to also pray for the victory of the army against their enemies, and it would be a good thing but her main concern was a selfish kind of one. Born of the love of her family and the need to have them returned to her, Safiya had already lost her father, she didn't want to think about the loss of anyone else.
It was why she as at least attempting to take this relatively seriously, from the black kalasiris, to the formal wig on her head. Even the sure touch of makeup had been applied to add kohl rimmed eyes and accent the beauty of her mixed heritage, it immediately made her more exotic than before and that was something that Safiya knew to be true as a result of her sister having done virtually the same. After all, they were both interested in seeing their loved ones coming home.
"Hathor..." she was not really aware of speaking aloud but then her focus was on finding the right place and god to begin her devotions. She had always been attached to that particular member of the pantheon and it seemed right to start there when she was here to start begging for some favours. Of course, she was not alone and some familiar figures managed to pull some of her attention, enough to make her forget about some of the seriousness of being here and result in her waving at the sight of her friend, Neithotep as well as going the same to Nenet before she caught sight of one of the priests looking at her sternly.
For a moment, she just grinned a little sheepishly and then threw back her shoulders and tried to make sure that at least from the outside Safiya was looking like a proper and well-mannered noblewoman
Nafretiri actually jumped a little when she heard someone say the name of Hathor. It was so unexpected in Osiris' temple. Maybe this was a sign? She noted that it was none other than Lady Safiya, whom she knew, having met her in the bazaar when she was shopping for her current veil, and gave the woman a smile that could have been interpreted as grateful. She would not have liked to have been seen addressing any particular noble when they were supposed to be praying as well, but it was a relief to her to know that presumably not everyone's thoughts were of war, or at least that not everyone was so frightening as to openly make suggestions to the death god about horrid things they'd like to see happen to their enemies! Not that Nafretiri didn't wish from time to time for something awful to befall a certain someone, but she so feared the death god that she doubted she would have been brave enough to ask him to be the god who dealt out the punishment the man surely deserved.
She wondered just what it was Lady Safiya wanted to ask of Hathor, and would have offered her assistance- or at least a listening ear- if the woman had asked. A pity she didn't have papyrus available at the moment, or else she would have sent the woman a written message. She hoped everything was all right, and she whispered almost inaudibly for Hathor to bless the woman, even if this was Osiris' temple.
Perhaps Lady Safiya feared the death god as well.
She bowed also to Lady Osiria, whom she had probably seen from time to time in the Hathor temple from a distance.
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Nafretiri actually jumped a little when she heard someone say the name of Hathor. It was so unexpected in Osiris' temple. Maybe this was a sign? She noted that it was none other than Lady Safiya, whom she knew, having met her in the bazaar when she was shopping for her current veil, and gave the woman a smile that could have been interpreted as grateful. She would not have liked to have been seen addressing any particular noble when they were supposed to be praying as well, but it was a relief to her to know that presumably not everyone's thoughts were of war, or at least that not everyone was so frightening as to openly make suggestions to the death god about horrid things they'd like to see happen to their enemies! Not that Nafretiri didn't wish from time to time for something awful to befall a certain someone, but she so feared the death god that she doubted she would have been brave enough to ask him to be the god who dealt out the punishment the man surely deserved.
She wondered just what it was Lady Safiya wanted to ask of Hathor, and would have offered her assistance- or at least a listening ear- if the woman had asked. A pity she didn't have papyrus available at the moment, or else she would have sent the woman a written message. She hoped everything was all right, and she whispered almost inaudibly for Hathor to bless the woman, even if this was Osiris' temple.
Perhaps Lady Safiya feared the death god as well.
She bowed also to Lady Osiria, whom she had probably seen from time to time in the Hathor temple from a distance.
Nafretiri actually jumped a little when she heard someone say the name of Hathor. It was so unexpected in Osiris' temple. Maybe this was a sign? She noted that it was none other than Lady Safiya, whom she knew, having met her in the bazaar when she was shopping for her current veil, and gave the woman a smile that could have been interpreted as grateful. She would not have liked to have been seen addressing any particular noble when they were supposed to be praying as well, but it was a relief to her to know that presumably not everyone's thoughts were of war, or at least that not everyone was so frightening as to openly make suggestions to the death god about horrid things they'd like to see happen to their enemies! Not that Nafretiri didn't wish from time to time for something awful to befall a certain someone, but she so feared the death god that she doubted she would have been brave enough to ask him to be the god who dealt out the punishment the man surely deserved.
She wondered just what it was Lady Safiya wanted to ask of Hathor, and would have offered her assistance- or at least a listening ear- if the woman had asked. A pity she didn't have papyrus available at the moment, or else she would have sent the woman a written message. She hoped everything was all right, and she whispered almost inaudibly for Hathor to bless the woman, even if this was Osiris' temple.
Perhaps Lady Safiya feared the death god as well.
She bowed also to Lady Osiria, whom she had probably seen from time to time in the Hathor temple from a distance.
Deshra had hoped she might be able to attend this event without drawing too much attention. She needed to be there, to be seen as a noble so that her own cover wasn’t completely blown while the Pharaoh was away. That was the key mission, to distract him. She hadn’t quite accounted for all the rest of what she would have to do in order to maintain her facade. Even without having to deal with his strange appetites, it turned out that even when he was gone she would have to keep up appearances and play this part that she had never been trained for.
She had picked a spot near the other nobles, where she might be able to overhear any news that she would need to know if she was pretending to be a noble, but far enough away that no one would be tempted to draw her into a conversation. Or so she thought. Deshra had been there for only a few moments before she was approached by another woman, with a somewhat casual greeting for her supposed station. Deshra spun on her heel, prepared to portray annoyance at someone addressing her below her station.
Instead, she found a woman, who although darker than many of the other nobles she had seen, was dressed as if she were of a station similar to Deshra’s own facade. She quickly softened her features into a polite grin, internally wondering if it was considered acceptable for nobles to address one another on this matter. Still, if she didn’t wish to draw attention, it would do no good to cause offense, so she would let the greeting slide, even if it might be some sort of subtle slight towards her.
Deshra had not had much practice with polite small talk, at least not without some sort of underlying agenda. How hard could it be to just change the agenda to pulling of this persona instead of seduction? “Oh, I’ve only just come to stay in Cairo recently. It’s my first time in the city.” She doled out the information slowly, just enough to answer the questions. The less she said the less she could be called on it.
Deshra’s hand went to the edge of her wig to readjust it as she was told her hair was showing. Had anyone else noticed? It wouldn’t be the worst thing to be revealed about herself. It’s not like the Pharaoh didn’t know about her true hair color, but there were plenty of others in the nobility that might be more able to make the connection to her true identity if her hair was visible. It was a rare enough color to see in Egypt that it would be much harder to convince people that she wasn’t who she actually was. While people might overlook a whore’s face, they were less likely to overlook her bright red hair.
Deshra laughed awkwardly to cover the rush of thoughts going through her head. “It’s such an awkward color, isn’t it? I just couldn’t bear to shave it all off.” That much was true. Deshra loved her hair color, she found it very unique and pretty. But she knew as a noblewoman, having such hair would be the height of being unfashionable, so it was best to portray it as some sort of horrible flaw.
Then there was the question of a name. That one was easy; she only had to repeat the alias she had created for herself. “I’m Nebit, cousin of H’abbadi.” There was no hesitation in saying it, that would have given her away to be uncertain of her own name and station. No one had questioned her on that before, and from what she’d been told, the family was not in the city so she wouldn’t have to worry about meeting up with anyone who might question her on using this name. “What about yours?” She continued the conversation smoothly, hoping she could transition the conversation away from her as a topic.
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Deshra had hoped she might be able to attend this event without drawing too much attention. She needed to be there, to be seen as a noble so that her own cover wasn’t completely blown while the Pharaoh was away. That was the key mission, to distract him. She hadn’t quite accounted for all the rest of what she would have to do in order to maintain her facade. Even without having to deal with his strange appetites, it turned out that even when he was gone she would have to keep up appearances and play this part that she had never been trained for.
She had picked a spot near the other nobles, where she might be able to overhear any news that she would need to know if she was pretending to be a noble, but far enough away that no one would be tempted to draw her into a conversation. Or so she thought. Deshra had been there for only a few moments before she was approached by another woman, with a somewhat casual greeting for her supposed station. Deshra spun on her heel, prepared to portray annoyance at someone addressing her below her station.
Instead, she found a woman, who although darker than many of the other nobles she had seen, was dressed as if she were of a station similar to Deshra’s own facade. She quickly softened her features into a polite grin, internally wondering if it was considered acceptable for nobles to address one another on this matter. Still, if she didn’t wish to draw attention, it would do no good to cause offense, so she would let the greeting slide, even if it might be some sort of subtle slight towards her.
Deshra had not had much practice with polite small talk, at least not without some sort of underlying agenda. How hard could it be to just change the agenda to pulling of this persona instead of seduction? “Oh, I’ve only just come to stay in Cairo recently. It’s my first time in the city.” She doled out the information slowly, just enough to answer the questions. The less she said the less she could be called on it.
Deshra’s hand went to the edge of her wig to readjust it as she was told her hair was showing. Had anyone else noticed? It wouldn’t be the worst thing to be revealed about herself. It’s not like the Pharaoh didn’t know about her true hair color, but there were plenty of others in the nobility that might be more able to make the connection to her true identity if her hair was visible. It was a rare enough color to see in Egypt that it would be much harder to convince people that she wasn’t who she actually was. While people might overlook a whore’s face, they were less likely to overlook her bright red hair.
Deshra laughed awkwardly to cover the rush of thoughts going through her head. “It’s such an awkward color, isn’t it? I just couldn’t bear to shave it all off.” That much was true. Deshra loved her hair color, she found it very unique and pretty. But she knew as a noblewoman, having such hair would be the height of being unfashionable, so it was best to portray it as some sort of horrible flaw.
Then there was the question of a name. That one was easy; she only had to repeat the alias she had created for herself. “I’m Nebit, cousin of H’abbadi.” There was no hesitation in saying it, that would have given her away to be uncertain of her own name and station. No one had questioned her on that before, and from what she’d been told, the family was not in the city so she wouldn’t have to worry about meeting up with anyone who might question her on using this name. “What about yours?” She continued the conversation smoothly, hoping she could transition the conversation away from her as a topic.
Deshra had hoped she might be able to attend this event without drawing too much attention. She needed to be there, to be seen as a noble so that her own cover wasn’t completely blown while the Pharaoh was away. That was the key mission, to distract him. She hadn’t quite accounted for all the rest of what she would have to do in order to maintain her facade. Even without having to deal with his strange appetites, it turned out that even when he was gone she would have to keep up appearances and play this part that she had never been trained for.
She had picked a spot near the other nobles, where she might be able to overhear any news that she would need to know if she was pretending to be a noble, but far enough away that no one would be tempted to draw her into a conversation. Or so she thought. Deshra had been there for only a few moments before she was approached by another woman, with a somewhat casual greeting for her supposed station. Deshra spun on her heel, prepared to portray annoyance at someone addressing her below her station.
Instead, she found a woman, who although darker than many of the other nobles she had seen, was dressed as if she were of a station similar to Deshra’s own facade. She quickly softened her features into a polite grin, internally wondering if it was considered acceptable for nobles to address one another on this matter. Still, if she didn’t wish to draw attention, it would do no good to cause offense, so she would let the greeting slide, even if it might be some sort of subtle slight towards her.
Deshra had not had much practice with polite small talk, at least not without some sort of underlying agenda. How hard could it be to just change the agenda to pulling of this persona instead of seduction? “Oh, I’ve only just come to stay in Cairo recently. It’s my first time in the city.” She doled out the information slowly, just enough to answer the questions. The less she said the less she could be called on it.
Deshra’s hand went to the edge of her wig to readjust it as she was told her hair was showing. Had anyone else noticed? It wouldn’t be the worst thing to be revealed about herself. It’s not like the Pharaoh didn’t know about her true hair color, but there were plenty of others in the nobility that might be more able to make the connection to her true identity if her hair was visible. It was a rare enough color to see in Egypt that it would be much harder to convince people that she wasn’t who she actually was. While people might overlook a whore’s face, they were less likely to overlook her bright red hair.
Deshra laughed awkwardly to cover the rush of thoughts going through her head. “It’s such an awkward color, isn’t it? I just couldn’t bear to shave it all off.” That much was true. Deshra loved her hair color, she found it very unique and pretty. But she knew as a noblewoman, having such hair would be the height of being unfashionable, so it was best to portray it as some sort of horrible flaw.
Then there was the question of a name. That one was easy; she only had to repeat the alias she had created for herself. “I’m Nebit, cousin of H’abbadi.” There was no hesitation in saying it, that would have given her away to be uncertain of her own name and station. No one had questioned her on that before, and from what she’d been told, the family was not in the city so she wouldn’t have to worry about meeting up with anyone who might question her on using this name. “What about yours?” She continued the conversation smoothly, hoping she could transition the conversation away from her as a topic.
Mayet was no stranger to offering prayer to the God of the Underworld. God of Death but also Life, growing up as she had a farmer’s daughter, they had offered him good brown earth and grain then to ask for the rain that would make things grow, that would make the river swell and ensure they had food to eat and to take to market.
Those were not her prayers now. She had left the farm and those fears far behind her, and yet still Osiris would hear her prayers this day. Her Oso, so often gone from her to wage war against the enemies of Egypt, now it was for him she prayed, and instead of dirt she had a handful of coins and gold wrapped in cloth and held close to her as she approached the temple.
You would not know she was a farmer’s daughter now. Tall and slender, her body wrapped in pale gold linen, the woman’s long and graceful arms were half a dozen deep in bracelets of gold, gem-studded bone and brilliant turquoise beads. Her dark hair was drawn away from her face and pinned in place by golden combs, the long slant of her eyes exaggerated into a fiercely feline curve by kohl and a shimmering golden pigment, one of Oso’s gifts for her. Long grown used to the life he could offer her, she would no more fit in with the villagers of her home than a lioness would fit in a chicken coop.
Of course, she was not the only one to make such a pilgrimage to the temple, and Mayet’s gaze slid over the familiar faces of the noblewomen with little warmth. She was with them and yet not one of them, a truth Osorsen did not change in refusing to her make he his wife. Still, Mayet lifted her chin and stepped inside, for of all of those gathered, none could boast a warrior as bold as the one she named her own, and it was for him that she had come, after all.
Within, she moved forward into the welcoming shadows thrown by the statue of the god himself, seated upon his throne and clutching flail and crook. There were offerings aplenty all around the base of the statue but Mayet paid no heed, for hers were of greater import, she was certain of it.
With reverence, she set down her carefully wrapped bundle and peeled away the lined to reveal the glint of gold within. And then those dark eyes tipped up once toward the depiction of the God and Mayet curved down like a cat at the feet of the statue speaking her words against the cool stone of the floor.
Oh great and wise god, Osiris, Lord of eternity, King of the Gods. Giver of life, bringer of death. Hear my plea now not to take a brilliant flame into your keeping before it is time. Steer him away for there is too much that would be lost without him here. Bold protector, triumphant warrior, let he and his rain fury upon those that would desecrate our lands and see our rivers run red with blood. Take my humble offering and devotions but do not take my love into your care. Offer your protection, great Osiris, and stay your will to claim such a man.
Osorsen, more than any man she knew, was a master of his own fate. But it could not hurt to ask he had the might of the Gods at his back. Mayet rose and gazed up at the stone god a while longer. Already she had poured wine for Sekhmet and whispered her wishes to Nephthys. Whatever would bring Oso home to her. Rising fluidly to her feet, Mayet’s palms smoothed the fabric of her kalasiris, the bracelets she wore jangling as she did so.
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Mayet was no stranger to offering prayer to the God of the Underworld. God of Death but also Life, growing up as she had a farmer’s daughter, they had offered him good brown earth and grain then to ask for the rain that would make things grow, that would make the river swell and ensure they had food to eat and to take to market.
Those were not her prayers now. She had left the farm and those fears far behind her, and yet still Osiris would hear her prayers this day. Her Oso, so often gone from her to wage war against the enemies of Egypt, now it was for him she prayed, and instead of dirt she had a handful of coins and gold wrapped in cloth and held close to her as she approached the temple.
You would not know she was a farmer’s daughter now. Tall and slender, her body wrapped in pale gold linen, the woman’s long and graceful arms were half a dozen deep in bracelets of gold, gem-studded bone and brilliant turquoise beads. Her dark hair was drawn away from her face and pinned in place by golden combs, the long slant of her eyes exaggerated into a fiercely feline curve by kohl and a shimmering golden pigment, one of Oso’s gifts for her. Long grown used to the life he could offer her, she would no more fit in with the villagers of her home than a lioness would fit in a chicken coop.
Of course, she was not the only one to make such a pilgrimage to the temple, and Mayet’s gaze slid over the familiar faces of the noblewomen with little warmth. She was with them and yet not one of them, a truth Osorsen did not change in refusing to her make he his wife. Still, Mayet lifted her chin and stepped inside, for of all of those gathered, none could boast a warrior as bold as the one she named her own, and it was for him that she had come, after all.
Within, she moved forward into the welcoming shadows thrown by the statue of the god himself, seated upon his throne and clutching flail and crook. There were offerings aplenty all around the base of the statue but Mayet paid no heed, for hers were of greater import, she was certain of it.
With reverence, she set down her carefully wrapped bundle and peeled away the lined to reveal the glint of gold within. And then those dark eyes tipped up once toward the depiction of the God and Mayet curved down like a cat at the feet of the statue speaking her words against the cool stone of the floor.
Oh great and wise god, Osiris, Lord of eternity, King of the Gods. Giver of life, bringer of death. Hear my plea now not to take a brilliant flame into your keeping before it is time. Steer him away for there is too much that would be lost without him here. Bold protector, triumphant warrior, let he and his rain fury upon those that would desecrate our lands and see our rivers run red with blood. Take my humble offering and devotions but do not take my love into your care. Offer your protection, great Osiris, and stay your will to claim such a man.
Osorsen, more than any man she knew, was a master of his own fate. But it could not hurt to ask he had the might of the Gods at his back. Mayet rose and gazed up at the stone god a while longer. Already she had poured wine for Sekhmet and whispered her wishes to Nephthys. Whatever would bring Oso home to her. Rising fluidly to her feet, Mayet’s palms smoothed the fabric of her kalasiris, the bracelets she wore jangling as she did so.
Mayet was no stranger to offering prayer to the God of the Underworld. God of Death but also Life, growing up as she had a farmer’s daughter, they had offered him good brown earth and grain then to ask for the rain that would make things grow, that would make the river swell and ensure they had food to eat and to take to market.
Those were not her prayers now. She had left the farm and those fears far behind her, and yet still Osiris would hear her prayers this day. Her Oso, so often gone from her to wage war against the enemies of Egypt, now it was for him she prayed, and instead of dirt she had a handful of coins and gold wrapped in cloth and held close to her as she approached the temple.
You would not know she was a farmer’s daughter now. Tall and slender, her body wrapped in pale gold linen, the woman’s long and graceful arms were half a dozen deep in bracelets of gold, gem-studded bone and brilliant turquoise beads. Her dark hair was drawn away from her face and pinned in place by golden combs, the long slant of her eyes exaggerated into a fiercely feline curve by kohl and a shimmering golden pigment, one of Oso’s gifts for her. Long grown used to the life he could offer her, she would no more fit in with the villagers of her home than a lioness would fit in a chicken coop.
Of course, she was not the only one to make such a pilgrimage to the temple, and Mayet’s gaze slid over the familiar faces of the noblewomen with little warmth. She was with them and yet not one of them, a truth Osorsen did not change in refusing to her make he his wife. Still, Mayet lifted her chin and stepped inside, for of all of those gathered, none could boast a warrior as bold as the one she named her own, and it was for him that she had come, after all.
Within, she moved forward into the welcoming shadows thrown by the statue of the god himself, seated upon his throne and clutching flail and crook. There were offerings aplenty all around the base of the statue but Mayet paid no heed, for hers were of greater import, she was certain of it.
With reverence, she set down her carefully wrapped bundle and peeled away the lined to reveal the glint of gold within. And then those dark eyes tipped up once toward the depiction of the God and Mayet curved down like a cat at the feet of the statue speaking her words against the cool stone of the floor.
Oh great and wise god, Osiris, Lord of eternity, King of the Gods. Giver of life, bringer of death. Hear my plea now not to take a brilliant flame into your keeping before it is time. Steer him away for there is too much that would be lost without him here. Bold protector, triumphant warrior, let he and his rain fury upon those that would desecrate our lands and see our rivers run red with blood. Take my humble offering and devotions but do not take my love into your care. Offer your protection, great Osiris, and stay your will to claim such a man.
Osorsen, more than any man she knew, was a master of his own fate. But it could not hurt to ask he had the might of the Gods at his back. Mayet rose and gazed up at the stone god a while longer. Already she had poured wine for Sekhmet and whispered her wishes to Nephthys. Whatever would bring Oso home to her. Rising fluidly to her feet, Mayet’s palms smoothed the fabric of her kalasiris, the bracelets she wore jangling as she did so.
Fire.
Was there a better way to bring in a war but a little flame? Truth be told, the war itself was a major inconvenience to Akila. Sailing to Greece would become a bigger pain than it was worth. But if Greece was cut off, at least for now, for the girl… having fun in Egypt would suffice. With the prayers and offerings being offered to Osiris, Akila saw her opportunity to have some real fun… and profit from it too.
How fire fascinated her. The woman was far more used to the water, the ocean waves calling to her ever since she was young. But she had a… morbid curiosity about fire. It was capable of giving life, warming the cold, and a tool to feed the hungry. But it also caused so much death, so much destruction. This war would bring fire to the deserts of Egypt. Starting… right here in Cairo.
Akila pulled up her hood and moved with a small group of her men. The pirates weren’t typically one for subterfuge, but with causing trouble in the bustling city of Cairo, one had to be careful. This was not a small coastal village with some thrown together local watch, and while death in the Temple of the God of Death had a funny little irony to it, she’d rather the bodies not be of her crew members.
“You have one shot,” Akila said quietly. The group was around the back of the temple. Two guards stood at the entrance that priests would enter. “Three… two… one…” Arrows zipped through the air, lodging themselves right into the guards’ throats.
“Smoke them out.”
The real fun was about to begin. Her crew stepped over the bodies, swords, and spears at the ready. A wet rag was tied around their mouth and nose to prevent smoke inhalation. The temple was made of stone, there was a very little chance it would burn. But what lied inside…
Entering the temple Akila had her khopesh in one hand, a torch in the other. One of her men lit it aflame and she stood in front of a hanging tapestry of Osiris. A green skin man looking down at his people, a crook in one hand, a flail in the other. Akila rolled her eyes.
The gods did fuck all for me. She lifted the lit torch to the tapestry. At least it’ll burn nicely.
Did these people really think that praying to the God of Death would protect their loved ones from the impending war? They were going to die. Egyptian blood will mix with Greek in the sands. And while they were throwing away their coins at some alter, leaving their pearls and jewels, Akila will put it to real use. Akila wasn’t like them, blindly asking for help, praying that their little footsoldier husband or brother was worthy enough to return home happy and safe.
Fuck. That.
Akila made her own path. And it was lined with the silver and gold of imbeciles. She smirked as more and more of the temple caught fire. She could hear from the front of the temple the shouts of a priest.
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
Akila hummed a soft little tune, dropping the torch to wield her khopesh in her dominant hand. Two temple guardians ran to the back only to be met with her blade in one’s gut, and a spear in the others. The smoke was truly beginning to get thick.
Run away, little ones. Pray to the gods that won’t save you.
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Fire.
Was there a better way to bring in a war but a little flame? Truth be told, the war itself was a major inconvenience to Akila. Sailing to Greece would become a bigger pain than it was worth. But if Greece was cut off, at least for now, for the girl… having fun in Egypt would suffice. With the prayers and offerings being offered to Osiris, Akila saw her opportunity to have some real fun… and profit from it too.
How fire fascinated her. The woman was far more used to the water, the ocean waves calling to her ever since she was young. But she had a… morbid curiosity about fire. It was capable of giving life, warming the cold, and a tool to feed the hungry. But it also caused so much death, so much destruction. This war would bring fire to the deserts of Egypt. Starting… right here in Cairo.
Akila pulled up her hood and moved with a small group of her men. The pirates weren’t typically one for subterfuge, but with causing trouble in the bustling city of Cairo, one had to be careful. This was not a small coastal village with some thrown together local watch, and while death in the Temple of the God of Death had a funny little irony to it, she’d rather the bodies not be of her crew members.
“You have one shot,” Akila said quietly. The group was around the back of the temple. Two guards stood at the entrance that priests would enter. “Three… two… one…” Arrows zipped through the air, lodging themselves right into the guards’ throats.
“Smoke them out.”
The real fun was about to begin. Her crew stepped over the bodies, swords, and spears at the ready. A wet rag was tied around their mouth and nose to prevent smoke inhalation. The temple was made of stone, there was a very little chance it would burn. But what lied inside…
Entering the temple Akila had her khopesh in one hand, a torch in the other. One of her men lit it aflame and she stood in front of a hanging tapestry of Osiris. A green skin man looking down at his people, a crook in one hand, a flail in the other. Akila rolled her eyes.
The gods did fuck all for me. She lifted the lit torch to the tapestry. At least it’ll burn nicely.
Did these people really think that praying to the God of Death would protect their loved ones from the impending war? They were going to die. Egyptian blood will mix with Greek in the sands. And while they were throwing away their coins at some alter, leaving their pearls and jewels, Akila will put it to real use. Akila wasn’t like them, blindly asking for help, praying that their little footsoldier husband or brother was worthy enough to return home happy and safe.
Fuck. That.
Akila made her own path. And it was lined with the silver and gold of imbeciles. She smirked as more and more of the temple caught fire. She could hear from the front of the temple the shouts of a priest.
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
Akila hummed a soft little tune, dropping the torch to wield her khopesh in her dominant hand. Two temple guardians ran to the back only to be met with her blade in one’s gut, and a spear in the others. The smoke was truly beginning to get thick.
Run away, little ones. Pray to the gods that won’t save you.
Fire.
Was there a better way to bring in a war but a little flame? Truth be told, the war itself was a major inconvenience to Akila. Sailing to Greece would become a bigger pain than it was worth. But if Greece was cut off, at least for now, for the girl… having fun in Egypt would suffice. With the prayers and offerings being offered to Osiris, Akila saw her opportunity to have some real fun… and profit from it too.
How fire fascinated her. The woman was far more used to the water, the ocean waves calling to her ever since she was young. But she had a… morbid curiosity about fire. It was capable of giving life, warming the cold, and a tool to feed the hungry. But it also caused so much death, so much destruction. This war would bring fire to the deserts of Egypt. Starting… right here in Cairo.
Akila pulled up her hood and moved with a small group of her men. The pirates weren’t typically one for subterfuge, but with causing trouble in the bustling city of Cairo, one had to be careful. This was not a small coastal village with some thrown together local watch, and while death in the Temple of the God of Death had a funny little irony to it, she’d rather the bodies not be of her crew members.
“You have one shot,” Akila said quietly. The group was around the back of the temple. Two guards stood at the entrance that priests would enter. “Three… two… one…” Arrows zipped through the air, lodging themselves right into the guards’ throats.
“Smoke them out.”
The real fun was about to begin. Her crew stepped over the bodies, swords, and spears at the ready. A wet rag was tied around their mouth and nose to prevent smoke inhalation. The temple was made of stone, there was a very little chance it would burn. But what lied inside…
Entering the temple Akila had her khopesh in one hand, a torch in the other. One of her men lit it aflame and she stood in front of a hanging tapestry of Osiris. A green skin man looking down at his people, a crook in one hand, a flail in the other. Akila rolled her eyes.
The gods did fuck all for me. She lifted the lit torch to the tapestry. At least it’ll burn nicely.
Did these people really think that praying to the God of Death would protect their loved ones from the impending war? They were going to die. Egyptian blood will mix with Greek in the sands. And while they were throwing away their coins at some alter, leaving their pearls and jewels, Akila will put it to real use. Akila wasn’t like them, blindly asking for help, praying that their little footsoldier husband or brother was worthy enough to return home happy and safe.
Fuck. That.
Akila made her own path. And it was lined with the silver and gold of imbeciles. She smirked as more and more of the temple caught fire. She could hear from the front of the temple the shouts of a priest.
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
Akila hummed a soft little tune, dropping the torch to wield her khopesh in her dominant hand. Two temple guardians ran to the back only to be met with her blade in one’s gut, and a spear in the others. The smoke was truly beginning to get thick.
Run away, little ones. Pray to the gods that won’t save you.
When Nafretiri heard aomwone shout that there was a fire, she stood up, but unlike some of the other worshipers, she did not scream.
Screaming did no good, most times. While there were times someone else might come to comfort and help those in distress if they cried, more often than not, Nafretiri had found the opposite occurred- both here in Egypt and in her home life in Israel. She could cry- that was, she could release tears to ease the stress, though most times even that helped only a little, especially lately. But screaming- honest to goodness, gut-wrenching screaming- did little to bring help. She had not wanted to be in the temple of the death god in the first place, fearing him as she did because of the date of Aneksi's birth. She had come only out of a sense of duty. If anything, this proved to her that sometimes those who thought only of duty were misguided, and that sometimes one's fear was a good thing to heed. And after hearing some of the rather gruesome wishes of the nobles for their enemies, she had oddly only been waiting- maybe even subconsciously praying to Hathor- for what seemed like the perfect excuse to leave.
Now everyone had that perfect excuse to leave. She could almost have thanked whomever the fire-starter had been, if she had not been aware that it might be an act of war happening already.
"Let's get out, while we still can. I...I have this need to see Aneksi..." Nafretiri grabbed the arm of one of her sister priestesses to drag the older woman away. Regardless of the fact that the gods all needed to be honored, coming to the temple of Osiris had always been one of the things Nafretiri liked least.
She was trembling a little, but her head was held high as she went toward the nearest exit. She sent the priestess she was with a steely glare. She had held her fear inside for so long today that it had turned into anger, and now that there was a fire, there seemed to be good reason to be angry.
"You know why I don't like coming here, and on what day my daughter entered this world. I tried to tell someone this was a bad idea, but...you and your duties! Duties, duties, duties! There is such a thing as keeping your observances privately!"
She wouldn't be surprised if Osiris had started the war himself because he believed he wasn't being honored enough for the power he had.
For once, her more experienced sister priestess did not refute her.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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When Nafretiri heard aomwone shout that there was a fire, she stood up, but unlike some of the other worshipers, she did not scream.
Screaming did no good, most times. While there were times someone else might come to comfort and help those in distress if they cried, more often than not, Nafretiri had found the opposite occurred- both here in Egypt and in her home life in Israel. She could cry- that was, she could release tears to ease the stress, though most times even that helped only a little, especially lately. But screaming- honest to goodness, gut-wrenching screaming- did little to bring help. She had not wanted to be in the temple of the death god in the first place, fearing him as she did because of the date of Aneksi's birth. She had come only out of a sense of duty. If anything, this proved to her that sometimes those who thought only of duty were misguided, and that sometimes one's fear was a good thing to heed. And after hearing some of the rather gruesome wishes of the nobles for their enemies, she had oddly only been waiting- maybe even subconsciously praying to Hathor- for what seemed like the perfect excuse to leave.
Now everyone had that perfect excuse to leave. She could almost have thanked whomever the fire-starter had been, if she had not been aware that it might be an act of war happening already.
"Let's get out, while we still can. I...I have this need to see Aneksi..." Nafretiri grabbed the arm of one of her sister priestesses to drag the older woman away. Regardless of the fact that the gods all needed to be honored, coming to the temple of Osiris had always been one of the things Nafretiri liked least.
She was trembling a little, but her head was held high as she went toward the nearest exit. She sent the priestess she was with a steely glare. She had held her fear inside for so long today that it had turned into anger, and now that there was a fire, there seemed to be good reason to be angry.
"You know why I don't like coming here, and on what day my daughter entered this world. I tried to tell someone this was a bad idea, but...you and your duties! Duties, duties, duties! There is such a thing as keeping your observances privately!"
She wouldn't be surprised if Osiris had started the war himself because he believed he wasn't being honored enough for the power he had.
For once, her more experienced sister priestess did not refute her.
When Nafretiri heard aomwone shout that there was a fire, she stood up, but unlike some of the other worshipers, she did not scream.
Screaming did no good, most times. While there were times someone else might come to comfort and help those in distress if they cried, more often than not, Nafretiri had found the opposite occurred- both here in Egypt and in her home life in Israel. She could cry- that was, she could release tears to ease the stress, though most times even that helped only a little, especially lately. But screaming- honest to goodness, gut-wrenching screaming- did little to bring help. She had not wanted to be in the temple of the death god in the first place, fearing him as she did because of the date of Aneksi's birth. She had come only out of a sense of duty. If anything, this proved to her that sometimes those who thought only of duty were misguided, and that sometimes one's fear was a good thing to heed. And after hearing some of the rather gruesome wishes of the nobles for their enemies, she had oddly only been waiting- maybe even subconsciously praying to Hathor- for what seemed like the perfect excuse to leave.
Now everyone had that perfect excuse to leave. She could almost have thanked whomever the fire-starter had been, if she had not been aware that it might be an act of war happening already.
"Let's get out, while we still can. I...I have this need to see Aneksi..." Nafretiri grabbed the arm of one of her sister priestesses to drag the older woman away. Regardless of the fact that the gods all needed to be honored, coming to the temple of Osiris had always been one of the things Nafretiri liked least.
She was trembling a little, but her head was held high as she went toward the nearest exit. She sent the priestess she was with a steely glare. She had held her fear inside for so long today that it had turned into anger, and now that there was a fire, there seemed to be good reason to be angry.
"You know why I don't like coming here, and on what day my daughter entered this world. I tried to tell someone this was a bad idea, but...you and your duties! Duties, duties, duties! There is such a thing as keeping your observances privately!"
She wouldn't be surprised if Osiris had started the war himself because he believed he wasn't being honored enough for the power he had.
For once, her more experienced sister priestess did not refute her.
Rubiah allowed the woman to adjust her wig thinking little of it. Most of the nobility wore them, straightening out their more African locks into something sleek and tamed. The wigs were, after all, easier to clean and could have their crowns or jewellery or decoration added before even being placed on their owner's head. It was a simple and easy thing that made morning ablutions so much faster. Especially given that most noble women tended to spend near hours on the paints and powers of their make-up. As such, the young woman wearing a wig was of no particular import to Rubiah unless something else about her made her choice of headdress more suspicious. She could accept, after all, that a woman of such wild and rare hair colour might wish to cover it but also have hesitations about shaving it off.
When she turned and explained that it was her first time in Cairo, Rubiah had no reason to doubt her. People came from the outer provinces to the main city all the time. Provided they could come up with the coin to pay for the trip. Whether they found riches or ruin within the capitol, mattered little to those ambitious enough to be drawn to the metropolitan hub upon the Nile. To them, the risk was worth the reward of escaping the humdrum of the provincial life.
Rubiah had made the trip on several occasions. The only reason that she hadn't remained within the city's walls was because she was a wanderer at heart and grew bored if in one place for too long. Not to mention the fact that, the longer she was in a particular place, the more heat she would gradually build amongst the nobility. There were those in the upper circles of Egyptian society who loved Rubiah, who saw her as the exotic pinnacle of all that was stylish confidence. There were others that saw her as an upstart. An alien that did not belong in their world and was surely the most arrogant to assume that she might find a place among them. The longer she stayed in a single location the more her follower’s enthusiasm dimmed, for she became common place, and the more her haters grew tiresome of her company. So, she would leave, travel and return with that same feeling of exotic interest, with tales as long as her arms and her world just a little bit wider for all to see.
Focusing back on the conversation at hand, Rubiah listened as the young woman - Nebit - introduced herself. She commented that she was a cousin of the H'Abaddi Hei. Which Rubiah knew to be untrue. Sethtah and his sisters had no cousins. Their parents were only children and died from starvation years ago. And there were certainly no other connections on Ressiah's side of things - just herself. Then again, she realised quickly, she was probably one of the few people who would know such a thing. It wasn't exactly like Sethtah, Osiria and Fumisa went around advertising that they were orphans and had no family besides themselves. They were newly noble, recent to the circles in which they now mingled. They would want to show as strong and united front as they could; not tell the stories of woe that made their family seem fragile and pitiful.
Which meant that one of the easiest cons at the moment was to claim a relation to the newest of the noble Heis - the one that no-one really knew very much of, as yet. Wasn't Rubiah (a little) doing the same thing by exploiting her connection to Ressiah? Technically, she shouldn't be permitted anywhere that courtiers gathered and yet she was always at the centre of things. Because she exploited the fact that the Abaddi were new to society and that people didn't really know just how angered the clever General of the Hei would be if his sister-in-law was turned away. He was unknown and mysterious element.
Piecing together the lie that was only obvious to her, the way that the young girl kept looking about her and the wig that covered unshaven hair, Rubiah was able to quickly smell a rat and recognise a convincing act when she saw one. The woman was pretending to be noble for whatever reason she personally held and Rubiah had the choice on whether or not to blow her cover...
"I'm Rubiah of Qalha." He told the woman offering her a hand. She smiled sweetly. "I'm trespassing on the hospitality of one of the Heis here in the city."
Technically, she wasn't lying. And yet she failed to mention the important name of the Hei that would tell Nebit that she knew of her deceit. Instead, she decided to keep that little titbit under her hat, just in case it came in useful later.
The two of them were distracted from any more conversation when a call of 'Fire!' went out throughout the temple. Rubiah looked around as people started to naturally panic, her brows dropping low. How in the hell was a stone temple on-?
But she didn't have to wonder for long as billows of smoke started to pour from the back rooms.
"Okay, I think it's time to go." She said allowed, gesturing quickly to Nebit or whatever her name was. "Come on - the steps are easier to get to this way..."
And she hurried off, trying to lead the girl down to the side steps and out of the temple so that they might breathe clean air. She wanted to a moment alone with the girl anyway so that they might catch a drink and she could probe a little deeper as to why the woman was pretending to be a relative of the family that Rubiah could actually claim as her own.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Rubiah allowed the woman to adjust her wig thinking little of it. Most of the nobility wore them, straightening out their more African locks into something sleek and tamed. The wigs were, after all, easier to clean and could have their crowns or jewellery or decoration added before even being placed on their owner's head. It was a simple and easy thing that made morning ablutions so much faster. Especially given that most noble women tended to spend near hours on the paints and powers of their make-up. As such, the young woman wearing a wig was of no particular import to Rubiah unless something else about her made her choice of headdress more suspicious. She could accept, after all, that a woman of such wild and rare hair colour might wish to cover it but also have hesitations about shaving it off.
When she turned and explained that it was her first time in Cairo, Rubiah had no reason to doubt her. People came from the outer provinces to the main city all the time. Provided they could come up with the coin to pay for the trip. Whether they found riches or ruin within the capitol, mattered little to those ambitious enough to be drawn to the metropolitan hub upon the Nile. To them, the risk was worth the reward of escaping the humdrum of the provincial life.
Rubiah had made the trip on several occasions. The only reason that she hadn't remained within the city's walls was because she was a wanderer at heart and grew bored if in one place for too long. Not to mention the fact that, the longer she was in a particular place, the more heat she would gradually build amongst the nobility. There were those in the upper circles of Egyptian society who loved Rubiah, who saw her as the exotic pinnacle of all that was stylish confidence. There were others that saw her as an upstart. An alien that did not belong in their world and was surely the most arrogant to assume that she might find a place among them. The longer she stayed in a single location the more her follower’s enthusiasm dimmed, for she became common place, and the more her haters grew tiresome of her company. So, she would leave, travel and return with that same feeling of exotic interest, with tales as long as her arms and her world just a little bit wider for all to see.
Focusing back on the conversation at hand, Rubiah listened as the young woman - Nebit - introduced herself. She commented that she was a cousin of the H'Abaddi Hei. Which Rubiah knew to be untrue. Sethtah and his sisters had no cousins. Their parents were only children and died from starvation years ago. And there were certainly no other connections on Ressiah's side of things - just herself. Then again, she realised quickly, she was probably one of the few people who would know such a thing. It wasn't exactly like Sethtah, Osiria and Fumisa went around advertising that they were orphans and had no family besides themselves. They were newly noble, recent to the circles in which they now mingled. They would want to show as strong and united front as they could; not tell the stories of woe that made their family seem fragile and pitiful.
Which meant that one of the easiest cons at the moment was to claim a relation to the newest of the noble Heis - the one that no-one really knew very much of, as yet. Wasn't Rubiah (a little) doing the same thing by exploiting her connection to Ressiah? Technically, she shouldn't be permitted anywhere that courtiers gathered and yet she was always at the centre of things. Because she exploited the fact that the Abaddi were new to society and that people didn't really know just how angered the clever General of the Hei would be if his sister-in-law was turned away. He was unknown and mysterious element.
Piecing together the lie that was only obvious to her, the way that the young girl kept looking about her and the wig that covered unshaven hair, Rubiah was able to quickly smell a rat and recognise a convincing act when she saw one. The woman was pretending to be noble for whatever reason she personally held and Rubiah had the choice on whether or not to blow her cover...
"I'm Rubiah of Qalha." He told the woman offering her a hand. She smiled sweetly. "I'm trespassing on the hospitality of one of the Heis here in the city."
Technically, she wasn't lying. And yet she failed to mention the important name of the Hei that would tell Nebit that she knew of her deceit. Instead, she decided to keep that little titbit under her hat, just in case it came in useful later.
The two of them were distracted from any more conversation when a call of 'Fire!' went out throughout the temple. Rubiah looked around as people started to naturally panic, her brows dropping low. How in the hell was a stone temple on-?
But she didn't have to wonder for long as billows of smoke started to pour from the back rooms.
"Okay, I think it's time to go." She said allowed, gesturing quickly to Nebit or whatever her name was. "Come on - the steps are easier to get to this way..."
And she hurried off, trying to lead the girl down to the side steps and out of the temple so that they might breathe clean air. She wanted to a moment alone with the girl anyway so that they might catch a drink and she could probe a little deeper as to why the woman was pretending to be a relative of the family that Rubiah could actually claim as her own.
Rubiah allowed the woman to adjust her wig thinking little of it. Most of the nobility wore them, straightening out their more African locks into something sleek and tamed. The wigs were, after all, easier to clean and could have their crowns or jewellery or decoration added before even being placed on their owner's head. It was a simple and easy thing that made morning ablutions so much faster. Especially given that most noble women tended to spend near hours on the paints and powers of their make-up. As such, the young woman wearing a wig was of no particular import to Rubiah unless something else about her made her choice of headdress more suspicious. She could accept, after all, that a woman of such wild and rare hair colour might wish to cover it but also have hesitations about shaving it off.
When she turned and explained that it was her first time in Cairo, Rubiah had no reason to doubt her. People came from the outer provinces to the main city all the time. Provided they could come up with the coin to pay for the trip. Whether they found riches or ruin within the capitol, mattered little to those ambitious enough to be drawn to the metropolitan hub upon the Nile. To them, the risk was worth the reward of escaping the humdrum of the provincial life.
Rubiah had made the trip on several occasions. The only reason that she hadn't remained within the city's walls was because she was a wanderer at heart and grew bored if in one place for too long. Not to mention the fact that, the longer she was in a particular place, the more heat she would gradually build amongst the nobility. There were those in the upper circles of Egyptian society who loved Rubiah, who saw her as the exotic pinnacle of all that was stylish confidence. There were others that saw her as an upstart. An alien that did not belong in their world and was surely the most arrogant to assume that she might find a place among them. The longer she stayed in a single location the more her follower’s enthusiasm dimmed, for she became common place, and the more her haters grew tiresome of her company. So, she would leave, travel and return with that same feeling of exotic interest, with tales as long as her arms and her world just a little bit wider for all to see.
Focusing back on the conversation at hand, Rubiah listened as the young woman - Nebit - introduced herself. She commented that she was a cousin of the H'Abaddi Hei. Which Rubiah knew to be untrue. Sethtah and his sisters had no cousins. Their parents were only children and died from starvation years ago. And there were certainly no other connections on Ressiah's side of things - just herself. Then again, she realised quickly, she was probably one of the few people who would know such a thing. It wasn't exactly like Sethtah, Osiria and Fumisa went around advertising that they were orphans and had no family besides themselves. They were newly noble, recent to the circles in which they now mingled. They would want to show as strong and united front as they could; not tell the stories of woe that made their family seem fragile and pitiful.
Which meant that one of the easiest cons at the moment was to claim a relation to the newest of the noble Heis - the one that no-one really knew very much of, as yet. Wasn't Rubiah (a little) doing the same thing by exploiting her connection to Ressiah? Technically, she shouldn't be permitted anywhere that courtiers gathered and yet she was always at the centre of things. Because she exploited the fact that the Abaddi were new to society and that people didn't really know just how angered the clever General of the Hei would be if his sister-in-law was turned away. He was unknown and mysterious element.
Piecing together the lie that was only obvious to her, the way that the young girl kept looking about her and the wig that covered unshaven hair, Rubiah was able to quickly smell a rat and recognise a convincing act when she saw one. The woman was pretending to be noble for whatever reason she personally held and Rubiah had the choice on whether or not to blow her cover...
"I'm Rubiah of Qalha." He told the woman offering her a hand. She smiled sweetly. "I'm trespassing on the hospitality of one of the Heis here in the city."
Technically, she wasn't lying. And yet she failed to mention the important name of the Hei that would tell Nebit that she knew of her deceit. Instead, she decided to keep that little titbit under her hat, just in case it came in useful later.
The two of them were distracted from any more conversation when a call of 'Fire!' went out throughout the temple. Rubiah looked around as people started to naturally panic, her brows dropping low. How in the hell was a stone temple on-?
But she didn't have to wonder for long as billows of smoke started to pour from the back rooms.
"Okay, I think it's time to go." She said allowed, gesturing quickly to Nebit or whatever her name was. "Come on - the steps are easier to get to this way..."
And she hurried off, trying to lead the girl down to the side steps and out of the temple so that they might breathe clean air. She wanted to a moment alone with the girl anyway so that they might catch a drink and she could probe a little deeper as to why the woman was pretending to be a relative of the family that Rubiah could actually claim as her own.
Osiria rose from her position before the statue, readjusting the length of her garments. She allowed the worries that had plagued her to slip away as she turned, her time done. It was in the hands of gods, now. A mortal such as herself could do nothing to stop the war, or even to alleviate her brother's labors in any way. All that she could do was continue her duties in the home.
A vaguely familiar woman caught her eye and bowed to her as she picked her way back toward the exit. She inclined her head politely in return, unable to place her. Her eyes flickered over the sanctuary again. A familiar set of braids caught her attention, a sour feeling coiling in her stomach. Rubiah. She appeared to be engaging someone in conversation. Best to leave quickly, then. She had no desire to engage with the other woman more than was absolutely necessary.
She was nearly to the door when the cry of fire broke out. For a moment, her mind stalled, something within her seizing in fear. It was enough for those around her to rise up in panic and flood toward the door. Osiria found herself in a press of bodies. Someone banged painfully off her shoulder and she flinched. If she stayed still for too long...she forced herself to move with the flow of the fleeing crowd.
How had the temple come to be on fire? Was it an accident? Arson?
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Osiria rose from her position before the statue, readjusting the length of her garments. She allowed the worries that had plagued her to slip away as she turned, her time done. It was in the hands of gods, now. A mortal such as herself could do nothing to stop the war, or even to alleviate her brother's labors in any way. All that she could do was continue her duties in the home.
A vaguely familiar woman caught her eye and bowed to her as she picked her way back toward the exit. She inclined her head politely in return, unable to place her. Her eyes flickered over the sanctuary again. A familiar set of braids caught her attention, a sour feeling coiling in her stomach. Rubiah. She appeared to be engaging someone in conversation. Best to leave quickly, then. She had no desire to engage with the other woman more than was absolutely necessary.
She was nearly to the door when the cry of fire broke out. For a moment, her mind stalled, something within her seizing in fear. It was enough for those around her to rise up in panic and flood toward the door. Osiria found herself in a press of bodies. Someone banged painfully off her shoulder and she flinched. If she stayed still for too long...she forced herself to move with the flow of the fleeing crowd.
How had the temple come to be on fire? Was it an accident? Arson?
Osiria rose from her position before the statue, readjusting the length of her garments. She allowed the worries that had plagued her to slip away as she turned, her time done. It was in the hands of gods, now. A mortal such as herself could do nothing to stop the war, or even to alleviate her brother's labors in any way. All that she could do was continue her duties in the home.
A vaguely familiar woman caught her eye and bowed to her as she picked her way back toward the exit. She inclined her head politely in return, unable to place her. Her eyes flickered over the sanctuary again. A familiar set of braids caught her attention, a sour feeling coiling in her stomach. Rubiah. She appeared to be engaging someone in conversation. Best to leave quickly, then. She had no desire to engage with the other woman more than was absolutely necessary.
She was nearly to the door when the cry of fire broke out. For a moment, her mind stalled, something within her seizing in fear. It was enough for those around her to rise up in panic and flood toward the door. Osiria found herself in a press of bodies. Someone banged painfully off her shoulder and she flinched. If she stayed still for too long...she forced herself to move with the flow of the fleeing crowd.
How had the temple come to be on fire? Was it an accident? Arson?
Barely had Mayet risen from her prayers when there was some commotion from the back of the temple, raised voices, an alarm that shattered what should be the tranquillity of Osiris’ house. So quickly, a sense of panic spread and those around her started moving toward the door, their worship discarded in favour of following like sheep…
“Fire” The cry sounded a moment after the acrid smell of smoke curled its way into Mayet’s nostrils, and she instinctively covered her mouth and nose with the cup of her palm, taking a half step back and peering into the far reaches of the temple. She saw well enough the hooded figure come striding in and strike a burning torch to a great tapestry that hung on the wall.
Foolish, to think that they could defile the home of the God of the Underworld and not be punished. Mayet did not think the gods paid overmuch attention to the mortal world. She prayed because it could not hurt to, but she was confident that no higher being would ignore such disrespect. Still, she saw the blade the figure carried too, and it was not from her hands that vengeance for such crimes would be dealt.
Mayet stepped swiftly away from the statue she had been kneeling at, stood shoulder to shoulder with those who had not yet broken free into the fresh air. She did not push or shove, but there was a keen awareness of those close to her so that she stepped out of the way when a man tried to shoulder past her. A woman in front was not so lucky, and Mayet clicked her tongue at the man who thought his safety above everyone else’s and set a hand on the shoulder of the woman.
“Are you ok?” she asked, steadying the other, whom she thought she recognised vaguely, before slipping deftly through a space that opened before her, dragging the other woman with her until they stood outside in the bright light of the sun. Mayet released her hold on the other woman just as a group of men rushed past them, heading back into the temple. Fire or no, there were precious artefacts within than would not be left to burn.
Mayet could not help but think of the khopesh she had seen, and she called out to one such man as he passed by. “There are armed men, in the temple, sadiq. Watch where you tread”
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Barely had Mayet risen from her prayers when there was some commotion from the back of the temple, raised voices, an alarm that shattered what should be the tranquillity of Osiris’ house. So quickly, a sense of panic spread and those around her started moving toward the door, their worship discarded in favour of following like sheep…
“Fire” The cry sounded a moment after the acrid smell of smoke curled its way into Mayet’s nostrils, and she instinctively covered her mouth and nose with the cup of her palm, taking a half step back and peering into the far reaches of the temple. She saw well enough the hooded figure come striding in and strike a burning torch to a great tapestry that hung on the wall.
Foolish, to think that they could defile the home of the God of the Underworld and not be punished. Mayet did not think the gods paid overmuch attention to the mortal world. She prayed because it could not hurt to, but she was confident that no higher being would ignore such disrespect. Still, she saw the blade the figure carried too, and it was not from her hands that vengeance for such crimes would be dealt.
Mayet stepped swiftly away from the statue she had been kneeling at, stood shoulder to shoulder with those who had not yet broken free into the fresh air. She did not push or shove, but there was a keen awareness of those close to her so that she stepped out of the way when a man tried to shoulder past her. A woman in front was not so lucky, and Mayet clicked her tongue at the man who thought his safety above everyone else’s and set a hand on the shoulder of the woman.
“Are you ok?” she asked, steadying the other, whom she thought she recognised vaguely, before slipping deftly through a space that opened before her, dragging the other woman with her until they stood outside in the bright light of the sun. Mayet released her hold on the other woman just as a group of men rushed past them, heading back into the temple. Fire or no, there were precious artefacts within than would not be left to burn.
Mayet could not help but think of the khopesh she had seen, and she called out to one such man as he passed by. “There are armed men, in the temple, sadiq. Watch where you tread”
Barely had Mayet risen from her prayers when there was some commotion from the back of the temple, raised voices, an alarm that shattered what should be the tranquillity of Osiris’ house. So quickly, a sense of panic spread and those around her started moving toward the door, their worship discarded in favour of following like sheep…
“Fire” The cry sounded a moment after the acrid smell of smoke curled its way into Mayet’s nostrils, and she instinctively covered her mouth and nose with the cup of her palm, taking a half step back and peering into the far reaches of the temple. She saw well enough the hooded figure come striding in and strike a burning torch to a great tapestry that hung on the wall.
Foolish, to think that they could defile the home of the God of the Underworld and not be punished. Mayet did not think the gods paid overmuch attention to the mortal world. She prayed because it could not hurt to, but she was confident that no higher being would ignore such disrespect. Still, she saw the blade the figure carried too, and it was not from her hands that vengeance for such crimes would be dealt.
Mayet stepped swiftly away from the statue she had been kneeling at, stood shoulder to shoulder with those who had not yet broken free into the fresh air. She did not push or shove, but there was a keen awareness of those close to her so that she stepped out of the way when a man tried to shoulder past her. A woman in front was not so lucky, and Mayet clicked her tongue at the man who thought his safety above everyone else’s and set a hand on the shoulder of the woman.
“Are you ok?” she asked, steadying the other, whom she thought she recognised vaguely, before slipping deftly through a space that opened before her, dragging the other woman with her until they stood outside in the bright light of the sun. Mayet released her hold on the other woman just as a group of men rushed past them, heading back into the temple. Fire or no, there were precious artefacts within than would not be left to burn.
Mayet could not help but think of the khopesh she had seen, and she called out to one such man as he passed by. “There are armed men, in the temple, sadiq. Watch where you tread”
She couldn't imagine that anyone was particularly fond of the death god, which suggested that he was probably lonely. At least that was where her logic was taking her at the moment. Flawed and mortal but a ing of innocent and rather naive logic just the same, Safiya wondered if the other gods liked him? If so, then Hathor must be among them.
Perhaps that was why the name had been drawn from her lips, Safiya was not really conscious that she had even spoken in the first place. Just one of those unconscious actions that left an impression on the world at large. At least, due to the fact that Safiya had no knowledge of it all. She should have realized that waiting for Sameera would be the better idea, however, that didn't mean that she would linger over regret or the happiness of gods.
It might even be arrogant and insulting to pity a god, would she risk his disfavour by thinking along those lines?
All she could do was hope that her mind was a sacrosanct place or at least one far too boring for the interest and attention of a god. She was merely the daughter of a noble family, how interesting could she be really? All of which was even more depressing and shoving all of that away she pressed onwards, following the crowds and the directions of the rituals that were necessary here.
Was anyone else as affected with these thoughts? As that last one occurred to her she found herself turning slightly, was that...? She frowned not sure that she had seen correctly, there were a lot of people here after all.
However, she was not able to wast the time to make a proper assessment as first the acrid taste and scent of smoke reached her, just ahead of the screaming that came from someone in the crowd shouting fire! Trying to find out what was going on was pointless as her rather slight frame was swept up with the rest of the group she had been tagging along with and the press of that crowd started to take her rather bodily and very forcefully outside "Sameera!! SAMEERA!!" she shouted with both increasing volume along with panic.
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She couldn't imagine that anyone was particularly fond of the death god, which suggested that he was probably lonely. At least that was where her logic was taking her at the moment. Flawed and mortal but a ing of innocent and rather naive logic just the same, Safiya wondered if the other gods liked him? If so, then Hathor must be among them.
Perhaps that was why the name had been drawn from her lips, Safiya was not really conscious that she had even spoken in the first place. Just one of those unconscious actions that left an impression on the world at large. At least, due to the fact that Safiya had no knowledge of it all. She should have realized that waiting for Sameera would be the better idea, however, that didn't mean that she would linger over regret or the happiness of gods.
It might even be arrogant and insulting to pity a god, would she risk his disfavour by thinking along those lines?
All she could do was hope that her mind was a sacrosanct place or at least one far too boring for the interest and attention of a god. She was merely the daughter of a noble family, how interesting could she be really? All of which was even more depressing and shoving all of that away she pressed onwards, following the crowds and the directions of the rituals that were necessary here.
Was anyone else as affected with these thoughts? As that last one occurred to her she found herself turning slightly, was that...? She frowned not sure that she had seen correctly, there were a lot of people here after all.
However, she was not able to wast the time to make a proper assessment as first the acrid taste and scent of smoke reached her, just ahead of the screaming that came from someone in the crowd shouting fire! Trying to find out what was going on was pointless as her rather slight frame was swept up with the rest of the group she had been tagging along with and the press of that crowd started to take her rather bodily and very forcefully outside "Sameera!! SAMEERA!!" she shouted with both increasing volume along with panic.
She couldn't imagine that anyone was particularly fond of the death god, which suggested that he was probably lonely. At least that was where her logic was taking her at the moment. Flawed and mortal but a ing of innocent and rather naive logic just the same, Safiya wondered if the other gods liked him? If so, then Hathor must be among them.
Perhaps that was why the name had been drawn from her lips, Safiya was not really conscious that she had even spoken in the first place. Just one of those unconscious actions that left an impression on the world at large. At least, due to the fact that Safiya had no knowledge of it all. She should have realized that waiting for Sameera would be the better idea, however, that didn't mean that she would linger over regret or the happiness of gods.
It might even be arrogant and insulting to pity a god, would she risk his disfavour by thinking along those lines?
All she could do was hope that her mind was a sacrosanct place or at least one far too boring for the interest and attention of a god. She was merely the daughter of a noble family, how interesting could she be really? All of which was even more depressing and shoving all of that away she pressed onwards, following the crowds and the directions of the rituals that were necessary here.
Was anyone else as affected with these thoughts? As that last one occurred to her she found herself turning slightly, was that...? She frowned not sure that she had seen correctly, there were a lot of people here after all.
However, she was not able to wast the time to make a proper assessment as first the acrid taste and scent of smoke reached her, just ahead of the screaming that came from someone in the crowd shouting fire! Trying to find out what was going on was pointless as her rather slight frame was swept up with the rest of the group she had been tagging along with and the press of that crowd started to take her rather bodily and very forcefully outside "Sameera!! SAMEERA!!" she shouted with both increasing volume along with panic.
With the last woman out of the temple, Akila’s men moved to the main part. The rags were still wet against their face, shielding the acrid taste of smoke the best that it could. Those that remained were met with the metal of blades and spears. Blood was spilled on the sacred land of Osiris; Blood that Akila did even give an ounce of care to. Torch in one hand, khopesh in the other, Akila moved forward into the main chamber.
Pearls. Akila’s dark gaze fell upon the bag placed at Osiris’s feet. Coins, food, drink. What… a waste. She took a step towards the offerings when suddenly another guard came rushing towards her. Akila danced back, khopesh meeting his blade. Her other hand moved in unison, shoving the lit torch into the guard’s face. When the man reeled back and screamed, it was another of her crew that finished him off.
Again. Irony. Akila might laugh about this later but now was not the time. They had precious few moments before the city guard would rush the temple. They had to be gone before then. A sharp whistle was enough to alert her men to hurry as they quickly gathered the offerings worth taking, leaving food or anything that was obvious to be of little value upon a quick glance. A proper appraisal would happen later, right now what mattered was that they got what they wanted and got the fuck out of there.
Hiding behind the statue of Osiris was a priest. A small, feeble man who jumped at Akila when she got too close. His knife dug into Akila’s arm. She let out a small noise of surprise and knocked the man back, onto the god’s feet. The priest spat at Akila’s feet. A second whistle and Akila was handed exactly what she desired. A Greek sword they had picked up in one of their latest sea battles. A beautiful design and of good make, it probably would have fetched a pretty penny… but this would be a much better use.
“You have cursed your own fate,” the priest hissed. “To sully the Temple of Osiris and insult with you-”
Akila didn’t much care what spiel the man had. Blablabla, Osiris would smite her. She’d be cursed. She’d walk to the scales of Anubis and her heart would break it. She’d suddenly vanish and never be able to set foot in the Field of Reeds as if that was somewhere Akila wanted to go in the first place. She sunk the Greek sword deep into the priest’s heart. Let Anubis weight that heart, see if that balances.
There was no point for words. In a temple filled with smoke time was precious and they had what they were after. The offerings of Osiris and in exchange for a Greek sword… how perfect. Akila’s chin tilted towards the exit. The pirates played their part. Let the Egyptians puzzle what happened. Did they already manage to infiltrate the capital? How had the war spread so quickly?
They left the way they came, quickly and quietly. Akila’s feet barely crunched beneath the sands. The small group stuck to the shadows, as they made their way away from the temple and the scene they just created. Welcome to War, Egypt.
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With the last woman out of the temple, Akila’s men moved to the main part. The rags were still wet against their face, shielding the acrid taste of smoke the best that it could. Those that remained were met with the metal of blades and spears. Blood was spilled on the sacred land of Osiris; Blood that Akila did even give an ounce of care to. Torch in one hand, khopesh in the other, Akila moved forward into the main chamber.
Pearls. Akila’s dark gaze fell upon the bag placed at Osiris’s feet. Coins, food, drink. What… a waste. She took a step towards the offerings when suddenly another guard came rushing towards her. Akila danced back, khopesh meeting his blade. Her other hand moved in unison, shoving the lit torch into the guard’s face. When the man reeled back and screamed, it was another of her crew that finished him off.
Again. Irony. Akila might laugh about this later but now was not the time. They had precious few moments before the city guard would rush the temple. They had to be gone before then. A sharp whistle was enough to alert her men to hurry as they quickly gathered the offerings worth taking, leaving food or anything that was obvious to be of little value upon a quick glance. A proper appraisal would happen later, right now what mattered was that they got what they wanted and got the fuck out of there.
Hiding behind the statue of Osiris was a priest. A small, feeble man who jumped at Akila when she got too close. His knife dug into Akila’s arm. She let out a small noise of surprise and knocked the man back, onto the god’s feet. The priest spat at Akila’s feet. A second whistle and Akila was handed exactly what she desired. A Greek sword they had picked up in one of their latest sea battles. A beautiful design and of good make, it probably would have fetched a pretty penny… but this would be a much better use.
“You have cursed your own fate,” the priest hissed. “To sully the Temple of Osiris and insult with you-”
Akila didn’t much care what spiel the man had. Blablabla, Osiris would smite her. She’d be cursed. She’d walk to the scales of Anubis and her heart would break it. She’d suddenly vanish and never be able to set foot in the Field of Reeds as if that was somewhere Akila wanted to go in the first place. She sunk the Greek sword deep into the priest’s heart. Let Anubis weight that heart, see if that balances.
There was no point for words. In a temple filled with smoke time was precious and they had what they were after. The offerings of Osiris and in exchange for a Greek sword… how perfect. Akila’s chin tilted towards the exit. The pirates played their part. Let the Egyptians puzzle what happened. Did they already manage to infiltrate the capital? How had the war spread so quickly?
They left the way they came, quickly and quietly. Akila’s feet barely crunched beneath the sands. The small group stuck to the shadows, as they made their way away from the temple and the scene they just created. Welcome to War, Egypt.
With the last woman out of the temple, Akila’s men moved to the main part. The rags were still wet against their face, shielding the acrid taste of smoke the best that it could. Those that remained were met with the metal of blades and spears. Blood was spilled on the sacred land of Osiris; Blood that Akila did even give an ounce of care to. Torch in one hand, khopesh in the other, Akila moved forward into the main chamber.
Pearls. Akila’s dark gaze fell upon the bag placed at Osiris’s feet. Coins, food, drink. What… a waste. She took a step towards the offerings when suddenly another guard came rushing towards her. Akila danced back, khopesh meeting his blade. Her other hand moved in unison, shoving the lit torch into the guard’s face. When the man reeled back and screamed, it was another of her crew that finished him off.
Again. Irony. Akila might laugh about this later but now was not the time. They had precious few moments before the city guard would rush the temple. They had to be gone before then. A sharp whistle was enough to alert her men to hurry as they quickly gathered the offerings worth taking, leaving food or anything that was obvious to be of little value upon a quick glance. A proper appraisal would happen later, right now what mattered was that they got what they wanted and got the fuck out of there.
Hiding behind the statue of Osiris was a priest. A small, feeble man who jumped at Akila when she got too close. His knife dug into Akila’s arm. She let out a small noise of surprise and knocked the man back, onto the god’s feet. The priest spat at Akila’s feet. A second whistle and Akila was handed exactly what she desired. A Greek sword they had picked up in one of their latest sea battles. A beautiful design and of good make, it probably would have fetched a pretty penny… but this would be a much better use.
“You have cursed your own fate,” the priest hissed. “To sully the Temple of Osiris and insult with you-”
Akila didn’t much care what spiel the man had. Blablabla, Osiris would smite her. She’d be cursed. She’d walk to the scales of Anubis and her heart would break it. She’d suddenly vanish and never be able to set foot in the Field of Reeds as if that was somewhere Akila wanted to go in the first place. She sunk the Greek sword deep into the priest’s heart. Let Anubis weight that heart, see if that balances.
There was no point for words. In a temple filled with smoke time was precious and they had what they were after. The offerings of Osiris and in exchange for a Greek sword… how perfect. Akila’s chin tilted towards the exit. The pirates played their part. Let the Egyptians puzzle what happened. Did they already manage to infiltrate the capital? How had the war spread so quickly?
They left the way they came, quickly and quietly. Akila’s feet barely crunched beneath the sands. The small group stuck to the shadows, as they made their way away from the temple and the scene they just created. Welcome to War, Egypt.
Khufu wasn’t an overly religious man, he worshipped the gods as much as any good Egyptian did, but he had never really gone above and beyond to do much more than was necessary. This was a little different, their armies were off to war, and while he had not enjoyed his time as a soldier, he still had some friends among the ranks. And beyond that he knew the risks of battle, knew what each of the soldiers faced at the other end of that march. So, today he had come to the temple with a small offering of items to ask the Gods for the safe return of those he knew. He knew that it was not rational to ask for the safe return of all of the soldiers. This was war after all, lives were lost. But he could at least ask the Gods for safe return of the ones that he knew and liked.
He made his way through the small crowds of people that had gathered to do exactly the same thing as he had. Careful not to disturb anyone, he made his way to one of the alters and knelt down, slipping the items out of the pouch he had brought them in. It wasn’t much, he was in no way a noble, nor did he have extreme wealth to be able to offer much. Especially not with a wife and four kids at home that relied on him to feed and house them.
But he gave what he could, a few nice trinkets and some ripe fruit which he laid out on the alter among the other things that had already been left there.
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. It had really been awhile since he had done this, and so he was doing his best to think of what to pray for without sounding like a complete idiot. Or perhaps he was just over thinking this whole thing, would the Gods really care what words he used? Surely they would heed the message behind his words more than the words themselves.
‘Might Osiris, I am sure that you know exactly why I am here, and I am sure you have heard many similar prayers today from the many citizens of Egypt. I offer my own, I ask that you watch over those that are close to me as they beat the Greeks back from our lands. As well as I hope that you watch over all of the soldiers that march with them.’ He prayed, mouthing along with the words but not speaking out loud. He wasn’t sure what else to add, he knew it wasn’t likely the most intricate prayer, but it got the message across as far as he could tell.
And so he stood from where he had knelt, brushing the dust from his clothing as he did. He decided he would linger a little, see if anything exciting was going to happen, or if anyone he knew was going to show up.
So he moved out of the way, and stood to the side and waited to see if anything was going to happen.
But then all hell seemed to break loose, and there was screaming and shouting and smoke and the scholar moved from his spot. He had been a soldier in his younger years, but now with his injury and the fact that he was unarmed, he was not about to try and fight anyone if he could help it.
The temple was mostly women, which was not a good thing. Most of the fighting men were gone at this point. He didn't know what to do, if he was being honest. He wasn't quite panicking, his military training kicking in a little bit. But, he wasn't going to play hero. And so he started slinking his way through the temple, keeping to the shadows as best as he could to make his way out.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Khufu wasn’t an overly religious man, he worshipped the gods as much as any good Egyptian did, but he had never really gone above and beyond to do much more than was necessary. This was a little different, their armies were off to war, and while he had not enjoyed his time as a soldier, he still had some friends among the ranks. And beyond that he knew the risks of battle, knew what each of the soldiers faced at the other end of that march. So, today he had come to the temple with a small offering of items to ask the Gods for the safe return of those he knew. He knew that it was not rational to ask for the safe return of all of the soldiers. This was war after all, lives were lost. But he could at least ask the Gods for safe return of the ones that he knew and liked.
He made his way through the small crowds of people that had gathered to do exactly the same thing as he had. Careful not to disturb anyone, he made his way to one of the alters and knelt down, slipping the items out of the pouch he had brought them in. It wasn’t much, he was in no way a noble, nor did he have extreme wealth to be able to offer much. Especially not with a wife and four kids at home that relied on him to feed and house them.
But he gave what he could, a few nice trinkets and some ripe fruit which he laid out on the alter among the other things that had already been left there.
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. It had really been awhile since he had done this, and so he was doing his best to think of what to pray for without sounding like a complete idiot. Or perhaps he was just over thinking this whole thing, would the Gods really care what words he used? Surely they would heed the message behind his words more than the words themselves.
‘Might Osiris, I am sure that you know exactly why I am here, and I am sure you have heard many similar prayers today from the many citizens of Egypt. I offer my own, I ask that you watch over those that are close to me as they beat the Greeks back from our lands. As well as I hope that you watch over all of the soldiers that march with them.’ He prayed, mouthing along with the words but not speaking out loud. He wasn’t sure what else to add, he knew it wasn’t likely the most intricate prayer, but it got the message across as far as he could tell.
And so he stood from where he had knelt, brushing the dust from his clothing as he did. He decided he would linger a little, see if anything exciting was going to happen, or if anyone he knew was going to show up.
So he moved out of the way, and stood to the side and waited to see if anything was going to happen.
But then all hell seemed to break loose, and there was screaming and shouting and smoke and the scholar moved from his spot. He had been a soldier in his younger years, but now with his injury and the fact that he was unarmed, he was not about to try and fight anyone if he could help it.
The temple was mostly women, which was not a good thing. Most of the fighting men were gone at this point. He didn't know what to do, if he was being honest. He wasn't quite panicking, his military training kicking in a little bit. But, he wasn't going to play hero. And so he started slinking his way through the temple, keeping to the shadows as best as he could to make his way out.
Khufu wasn’t an overly religious man, he worshipped the gods as much as any good Egyptian did, but he had never really gone above and beyond to do much more than was necessary. This was a little different, their armies were off to war, and while he had not enjoyed his time as a soldier, he still had some friends among the ranks. And beyond that he knew the risks of battle, knew what each of the soldiers faced at the other end of that march. So, today he had come to the temple with a small offering of items to ask the Gods for the safe return of those he knew. He knew that it was not rational to ask for the safe return of all of the soldiers. This was war after all, lives were lost. But he could at least ask the Gods for safe return of the ones that he knew and liked.
He made his way through the small crowds of people that had gathered to do exactly the same thing as he had. Careful not to disturb anyone, he made his way to one of the alters and knelt down, slipping the items out of the pouch he had brought them in. It wasn’t much, he was in no way a noble, nor did he have extreme wealth to be able to offer much. Especially not with a wife and four kids at home that relied on him to feed and house them.
But he gave what he could, a few nice trinkets and some ripe fruit which he laid out on the alter among the other things that had already been left there.
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. It had really been awhile since he had done this, and so he was doing his best to think of what to pray for without sounding like a complete idiot. Or perhaps he was just over thinking this whole thing, would the Gods really care what words he used? Surely they would heed the message behind his words more than the words themselves.
‘Might Osiris, I am sure that you know exactly why I am here, and I am sure you have heard many similar prayers today from the many citizens of Egypt. I offer my own, I ask that you watch over those that are close to me as they beat the Greeks back from our lands. As well as I hope that you watch over all of the soldiers that march with them.’ He prayed, mouthing along with the words but not speaking out loud. He wasn’t sure what else to add, he knew it wasn’t likely the most intricate prayer, but it got the message across as far as he could tell.
And so he stood from where he had knelt, brushing the dust from his clothing as he did. He decided he would linger a little, see if anything exciting was going to happen, or if anyone he knew was going to show up.
So he moved out of the way, and stood to the side and waited to see if anything was going to happen.
But then all hell seemed to break loose, and there was screaming and shouting and smoke and the scholar moved from his spot. He had been a soldier in his younger years, but now with his injury and the fact that he was unarmed, he was not about to try and fight anyone if he could help it.
The temple was mostly women, which was not a good thing. Most of the fighting men were gone at this point. He didn't know what to do, if he was being honest. He wasn't quite panicking, his military training kicking in a little bit. But, he wasn't going to play hero. And so he started slinking his way through the temple, keeping to the shadows as best as he could to make his way out.