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Rebellion has swept the Territory in the south as Glacia dominates the north. Landen and Blood join forces to spread a message of equality with any method possible while Glacia works to infuse the land with power and the people with their Dark Beliefs. The Rebellion, led by a Council of Eight, is not always in agreement but none can resist the power, and the danger, the movement has generated.
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Author Topic: Faith and Fury  (Read 506 times)

Description: Tag: Ishanvi

Offline Devesh Acharya

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Faith and Fury
« on: Jan 24, 18, 01:24:36 AM »
The evening was humid but cool. Devesh hadn't slept the night prior, so he had arranged for an early dinner and made his way to bed before the glow of the sun had ebbed beyond the Western Gama. His sleep was deep and peaceful due to the nearly desperate need for rest. He wasn't to be disturbed, but that was never the way that things went. Devesh was an eager disciple and when his name was called in service of the Darkness, there was little that would restrain him.

A dim light was called into the arched doorway that led to the windowless alcove where he slept. A young woman quietly padded to the edge of his bed and swept away the edge of a blanket to slide a metal tray onto the stone platform. An old but beautifully embellished metal decanter of water and two cups sat on the tray. The house knew that Ishanvi had arrived before its sleeping master. Leaving the way she came, the woman left the light in the arch for now. Prince Acharya would appreciate the light when the half-feral Wilding inevitably scared him from his slumber. No one seemed to know where she was, only that she was there at all.

Ishanvi always had come and gone as she pleased, something that was a rather odd allowance for Devesh to make. He tended toward expecting proper respects being paid and other things like using doors instead of vanishing oneself through them. Ishanvi had never cared much for doors much less any of the rest of the lovely architecture of the heritage home. No one questioned the logic behind it. If it was allowed, there was a reason. Devesh was a man of the kind of structure that could be trusted and built upon. Ishanvi simply existed in between his design, and unbeknownst to most, she was now a part of it.

Devesh's dreams fell away as the hum of an emergent thread begged entrance into his thoughts. He was only partially awake when he realized the presence of the Craft, a little more so when he realized the purpose.

*Prince Acharya, Lady Chakrabarti is on the premises,* came the summons. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet, taking a moment to process the meaning of words at all before he could grasp the definition of the set that had been presented.

*I beg your pardon, Prince, I only mean to know that you've heard me,* came the detached voice again.

Devesh groaned. "What?" he asked aloud in a low and strained voice, not realizing at first that no one heard him.

*Prince, Lady Chakrabarti is here.*

Offline Ishanvi Chakrabarti

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #1 on: Jan 26, 18, 01:49:57 AM »
Prince Acharya was a mercurial sort of man. He was distaff and spear, pious but a peculiar sort of selfish that tripped him on his dream of salvation in ways that never failed to make Wildling laugh rich and full. What he viewed as successes, Wildling often saw as detours on a path grander than that he allowed himself. He served head of an expansive estate and great wealth while dancing across many lines and allegiances aplenty. Single minded as she was the witch took great joy in her once nomadic friend’s winding journey and often marvelled at the ways his life was complex in ways the life she sought would never know. This of course, was a matter of opinion. The brash Ishanvi was never short on those.

When they met, Ishanvi was a vicious weapon not yet blessed with direction. Her attention burned bright and furious and she grew fascinated by the man who shared with her Shan the caste closest to the Glory of Abyss and all. Years later and their friendship was strange, bound in contracts, secrets, family and faith. He was not the other half of her soul but in him she could confess those sins she wished not to share with the sweetness of her Mother or Brother’s benedictions. Some matters of her work with the Rebellion and the Rose, two sides of the same blade to her thoughts, and her life with the Unchained were not for family to hear.

That night she’d come to him, as she always did, stained in the blood of others and still bleeding from wounds (mostly) superficial but numerous. Ishanvi didn’t always shield the way she was supposed to when it came down to fists, faith, and firepower. Without the pain, without its sting, she did not fight as fierce as meeting out Night’s justice required. Adrenaline’s burn kissed by the cold rage of a witch in lethal danger didn’t come cheap and she courted its favour more often than those who loved her liked.

She arrived at the estate after task that fell to her as a witch of unique ability and certain alliance in a cause lacking for trained, soldiers oh unquestionable loyalty. In the working of it two died.  One a woman she’d loved once, a friend of simpler times named Amani Basran. The other, her Glacian paramour. Ishanvi did not often have say in who met their end beneath her metal claws, but she had the right to say no. This assignment she’d asked to pass off but was denied.

No one else was capable of the job's particular requirements and available. Rarely did Wildling fail to know the reasons she’d been called to serve as a vessel of Holiest Night’s vengeance, but when it became clear she was to be the siren that cast a childhood friend into Hell's embrace? Ishanvi asked to be spared the details. She and her companion would die because something about them meant they were threats to all she loved and swore to protect. Knowing more would just leave thorns in her heart and her work demanded focus. The Winds were cruel to those who failed to respect their blessings. Isha knew better than that, much better.

In the aetherial space that was of Devesh’s quarters but not in Devesh’s quarters, Ishanvi hung. She considered riding the Red wind on which she balanced all the way to Little Terreille where it was easy to pretend war’s shadow wasn’t creeping ever closer her beloved wild home. But she did not because it had been a sin to not look the death she dealt in the face. Devesh would tell her what price their Mother demanded and from her soul, blood and bone for the trespass and the witch would give her due. Ishanvi Chakrabarti always paid her debts.

One moment there was the bed, the Sapphire thread warning of her arrival, and the hope that perhaps it was all a dream and sleep would find the Priest Prince again. Then there was the weight of a woman perched at the foot of the Padmalaya Estate patriarch’s bed, the familiar scents of sanguine fluids old and fresh, and the intense heterochromatic stare of an old friend who never really moved through the world following the same boundaries as those around her. 

“I’ve come for confession,” was her hello. There was no smile, or hint of mirth in her truth. It was strange. The Wind kissed daughter of the Ever Turning Wheel normally even spoke her sins with pride. To the Priest Prince, tired though her was,  it would be clear that night would be different.

Something hungry and cruel had tied itself about Wildling’s heart and she hoped her friend’s devotion might help her be free its torment. Guilt and its sister shame were foreign and sharper for their strangeness in her breast. 


there is no reason to fear the wind

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #2 on: Jan 26, 18, 09:13:33 PM »
All at once Devesh was aware of her presence, though he wasn't sure whether it was an effect of waking that made it seem as though she'd only now appeared, or if she'd truly only now entered his room. The echoes of the Sapphire thread repeated in his head and he went over them again, searching for understanding. Sleep clung to him like a hungry lover, begging him to remain, but there was a sense of urgency the lured him toward reality. The beckoning voice that had come to him on that thread would not have come unless he was needed. Beyond that, Devesh smelled blood. This alone could have conjured him from his dreams. Blood was more than life, it was the medium by which Mother Night often imparted her will. Blood was always a sign, it only mattered whether or not one was able to recognize and interpret it.

The light in the archway lit Ishanvi from the back making her black crouched silhouette seem all the more demonic and foreboding. Tucking his chin to his chest, Devesh's eyes narrowed as he attempted to focus. He knew it was her, though recognition took some time to show in those clouded eyes. He didn't want to get up, no matter that he knew he must. Ishanvi came and went as she pleased, but rarely only because she was bored.

"My Hearth Witch is going to have your hide, my dear," he said, noting the thickness of the tang in the air. She had to have been positively painted with blood. When he thought it though, he understood for the first time that he was only assuming that it wasn't her own.

Growling, he sat upright, calling in an orb of witchlight and moving quickly to the end of the bed. Taking her by the arm, he examined her, eyes scanning for wounds while his fingers probed scarred flesh for the depth of her injuries. "Ishanvi," he scolded in a whisper while he prowled about, sheets still tugging at his waist. He paid them little mind as he surveyed her skin.

Many things happened at once then. Using a Green thread, he called for a Healer, assistants, food, water, and wine. He probed the wildling for remnants of foreign Craft, bits of energy that didn't belong to her own unique soul and signature. Scowling, he caught Ishanvi's eyes for long enough to impart that whatever she'd taken part in, he likely didn't approve. She had never been one to keep self-preservation in the forefront of her thoughts when she fought. The priority was low on her list. Alive enough to fight and driven enough by the threat of death seemed to suit her. Devesh didn't like it. It was perilous and flippant with the strength and gifts that she'd been provided. Of all people, though, the Priest judged her less harshly, mainly because of her youth, but also due to her devotion.

"Bless the Night, you're alive," he marveled somewhat bitterly, not convinced that she would remain that way for long unless she received prompt treatment. Her inclination to confess something worried him, however, making him wonder if she herself had less faith in her overall longevity. There was no mask of pain on the young, explosive witch, though, no sign of distress in her expression. If anything, she appeared at peace. This wasn't uncommon for Ishanvi in the aftermath of some expenditure of blood and Craft.

Cursing under his breath, Devesh grunted, throwing back the covers and reaching for a puddle of black fabric on the platform next to the bed. Ishanvi was a woman now, but having known her since she was a child, Devesh had a strange feeling in the few moments that he was naked in front of her. Further embittered that he'd been made to care at all about his nudity, he pulled the black cloth across his waist and then wound it behind himself as he stood. If the Red witch was bothered to see him in such a state, she ought to have learned by now not to arrive in his bedchamber. He didn't turn back toward her until he'd tied and tucked the lungi satisfactorily, but then immediately returned to the bed.

Still scowling, he noticed the fresh decanter of water and two cups. He wished that he would have responded sooner to the summons as he bent to pour two glasses, offering one to Ishanvi first. How long had he been asleep? At least four hours, if not more. It was enough for an average night of rest for him, only more difficult after having gone without.

Straightening, Devesh finally leveled the full weight of his appraising stare on the beautiful monster that sat perched on his bed. If he was right and she was as savage as she was stunning, Nharkava was in trouble, but no more than those she deemed her enemies.

Offline Ishanvi Chakrabarti

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #3 on: Jan 29, 18, 12:57:51 AM »
My Hearth Witch is going to have your hide my dear, murmured the split souled Priest-Prince in a voice tired but lined with mirth. His mood shifted and it was the instant in which he realized some of the Blood she wore belonged to her.

The witch’s expression fell into a frown. She’d come to unburden her soul not receive triage that could be left til morning. Devesh’s clever fingers made quick work of finding the places craft and steel had savaged her flesh. .

Wildling’s injuries were nothing compared to what she’d done to her targets. Part of the assignment had been to send a message with the bodies she left behind. Ribbons of flesh painted an unmistakably vicious message. Their deaths had not been good; they passed on mutilated and begging for oblivion. It would take a skilled Black Widow days to scrub their fear and panic from the walls. The pain caused by the marks of her battle helped distract her from the weight in her chest and the grief that came in awful waves.

Once she’d loved the girl named Amani Basran very much. That time was gone and so was she.

Ishanvi’s breath hitched as her confessor found the most serious of her wounds. She hissed. Devesh’s examination passed. Ishanvi’s eyes, one shining like gold in the sun the other black as Night, looked away. She was not ashamed, she was annoyed to hear him so relieved. He dressed himself and Ishanvi watched, her impatient form swaying where she crouched.

Enough.” Isha dropped to sitting in the lotus position, what cuts Devesh had found (and those he hadnt) spilled upon his bed things and would indeed leave dark stains stubborn in their set as their source. As an afterthought she shielded, but used only the power of her Blood Opal. “I didn’t come for a nurse maid or a medicine woman. You are neither. Let me take you up high to pray beneath the nobel sky, far away from the witches you’ve roused from rest over what can wait.”

She pondered threatening to vanish before anyone could interrupt their counsel and remembered more than one occasion her brash demands and hubris failed to sway the Princely Priest’s favour as intended. He was as her Shan in that manner. Instead she appealed to his soul’s calling, and her soul’s need.

“Healers can’t help the poison working its way through me, Devesh. My ailment is of your blessings and Mother’s mercy. I’ve no patience left in me for anything else. Spare your women, spare my heart, lets just go to the altar.” A ghostly imitation of her usual grin flickered across her features. "I know a shortcut."
 


there is no reason to fear the wind

Offline Devesh Acharya

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #4 on: Jan 30, 18, 08:26:34 PM »
"Ishanvi," the man cautioned, his anchored gaze darkening. Neither the Priest nor the Prince represented him when he eyed her so dangerously. Lady Chakrabarti had deigned to call upon him unannounced, split open and irreverent as she spilled her sacred gift in such an impure place without a thought. Even if she didn't share the reverence that he paid to the substance that shared their name, she knew him well enough that her volatility bordered on contempt. Another man would have already judged her demeanor as such. But Devesh had expanded his consciousness into the space, alert to her distress from countless perspectives. Other than merely impertinent and in pain, Ishanvi was mourning.

Devesh could sense the life stirring in his wing of the main house. The Blood began to move through the halls, quickly setting themselves to their assigned tasks. He could neither see nor hear them without the extension of Craft, yet he did feel them, their signatures written on his heart the same as the spelled parchment that had sealed their lives in the service of Mother Night and her own faithful but fractured emissary. Soon, the Healers would arrive, and service fit to tend to Ishvani's wounds and Devesh's concerns. Ishvani dismissed him, however, disdainfully so. Jaw shifting, he ground his teeth together, schooling himself not to rise to her inciteful remarks or dismissive behavior. It was more important that he set a proper example of Mother Night's ever gathering embrace than it was for him to take exception due to whatever personal slight he felt had been unfairly leveled against him.

Objecting, but only with his disapproving expression, Devesh knelt on the platform in front of Ishvani, bringing his face level to her own. Lifting one hand, he nodded, though the deep set lines between his eyes seemed contrary to any agreeance coming from him. Resting his hand on her shoulder, his eyes flashed over her nearest injuries before settling again on her sour expression.

"What have you done?" he asked with wary shock.

He was resigned to the short jaunt that she meant to make with him though. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd whisked him into the winds to take him where she believed she needed to be. Clearly, he'd made enough of an impression on prior trips that she thought better of doing so again without his consent. Progress. Still, it seemed small and insignificant considering how she was still finding herself into so much trouble.

Devesh had a difficult time letting himself judge her too harshly. Her mannerisms could serve to be refined, but he wondered if she could only have one or the other, tact or brutality. They were hardly fruits from the same tree and the edge that her violent nature gave her could still be used to serve the Darkness very well indeed. Nevertheless, it wasn't always easy to receive the Wildling and whether she meant to or not, she tried his patience more than anyone he knew and still loved.

Sucked up into the aether, they only existed in between realms for a breath or two before the distinctly cooler air of the mountains entered the Priest's lungs. The small squad that he'd summoned would find his room and bedchamber empty, but none would be terribly surprised by it. Nothing tended to go as planned when Lady Chakrabarti came for a visit. Foregoing an arrival at the proper landing pad outside his mountain temple, Ishanvi instead brought them inside straight away. Devesh's bare feet finding the smooth stone floor as he pulled away from her, purposefully neglecting to call a light into the properly dark space. He knew his way through these corridors by heart.

Taking only a moment to orient himself, he turned and walked away from her, approaching a wall in the middle of a narrow passageway. The upper temple was less refined than the lower one, but there was power in those rough hewn walls, leftover scents of secret ceremonies and echoes of potent mantras that had been whispered into the Darkness. Dispelling a security web, a doorway appeared where they hadn't been one before, and Devesh pushed onward, dipping his head so that he could pass into the room beyond.

The cavern expanded in all directions once through the arch. There were no proper corners to the room, only space carved into the heart of the mountain. Like most altar rooms, a large smooth block of rock was the centerpiece here, but this one was made of ebon glass, impossibly perfect, each edge razor sharp, each facet a perfect reflection of any hint of light. Water trickled down the walls in tiny rivulets, gathering in natural pools on the hard and pocked ground beneath them. There were large clay jars beneath a few places where the mountain run off poured from overhead, but not enough to cover every minuature waterfall and nevertheless, the jars simply overflowed.

"Cleanse yourself," Devesh instructed as he weaved between the fluid ribbons and approached the altar. "Rinse away what blood that isn't yours to offer."

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #5 on: Apr 03, 18, 11:34:28 PM »
Twenty-one was not very many years to call one’s own. However, Isha’s demeanor had a way about her that caused even those close to her to forget her youth. Her intensity brought a gravity to her being that drew people and animals towards her even when she’d no desire for company. She was beautiful. She was strange. She was wild, and that sung to the blood of those who still honoured the ancient magic dancing in their veins.

For the first time, doing her duty to Nharkava left her weighed down instead of powerful and relieved. The contrast was startling to a woman rarely shocked. The twins were born weary of sin and hungry to make their mark. Growing up, each were serious in their own way. While others played they dreamed and discussed. Chakrabarti’s came into the world burdened by purpose and wore destiny with joy. To feel something so far from peace in the wake of a just kill was an awful discovery. Finally she understood why the Healer turned her away from the call she felt to her beautiful brethren, The Unchained. Something in her she hadn’t known she’d cherished, vanished with Amani’s last breath.

"What have you done?" asked Devesh, caution lacing the surprise of his tone. The witch swallowed hard. Tears stung mismatched eyes. She didn’t answer. It was not yet expected. Instead, Isha fell into the cruel clarity of her freshly made memories, her newly forged regret.

Isha, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? Amani screamed when entering her bedchamber to find her Glacian lover’s meat transfigured into vicious art across the floor, walls, and ceiling. The Priest’s query, pointed as it was fair, raised a fresh wave of grief. Sorrow, shame and fury suffused her psychic scent. Peace was not Ishanvi’s to know that night, it would not be for many following either. What she hoped for was absolution. Murder was no sin, not by their laws or those of the Darkness.

Ishanvi’d done what she was asked, what was necessary, what was most efficient and it somehow felt wrong. By everything she knew, everything she believed it made no sense. Amani was a traitor who worshipped at a false altar. By betraying Nharkava and Mother Night she’d all but asked to see of herself an example made.

Taking hold of Devesh she wrapped them both in the blessings of her Red. Hoping against hope she’d outrun the pain ran away from her own heart they rode quick as thought across the Sapphire nearest the bed where they lay. They dropped from the azure road and sweet dark embraced them. The Priest walked. Isha followed. Instead of calling for light she found her way by running her palm flat against smooth walls she knew well.

As commanded the witch washed herself free of that blood not hers. Vanishing her clothes, she stood beneath a point through which water flowed, nudging a jar to claim her place beneath cleansing grace. When finished she called in a robe of black silk, her own wounds ceased their bleeding by virtue of her own passable Healing Craft. It was better suited to horses than her own flesh, but it did the trick. She'd bleed for ritual or not at all. Wordlessly she approached the altar and knelt.

“I’m gripped by mourning I do not understand. What was done, had to be done, but my mouth tastes of ashes and iron.”





there is no reason to fear the wind

Offline Devesh Acharya

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Re: Faith and Fury
« Reply #6 on: Jan 09, 19, 09:34:18 PM »
Tucked into the smallest slivers of rocks were thin, wispy roots that descended from the unseen groves so much further overhead. The trees reached deep into the rock thirsty for the power that emanated from the stone below. Without light, the cavern had little to offer in the way of life except to the softly glowing fungus that thrived here. The illumination that was granted to the space was nearly insignificant and only noticeable once one's eyes adjusted to the imposing blackness of a near perfect dark. Then, however, as though awakening to a deeper level of one's self, the room would slowly come into focus, dim and yet eternally peaceful for those who might draw on such relief.

Kneeling on the ground, Devesh leaned over the shallow trail of water that led away from Ishanvi's form. Within the wash was the result of her efforts, remnants of a struggle, dust, sweat, and blood. The echoes of power in the mixture beckoned him as they always had and would. Placing his palm on the ground amid the trickling flow, the Priest connected with the subtle hints of spilled sustenance and then, with a whispered prayer, began to consecrate them. The sense of Ishanvi and the ferocity of her Jewels was strong despite how her blood had hardly tinted the gentle stream.

When he lifted his head, Ishanvi had stepped free from the flow of water. He watched as she draped a dark robe around her powerful shoulders, his eyes following as she proceeded to the altar and knelt there, resigned, it seemed. Pushing himself up from the ground, Devesh wiped the wet from his hand along an arm and stepped forward.

"Have you forsaken your path, daughter of Night?" he asked, his words barely louder than the movement of water all around and separated only by the rich depth of his voice.

Resting a hand on Ishanvi's shoulder, his eyes slid shut as he tapped the font of his Purple Dusk and sought to weave tendrils of his own enduring presence around the troubled witch. He didn't know what it was that plagued her; he only had a faint impression of how it had sickened her soul. Within the depths of the Darkness, he would yoke his spirit to hers in order to preserve and protect. Here, where their souls walked about within tangible forms, he could only show her the symbolic act by embracing her in this intimate way, wordlessly reminding her that she needn't bear the entire weight of her suffering because she was not alone.

"If our Mother has brought you to this juncture, she will not only deliver you, true child, she will reward you."