[Aminatu]

HP 100% | MP 100%

Paladin - Cavalier - Blacksmith

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Three months ago...


Music had blessed her and cursed her all in one night. The song from her lips earned her the pouch of glittering gemstones and coins. The song of their jingling earned the winged woman the attention of scoundrels, who sprouted like weeds from the cracks of the alleyway and left her surrounded. Instinct was to flee, but there wasn't much room for that here. The next was to fight, but there was no quiver at her hip, nor bow strung around her, and with anything less than that, she was prey.



The next instinct was to slip away, like a fox dancing upon the sands, and /that/, at least, seemed to work in her favor. The leaping thief lost his balance in the act, and tripped over a loose stone in the cobbles. Yet the other two were upon her before she could capitalize, with knives drawn and eyes brimming. One brimming not with hate, nor even with malice. Brimming with the ferocity of a man who had to be by his very nature, lest he end up as the prey. She felt cold steel, but it's kiss against her dusky skin was gentle. There were monsters among Romalians and Heliopolites , but the man staring back at her was merely surviving. Kindred to that goal, and not quite assured the other two wouldn't split her skin, she relinquished the pouch. The one working to his feet grabbed for it greedily, and came at her with far more malice when the pouch burst open and sent coins and gems clattering. But that sound, too, was music.



And in her, it found resonance and vibrations that echoed up through her toes. Mysticism itself swirled around her, unseen by the thieves. And it manifested... in a voice. A voice that boomed with the ferocity of a lion, and belonged to the long, growing shadow of a Enoch woman at the mouth of the alleyway. The voice was one most familiar to Taliset, but to these scoundrels, rang with enough authority that there could be no doubt it was a guard. He had their attention for all of two seconds. To look any longer was to risk capture, so they pawed up what they could and scattered, but not before the one she'd tripped repaid the favor, making her kiss cobbles and bleed from the mouth before disappearing into shadows. "Thank you, Aminatu." Taliset groaned out the words. She had no need to look at the mouth of the alleyway, however, to know that he wasn't there. The shadow was gone. The voice it belonged to, nothing more than a trick of the wind.



A third of her reward was recovered, and done quickly, before she fled the scene. No need to attract the attention of suspicious guards. She had everything handled. This is what she told herself as she nursed the cut on her lip and the bruise on her chin. The next day, when she couldn't afford the enchanted curio of Hasad af-Benaz, a mystical, bejeweled lamp said to contain the man's poetic soul, she was forced to bite her tongue as another woman strode off with it in hand. A week later, that woman was dead and the curio back in the hands of the eccentric importer. It was then, Taliset decided, her parents had lied to her about being born under the Lover, for she apparently had the luck of the Thief.


Two Months Ago...

Light seared the verdant eyes so suddenly exposed to the harsh midday sun, as the sack that had blinded Taliset was torn away. Around her, the lamenting moans of her fellow captives was like a discordant song, all singing the same chorus, but out of rhythm. They were sent here to die, but she had come to live. Others languished beneath the heat of the sun, regretting the choices that had brought them here. She relished the heat, for never did she feel more blessed by the Gods than when enduring the light that had baked her skin in dark hues, but failed to burn. In her mind, another song had taken root, drowning the din around her. That song spoke of survival at any cost, and crooned of hope. For without hope, she had come all this way for nothing, and that was a thought that /must/ be drowned out before it could grow in her mind. The sun fell, as though it were King that had been deposed by the rule of night. Amidst darkness, the groans of those around her began to die. Moonlight became her cool blanket, a kiss upon her skin relieving the wrath of the day. Bleary eyes peeked between dark lashes, as footsteps deformed the sands in a sudden approach. She caught the glint of steel catch against luminescence, and it sang as it slashed toward her post. In relief, pain was acknowledged, and she groaned as she hit the sands, unable to lift herself with her usual performer's grace. The same note repeated around her, steel against post, a crack like bones breaking, the cries of the exiled as they, too, joined her on the sands. Men and women clad in dark linens, their faces shrouded, overlooked their new prize. Down the line they went, appraising the fallen with the cruelty of disassociation in their gaze. In those eyes, it became clear this wasn't intended as a saving grace. Taliset's eyes peered back, alight with the fire in her heart. The fire for her Aminatu. And the fool cupping her chin spoke. "I want this one."


One Month Ago...

A silhouette of a gaunt ebony female figure with wings began to take shape among the the ebb of the cutting dust storm. By it’s long braid, the woman held a severed head, only one eye socket clearly visible. Decay has already begun to melt the face’s flesh, exposing the white of bone underneath. The other side fared much better. Then, without uttering a sound, the woman shifted her gaze to pierce the eyes of the weary warrior. “Come, kill me! I am ready for death!” she shouted with a cold intensity, prepared to meet her end at last.



Aminatu gritted her teeth. The Setite was every measure a famed swordsman. He had a maddening knack for countering every brutal blow that Aminatu struck. The Serpent-like warrior’s precise cuts and thrusts showed a mastery of a style that prolonged combat and fatigued one’s forearm: The attack’s concentrated on Aminatu’s khopesh, not Aminatu herself. The daughter of Horus could have fought in this manner until sunset without growing weary. Of course, Aminatu had other concerns, namely the other mounted warrior who was riding off with Taliset. The beleaguered huntsmaster changed her tactics and began to back towards the supine Naga, who lay unmoving.



The Setite swordsman neither slowed nor pressed his attack. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he kept up his dizzying bladework. The longer he fought, the more complex his style became, until even Aminatu could not follow the endless series of remises, redoublements, and ripostes. Aminatu’s khopesh flashed in response, a blur of flickering steel. The winged huntress’s movements were purely instinctive: only her unwavering speed and agility with her shield made her a match for the masterly Naga.



Year 750, Day of the Apocalypse





Very slowly and gently, the Desert nomad dipped the next bottle into the water, her eyes narrowing slightly as she felt a ping of exhaustion cross her body. It was not fierce enough to knock her out, but it was enough to make her head bob. She rumbled at the sight and blinked hard several times, waking herself from the slight daze. Her energy levels were probably low, though the lack of a rumbling in her stomach worried her. As she pushed the bottle in her hands beneath the water, her eyes drifted to the sun which had almost reached it’s zenith in the sky; it was nowhere near close to the time of “lunch”, but was too late to be that of “breakfast”. If she wanted to have something to eat, then it would have to be something small before her prayers to Horus that were made at the point when the sun was highest in the sky.



“Harami…” A light seething kiss of her teeth escaped her lips as she squinted at the reflection of the golden Romalian Denarius Aereus; the accursed ill-gotten gains used for the purchase of her people. Harami...a word that meant “bastard” in her native tongue. That’s what they were. The one’s who held her people captive. Godless bastards and whores. The calluses of her sun scorched fingers tightened harder around the coin with an animosity that matched the scowl on her face as she tucked away the coin into a pouch. “Praise be unto Horus. Another defiler buried in the sand. Blessed are we that wield Anhur’s rage. With you, I shatter nations, with you I destroy Kingdoms.” The cork, which was tied to the bottle in her hand, was pushed down into the open lid. Once that was done, she deposited the bottle into her inventory, turned to her left, then grabbed the next bottle, and the line wasn’t getting any shorter it seemed. Her expeditions were getting more and more costly it seemed. Long, far away from Heliopolis, and a pain in the arse.

However, she was not alone, with her came the members of the Khi'Fika tribe masquerading under the clever guise of traveling merchants while seeking to gather intel within the city. She reflected on their journey across the dunes, the sound of thunderous hooves rampaging through crimson sand stained by the blood of the fallen as she commanded her steed, Anhur, the mount that the winged cavalier championed and named after the Heliopolite God of War. She trusted the warhorse far more than she trusted any outsider of her tribe. The animal was often her sole confidant amidst her travels and there he laid by her side, drinking from the river, with several packs on his back that brought fond memories. Memories of the scorching sands under the Sun and Ankh. 



Later that afternoon...





The family members have tears in their eyes when they welcome Aminatu back to the inn from her long journey. 



"Thank you so much for coming."



She understands the situation immediately.



The time for departure is drawing near.



Too soon, too soon.



But still, she knows, this day would have come sometime, and not in the distant future.



"I might never see you again," The prepubescent Alv child said to her with a sad smile when she left on this journey, her smiling face almost transparent in its whiteness, so fragile—and therefore indescribably beautiful—as she lay in bed.





"Salam, sayyid. May I see Hanna now?" The Desert Nomad asks.



The innkeeper gives her a tiny nod and says, "I don't think she'll know who you are, though."



"She hasn't opened her eyes since last night," The trembling Alv warns Aminatu. “You can tell from the slight movement of Hanna’s chest that she is clinging to a frail thread of life, but it could snap at any moment.”



"It's such a shame. I know you made a special point to come here for her..."



Another tear glides down the wife's cheek.



"Bas, never mind, it's fine." Aminatu says.



She has been present at innumerable deaths, and her experience with the landers has taught her much.



Death takes away the power of speech first of all. Then the ability to see.



What remains alive to the very end, however, is the power to hear. Even though the person has lost consciousness, it is by no means unusual for the voices of the family to bring forth smiles or tears.



Aminatu puts her arm around the woman's shoulder and says, "Tashakor, Sayyida, I have lots of travel stories to tell her. I've been looking forward to this my whole time on the road."



Instead of smiling, the woman releases another large tear and nods to Aminatu, "And Hanna was so looking forward to hearing your stories."



Her sobs almost drown out her words.



The lander innkeeper says, "I wish I could urge you to rest up from your travels before you see her, but..."



Aminatu interrupts his apologies, "Of course, I'll see her right away."



There is very little time left.



Hanna, the only daughter of the innkeeper and his wife, will probably breathe her last before the sun comes up.



Aminatu lowers her pack to the floor and quietly opens the door to Hanna's room.





Hanna was frail from birth. Far from enjoying the opportunity to travel, she rarely left the town or even the neighborhood in which she was born and raised.



This child will probably not live to adulthood, the cleric told her parents.



This tiny girl, with extraordinarily beautiful doll-like features, the gods had dealt an all-too-sad destiny.



That they had allowed her to be born the only daughter of the keepers of a small inn within the heart of Romalia was perhaps one small act of atonement for such iniquity.



Hanna was unable to go anywhere, but the guests who stayed at her parent’s inn would tell her stories of the countries and towns and landscapes and people that she would never know.



Whenever new guests arrived at the inn, Hanna would ask them,



"Where are you from?" "Where are you going?"



"Can you tell me a story?"





She would sit and listen to their stories with sparkling eyes, urging them on to new episodes with "And then? And then?" When they left the inn, she would beg them, "Please come back, and tell me lots and lots of stories about faraway lands!"



She would stand there waving until the person disappeared far down the highway, give one lonely sigh, and go back to bed.



Hanna is sound asleep.



No one else is in the room, perhaps an indication that she has long since passed the stage when the clerics can do anything for her.



Aminatu sits down in the chair next to the bed and says with a smile.



"Salam, Hanna, I’m back."



She does not respond. Her little chest, still without the swelling of a grown woman, rises and falls almost imperceptibly.





"I went far across the ocean this time, pari." Aminatu tells her. "The ocean on the side where the sun comes up. I took a boat from the harbor way way way far beyond the mountains you can see from this window, and I was on the sea from the time the moon was perfectly round till it got smaller and smaller then bigger and bigger until it was full again. There was nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see. Just the sea and the sky. Can you imagine it, Hanna? You’ve never seen the ocean, but I’m sure people have told you about it. It’s like a huge, big endless puddle."



Aminatu chuckles to herself, and it seems to her that Hanna’s pale white cheek moves slightly.





She can hear her. Even if she cannot speak or see, her ears are still alive.



Believing and hoping this to be true, Aminatu continues with the story of her travels.



She speaks no words of parting.



As always with Hanna, Aminatu smiles with a special gentleness she has never shown to anyone else, and he goes on telling her tales with a bright voice, sometimes even accompanying her story with exaggerated gestures.



She tells her about the blue ocean.



She tells her about the blue sky.



She says nothing about the violent sea battle that stained the ocean red when the Khi’fika had slaughtered the pirates of the black coast.



She never tells her about those things.



Hanna was still a tiny girl when Aminatu first visited the inn.



When she asked her "Where are you from?" and "Will you tell me some stories?" with her childish pronunciation and innocent smile, Aminatu felt a soft glow in her chest.



At the time, she was returning from a battle.



More precisely, she had ended one battle and was on her way to the next.



Her life consisted of traveling from one battlefield to another, and nothing about that has changed to this day.



She had taken the lives of countless enemy landers, and witnessed the deaths of countless comrade landers on the battlefield. Moreover, the only thing separating enemies from comrades is the slightest stroke of fortune. Had the gears of destiny turned in a slightly different way, her enemies would have been comrades and her comrades enemies, This is the fate of the mercenary within the tribal warband of the Khi’fika.





She was spiritually worn down back then and feeling unbearably lonely. For over two centuries now, the Enoch of the sands had cheated Osiris, which was precisely why each of the lander soldier’s faces distorted in fear, and why each face of a man who died in agony was burned permanently into her brain.



Ordinarily, she would spend nights on the road drinking. Immersing herself in an alcoholic stupor—or pretending to. She was trying to make herself forget the unforgettable. The misfortune of being a beacon of hubris. You can help everyone else forget their pain, but you can never forget your own.



When, however, she saw Hanna’s smile and begged her for stories about her long journey, she felt a far warmer and deeper comfort then she could even obtain from liquor.





She told her many things...



About the beautiful flower she discovered on the battlefield.



About the bewitching beauty of the mist filling the forest the night before the final battle.



About the marvelous taste of the spring water in a ravine where she and her tribe had fled after losing the battle.



About a vast, bottomless blue sky she saw after battle.





He never told her anything sad. She kept her mouth shut about the human ugliness and stupidity she witnessed endlessly on the battlefield. She concealed her position as a mercenary for her, kept silent regarding her reasons for traveling constantly, and spoke only of things that were beautiful and sweet and lovely. She sees now that she told Hanna only beautiful stories of the road like this not so much out of concern for her purity, but for her own sake.





Staying in the inn where Hanna waited to see her turned out to be one of Aminatu’s small pleasures in life. Telling her about the memories she brought back from her journeys, she felt some degree of salvation, however slight. Five months, ten months, her friendship with the girl continued. Little by little, she neared adulthood, which meant that, as the doctors had predicted, each day brought her that much closer to death.





And now, Aminatu ends the last travel story she will share with her.



She can never see her again, can never tell her stories again.



Before dawn, when the darkness of night is at its deepest, long pauses enter into Hanna’s breathing.



The frail thread of her life is about to snap as Aminatu and her parents watch over her.



The tiny light that has lodged in Aminatu’s breast will be extinguished.



Her lonely travels will begin again tomorrow—her long, long travels without end.





"You’ll be leaving on travels of your own soon, Hanna." Aminatu tells her gently.



"You’ll be leaving for a world that no one knows, a world that has never entered into any of the stories you have heard so far. Finally, you will be able to leave your bed and walk anywhere you want to go. You’ll be free."



She wants her to know that death is not sorrow but a joy mixed with tears.



"It’s your turn now. Be sure and tell everyone about the memories of your journey."



Her parents will make that same journey someday. And someday Hanna will be able to meet other lander guests she has known at the inn, far beyond the sky.





I, however, can never go there.



What awaits me is the greater plane of Heliopolis.



I can never see you again.



"This is not goodbye. It’s just the start of your journey."



She speaks her final words to her.



"We’ll meet again."



Her final lie to her.



Hanna makes her departure.



Her face is transfused with a tranquil smile as if she has just said,



"See you soon."



Her eyes will never open again. A single tear glides slowly down her cheek.



Her body begins to illuminate a brilliant white angelic tone, shortly before life shatters like shards of glass.





Aminatu’s face grows cold, as a frigid sensation chills her nerves. She looks up to the innkeeper, as he tries to console his wife, while trying to hold back tears of his own.





Silently, she grabs her pack, rests a tender hand on the innkeeper's shoulder, and begins to embark on yet another journey.





She leaves the coin purse on the counter and begins to place her signature upon the checkout sheet.





Many landers had been gathered at the inn. It was a rarity for anyone who passed through the area on their travels not to know the poor girl.





Their eyes fell upon Aminatu with hopeful glimmers. The Paladin shook her head in a negative response, turning their dreams to dust.

INVENTORY

EQUIPMENT: Arm of Heliopolis, Starter Heliopolite shield, Heliopoilte Platemail
ABILITIES USED:
TAGS: Johanna
Word Count: 3563

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