DarkSirenSally/RyshassaHistory
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Ryshassa's History
"I was a perfect child of the Dynasty in my youth -- or at least, that was what I strove to be. I had no reason not to be, for the Dynasty and my parents gave me everything that allowed me to live."
"To give back, in what little way I could, seemed only fair to me."
Ryshassa was born in Pangu Prefecture, spending the first few years of her life in her parents' expansive manor, a jewel of uncommon beauty surrounded by the choiciest of verdant scenery. She was the first child of Cynis Wisel Sydrea, herself a young Dragon-Blooded recently married to her schoolmate and training partner in the House of Bells, Mnemon Vidran. Both shared a taste for pleasure mixed with pain that they quickly found an avenue to explore through House Cynis' infamous orgies. For a few years after their graduation, they reaped the rewards of their grueling training, spending many a night in the company of potential lovers, voyeurs and sex slaves when their duties did not call them away from home. Their daughter was of little consequence during this time, her care delegated to trusted servants who would teach her the basics of life in the Dynasty while they tended to their "business" elsewhere on the Blessed Isle.
Eventually it came to the attention of Ryshassa's parents that she was developing an early talent for musical performance. Listening her play the flute, which she was more than passable with, and the lyre, with which she was exceptional, sparked for the first time their interest in her developing abilities. They began to take time from her tutoring to bring her to guests and bid her play, taking an interest in her newfound abilities much like an owner amused by a pet. They asked her tutor more specific questions about how she was faring in her studies. She was a very attentive, well-behaved student, her tutor claimed; she seemed to possess a second nature for understanding what her elders expected of her. She loved to read, particularly about medicine and anatomy, often skipping ahead in the books on such topics she was given to study. Though not particularly strong or quick on her feet, she had a healthy endurance that allowed her to stay on her feet for hours.
"I loved to play in the manor gardens when my tutor, Anafaia, allowed me some free time from my studies. She was several decades old, a seasoned tutor in her prime, who nonetheless doted on me as much as the constrictions of Dynastic society would allow. I found out much later that she was Sydrea's unExalted elder sister, allowed to live on her property in order to prepare their children for primary school education."
"It was more for her than anything, I think, that I was so well-behaved as a child. She always seemed so sad, so broken to me, her shoulders bowed with resignation. But she always smiled when I played my music, when I recited to her the wonders I had learned from a night of study, that first time I managed to beat her at Gateway --" Ryshassa laughs softly, holding the scented hem of a kimono sleeve to her mouth, before her gaze turns distant and wistful.
"To my parents, I showed nothing but the utmost respect, but she was the first person I truly loved, and the first who showed me the value of humility."
Ryshassa's parents were not systematically, deliberately cruel. They simply strove to push her to her limits, and because she was so reserved and made such an effort to please them, they took drastic measures to provoke a reaction from her. One particular issue that increasingly worried Vidran as her first day of primary school approached was the fact that she lacked any interest for combat or, indeed, any motivation at all to protect herself from malicious action. She was, to his eyes, weak and unambitious, and in a society as competitive as that of the Dragon-Blooded, such traits would lead to a swift death or an assignment to some useless post generated simply to keep her out of the way. Ryshassa was an amusement to her parents, but ultimately, she counted as one of their most valuable investments. For her to die too soon or waste her life in mediocrity would render worthless the resources they expended on her.
"Are you afraid of me?" Vidran asked, his head tilted in amusement even as he stalked around his daughter in a casually predatory stance, regarding her with dark, intensely analytical eyes.
Ryshassa remained still, kneeling on the soft groundcover of the Weeping Gardens of her parents' estate, its ferny surface sprinkled with the small, white, dew-kissed flowers of new spring. Above them the branches of ancient willows arched and swayed in the gentle breeze that rustled through their verdant buds of freshly unfurling leaves. As she lowered her head respectfully in response, her blue-black hair fell forward like a curtain surrounding the young bluejay perched carefully and trustingly on her hand.
"You are my honored father," she replied simply. She could feel Anafaia's worried eyes on her from behind, even as she withdrew to a respectful distance from the master of the house. "My life is in your hands."
Vidran chuckled briefly, a deep, sonorous sound that rang in her ears as his booted feet made a crisp quarter turn, bringing him to a halt directly in front of her. "It is good that you know your place in the hierarchy that defines our good Empire. But you cannot remain static indefinitely, even if you so effectively give the impression of being harmless. Eventually one of your peers -- or siblings, even -- may strive to take your place in your parents' regard. Eventually you will no longer be under our protection and must struggle to define your new place among your competitive peers. What will you do then?" Bending down, he took firm hold of his daughter's chin and lifted her face towards his, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Bow your head?"
Sydrea, her mother, had given birth to a second daughter three years hence -- Atmadja, a spitfire of bright red hair and piercing violet eyes, whose willfulness already contrasted sharply with her sister's calm, passive nature. Ryshassa could not imagine competing with her for anything; their parents already showed her significant favor, taking her insistence on establishing her individuality as a sign of eventual leadership skills.
"I do not like fighting, Father." Ryshassa's fingers, almost by their own volition, carefully stroked the sensitive neck of her newfound avian friend. "Others can do so as they wish. I prefer to believe it is my calling to repair the damage done."
"Is that so?" Vidran released her and pulled back, making as if to straighten into a standing position -- then thrust his hand forward in a pincer motion, wrenching the bluejay mercilessly from its innocent perch on her hand. It struggled valiantly in his grasp, its wings fluttering madly in a spray of feathers as its head rolled in wild-eyed fear. "Some damage is irreparable. Will you fight for a life wrongly taken?"
Ryshassa let out a gasp of dismay, lunging instinctively to reclaim the bird or free it, even as she realized the futility of it all -- her father gripped it hard enough to crush, and the creature would not live much longer. He dodged her easily, of course, stepping back gracefully as she fell face first in the lush carpet of flora beneath them. With seemingly casual indifference, he tossed the twitching body of the bluejay inches from her head, just close enough that she could lift her face from the ground and witness its final death throes in agonizing detail.
"You should not waste your efforts on such fleeting specimens of life," he murmured, already striding past her towards the Garden's entrance gate. "Think on your place in the Realm, Ryshassa... and of your future."
In the last couple of years before Ryshassa's sending off to primary school, Anafaia suddenly disappeared. No explanation was offered nor given by her successor, a stoic older man with silvery grey hair and a wiry but surprisingly strong frame. His brand of tutoring was a constant, relentless barrage of information and activity -- everything that she and her sister (who joined the tutoring sessions as soon as he was installed) were bade to do in his presence was geared towards training their minds, bodies and social skills for life in primary school and beyond. Ryshassa excelled at the social aspect of their training while Atmadja excelled in the physical; together, they helped round out each other's strengths and weaknesses, though Ryshassa never made a more than passable effort in physical education and Atmadja always fidgeted and faltered at least somewhat no matter how much she practiced a speech in private. Putting them together in tutoring had the effect of toning down Atmadja's often embarrassing bouts of stubbornness, something her sister suspected was her parents' intention, but also developed a bond of sisterhood between them that was unusual in most Dragon-Blooded families.
Then came Ryshassa's ninth birthday. The resplendent celebration in her honor was a stressful experience in which she was expected to validate every bit of bragging rights her parents claimed about her over the years. Her only consolement in that time was the fact all children of the Dynasty suffer the same, though she had the fortune of achieving a perfect performance during the highlight of the party -- her music recital. She piqued the interest of many an appraising eye, and the jealousy of many of her peers, during the course of that event, but reacted to the attention with only humility and a near maddening indifference for the potential such abilities may entail. Early the next morning, she and her belongings were sent away with little concern and fanfare to the primary school at Sion in Incas Prefecture, where she would spend the majority of the next six years.
"My parents hardly looked at me before I left. Not surprisingly, of course -- Dragon-Blooded parents rarely hold a deep connection with their offspring, as mortal parents do. Perhaps it is a mark of their longer lifespan, because one day a child could grow up to be a rival."
Ryshassa shakes her head lightly, her slippered feet pacing across the rock solid flooring of the modest quarters she shares with her companion, who neglects the book resting on his lap to watch her with a pensive, deeply protective gaze. "Atmadja, on the other hand... even then, she clutched close to her pride like a treasure, but I could tell from her eyes that she would miss me. She insisted that I tell her all about my life at school as soon as our parents sent me home to visit, which... turned out to be much more often than I expected..."
Her voice falters as she turns away from the light of the natural fireplace warming them both, silken strands of midnight-dark hair whispering through the air before settling into a delicate curtain behind her. Her back and shoulders stiffen slightly, just enough that her companion rises abruptly to his feet to join her, his reading quickly forgotten in the face of his concern. She shakes her head in quiet protest, but remains still as he enfolds her in his arms from behind, murmuring soft, soothing words in her ear. He holds her for a time, a fragile white dove in the wise crow's embrace, as the silence stretches between them and her muscles slowly begin to relax.
"It was years ago," she whispers distractedly, already pushing gently at his arms to be released. He does so, but reluctantly, recalling multiple moments just like this one over their years together, reminding himself how many moments in the future there would be in which she blames herself for all the ills of her past with the Dragon-Blooded. "I did as my parents bade me to do, for my peaceful nature displeased them. Within the workings of Dynastic society, they did no wrong. I lived to serve their purposes, for I had no desire to seize power for my own..."
Ryshassa's primary school years were particularly difficult for her to bear. She speaks little of them in detail, not wanting it to reflect negatively on her family, despite the fact she now knows full well of the hand the Bronze Faction Sidereals played in shaping the Dynasty into what it is today. She is much more likely to put herself down than ever speak ill of her parents, beyond the fact that they are, as all Dragon-Blooded, "victims of the society they live in."
The difficulty was not so much in her schooling -- in fact, she excelled in her classes, enough to make up for her fumbling and hesitation during the basic combat training all students were given. Of course, this meant her one greatest weakness was well known and exploited by all those who envied her high marks, for they knew that if confronted and threatened, she would endure their torment rather than strike back in defense. Hurting her physically held little satisfaction for her tormentors after some time, though, for it allowed her to develop a high resistance to pain and injury. What wounds she did sustain she preferred to tend to herself, refusing to run to her teachers every time she was hurt by one of her peers -- which, unfortunately, was quite often. Her attitude made for a lonely existence at school, but she felt little need to "prove" herself to her peers, preferring instead to hone her own skills in order to better serve her family. Whatever tears she may have shed in the process, she saved for the privacy of her own room.
Her extracurricular activities were a different matter altogether. Sydrea and Vidran insisted on bringing their daughter home from school on the weekends to attend parties and other functions in which she would be exposed to the social environment of her elders. In actuality, she spent very little time in the manor she grew up in, though at times she found the opportunity to visit with her sister and give her a watered down -- and of course much less grueling -- account of how primary schooling would be.
Eventually Atmadja herself was sent to the primary school at Chanos, where she would begin a regimen of intense military training that would take her all the way through her education at the House of Bells. Atmadja's Exaltation came surprisingly early, only a few months after her admittance into Chanos, her incandescent anima coalescing into a proud, fire-maned horse with hooves sparking flames. Ryshassa, on the other hand, would spend the entirety of her primary school years wondering what previously undetectable flaw in her body or behavior kept her from realizing her birthright. Despite the leagues of difference in ability that Atmadja gained on her sister upon being chosen by Hesiesh, she never lost any love or respect for her, and often worried about what fate would befall her if she never Exalted at all.
With Atmadja's Exaltation, the pressures placed upon Ryshassa multiplied many-fold, while attention was lauded upon her younger sister for her most minute of achievements. The focus of her extracurricular activities shifted from mingling at public functions with the likes of patricians, bureaucrats and prominent Dragon-Blooded from other walks of life to servicing some of the very same figures in private affairs discreetly arranged by her mother, who had for some time been negotiating to sell her services as a sex slave in the event that she failed to Exalt. Ryshassa's pleasant demeanor, subservient nature, high tolerance for pain and exceptional skill at music made her a sought-after commodity for the very type of individual that attended the high-profile orgies frequented by Sydrea and her husband. Under her mother's own tutelage, Ryshassa learned the necessary techniques to pleasure both male and female clients -- short of sexual intercourse, for her virginity would be her most prized attribute of all when the bidding finally began.
Conscious of her own failings, Ryshassa struggled against her own shame to exceed Sydrea's expectations. As a result, her attentions in the bedroom came to be requested quite often, particularly by those with a taste for young women just barely flowering into puberty. One man in particular, Cynis Salagin -- Sydrea's own cousin -- requested her presence more often than any other, and was said to have amassed quite a fortune in jade simply to own her for his own. His sexual tastes ran red and cruel with blood, and he experienced great satisfaction in testing Ryshassa's physical limits in both torture and pleasure. Even Sydrea found his interest in her alarming, and eventually refused him any further access to her, but he would have none of it.
Only days before her graduation from Sion, as she rested in her room at her parents' estate, Salagin forced himself upon her with the intent of taking her virginity for himself, hoping to ruin her appeal in the eyes of the other contenders for her ownership. This terrible deed triggered her long-delayed Exaltation, which in turn would determine the path she would walk for the rest of her life.
"Don't scream," Salagin whispered into her ear, then muffled her with a deep, tongue-probing kiss as she opened her mouth in feeble protest. She stiffened beneath him, wide-eyed with incredulous fear as she felt his hardening shaft grind slowly against the sensitive folds of her vagina. "I know how much you love to scream for me, dearest Ryshassa, but this time --"
"DON'T LET HIM TOUCH YOU!"
The voice seemed to come from nowhere, echoing through her mind with such raw and terrible anguish that it shocked her into action. She struggled to shift her legs aside from beneath his muscular bulk, her small, slender fingers digging futilely into his shoulders. "Not even you can do this, Master Salagin," she gasped desperately, her arms straining to push him away. "My honored mother has forbidden it, and it is she who owns me now, not you!"
"She is not here, my dear, and you have no right to determine your own fate -- certainly not here and now, in the arms of an Exalted. I am your better in every way, and you know that more intimately than most of your kind, do you not?" He chuckled softly, brushing rogue strands of hair from her porcelain pale face even as she flinched at his touch. "Surely Sydrea, of all people, would not waste her breath to fight for your... 'rights', if you could call them that."
Unbidden tears leapt to her eyes as she took in the undeniable truths buried in his words. Without her Exaltation, she was no better than the slaves of the Cynis house -- even worse, for her parents have wasted so much time, effort and money on her for nothing. Years of exposure to the teachings of the Immaculate Order made her reaction to his taunting a near instinctive one.
"Good," Salagin crooned, his hungry, possessive gaze sweeping over her vulnerable flesh. "You are such a good child, my beautiful, wounded bird." He smiled down at her, a twisted display of benevolence, as she slowly lowered her arms and spread open her shuddering thighs to allow him entry. "But you should feel no need to cry. You should feel fortunate, to be able to share this single moment with me."
Ryshassa forced herself to relax as the tip of his swollen sex penetrated between her labia and began to slide inside her, stretching the opening painfully wide. "So tight," he whispered hoarsely as his hands pinned her shoulders against the bed. "Be still, my virgin flower --" She threw her head back, choking back a cry of agony, as his hips thrust forward sharply, driving his cock through the intruding pressure of her hymen with single-minded ruthlessness.
"NO!" someone screamed, but Salagin seemed not to care, if he could even hear it at all. It made no difference to her anymore, the voice that cried out inside her like a promise of freedom. Such a possibility was a distant, unachievable dream; she would have preferred that she was dreaming now, dreaming away this sordid scene of violation and pain in a wash of healing, obliterating light.
Above her, Salagin continued to please himself with her body, his forceful, urgent thrusts lancing into her womb. Words of perverse encouragement escaped between gasps of labored breath as he gathered her against him, burying his face against the side of her sweat-drenched neck. Ryshassa moaned helplessly, shutting her eyes against the reality of her situation --
And the light of hope blossomed within her.
Light everywhere -- even with her eyes closed tight it overwhelmed her vision, soothed her aches with a salve-like warmth, filled her ears with a mellifluous melody reminiscent of her fingers running smoothly across lyre strings, lifting her spirits with the beauty of flawless song. She felt as a butterfly must feel, encased in a cocoon of darkness until the change of seasons calls her from her rest, her damp, delicate wings unfolding with the flowers of spring, gaining strength with the sunlight that feeds all life. Every bit of agony she had lived tied to the ground was suddenly insignificant compared to the thrumming Essence that seemed to flow through her veins and vibrate in her very cells, crying out for her to fly and soar free from the shackles of a Realm that could never understand what she had always wanted to be!
She reached out with her body, her senses, her entire being, straining against everything she had known, against the impossibility of what was happening to her -- and touched what had been most forbidden to her, and indeed, to all those under the jurisdiction of the Dragon-Blooded. The Unconquered Sun smiled upon her, filling her with the blinding ecstasy of long-awaited fulfillment that quickly spiraled into the twin realities of shock and fear as her mortal mind began to comprehend what she had become.
"Anathema," Salagin's voice spat hatefully, cutting through her light-soaked senses. "You -- you bitch!"
Ryshassa's eyes snapped open just as he lunged for her, still unclothed and unarmed, but dangerous enough to break her. The air around him rumbled with the Essence of one touched by Pasiap, Ivory Dragon of Earth, imbuing his bare hands with crushing strength. Her anima flared -- shimmering butterfly wings filling the room with scintillating, gem-toned multicolored light -- as she reacted in self-defense, absorbing the first blow harmlessly and partly resisting the second, the resultant bruise already fading as her body's regenerative powers increased. Salagin landed solidly on his feet at the edge of the bed, his handsome face contorted with rage and loathing -- and promptly faltered as an unanticipated blow struck him from behind.
"Stop hurting my sister!" Atmadja cried out from behind him, her body wreathed in a ghostly corona of flame. In her young but able hands she clutched twin curved blades held edge outward and parallel to her body, one of which already dripped and glistened with Salagin's blood.
Hissing with pain, Salagin averted his gaze from Ryshassa just long enough to recognize her younger sister glaring up at him with brazen defiance. "You foolish child. Will you attack one of your elders in defense of this Unclean abomination? Dragon-Blooded for miles around will have felt this one Exalt. She will not live long with the Hunt after her -- if she will even bother to defend herself from them!"
"You say these things when you desired her so deeply before? I saw how eagerly you took her on that very bed! You disgust me!" Atmadja's attention shifted briefly to her sister, who knelt in the sheets where her virginal blood had been spilled, her fingers reaching incredulously to touch the Caste Mark still branded into her forehead, a golden circle with its top half filled with gold. "Sister, surely there... there must be a mistake. You cannot be one of them, not when you have lived your life doing nothing but good for others! Whatever he did to you, it must have..."
Salagin interrupted her string of weak excuses with a short, barking laugh. "You think that this is a singular occurrence? This Anathema whore has been pleasuring men and women since before your first year at school! How could you, her own sister, not know such a thing?"
"I-is that true?" Atmadja hesitated briefly, her appraising eyes fixing upon Salagin and her sister in turn. "Ryshassa, why--?"
"It is all right, sister," Ryshassa reassured her softly, shaking her head. "I... I will no longer resist. He is right -- I deserve to die. I have been nothing but trouble for everyone. So please, don't fight. Don't get yourself involved with me. Just..." She averted her face in shame, her mass of disheveled hair shifting to obscure the tears that stained her cheeks. "Just leave."
"Now wait a minute! You can't just give up like that! You... you can't!!" Atmadja's own anima erupted from behind her, the raging steed rearing up defiantly on all fours, hooves kicking up flames as they lash out at the air. Her blades ignited in flame as she desperately resumed her attack, assaulting Salagin with a flurry of blows as his fists and forearms hardened into gauntlets of stone to parry them. "I will not... let you... take her!" she growled, fueled by sheer determination and blind love for the sister she had spent her whole childhood adoring.
"Please stop!" Ryshassa pleaded more insistently. "Atmadja, they'll kill you too if they think we are allied! Don't you realize that your life is worth so much more than mine?" She gasped in fear for her sister as Salagin countered with a brutal hand strike that seemed poised to crush Atmadja's throat, but he was oddly incapable of landing a blow on her, almost as if -- impossible as it seemed -- she could read his moves ahead of time. Atmadja seized the opportunity of this mysterious advantage, pressing the offensive and breaking through his defenses as he wore himself out in frustration for his sudden inadequacy. Her flaming blades tore wound after blistering wound into his unprotected flesh, causing him to slow, stumble and finally fall to his knees, bleeding from multiple burn-encrusted gashes.
"You... brat," Salagin growled, then cursed, his hands scrabbling to find purchase on marble tiles made slick with his own blood. "There... is no way... you can be this good. Someone... is helping... you. It... matters not. All... will be made right... with time... and... justice."
"Is that all that you have to say?" Atmadja demanded, raising both blades to strike him down as he struggled to rise to his feet. "Perhaps you have been too lax in your training, with all those lovers and slaves you play with. Have you ever thought about that?"
"Atmadja, don't!" Ryshassa cried out, urgently enough that her arms froze in their downward stroke. "You will be punished -- or worse!"
Salagin half laughed, half coughed up blood at her sentiment. Even dulled by blood loss, his gaze still held some semblance of twisted fondness for the girl he once desired to own. "And she... will be obligated to kill you in turn... or turn you in... regardless of if I die or not. Your... compassion does not... serve you well, tainted flower..."
"That is enough," a voice intoned from the doorway before Atmadja could react any further.
The man that strode purposefully into the room, pale in complexion and raven black in hair, swept past her in an enveloping robe of black and red that contributed to his sinister appearance. In his hand he gripped a tall staff of bloodstone and silver, its head adorned with seven delicate rings that chimed delicately as he walked. Ryshassa found herself staring at him in wonder, filled with an eerie sense of deja vu, as if she had met him before, or seen him from a distance, or in her dreams... she certainly recognized his voice, for he had cried out in anguish for her long before he could come physically to her aid.
"Who are YOU?" Atmadja, too, gaped at the newcomer's unexpected entry. Had he been there all along? Had he just arrived? His demeanor was so calm and deeply focused that he could not have happened upon them by surprise.
Confronted by their confusion, the enigmatic stranger offered no reply, but knelt before the naked man half slumped on the cold, bloodstained floor, resting a heavy hand atop his head. "Perhaps it is fitting that your life ends in such a state," the stranger pronounced without a trace of doubt or regret, the threat somehow more chilling when delivered with such quiet certainty.
"So you... are the one..." Salagin smirked, lifting his weary head to regard the man with cold, prideful disdain. "Do you think... I will lay down... and let you do as you will?"
Wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, Salagin summoned what reserves of energy remained in his battered form and leapt determinedly to his feet. The stranger stood and stepped back reflexively, his staff collapsing smoothly into seven chain-linked sections as Salagin's anima rumbled and roared in challenge. Phantasmal pillars of stone leapt into serpent form and circled like whipcords about him, absorbing the first few impacts of his opponent's deadly, whirling staff as his stone fists blurred into action. But the exchange did not last for long; the stranger was quicker and unwinded, and with two calm, calculated strikes, he brought Salagin down to the floor as the ivory-tinged aura faded from the Earth Aspect's body, leaving him spent of Essence and strength.
The seven-fold staff reassembled itself into a seamless, unbreakable whole with hardly a motion from its owner, who knelt once more before the fallen man, his expression grim and resolute. He uttered something under his breath -- a prayer of some sort, perhaps -- and, with a final exhalation, Salagin's body ceased all motion and relaxed into the rictus of death. "This man will never understand what beauty his vices stole from this world," he murmured aloud, his startlingly sorrowful eyes settling on Ryshassa, who watched him uncertainly, but without fear. He straightened without further acknowledgment of the dead, carefully approaching the fragile young woman, gauging her minute reactions to his proximity. "I am... truly sorry, Ryshassa. I... this should never have happened to you..."
Atmadja glanced from him, to Salagin's corpse, and back to him again. It had happened so quickly she still partly disbelieved what her eyes had just witnessed. "Why did you do this? What do you want with my sister?" She barraged him with questions, glaring at him with suspicion bordering on hostility, even though she knew very well she was too weary and unskilled to take him on.
The stranger turned to Atmadja, fixing her with a gaze that spoke of endings far beyond her young comprehension. "You should forget what you have seen tonight. Ryshassa is as good as dead to you now."
"What do you mean?" She scrambled to position herself between him and her sister, flashing her twin blades in a daring show of protectiveness. "Don't get any closer! I won't let you hurt her, too!"
"You misunderstand me, Atmadja." He shook his head sadly, adjusting his dark-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "You are the only living witness of her Exaltation. Your people call her kind Anathema. You know very well what will befall her if she remains in the Realm."
"No! That was a mistake... she... it can't be true!" the young Fire Aspect finished lamely, letting her voice trail off into a whisper as she reluctantly replaced her weapons in their sheaths. "But why her? I know she did nothing wrong... only wish to live a life of peace! And I would have taken every blow in her place if I could have... I would have given her my Exaltation! She can't be Anathema... she just... can't..." Impatiently, she swiped a hand across her face, brushing away tears of helpless frustration.
His expression softened for an instant as he regarded her with sympathetic eyes. "I cannot tell you why, brave child. This is a matter that goes beyond my own expertise. But we may meet again one day, when you are older and properly trained. Until then, you have my word that I will keep her safe."
"But I don't know you at all! You can't just --"
"I am sorry, Atmadja. Our time grows short. Your elders will arrive at our location soon, and we must allow ourselves a head start. Ryshassa..." He returned his attention to her; while he spoke with Atmadja, she had reclaimed the robe Salagin had so carelessly discarded from her body, and was already wrapping the sash tightly around her waist. "Will you trust me?" he murmured to her gently, coming close enough to take her hand in his.
Ryshassa nodded mutely, shooting a single glance in the direction of her sister, who turned away with hands clenched into tightly balled fists.
"Then do what you will," Atmadja whispered helplessly.
When she turned to face them again, the two of them were already gone, the silken curtains of an open window snapping in the cold wind in the wake of their hasty departure. She rushed towards it, glancing down in the hopes of catching some sign of Ryshassa or the stranger whose face she could not seem to remember, but only the motion of trees swaying in the wind held her attention for long. She could hear voices and footsteps approaching from the hallway, though, leaving her little time to consider what options she had and what alibis she would tell before they came to accost her.
Ryshassa's first few weeks as a young Solar were an exhausting affair, for she and her new protector -- Alexsei Krauser, a Gold Faction Sidereal and Chosen of the Maiden of Endings -- were faced with the daunting task of escaping the Realm without attracting the attention of the Wyld Hunt. Despite the speed and urgency of their travels, Alexsei did his best to begin educating his young charge about her newfound abilities, for it was of utmost importance that she learned to master them and keep them under control. Still, he was also a compassionate man, and found himself unable to push her too hard without allowing her ample amounts of rest and offering her what comfort he could give. For a long time, even after they settled in their new home, Ryshassa communicated using little more than simple gestures and monosyllabic replies, though Alexsei had no trouble filling the silence with lectures to aid her knowledge or stories to make her smile. When it came to revealing the more sensitive truths -- about the Sidereals and their factions, the history of the Solars, the creation of the Immaculate Order and how the Dynasty came to be -- Ryshassa merely listened, offering no rebuttals or denials of what he had to say.
Their journey came to an end in Gethamane, an ancient city dug into the foot of an icy mountain range in the far northern reaches of the Threshold. There, in the shelter of its once-abandoned halls and caverns, under the protection of Alexsei's relative anonymity, Ryshassa was given the precious time she needed to recover from the ordeals of her former life and decide what she wished to do with her new one. For at least a year, she was content to remain in the safety of his modest quarters, reading through his books, listening to his lessons, thinking about her place in the world. She missed the gardens and lush landscapes of her youth, of course, but valued her freedom from the Realm even more, and came to appreciate the companionship of the man who gave so much time and effort to care for her. Alexsei often brought her gifts, many of them crafted from the quintessence he earned as his stipend from Yu Shan, to remind her of what had been beautiful about life in the Blessed Isle: clothing of silk and fine linen, perfumes and scented sachets, lacquered boxes and decorative items, succulent fruits and especially flowers, which keep for a remarkably long time in her presence. He desired very little for himself, as his profession as funeral priest in Gethamane was more than enough to satisfy his basic needs, but every gift he gave brought a smile to her lips and a sparkle in her sad, distant eyes, and these were more than enough to make him content.
For Alexsei loved Ryshassa more than she could ever know in those dark days of rejuvenation and renewal, when her sunlight was shadowed by memories of a past of subservience and submission, where the qualities she most valued in herself merited only scorn in her peers and disappointment in her parents. In his eyes she represented beauty in its purest form -- a young woman of seemingly infinite compassion, who would endure great amounts of pain, suffering and shame so that others could live unburdened, who gave more of herself than she ever expected in return out of respect for those that gave her life, who possessed a heart large enough to forgive everyone else of their flaws but herself. Except she had spent so much of that compassion, so much of that giving heart in her mere fifteen years of life that she no longer had any beauty left to give. So he surrounded her with beautiful things, kept her secluded and safe from harm, and watched over her as she healed and flourished into a woman of exceptional kindness, refinement and grace.
Alexsei cradled the carefully wrapped package close to his chest as he stepped into the torch-lit hallway leading to the study room in which Ryshassa spent much of her afternoons. He smiled broadly as her head peeked out from the doorway at the sound of his echoing footsteps; soon she emerged, holding in her hands a slim porcelain vase bursting with an arrangement of daffodils, morning glories and irises, which he had brought to her fresh that very morning. She still spoke very little, but the pride evident in her smile was enough to convince him that she had spent much of the day placing those flowers into a pleasing form to the eye.
"That is truly a gorgeous arrangement," he acknowledged earnestly, gazing at her for a long moment before his brows furrowed with an errant thought. "I do wish I could bring you gardens in this cold place, but this is the best I can do for now. Before you came," he added more quietly, his eyes shifting to a distant point beyond her shoulder, "there were no flowers blooming within these great stone walls. So I must thank you..."
Ryshassa shook her head at his sentiment, her slender fingers brushing gently at his arm, lingering as they smoothed some imperceptible wrinkle in the sleeve of his robe.
"Ah..." He swallowed his words, still marveling inwardly at how much her presence seemed to brighten the darkest of rooms, even without the sound of her voice to accompany it. Ryshassa was truly an expressive, even passionate individual when given the chance to immerse herself in the activities she loved, but those qualities were gravely misused or stifled by those who claimed to own her, or control her fate. It was enough to rouse even a man as level-headed as himself to anger, but he had long ago learned that Ryshassa would rather blame her own faults than those of her former caretakers, and she was terribly stubborn when it came to her own self-disapproval -- even mute.
Realizing she still looked up at him expectantly, he shook himself from his reverie, lifting the package he held in his arms so that it would catch her attention. "I have something else for you, something I have wanted to give you for some time now."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, then turned inward, her gaze seeming to berate him for spoiling her so much. Still, her eyes sparkled mirthfully at his suddenly sheepish expression, and she picked experimentally at the silver-swirled white wrapping paper that covered his most precious of gifts to her.
"Come," he said gently, gesturing to the room she had just emerged from. She followed beside him, placing her free hand in the crook of his arm in a gesture of closeness that nearly caught him off guard with its innocence. Ryshassa was still young yet, and he over triple her age -- there was still much left to unfold before that particular strand came into play. She was already growing quite attached to him, though, and that alone made it difficult for him to remember not to overstep his bounds. She needed space and time to grow, time to redefine the concept of intimacy as more than just a service given to others. So much damage had been done to her that he handled her trust in him like a treasure.
Alexsei placed the package on the least cluttered desk in the busy study room, which was filled with books stacked in a haphazard attempt at organization, as well as some of Ryshassa's attempts to bring life and color to the room -- floral arrangements, tablecloths, home-made candles in holders of cast iron or bronze, paintings of his she grew fond of and mounted on the walls. The last still made him blush, for few people knew of his favorite pastime besides reading, and she did much to encourage and inspire him in his artistic ventures.
With a nod and a glance from him, Ryshassa settled herself on the seat in front of the desk, rested the vase in her hand upon it, and shyly began to pry at the edges of the carefully wrapped package. He smiled encouragingly at her, and she tore more vigorously into the paper, more out of curiosity than any sort of greed. Alexsei had never brought her a gift wrapped so ostentatiously or presented with such formalities, so the contents of the package intrigued her. As soon as the shell of printed paper began to fall away, her fingers brushed the fine white leather of a sturdy, metal-reinforced rectangular case about the length of her fingers to her elbow and the width and thickness of her hand span. She hesitated at the sight of it, a questioning look on her face.
"Open it," Alexsei suggested simply.
She took her time at first, turning the case over and over in her hands, examining the delicate floral pattern tooled into its textured surface. Then she flipped the latches at either side of its leather-wrapped handle, lifting the lid to reveal an inner lining of deep purple silk cushioning an exquisite artifact lyre. Orichalcum and silverwillow, inlaid along each curved edge with belladonna vines formed by chips of amethyst and malachite -- an instrument of exquisite beauty crafted completely with its owner in mind.
Ryshassa stared at the lyre for a long moment, not even daring to mar the wood with her fingerprints, before pushing the case away from her, shaking her head as she hid her face in her hands.
"Is something wrong?" Alexsei bent over her worriedly, but as soon as his hands touched her shoulders, she burst into quiet sobs, leaning forward so that her long hair further obscured her face from view. He frowned deeply, both mystified and heartbroken by her reaction. "Do you not like it? I will return it immediately if it displeases you --"
The young woman shook her head more vigorously, but made no move to reclaim the instrument or its case.
"Then... then what is it? Ryshassa... please... please don't cry..." Still confused by her sudden outburst, he rested his hand upon her head to calm her, stroking her hair slowly, letting the dark, silken strands filter between his fingers, over and over, rhythmically. "I... only thought to bring you the one thing you still lacked. Music is a rare occurrence here, and I am a terrible singer..." He paused, hoping to make her smile with that off-hand comment, but she merely raised her head slightly to wipe some tears from her eyes. "I know you loved to play the lyre, even before it became a way to force you to perform for others. But I would never force you to weave your music for me, for it is not a thing to be coerced. It is for you I had this instrument constructed, to provide you an avenue of release, a way for you to express those things you fear or cannot say. And in this form I had it made, to match the beauty you represent in my eyes and in my heart..." He took a deep breath, steering himself away from those words, that train of thought. "I never meant to offend you, Ryshassa. If I have made a mistake by presenting this to you, let me know and I will never do such a thing again."
She remained still for moments longer, his heartbeat accelerating in apprehension as the silence lengthened between them. It took every last bit of his self-control not to kneel before her and take her into his arms, to try to bring comfort to her fragile, shuddering body with the warmth and certainty of his embrace.
Finally she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her, "I am not worthy of such a gift."
"Is that it? Ryshassa..." He took a deep breath, relieved by her revelation but saddened by her lack of self-regard. "You have spent your entire life unaware of your true worth and potential. I admit this gift took much time and resources to prepare, but only because I trust that you can do the end result justice. Your soul sings for beauty and harmony... I only wish to help you heal..."
"But what have I done to deserve such kindness? I understand your duties... your Destiny has directed you to train and take care of me. This gift is far and beyond simple caring, and I have no... no way at all to repay you." She bowed her head shamefully, nearly touching her head to the desk.
Alexsei gently lifted her chin, brushing more tears away with his thumb as her gaze shifted reluctantly upward to meet his. "All I desire," he murmured gently, "is for you to be happy. That is all the payment I need."
When Alexsei brought to Ryshassa the lyre she now plays almost exclusively, it began the slow process of coaxing her out of her shell of silence. It came first through her music -- mournful dirges of innocence lost, tranquil airs of introspection, lilting melodies of hope penetrating through despair. Alexsei loved to listen to her play, and she loved to play for him, each song a layer of self unfurling like petals warmed by his kind regard. But the sound of her playing also wafted past the doors and vaulted halls of their dwelling, piquing the curiosity of the hard-working mortals who happened by. "The priest keeps a princess in his quarters," they speculated, some in a derogatory fashion, others with a flair for the fantastic, most of them wondering what stories shone from her shyly downcast eyes in those rare moments she emerged. Always dressed in fine, multi-layered robes of linen or silk, her hair loosely tied with tasseled cords, the air around her distinguished by the subtle scent of flowers from warmer climes -- Ryshassa captivated and mystified the citizens of Gethamane with her very existence in their cold, harsh world. Regardless of what they thought of her, though, the smile she returned to those who treated her kindly was always genuine and true, and those who dared threaten her found that Alexsei was always near enough to hear.
Then came a day, as Ryshassa's sixteenth year passed and her seventeenth swiftly approached, when her isolation from the world and the people around her came to an abrupt but fitting end. The child of a local woman had caught a terrible fever that no doctor in the area could cure, and the next town was much too far to carry him in the chill weather of the northern reaches. In desperation, the woman came knocking on Alexsei's door with her delirious son in her arms, hoping beyond hopes that what powers he wielded extended beyond blessings and funeral rites. Awoken by the commotion, Ryshassa emerged from her room to the ritual area where Alexsei had directed the woman to lay her child upon a cloth-draped table. Without hesitation, without a single direction from him, she stepped forward and pressed her hand against the burning forehead of the child, who immediately grew so still that his mother wept at first in fear and grief. Not more than a few seconds later, the boy's flushed, hot skin faded into its normal color and he stirred into consciousness, sweat-drenched and disoriented, but otherwise healthy. Ryshassa smiled in heartfelt relief as soon as she saw the child awake, then promptly fainted into Alexsei's waiting arms.
For the rest of the day, Ryshassa remained bedridden as her body purged the fever she had absorbed. Alexsei remained beside her throughout the quiet ordeal, holding her hand, stroking her brow, bringing her water as she needed it, murmuring gentle words of encouragement as her Essence-augmented immune system did its work to heal her. By the time she rose the next morning, news of the healing miracle she had performed had already begun to spread throughout the city, bringing more curious individuals to observe and inquire about her. Some brought patients with them, most of which were deeply ill, heavily wounded or seemingly crippled beyond repair. In caring for their ailments, she exhibited an uncommon compassion, a remarkable resilience, and a proclivity for medicine and lore that surprised even Alexsei, who had become so accustomed to her silence and solitude that her gentle, skillful ministrations were an awe-inspiring transformation in his eyes. She adjusted to her new role as healer without difficulty or complaint, without any desire for reward besides the health and happiness of her patients, as if -- and indeed, it may very well be that -- she had been born to relieve them of their suffering.
Over the years, her humble practice earned her the love, respect and gratitude of many a citizen of Gethamane, as well as the visiting explorers and adventurers who ventured into the menacing depths beneath it -- a rare few of which, she discovered, were Exalted themselves. Only in dire circumstances would she reveal her true nature to her patients, though, not even those similarly touched by the might of the Unconquered Sun. This meant depending on traditional healing techniques whenever possible, using Essence sparingly and efficiently in the presence of a conscious patient, and saving her full regenerative potential for the privacy of her quarters. Only with prudence and common sense did her greatest of secrets remain safe with her protector until the present day -- with a few notable exceptions.
A man came to visit Ryshassa's Healarie as she wiped clean the tools and surfaces of her trade, resting during a lull in the flow of daily patients. He was unearthly pale and stately in bearing, dressed in dark slacks and a high-necked buttoned coat that clung closely to his lithe, taut-muscled form. He offered neither name nor title, but nonetheless bowed to her respectfully in greeting, removing his wide-brimmed hat with a flourish as his head dipped theatrically downward. As he straightened, he shook wild locks of silvery blonde hair from his brow, briefly revealing the black disk within a circle unmistakably branded into his skin before replacing his hat with a small, satisfied smile.
A guarded expression crossed Ryshassa's face at the sight of the Caste Mark, but she inclined her head graciously in acknowledgment of his good manners. "Are you in need of aid, perhaps?" she inquired with characteristic politeness, her voice neither threatening nor inviting. "Or is there... something else I can do for you?"
The Abyssal's smile broadened at her words, the lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling in a show of friendliness that brought only a semblance of warmth to his icy visage. "Perhaps there is. But that is up to you, Flower of the Frozen North." He paused briefly, his red-hued eyes sweeping curiously across the room before his unyielding gaze refocused on her. "I see your... consort is not close by, as is the norm. Where is your beloved now?"
"He..." Her cheeks flushed warmly at the carefully chosen appellations; she and Alexsei had only recently begun to share their bed, as the closeness between them matured into intimacy and passion. "He is conducting a ceremony for the recently dead, buried under the collapse of an old section of the catacombs."
"I see... he is a praiseworthy man, so diligent in his duties, is he not? As are you..." He approached her slowly, circling the immaculately scrubbed examining table between them, the soles of his wing-tipped black leather boots echoing ominously in the torch-lit chamber. "You have quite a set-up here, Healer Ryshassa. A safe, secluded home in the coldest of climes in Creation, a loyal fan... or shall I say, patient base with which to ply your trade, and a Chosen of the Maidens to love and care for you unconditionally. You are to be commended."
Ryshassa willed herself not to flinch when the man came within arm's length of her, thoughtlessly brushing the blood-warm contours of her face with his chill fingertips. "It is for the sake of the living that I apply the abilities I have been granted," she affirmed in a tight but determined voice.
"Ah, but my mistress and I too have an interest in the living, particularly in this region in which you have made your cozy home. You cannot be unaware of the influence of the Bishop and his cult, or the bloody Crusades in his name. Besides the fact that their endeavors in Creation encroach upon the holdings of my mistress, the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears -- surely you cannot turn a blind eye to the fanatical slaughter of the lives you hold so dear."
"I soothe and I heal, and I do my very best to mend the damage done by those who would sunder lives for the sake of greed or conquest. But I am no combatant, nor am I a leader of armies who could help your cause, as it may be. I can do nothing alone --"
"But you would not be alone, Flower, unless your beloved would leave you to your own defenses? Of course not! You and he are deeply connected, and my mistress is so fond of such complimentary pairings, bound together by love and Fate... they produce such exceptional children, after all." The Abyssal chuckled, his eyes drifting half-closed in fond remembrance of some past dalliance in the Lover's presence. "Besides that, you would not lack in allies, and you would never be expected to bear arms, so long as you keep those allies healthy and hale. Is that so much to ask?"
"If you wish to recruit me," Ryshassa pronounced quietly, fixing him with a clear, surprisingly calm gaze despite the tremble in her voice, "I would need more than your word that I would not be oath-bound to anything more than that. I will not devote my life to any Deathlord, nor will I offer my children to swell the ranks of her followers."
"Now, do not draw such hasty conclusions," he began smoothly, touching a finger to his lips as he bowed his head in response to her apprehensions. The mild-mannered visitor opened his mouth to continue, but Alexsei's hurried footsteps reverberated from the hall immediately outside, cutting short his train of thought. Stepping back from her to a respectful distance, he quirked his eyebrows in amusement, as if entertained rather than frustrated by the Sidereal's uncanny foresight.
"Ryshassa." Alexsei exhaled in relief as soon as he breached the doorway into the Healarie, offering her a tender smile that quickly faded when he shifted his attention to her visitor. His posture straightened and he shifted the staff in his hand slightly forward, the rings atop it sliding along their ornate setting with a raspy, warning hiss. "And what business do you have here, Sunderer of Veils?" he inquired in a low, foreboding tone.
"Do not worry," the Sunderer reassured him with a slight, almost patronizing smile, even as he tipped his hat to Alexsei in a gesture of respect. "She is unharmed, of course. I hope you do not think me as crass as some of my... peers." Allowing himself one last, short bow to the slender healer, who returned his sentiment with a furrowed brow and an uncertain frown, he turned and strode towards the hallway from which Alexsei emerged. "You know," he quipped just before sweeping past the other man's arm, "perhaps we should see eye to eye in the future, Chosen of Endings. We do touch the same realities, after all, if from opposite sides of Creation."
The soft, not quite mocking laughter of the Sunderer of Veils lingered for moments after his physical form retreated from view, leaving the two of them to ponder the portents of his untimely visit.
Despite some unwanted attention -- particularly from agents of the Deathlords or participants in the Wyld Hunt, who occasionally unearth rumors that lead them in her direction -- Ryshassa and Alexsei have more or less lived a quiet, unmolested life since settling down in Gethamane ten years hence. This trend shows little sign of continuing, though, as the Bishop's cultists and Deathknights become increasingly volatile and violent in the North. In addition, Ryshassa's younger sister Atmadja has graduated with honors from the House of Bells in the last year, subsequently joining the Wyld Hunt in the hopes of finding her sister through their resources -- without leading the rest of the Hunt to her location. In the wake of this potential disaster, Ryshassa and her Sidereal companion continue to practice their respective professions, cherishing every moment they can spend together in relative tranquility, ever watchful for the day that the comfortable monotony of their existence is finally broken.
"Do you remember the day I gave you that ring?" Alexsei asks tentatively as Ryshassa continues to reminisce in silence, his fingers beginning their run through her cascade of dark, scented hair. The question stirs her enough that she turns slightly, glancing at his gently smiling expression from over her bowed shoulder.
"Of course I do," she replies without hesitation, her melodious voice trembling with barely concealed emotion. "I could never forget that moment in all my lifetime."
Alexsei reaches down to envelop her left hand in his, feeling for the ring of orichalcum and starmetal he presented to her on the day he pledged his love and loyalty to her. She turns to him fully, then, her eyes still shimmering with tears as she presses their entwined hands to her heart. He gazes incredulously upon her beautiful, vulnerable face, even now amazed that Fate entrusted him with the care of a woman so remarkable in his eyes that he feels humbled in her presence.
"My love," he murmurs, drawing her closer to him as her face tilts towards his. He kisses her softly, their lips lingering in a tender moment of shared affection, before he lifts his head to regard her more soberly. "I know I have... failed at times, to keep you safe... I still wish I could have relived that moment, and protected you from the last blow to your innocence. But the past, as terrible as it is, is written and done, so I have fixed my eyes on what I can do, what my efforts can still affect: your happiness now, with me, and your safety and contentment in the future. You trusted me in that, when you allowed me to bring you here... and that trust is more sacred to me than anything I have ever known."
"I know, beloved, and I have never regretted that trust. You have done everything you could for me, much more than I ever thought I deserved..."
He shushes her then, laying a finger upon her slightly parted lips as he shakes his head at her modesty. "You may never understand why I love you so dearly... why I have forsaken my property in Heaven to live this humble life with you... why I wake every day thankful beyond words to have you by my side. But at least know that in my heart, there is no one more deserving of all I have given to you."
Ryshassa finally graces him with one of her rare, truly genuine smiles, knowing it best not to argue with him further on such a point. "I love you," she whispers, a familiar mantra spoken in a hushed, reverent tone, before the space between them closes once more and their bodies are much too preoccupied for them to speak.
