Yoohooo Mogheeeduuu!

Moirean

What's going on inside that mountain?

Spinesreach has had very gentle, tenuous contact with Moghedu during this entire event. The Syssin taught them skills. The city agreed to an information exchange to learn about the Teshen, giving the Mhun scholars access to our library. We dug through our old supplies and kitted them out with research and enchanting materials. A treaty was being prepared. Moi and Oberentesh (maybe spelled that wrong, the head science guy) chatted at length about the future of Moghedu - he admitted that the city was internally chaotic and that the government was still being formed. He hinted at various factions jostling for power. Moi warned him to be careful, that one group could easily seize control during such a time of turmoil. Contact petered out for a span.

Then came the announcement of the shrines, and the subsequent slaughter raised warning bells. This was not the Moghedu Spinesreach had treated with. Auresae had flung Moi into the mountain months ago, as punishment for peeking at a private moment between Her and a follower, and Moi had...uhh...capitalized on that visit, marking her bangle there. It was a simple matter of using it again to return back, slipping into the depths of Moghedu, behind the lines, to see what was going on.

The Mhun were not happy about that. In exchange for telling how she got in, Moi demanded information. Several months later, the Mhun delivered.

Thoughts/telepathy are in yellow.

---------------------

You say, in Imp, "Bye!"
Placing a bone stepladder on the ground, you quickly scramble up it - upon reaching the top, a cloud of smoke erupts and you find yourself, for once, taller than everyone. (mywings)
Perched above the world. (Edge of Reality.)
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, up, down, in, and out.

Galatesh ripples into existence before you.

Ghenerul Galatesh nods curtly at you.

You raise an eyebrow at Ghenerul Galatesh.

Ghenerul Galatesh raises an eyebrow at you.

Frowning, you say to Ghenerul Galatesh, "How did YOU get HERE?"

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "I thought payback was in order. The Priests really didn't like your whole appearing act."

You have emoted: A cloaked figure raises an eyebrow, pointing out, "Firelady assisted me with that. Who assisted you with this little hop up here?"

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "We have a saying where I come from - loose tongues bury you. I have a book you asked for."

You have emoted: A cloaked figure extends a hand, regarding Ghenerul Galatesh warily. "No crossbows this time, I trust?" she asks.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Please. Like I'd..."

Ghenerul Galatesh's head turns sharply. She holds up a hand.

Sternly, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "DON'T shoot her."

You raise an eyebrow questioningly.

You deftly lower the hood of a cloak of obscurity, revealing your identity.

You use Enchantment Eye.
You cast the eye sigil at the ground, and it bursts with a flash of light.

Glancing to one side, than the other, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Well, at least they've been taking their sigil reflexes seriously."

Ghenerul Galatesh grins mischievously at you.

Voice growing a good deal more curt, you say, "I can guarantee I'll be scouring out this place later for wormholes and every last phased footprint. This is my little safe haven."

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Oh. I thought havens were more... not... penetrable."

Ghenerul Galatesh glances around, raising her eyebrows, pacing in a slow circle. Her hands slip into her pockets, and she allows herself a faint, smug smile.

Head shaking, you say, "They are, though clumsily. This isn't one of those. Your kind don't have havens?"

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Nesventesh did. She showed us. It was beautiful. All gemstones and abysses. It's where she trained us."

Ghenerul Galatesh smiles at you.

You have emoted: Moirean lets out a grunt. "Thought she was a monk," she mutters, peering at Ghenerul Galatesh. "You....are not a monk."

Galatesh is a young Mhun girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, built slim and wiry and clad in a mix of plain, drab robes and gleaming, immaculate scale mail. Lent a few crucial inches of height by her platform boots, she wears a variety of scars across her dark face alone that speak to her experience in conflict. Her features are narrow and sharp - thin lips, a prominent nose, and slanted, dark eyes, framed by dark, curly hair cut within half an inch of nonexistence. She is called 'Galatesh.'
Ghenerul Galatesh looks weak and feeble.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "No. Nor do we practice Tekura. We practice something that translates, in your language, to 'Crafted Hand'."

Offhandedly, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "She invented it."

You have emoted: Moirean frowns, studying Ghenerul Galatesh more carefully, eyes taking in the youthful features and build and their stark contrast with the veteran scars, before her gaze settles on the tall platform boots. A flash of envy glints in her stare. She gives a slow nod, and then, something akin to respect creeps into her tone. "You and yours have...improvised quite a bit," she hazards. "Forged in fire and all that."

"Yes." Ghenerul Galatesh's expression shifts, very slightly. "I don't know that I should be telling you much more. Or even giving you the book that I'm about to give you. If the Priests knew it was me, well..."

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "...I would probably be cast out. Mhun-no-more."

You have emoted: Moirean's brow furrows. "They don't want worship to spread? Or, at the least, information?" she asks. "Ignorance is a dangerous thing."

Mutely, Ghenerul Galatesh shrugs.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "I just take orders."

You smile wryly.

You say, "I will keep the source quiet, then."

Ghenerul Galatesh gives a tome bound with Goblin skin entitled, "Nhusema Odreyeb" to you.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Nhusema Odreyeb. Book of knowledge. In several dialects of Mhun. It... tells the story."

You have emoted: Moirean pulls the book in close to her, already beginning to eagerly thumb through it. She tears her gaze up to ask, "Of?"

Uncomfortably, Ghenerul Galatesh shifts back - staring at her feet.

"tome133558" a tome bound with Goblin skin entitled, "Nhusema Odreyeb".

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "The Mhun."

You have emoted: "I thought this was to be about your gods?" Moirean asks, clearly confused. She turns the cover, flicking through the first few pages.

This tome is written in a foreign language.
Your skill in the language is not proficient enough to understand anything.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "You can't have the Gods without the people."

"Surely you know that by now," Ghenerul Galatesh whispers. She sounds more like a girl than a General, just then.

You have emoted: Moirean frowns, eyes crossing as she tries - and fails - to decipher to foreign language. The whisper, however, drags her attention back up and she nods, almost reflexively, her own voice lowering, almost as if she, too, is just a girl, sharing an excited bit of gossip. "The Gods need us," she agrees. "Their stories are silent shadows without us." She giggles. "They think we're toys, but I think..."

You tap your nose knowingly.

You have emoted: Moirean clears her throat, demeanor serious again. "So. Umm..." she mumbles, peering back at the book. "I. Uhh. Guess I should get someone to teach me Mhun..."

Unable to hold back a smirk, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "You don't speak Mhun?"

You have emoted: Moirean's cheeks flush, pulling the book closer to her as, defensively, she mumbles, "I'm a busy lady! There's a lot of things that need to be in my head!"

Seeming to relent slightly, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Look. I can teach you the basics. But THAT'S going to cost you. It's not part of the agreement."

You get 10343 gold sovereigns from a military-grade black leather pack.

You have emoted: Moirean's blush deepens. "...Take it on credit?" she asks hopefully. "I only have 10k on hand." A sudden cough overtakes her, burying something that sounds suspiciously like 'gambling problem'

Ghenerul Galatesh tries her very best to hold back her skeptical, dubious expression, but does a poor job of it.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Open your mind. I'm going to lock you. This may hurt a bit?"

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "And you owe me double. Sixty thousand, inside the next year."

You have emoted: Moirean's body stiffens as she braces herself for the intrusion. Her eyes close and her hands pull down close to her side. She gives a faint, tentative nod, apparently as ready as she'll ever be. Her tail curls up tight behind her, already flinching.

You feel your knowledge swell as you gain mastery over the tongue of Mhun.
Blazing agony wracks your brain, and words pour in - word after word, each with its own set of ideas, spiraling out into a spiderwebbed infinity. Mazes of sand, mazes of faces, mazes of food and holidays and long days of suffering. The tongue of the Mhun.

Ghenerul Galatesh makes no visible movement, her arms folded, her eyes momentarily unfocused.

You have emoted: Moirean's jaw drops open as the knowledge twists out across her mind. A bit of drool even slips out - she's lost, momentarily captivated by the shapes of the language, mind racing as she follows the mazes, comprehension blossoming. Finally, she coughs, a dry noise, and her body shakes. Her eyes crack open.

Hoarsely, you say, "...WOW."

Smugly, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Put that in your syringe and inject it."

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes focus on Ghenerul Galatesh after a few bleary attempts, a dawning sense of respect breaking across her features. "There is...so much more to your race," she mumbles. Her blush returns, and there's a trace of embarrassed shame in her voice.

"We needed something to do between brutal massacres," Ghenerul Galatesh observes, dryly.

You have emoted: Moirean bobs her head in a quick nod, offering an apologetic smile. "For what it's worth," she says, "I only ever hunted rocks. Not...your people. In there."

Ghenerul Galatesh's head gives a faint, cynical tilt.

A quick thought towards her gardens - a fountain there, a Mhun woman featured at its center. Once, she wanted to be beautiful, and traveled to Moghedu to change. The image is a fleeting, quick thing, gone in a heartbeat, fluttering only briefly through the residual link.

You have emoted: Moirean clears her throat and nods, forcing a smile to mirror Galatesh's. "I know that's hard to believe," she agrees. "Your people have a hard history. My own Keep trained the Goblins who lay siege to your northern borders."

With a shrug, firmly, you say, "But I didn't hunt you."

This tome is written in Mhun.
You open a tome bound with Goblin skin entitled, "Nhusema Odreyeb" to page 1 and begin reading.

"Nhusema Odreyeb", Page 1, by Craftmaster Cherentesh.
I. The Numbers of Things
II. Beginning
III - V. So Cherektesh Taught
VI. Indoron
VII - IX. So Lochiani Spoke
X. Ankiri
XI - XIV. So Hadd Spoke
XV. Ankiri II
XVI - XVIII. So Yelu Spoke
XIX. Ankiri III
XX. Bloody Age
XXI. Bloody Age II
XXII. Bloodloch
XXIII. Bloodloch II
XXIV. Bloodloch III
XXV. Moghedu

This tome is written in Mhun.
You open a tome bound with Goblin skin entitled, "Nhusema Odreyeb" to page 2 and begin reading.

"Nhusema Odreyeb", Page 2, by Craftmaster Cherentesh.
Earth beneath, at first, only darkness was. The Spirits the Mother made, and the Mother earth beneath grew. She up rose, and tall She was, tall enough to mountains shadow. She womb of was abundant, and many children She did birth so that they within the lush Iviofa and beneath the sun fought and danced. The children of the Mother beautiful were.

The skies and earth the children hated, and the Spirits, Makers of Mother the Keepers of sky and earth fought. The fight of great length was, and much blood upon the ground was spilled, until out from the earth and out from the skies the Spirits were driven, so that only Mother to protect the children was there.

And to the children a name Mother gave: Earth-Ones, Teshen, and beautiful they were, their skin like stone, their eyes like gems. Yet Mother remain upon the earth could not, so within the earth she herself buried, and she the bones of the earth was, and to this day it is said: the seed the Spirits Mother with filled, these the earth's gems are, these and all other things precious which up the earth yields. From Earth, to Earth, for Earth our Mother is, and Mother embraces us when we to Mheribus return.

The Earth-Ones fought. Some Mother so loved that they upon Iviofa could not bear to remain. Yet one, the wisest, the greatest of Mother's children, to the other children said: 'Of the Earth we no longer are in whole, but Sky as well; for look! We upon Water ourselves sustain, and upon us does Fire burn so that our skin darks, and the Air our bones fills.' Some to the wise child hearkened, and to this child Cherektesh a name was given: Great Mother.

'Eight times I will die,' the Great Mother the children told. 'You all will suffer, for that you choose Iviofa and not Earth. At the end of this time, know; you will be rewarded, for the spirit of Mother I will carry forth, and you will know; the Keepers our Spirits are not, and our Spirits to us will return.' The Great Mother's years many were, and then he died.

Although still doubtful, Ghenerul Galatesh nods, offering no reply. Instead, she moves closer, to see the pages that you has begun to leaf through.

You have emoted: Moirean frowns in concentration, brow furrowing as she begins to read the first page. Her fingers trace each line, a physical marker as she puzzles through the odd phrasing - finally, she pauses, glancing aside and asks, "The style...It's very. Umm. Was this once oral? It's...unique."

Her finger dragging along one of the lines of text - which is right to left, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Yes. You notice that in early Mhun verb always follows the rest of the sentence. We had more ways of writing our verbs, too - fifty different forms, almost, for just one verb, to convey all the different tenses, numbers..."

"So," Ghenerul Galatesh concludes, a note of reverence in her voice, "It's not easy to read."

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes widen, on the verge of boggling as the writing is explained, and she gives a faint, wondering nod of agreement. "Yes," she quietly says with an exhale of breath. "I think you could definitely say that." Her eyes return to the page and she lapses into silence for a long moment, before she glances up again, asking, "...Do all Mhun know these stories?"

Ghenerul Galatesh shakes her head.

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "Only a few in each generation memorized these. We only wrote them down... a year or two ago."

You have emoted: "After the rebellion?" Moirean asks.

Ghenerul Galatesh nods her head at you.

You have emoted: "And this Great Mother," Moirean continues, scanning the bottom of the first page. "That is Neren...Ner..."

Frowning, you say, "The monk."

"No. You're seven Great Mothers - Mhunnas - too early." Ghenerul Galatesh smiles quietly, pointing to another line. "See the name? Cherektesh. The first Great Mhunna."

Shaking her head, you say, "The monk, though, she said she was a demigod."

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "She's actually a Spirit. The Eighth Spirit."

You have emoted: Moirean frowns, considering this, and then asks, "What happens with the eighth?"

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "You're asking a question we're still trying to answer."

With a faint grin, you say, "So....you are going off book at this point?"

Ghenerul Galatesh nods, gesturing to the pages. "It goes up to... just after the rebellion."

You have emoted: Moirean begins to flip through the pages, snatching a glimpse here, reading a few words there, but quickly becomes overwhelmed and glances over to Ghenerul Galatesh. "You have...your whole history here," she asks in clarification. "And...I can put this in the library, for everyone to learn?" She frowns, studying a page before her, and adds, "...unless this should be held, for now? I don't know how that fight at your gates ended, the other month."

Ghenerul Galatesh says, "It ended with an attempt at negotiation. I got killed by Reux. The Priests forbid further negotiation. They'll allow outsiders to buy from the Merchants, but the Merchants aren't allowed to open the upper markets and only stone, gems, and vials are approved."

You have emoted: "The scientist," Moirean begins, tone pensive. "Oberuhhhtestytesh, he said that you and your fighters would control things. He spoke of generals and wars and battle - but the priests started this?" She shifts her weight, glancing off across the precipice - from here, you can see a bird's eye view of the Sirrocians, with a dark smudge in its middle that might even be Moghedu. Her voice is cautious, words carefully chosen. "My, ahh, my order had a shrine destroyed in the...umm, territorial reclamation, but we have so many I don't see the need for war over losing just one."

Eyebrow raising, you say, "Why did they, the light, get so upset?"

"The Military," Ghenerul Galatesh explains, slowly, "WAS in control of things, until the last coup. The history... glosses over that particular bit. But we killed all the Goblins inside our tunnels. Then we killed all of the Mhuns that dissented. No one but the Priests wanted that responsibility, and so they just sort of... kept going. Taking more and more of the right to make decisions. And no one really complained."

Softly, Ghenerul Galatesh says, "We're a broken people. We're so used to being given orders that it's sort of comforting, I think."

You have emoted: Moirean blinks slowly at the matter-of-fact mention of genocide and then draws in a long breath as the priesthood's growth is explained. She gives a faint nod, a flicker of understanding passing across her features, and her jaw clenches. "You have a hard history," she repeats, the earlier phrase spoken more sharply. "But you're hardly the first - or the last - group of people to find that they've lost power by inches and moments. You're not alone in finding yourself led by people blinded by power."

With a grunt, you say, "Pit, you've met the Syssin. You should know that."

"It's my home," Ghenerul Galatesh whispers, her voice breaking. "I fought for it. I bled for it. I killed for it. I thought it was all going to get better. I thought Nesventesh was going to fix everything. Why did she leave? Why did she abandon us? Why is she letting her people kill themselves?"

Ghenerul Galatesh can barely speak, now - instead, more girlish now, she collapses to the ground, knees giving out, and sobs. She can't seem to hold back her tears, burying her face in her thin hands.

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes widen. "She's GONE?" she echoes, hesitating only a moment as Ghenerul Galatesh collapses - something about the childishness, the vulnerability revealed in that moment has her instinctively responding with an odd sort of maternal softness, arms reaching out to attempt to pull the girl into a hug. She makes little shushing noises, and her tail twists out, awkwardly patting at Galatesh's hand.

At the touch, though, Ghenerul Galatesh recoils - stands - and stumbles away from you. "No," she whispers, her face a hideous mask of grief. "No! I've said too much. You can't. You can't tell anyone, or they'll kill me, and they'll kill my sister. Please. Please just... I have to..."

Ghenerul Galatesh leaves to the out.

Wish I knew a real, true Mhun to help with this. Sibatti's all I can think of-

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "I won't tell, but you can't let this go on. Your people need HELP."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "I know, but... Entesh. Untesh. By one way or another."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "Spinesreach can help, maybe. We have an army (if Thuneron didn't sell them off for vodka) and we have spies and we have science."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "We are the city of FREEDOM and helping you...that's exactly what we should be fighting for."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "We have an army, too. Growing. My military, and the disciples of the Priesthood. Same training, basically, except the disciples get better technology. Science? We have that too. They keep the researchers locked up tight and send out disciples to get them the stuff they need. And we have patrols with silvered bell tattoos. You wouldn't... wouldn't BELIEVE all the wealth we have on store from gemstone vials. We can buy anything we need from the Ankyrean. Or rather, the Priests can. They've made some investments."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "Sounds like what you need are assassins, then. Or...infiltrators?"

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "They'd be in grave peril."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "It sounds like most of you already are in peril."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "Plus, when you've lived a few hundred years, death has its own allure. I am sure I could find volunteers."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "I... maybe when security loosens up a bit. Maybe when the upper level gets opened. The Merchants are pushing for it. Only a matter of time."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "You said they may kill you."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "Only if they find out. And they won't. I know how to cover my tracks."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "Look - I've a scribe. Fred. Can't find the void side of a staff, but he's good enough for holding papers if you hand them to him directly."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "Get some sort of letter up north, just once a year, or something, if they'd not stop that? Let us know you're...you know."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "I'll try. All I can say. Our messages get read, and they do random scans. If they start scanning me, I'm not going to be able to respond to you any more."

You tell Ghenerul Galatesh, "If things get quiet, then. You know. We'll know. Until then, well, there's that information trade. Science labs. It doesn't have to be poetry or essays."

Ghenerul Galatesh tells you, "Yes. Maybe one of the science envoys can carry a-- oh, sh--."

The telepathic line goes abruptly dead.

...shit.