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March 10, 2003
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Cathedral of the Church of the
Serpent...
This roofed amphitheatre-like
room is the main part of the Cathedral. Between the myriad rows of
pews are gently downward-sloping stairways of frozen flame, each step
glowing, yet absolutely still. Every sound echoes, murmurs carrying
far a cross the room when it's not full. The glossy black stone walls
shelter a few nooks and alcoves, which clergy can occasionally be
seen using. At the front of the Cathedral is a raised dais, the back
of which is open to the Pit itself. In its center is an altar formed
of the same glossy black stone as the rest of the cathedral. To the
rear of the Cathedral are a pair of massive doors in an arch of
frozen flame which lead outwards. Candles are placed at each end of
each pew, and in groups on the dais, as the sole source of somewhat
dim light.
Yosannah is sitting quietly. She seems to
be gazing upward as her head is resting at the back of the pew.
A brilliant flare of crimson color
coalesces into the semblance of slim limbs as Ada-Shazandra's
reed-like silhouette strides forth out of the screaming void. The
Lady's ebony hair is unbound - disheveled and windblown, a faint
tremor of a frown playing across her saintly brows.
Yosannah sits up and peers at the woman
over her shoulder. She regards her cooly before standing.
Ada-Shazandra pauses, carrying with her
the alluring scent of rose oil and cream. The lady fixes her hair -
primly winding those dire tresses into elaborate ropes - impaling the
thick do with a pair of sinister sharp pins. Her lithe arms fall
limp, and her regal shoulders curl back.
Yosannah exhales slowly. She tucks a
stray strand of hair behind her ear and studies the woman, perhaps
waiting to catch her gaze.
Ada-Shazandra inclines that elaborately
groomed head, a pale wreath of a haunting hand lifts into the air to
paint the celestial sigil of the Serpent in the wan air amid your
brows. Luxuriant silken lashes tremble and part, revealing the
incandescent eerie glow of pupil-less jade eyes. "Lady, welcome and
blessings to you." Comes her Anglican accent of a voice.
Yosannah is obviously moved at the sight
of the woman. She lowers her gaze, uncharacteristically, to the
floor, "A word, miss. If I may."
Ada-Shazandra steps forth, wickedly
spurred heels chiming rhythmically against the cold stone floor, "I
am the Prelate Ada-Shazandra. You are welcome in this holy place. Do
you seek healing?" The lady's velveteen voice is gentle, her sublime
hand twines demonstratively over the pale pillar of her own throat -
fingers lingering mirror-like where Yosannah's scar is.
Yosannah lowers her chin in effort to
hide the seemingly old wound at her neck. "No, lady. The injury is
older then it appears and I have little doubt that it will heal in
it's own time." She holds one hand to her neck, and the other crosses
over her mid section and clasps the adjacent arm. "Strangely enough,
though. I came here to speak with you... if you can spare a moment."
Ada-Shazandra's dark crescent brows arc
in half-moons of astonishment, "Certainly. My time is yours. How may
I be of service." She bows, graciously in a courtly flourish of
eerily lithe leather-tuned limbs.
Yosannah meets the woman's gaze now,
seeming relieved at her response, "Perhaps a place where we might sit
and be comfortable."
Ada-Shazandra hums a musically lush tune,
her dashing brows settling into a vision of serenity, "As you wish,"
she coos - those glaring miasma eyes riveting her face with tangible
curiosity, "Name a place and I shall grant you my
company."
Yosannah suggests, "I am not familiar
with the area, or our current location as this is my first visit to
this place... If you would be so kind as to suggest a comfortable
setting."
Ada-Shazandra smiles - her pale ashen
rose lips tastefully curling, "Come with me then, lady." She
graciously offers, pivoting waltz-like upon a single chiming heel as
she prowls through the exit.
Yosannah follows after the woman and into
the entrance hall.
Mordred's Pavilion at the
Rim...
Ada-Shazandra strolls blithely at your
side, her taut arms gracefully bound as the small of her lissome
back. "This is the Pavilion of my Uncle. I come here often and find
solace in this peaceful place." It seems the lady was expected - for
tea and brandy have been set upon the enormous table, complete with a
tantalizing assortment of fruits and pastries.
Yosannah's gaze lingers over the edge of
the Pit, "I must confess, I have spent little time in the Courts;
though the visiuals here are quite captivating." A breeze passes,
softly lifting her hair about her face and she is forced to swipe it
from her eyes. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm not entirely sure how
best to address you." A smile plays on her lips.
Ada-Shazandra steps up, lifting a chair
out for you, a blithe hand swimming flatly through the tepid air -
gesturing a graceful invitation, "That largely depends on the nature
of your visit." She coldly coos, eyes blazing impassively. "But call
me Ada, if you wish. In the greater scheme of things cumbersome
titles areirrelevant."
Yosannah accepts the chair, "Thank you,
Ada." After a moment she offers, "I have to apoligize... My name is
Yosannah." She runs a hand over her hair, "I suppose I should have
introduced myself sooner..."
Ada-Shazandra strolls around the tables'
edge, gliding with reserved poise into a seat opposite from you. An
exquisitely manicured finger curls, beckoning the steaming tea pot
forth. The porcelain beautifully painted pot lifts, drifting towards
Ada's cup - filling it to the brim with mottled brown liquid. "I know
who you are." She softly replies, halting the teapot with a pale
palm, "Tea? Or something stronger?"
"You do?" And then, as if in
after-thought, "Tea would be fine." She lifts a lightly closed fist
to her lips, her expression thoughtful.
Ada-Shazandra's potent gaze swims from
the hovering teapot to your cup, and thepiece of animated dishware
drifts amiably across the table, pouring you a cup-full or aromatic
blackberry tea. The thing settles with a clatter on the table - it's
mission fulfilled, "Now, my dear," the lady begins in that lush
Anglican accent, "What trouble brought you into the heart of Chaos?"
Yosannah tilts her head ever so slightly
as she reaches for her cup, "It is my hope that you might have
answers for me." She exhales, slowly and deliberately, "If you know
who I am, you might also know what I've become. And at the risk of
being redundant, I am curious as to what you know of the Horsemen."
Ada-Shazandra's moistly glistening talons
curl with menacing grace over the rimof the cup - bringing it to her
haunting pale lips. The lady drags in the aromatic scent of the
drink, silken lashes trembling with the pleasure of the warm scent.
"I was mother to Famine for some time." She exhales, a chill
tone.
Yosannah furrows a brow, "I can only
assume that you are referring to Matthew."
Ada-Shazandra smiles, hiding the eloquent
expression within the perfumed depths of her cup, "Yes, and you are
more than welcome to seek him - I've the nagging suspicion He could
lend you infinitely greater insight than I."
Yosannah lifts her cup to her lips, "I
appreciate the sentiment. I have had dealings with Matthew when he
served as Famine's avatar for a time. That is not, however, my
interest." She sips the tea and then places the cup before her, "I'm
a shadow, Ada, from Earth." She pauses, "I was also, once a woman of
great faith. But I don't know what I am anymore. That's why I am
here, you see. What I've learned of these creatures has lead me to
Chaos and I need to know... I need to know if you can help me find
the truth - because, without my faith.." Her voice trails off,
waivering.
Ada-Shazandra's luminous eyes fade into a
milky hue, as primly the lady places her steaming cup onto the
tasseled tablecloth. The striking oval of her porcelain pale face is
thrown into odd prominence by the halo of beautifully wound dark
black tresses, "To be one of the cursed riders is no sin in the
Serpent's realm. Why ought it be? There is no darkness without light
- no life without demise and no Health - no prosperity without
pestilence."
Yosannah is obviously distraught, "Then
can you confirm for me something." She reaches into her jacket pocket
and removes a folded piece of parchment which appears to have been
ripped from a text. She slides it across the table to Ada, "This is
just a sample of the things that I have collected regarding these
beings..."
From the Book of The Serpent
Which Manifests the Logrus...
And the Serpent looked upon Its works and
saw Its children struggle to grow stronger. So in Its Holy Wisdom, It
created four more children, and named them to be the Riders, to go
amongst the rest to aid in the struggle.
It bade the first of these Riders 'Go!
Spread among My children War and Strifeso that they may grow strong
in battle with forces from without!' And so it was done.
It bade the second of these Riders 'Go!
Spread among My children Hunger and Need so that they may grow strong
in battle with forces from within!' And so it was done.
It bade the third of these Riders 'Go!
Spread among My children Pestilence and Disease so that they may grow
strong in battle with forces from their lands!' And so it was
done.
The last of these Riders it bade 'Go!
Spread among My children all manner of Death! To do otherwise is to
waste their children's heritage!' And so it was done.
Ada-Shazandra's generous hand dances
dove-like in offering over the lavishly decked table - "Have a pastry
- they are really quite divine!" she laady suggests, plucking a dainty
raisin roulette from a silver platter. She summons the folded
parchment to her in the similar fashion as she did the teapot - the
paper drifts willing into her scholarly hands.
Yosannah does not reach for a pastry. She
does lift her cup to her lips again, sipping at the steaming liquid
Ada-Shazandra smiles an enigmatic curl,
"It is an exert from the Holy Teachings." She lady declares, nipping
into the spongy flesh of the roulette. "You should feel blessed to
manifest so holy a power and purpose, child."
Yosannah's breath quickens, "Blessed."
Her hand shakes and she quickly sets the cup before her, "I don't
understand, I'm not Chaosian," she mumbles and then asks, "I'm not
sure what this means."
Ada-Shazandra opens the chalice of her
enchanted palm, allowing the sacred parchment to drift towards you,
settling with a rustle of windblown pages next to her. She licks
kittenishly the crumb-stained cushions of her fingertips, "Simply
because you are not of demon-blood does not mean you are not one of
the Serpent's chosen - It created the shadows and the web of many
worlds - to serve as Host to one of the Riders is indeed a blessing -
one of holy purpose. You are changing - no longer bound by the
illusory weakness of static existence."
Yosannah clasps her fingers together and
sets them atop the table. "This is difficult to digest. I have been
endeavoring for the last few years to rid myself of this being, and
now I'm told that I have been given a 'blessing'." She shakes her
head and rubs the bridge of her nose, "How do I reconcile these
things, Ada.I've been raised as a faithful Catholic... and everything
I've been clinging tosince I learned of your people and those of
Amber is..." She shakes her head, "Have I' been cheating
myself?"
Ada-Shazandra's eyes grow luminescent
once more - emitting a cold beam of soothing light, "The Serpent's
blessing is a burden - for is seeks to tests the worth of It's
children through peril and adversity. It may well be though you are a
shadow-child that you possess such strength as is worthy of the
Serpent's attention. By our fortitude does the Serpent grow stronger.
There may be less of a conflict than you think. If you wish, I shall
tutor you in the lore and legend of the Serpent's ways. Here, take
this so that it may serve you in times of strife." A pair of nimble
fingers dart into the clinging fold of her leather sleeve - pulling
out a flat glistening card. This she passes to Yosannah in the same
air born manner, though the trump hovers before the tip of her nose,
glistening alluringly.
Yosannah reaches for the card and turns
it over in her hand as she runs her fingers of the image contained
therein, "Ada, thank you for this," she indicates the trump. "And for
the offer." She studies the card for a moment longer and then tucks
it into an inner pocket of her jacket.
Ada-Shazandra drains her steaming teacup,
returning it primly to the table. The lady's ashen rose lips purse
moistly together, licking the core of the aromaticdrink. "Then we
shall do so soon. You are welcome to call on me. Be blessed, and fare
thee well until we meet." She does not rise, but with the eloquent
blessing of the Serpent painted valiantly in the lucid air begins to
fade, dazzling eyes turning into a lurid miasma of murky color.