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In the knowledge that their men go to war, the Egyptians culminate in the great temples of Cairo to pray for victory, blessings and peaceful entry into the Afterlife, if their loved ones so find themselves before Anubis' scales. Offerings are brought by all - not just those who have loved ones North - in the form of flowers, fruit, gold coins and elegant decor pieces like small vases and plates. With the men already encamped north, awaiting their Grecian foes, it falls to the common folk and women of Egypt to beseech the aid of the Gods in their military fortunes...
JD
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JD
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In the knowledge that their men go to war, the Egyptians culminate in the great temples of Cairo to pray for victory, blessings and peaceful entry into the Afterlife, if their loved ones so find themselves before Anubis' scales. Offerings are brought by all - not just those who have loved ones North - in the form of flowers, fruit, gold coins and elegant decor pieces like small vases and plates. With the men already encamped north, awaiting their Grecian foes, it falls to the common folk and women of Egypt to beseech the aid of the Gods in their military fortunes...
The Might of the Gods Event - Egypt
In the knowledge that their men go to war, the Egyptians culminate in the great temples of Cairo to pray for victory, blessings and peaceful entry into the Afterlife, if their loved ones so find themselves before Anubis' scales. Offerings are brought by all - not just those who have loved ones North - in the form of flowers, fruit, gold coins and elegant decor pieces like small vases and plates. With the men already encamped north, awaiting their Grecian foes, it falls to the common folk and women of Egypt to beseech the aid of the Gods in their military fortunes...
Neithotep was somber and demure as she entered the temple of Osiris, arms laden with flowers and exotic perfumes. Clad in a kalasiris of midnight black with her eyes heavily outlined in matching kohl, the young noblewoman’s countenance was unwontedly dark—appropriate for the dark thoughts that accompanied it. Others might be here to pray for Egypt’s victory, for the safe return of their loved ones, but her reasons were not quite so in line with the rest of her countrymen.
Remaining silent and practically deaf to those that surrounded and accompanied her, Nia approached the great golden statue of the god of the Underworld with a hint of reluctance in her step. All around her, audible prayers were being lifted for the safety and well-being of their soldiers, but that was hardly what she wished to pray for. There was no one she really cared about that was being carted off to the war; in fact, quite the opposite. Perhaps the reason she came was heresy, and for that reason alone, her prayers would remain silent. This was between her and the gods alone.
Carefully arranging her offerings at the idol’s feet, Nia gingerly knelt in from of the god’s visage and bowed her head. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she took a few deep breaths, nervous that somehow those around her would be able to hear the treasonous thoughts in her head, that her pleas would be intercepted and turned against her instead.
Though, truly, that would solve her dilemma either way.
Quit being such a coward, Nia, she berated herself. No one can hear the words you don’t speak, and if the gods take their vengeance on you, so be it. Can it be worse than what you suffer now? And if it is… maybe you deserve it, after all.
Properly cowed by her own remonstrations, she took another slow breath and released it, closing her eyes to focus her prayer. For good or for ill, come what may.
Osiris, hear my plea. I know I am but one person in the face of thousands, but perhaps you will listen to the pained cries of a woman with nowhere to go. While those around me beg for their husbands, fathers, and sons to come home safely from this war, I would join my voice to theirs, but… with one exception.
Our King of Kings is not the benevolent man he tries to show the world he is. The depths of his cruelty are unfathomable, and the darkness of his heart surpasses the night itself. May he lead us to victory, may he keep our brothers safe, but may he never return. May we know the kinder hand of a man more fit to lead, a man with Egypt’s best interests at heart, rather than his own.
Perhaps it is selfishness that guides me, and maybe that motivation is corrupt. But I do not know what else to do or where else to turn. War shows no mercy, after all, and why should it spare our Pharaoh? Chosen by the gods, they say, and I suppose you would know. So then, I might question… why such a choice?
Forgive me for my directness, but I have nothing left. Everything I am, it feels like he’s stolen from me. And I know I cannot be the only one. I fear for his wife, his unborn child, Cairo, even all of Egypt, if he is allowed to go on unchecked. Please, mighty Osiris, hear my cry for help and my appeal for mercy. Please don’t let us all suffer for the victory of one man.
And with that, she hardly dared another word, fearful she’d be struck down in that very moment. Holding her breath, Neithotep ended her prayer, not even deigning to move. Would Osiris hear her and turn a benevolent ear? Would he ignore her entirely? Or… something worse?
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Neithotep was somber and demure as she entered the temple of Osiris, arms laden with flowers and exotic perfumes. Clad in a kalasiris of midnight black with her eyes heavily outlined in matching kohl, the young noblewoman’s countenance was unwontedly dark—appropriate for the dark thoughts that accompanied it. Others might be here to pray for Egypt’s victory, for the safe return of their loved ones, but her reasons were not quite so in line with the rest of her countrymen.
Remaining silent and practically deaf to those that surrounded and accompanied her, Nia approached the great golden statue of the god of the Underworld with a hint of reluctance in her step. All around her, audible prayers were being lifted for the safety and well-being of their soldiers, but that was hardly what she wished to pray for. There was no one she really cared about that was being carted off to the war; in fact, quite the opposite. Perhaps the reason she came was heresy, and for that reason alone, her prayers would remain silent. This was between her and the gods alone.
Carefully arranging her offerings at the idol’s feet, Nia gingerly knelt in from of the god’s visage and bowed her head. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she took a few deep breaths, nervous that somehow those around her would be able to hear the treasonous thoughts in her head, that her pleas would be intercepted and turned against her instead.
Though, truly, that would solve her dilemma either way.
Quit being such a coward, Nia, she berated herself. No one can hear the words you don’t speak, and if the gods take their vengeance on you, so be it. Can it be worse than what you suffer now? And if it is… maybe you deserve it, after all.
Properly cowed by her own remonstrations, she took another slow breath and released it, closing her eyes to focus her prayer. For good or for ill, come what may.
Osiris, hear my plea. I know I am but one person in the face of thousands, but perhaps you will listen to the pained cries of a woman with nowhere to go. While those around me beg for their husbands, fathers, and sons to come home safely from this war, I would join my voice to theirs, but… with one exception.
Our King of Kings is not the benevolent man he tries to show the world he is. The depths of his cruelty are unfathomable, and the darkness of his heart surpasses the night itself. May he lead us to victory, may he keep our brothers safe, but may he never return. May we know the kinder hand of a man more fit to lead, a man with Egypt’s best interests at heart, rather than his own.
Perhaps it is selfishness that guides me, and maybe that motivation is corrupt. But I do not know what else to do or where else to turn. War shows no mercy, after all, and why should it spare our Pharaoh? Chosen by the gods, they say, and I suppose you would know. So then, I might question… why such a choice?
Forgive me for my directness, but I have nothing left. Everything I am, it feels like he’s stolen from me. And I know I cannot be the only one. I fear for his wife, his unborn child, Cairo, even all of Egypt, if he is allowed to go on unchecked. Please, mighty Osiris, hear my cry for help and my appeal for mercy. Please don’t let us all suffer for the victory of one man.
And with that, she hardly dared another word, fearful she’d be struck down in that very moment. Holding her breath, Neithotep ended her prayer, not even deigning to move. Would Osiris hear her and turn a benevolent ear? Would he ignore her entirely? Or… something worse?
Neithotep was somber and demure as she entered the temple of Osiris, arms laden with flowers and exotic perfumes. Clad in a kalasiris of midnight black with her eyes heavily outlined in matching kohl, the young noblewoman’s countenance was unwontedly dark—appropriate for the dark thoughts that accompanied it. Others might be here to pray for Egypt’s victory, for the safe return of their loved ones, but her reasons were not quite so in line with the rest of her countrymen.
Remaining silent and practically deaf to those that surrounded and accompanied her, Nia approached the great golden statue of the god of the Underworld with a hint of reluctance in her step. All around her, audible prayers were being lifted for the safety and well-being of their soldiers, but that was hardly what she wished to pray for. There was no one she really cared about that was being carted off to the war; in fact, quite the opposite. Perhaps the reason she came was heresy, and for that reason alone, her prayers would remain silent. This was between her and the gods alone.
Carefully arranging her offerings at the idol’s feet, Nia gingerly knelt in from of the god’s visage and bowed her head. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she took a few deep breaths, nervous that somehow those around her would be able to hear the treasonous thoughts in her head, that her pleas would be intercepted and turned against her instead.
Though, truly, that would solve her dilemma either way.
Quit being such a coward, Nia, she berated herself. No one can hear the words you don’t speak, and if the gods take their vengeance on you, so be it. Can it be worse than what you suffer now? And if it is… maybe you deserve it, after all.
Properly cowed by her own remonstrations, she took another slow breath and released it, closing her eyes to focus her prayer. For good or for ill, come what may.
Osiris, hear my plea. I know I am but one person in the face of thousands, but perhaps you will listen to the pained cries of a woman with nowhere to go. While those around me beg for their husbands, fathers, and sons to come home safely from this war, I would join my voice to theirs, but… with one exception.
Our King of Kings is not the benevolent man he tries to show the world he is. The depths of his cruelty are unfathomable, and the darkness of his heart surpasses the night itself. May he lead us to victory, may he keep our brothers safe, but may he never return. May we know the kinder hand of a man more fit to lead, a man with Egypt’s best interests at heart, rather than his own.
Perhaps it is selfishness that guides me, and maybe that motivation is corrupt. But I do not know what else to do or where else to turn. War shows no mercy, after all, and why should it spare our Pharaoh? Chosen by the gods, they say, and I suppose you would know. So then, I might question… why such a choice?
Forgive me for my directness, but I have nothing left. Everything I am, it feels like he’s stolen from me. And I know I cannot be the only one. I fear for his wife, his unborn child, Cairo, even all of Egypt, if he is allowed to go on unchecked. Please, mighty Osiris, hear my cry for help and my appeal for mercy. Please don’t let us all suffer for the victory of one man.
And with that, she hardly dared another word, fearful she’d be struck down in that very moment. Holding her breath, Neithotep ended her prayer, not even deigning to move. Would Osiris hear her and turn a benevolent ear? Would he ignore her entirely? Or… something worse?
Following her sister into the temple, Nenet’s arms bore items to please the gods, in the form of a basket carrying things she’d made or painted. Painted plates, vases, statues, all things of personal value that she felt might sway the gods into sparing Sutekh. While Nia may not have given a spare thought to their brother, Nenet thought of him almost constantly. Guilt gnawed at her over how he was treated, as though she might have prevented it in some way, or perhaps spoken up? Maybe their father might have been more lenient if she’d flung herself between him and her mother during the terrible fight. The fight she’d been home for and had heard from even up in her room with the door closed.
Like Nia, she was dressed in a black kalasiris, kohl rimmed eyes, and formal wig on her head. She trailed after her sister, stopping at the statue of Osiris to gently deposit the things she’d brought and then knelt next to Nia. Closing her eyes, she, like Nia, did not pray out loud, though not for the same reasons. Whenever she spoke in public, her chest tightened, her breath shortened and she felt cold prickles break out across her skin at the thought of having to produce sound - words. Invariably, the result was always the same; she stuttered horribly. Some people were patient and acted like she hadn’t, or, worse, gave her pitying looks. The worst ones made her repeat everything because they hadn’t understood her the first time, for whatever reason.
Great and mighty Lord Osiris she began in her head, but stopped and wondered if the words would be stuttering up to the gods...but that was silly and so she continued. Please keep my brother Sutekh from harm. Please make him great. Please give our Pharaoh the power to overcome our Greek enemies and please bring all of our men home.
Leaning down so low that her forehead touched the cold stone of the temple floor, she pressed both palms to the floor, forcing all of her will into the prayer. How could she go into the afterlife with a heavy heart? Sobek would eat her and she would never make it into Paradise. There had to be some sort of reconciliation with her brother before his death and if there wasn’t? Nenet quaked to think of it.
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Following her sister into the temple, Nenet’s arms bore items to please the gods, in the form of a basket carrying things she’d made or painted. Painted plates, vases, statues, all things of personal value that she felt might sway the gods into sparing Sutekh. While Nia may not have given a spare thought to their brother, Nenet thought of him almost constantly. Guilt gnawed at her over how he was treated, as though she might have prevented it in some way, or perhaps spoken up? Maybe their father might have been more lenient if she’d flung herself between him and her mother during the terrible fight. The fight she’d been home for and had heard from even up in her room with the door closed.
Like Nia, she was dressed in a black kalasiris, kohl rimmed eyes, and formal wig on her head. She trailed after her sister, stopping at the statue of Osiris to gently deposit the things she’d brought and then knelt next to Nia. Closing her eyes, she, like Nia, did not pray out loud, though not for the same reasons. Whenever she spoke in public, her chest tightened, her breath shortened and she felt cold prickles break out across her skin at the thought of having to produce sound - words. Invariably, the result was always the same; she stuttered horribly. Some people were patient and acted like she hadn’t, or, worse, gave her pitying looks. The worst ones made her repeat everything because they hadn’t understood her the first time, for whatever reason.
Great and mighty Lord Osiris she began in her head, but stopped and wondered if the words would be stuttering up to the gods...but that was silly and so she continued. Please keep my brother Sutekh from harm. Please make him great. Please give our Pharaoh the power to overcome our Greek enemies and please bring all of our men home.
Leaning down so low that her forehead touched the cold stone of the temple floor, she pressed both palms to the floor, forcing all of her will into the prayer. How could she go into the afterlife with a heavy heart? Sobek would eat her and she would never make it into Paradise. There had to be some sort of reconciliation with her brother before his death and if there wasn’t? Nenet quaked to think of it.
Following her sister into the temple, Nenet’s arms bore items to please the gods, in the form of a basket carrying things she’d made or painted. Painted plates, vases, statues, all things of personal value that she felt might sway the gods into sparing Sutekh. While Nia may not have given a spare thought to their brother, Nenet thought of him almost constantly. Guilt gnawed at her over how he was treated, as though she might have prevented it in some way, or perhaps spoken up? Maybe their father might have been more lenient if she’d flung herself between him and her mother during the terrible fight. The fight she’d been home for and had heard from even up in her room with the door closed.
Like Nia, she was dressed in a black kalasiris, kohl rimmed eyes, and formal wig on her head. She trailed after her sister, stopping at the statue of Osiris to gently deposit the things she’d brought and then knelt next to Nia. Closing her eyes, she, like Nia, did not pray out loud, though not for the same reasons. Whenever she spoke in public, her chest tightened, her breath shortened and she felt cold prickles break out across her skin at the thought of having to produce sound - words. Invariably, the result was always the same; she stuttered horribly. Some people were patient and acted like she hadn’t, or, worse, gave her pitying looks. The worst ones made her repeat everything because they hadn’t understood her the first time, for whatever reason.
Great and mighty Lord Osiris she began in her head, but stopped and wondered if the words would be stuttering up to the gods...but that was silly and so she continued. Please keep my brother Sutekh from harm. Please make him great. Please give our Pharaoh the power to overcome our Greek enemies and please bring all of our men home.
Leaning down so low that her forehead touched the cold stone of the temple floor, she pressed both palms to the floor, forcing all of her will into the prayer. How could she go into the afterlife with a heavy heart? Sobek would eat her and she would never make it into Paradise. There had to be some sort of reconciliation with her brother before his death and if there wasn’t? Nenet quaked to think of it.
Nafretiri always felt extremely uncomfortable in the temple of Osiris, considering that Aneksi had been born on the feast day of the Going Forth of Isis, who was the goddess who was supposed to be Osiris' wife. She was convinced- and had been since her daughter's birth- that if Badru of Thebes did not take Aneksi- at least for Meritaten's sake if not his own- then Isis would, either by death or by priestly servitude in her temple. Considering what Nafretiri had been through by the time she had arrived at Hathor's temple, was it really any wonder she feared the gods of death especially?
Nonetheless, she would have felt guilty if she didn't make the journey. War meant that she was not safe anywhere, considering that the steward stayed behind when a noble went to war. She couldn't help but be intensely angry about that. Hadn't she been through enough? She had pretty much asked the gods that on a daily basis. But anger or not,as much as she felt tempted to think the gods had caused the war themselves, it wouldn't do not to make an offering in a time of uncertainty, perhaps for any Egyptian citizen, even if they were devotees of another god or goddess and usually served in that temple instead.
She was trembling with fear as she entered the temple, but perhaps in a way, the fear was good. It gave her reason to think that if she got on the good side of Osiris, the fears that tormented her considering her daughter's future would perhaps leave her alone at last.
She had nothing else to pray for, really, other than that whatever men who needed to be kept especially safe would survive. But the words to articulate her greatest fear would not come. She would just have to hope the god would see her heart and deem it pure enough to give her peace.
Nafretiri had just left her offering and was returning when she bumped into the nearest worshiper, who appeared to have her arms quite full.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Nafretiri colored six different shades of red within seconds of each other. "I didn't mean to- I must have been lost in my own thoughts." Yes, she had definitely been lost in her own thoughts.
The young woman appeared to be a noble, making the situation appear a thousand times worse. Last time she had run into a noble, he'd frightened her silly because he was three inches taller than she was and had physically steered her away from that awful (for her) festival at the palace.... Nafretiri had been frightened of being touched in any way by a man since her ordeal, though, so perhaps it was good that she'd run into a woman this time. "I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
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Nafretiri always felt extremely uncomfortable in the temple of Osiris, considering that Aneksi had been born on the feast day of the Going Forth of Isis, who was the goddess who was supposed to be Osiris' wife. She was convinced- and had been since her daughter's birth- that if Badru of Thebes did not take Aneksi- at least for Meritaten's sake if not his own- then Isis would, either by death or by priestly servitude in her temple. Considering what Nafretiri had been through by the time she had arrived at Hathor's temple, was it really any wonder she feared the gods of death especially?
Nonetheless, she would have felt guilty if she didn't make the journey. War meant that she was not safe anywhere, considering that the steward stayed behind when a noble went to war. She couldn't help but be intensely angry about that. Hadn't she been through enough? She had pretty much asked the gods that on a daily basis. But anger or not,as much as she felt tempted to think the gods had caused the war themselves, it wouldn't do not to make an offering in a time of uncertainty, perhaps for any Egyptian citizen, even if they were devotees of another god or goddess and usually served in that temple instead.
She was trembling with fear as she entered the temple, but perhaps in a way, the fear was good. It gave her reason to think that if she got on the good side of Osiris, the fears that tormented her considering her daughter's future would perhaps leave her alone at last.
She had nothing else to pray for, really, other than that whatever men who needed to be kept especially safe would survive. But the words to articulate her greatest fear would not come. She would just have to hope the god would see her heart and deem it pure enough to give her peace.
Nafretiri had just left her offering and was returning when she bumped into the nearest worshiper, who appeared to have her arms quite full.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Nafretiri colored six different shades of red within seconds of each other. "I didn't mean to- I must have been lost in my own thoughts." Yes, she had definitely been lost in her own thoughts.
The young woman appeared to be a noble, making the situation appear a thousand times worse. Last time she had run into a noble, he'd frightened her silly because he was three inches taller than she was and had physically steered her away from that awful (for her) festival at the palace.... Nafretiri had been frightened of being touched in any way by a man since her ordeal, though, so perhaps it was good that she'd run into a woman this time. "I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
Nafretiri always felt extremely uncomfortable in the temple of Osiris, considering that Aneksi had been born on the feast day of the Going Forth of Isis, who was the goddess who was supposed to be Osiris' wife. She was convinced- and had been since her daughter's birth- that if Badru of Thebes did not take Aneksi- at least for Meritaten's sake if not his own- then Isis would, either by death or by priestly servitude in her temple. Considering what Nafretiri had been through by the time she had arrived at Hathor's temple, was it really any wonder she feared the gods of death especially?
Nonetheless, she would have felt guilty if she didn't make the journey. War meant that she was not safe anywhere, considering that the steward stayed behind when a noble went to war. She couldn't help but be intensely angry about that. Hadn't she been through enough? She had pretty much asked the gods that on a daily basis. But anger or not,as much as she felt tempted to think the gods had caused the war themselves, it wouldn't do not to make an offering in a time of uncertainty, perhaps for any Egyptian citizen, even if they were devotees of another god or goddess and usually served in that temple instead.
She was trembling with fear as she entered the temple, but perhaps in a way, the fear was good. It gave her reason to think that if she got on the good side of Osiris, the fears that tormented her considering her daughter's future would perhaps leave her alone at last.
She had nothing else to pray for, really, other than that whatever men who needed to be kept especially safe would survive. But the words to articulate her greatest fear would not come. She would just have to hope the god would see her heart and deem it pure enough to give her peace.
Nafretiri had just left her offering and was returning when she bumped into the nearest worshiper, who appeared to have her arms quite full.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Nafretiri colored six different shades of red within seconds of each other. "I didn't mean to- I must have been lost in my own thoughts." Yes, she had definitely been lost in her own thoughts.
The young woman appeared to be a noble, making the situation appear a thousand times worse. Last time she had run into a noble, he'd frightened her silly because he was three inches taller than she was and had physically steered her away from that awful (for her) festival at the palace.... Nafretiri had been frightened of being touched in any way by a man since her ordeal, though, so perhaps it was good that she'd run into a woman this time. "I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
Iaheru disliked the temple for it's absolutes, but did care for the capitals of columns and the rituals. Her father was not a religious man and Iaheru didn't quite care for her mother's inclinations, which would later return to her tenfold, but as a family they respected traditions. They'd come to temple in times of conflict and pray for steady waters, her father so fervent it bordered on conviction that never carried over to prosperous times.
To see her daughter, well, daughters, begging at the feet of a visage made Iaheru cold. It was the tortured one she filed beside, the words she spoke like daggers to her sweet Nenet's ears. While she was so preoccupied with rearing the evil from Sutekh's blood she had failed to protect her other children from the monsters within and lurking the streets of their home. Perhaps it was best to send them all to Thebes, scatter them among the safe havens of academia and religion, but it was too late. She had chosen to allow her children to make their own way and erroneously so.
She gazed on the rugged shoulders a woman coping the best way she could. Iaheru knew how that felt, but she didn't all at once. Their shared experiences manifested differently. The mother knelt next to the daughter, Neithotep's ruminations tumultuous from Iaheru's intuition, Iaheru was sure her presence was as welcome as rancid oil.
A purse of pearls are dumped into the offering plate brashly. Albeit, a measly offering for a woman of her stature, Iaheru perceived the God and the cause as measly compared to her time. "It is admirable that you still pray to this God," Iaheru whispers as she tucks her head. "It is painful to see someone so tenderhearted suffer like this."
Iaheru didn't know how to comfort her daughter and confront their shared trauma. She was lost for words other than her cold calculations, her bite sharpened by what happened to her so many moons ago. "I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself."
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Iaheru disliked the temple for it's absolutes, but did care for the capitals of columns and the rituals. Her father was not a religious man and Iaheru didn't quite care for her mother's inclinations, which would later return to her tenfold, but as a family they respected traditions. They'd come to temple in times of conflict and pray for steady waters, her father so fervent it bordered on conviction that never carried over to prosperous times.
To see her daughter, well, daughters, begging at the feet of a visage made Iaheru cold. It was the tortured one she filed beside, the words she spoke like daggers to her sweet Nenet's ears. While she was so preoccupied with rearing the evil from Sutekh's blood she had failed to protect her other children from the monsters within and lurking the streets of their home. Perhaps it was best to send them all to Thebes, scatter them among the safe havens of academia and religion, but it was too late. She had chosen to allow her children to make their own way and erroneously so.
She gazed on the rugged shoulders a woman coping the best way she could. Iaheru knew how that felt, but she didn't all at once. Their shared experiences manifested differently. The mother knelt next to the daughter, Neithotep's ruminations tumultuous from Iaheru's intuition, Iaheru was sure her presence was as welcome as rancid oil.
A purse of pearls are dumped into the offering plate brashly. Albeit, a measly offering for a woman of her stature, Iaheru perceived the God and the cause as measly compared to her time. "It is admirable that you still pray to this God," Iaheru whispers as she tucks her head. "It is painful to see someone so tenderhearted suffer like this."
Iaheru didn't know how to comfort her daughter and confront their shared trauma. She was lost for words other than her cold calculations, her bite sharpened by what happened to her so many moons ago. "I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself."
Iaheru disliked the temple for it's absolutes, but did care for the capitals of columns and the rituals. Her father was not a religious man and Iaheru didn't quite care for her mother's inclinations, which would later return to her tenfold, but as a family they respected traditions. They'd come to temple in times of conflict and pray for steady waters, her father so fervent it bordered on conviction that never carried over to prosperous times.
To see her daughter, well, daughters, begging at the feet of a visage made Iaheru cold. It was the tortured one she filed beside, the words she spoke like daggers to her sweet Nenet's ears. While she was so preoccupied with rearing the evil from Sutekh's blood she had failed to protect her other children from the monsters within and lurking the streets of their home. Perhaps it was best to send them all to Thebes, scatter them among the safe havens of academia and religion, but it was too late. She had chosen to allow her children to make their own way and erroneously so.
She gazed on the rugged shoulders a woman coping the best way she could. Iaheru knew how that felt, but she didn't all at once. Their shared experiences manifested differently. The mother knelt next to the daughter, Neithotep's ruminations tumultuous from Iaheru's intuition, Iaheru was sure her presence was as welcome as rancid oil.
A purse of pearls are dumped into the offering plate brashly. Albeit, a measly offering for a woman of her stature, Iaheru perceived the God and the cause as measly compared to her time. "It is admirable that you still pray to this God," Iaheru whispers as she tucks her head. "It is painful to see someone so tenderhearted suffer like this."
Iaheru didn't know how to comfort her daughter and confront their shared trauma. She was lost for words other than her cold calculations, her bite sharpened by what happened to her so many moons ago. "I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself."
Prayers sent to their appropriate recipient, Nia sat up and glanced over at her sister prostrate on the ground next to her. She wondered what it was that Nenet prayed for so fervently, but she kept a deferential silence. She doubted it was anything like what she prayed for, but nonetheless, she respected her sister’s silent pleas and kept quiet herself. Some things were only meant to be heard by the gods, especially in times like this.
Noting the woman who collided with Nenet so unexpectedly, Nia frowned and started to say something about watching where she was going, but before she could, she heard the soft voice of her mother at her side. Turning to Iaheru with wide-eyed surprise at her unexpected assertions, she quickly composed herself and returned to a worshipful pose.
Closing her eyes and keeping her voice low as if she was still in prayer, she replied to the Sirdsett, “Of all the gods, I imagine Osiris would be the only one who can grant what I ask for.”
I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself.
At that, Neithotep nearly smiled, schooling her face back to its previous solemn composure before anyone could notice the shift. “I possess little of your courage, Mother. And what I thought was brave only turned out to be foolish in the end.” Kneeling down further to touch her head to the floor, she spoke again, “But if you know what god will do such a thing for me, then by all means, give me their name. I will lay my offerings at their altar instead.”
Slowly sitting back up, she fell silent again at the sight of one of the temple’s acolytes passing them by. The words they spoke, however coded, bordered on treason, and gods only knew where men’s true loyalty lie. Even now, with Iahotep at the head of the Egyptian army, how could she rest assured that he did not watch her still? There was little she would put past him, even in the houses of the gods.
Once the acolyte was past them, she slowly slid her hand over to grasp her mother’s in a rare gesture of affection while she kept her gaze fixed on the statue of Osiris. She appreciated Iaheru’s sentiment, but knew this was hopeless situation where little could be done. There was no need for her to risk herself and their Hei because Nia had caught the wrong man’s affections. “Leave it to the gods, Mother. These are eyes too dangerous to be plucked yourself.”
Even in disaster, there could be redemption.
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Prayers sent to their appropriate recipient, Nia sat up and glanced over at her sister prostrate on the ground next to her. She wondered what it was that Nenet prayed for so fervently, but she kept a deferential silence. She doubted it was anything like what she prayed for, but nonetheless, she respected her sister’s silent pleas and kept quiet herself. Some things were only meant to be heard by the gods, especially in times like this.
Noting the woman who collided with Nenet so unexpectedly, Nia frowned and started to say something about watching where she was going, but before she could, she heard the soft voice of her mother at her side. Turning to Iaheru with wide-eyed surprise at her unexpected assertions, she quickly composed herself and returned to a worshipful pose.
Closing her eyes and keeping her voice low as if she was still in prayer, she replied to the Sirdsett, “Of all the gods, I imagine Osiris would be the only one who can grant what I ask for.”
I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself.
At that, Neithotep nearly smiled, schooling her face back to its previous solemn composure before anyone could notice the shift. “I possess little of your courage, Mother. And what I thought was brave only turned out to be foolish in the end.” Kneeling down further to touch her head to the floor, she spoke again, “But if you know what god will do such a thing for me, then by all means, give me their name. I will lay my offerings at their altar instead.”
Slowly sitting back up, she fell silent again at the sight of one of the temple’s acolytes passing them by. The words they spoke, however coded, bordered on treason, and gods only knew where men’s true loyalty lie. Even now, with Iahotep at the head of the Egyptian army, how could she rest assured that he did not watch her still? There was little she would put past him, even in the houses of the gods.
Once the acolyte was past them, she slowly slid her hand over to grasp her mother’s in a rare gesture of affection while she kept her gaze fixed on the statue of Osiris. She appreciated Iaheru’s sentiment, but knew this was hopeless situation where little could be done. There was no need for her to risk herself and their Hei because Nia had caught the wrong man’s affections. “Leave it to the gods, Mother. These are eyes too dangerous to be plucked yourself.”
Even in disaster, there could be redemption.
Prayers sent to their appropriate recipient, Nia sat up and glanced over at her sister prostrate on the ground next to her. She wondered what it was that Nenet prayed for so fervently, but she kept a deferential silence. She doubted it was anything like what she prayed for, but nonetheless, she respected her sister’s silent pleas and kept quiet herself. Some things were only meant to be heard by the gods, especially in times like this.
Noting the woman who collided with Nenet so unexpectedly, Nia frowned and started to say something about watching where she was going, but before she could, she heard the soft voice of her mother at her side. Turning to Iaheru with wide-eyed surprise at her unexpected assertions, she quickly composed herself and returned to a worshipful pose.
Closing her eyes and keeping her voice low as if she was still in prayer, she replied to the Sirdsett, “Of all the gods, I imagine Osiris would be the only one who can grant what I ask for.”
I worship the God that will have crows pluck the dead eyes from your enemies left to rot in the sands. And then I do it myself.
At that, Neithotep nearly smiled, schooling her face back to its previous solemn composure before anyone could notice the shift. “I possess little of your courage, Mother. And what I thought was brave only turned out to be foolish in the end.” Kneeling down further to touch her head to the floor, she spoke again, “But if you know what god will do such a thing for me, then by all means, give me their name. I will lay my offerings at their altar instead.”
Slowly sitting back up, she fell silent again at the sight of one of the temple’s acolytes passing them by. The words they spoke, however coded, bordered on treason, and gods only knew where men’s true loyalty lie. Even now, with Iahotep at the head of the Egyptian army, how could she rest assured that he did not watch her still? There was little she would put past him, even in the houses of the gods.
Once the acolyte was past them, she slowly slid her hand over to grasp her mother’s in a rare gesture of affection while she kept her gaze fixed on the statue of Osiris. She appreciated Iaheru’s sentiment, but knew this was hopeless situation where little could be done. There was no need for her to risk herself and their Hei because Nia had caught the wrong man’s affections. “Leave it to the gods, Mother. These are eyes too dangerous to be plucked yourself.”
Even in disaster, there could be redemption.
Nenet’s arms had been full a few moments ago, but they weren’t now. She’d finished her prayer and stood, dusting off the knees of her kalasiris when all of a sudden, she was bowled over. Nenet barely caught herself on her hands and knees, narrowly avoiding her chin clunking down on the floor. Frowning, she looked over her shoulder, glaring at the woman who was now blustering an apology. Nenet made an impatient sound and eased herself back, kneeling again and dusting her hands together, checking them for scrapes. Despite the force of the impact, she was fine. Her ego was a little bruised, but otherwise, there was no damage done.
Holding up a hand to wave off the woman’s continuing apologies, Nenet rose to her feet, again swiping the white linen fabric of her kalasiris to keep it clean and frowning at the definite smudge there now. Fantastic. She sighed loudly and looked Nafretiri over. The clear distinction of rank between them kept Nenet from being too terribly embarrassed about the mishap. After all, because Nafretiri was a commoner, that meant it was her fault. Because it was her fault, commoner or not, that meant the other woman was doubly guilty. This saved Nenet from having to stutter out an apology.
"I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
Nenet cast her a long look that suggested Nafretiri had caused her quite a bit of inconvenience, but at the same time, waved her off again, willing to forget the whole thing if it meant she didn’t have to speak and reveal that she would be a stuttering mess. Nenet hated to talk in public and barely spoke to her own family if she could help it.
She glanced towards her mother and sister, where they were speaking quietly, catching words like “pluck out eyes” and “Don't’ do that, leave it to the gods.” Nenet squinted a little and made a face. What on earth were they talking about? Weren’t they here to pray for Sutekh? And if they weren’t, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Her poor brother, cast out, sent off to war, forced to be with an insane pharaoh...no, he needed divine help. Not ignored, and Nenet planned to be braver for her brother from now on. She’d write him letters. That was plenty brave, right?
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Nenet’s arms had been full a few moments ago, but they weren’t now. She’d finished her prayer and stood, dusting off the knees of her kalasiris when all of a sudden, she was bowled over. Nenet barely caught herself on her hands and knees, narrowly avoiding her chin clunking down on the floor. Frowning, she looked over her shoulder, glaring at the woman who was now blustering an apology. Nenet made an impatient sound and eased herself back, kneeling again and dusting her hands together, checking them for scrapes. Despite the force of the impact, she was fine. Her ego was a little bruised, but otherwise, there was no damage done.
Holding up a hand to wave off the woman’s continuing apologies, Nenet rose to her feet, again swiping the white linen fabric of her kalasiris to keep it clean and frowning at the definite smudge there now. Fantastic. She sighed loudly and looked Nafretiri over. The clear distinction of rank between them kept Nenet from being too terribly embarrassed about the mishap. After all, because Nafretiri was a commoner, that meant it was her fault. Because it was her fault, commoner or not, that meant the other woman was doubly guilty. This saved Nenet from having to stutter out an apology.
"I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
Nenet cast her a long look that suggested Nafretiri had caused her quite a bit of inconvenience, but at the same time, waved her off again, willing to forget the whole thing if it meant she didn’t have to speak and reveal that she would be a stuttering mess. Nenet hated to talk in public and barely spoke to her own family if she could help it.
She glanced towards her mother and sister, where they were speaking quietly, catching words like “pluck out eyes” and “Don't’ do that, leave it to the gods.” Nenet squinted a little and made a face. What on earth were they talking about? Weren’t they here to pray for Sutekh? And if they weren’t, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Her poor brother, cast out, sent off to war, forced to be with an insane pharaoh...no, he needed divine help. Not ignored, and Nenet planned to be braver for her brother from now on. She’d write him letters. That was plenty brave, right?
Nenet’s arms had been full a few moments ago, but they weren’t now. She’d finished her prayer and stood, dusting off the knees of her kalasiris when all of a sudden, she was bowled over. Nenet barely caught herself on her hands and knees, narrowly avoiding her chin clunking down on the floor. Frowning, she looked over her shoulder, glaring at the woman who was now blustering an apology. Nenet made an impatient sound and eased herself back, kneeling again and dusting her hands together, checking them for scrapes. Despite the force of the impact, she was fine. Her ego was a little bruised, but otherwise, there was no damage done.
Holding up a hand to wave off the woman’s continuing apologies, Nenet rose to her feet, again swiping the white linen fabric of her kalasiris to keep it clean and frowning at the definite smudge there now. Fantastic. She sighed loudly and looked Nafretiri over. The clear distinction of rank between them kept Nenet from being too terribly embarrassed about the mishap. After all, because Nafretiri was a commoner, that meant it was her fault. Because it was her fault, commoner or not, that meant the other woman was doubly guilty. This saved Nenet from having to stutter out an apology.
"I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience, my lady."
Nenet cast her a long look that suggested Nafretiri had caused her quite a bit of inconvenience, but at the same time, waved her off again, willing to forget the whole thing if it meant she didn’t have to speak and reveal that she would be a stuttering mess. Nenet hated to talk in public and barely spoke to her own family if she could help it.
She glanced towards her mother and sister, where they were speaking quietly, catching words like “pluck out eyes” and “Don't’ do that, leave it to the gods.” Nenet squinted a little and made a face. What on earth were they talking about? Weren’t they here to pray for Sutekh? And if they weren’t, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Her poor brother, cast out, sent off to war, forced to be with an insane pharaoh...no, he needed divine help. Not ignored, and Nenet planned to be braver for her brother from now on. She’d write him letters. That was plenty brave, right?
Although Nafretiri thought the lady was quite rude not to actually say anything in return, the glare she cast was enough punishment for Nafretiri to feel duly chastened.
What was she even doing here in this eerie place, with someone else who looked to be well-born whispering things to the god about wishing he plucked out someone's eyes? She shivered, even though she knew that logically, such a request likely had nothing to do with her. Duty be damned, it seemed she'd caused more inconvenience than she had come here to try to prevent.
Such was the story of her life, really. She sighed, but duty demanded she stay here, though fear was trying to insist that she flee. Though honestly, she had dreaded this duty for awhile, and she would be very surprised if someone didn't sense it. Religion and politics intertwined in times of war just enough for it to likely be considered almost impious for her not to pray for the soldiers' return. She doubted her own life would change for the better regardless of whether she actually cared who returned or not, but it probably would have been considered disloyal to the gods to say so. She might be able to make such complaints known to Hathor in her temple, but she would not do so here.
She bowed to the lady as the young woman waved her off and gladly went to another corner of the temple, though she could not quite escape the haunting words, which seemed determined to brand themselves into her mind.
Why, why, why had she come here alone? She felt so lonely and frightened at that moment, she would have cried if she thought it would help her to be noticed- which unfortunately, here in the temple of the death god, it probably wouldn't. Her courage was failing her rapidly, but it didn't matter. In Nafretiri's experience, what she felt seemed to matter to very few. Still, she could not resist continuing to berate herself for coming here, but particularly alone. Did the gods sense when someone didn't want to be in their temples, but was anyway? Did they honor that, as a sacrifice of its own?
If so, Nafretiri had made many sacrifices lately without giving one single burnt offering. She couldn't help wondering if any of the other worshipers in the temple felt the same way. She would have liked to ask, but after the way the lady had reacted, she was wary of talking to anyone.
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Although Nafretiri thought the lady was quite rude not to actually say anything in return, the glare she cast was enough punishment for Nafretiri to feel duly chastened.
What was she even doing here in this eerie place, with someone else who looked to be well-born whispering things to the god about wishing he plucked out someone's eyes? She shivered, even though she knew that logically, such a request likely had nothing to do with her. Duty be damned, it seemed she'd caused more inconvenience than she had come here to try to prevent.
Such was the story of her life, really. She sighed, but duty demanded she stay here, though fear was trying to insist that she flee. Though honestly, she had dreaded this duty for awhile, and she would be very surprised if someone didn't sense it. Religion and politics intertwined in times of war just enough for it to likely be considered almost impious for her not to pray for the soldiers' return. She doubted her own life would change for the better regardless of whether she actually cared who returned or not, but it probably would have been considered disloyal to the gods to say so. She might be able to make such complaints known to Hathor in her temple, but she would not do so here.
She bowed to the lady as the young woman waved her off and gladly went to another corner of the temple, though she could not quite escape the haunting words, which seemed determined to brand themselves into her mind.
Why, why, why had she come here alone? She felt so lonely and frightened at that moment, she would have cried if she thought it would help her to be noticed- which unfortunately, here in the temple of the death god, it probably wouldn't. Her courage was failing her rapidly, but it didn't matter. In Nafretiri's experience, what she felt seemed to matter to very few. Still, she could not resist continuing to berate herself for coming here, but particularly alone. Did the gods sense when someone didn't want to be in their temples, but was anyway? Did they honor that, as a sacrifice of its own?
If so, Nafretiri had made many sacrifices lately without giving one single burnt offering. She couldn't help wondering if any of the other worshipers in the temple felt the same way. She would have liked to ask, but after the way the lady had reacted, she was wary of talking to anyone.
Although Nafretiri thought the lady was quite rude not to actually say anything in return, the glare she cast was enough punishment for Nafretiri to feel duly chastened.
What was she even doing here in this eerie place, with someone else who looked to be well-born whispering things to the god about wishing he plucked out someone's eyes? She shivered, even though she knew that logically, such a request likely had nothing to do with her. Duty be damned, it seemed she'd caused more inconvenience than she had come here to try to prevent.
Such was the story of her life, really. She sighed, but duty demanded she stay here, though fear was trying to insist that she flee. Though honestly, she had dreaded this duty for awhile, and she would be very surprised if someone didn't sense it. Religion and politics intertwined in times of war just enough for it to likely be considered almost impious for her not to pray for the soldiers' return. She doubted her own life would change for the better regardless of whether she actually cared who returned or not, but it probably would have been considered disloyal to the gods to say so. She might be able to make such complaints known to Hathor in her temple, but she would not do so here.
She bowed to the lady as the young woman waved her off and gladly went to another corner of the temple, though she could not quite escape the haunting words, which seemed determined to brand themselves into her mind.
Why, why, why had she come here alone? She felt so lonely and frightened at that moment, she would have cried if she thought it would help her to be noticed- which unfortunately, here in the temple of the death god, it probably wouldn't. Her courage was failing her rapidly, but it didn't matter. In Nafretiri's experience, what she felt seemed to matter to very few. Still, she could not resist continuing to berate herself for coming here, but particularly alone. Did the gods sense when someone didn't want to be in their temples, but was anyway? Did they honor that, as a sacrifice of its own?
If so, Nafretiri had made many sacrifices lately without giving one single burnt offering. She couldn't help wondering if any of the other worshipers in the temple felt the same way. She would have liked to ask, but after the way the lady had reacted, she was wary of talking to anyone.
Ever since Deshra had taken on the role of the noblewoman Nebit H’abaddi, she had been avoiding any of the larger gatherings of nobles. Although she picked the name of a new house where the members would be less well known, and she was pretending to be a cousin, who had not been to Cairo before, she wanted to minimize any chance that someone who might know the H’abaddi family well might realize that she was not who she claimed to be. She was lucky enough that the family was not currently spending time in Cairo, so they wouldn’t be able to call her out on it themselves.
Now the Egyptian army was going off to war, and it would have been more conspicuous as a noble for her not to show up to offer prayers and sacrifices to the gods in order to ensure the victories of their armies. Besides, she had no desire to see her kingdom fall to the hands of the Greek armies. She was willing to take whatever actions might be needed to ensure that they would succeed.
In order to secure her disguise as a member of the noble class, Deshra had traded her distinct voluminous red hair in for a black wig made of human and horsehair. Not wanting to cut her much-beloved signature feature, Deshra had instead braided her hair tight against her head to allow the wig to fit flat over her hair and secured the wig down with perfumed beeswax, which stayed tacky enough in the heat to secure the wig to her head.
Deshra’s wardrobe had likewise increased in grandeur. Her allowance from the queen had allowed her to dress as befitted a noblewoman. Her body was draped in a generous robe of sheer white silk, that was belted around the middle with an ornately woven belt, with patterns of red and indigo. Of course, what truly completed the look of a noblewoman was the jewelry, and Deshra had made sure to buy something beautiful. Around her neck, she wore a wide, beaded necklace, while her wrists had thin gold bands around each one.
Deshra had arrived at the temple with the proper sacrifices required of a noble. She had fresh fruit, cut and laid out on a gilded plate. Hopefully, this would make a good impression, but also prevent her from standing out too much as someone who had never had the kind of money to even consider making this kind of tribute to the gods before. Perhaps now that she had this kind of money, the gods might consider her worthy of some attention.
Deshra brought her plate up to the feet of the statue and laid it at his feet, bowing deeply. Deshra had never been one for thinking prayers so directly, surely the gods could already sense her intentions. As she bowed before the statue of Osiris, Deshra imagined the Egyptians victorious in battle. The Pharaoh, she was less sure of. Her ability to seduce him was currently the key to being able to continue to live this lavish lifestyle. However, the man was not kind. She had been with men before who enjoyed all manner of things, but this was the first man who actively seemed cruel in his desires. It was something that scared Deshra, something that made her wish that perhaps he wouldn’t return from the war after all.
But the gods had made him Pharaoh, so who was she to judge their decisions. Perhaps they didn’t care what he did to a simple whore who dared to pretend to be a noble. With that thought, Deshra stood from where she bowed at the statue’s feet and turned towards the others who had gathered.
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Ever since Deshra had taken on the role of the noblewoman Nebit H’abaddi, she had been avoiding any of the larger gatherings of nobles. Although she picked the name of a new house where the members would be less well known, and she was pretending to be a cousin, who had not been to Cairo before, she wanted to minimize any chance that someone who might know the H’abaddi family well might realize that she was not who she claimed to be. She was lucky enough that the family was not currently spending time in Cairo, so they wouldn’t be able to call her out on it themselves.
Now the Egyptian army was going off to war, and it would have been more conspicuous as a noble for her not to show up to offer prayers and sacrifices to the gods in order to ensure the victories of their armies. Besides, she had no desire to see her kingdom fall to the hands of the Greek armies. She was willing to take whatever actions might be needed to ensure that they would succeed.
In order to secure her disguise as a member of the noble class, Deshra had traded her distinct voluminous red hair in for a black wig made of human and horsehair. Not wanting to cut her much-beloved signature feature, Deshra had instead braided her hair tight against her head to allow the wig to fit flat over her hair and secured the wig down with perfumed beeswax, which stayed tacky enough in the heat to secure the wig to her head.
Deshra’s wardrobe had likewise increased in grandeur. Her allowance from the queen had allowed her to dress as befitted a noblewoman. Her body was draped in a generous robe of sheer white silk, that was belted around the middle with an ornately woven belt, with patterns of red and indigo. Of course, what truly completed the look of a noblewoman was the jewelry, and Deshra had made sure to buy something beautiful. Around her neck, she wore a wide, beaded necklace, while her wrists had thin gold bands around each one.
Deshra had arrived at the temple with the proper sacrifices required of a noble. She had fresh fruit, cut and laid out on a gilded plate. Hopefully, this would make a good impression, but also prevent her from standing out too much as someone who had never had the kind of money to even consider making this kind of tribute to the gods before. Perhaps now that she had this kind of money, the gods might consider her worthy of some attention.
Deshra brought her plate up to the feet of the statue and laid it at his feet, bowing deeply. Deshra had never been one for thinking prayers so directly, surely the gods could already sense her intentions. As she bowed before the statue of Osiris, Deshra imagined the Egyptians victorious in battle. The Pharaoh, she was less sure of. Her ability to seduce him was currently the key to being able to continue to live this lavish lifestyle. However, the man was not kind. She had been with men before who enjoyed all manner of things, but this was the first man who actively seemed cruel in his desires. It was something that scared Deshra, something that made her wish that perhaps he wouldn’t return from the war after all.
But the gods had made him Pharaoh, so who was she to judge their decisions. Perhaps they didn’t care what he did to a simple whore who dared to pretend to be a noble. With that thought, Deshra stood from where she bowed at the statue’s feet and turned towards the others who had gathered.
Ever since Deshra had taken on the role of the noblewoman Nebit H’abaddi, she had been avoiding any of the larger gatherings of nobles. Although she picked the name of a new house where the members would be less well known, and she was pretending to be a cousin, who had not been to Cairo before, she wanted to minimize any chance that someone who might know the H’abaddi family well might realize that she was not who she claimed to be. She was lucky enough that the family was not currently spending time in Cairo, so they wouldn’t be able to call her out on it themselves.
Now the Egyptian army was going off to war, and it would have been more conspicuous as a noble for her not to show up to offer prayers and sacrifices to the gods in order to ensure the victories of their armies. Besides, she had no desire to see her kingdom fall to the hands of the Greek armies. She was willing to take whatever actions might be needed to ensure that they would succeed.
In order to secure her disguise as a member of the noble class, Deshra had traded her distinct voluminous red hair in for a black wig made of human and horsehair. Not wanting to cut her much-beloved signature feature, Deshra had instead braided her hair tight against her head to allow the wig to fit flat over her hair and secured the wig down with perfumed beeswax, which stayed tacky enough in the heat to secure the wig to her head.
Deshra’s wardrobe had likewise increased in grandeur. Her allowance from the queen had allowed her to dress as befitted a noblewoman. Her body was draped in a generous robe of sheer white silk, that was belted around the middle with an ornately woven belt, with patterns of red and indigo. Of course, what truly completed the look of a noblewoman was the jewelry, and Deshra had made sure to buy something beautiful. Around her neck, she wore a wide, beaded necklace, while her wrists had thin gold bands around each one.
Deshra had arrived at the temple with the proper sacrifices required of a noble. She had fresh fruit, cut and laid out on a gilded plate. Hopefully, this would make a good impression, but also prevent her from standing out too much as someone who had never had the kind of money to even consider making this kind of tribute to the gods before. Perhaps now that she had this kind of money, the gods might consider her worthy of some attention.
Deshra brought her plate up to the feet of the statue and laid it at his feet, bowing deeply. Deshra had never been one for thinking prayers so directly, surely the gods could already sense her intentions. As she bowed before the statue of Osiris, Deshra imagined the Egyptians victorious in battle. The Pharaoh, she was less sure of. Her ability to seduce him was currently the key to being able to continue to live this lavish lifestyle. However, the man was not kind. She had been with men before who enjoyed all manner of things, but this was the first man who actively seemed cruel in his desires. It was something that scared Deshra, something that made her wish that perhaps he wouldn’t return from the war after all.
But the gods had made him Pharaoh, so who was she to judge their decisions. Perhaps they didn’t care what he did to a simple whore who dared to pretend to be a noble. With that thought, Deshra stood from where she bowed at the statue’s feet and turned towards the others who had gathered.
"Does it matter what I dress in?"
The question wasn't rhetoric and was in need of an answer but the tone that asked it showed a significant lack of care. Rubiah wasn't exactly one for altering herself for the sake of others and were she about to go before mortal people she really wouldn't have given two flying pharaoh turds what the accepted protocol or dress code was.
But she was going to the temples. Where the Gods would be watching. Rubiah was a queen bitch at lording it over humans whenever she had the chance but she was neither suicide nor stupid. You didn't piss off a God. They played in a whole other league.
Yet, she was thankful all the same when the servant gave her a fairly open field when it came to choosing her attire.
'Dress beautifully, my Lady.' The old crone told her, practically spitting the title that Rubiah had insisted she used. It hadn't stuck until she'd gotten her sister to have a more polite but more authoritative word with the senile bat. As soon as she had enough money stock piled, Rubiah would buy herself a slave. One that was pretty and had all her teeth and didn't smell of beeswax. 'The Gods like to witness the glory they created. You celebrate yourself and you celebrate them.'
"Good." Rubiah stated. Because herself was exactly what she liked to show off. In all its glory whenever she had the chance.
Selecting an outfit that was more net than cloth, Rubiah quickly detached the neck piece so that it fastened over her shoulders instead of her around her throat. She then loaded her forearms with bangles and slipped her feet into golden sandals. Her hair she pulled back a little, the top section of braids knotted on the back of her head and the rest falling like snakes around her shoulders. The decal in her nose was gold so it matched and Rubiah took a moment in the silver mirror, sticking out her tongue. She had seen some tribesmen of the east stick bits of metal through their tongue which was the most badass thing she'd seen in a while and she'd been wondering about it for herself.
Pulling a face at her smeary reflection and wrinkling her nose, Rubiah took the large wooden dish that had been brought to her rooms that morning and with an irritable sigh left the household with offerings in hand.
Why her sister couldn't make the effort to go to the temple which was only a short walk away, Rubiah had no clue. She was normally all about the helping others and community spirit and all that crap but today the task had fallen upon Rubiah for no apparent reason. And she would have refused. Had it not been for the whole, Gods and other league thing.
It took only a few minutes to walk the streets - alone, for Rubiah wasn't the lady she professed to be and so had no retainer to tend to her (not that she cared) - and reach the temple of Osiris. Sethtah had had the good sense to take a home in the centre of Cairo so just about everywhere of import was walkable.
She took a moment to kick the toes of her sandals against the bottom step of the temple and loosen any bits of grit or stone that had gotten in between her toes and then stepped up and mounted the walkway to the open, pillared front of the temple.
Reaching the entryway and open reception where many a lady of fine gown and jewel had collected, Rubiah stood with a simple confidence that had the wooden dish resting on one bare, dark thigh. Her arm was long beside it, her wrist keeping it pinned in place.
A priest with a hate that looked like a long cuboid coming off the back of his head approached her with a soft smile and a querying look. His voice was high which meant he had probably had himself snipped for the priesthood and Rubiah felt a sense of distaste over the whole thing. What good was a man without his equipment?
'Have you come to make an offering to the Gods?' He asked.
Rubiah smiled quickly and the look disappeared from her face a second later.
"Sure." She stated, looking down at the bowl beside her. "I've got some fruit, and some coins and..." She fingers the bowl a little, swirling the contents. "And some necklaces... oh no, wait, I like that one." She snagged a particular bangle from the bunch and with a flick of her hand settled it upon her wrist. "But the rest you can have." She spun the bowl on her hip and lifted it with that flash of a grin again. "May the pulpy fruit of my kitchens which will likely rot in a week ensure our soldiers are victorious." She stated, with a bright and happy tone that hinted at how ridiculous she found the whole notion.
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"Does it matter what I dress in?"
The question wasn't rhetoric and was in need of an answer but the tone that asked it showed a significant lack of care. Rubiah wasn't exactly one for altering herself for the sake of others and were she about to go before mortal people she really wouldn't have given two flying pharaoh turds what the accepted protocol or dress code was.
But she was going to the temples. Where the Gods would be watching. Rubiah was a queen bitch at lording it over humans whenever she had the chance but she was neither suicide nor stupid. You didn't piss off a God. They played in a whole other league.
Yet, she was thankful all the same when the servant gave her a fairly open field when it came to choosing her attire.
'Dress beautifully, my Lady.' The old crone told her, practically spitting the title that Rubiah had insisted she used. It hadn't stuck until she'd gotten her sister to have a more polite but more authoritative word with the senile bat. As soon as she had enough money stock piled, Rubiah would buy herself a slave. One that was pretty and had all her teeth and didn't smell of beeswax. 'The Gods like to witness the glory they created. You celebrate yourself and you celebrate them.'
"Good." Rubiah stated. Because herself was exactly what she liked to show off. In all its glory whenever she had the chance.
Selecting an outfit that was more net than cloth, Rubiah quickly detached the neck piece so that it fastened over her shoulders instead of her around her throat. She then loaded her forearms with bangles and slipped her feet into golden sandals. Her hair she pulled back a little, the top section of braids knotted on the back of her head and the rest falling like snakes around her shoulders. The decal in her nose was gold so it matched and Rubiah took a moment in the silver mirror, sticking out her tongue. She had seen some tribesmen of the east stick bits of metal through their tongue which was the most badass thing she'd seen in a while and she'd been wondering about it for herself.
Pulling a face at her smeary reflection and wrinkling her nose, Rubiah took the large wooden dish that had been brought to her rooms that morning and with an irritable sigh left the household with offerings in hand.
Why her sister couldn't make the effort to go to the temple which was only a short walk away, Rubiah had no clue. She was normally all about the helping others and community spirit and all that crap but today the task had fallen upon Rubiah for no apparent reason. And she would have refused. Had it not been for the whole, Gods and other league thing.
It took only a few minutes to walk the streets - alone, for Rubiah wasn't the lady she professed to be and so had no retainer to tend to her (not that she cared) - and reach the temple of Osiris. Sethtah had had the good sense to take a home in the centre of Cairo so just about everywhere of import was walkable.
She took a moment to kick the toes of her sandals against the bottom step of the temple and loosen any bits of grit or stone that had gotten in between her toes and then stepped up and mounted the walkway to the open, pillared front of the temple.
Reaching the entryway and open reception where many a lady of fine gown and jewel had collected, Rubiah stood with a simple confidence that had the wooden dish resting on one bare, dark thigh. Her arm was long beside it, her wrist keeping it pinned in place.
A priest with a hate that looked like a long cuboid coming off the back of his head approached her with a soft smile and a querying look. His voice was high which meant he had probably had himself snipped for the priesthood and Rubiah felt a sense of distaste over the whole thing. What good was a man without his equipment?
'Have you come to make an offering to the Gods?' He asked.
Rubiah smiled quickly and the look disappeared from her face a second later.
"Sure." She stated, looking down at the bowl beside her. "I've got some fruit, and some coins and..." She fingers the bowl a little, swirling the contents. "And some necklaces... oh no, wait, I like that one." She snagged a particular bangle from the bunch and with a flick of her hand settled it upon her wrist. "But the rest you can have." She spun the bowl on her hip and lifted it with that flash of a grin again. "May the pulpy fruit of my kitchens which will likely rot in a week ensure our soldiers are victorious." She stated, with a bright and happy tone that hinted at how ridiculous she found the whole notion.
"Does it matter what I dress in?"
The question wasn't rhetoric and was in need of an answer but the tone that asked it showed a significant lack of care. Rubiah wasn't exactly one for altering herself for the sake of others and were she about to go before mortal people she really wouldn't have given two flying pharaoh turds what the accepted protocol or dress code was.
But she was going to the temples. Where the Gods would be watching. Rubiah was a queen bitch at lording it over humans whenever she had the chance but she was neither suicide nor stupid. You didn't piss off a God. They played in a whole other league.
Yet, she was thankful all the same when the servant gave her a fairly open field when it came to choosing her attire.
'Dress beautifully, my Lady.' The old crone told her, practically spitting the title that Rubiah had insisted she used. It hadn't stuck until she'd gotten her sister to have a more polite but more authoritative word with the senile bat. As soon as she had enough money stock piled, Rubiah would buy herself a slave. One that was pretty and had all her teeth and didn't smell of beeswax. 'The Gods like to witness the glory they created. You celebrate yourself and you celebrate them.'
"Good." Rubiah stated. Because herself was exactly what she liked to show off. In all its glory whenever she had the chance.
Selecting an outfit that was more net than cloth, Rubiah quickly detached the neck piece so that it fastened over her shoulders instead of her around her throat. She then loaded her forearms with bangles and slipped her feet into golden sandals. Her hair she pulled back a little, the top section of braids knotted on the back of her head and the rest falling like snakes around her shoulders. The decal in her nose was gold so it matched and Rubiah took a moment in the silver mirror, sticking out her tongue. She had seen some tribesmen of the east stick bits of metal through their tongue which was the most badass thing she'd seen in a while and she'd been wondering about it for herself.
Pulling a face at her smeary reflection and wrinkling her nose, Rubiah took the large wooden dish that had been brought to her rooms that morning and with an irritable sigh left the household with offerings in hand.
Why her sister couldn't make the effort to go to the temple which was only a short walk away, Rubiah had no clue. She was normally all about the helping others and community spirit and all that crap but today the task had fallen upon Rubiah for no apparent reason. And she would have refused. Had it not been for the whole, Gods and other league thing.
It took only a few minutes to walk the streets - alone, for Rubiah wasn't the lady she professed to be and so had no retainer to tend to her (not that she cared) - and reach the temple of Osiris. Sethtah had had the good sense to take a home in the centre of Cairo so just about everywhere of import was walkable.
She took a moment to kick the toes of her sandals against the bottom step of the temple and loosen any bits of grit or stone that had gotten in between her toes and then stepped up and mounted the walkway to the open, pillared front of the temple.
Reaching the entryway and open reception where many a lady of fine gown and jewel had collected, Rubiah stood with a simple confidence that had the wooden dish resting on one bare, dark thigh. Her arm was long beside it, her wrist keeping it pinned in place.
A priest with a hate that looked like a long cuboid coming off the back of his head approached her with a soft smile and a querying look. His voice was high which meant he had probably had himself snipped for the priesthood and Rubiah felt a sense of distaste over the whole thing. What good was a man without his equipment?
'Have you come to make an offering to the Gods?' He asked.
Rubiah smiled quickly and the look disappeared from her face a second later.
"Sure." She stated, looking down at the bowl beside her. "I've got some fruit, and some coins and..." She fingers the bowl a little, swirling the contents. "And some necklaces... oh no, wait, I like that one." She snagged a particular bangle from the bunch and with a flick of her hand settled it upon her wrist. "But the rest you can have." She spun the bowl on her hip and lifted it with that flash of a grin again. "May the pulpy fruit of my kitchens which will likely rot in a week ensure our soldiers are victorious." She stated, with a bright and happy tone that hinted at how ridiculous she found the whole notion.
Iaheru accepted the embrace, her own hand lying atop of Neithotep's. The war was stupid and contrived and Iaheru had faiths the outcomes would mirror the intentions, Gods need not be involved to will such a pitiful fate to existence. As unfortunate as it was for Sheifa finances, war had the potential to benefit the women of Egypt, unbound from husbands and men, free to come and seize power from one another and plot demise.
Her heart shattered for Neithotep, the war would be a welcome reprieve from a certain hell that Iaheru knew. Even though Iaheru knew, perhaps uncomfortably and devastatingly, the magnitudes of pain Neithotep carried home with her into the late hours, Iaheru couldn't help but feel as if she had it easier. Yes, brutality was brutality, but she didn't leave with the sting of a whip, only the pit of betrayal that would grow into a lifelong secret among scattered, hand like bruises.
"I possess little courage, only spite." Iaheru responded, her mind pulled from a lazy fog, her tone reverent and her attention focused on Nenet, mindful of the treason that passed between carmine lips. It was best to leave Nenet pure of the depravity of the world, lightened skin proved Iaheru successful in sheltering one of her children from opium dens and powerful, evil men. She dusted her shift, dust glittering from the hem. "I would not have survived what you have."
She stood, gathering her children with her. Bringing Nenet into their shroud. Iaheru's throat felt heavy. Speaking about what they would order servants to make for dinner did not feel right. "Let's take our leave, we've done all we can."
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Iaheru accepted the embrace, her own hand lying atop of Neithotep's. The war was stupid and contrived and Iaheru had faiths the outcomes would mirror the intentions, Gods need not be involved to will such a pitiful fate to existence. As unfortunate as it was for Sheifa finances, war had the potential to benefit the women of Egypt, unbound from husbands and men, free to come and seize power from one another and plot demise.
Her heart shattered for Neithotep, the war would be a welcome reprieve from a certain hell that Iaheru knew. Even though Iaheru knew, perhaps uncomfortably and devastatingly, the magnitudes of pain Neithotep carried home with her into the late hours, Iaheru couldn't help but feel as if she had it easier. Yes, brutality was brutality, but she didn't leave with the sting of a whip, only the pit of betrayal that would grow into a lifelong secret among scattered, hand like bruises.
"I possess little courage, only spite." Iaheru responded, her mind pulled from a lazy fog, her tone reverent and her attention focused on Nenet, mindful of the treason that passed between carmine lips. It was best to leave Nenet pure of the depravity of the world, lightened skin proved Iaheru successful in sheltering one of her children from opium dens and powerful, evil men. She dusted her shift, dust glittering from the hem. "I would not have survived what you have."
She stood, gathering her children with her. Bringing Nenet into their shroud. Iaheru's throat felt heavy. Speaking about what they would order servants to make for dinner did not feel right. "Let's take our leave, we've done all we can."
Iaheru accepted the embrace, her own hand lying atop of Neithotep's. The war was stupid and contrived and Iaheru had faiths the outcomes would mirror the intentions, Gods need not be involved to will such a pitiful fate to existence. As unfortunate as it was for Sheifa finances, war had the potential to benefit the women of Egypt, unbound from husbands and men, free to come and seize power from one another and plot demise.
Her heart shattered for Neithotep, the war would be a welcome reprieve from a certain hell that Iaheru knew. Even though Iaheru knew, perhaps uncomfortably and devastatingly, the magnitudes of pain Neithotep carried home with her into the late hours, Iaheru couldn't help but feel as if she had it easier. Yes, brutality was brutality, but she didn't leave with the sting of a whip, only the pit of betrayal that would grow into a lifelong secret among scattered, hand like bruises.
"I possess little courage, only spite." Iaheru responded, her mind pulled from a lazy fog, her tone reverent and her attention focused on Nenet, mindful of the treason that passed between carmine lips. It was best to leave Nenet pure of the depravity of the world, lightened skin proved Iaheru successful in sheltering one of her children from opium dens and powerful, evil men. She dusted her shift, dust glittering from the hem. "I would not have survived what you have."
She stood, gathering her children with her. Bringing Nenet into their shroud. Iaheru's throat felt heavy. Speaking about what they would order servants to make for dinner did not feel right. "Let's take our leave, we've done all we can."
There was a lump in her throat when Iaheru spoke, Nia dropping her gaze to hide the tears that gathered there. Gods knew her relationship with her mother was tense at best and fractured at worst, but the young noblewoman was actually grateful for the Sirdsett’s presence that day. Her words were simple but profound, acknowledging Neithotep’s pain while praising her strength in the same breath. However brief, it was a poignant moment between them both, a baby step on the long and treacherous road of healing and recovery.
Who would have thought that her torture at the hands of the Pharaoh would be what finally set her and Iaheru on the path of redemption? Shared pain was a bond like no other, the daughter’s experience a horrific echo of the mother’s. While Nia had no idea if Iaheru suffered the same sort of abuse that she did, nonetheless, it was an uncomfortable and dehumanizing thing to have one’s body be so callously used and discarded at another’s will. Especially when the perpetrator was someone it was impossible to fight.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Nia stood when Iaheru did, shaking out any dust her kalasiris may have gathered from the floor. Neglecting to speak lest the crack in her voice betray her, she acknowledged her mother’s words with a tacit nod, folding trembling hands in front of her. Face as somber as her garb, Nia glanced briefly toward her sister to see if she was in agreement that it was time to leave. Their mother was right; there wasn’t anything more they could do. Egypt’s fate, Iahotep’s, her mother’s, her own… it was all in the hands of the gods now. All any of them could do was carry on and hope for the best.
As their footsteps carried them toward the temple’s exit, Nia gently clutched her the Sirdsett’s arm to keep herself grounded. Another rare gesture of affection that the young woman was unwonted to show, but there had been a small bridge crossed that day, one she thought burned after the disastrous night with Zoser on the roof. Though she would never admit it aloud, she needed Iaheru now more than she ever had before. For if she ever had any hope of escaping this nightmare, it was not something she could do alone.
Glancing back toward the idol of Osiris before they stepped outside, her face tightened. If you cannot grant my plea, at least grant me the courage to do what must be done. With all I’ve endured, please just let me have that.
If the gods turned away from her with deaf ears and Iahotep was to return victorious, Nia knew it was only a matter of time before he broke her completely. Though he’d already taken so much, she refused to let him shatter her entirely. Even if it required the most drastic of measures…
She would escape from this. One way or another.
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There was a lump in her throat when Iaheru spoke, Nia dropping her gaze to hide the tears that gathered there. Gods knew her relationship with her mother was tense at best and fractured at worst, but the young noblewoman was actually grateful for the Sirdsett’s presence that day. Her words were simple but profound, acknowledging Neithotep’s pain while praising her strength in the same breath. However brief, it was a poignant moment between them both, a baby step on the long and treacherous road of healing and recovery.
Who would have thought that her torture at the hands of the Pharaoh would be what finally set her and Iaheru on the path of redemption? Shared pain was a bond like no other, the daughter’s experience a horrific echo of the mother’s. While Nia had no idea if Iaheru suffered the same sort of abuse that she did, nonetheless, it was an uncomfortable and dehumanizing thing to have one’s body be so callously used and discarded at another’s will. Especially when the perpetrator was someone it was impossible to fight.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Nia stood when Iaheru did, shaking out any dust her kalasiris may have gathered from the floor. Neglecting to speak lest the crack in her voice betray her, she acknowledged her mother’s words with a tacit nod, folding trembling hands in front of her. Face as somber as her garb, Nia glanced briefly toward her sister to see if she was in agreement that it was time to leave. Their mother was right; there wasn’t anything more they could do. Egypt’s fate, Iahotep’s, her mother’s, her own… it was all in the hands of the gods now. All any of them could do was carry on and hope for the best.
As their footsteps carried them toward the temple’s exit, Nia gently clutched her the Sirdsett’s arm to keep herself grounded. Another rare gesture of affection that the young woman was unwonted to show, but there had been a small bridge crossed that day, one she thought burned after the disastrous night with Zoser on the roof. Though she would never admit it aloud, she needed Iaheru now more than she ever had before. For if she ever had any hope of escaping this nightmare, it was not something she could do alone.
Glancing back toward the idol of Osiris before they stepped outside, her face tightened. If you cannot grant my plea, at least grant me the courage to do what must be done. With all I’ve endured, please just let me have that.
If the gods turned away from her with deaf ears and Iahotep was to return victorious, Nia knew it was only a matter of time before he broke her completely. Though he’d already taken so much, she refused to let him shatter her entirely. Even if it required the most drastic of measures…
She would escape from this. One way or another.
There was a lump in her throat when Iaheru spoke, Nia dropping her gaze to hide the tears that gathered there. Gods knew her relationship with her mother was tense at best and fractured at worst, but the young noblewoman was actually grateful for the Sirdsett’s presence that day. Her words were simple but profound, acknowledging Neithotep’s pain while praising her strength in the same breath. However brief, it was a poignant moment between them both, a baby step on the long and treacherous road of healing and recovery.
Who would have thought that her torture at the hands of the Pharaoh would be what finally set her and Iaheru on the path of redemption? Shared pain was a bond like no other, the daughter’s experience a horrific echo of the mother’s. While Nia had no idea if Iaheru suffered the same sort of abuse that she did, nonetheless, it was an uncomfortable and dehumanizing thing to have one’s body be so callously used and discarded at another’s will. Especially when the perpetrator was someone it was impossible to fight.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Nia stood when Iaheru did, shaking out any dust her kalasiris may have gathered from the floor. Neglecting to speak lest the crack in her voice betray her, she acknowledged her mother’s words with a tacit nod, folding trembling hands in front of her. Face as somber as her garb, Nia glanced briefly toward her sister to see if she was in agreement that it was time to leave. Their mother was right; there wasn’t anything more they could do. Egypt’s fate, Iahotep’s, her mother’s, her own… it was all in the hands of the gods now. All any of them could do was carry on and hope for the best.
As their footsteps carried them toward the temple’s exit, Nia gently clutched her the Sirdsett’s arm to keep herself grounded. Another rare gesture of affection that the young woman was unwonted to show, but there had been a small bridge crossed that day, one she thought burned after the disastrous night with Zoser on the roof. Though she would never admit it aloud, she needed Iaheru now more than she ever had before. For if she ever had any hope of escaping this nightmare, it was not something she could do alone.
Glancing back toward the idol of Osiris before they stepped outside, her face tightened. If you cannot grant my plea, at least grant me the courage to do what must be done. With all I’ve endured, please just let me have that.
If the gods turned away from her with deaf ears and Iahotep was to return victorious, Nia knew it was only a matter of time before he broke her completely. Though he’d already taken so much, she refused to let him shatter her entirely. Even if it required the most drastic of measures…
She would escape from this. One way or another.
Watching the noble ladies- a mother and sisters, Nafretiri guessed- made her more emotional than she would have liked to appear. When the lady Nafretiri had just spoken with was pulled into their group, Nafretiri gulped, fighting tears even more than she had been previously, and feeling even more alone in the world. She knew better than to assume that nobles had perfect lives; the gods blessed or cursed them just like anybody else. But they had just looked so...like a family, and while Nafretiri liked and appreciated her sister priestesses- she smiled ironically at the name- she knew that they could never replace the family she had either lost or had never had in the first place.
While observing the other worshipers in part to try to keep herself calm, relatively unafraid, and most importantly, in place, she noticed one woman grinning as she offered her sacrifice. While Nafretiri was not sure the occasion called for a smile, at least she appeared to be there simply to offer a sacrifice instead of to mutter curses in addition to it.
"Thanks be to the gods, someone is different here." Nafretiri muttered to herself. There always seemed to be a solemn air hanging about the temple of Osiris, as there perhaps should be since he was the god of death, but on days like today it was unbearable, and she thought the mood needed lightened. Irreverence was a problem of its own, but she'd rather see someone being irreverent than someone else as frightened as she was at the moment.
Frankly, Nafretiri was unsure if she should approach anyone in the temple of Osiris anymore, but she gave the woman a grin herself.
"Nice weather we're having, hmmm?" she whispered.
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Watching the noble ladies- a mother and sisters, Nafretiri guessed- made her more emotional than she would have liked to appear. When the lady Nafretiri had just spoken with was pulled into their group, Nafretiri gulped, fighting tears even more than she had been previously, and feeling even more alone in the world. She knew better than to assume that nobles had perfect lives; the gods blessed or cursed them just like anybody else. But they had just looked so...like a family, and while Nafretiri liked and appreciated her sister priestesses- she smiled ironically at the name- she knew that they could never replace the family she had either lost or had never had in the first place.
While observing the other worshipers in part to try to keep herself calm, relatively unafraid, and most importantly, in place, she noticed one woman grinning as she offered her sacrifice. While Nafretiri was not sure the occasion called for a smile, at least she appeared to be there simply to offer a sacrifice instead of to mutter curses in addition to it.
"Thanks be to the gods, someone is different here." Nafretiri muttered to herself. There always seemed to be a solemn air hanging about the temple of Osiris, as there perhaps should be since he was the god of death, but on days like today it was unbearable, and she thought the mood needed lightened. Irreverence was a problem of its own, but she'd rather see someone being irreverent than someone else as frightened as she was at the moment.
Frankly, Nafretiri was unsure if she should approach anyone in the temple of Osiris anymore, but she gave the woman a grin herself.
"Nice weather we're having, hmmm?" she whispered.
Watching the noble ladies- a mother and sisters, Nafretiri guessed- made her more emotional than she would have liked to appear. When the lady Nafretiri had just spoken with was pulled into their group, Nafretiri gulped, fighting tears even more than she had been previously, and feeling even more alone in the world. She knew better than to assume that nobles had perfect lives; the gods blessed or cursed them just like anybody else. But they had just looked so...like a family, and while Nafretiri liked and appreciated her sister priestesses- she smiled ironically at the name- she knew that they could never replace the family she had either lost or had never had in the first place.
While observing the other worshipers in part to try to keep herself calm, relatively unafraid, and most importantly, in place, she noticed one woman grinning as she offered her sacrifice. While Nafretiri was not sure the occasion called for a smile, at least she appeared to be there simply to offer a sacrifice instead of to mutter curses in addition to it.
"Thanks be to the gods, someone is different here." Nafretiri muttered to herself. There always seemed to be a solemn air hanging about the temple of Osiris, as there perhaps should be since he was the god of death, but on days like today it was unbearable, and she thought the mood needed lightened. Irreverence was a problem of its own, but she'd rather see someone being irreverent than someone else as frightened as she was at the moment.
Frankly, Nafretiri was unsure if she should approach anyone in the temple of Osiris anymore, but she gave the woman a grin herself.
"Nice weather we're having, hmmm?" she whispered.
Nenet wouldn’t have given the priestess offense if she could have helped it, but stuttering out a reply? Out of the question. Explaining herself to a commoner who’d been the one to perpetrate the incident? Even more out of the question. Gaping chasm of social class aside, Nenet wasn’t about to stutter her way through some sort of explanation or assure someone who was clearly more nervous than even she was that an apology was sufficient and she didn’t need to fawn over it. Standing a little apart from her sister and mother, and now apart from the commoner, Nenet had time to notice Deshra entering the temple.
Clearly a woman of means, Nenet didn’t think anything at all of not knowing Deshra’s name or face. Nenet took such great pains not to really talk to people that she was perfectly willing to accept that she’d overlooked someone’s cousin or daughter or sister or whoever this was. Nor did she focus on her overly much. Rubiah came nearly right after Deshra and stole all attention in the temple. Her sardonic voice carried across the hallowed stone rooms and Nenet blushed for Rubiah, wondering at the woman’s boldness.
Her mother’s gesture to her caught her attention and she looked away from Rubiah, then, and went to rejoin her family. Leaning against Iaheru’s side, she looked dubiously at Nia, noting that her sister did not look angry or smug. She looked troubled. Truly, deeply troubled, which made Nenet frown in sudden concern. She did not know what was going on, nor did she know what Nia was involved in, but she sensed something was the matter. Still, she wasn’t going to pry and definitely not here, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded mutely as her mother ushered the three of them out of the temple.
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Nenet wouldn’t have given the priestess offense if she could have helped it, but stuttering out a reply? Out of the question. Explaining herself to a commoner who’d been the one to perpetrate the incident? Even more out of the question. Gaping chasm of social class aside, Nenet wasn’t about to stutter her way through some sort of explanation or assure someone who was clearly more nervous than even she was that an apology was sufficient and she didn’t need to fawn over it. Standing a little apart from her sister and mother, and now apart from the commoner, Nenet had time to notice Deshra entering the temple.
Clearly a woman of means, Nenet didn’t think anything at all of not knowing Deshra’s name or face. Nenet took such great pains not to really talk to people that she was perfectly willing to accept that she’d overlooked someone’s cousin or daughter or sister or whoever this was. Nor did she focus on her overly much. Rubiah came nearly right after Deshra and stole all attention in the temple. Her sardonic voice carried across the hallowed stone rooms and Nenet blushed for Rubiah, wondering at the woman’s boldness.
Her mother’s gesture to her caught her attention and she looked away from Rubiah, then, and went to rejoin her family. Leaning against Iaheru’s side, she looked dubiously at Nia, noting that her sister did not look angry or smug. She looked troubled. Truly, deeply troubled, which made Nenet frown in sudden concern. She did not know what was going on, nor did she know what Nia was involved in, but she sensed something was the matter. Still, she wasn’t going to pry and definitely not here, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded mutely as her mother ushered the three of them out of the temple.
Nenet wouldn’t have given the priestess offense if she could have helped it, but stuttering out a reply? Out of the question. Explaining herself to a commoner who’d been the one to perpetrate the incident? Even more out of the question. Gaping chasm of social class aside, Nenet wasn’t about to stutter her way through some sort of explanation or assure someone who was clearly more nervous than even she was that an apology was sufficient and she didn’t need to fawn over it. Standing a little apart from her sister and mother, and now apart from the commoner, Nenet had time to notice Deshra entering the temple.
Clearly a woman of means, Nenet didn’t think anything at all of not knowing Deshra’s name or face. Nenet took such great pains not to really talk to people that she was perfectly willing to accept that she’d overlooked someone’s cousin or daughter or sister or whoever this was. Nor did she focus on her overly much. Rubiah came nearly right after Deshra and stole all attention in the temple. Her sardonic voice carried across the hallowed stone rooms and Nenet blushed for Rubiah, wondering at the woman’s boldness.
Her mother’s gesture to her caught her attention and she looked away from Rubiah, then, and went to rejoin her family. Leaning against Iaheru’s side, she looked dubiously at Nia, noting that her sister did not look angry or smug. She looked troubled. Truly, deeply troubled, which made Nenet frown in sudden concern. She did not know what was going on, nor did she know what Nia was involved in, but she sensed something was the matter. Still, she wasn’t going to pry and definitely not here, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded mutely as her mother ushered the three of them out of the temple.
When the priest took the bowl that she was offering, a look of confusion on his face over Rubiah's apparent disregard for the respect and privilege to be held within the temples, Rubiah was quick to dismiss him from her mind. She smiled brightly, ensured that he had hold of the pottery, and then immediately turned away from him and walked further into the social group that had accumulated on the open floor of the interior of the temple.
The Sheifa family stood to one side, at first divided and then coming together as their matriarch ushered them together like a mother hen with the intention of them leaving. Frustrated that she was missing the opportunity to get to know a powerful family on more familiar terms, Rubiah spotted a look upon her from the youngest and flashed and smile and a wave in her direction, open and innocent, but pretty enough with the wiggling of her fingertips and the cocking of her hip that she might be memorable to the girl.
Then she turned her focus upon the woman that had entered into the building just ahead of her. Dressed to kill, that was for certain, Rubiah's pick-pocket eyes looked closer at the girl and spotted a single curl behind her ear that was shocking red. Likely the only one who could see it from this angle, Rubiah was curious how a girl with that colour hair had risen to high rank within the Egyptian state. Or why she hadn't shaved her head beneath the wig. Especially as the African kingdoms didn't much care for foreign colouring or appearance. She had learnt that he hard way in her youth with her own appearance just a little too Bedoan for the Egyptian street rats to much care for.
Striding confidently in that direction, Rubiah made sure she was within hearing distance of the girl, just a foot or so behind her right shoulder when she spoke -
"Hey." She stated simply, avoiding any form of respectful title or address because she didn't much care for them and because she was dressed like a noblewoman herself. No sense to break that image now. Coming to a stop, Rubiah waited for the woman to turn, her hip turned out to one side and her hand upon it. Her skirts had split to reveal one of her long, tan legs. Her eyes were narrowed a little and her head on a curious tilt.
"I've not seen you around before." She stated with careful deliberacy. Then she lifted a finger to tap behind her own ear. "You're showing, by the way." It had been a few months since she was last in Cairo, and she certainly would have remembered a girl with such hair wandering amongst the rich and famous. "You have a name?" The question wasn't a rude accusation or an interrogation. It was asked with that friendly and bright attitude that had most people dying to be friends with the spunky half-Bedoan that couldn't seem to leave anyone alone...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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When the priest took the bowl that she was offering, a look of confusion on his face over Rubiah's apparent disregard for the respect and privilege to be held within the temples, Rubiah was quick to dismiss him from her mind. She smiled brightly, ensured that he had hold of the pottery, and then immediately turned away from him and walked further into the social group that had accumulated on the open floor of the interior of the temple.
The Sheifa family stood to one side, at first divided and then coming together as their matriarch ushered them together like a mother hen with the intention of them leaving. Frustrated that she was missing the opportunity to get to know a powerful family on more familiar terms, Rubiah spotted a look upon her from the youngest and flashed and smile and a wave in her direction, open and innocent, but pretty enough with the wiggling of her fingertips and the cocking of her hip that she might be memorable to the girl.
Then she turned her focus upon the woman that had entered into the building just ahead of her. Dressed to kill, that was for certain, Rubiah's pick-pocket eyes looked closer at the girl and spotted a single curl behind her ear that was shocking red. Likely the only one who could see it from this angle, Rubiah was curious how a girl with that colour hair had risen to high rank within the Egyptian state. Or why she hadn't shaved her head beneath the wig. Especially as the African kingdoms didn't much care for foreign colouring or appearance. She had learnt that he hard way in her youth with her own appearance just a little too Bedoan for the Egyptian street rats to much care for.
Striding confidently in that direction, Rubiah made sure she was within hearing distance of the girl, just a foot or so behind her right shoulder when she spoke -
"Hey." She stated simply, avoiding any form of respectful title or address because she didn't much care for them and because she was dressed like a noblewoman herself. No sense to break that image now. Coming to a stop, Rubiah waited for the woman to turn, her hip turned out to one side and her hand upon it. Her skirts had split to reveal one of her long, tan legs. Her eyes were narrowed a little and her head on a curious tilt.
"I've not seen you around before." She stated with careful deliberacy. Then she lifted a finger to tap behind her own ear. "You're showing, by the way." It had been a few months since she was last in Cairo, and she certainly would have remembered a girl with such hair wandering amongst the rich and famous. "You have a name?" The question wasn't a rude accusation or an interrogation. It was asked with that friendly and bright attitude that had most people dying to be friends with the spunky half-Bedoan that couldn't seem to leave anyone alone...
When the priest took the bowl that she was offering, a look of confusion on his face over Rubiah's apparent disregard for the respect and privilege to be held within the temples, Rubiah was quick to dismiss him from her mind. She smiled brightly, ensured that he had hold of the pottery, and then immediately turned away from him and walked further into the social group that had accumulated on the open floor of the interior of the temple.
The Sheifa family stood to one side, at first divided and then coming together as their matriarch ushered them together like a mother hen with the intention of them leaving. Frustrated that she was missing the opportunity to get to know a powerful family on more familiar terms, Rubiah spotted a look upon her from the youngest and flashed and smile and a wave in her direction, open and innocent, but pretty enough with the wiggling of her fingertips and the cocking of her hip that she might be memorable to the girl.
Then she turned her focus upon the woman that had entered into the building just ahead of her. Dressed to kill, that was for certain, Rubiah's pick-pocket eyes looked closer at the girl and spotted a single curl behind her ear that was shocking red. Likely the only one who could see it from this angle, Rubiah was curious how a girl with that colour hair had risen to high rank within the Egyptian state. Or why she hadn't shaved her head beneath the wig. Especially as the African kingdoms didn't much care for foreign colouring or appearance. She had learnt that he hard way in her youth with her own appearance just a little too Bedoan for the Egyptian street rats to much care for.
Striding confidently in that direction, Rubiah made sure she was within hearing distance of the girl, just a foot or so behind her right shoulder when she spoke -
"Hey." She stated simply, avoiding any form of respectful title or address because she didn't much care for them and because she was dressed like a noblewoman herself. No sense to break that image now. Coming to a stop, Rubiah waited for the woman to turn, her hip turned out to one side and her hand upon it. Her skirts had split to reveal one of her long, tan legs. Her eyes were narrowed a little and her head on a curious tilt.
"I've not seen you around before." She stated with careful deliberacy. Then she lifted a finger to tap behind her own ear. "You're showing, by the way." It had been a few months since she was last in Cairo, and she certainly would have remembered a girl with such hair wandering amongst the rich and famous. "You have a name?" The question wasn't a rude accusation or an interrogation. It was asked with that friendly and bright attitude that had most people dying to be friends with the spunky half-Bedoan that couldn't seem to leave anyone alone...