Llaiir u'Rhienn ~ Full Circle - Revision history

Ichaya: /* Llaiir u'Rhienn ~ Epilogue */

2015-11-15T16:06:09Z

Llaiir u'Rhienn ~ Epilogue

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	They had done rightly. When a Vulcan is in this dire a state, they will cling to life until they can lay their Katra into a trusted one’s hands, and both Vulcans kneeling by the low bed were ''ne`ki’ne'', closer than blood. All three heard the refusal ringing in their heads as if an A’kweth had risen from the sands to fill the air with its booming, silent voice.		They had done rightly. When a Vulcan is in this dire a state, they will cling to life until they can lay their Katra into a trusted one’s hands, and both Vulcans kneeling by the low bed were ''ne`ki’ne'', closer than blood.

			All three heard the refusal ringing in their heads as if an A’kweth had risen from the sands to fill the air with its booming, silent voice.

	Stubborn, willful child.		Stubborn, willful child.

Ichaya at 15:43, 15 November 2015

2015-11-15T15:43:10Z

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	~~=/\=~~ Intensive care unit, University Hospital Te’Rashar, [[Khomi]] province ~~=/\=~~		[Intensive care unit, University Hospital Te’Rashar, [[Khomi]] province]

	''15th Day in the month of et’Khior, YS 9022''		''15th Day in the month of et’Khior, YS 9022''
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	~~=/\=~~ T’Shen monastery, ~~Shi’Al~~ province ~~=/\=~~		[T’Shen monastery, [[Shi'Al]] province]

Ichaya: /* Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part III */

2015-11-15T15:41:24Z

Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part III

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	The bleeding had stopped, her hot blood already beginning to cool on his arm, his chest. He knew what it meant, and still did not want to believe. Could not bring himself to believe.		The bleeding had stopped, her hot blood already beginning to cool on his arm, his chest. He knew what it meant, and still did not want to believe. Could not bring himself to believe.

			== Llaiir u'Rhienn ~ Epilogue ==

			''Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.''

			''(Anaïs Nin)''


			=/\= Intensive care unit, University Hospital Te’Rashar, [[Khomi]] province =/\=

			''15th Day in the month of et’Khior, YS 9022''


			The nurses barely had time to scatter when in a twirl of light an unexpected visitor arrived – with considerable luggage, as it were. Stasis field generators took shape in showers of emerald, and if any of the healers was surprised that Rihannsu transporters were depositing a decidedly Vulcan female in their midst, they hardly gave the matter more than a split second of thought.

			Casualties had been coming through their doors since the attack had begun – a trickle at first, overflow from the bombarded areas and the places where massive Warbirds had struck populated areas – but thus far, Khomi largely had remained ... peaceful. And if the Chief Surgeon found that an exquisite irony all in itself, few would have understood the inherent joke.
			Turning away from the male whose injuries required a watchful eye but little more as he was already mending as well as expected, Kerat gently inserted himself between the healers and nurses beginning to crowd around their new arrival, medical scanners abuzz.


			If he were any other race, he might have invoked numerous deities before unleashing a string of exceedingly colorful metaphors. But since he was a Vulcan he did not even sigh, or let any emotion cross his sharp, aquiline features. Though admittedly the state of their new patient would have warranted a wide array of them.

			His tan robes rustling softy, Kerat knelt just next to the field generator closest to him and nodded grimly, listening to the nurses’ low murmurs. The surgeon needed no mechanical device to tell him this was a body that had sustained injuries not in one fierce battle but over and over again, had been tended to by pitifully inept medics or patched up barely enough to keep her alive so it may all start again. It was the most recent however that would likely prove the lethal one. Ah, whoever had sent the woman down here was certainly … optimistic about the odds. Or perhaps… oh, my.


			“T’Mera. Notify…”

			“Ha, Ohassu. Genetic scan confirms.”

			No surprise there. Even if the clear, elegant features of the Kir hill clans had not been a good indicator, the people living by Thanar’s endlessly roaring waves had an instinct in recognizing … them.

			“Specify the reason for the stasis field.”

			“USS Charon and V’Shar report possible danger of a mutagenic virus.”

			Shaking his head slowly, the surgeon cast a glance through the high ceilinged window, out across the calm sea. A velvety black dome of sky, already fringed with tones of copper arched over the city, bathing Thanar in hues of deep violet. “The virus is present?”

			Pointless to suffer consequences before they befall, but a Healer’s logic tends to fail when it comes to those in their care. If the young one was infected … like a ring of steel closing around his heart, Kerat felt the grief. Acknowledged it, attempted to let it go. And failed, as always.

			“Negative, Ohassu. No match with any strands on file by Charon or V’Shar.”

			“Remove the field.”

			Hope is illogical, or so the more strident of Vulcans like to say. The healer found that statement a blatant disregard of established facts. Hope, sometimes, was everything.


			Stubborn, stubborn woman. It was enough to let Kerat experience a split second surge of pride before he continued his relentless efforts to stop the abused, dying body before him from suffering that last, irreversible breakdown. But it was an uphill battle, and he knew it. She was slipping away … fighting, fighting every step of the way, and losing.
			He barely heard the telltale hum of a planet-based transporter, nor really would have cared if the two people approaching had not obviously been here for his patient.

			“Ohassu.”

			“Not now.”

			“Ohassu.” Sterner, a deep, even baritone that would have sounded perfectly level if not for the timbre a healer hears all too often and knows like the changes of the sea.

			Looking up, he saw the woman with the sword across her back and the belly heavy with child, the gleaming terracotta of her uniform stained with soot and blood. The tall, dark male in black and silver, no less disheveled and no less proud in his bearing.

			“It is not yet time. She may still live.”

			“Yes, ohassu. And you have our gratitude. But if we are to preserve her Katra, we must leave now.”

			“She will not release it.”

			For the merest heartbeat, the flicker of a melancholy smile seemed to cross the tall, dark one’s features. “You are likely correct. Will you object to our duty?”

			Everything Kerat was wanted to yell ‘Yes!’ Everything he believed in made him shake his head and step back, watch as the tall V’Shar touched his wristband and murmured one word before the red shimmer engulfed the three Vulcans. Slowly, silently, the healer’s hands clenched into fists.


			=/\= T’Shen monastery, Shi’Al province =/\=


			Sihayel could not remember having seen wounds like this in the two centuries since she devoted her life to healing injuries of the body and the soul, though certainly she had seen scars and touched minds that spoke of similar agony. Steady and quiet as a floating whisp of fragrant incense, the healer touched the cool temples, sighing softly at what she found. The young ones had done rightly. There was little time left.

			“Se’heik-voh.”

			“Ky’orsa-voh, oko-mekh.”

			“Ben vahl navun.”

			She could sense the grief, the hope, the fear. Knew it all too well. And put it aside.


			And then reached… reached … for the spark of life, the mind shrouded in pain. She should not have been surprised at what she found, and was.

			Fierce, fierce as Nevasa’s heat beating down on the Forge, fighting, struggling, calling …


			They had done rightly. When a Vulcan is in this dire a state, they will cling to life until they can lay their Katra into a trusted one’s hands, and both Vulcans kneeling by the low bed were ''ne`ki’ne'', closer than blood. All three heard the refusal ringing in their heads as if an A’kweth had risen from the sands to fill the air with its booming, silent voice.

			Stubborn, willful child.

			Shaking her head slowly, Sihayel retreated. There was no way to force a living Katra to leave if it had no intention to do so.

			Unwise.

			But then, the young one likely knew, and likely did not care.

			All that was left to the healer was aid in any way she could so the fight was not in vain.




	[[Category: Character Stories]]		[[Category: Character Stories]]

Ichaya: /* Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part II */

2015-11-15T15:14:18Z

Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part II

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Ichaya: /* Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part I */

2015-11-15T15:04:22Z

Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part I

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Ichaya at 14:50, 15 November 2015

2015-11-15T14:50:10Z

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	Amazing, even now her musical voice was still the same, rich and resonant, water and velvet, the low, deep ringing of a bronze gong. “Klee-fah.”		Amazing, even now her musical voice was still the same, rich and resonant, water and velvet, the low, deep ringing of a bronze gong. “Klee-fah.”


			== Virtus, Non Copia Vincint ~ Part I ==

			''Vengeance is mine; I will repay.''

			''(Anna Karenina)''


			[IRW Endless Sky, Leih’s quarters]


			The raven haired Vulcan stood by the window as it seemed to have become her habit, gazing at the fires shining in the endless night. The dark emerald dress clung to her figure like blood spilled at midnight and then frozen in time, yet another of the lavish gifts the Vaek’Riov saw fit to spill into his captive’s lap.

			''Forged of blood and steel and fire...''

			A silent echo, and yet her very being seemed to vibrate with it, a roaring storm raging within the confines of a still, almost peaceful body. Her palms pressed against the cold metal, ah, cold as ice, under her feverish hands.

			''Before the glittering sands become the blade, they must burn. Burn and flow, yield to the fires that shape it...''

			Weak. Helpless. Once, the mere idea would have had her snorting with anger. Now, she almost had to stop herself from laughing.

			''I remember.''

			What a difference, to yield and remain unbroken, or to struggle against that which you cannot defeat until you shattered.

			No, she was far, far from helpless.

			If there truly were any of those listening devices that poor Yyaio had been so concerned about, someone would be surprised indeed to hear a Vulcan’s low, gentle laugh ringing in the silent quarters.

			…

			They said that those wild, untamed barbarians could live through Sandfire itself, becoming one with the desert which should be their death. Learning to endure pain that was part of their every breath, coming to cherish it for proof that you still lived … it was said they found pleasure in it, pleasure akin to ecstasy.

			When the desert’s rage is upon you, you cannot fight. It will win, always.

			But sometimes, just sometimes you can endure, accepting the force of nature, embracing it despite your fear.

			Sometimes, the only way to live is … to yield.

			…


			So often she had read the words, marveled at the story. Never had she seen the inherent humor. How different the ancient tale might have played out, had her ancient foremother not been what she was, how different this might be … would be an interesting matter to ponder another time.

			Slow, much too slow, the way her aching limbs moved, but the steel forged in Sas-a-Shar has always been prized for its endurance. Ironically, even by the very people whose skilled hands had crafted this ship, the daggers her once more cold but steady fingers removed from the wall. So much in fact, they let one of its finest examples rest on its very own chair in their chambers of power, revered as a thing not only beautiful and ancient, but in possession of its very own … soul. How close they were to the truth, the Vulcan doubted many knew.


			Barefoot and shivering she stood on the soft carpet, forcing her roiling thoughts to become a calm, steady river … only a little while, only a little longer. Oh, she knew the nature of her fever by now and once more the sheer irony nearly prompted another laugh. Well and so, there were but two ways to solve this, and while the first would not do, and the other ...

			There was no doubt in her mind that her s'thora would come for her. A certainty as unshakable as Seleya herself, as simple a fact as the eternal dance of atoms. And Charon's crew might even arrive in time to save her. She hoped at least it would not be too late for her s'thora to take her Katra into her hands - and take it home. But even if it was not to be, … she knew her soul to be at peace. Under all the torment and agony, all the fury and grief, that which mattered looked back and smiled. It was enough.

			Never is a Vulcan more dangerous than when she is perfectly at peace. And that, too, is no contradiction whatsoever to those few … who know.


			The faint smile still playing over her lips, the Vulcan tilted her head at the desk and gently sat down the daggers on the polished surface. Of the three days Yyaio had asked, only two had passed but there simply was no more time … like the wanderer in the desert knows the soft footfall of the Le-Matya, she knew the danger drawing close, the predator breathing, tensing for the jump.

			Increased security hardly stopped a determined one, and in the end, all she truly needed was a glimpse, a way to speak to someone who might or might not hear … the screen blinked under her fingers and something … someone… was there.

			“Khar-esh’on.”

			Soft, quiet, a word that would make little enough sense to any listener, spoken in the lilting, liquid cadence of Nel-Gathelkh Golic. Wise one. Savant. If she was listening, she would know.


			The pause of silence was long enough to make Sakarra wonder if perhaps she was too optimistic, but a clicking sound registered at the extremes of her hearing - the room's speaker system activating with no information being fed to them. The Vulcan held her breath, as if making any more noise than that would disturb the events to follow.


			Savants' voice was wrong - synthesized, distorted, clearly electronic. The tuning-fork hum that normally accompanied her words rippled and split. "Set of all parameters 15 sub 6. New Pend class Valit ehre'mentat aur min sava Tet min sava Auren almad-kssssskkkk-ender class Local dsub variance 29 link Main, lin-ksssskkkk-aoj miQand net ajaQ a-kssssskkkk-substantiate local binding 212, parse audio stream, parse visual, parse recurse pend pend launch-"


			Sakarra's ears popped as the local holography network was roughly seized from its normal handling routines and forced into new tasks. Misfiring projectors filled the room with sparkling multicoloured flecks of light, a shattered rainbow hung suspended in the air. The speakers in the room hummed a soft sonorous wine-glass hum, with a quiet bass thump, an anticipatory beat, waiting to be unleashed. Was this showmanship, or was there some reason for this display?


			The specks of light flitted and twisted as holographic projectors came online, pulling tight into a Savant-like halo. She was a spectral wraith within the bluish storm of light, the flush of her cheeks a luminescent pink, her charcoal black Starfleet uniform an inky shadow at the core of the column, splayed out in wavy snaking tendrils from her hair. Ethereal and with a faerie's unearthliness, the hologram smiled a broad, sly smile, full of mischief and barely-suppressed glee. Her words were sang in time with the pulsing of light and sound about her. "Welcome to the show, let's move up to the dance floor."


			The Vulcan blinked – and blinked again.

			“Fascinating.”

			And since right here, right now, it hardly seemed to matter whether she did or not, returned the avatar’s smile with a gentle one of her own though she could not stop a slanted brow from climbing by a considerable margin.

			“Dance floor?”

			Logically, Savant was employing a metaphor, though one the Vulcan was unfamiliar with. Still, the obvious glee added to the fact she was indeed here made it not too difficult to draw a likely parallel.
			“It is most gratifying to see you, Savant. May I assume your control of systems is sufficient to prevent undesirable … observation, as it were?”


			Savant was here all right, that much was obvious. But was it still her? Something seemed off. Probably because she was incapable of intelligible speech. She was speaking in verse, as if the ship was a club that was in desperate need of entertainment. "Get ready for the sound, rock the ship from the stern to the shore - They can't hear us yet, they don't have a clue - Party's gonna start with just me and you, yeah - we'll rock the boat, gonna give'm some more -"


			Melody. Rhythm. The words were a classic example of non sequitur, at least until the Vulcan stopped blinking and rearranged her thoughts. No small feat in her current condition, though the bit of musical talent she had inherited stood her in good stead as she repeated Savant’s words in her mind. Of course. The AI was … going back to basics, in a sense. Why she had chosen this particular phonetic pattern was interesting all in itself, however … this was yet another fascinating development which unfortunately she had no time to ponder at leisure.

			“Understood.”

			Though one should hope ‘rocking’ said boat was not to be taken too literally.

			Party. They had to determine a logical course of action. Unfortunately, the only action the Vulcan’s blood was screaming for involved rather straightforward means of laying waste to anything in her path. And bit by bit, ancient instincts gained ground, overruled the stubborn will set against them, until reason, logic, even simple thought would shatter under the all consuming heat …

			Not yet. Not. Yet.


			“The Vaek’Riov has been informed that the virus is ready to be deployed.” With slow but fluid movements speaking of both much practice and no small amount of reluctance, the Vulcan picked up the daggers and weighed them in her hands, remembering a small, incredibly fast male dancing on desert sands. Yes, like … this.

			“Unfortunately I have no knowledge of where the weapon is kept, nor does it seem logical to attempt a rescue of the few surviving Vulcans on board. Might it be possible …”

			The shudder running through the great ship was all a pilot needed to tell her that powerful engines had sprung to life, and indeed a mere second later the Warbird’s massive beak turned. Turned towards … even from an angle, the sight was breathtaking.




	[[Category: Character Stories]]		[[Category: Character Stories]]

Ichaya at 14:13, 15 November 2015

2015-11-15T14:13:03Z

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Ichaya at 13:45, 15 November 2015

2015-11-15T13:45:59Z

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	But for a fleeting moment, he wondered. Wondered how it would be to not hate, to give in to the impulse and trace that hauntingly beautiful face with tender fingertips, see those dark eyes light with recognition, … not until she tensed and squared those lovely shoulders did Itsak realize he had been holding on to her so tightly a just mended rib had cracked again and his fingers had dug into her skin fiercely enough to bruise.		But for a fleeting moment, he wondered. Wondered how it would be to not hate, to give in to the impulse and trace that hauntingly beautiful face with tender fingertips, see those dark eyes light with recognition, … not until she tensed and squared those lovely shoulders did Itsak realize he had been holding on to her so tightly a just mended rib had cracked again and his fingers had dug into her skin fiercely enough to bruise.


			== Vox Clamantis In Deserto ~ Part III ==

			''Ce qui embellit le désert, dit le petit prince, c'est qu'il cache un puits quelque part...''

			''("What makes the desert beautiful," says the little prince, "is that somewhere it hides a well.")''


			[IRW Endless Sky]

Ichaya: /* Vox Clamantis In Deserto ~ Part II */

2015-11-15T13:43:04Z

Vox Clamantis In Deserto ~ Part II

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:43, 15 November 2015
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	Of all things, of all the things they could have brought, it had to be a reminder of warmth, of tenderness, of ~~playful laughs~~ and spraying water, of a star-bright blue gaze filled with mischief and love; gentle, playful … until it turned dark, dark like a gathering storm that charged the air…		Of all things, of all the things they could have brought, it had to be a reminder of warmth, of tenderness, of laughter and spraying water, of a star-bright blue gaze filled with mischief and love; gentle, playful … until it turned dark, dark like a gathering storm that charged the air…

	''Mo shíorghrá''		''Mo shíorghrá''

Ichaya: /* Vox Clamantis In Deserto ~ Part II */

2015-11-15T13:41:35Z

Vox Clamantis In Deserto ~ Part II

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:41, 15 November 2015
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	Of all things, of all the things they could have brought, it had to be a reminder of warmth, of tenderness, of playful laughs and spraying water, of ~~an ocean~~ blue gaze filled with mischief and love; gentle, ~~attentive~~ … until it turned dark, dark like a gathering storm that charged the air…		Of all things, of all the things they could have brought, it had to be a reminder of warmth, of tenderness, of playful laughs and spraying water, of a star-bright blue gaze filled with mischief and love; gentle, playful … until it turned dark, dark like a gathering storm that charged the air…

			''Mo shíorghrá''

	Her hands were steady when she carefully placed the soap back into the pale wrapping, closing it until there was but the faintest trace of its scent still floating in the room. She clutched it in her fist as if in a case of steel, willing the memory to sink back into the darkness, away, to safety.		Her hands were steady when she carefully placed the soap back into the pale wrapping, closing it until there was but the faintest trace of its scent still floating in the room. She clutched it in her fist as if in a case of steel, willing the memory to sink back into the darkness, away, to safety.

	No.		No.

	No matter what he thought he had won, what he thought he owned, nothing of it mattered. Not as long as her soul, her heart, were safe, locked away, out of reach. There was no harm, no injury that could hurt a living Katra, nothing that could threaten its integrity unless she allowed it. And the stars themselves would cease to burn before that happened.		No matter what ''he'' thought he had won, what he thought he owned, nothing of it mattered. Not as long as her soul, her heart, were safe, locked away, out of reach. There was no harm, no injury that could hurt a living Katra, nothing that could threaten its integrity unless she allowed it. And the stars themselves would cease to burn before that happened.

	Remember …		''Remember, mo chroí'' …

	Almost a smile, the brief, sudden expression flickering over features cast in stone. But the light shining in night black eyes was that of Nevasa rising over the Forge.		Almost a smile, the brief, sudden expression flickering over features cast in stone. But the light shining in night black eyes was that of Nevasa rising over the Forge.
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	Could it be?		Could it be?

			''Plak'tau.''

	She leaned her forehead against the cool clearsteel, pressing one palm against it as if to draw the cold into her body that was once more burning with a fever that would not cease.		She leaned her forehead against the cool clearsteel, pressing one palm against it as if to draw the cold into her body that was once more burning with a fever that would not cease.