To Serve Hominkind

[meravyel]

"Ah, Mistress Dovoos, after so many years, you've finally served me," Meravyel's voice reflected an edge of ironic humor, but she did not chuckle, nor did her face betray any hint of her amusement. The corners of her mouth quirked in a peculiar fashion that might've been interpreted by an onlooker as the start of a grin, or something as different as a display of annoyance. A small bone fetish danced between her fingers, little more than a focus of physical sensation and a display of pent up energy belied by her calm posture, as her eyes watched the Goo covered landscape in the changing colors of the sunfade.

Meravyel had once been of a servant family. Her servant family had once served House Dovoos. House Dovoos had once been a noble family of Matisian scholars.

The Great Swarming changed all of that in the buzzing and stinging of three score kipesta.

"Had, had, had," Meravyel tossed the fetish upward, snatching it from the air and clutching it tightly in her fist. She held it between her thumb and forefinger, holding it before her face, "So much for what you had, Mistress."

The few Dovoos family members that had escaped Matia with their servants decided to travel together through the wilds. This was the first great mistake of many, but in Meravyel's mind it was the foremost cause of their fall. It finalized the fate of the family.

The last of the Dovoos, and all remnants of their servants save one, perished in the destruction of the Caligaro outpost. Meravyel's father had insisted they move on and was ignored - their second greatest mistake. He died delivering the warning. The final warning came, too late, in the roar of a great kipucka.

When the carnage was done, all that remained was a young and badly wounded Matisian girl and the bodies of the slain, trapped in a collapsed room. Survival instincts are stronger in the young, and the girl had little trouble quickly assessing her situation. Her father had taught her that any creature’s flesh could be eaten, and any creature’s blood could serve when water was lacking. He hadn’t meant the flesh and blood of homins, and never would have considered such an abomination. A child though, would and did. Cold winter air kept the flesh from decaying too quickly while slivers of space between fallen timbers allowed the passage of air, and some melted snow. Teeth and bones became tools. Flesh and skin became sustenance. Everything had a use.

Idle hands, idle mind. The girl kept herself busy.

Smoke from a fire drew in a scout who freed the girl from her prison. She had been trapped for nearly twenty-four days.

Meravyel was far from feral when he freed her, despite her foul smell and disturbing appearance. She had gathered all of the documents and important materials from the packs of the fallen, organized them, and repacked them into her own belongings. Her clothes were multicolored, and of a fairly sturdy weave. Only on close inspection did the scout realize they were woven of Matis hair. She spoke clearly and calmly, thanking him for the rescue, and asking for fresh water. Little more than twelve years old, she asked to join his group, and introduced herself as the last of House Dovoos, adopting the name as her own.

This, and the rest, is history. There are few who remember it that yet live, and the stories change from generation to generation. Meravyel slipped the bone fetish back into her belt pouch. It clinked against the others. Only she would know her truth. Reminiscing could wait - Her eyes had finally caught the movement they’d been seeking; a small ripple at the edge of the Goo field. A sign of something.

[otaku157]

OOC: sunfade! Great! I've been trying desperately to think of an alternative to sunrise/sunset

And... Wow, nice. Keep it coming

[jennaelf]

((Ditto Narael))

[meravyel]

The sap-lacquered motega stakes would withstand the Goo for longer than anything she had tested so far. This pleased Meravyel. Stepping carefully into the Goo field northwest of the Ranger camp, she walked until the burn on her skin and in her lungs was almost intolerable. She knelt and selected the longest stake, sunk it deep into the Goo.

She stood and made her way quickly to the edge, thankful for the fresh air that embraced her. She coughed a few times, her body trying to clear the tainted fumes from itself. It would be day soon, the sunglow had already begun, the corona flaring to life in the dim but lightening sky. She turned and sunk a second stake into the goo where the edge of the land was wounded.

She retrieved a piece of parchment and made a note of the date. One season from now, she would see if there were any difference. She suspected it moved on its own over the surface, but none of the records she had kept from the Dovoos family indicated that anyone had confirmed this.

If it was a disease in the fashion the Karavan described, then it also moved beneath the surface, but that was beyond her abilities to track. For now, she thought.

Idle hands, idle mind. She must see what other tasks she might fulfill.

[meravyel]

"An idle mind is a waste," Liachi lectured his daughter. "The world continues around you without pause, and so too should your mind. Always watch and always listen, for you can never know when you will hear or see something of great import. Once those moments pass, you will know but it will be too late and all you can then do is regret. Carry no regrets, daughter. Do not let yourself sit idle when there is work that may be done. You are Anardai and it is not within us to live off of the works of those who labor worthily. Do you understand?"

Ten year old Meravyel gazed up at her father and nodded, her green-yellow eyes bright and hungry for knowledge.

"Good girl," he patted her head, turning back to the hand-turned lathe and his woodworking. "Now, back to your tasks. Mistress Dovoos doesn't pay us to sit around." She nodded again and turned to obey her father. "Meravyel."

She turned back to her father, "Yes, father?"

"Remember. Idle hands, idle mind." He did not turn to look at her, but turned the shaft of wood, carving a ring into it.

"Yes, father."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The corners of Meravyel's lips pulled with the hint of a frown, but the expression never fully formed. The distance between the stakes had grown, but not as anticipated. The outside stake remained at the edge of the Goo, while the stake within had drifted toward the eruption's center. She would have to retrieve it, replace it. Perhaps a line of fiber rope coated in moon resin would withstand the Goo and could be used to measure the stake's further drift.

What had caused the ripple she'd seen, and why was it pulling a simple object - a motega wood stake - further inward?

Meravyel paced the edges of the field and her eyes glittered with speculations.

[meravyel]

Idle hands, idle mind. She paced.

Idle hands, idle mind. She stopped.

Idle hands, idle mind... "Stop!"

Two patrolling homins passing nearby stopped and looked at the woman. Meravyel's eyes were wide, her hair tussled, and her hands balled into fists at her side. Her expression was disturbingly placid, a sharp contrast to her near-frantic body language.

As the eyes of the patrollers settled upon her, she became aware of more than just theirs. Other refugees were staring at her.

The tension released its hold and her shoulders eased into a practiced posture. Fingers of one hand smoothed through her hair, fingers of the other sought the pouch at her hip, removing a smooth bone fetish. She cast a glance over the staring homins. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away, the bone fetish dancing across the knuckles of her hand.

No one was close enough to hear her murmur, "I must find more yet to do."