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#remember the scene in servant of two masters when he carried her into the hut and made her soup
susanoosama01 · 3 years
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All Aggravaine wanted was to become Morgana's house husband.
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yarti · 6 years
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Yarti - My Story of Little Importance
Story Below:
To Fanar and/or Fannah:
I thought that some day one of you would like to hear my story, well, the beginning of it or the parts that we had never talked about for one reason or another. Know that it pains me to remember some of it. The past doesn't matter that much to me, it never did. I had nothing, and then I had Snake and then I had you, the things that happened before then were like the first two steps of a staircase. You don't pay them any mind for they make up such a small part of the whole staircase. The current and the future are always more important than the past I think. The past is a time of learning and often times, regrets. You are young, you know not what struggles may await you. Things that no one should face alone. The love of friends or family carry us through the struggles and into greener fields. The current should be cherished for what you have and the memories of the good things that you once had if they are now gone. The future should be a thing of optimism and hope. I will be recording this separate from my journal so it can be found in some foreseeable future in the storeroom. I suppose I should write it under the assumption that the two of you are grown at the time of the reading. Yes, that would be best. I know you Fannah, chances are, you could read this within minutes of me folding the paper and tucking it away. I must keep it civil and proper in the chance of that scenario. I hope you wouldn't understand much of it, if that is the case.
I am the daughter of Lette Serethi, a formerly-Hlaalu Persuader and a Telvanni-born Nord of some renown, however that worked. I never met my father and I don't know his name. At the time of writing this, you have never met them. Perhaps some day.
First, some preface. In the later days of the Third Era, your grandmother, a servant's daughter grew up in the manor where her father worked. I was told it was in Mournhold, but I had my doubts. This is all based on hearsay and the few times she ever spoke of her younger days so it may not be completely accurate. There is much I do not know. She was over two hundred years old by the time I came into the picture. When the Tribunal fell, her family cleaned out the manor and fled northwest. After selling off a portion of the manor loot they were able to settle near the Skyrim border. Over the next hundred years, the family amassed quite a fortune through trade, thievery and money lending. They came to control a small community and your great-grandfather's word was law. House Hlaalu fell apart some time after that but the family retained it's traditions and practices well into the current age. Around 36 years ago as of the time of this writing, a traveling Nord passed through their community on business. He and mother discussed business for many weeks and their time together grew into something more. Mother fell in love with him. They hid their relationship from grandfather, fearing his reaction. The man had some standing in the Telvanni. If he were a Dunmer, I guess everything would have worked out fine. But grandfather would not allow Nord intermingling. The daughters were expected to marry for power, sold off to wealthy Dres men perhaps. Nords were out of the question and Nords in the community were little more than slaves. Late in that year, the pregnancy was discovered. The man was ambushed by our guards and left with three dead at his feet. Rather than kill more guards and worsen the situation, he complied and left town. He disappeared after that and it haunted mother for the rest of her life. And then I happened.
I was given a fine education and access to a variety of training growing up, much like you. Though the family factor was sorely missing. Like Fannah, I was skilled in Illusion at a very young age, but I had zero interest in economics, history or any Hlaalu teachings. They bored me. It felt wrong. By the time I was 8 or 10 I had mastered sneaking out of the house. I would hang out in town until I was caught and taken back inside. I would visit the fishermen, the shops, see what the traveling traders were bringing in. I had cousins to play with back at home but we were so different in mannerisms that it rarely worked out. I had very little interaction with my mother. She was always away on business for much of her youth and what little interaction we did have was veiled by that depression that consumed her. She was focused on her tasks. A very cold and to-the-point person. My parentage was mostly kept quiet in the house, but by way of hushed voices and rumors, I knew most of the story by the time I was old enough to understand it. But she would never speak of it. We were introduced to the pantheon of the Divines as part of our classes, though the town itself was owed to Azura. A grand statue of her likeness stood on the far end of town. Azura became something of an adoptive mother figure for me. By adolescence, we had grown so very distant and that distance formed resentment. I wished she would have opened up. She wanted her work, and wanted me to follow in her footsteps, without question. My Nord blood brewed strong and of course I eventually discovered alcohol and it's merriment. The tavern became a second home. A place away from cold mother. The half-drunken stories of the Nords became my history classes. One night, I followed a group of Nord traders back to their camp to crack open a keg. An Imperial patrol arrived on the scene the next morning and found me in their bed. Nothing happened but we had all gotten quite drunk over the course of the night. They took me across the border and I was subsequently released. Skyrim felt right to me. Rather than return, I traveled for a year or so. Enjoying the sights and sounds of the new land. Most every night was spent at an inn, and every morning spent waking up with very little recollection of the previous night. Alcohol filled the void in me I guess. I did many things I came to regret in those days. Another year or so of that and I had enough. I sought out some change in my life. I bought a keg, affixed it to my pack, filled it with wine the inn then set out on an adventure. One lead to another, and to another. Over the course of a summer I had established myself as a mercenary of sorts. Many things happened in these days but few things are worth mentioning. In time I came to hate Dunmer. I saw them for what they were. I thought myself a true Nord and began to carry myself as such, even more so than before. I came across many an artifact that I would carry with me unto this day, but the most important of which was my sword. I found the silver sword that would become Snilla-Nilyn at some point there, though I knew not it's purpose or name at the time. In that time, I came to meet a few of the friends that I still have. I suppose the most important of those would be Xi, another Dunmer mercenary. The only Dunmer friend I ever had and like an older sister to me. That life was a better life than the last, but the void was still there. Eventually, I was able to rent an apartment in Whiterun. I would spend a few days there before heading out for long days of travel. While living there, I met a young Companion, Nita Bjorn. A good few years younger than I, the small girl seemed entranced by my stories. We became good friends in little time and would often travel together for Companions work. I was never a full fledged member or anything, but our work coincided at times. Outside of working, we would spend many a day together, just lounging about and having our talks. From there, work thinned out. I became known in those parts and found myself caring for local children when no work was available. Babysitting I suppose, but most of them were closer to the age you are now. The motherly role was something I came to enjoy. That too came to a slow halt, forcing me to set about traveling again. I would return to Whiterun and check in on Nita occasionally, but most of my time was spent on the road. Exhausted and far from civilization, I would regularly seek shelter wherever I could. One fated night, I sought shelter in an abandoned hut near Darkwater Crossing. It was warm and comfortable enough. I packed away my bags and glimmering sword. Poured myself a glass of wine and sat it atop the table. It was to be my drink for the day, a struggle I was trying to contain. The air was thick with dust, that would never do. I stepped out the door, swatting dust from in front of my eyes as the cold night air rushed in. I breathed deep of it, eyes closed. At once, I opened them and saw a young Nord mercenary on the road walking toward the hut. A giant silver greatsword was perched atop his heavy black armor. Your father. As soon as I laid eyes upon him, I just knew it. My heart melted. Love at first sight, if you will. I scrambled off the porch and ran to greet him. Offering him a hot meal and place to spend the night. An odd sensation overtook me, a happiness I had never really felt before. The void gone. As soon as the door was shut, I fell into his arms and then into bed, strewn clothes in our path with few words traded between us. We had a good night.
When I awoke the next morning, he was gone. I cursed myself for not asking his name. The void had returned with greater force. I had caught that he was heading to Riften but nothing more. I packed up my gear and set out for the Bee and Barb. I would visit two, sometimes three times a day asking the innkeeper for information about this mercenary but to no avail. But my persistence paid off. One such day I was at the counter asking for information as usual, when the mercenary pecked on my back. I turned and looked into his eyes. My legs weak, I fell backwards onto to a stool. We talked for so long. Hours and hours and hours. Once we tired of talking we rented a room for the night. From that point on we were inseparable. We traveled together for nearly a decade. A common thought in those days, was what if mother tried to find me. If she would come to take me back. It was a fear of mine, a fear that strengthened a resentment that had little reason to be there in the first place.
We kept separate residences at first. I would return to my apartment in Whiterun, rekindling the friendship with Nita as the relationship with Snake transformed from companions to utter soulmates. The three of us became the closest of friends and I know it pained her when we finally moved forward. I soon felt the call of marriage and we were wed. A honeymoon on a far away island, then a visit to the trade city Helsmyrr. It was as beautiful back then as it is now. A magic place and a most magic time in our lives. With our combined wealth, we came to own a small house in Whiterun and between work, I suppose I developed into a fine housewife. Not long after the house, I became pregnant with the two of you. A happy moment in a life already trending toward happiness. Through my burdened days, I took up reading and sewing. The books and perhaps lingering memories of a life once lead brought about a taste for fine clothing. Though that would be more apparent later as you surely know. The thought of motherhood dulled the resentment of my own mother. I would talk with her, maybe. If we were to meet again in good terms. But it was far too late to go looking for her again and if she came to me with ill intent, I felt more than capable of putting a stop to it even in that condition. I was truly happy and would have no issue sharing the happiness with her, should she be willing. But none would take it from me. As the days counted down, we came to the realization that the house was too small for a family, so we sought out another home, eventually settling into a large cabin atop a ridge overlooking Darkwater crossing. Pinegrove. A fitting place, we thought. Though we were to lose all contact with Nita for several years there due to the distance, our last meeting was a heartfelt one. The family life molded us into true Mara worshippers, with an altar at the top of the stairs. Every night I would pray for your safe bringing and so it was. You were born without issue thanks to Mara, local healers and a wealth of friends and my love at my side. Then I was a mother. Again, it felt right. As though I had taken the right path. We devoted the first few years to you. Every hour of every day. Sewing as a hobby gave way to sewing as a source of income. Using designs I had seen in books, I began by copying them, and before long I had developed skill of my own. I might have had five minutes free every other day to sew, but that time was put to use. Snake followed suite with blacksmithing and developed some degree of skill with that over the years, lending to his continued expansion of the house. By the time you two were old enough to be aware of it, the house had already went through several remodels and expansions. We made so many memories in that old house. They will never leave me. As you became more aware and more active, we felt it a crime to have you so cramped up on a mountaintop away from others your age. With some hesitance, we moved again, back to Whiterun. This time settling into a comfortably sized cottage in the fields outside of town. Now surrounded by friends and family, you would have the safety and education that you deserved. You had tutors and mentors within a days reach should we want them. It was easier to find someone to watch you so I could accompany Snake on closer or more dangerous jobs. I was reunited with Nita and despite her hesitations, she became a true aunt to you over the years. It was the perfect thing to do at the perfect time. As of the time of this writing, that move wasn't that long ago, but your lives are so interesting right now. So full of wonder at every turn. I wonder how much of it you remember now, or will remember 15 or 20 years down the road. Whenever it may be that you do come to read this note. It is a curious thought.
That brings us to the present. A happy family prospering in green fields. A mother in her husband's loving arms with the finest children anyone could ever ask for at their side.
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suninagarajan · 3 years
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The Dancing Girls of Kai-Puriji
The Maharajah's of Kuru – Panchala take their concubines from the troupes of dancing girls within the palace.  Palace agents scour the kingdom for suitable candidates, and in their wake word will go out to villages and townships and families who anxiously present their children for inspection and approval.  When a suitable candidate is chosen a fee is exchanged and the girl leaves her family, home and way of life forever to become an ornament of the Maharajah's court, whether temple dancer or court dancer or festival entertainment, her role henceforth will be to delight, amuse and enchant.
She could be chosen for the tinge of her iris, the sweetness of her breath, the shape of an ankle or the turn of a smile. The girls could come from far and wide with no limits on a girl’s caste, religion or gender – some dancing girls are not girls. 
Maharajah Bopirah Jha Kur the first Hindu Maharajah, preferred women of the Udra valley for the roundness of their breasts and filled his palace with the beauties of that land, Maharajah Jaikupi Bil Hur a Maharajah from the middle Maharati period preferred forest women for their dark complexions and wild natures and would have no other lover but the untamed savages of the forest.  It was even said that a Maharajah once kept a red-haired woman from the north just to look at her. 
In a moment, a girl could be transported from a mountain village or a desert mud hut and placed in state rooms in the palace.  She would be schooled in the arts of music dance and deportment and would live, if not as a Rani, at least as well as a noble woman.  
When she has reached her majority and has imbued the knowledge that palace scholars had troubled to bestow upon her, she will be moved to the House of Women and will live under the Maharajah's protection. There she will be provided with guards, servants, jewels and textiles, and if she is favoured, a suit of private apartments. 
Each morning and evening she will be washed and anointed, her skin oiled and perfumed, her face painted with cosmetics, her hair brushed and adorned with flowers. She will be covered in the finest silks and her ears, neck, fingers, waist and ankles adorned with every gemstone pleasing to the eye and amusing to the ear, to await his majesty’s pleasure. 
When permitted she may leave the palace accompanied by guards and, carried in a pandal carved from cedar wood, in laid with scenes of nature of ivory and gold, sumptuous cushions and billowing curtains will shield her from the heat and the gawping crowds and comfort her on her journey, as her troupe of personal attendants carry the pandal above the crowd, a sign of the Maharajah's opulence power and favour.  
On selected festivals she might be paraded in the market square, when the people of Kai Purija will marvel at the treasures in the King’s house and the opulence of the Gods, she included. By his whim she may be called on to dance, sing, play or discuss philosophy or scripture with her master, some Maharajah's have even required a proficiency in Chess, or a talent for poetry. 
Girls that successfully achieve positions with the House of Women will have undertaken years of training and education in order that they might enter the presence of the Maharajah. Their role is more than to act as a mere distraction. They are expected to engage the Maharajah's appetite through body, mind and soul and to lead these abstracts to the divine.  
Many girls who have inhabited the House of Women have smoothed the Maharajah's temper and moved his judgement through their sweetness, reason and understanding to mercy and forgiveness ensuring that the Kingdom is at peace and at one with the universe.  For this reason, in times past it was a crime punishable by five years hard labour in the desert, to look upon a dancing girl without the Maharajah's permission.  Looking upon a favourite would often result in the beholder’s eyes being removed in the public sphere.
But such practices have long since been discontinued.
Her primary role is to ease his labours, soften his heart and clear his path to Wisdom. She is therefore valued and respected for her beauty, her artistry, her learning, her reason and for the comfort she might bring the Maharajah. But she is revered because she is the gateway to the divine.  
Maharajah Rhoopendra Narayan – Goi favoured the women of Bilhal, the blue tint of their eyes he said reminded him of the beauty of the Sapphire Kingdom. But Maharajah Riphender follows his father in his personal tastes, unlike his brother he understands a Maharajah cannot afford favourites and is careful to select his women from across his kingdom.
The palace agents who scour the country perform many functions other than selecting the favoured few to share the King’s bed and protection.  Their function is mainly political.  They are the Maharajah's eyes and ears.  They bring him news of unrest, of the harvest, the state of ordinances, and where the best sapphires are to be found in a season. They carry messages to outposts and local chiefs across the vast unmanageable kingdom and are the locomotives and telegraph of Kuru – Panchala. Their name in Persian, the language of the court, means most trusted, and when they are on the King’s business they can be away from home for years at a time on a single walk. 
They are his Majesty’s Walkers.  
It is a crime punishable by death in Kuru Panchala to refuse hospitality to the Kings Walkers, it is both a sign of disrespect to the king and a crime against the kingdom. Walkers are revered for their knowledge and wisdom and are relied on by farmers, miners, and engineers, a Walker may know where best to place a well or a reservoir  or the most efficient way of carving through rock, they may know of a cave where minerals can be found, or when a crop should be planted, and they are the only people authorised to collect sapphires which in Kuru Panchala are the sole preserve of the Maharajah.  
Wherever they go across Kuru Panchala they are protected by the king’s great power and majesty.  It is said that a Walker once stared down a bull tiger in the jungle of Koh with nothing more than his walking staff and the King’s authority. 
Bhaktrivedanta Prabhupada had walked the length and breadth of Kuru Panchala for 50 years. He still remembers with fondness his first solo walk – two weeks through the unrelenting Namkukoa Kuru desert. It was a test of course, to Live.
He had spent the previous five years accompanying his father and learning the path; the location of the oasis’, which plants he could drink from, where he could rest, where a dried up well might deliver one last life-saving sip, and how to walk through the great forest without either getting lost forever in its undergrowth or unnecessarily disturbing a tiger.  When his father had decided he was ready, he was sent into Namkukoa Kuru alone with a walking stick, some chapatis and a handful of uncooked dhal. He was ordered to pick an exquisite five-leaf Safrawi flower in bud, when its leaves had not yet turned from soft lilac into the deep blue they would later become. The blue Safrawi grows only in the west of the Namkukoa Kuru desert and its flowers stay in their youthful lilac for five days only each season. 
Bhaktrivedanta had not known it, but that was the test.  Those applicants that brought back a blue flower, failed.  The Maharajah needed walkers who could find their way to a fixed point in the kingdom and back again quickly, the safety of the kingdom may depend upon their knowledge and skill.  Those he has selected as Walkers will have passed tests of skill, knowledge, memory and understanding. As for the others, well the Maharajah has many subjects, he does not care if they die in the desert because of their own foolishness. 
There was another reason for the selection of the Safrawi in bud that even Bhaktrivedanta’s father did not know about.  When the Safrawi is in bud and only at that time it is a delicious delicacy which when dried and ground and sprinkled on food adds a volcanic heat and exerts a magical soporific effect on the eater.  A Persian Maharajah who favoured concubines from Namkukoa-Kuru desert tribes  became addicted to the flowers in the late Maharati period. His concubines had used this weakness to exploit the Maharajah by feeding him Safrawi several times a day and had nearly bankrupted the kingdom. The Maharajah had been quietly disposed of by his generals and his nephew placed on the Golden throne, the concubines were walled up and left to their fate.   
The Safrawi when blue is in fact poisonous and should be treated with care. For either entertainment or instruction a former Maharajah, a distant ancestor of the current Maharajah and his late brother, would order those walkers who brought back the flower in its blue state to eat as he watched. Their bodies would writhe in agony for days and they would spit white foam from the mouth eventually dying in extreme pain some days later. 
But such practices have long since been discontinued.
Bhaktrivedanta’s family had walked for the Narayan – Goi for so long it had changed their religion and altered their path. Bhaktrivedanta’s family had lived in the Kesh plains to the north west of Khassi and the Nymila valleys since the time of our Lord Dharma’s creation when his people were distant settlers from a foreign land. Back then they were Maharashtrian from the Keshkapi tribe but many generations of skirmishes with neighbours over land, trade and often a kidnapped wife or daughter led the Keshkapi to form alliances and eventually these alliances brought down the great Tukaram dynasty who had ruled since before time, an event still celebrated today.
Once the Tukaram dynasty had been put down the Keshkapi’s along with other Maharashtrian hill tribes made free to expand their territory but they had not reckoned with the Hindus of the south.  500 years of fighting and slaughter had weakened the Maharashtrian of the Kesh and greatly reduced their numbers, but it had also led to the buildings and adornments of great temples, shrines and monuments and Maharashtrian workers had helped build the Golden Temple and Dhaga Madhye, the Greatest Palace in the Cosmos and the gods most favoured resting place. They had built canals and reservoirs and farmsteads and schools of learning and had helped bring the King’s bounty to the land.   
Somewhere along the bloodline the Kesh and other Marathi had made peace with the Hindu warlords of the south, and had become in their loyalty, devout Hindus. Bhatrivedanta suspected that this capitulation was due in large part to the engineering achievements of the then Tamilian ruling clan because, on one of his many walks Bhatrivedanta had spotted an inscription on a shrine built into the wall of an aqueduct.  He had noticed it because it was a Maharanti translation of a Persian saying, barely legible. He had mentioned it in his report and the following summer was instructed to take a party of scholars of Persian and Maharanti specialisms to the shrine.  The court sages travelled in their sumptuous pandals and Bhatrivedanta walked alongside.  He had pointed out the inscription to the philosophers of letters, but had heard no more -  
well, he was not of their class and profession, and he had played his part.
Kuru Panchala, which is otherwise a dry and arid land is populated with channels  and reservoirs of towering size often with shrines built into their walls or else housing the outposts of the Kingdom.  Bhatrivedanta had once walked the top of the aqueduct that runs atop the Nakambah fort in Namkukoa, west of the Sun Palace.  Bhatrivedanta had made the mistake of looking down and immediately wished that he hadn’t, it appeared to him in that moment that the gods were playing tricks with him and had removed the ground. He had the distinct sensation that he was floating in mid air and that should he fall, he would keep falling for eternity.  
He had recounted the experience for his father as they walked the paths together, as he felt he should if he was to imbue the higher wisdom of his experience. The father who was the keeper of higher knowledge, in response to Bhaktivendanta’s quest for answers had offered a most unfatherly response: “well – sometimes the gods get bored”.
His father had walked for the current Maharajah's grandfather for 47 years 8 months and 2 days.  The length of an agent's walk was a matter of pride and achievement passed down from father to son and each walk was recorded for its knowledge. Those who walked for over 40 years received the honour of the Great Walk and their achievements were noted in the records room of the Golden Palace, that others might learn from their endeavours.  
Bhaktrivedanta had cried the day he matched his father’s achievement, but from that day, spent alone on the Kur mountain pass on the way to Bilhal, he had not cared to notice time passing. His 50 years would be up in the spring and he would join less than 10 walkers in the history of the current dynasty to achieve that feat.  But Bhaktrivedanta had suspected for some time that he would not be satisfied with 50 years. He was old, yes, and getting older.  But his strict Hindu practice of chanting in the morning, silent meditation at night and the eschewing of meat and cow products coupled with a lifetime of spiritual yoga had provided a rejuvenative quality to his body and suppleness to his limbs that meant that even at his age, he could easily walk at a brisk pace, climb when necessary, and run if needed.
So when a man like Bhaktrivedanta Prabhupada changes his path in the middle of the day it means only one thing.
He’s picked up a scent.
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