Heartlines
Posted: Wed May 26, 2021 3:15 am
I've seen it in the flights of birds
I've seen it in you
In the entrails of the animals
The blood running through
But in order to get to the heart of things
Sometimes, you have to cut through – “Heartlines”, Florence and the Machine
----
Though she had stayed in Trinsic for several days, Valonia hadn’t actually planned to visit the Shrine of Honor. Toyed with the idea, perhaps, but what purpose would it serve? Did she think the shrine would talk to her as it had to ancient heroes of old? Did she think she would be bathed in a pool of light and be both literally and spiritually enlightened?
Did she think it could absolve her of anything when she couldn’t do it herself?
Idiocy. Maybe such things worked in the before times, but those weren’t the times she lived in now. The Shrines were relics of an ancient time. The Avatar was gone; Lord British was comatose. Whatever glory had happened in the past was done and over with. The Virtues were a decent ideal, but the world was different now. People were different now.
And yet…
With a grimace and a roll of her eyes, Valonia turned around and headed in the direction of the Shrine. She didn’t expect to actually get anything out of it… but she knew she would regret not going. Even if it was to prove to herself that it didn’t mean anything.
The route to the Shrine was treacherous, just as the road to Trinsic had been. But unlike the path to Trinsic, there were no roads to the Shrine. She was forced to use a rough map she’d picked up in Trinsic, using landmarks that no longer existed to gauge roughly where the Shrine would be.
The landscape here was less familiar than the northern part of the continent… even moreso after all the turmoil of the last few years. More than once it occurred to her that it was foolish to put this much effort into something that she didn’t see would do anything. The ground was lined with whipping vines that lashed at her face and arms regardless of whatever woodscraft she tried to ply, and the humid jungle writhed with serpents, spiders, and snakes. The climate was also far warmer here than norther parts of the continent, forcing Valonia to stop several times for water and to remove her leather armor. She bunched up her armor in her pack, strapped her staff and bow to her back, and rolled her sleeves up as far as they would go. Her cloak wouldn’t fit in her satchel, so she pushed it behind her, wrapping her belt around it so it would stay behind her back under her staff and bow. It was a hassle, but she continued in spite of herself.
By the end of her trek, she was sweaty, covered with mud and grime, and her hair was matted to her forehead and the back of her neck. But reach the Shrine she did, though it was late afternoon by the time she managed it.
Which made it even more insulting to see what appeared to be a Roma woman standing at the Shrine, all cool and calm, without a drop of sweat on her face or skin.
Valonia noted enviously that the woman’s mostly black hair seemed all in place as well. A filament of silver apparently kept it all in place, somehow woven elaborately around her mass of hair, as well as through a lock of white that ran along her left temple. There did not appear to be any fastening mechanism to the wire, which seemed a bit strange to Valonia. Did the woman hand-bend the wire every time? It didn’t make sense.
The other woman wore a sash in a dark red across her waist, in the manner of the Romani clans. But unlike other Romani Valonia had seen, this woman’s was looped through some sort of belt loop depicting a carved sigil of a black hand, palm outward, with a red blade pointed upward. And very unlike the Minoxian Romani Valonia had seen (who tended to be either colorfully dressed, or garbed in some manner of traditional attire), the woman wore a black robe. And attached to the woman’s sash were the sorts of pouches often containing reagents.
That, coupled with the fact that the black-robed woman had placed several items on the Shrine, everything seemed awfully suspicious. Was she part of the Cult of Tyball? Was this some manner of ritual? The items didn’t appear to be gifts, but they didn’t seem to be normal magical items either…? One was a very old straw hat that was practically disintegrated. The next item was a flower so brittle it could plausibly fall apart at a touch. The third was an old dagger, made of some sort of dark metal -- though the leatherwork on the hilt had practically worn away, leaving only the faint hint of black-dyed leather and decorative gold threading. But the dagger aside, the woman did not appear to be armed.
That didn’t mean anything, of course. The reagents on the woman’s sash made it clear what she was. And with the ether clear now…
“Ave magica, sister… druid, is it?” the woman said, interrupting Valonia’s thoughts. She spoke clearly, but with a very faint trace of an accent. Regardless of whatever stylings the woman wore, it was clear she had not been around her people any time recently. She finally turned toward Valonia. “Is that what you are?”
That was an odd inflection in that. Valonia wasn’t sure what to make of the greeting either, or the assumption of sisterhood. “Uh. Yes? And well met.”
“Hm. Very well then.” The woman said nothing more on the subject, turning instead back to the Shrine and the items placed upon it. “Yes, well met.”
“What did you mean by asking what I was?” Val was curious now. “Why did you ask? And what do you mean by calling me sister?”
“You practice the Art, yes?” The black-robed mage glanced over her shoulder at the other woman.
“Yes, though I have only taken it up fairly recently,” Valonia answered.
“Long enough, apparently, that it is appropriate for me to call you a ‘sister’ in the Art.” She then turned her whole body around once more to face Valonia directly. “So what I mean, sister, is simply being polite. As for questioning you on what you are… You are a curious mixture of essences. I had to determine what it is you call yourself. Is that why you are here? To clarify your essences?”
Valonia wasn’t sure how to answer that. In a way, that was kind of true? After all, Valonia had been carrying around unresolved questions that troubled her. She wanted answers in order to find some manner of resolution. In that way, she wanted some sort of ‘realignment’. More accurately, she wanted to find some sort of… peace, she supposed? Quietude? She didn’t expect the Shrine to fix all her problems, or make the questions stop. She just wanted to come to terms with things she had been carrying around for some time.
“I suppose I am seeking to clarify my essences, in a manner of sorts,” Valonia answered finally, then shrugged. “Though I would not have put it quite in that manner…”
The mage woman waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, we all interpret things according to our own schema, and you call these Shrines ‘shrines’ rather than foci, yes… But perhaps I can help. I have been studying this focus and providing you answers may aid me with my own.”
“Wait… You want to help me?” Valonia asked.
“Of course. I have some interest in aiding others of the Art -- and as I said, finding answers for you may help me with my own,” the mage explained. “Otherwise, you will simply have to wait your turn for the Shrine. So, will you let me assist?”
These were strange times indeed. Valonia, of course, had heard tales of the Avatar being helped by a gypsy woman who used potions and cards and questions. But Val certainly wasn’t the Avatar, and this Roma was… Well, she certainly seemed magical enough, but her eyes were a little too incisive for Valonia’s tastes, like the woman wanted to cut her open to find whatever answers were crawling around inside. It was a rather unsettling way of helping, that was for certain.
The black-robed mage woman looked at her expectantly, awaiting an answer.
Valonia grimaced, and tried to gently redirect the subject onto what she hoped were safer methods than whatever the woman had in mind. “I am not against the idea… but assist how? Were you suggesting helping with… uh… tarot cards or something?”
The woman gave her a sharp look. “I am not really that manner of ‘gypsy’. I only do tarot these days for nostalgia. I did not spend all this time studying magical arts to resort to crude pictograms and vague superstition. Surely you do not expect the most primitive tools when others are available?”
Valonia held up her hands in what she hoped was a placating manner. She supposed it was rather insensitive to assume anything. “I meant no offense. I just do not know what methods you mean, or who you even are—”
“Ah. Yes, introductions are in order… though as the one who approached, it would have been polite of you to announce yourself first.” She eyed Valonia critically. “I am Nerivanni. And you are…?”
“Valonia," she answered simply. "And I apologize for, um, not introducing myself earlier. I was not expecting to find anyone here.”
Nerivanni arched a brow slightly in surprise. “No? Do people not visit Shrines these days?”
“Not really?” Valonia shrugged, a little confused why this woman would not have known that… though she had her suspicions. “As far as I am aware, they have not for some time.”
Not until the Avatar cleansed the Shrines, Valonia mused.
“Hm. Curious, for such important foci. Then again, I suppose they had been falling out of favor even in my day.” She shrugged a shoulder then turned back to the Shrine. “It explains your unease.”
“Unease?” Val wasn’t exactly sure what Nerivanni was specifically referring to… though the black robed woman wasn’t exactly wrong. Valonia was pretty uneasy about all of this. It was very strange to say the least.
Nerivanni fixed a dark-eyed gaze on the druid. “You looked at the Shrine with wariness. Why?”
Valonia wasn’t sure how much she should say… but she decided that it was best to be direct. In the same way certain animals could only be handled by standing one’s ground and not running, so too did this woman not seem the sort to tolerate anything else.
“I have been tracking the Cult of Tyball,” she explained. “They are garbed in black, not unlike yourself, and… well, one of the running theories is that they are prying into things out of Avatar tales. The dungeons mostly. But I was wary because I did not know what you meant by placing items upon the Shrine, and had worried you were one of them.”
“Ah.” Nerivanni nodded in comprehension. “No, I am not affiliated with this Cult you speak of. I wear black as a representation of discipline. It was, and is, the color of my former magister, and I have adopted it as well.”
“As for these.” The mage then turned to the Shrine, and gestured to her objects. “These are… not exactly gifts or offerings, but something of the sort… I am uncertain I have a word for what they would be. Foci too, perhaps? As this is the Shrine of Honor, I have brought items that represent the concept to me.”
Valonia noted the other woman didn’t explain the red sash, or the sigil… but Val decided she could figure out the meanings behind them on her own.
At any rate, Valonia’s curiosity was piqued. She had brought no ‘offerings’ of her own, but wondered how the Roma woman had come to her selection.
“How so?” she asked.
Nerivanni brushed her fingertips over the remains of the straw hat. “This belonged to a man who followed Honor. He was principled, fair, just, and incorruptible. This seems a foolish hat –and it truly is--, but yet it is also a partial representation of an unshakable Integrity. For even in this simple matter, as in all things, he followed his own guidance rather than be swayed by the opinions of the world. He did not allow other people's limited perceptions to define him. Yet this steadfastness was not mere obstinacy; he also made sure that his knowledge, beliefs, and actions were as right as he could make them. Though I am certain mistakes were made, and actions were taken in error, I can think of no time when his word was not good.”
In spite of the woman’s previous callous, indifferent tone, the way she spoke about them now showed that the objects clearly meant a great deal to her… and perhaps the people they belonged to?
The next item Nerivanni turned to was a small, shriveled flower, which she handled delicately.
“This was a gift from a man who believed he had no Honor. Yet, he persevered. Many times, through many tribulations -- both external threats, and through trials that were self-caused. If asked, he would likely have admitted to himself and others that he possessed many flaws. And yet, --and YET!-- he was true to himself even if it incurred the ridicule of others, rather than be false and incur his own abhorrence. Perseverance is sometimes foolish, but sometimes one cannot help but respect it. And while I personally believe one should try to be open to taking a new path, there is something to be said for having the will to endure when the world around you would tell you ‘no’.”
She moved next to the old dagger. Though she reached forward as if to touch it, she halted. Instead, her hand remained just above the old dagger. She did not pick it up nor did she touch it as she had the others.
“And this? This was the dagger of a man who believed in Honor. To some oaths he held true, to others… less so. But he looked unflinching into both the dark and the light. He served a difficult lord without faltering -- and as I understand it, returned to honor oaths he had broken. This dagger is a symbol that what was broken can sometimes be restored. Yet it is also is a lesson that there is also Honor in leaving some things behind. Duty is as light or as heavy as one makes it, perhaps.”
She stood back to silently survey what she had placed on the Shrine. If she had anything to say on why she had brought these items here, or what her purpose was, she kept it to herself.
Still, it did help Valonia to hear lessons the other woman had learned in her life, though she was unsure how to respond. She valued her own privacy, after all. And though she was curious, she had no desire to clumsily dig into the life of another and cause pain where there did not need to be.
Finally, Valonia spoke and broke the silence. “I can tell there are stories there, but I will not pry. I value my own privacy, and will respect yours. I just wanted to say that it does help to hear such things. I no longer question whether you are here to desecrate this place.”
Nerivanni nodded slightly in acknowledgement, though her expression made it hard to know what she thought about Valonia’s words.
“How could I help you find your answers, by the way?” Valonia asked haltingly, hoping she was not clumsily treading on dangerous ground. “What answers were you looking for?”
“My own,” Nerivanni replied simply, clearly not wanting to elaborate. “But if you want my aid, and to offer me aid in return, I do have cards, if that would be more palatable to your tastes. Not the Virtue cards of the simple, but some of a different sort. I have them with me, though mostly for the artistic value.”
It felt like a concession. Humility was clearly not the woman’s virtue. Still, though Nerivanni clearly saw it as primitive, she was willing to do it for Valonia’s sake. It was a gift, and Valonia would not dismiss it so carelessly.
“I would like that, if you are willing to do so.” She nodded. She had not come to the Shrine expecting any of this. She hadn’t come to here expecting anything, really. So while stories of Romani soothsaying and insight leaned a bit toward the insensitive cultural stereotype side, Valonia was still interested. “What does it involve? Will you need me to do anything?”
Nerivanni drew a deck of cards from a pouch at her sash, and held them up for Valonia to see. “You ask a question, and I draw a series of cards from this deck. Nothing more, nothing less. Each card and pictogram drawn represents a meaning that may or may not symbolize matters in your life. Any clarity you seek will have to come from your interpretations, but the cards provide some manner of answers.”
She looked around, and found a nice flat topped rock, then took a seat next to it. She patted the ground beside her.
Valonia obliged, and took a seat on the ground across from Nerivanni.
“So let us begin,” the Roma woman said.
I've seen it in you
In the entrails of the animals
The blood running through
But in order to get to the heart of things
Sometimes, you have to cut through – “Heartlines”, Florence and the Machine
----
Though she had stayed in Trinsic for several days, Valonia hadn’t actually planned to visit the Shrine of Honor. Toyed with the idea, perhaps, but what purpose would it serve? Did she think the shrine would talk to her as it had to ancient heroes of old? Did she think she would be bathed in a pool of light and be both literally and spiritually enlightened?
Did she think it could absolve her of anything when she couldn’t do it herself?
Idiocy. Maybe such things worked in the before times, but those weren’t the times she lived in now. The Shrines were relics of an ancient time. The Avatar was gone; Lord British was comatose. Whatever glory had happened in the past was done and over with. The Virtues were a decent ideal, but the world was different now. People were different now.
And yet…
With a grimace and a roll of her eyes, Valonia turned around and headed in the direction of the Shrine. She didn’t expect to actually get anything out of it… but she knew she would regret not going. Even if it was to prove to herself that it didn’t mean anything.
The route to the Shrine was treacherous, just as the road to Trinsic had been. But unlike the path to Trinsic, there were no roads to the Shrine. She was forced to use a rough map she’d picked up in Trinsic, using landmarks that no longer existed to gauge roughly where the Shrine would be.
The landscape here was less familiar than the northern part of the continent… even moreso after all the turmoil of the last few years. More than once it occurred to her that it was foolish to put this much effort into something that she didn’t see would do anything. The ground was lined with whipping vines that lashed at her face and arms regardless of whatever woodscraft she tried to ply, and the humid jungle writhed with serpents, spiders, and snakes. The climate was also far warmer here than norther parts of the continent, forcing Valonia to stop several times for water and to remove her leather armor. She bunched up her armor in her pack, strapped her staff and bow to her back, and rolled her sleeves up as far as they would go. Her cloak wouldn’t fit in her satchel, so she pushed it behind her, wrapping her belt around it so it would stay behind her back under her staff and bow. It was a hassle, but she continued in spite of herself.
By the end of her trek, she was sweaty, covered with mud and grime, and her hair was matted to her forehead and the back of her neck. But reach the Shrine she did, though it was late afternoon by the time she managed it.
Which made it even more insulting to see what appeared to be a Roma woman standing at the Shrine, all cool and calm, without a drop of sweat on her face or skin.
Valonia noted enviously that the woman’s mostly black hair seemed all in place as well. A filament of silver apparently kept it all in place, somehow woven elaborately around her mass of hair, as well as through a lock of white that ran along her left temple. There did not appear to be any fastening mechanism to the wire, which seemed a bit strange to Valonia. Did the woman hand-bend the wire every time? It didn’t make sense.
The other woman wore a sash in a dark red across her waist, in the manner of the Romani clans. But unlike other Romani Valonia had seen, this woman’s was looped through some sort of belt loop depicting a carved sigil of a black hand, palm outward, with a red blade pointed upward. And very unlike the Minoxian Romani Valonia had seen (who tended to be either colorfully dressed, or garbed in some manner of traditional attire), the woman wore a black robe. And attached to the woman’s sash were the sorts of pouches often containing reagents.
That, coupled with the fact that the black-robed woman had placed several items on the Shrine, everything seemed awfully suspicious. Was she part of the Cult of Tyball? Was this some manner of ritual? The items didn’t appear to be gifts, but they didn’t seem to be normal magical items either…? One was a very old straw hat that was practically disintegrated. The next item was a flower so brittle it could plausibly fall apart at a touch. The third was an old dagger, made of some sort of dark metal -- though the leatherwork on the hilt had practically worn away, leaving only the faint hint of black-dyed leather and decorative gold threading. But the dagger aside, the woman did not appear to be armed.
That didn’t mean anything, of course. The reagents on the woman’s sash made it clear what she was. And with the ether clear now…
“Ave magica, sister… druid, is it?” the woman said, interrupting Valonia’s thoughts. She spoke clearly, but with a very faint trace of an accent. Regardless of whatever stylings the woman wore, it was clear she had not been around her people any time recently. She finally turned toward Valonia. “Is that what you are?”
That was an odd inflection in that. Valonia wasn’t sure what to make of the greeting either, or the assumption of sisterhood. “Uh. Yes? And well met.”
“Hm. Very well then.” The woman said nothing more on the subject, turning instead back to the Shrine and the items placed upon it. “Yes, well met.”
“What did you mean by asking what I was?” Val was curious now. “Why did you ask? And what do you mean by calling me sister?”
“You practice the Art, yes?” The black-robed mage glanced over her shoulder at the other woman.
“Yes, though I have only taken it up fairly recently,” Valonia answered.
“Long enough, apparently, that it is appropriate for me to call you a ‘sister’ in the Art.” She then turned her whole body around once more to face Valonia directly. “So what I mean, sister, is simply being polite. As for questioning you on what you are… You are a curious mixture of essences. I had to determine what it is you call yourself. Is that why you are here? To clarify your essences?”
Valonia wasn’t sure how to answer that. In a way, that was kind of true? After all, Valonia had been carrying around unresolved questions that troubled her. She wanted answers in order to find some manner of resolution. In that way, she wanted some sort of ‘realignment’. More accurately, she wanted to find some sort of… peace, she supposed? Quietude? She didn’t expect the Shrine to fix all her problems, or make the questions stop. She just wanted to come to terms with things she had been carrying around for some time.
“I suppose I am seeking to clarify my essences, in a manner of sorts,” Valonia answered finally, then shrugged. “Though I would not have put it quite in that manner…”
The mage woman waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, we all interpret things according to our own schema, and you call these Shrines ‘shrines’ rather than foci, yes… But perhaps I can help. I have been studying this focus and providing you answers may aid me with my own.”
“Wait… You want to help me?” Valonia asked.
“Of course. I have some interest in aiding others of the Art -- and as I said, finding answers for you may help me with my own,” the mage explained. “Otherwise, you will simply have to wait your turn for the Shrine. So, will you let me assist?”
These were strange times indeed. Valonia, of course, had heard tales of the Avatar being helped by a gypsy woman who used potions and cards and questions. But Val certainly wasn’t the Avatar, and this Roma was… Well, she certainly seemed magical enough, but her eyes were a little too incisive for Valonia’s tastes, like the woman wanted to cut her open to find whatever answers were crawling around inside. It was a rather unsettling way of helping, that was for certain.
The black-robed mage woman looked at her expectantly, awaiting an answer.
Valonia grimaced, and tried to gently redirect the subject onto what she hoped were safer methods than whatever the woman had in mind. “I am not against the idea… but assist how? Were you suggesting helping with… uh… tarot cards or something?”
The woman gave her a sharp look. “I am not really that manner of ‘gypsy’. I only do tarot these days for nostalgia. I did not spend all this time studying magical arts to resort to crude pictograms and vague superstition. Surely you do not expect the most primitive tools when others are available?”
Valonia held up her hands in what she hoped was a placating manner. She supposed it was rather insensitive to assume anything. “I meant no offense. I just do not know what methods you mean, or who you even are—”
“Ah. Yes, introductions are in order… though as the one who approached, it would have been polite of you to announce yourself first.” She eyed Valonia critically. “I am Nerivanni. And you are…?”
“Valonia," she answered simply. "And I apologize for, um, not introducing myself earlier. I was not expecting to find anyone here.”
Nerivanni arched a brow slightly in surprise. “No? Do people not visit Shrines these days?”
“Not really?” Valonia shrugged, a little confused why this woman would not have known that… though she had her suspicions. “As far as I am aware, they have not for some time.”
Not until the Avatar cleansed the Shrines, Valonia mused.
“Hm. Curious, for such important foci. Then again, I suppose they had been falling out of favor even in my day.” She shrugged a shoulder then turned back to the Shrine. “It explains your unease.”
“Unease?” Val wasn’t exactly sure what Nerivanni was specifically referring to… though the black robed woman wasn’t exactly wrong. Valonia was pretty uneasy about all of this. It was very strange to say the least.
Nerivanni fixed a dark-eyed gaze on the druid. “You looked at the Shrine with wariness. Why?”
Valonia wasn’t sure how much she should say… but she decided that it was best to be direct. In the same way certain animals could only be handled by standing one’s ground and not running, so too did this woman not seem the sort to tolerate anything else.
“I have been tracking the Cult of Tyball,” she explained. “They are garbed in black, not unlike yourself, and… well, one of the running theories is that they are prying into things out of Avatar tales. The dungeons mostly. But I was wary because I did not know what you meant by placing items upon the Shrine, and had worried you were one of them.”
“Ah.” Nerivanni nodded in comprehension. “No, I am not affiliated with this Cult you speak of. I wear black as a representation of discipline. It was, and is, the color of my former magister, and I have adopted it as well.”
“As for these.” The mage then turned to the Shrine, and gestured to her objects. “These are… not exactly gifts or offerings, but something of the sort… I am uncertain I have a word for what they would be. Foci too, perhaps? As this is the Shrine of Honor, I have brought items that represent the concept to me.”
Valonia noted the other woman didn’t explain the red sash, or the sigil… but Val decided she could figure out the meanings behind them on her own.
At any rate, Valonia’s curiosity was piqued. She had brought no ‘offerings’ of her own, but wondered how the Roma woman had come to her selection.
“How so?” she asked.
Nerivanni brushed her fingertips over the remains of the straw hat. “This belonged to a man who followed Honor. He was principled, fair, just, and incorruptible. This seems a foolish hat –and it truly is--, but yet it is also a partial representation of an unshakable Integrity. For even in this simple matter, as in all things, he followed his own guidance rather than be swayed by the opinions of the world. He did not allow other people's limited perceptions to define him. Yet this steadfastness was not mere obstinacy; he also made sure that his knowledge, beliefs, and actions were as right as he could make them. Though I am certain mistakes were made, and actions were taken in error, I can think of no time when his word was not good.”
In spite of the woman’s previous callous, indifferent tone, the way she spoke about them now showed that the objects clearly meant a great deal to her… and perhaps the people they belonged to?
The next item Nerivanni turned to was a small, shriveled flower, which she handled delicately.
“This was a gift from a man who believed he had no Honor. Yet, he persevered. Many times, through many tribulations -- both external threats, and through trials that were self-caused. If asked, he would likely have admitted to himself and others that he possessed many flaws. And yet, --and YET!-- he was true to himself even if it incurred the ridicule of others, rather than be false and incur his own abhorrence. Perseverance is sometimes foolish, but sometimes one cannot help but respect it. And while I personally believe one should try to be open to taking a new path, there is something to be said for having the will to endure when the world around you would tell you ‘no’.”
She moved next to the old dagger. Though she reached forward as if to touch it, she halted. Instead, her hand remained just above the old dagger. She did not pick it up nor did she touch it as she had the others.
“And this? This was the dagger of a man who believed in Honor. To some oaths he held true, to others… less so. But he looked unflinching into both the dark and the light. He served a difficult lord without faltering -- and as I understand it, returned to honor oaths he had broken. This dagger is a symbol that what was broken can sometimes be restored. Yet it is also is a lesson that there is also Honor in leaving some things behind. Duty is as light or as heavy as one makes it, perhaps.”
She stood back to silently survey what she had placed on the Shrine. If she had anything to say on why she had brought these items here, or what her purpose was, she kept it to herself.
Still, it did help Valonia to hear lessons the other woman had learned in her life, though she was unsure how to respond. She valued her own privacy, after all. And though she was curious, she had no desire to clumsily dig into the life of another and cause pain where there did not need to be.
Finally, Valonia spoke and broke the silence. “I can tell there are stories there, but I will not pry. I value my own privacy, and will respect yours. I just wanted to say that it does help to hear such things. I no longer question whether you are here to desecrate this place.”
Nerivanni nodded slightly in acknowledgement, though her expression made it hard to know what she thought about Valonia’s words.
“How could I help you find your answers, by the way?” Valonia asked haltingly, hoping she was not clumsily treading on dangerous ground. “What answers were you looking for?”
“My own,” Nerivanni replied simply, clearly not wanting to elaborate. “But if you want my aid, and to offer me aid in return, I do have cards, if that would be more palatable to your tastes. Not the Virtue cards of the simple, but some of a different sort. I have them with me, though mostly for the artistic value.”
It felt like a concession. Humility was clearly not the woman’s virtue. Still, though Nerivanni clearly saw it as primitive, she was willing to do it for Valonia’s sake. It was a gift, and Valonia would not dismiss it so carelessly.
“I would like that, if you are willing to do so.” She nodded. She had not come to the Shrine expecting any of this. She hadn’t come to here expecting anything, really. So while stories of Romani soothsaying and insight leaned a bit toward the insensitive cultural stereotype side, Valonia was still interested. “What does it involve? Will you need me to do anything?”
Nerivanni drew a deck of cards from a pouch at her sash, and held them up for Valonia to see. “You ask a question, and I draw a series of cards from this deck. Nothing more, nothing less. Each card and pictogram drawn represents a meaning that may or may not symbolize matters in your life. Any clarity you seek will have to come from your interpretations, but the cards provide some manner of answers.”
She looked around, and found a nice flat topped rock, then took a seat next to it. She patted the ground beside her.
Valonia obliged, and took a seat on the ground across from Nerivanni.
“So let us begin,” the Roma woman said.