The
Golden Dawn Chronicles
The Story Thus Far
Chapter One
The Messengers Go
Forth
Last Update: Saturday, November 18, 2000
The
Golden Dawn Chronicles
The Story Thus Far
Chapter One
The Messengers Go
Forth
Last Update: Saturday, November 18, 2000
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Hritkolun emerged from the temple, into the waning light of day. His palanquin awaited him in the courtyard and he stepped into it and reclined. These days, he was on the daytime schedule of the Temple of Qon. The slaves bore him up and out of the grounds, towards the great clanhouse of the Golden Dawn. As he settled into the swaying motion of the journey, he refreshed himself with a brief prayer.'Otulengba, Guardian Against Those Who Would Issue Forth. I thank thee once more, that I live here, in the Soul of the World. In most other cities and towns of our glorious Empire, your worship and study of your mysteries must be carried out within apportioned areas of the temples to Belkhanu-- blessings upon him and may he ever protect travellers, both upon this plane and in their journey into the unending. But here, in Bey Su, as in mighty Avanthar, the city is great enough that your own temple sits resplendent,
ever reminding the viewer that your followers are here to guide, to aid, to protect against the Dark in this world, and the Perils of the Time Hereafter. I thank you, O Ancient One of Pleasures.'Feeling better for this introspection, Hritkolun allowed his mind to turn to more earthly considerations. At this juncture in his life, all was orderly and running smoothly. Lekka would be waiting for him, with a dinner sent by the Clanhouse cooks, to their apartments. They would eat; then perhaps she would play some music, or they would take a walk through the gardens. He might have a game of den-den with old Mriddesh, of allow himself to be cozened, by Lekka, into attending some fencing-match or play.
Then, back to their quarters, to engage in some mutual athleticism with his martial concubine. A fine way to enter the night, with the prospect of further rewarding projects and further study of manipulation of the energies, on the morrow. Indeed, life was good...
Alighting out of the palanquin, he was immediately approached by a messenger boy. He smiled briefly at the lad, but his curiousity was predominant and he straightaway read the message, wondering why a slave had not been used. He read the message a second time, in the courtyard, and informed the boy that he would be available at the sender's pleasure, and that he would appreciate
being told to where he was to report. He then went directly to his quarters.Lekka greeted him formally-- there were slaves about, of course. "Has your day passed well?" she inquired, leading him to a mat and a cup of chumetl. Her astuteness had revealed to her that something was on his mind, regarding the scrap of parchment in his hand, but she was too well-mannered to inquire directly, when they were not alone. "Indeed. My sorcerous studies progress apace, and I was able to proceed with some translations that I am making, for one of the Kusijaktodali."
"Do you wish some time for reflection?"
Hritkolun glanced at her and smiled. "Nay, Lekka, no need-- and there may be a bit of a hurry. Let the servants bring the meal; then I must to a meeting." She nodded, confidant that he would tell her what he could, when he could.
After dinner, Hritkolun had himself garbed properly for an appearance before the Clan Head. It was all very well for Kotáru hiHketoketl to affect informality, but Hritkolun would show the proper respect, due to one of Kotaru's rank. He had no doubts why he would be included in this gathering. Was he not a Sorceror and Scholar in the Temple most assiduously-opposed to the machinations of the Usurper's own Temple? And was his wife not one of Golden Dawn's better political connections, to the illustrious Golden Sunburst Clan? Finally, Kotaru himself knew with what zeal Hritkolun wished to distinguish himself and aid both his Temple and his Clan. Acts that were lan could but aid him in his life's goal.
He wondered if Sruma would be at the gathering. If the Clanmaster wished for a group that would be useful in-- active-- situations, Sruma would definitely be an asset. For that matter, so would his consort, Lekka-- if Kotaru wished to include her in this enterprise.
Tsutel hiHketoketl re-rolled the summons from the Golden Dawn clanmaster and nodded to the young servant of his clan. "Inform the Master of Servants that I will return to the clanhouse immediately."As the young lad rushed off, Tsutel finished recording his last thoughts into his notes, made record of where in the treatise he was, and gathered up the scrolls he had been studying in the Skilled Passages of Honourable Agreement library within the Temple of Chegarra. As a Third Circle priest of the temple, he performed various administrative duties but spent a good portion of his day in the study of scrolls of Chegarran statesmanship under the tutelage of old Chevran hiYrolyis. The elder stateman allowed Tsutel to explore his own interests on the subject, and the young Chegarran found his current inquiry into the use of military posturing as a diplomatic tool most edifying, especially in context of recent Imperial events. Tsutel was quite glad that Chevran directed his development and not the ascerbic Tetrana hiSolvani, whose rigid courseplan was making the academic life of Tsutel's friend and colleague, Dam'rel hiGhavyu, quite miserable.
Tsutel thanked Chegarra for standing over him as he gathered up his writing kit and returned the scrolls to the librarian, penning a quick note to his supervisor about a need to visit his clanhouse on a matter of personal nature. Note sent, the young statesmen-in-training walked through the lofty corridors and exited the building for the Temple Gate.
As he walked, Tsutel reflected on the summons of the dlantukoi. It was most curious that he would call upon a kinsman so newly arrived in the Bey Su clanhouse for such a seemingly critical task, unless that trait itself were a desirable one in this endeavor. Tsutel would have thought that either his training and experience as a warrior, his new-found profession as a statesman, or even his well-known propensity for convincing and persuading ally and foe alike would identify him as a likely candidate for certain tasks -- but the young clansman had become increasingly aware that his status as a relative newcomer in the clanhouse singled him out as one who was either qualified or inappropriate for various clan functions. Cousin Aknallu found his Tumissan perspective an intriguing one in critiquing the clanhouse's architectural design though Tsutel's opinions on the subject were entirely uneducated, whereas the Master of Servants was entirely unconvinced that the "Tumissan boy" was capable of selecting a personal servant from the auction block. He was consulted by a few aunts who supervised the clan menus on Western cuisine, but the Guard Master rejected his input on sword styles as "being too recently arrived in the Great City to fully understand how we do things here," an entirely too blunt admonition for Tsutel's taste. It was most odd, and attempting to decipher just how his combination of talents and circumstances qualified him for a summons from the clanhead himself occupied most of Tsutel's thinking as he walked to the clanhouse, enjoying stretching his legs and lungs after an extended time of brain and finger activity.
One thing was certain in Tsutel's mind -- a summons from the dlantukoi would be invaluable in earning prestige amongst his kin in Bey Su (rumours of his transfer being what they were). And if the task involved exposing bussan worhippers of the Death God, all the better. Tsutel was deserving of some payback.
"Cousin, return the message that I have received the summons and will return immediately. And, if I have your word of honor that you will not spend it before you return home, then I shall give you a kaitar for your troubles. Good. You do us both honor, now make haste!"Dlan read the message once with worry, then read it again with growing pride. "Finally, finally I have been noticed by my clan as one worthy of such adventures! Karakán fill my heart with purity and steadiness to face the days ahead."
He raced back into the Temple of Karakán to stand near a boy who could have been his twin, five years past.
"Mízhotl, my dearest brother, companion and shieldmate. This is to be the lucky day for both of us! Where is our Kasi? I must resign immediately, having been called to great adventure! You shall be Tirrikamu in my place, and when I return, if I have not covered myself in glory, may I serve under you as your basest recruit!"
Mízhotl laughed along with Dlan, but also seemed worried. "Brother, you who goes forth to glory, what is this adventure? What takes you from the temple and into the world. We are not so unimportant here that our Temple does not need your assistance. We are not those who have no enemies."
"Fifteen and already so responsible! Brother, you talk like an old man, and you barely grow a beard. You know what needs to be done here, and there are five of our cousins just waiting to join you. I shall return to active service when I return, if the clanmaster does not still require me."
Dlan pulls out the iron arrowhead necklace from underneath his shirt. "Does the Iron Rain Society still support me?"
Mízhotl smiles, pulls out an identical necklace and laughs. "Although there are but four of us, and all brothers, we support you. Go and bring us back tales of your glory!"
Dlan grasps his brother by the arms, then goes to meet with the Kasi.
"Dlan hi Vraisúna, this one lacks a certain comprehension," remarked Kasi Mrenu hiTlakani, of the Golden Sunburst clan, whose frown showed that he lacked no such thing, "you wish for a leave of absence, to resign your post, in favor of your clan-brother, who it must be said shows great promise, perhaps more than one Tirrikamu of my aquaintance. Why do you do this?"
"Noble Kasi, you of honored experience, you who of rank and worthiness, I beseech you. I was given this commission because all of the veterens of our semetl ran off to fight in the War. I have had no chance to gather glory for our Lord, no chance to use my arm and mind against the foe. My brother also needs a chance to prove himself an able leader. We have five more cousins who are anxious for a place in the temple guards. I will not be missed."
"On the contrary, good Tirrikamu, you of brash youth, will be missed. Even though your discipline leaves something to be desired, even though you have filled an entire semetl with your cousins, you are the one they look up to. I have heard of the exploits of your so-called Iron Rain Society! The temple of Dlamelish is seeking damages from you specifically, unless you go there tonight to, what did the priestess say, wash the windows..."
Dlan blushed, but remained silent.
"So, at the very least, you must clear our temple of this debt, and do whatever it is you boys do over there. Otherwise, I fear that they will charge an exhorbitant shamtlá for whatever you broke. Then go. Perhaps your 'adventure' will lead to your maturity. But don't expect anything when you return! Go on, out, out of my sight."
Dlan bowed low, "Noble Kasi, you are..."
"OUT!"
Dlan scurries out. "Wash the windows indeed. It was only a couple of glasses... I didn't even break them. Ah well, one more duty and I am free..."
Behind his back, the Kasi smiled with satisfaction, picked up a pen and a piece of parchment.
"Kotáru my friend, I have done as you asked and sent the young Dlan back to you. I send him with great regret as he is one of my finest young commanders. But as we both found out during our youth, one only learns the truth of Noble Action with experience. My hopes go with you..."
After a stop at the Temple of Dlamelish to accomplish certain... compensations... for the damages from a party the night before, Dlan returns home, bathes and dresses in a manner befitting a meeting with the clanmaster.
Srúma sat contentedly in his boat. He looked out across the Mssúma, and in the distance the afternoon sun lit the tallest towers in the Necropolis. Closer at hand, oarsmen called a steady chant as they edged their broad riverboat away from a pier, and sour A'én hiBúrusa scolded the servants in her warehouse. The priest had been up early, leading the morning ritual in the clanhouse, then tending to little Jangaiva hiVraisuna. A rather persistent illness was living in her lungs, and the clan physician had deputized Srúma to give her daily medicines and report on her condition. Then, to Srúma's pleasure, Gúbanu hiTlakán, the clan shipping agent, asked that he accompany him to the main commercial wharves, there to see to the arrival of a cargo of textiles up from the South, and discuss terms for return shipments. Between inspecting the goods, conferring with the captain over glasses of Túor, and negotiating terms with Red Flower clan, the business had not ended 'til mid-afternoon. Gúbanu had returned to the clanhouse, but Srúma thought his labors had earned him some time on the river.He roused himself, and the boat rocked a little as he raised the sail. When he turned to cast off, there before him on the dock was a boy, a clan-cousin by his adornments, though an unfamiliar face. Surprised by the boy's sudden appearance, Srúma took the scroll he offered, read it, frowned, and read it again. "La, our noble dlántükoi deigns to honor me with a moment of his time. Back to the clanhouse we must go, né?" he said to the quiet messenger.
While he took down the sail, Srúma wondered at the summons. He was loyal to his clan, and would respond without delay, but what could one such as he offer in a dispute with a high and powerful clan like Domed Tomb? "Perhaps a discrete trip on the river is needed?" he thought. "But surely such a duty would not call for a direct summons from the noble clan-head?" It was a mystery.
He stored the boat's gear, and the two walked out of the warehouse yard. "Still and all," the priest thought, "perhaps this will be a chance for me to regain some status? Old Kérek might not think so little of me when he learns I am summoned by Kótaru himself!"
On this happy note, the young priest started walking briskly back to his clanhouse. His long strides obliged the young boy to hurry to keep up. The two sons of Golden Dawn plunged into the streets of Béy Sü, filled with people as the day's heat slowly waned. Srúma knew the route well, and they wove in and out of traffic, ducking down side streets and through courtyards. Near the Colonnade of Princes their path was blocked by a funeral procession: some noble member of the Purple Gem clan was being
taken to a ferry, there to cross over to the City of Ever-Peaceful Dead. A stream of mourners, some professional, others belonging to the deceased's clan, filled the street with cries of woe, while a fine coffin was borne on a large palanquin, and clouds of bitter incense filled the air. The two clan-cousins ducked into a shadowed side passage, emerging into a courtyard where legionaries of the Ruby Hand clashed in training. Another passage led them out again, to a wider street, and they continued on amidst the crowd. When at last they arrived in the clanhouse, Srúma quickly washed and changed, taking care that his appearance was suitable for a meeting with the leader of his clan. He then hurried to wait upon the disposition of the head of his clan, and to learn what service he might make to the greater glory of Golden Dawn.
The workers were beginning to tire in the blazing light of Hnálla's orb when the messenger arrived. Aknallu ordered a break in the building of the clanhouse wall and received the scroll. As he started to open the message he began to fear that the clanmaster was displeased about the rate at which the repairs were proceeding. The finery and formality of the writing looked out of place as the stone dust settled on the lettering. Noble Action! Loyalty! And mention of the accursed Worm-Lovers! Events were definitely about to happen that would change his life.This was an opportunity that could not be missed. Aknallu's motives were mixed. One was selfish. The taking of his five older siblings by the priests of Sárku still burned in his mind. Even though they were gone several years before his birth their fate is still unimaginable. If this summons would help restore some of the clan's honor, then a modicum of personal honor against the Demon-Lord of Decay would also be possible.
Now a list of necessary actions came to mind. Fortunately he was still on a leave of absence from the Temple of Keténgku, although another visit there would be required. He knew he must return to his quarters, bathe and dress for this momentous meeting and learn of his destiny.
He dismissed the messenger, told the men to stop early for the noon meal, and walked into the clanhouse. Had he looked around, which of course he never did, he would have seen the stricken expressions on the faces of his foremen.
It is not long after dawn and whilst the streets of mighty Béy Sü may already throng with those about their business from lowbown to highborn the sun has yet to reach between between the buildings just as high and low. As it rises, it touches upon a single figure moving upon the roof of a clan house.The moves made by the woman are purposeful, regular and begin slowly... before building in speed to a single sharp blur that is one single movement and nothing more. Each is precise and obviously well practised, as if part of her bakte and her hlakme, not one actual movement, but a multiplicity coalesced seamlessly into just one.
As she completes each move she steps back to her starting point and this is when she notices the young watching her, the scroll in hand. Relaxing, Areli Turugdashen hiFesrengála, Dedaratlkoi of Thúmis, recent graduate of the School of the Grey Cloak and a member of the Open Hand turns to face him. The tall, strong and dark young woman stretches and flexes her shoulders and arms as she walks over to him. There by the edge of the roof is a mat. On it are a plate of fruit, a flask and a towel. Areli smiles at him as she picks up the towel, wipes her hands dry of her morning's exertions and then takes the scroll from.
As she begins to read, she gestures to the mat. "Please sit Clan Cousin*. Help yourself to the fruit. I doubt the chumetl will be to your liking. I like mine too salty for some tastes."
<<*She would address him as 'Young Clan Cousin doing most efficient service in the name of the clan'.>>
Her brow furrows as she reads through the scroll's contents and her tongue catches between her upper front teeth. This must indeed be of great importance if Kotáru hiHketoketl had a scroll inscribed and sent! Areli finishes reading through and looks over at the boy, who has a piece of fruit half way to his mouth.
"Please convey my respects to your Master, Kotáru hiHketoketl. Inform him that I am greatly honoured that he thinks me at a time of the Clan's need. I cannot immediately answer his summons, but will do so as I am presentable." Areli smiles and indicates her sweat covered body.
"And you can finish that fruit on your way."
With the young boy gone, Areli picks everything up and prepares to go down to her family's quarters. Uncorking the flask, she does not bother using the cup but drains the salty chumetl straight down. Then she climbs down. As she does, Areli begins to wonder why it was that she had to be called this morning!
Only yesterday had she returned to Bey Su and the family had celebrated her recent graduation from the School of the Grey Cloak. Then it was a night on the town with her brothers and sisters... It was fun, but too much fun and with her thick head this morning, she was really feeling the effects. Groaning, she descended in search of some cold sweet fruit juice and a very quick bath!
The was, she wondered, why had Kotáru selected her? After all, she had not expected to have to report to Dogengor HiKingetmu, the Njáshte at Bey Su's temple to the Lord of Wisdom until tomorrow, but whatever the Clan Elder had in mind for her, would take much much longer. Surely then, the Clan had requested her assistance from her temple and that meant that the task ahead was not only important to the clan, but also to the temple as well!
It must be that Kotáru hiHketoketl needs all that I learnt at the School of the Grey Cloak? If we need to negotiate with the Clan of the Domed Tomb, I'm sure that I would be able to, even settle matters of shamtla. Of course I can go where soldiers or those that carry weapons cannot and always be armed. Not forgetting my medical training - cha! How I hated that, but I'm sure it may prove useful...
Areli knows that time is against her and calls for her sister, Su'esa, hoping that she can bring her more juice for her head and a very, very quick bath! Then to join my clan cousins at the feet of our Clan Elder and learn what we are tasked to do!"
The silence of the dim, cool Hall of Intellectual Joy was broken only by the occasional whisper of a scroll scraping against the stone tables or a distant cough. Linatla bent closely over Kolumelan Ssana hiPathai (The Royal Courtesan of Love), allowing her long hair to hang forward and hide the blush that was slowing rising up her face. Pagarta Nemandu had such a way with words! Lying forgotten beside her were the far more edifying (in the eyes of Balane hiKhorsan, her mentor, and Sidla hiTlakan, her formidable grandmother) scrolls of The Glorious Tongue, Blessed of the Gods: Engsvanyali (by Turisu Ssa hiVaika) and The Inevitable of the Ineffable (by Artukko Ala'a). How much better to read of Queen Nayari's exploits than to review again the subtle intricacies of grammatical evolution as Middle Engsvanyali began its slow mutation in the 2nd Epoch into its various branches which would eventually transform into Tsolyani, Livyani, Mu'ugalavyani and the other members of the Khishan langauge family. Besides she was fairly certain she understood the influence that regional vernaculars had over each branch, the topic she suspected she would be quizzed on next.The Inevitable of the Ineffable was another matter entirely. It was the prospect of reading such hateful material in beautiful Classical Engsvanyali that had made her seek out Nemandu's work that morning. Linatla failed to understand why her mentor had placed such great importance on the earliest and strongest negative critique of Pavar that had survived. Surely it had not been a great abuse of her position as librarian to extend the search for that scroll that the official from the Moon of Evening had requested this morning. Indeed, he seemed pleased with the rapidity with which she brought it to him. Though she was young, Linatla had worked for several years now in the library and seemed to be gaining a small following among those who were searching for early Engsvanyali texts. She had an excellent memory, as attested to yesterday by the Archivist of the Morning Session who had remarked with pride (and a shade of gratitude) within Linatla's hearing, "You only have to show her once and she remembers its location!"
"Lummra jutlekh (excuse me)." The soft voice, barely above a whisper, broke her concentration, and Linatla looked up, starting slightly, to see before her a young boy, wearing the insignia of Golden Dawn, though he looked unfamiliar. As he stretched out his hand with the parchment bearing the seal of Kotaru hiHketoketl, her heart sunk within her. Surely nothing could have happened to her mother. But a messenger would not have been sent with personal news. Had Balane spoken to her clan? Could it be the Temple was unsatisfied with her progress? She knew how unhappy they had been when she took that six month sabbatical to take care of her mother not long after achieving First Circle. But what else could she have done? The news of her father's death had almost been too much for her mother, and her other father Mriktoken and his wife Chashana, not to mention her brother Kemuel, had been no help at all. Tragedy had not brought the splintered family back together, and the burden had fallen squarely on her.
Linatla blinked back the memories of the past, and slowly opened the scroll and read it and then read it again. A call for her to rise to the aid of her clan! She gulped down a deep breath, and nodded to the boy, "I will come as soon as I have restored these to their rightful positions," gesturing to the scrolls.
As she walked swiftly through the streets, her thoughts tumbled about, seeking the reason the clanmaster had called upon her, a humble priestess of Thumis. She was Aridani, that gave her greater freedom of action, but to do what? She had some sorcerous skill, but there were others who far surpassed her. Her knowledge of the early Engsvanyali religious debates and turmoil was extensive, perhaps there were historical parallels that could be cited to support their case. Or maybe there were other treasures lying within the famed libraries of the Temple of Eternal Knowing. Only time would tell what her elder desired.
"Fhenestor, bring me that Miche root. The fourth one to the left of the seven-eyed tan jug.", Argetl hiTlakan told his servant.Taking a moment to think his instructions through and translate them to his native tongue, Fhenestor walked across the chamber and fetched the requested root from where it hung. Turning to bring it to his crippled master, the former Mable-Devenemable-Uoueoa was almost run over by a breathless boy racing into the room. He paused, watching as the child brings a roll of parchment to the mat that served as Argetl's worktable. Careful not to draw attention to himself while his betters discussed whatever that scroll was, Fhenestor examined the floor, his head unmoving until the boy moved towards the door.
Coming to his master's mat, Fhenestor knelt and handed the root to Argetl, who scraped a few shavings from it into the bowl resting between the short stumps of his legs. While the priest ground the contents into a paste, Fhenestor returned the root to its' place, wondering not for the first time just what it was used for, for the Miche tree was unknown in his homeland.
Behind him, often using words the young Antratscheldor-haii did not yet know, Argetl puzzled over the strange message. "That messenger must have been sent to the wrong priest, surely Kotaru doesn't want an apothecary who can't even get around the Temple on his own?. Fhenestor! Get my basket.", he ordered the servant.
Obediently, Fhenestor fetched the woven basket from the corner, putting its straps over his shoulders. Coming to the mat once more, he knelt with his back to the mat so Argetl could climb into his travelling basket. Once the priest was abroad, he rose unsteadily to his feet, the other man, slight and crippled as he was, was nearly too much for him. Setting off for his master's clanhouse, he had to pause at each intersection to hear which way to go next.
"Why?", he heard a number of times behind him. When they were nearly to the Golden Dawn clanhouse, a shout by his ear brought Fhenestor up short. Coming to a halt as fast as he could, he looked over his left shoulder to make certain his master wasn't hurt, only to find the priest demanding his hand. Offering his right hand only brought a cuffed ear and another demand, so, with reluctance, he exposed the left. Another shout, this one filled with elation, greeted the sight. "Of course... that is why I was sent for. It's not me Kotaru wants, it's you!" Alas, Fhenestor hadn't the slightest idea what Argetl had just said, never having heard himself referred to by one of the nicer forms of 'you' before. A firm grip held the base of his thumb as the priest took a closer look. "Ah, yes... the Light of Hnalla does have a claim on the Worm Lord's realm."
Tsurana hiFesrengala sat on the woven floor mat with her eyes closed in a small chamber in the temple of Belkhanu, her body hardly seeming to move, except for the slow rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. On her desk before her lay The Tome of Ubiquitous Interstitiality: Ruminations on The Planes Beyond by noted scholar Bulekka hiChanggedesha. She meditated on the complexities of The Planes Beyond, trying in vain to create a picture of their interrelationships in her mind.The quiet steps of sandaled feet outside the door broke her concentration. She opened her eyes to see the wall niche with the statue of Mriso, The Knower of Planes, the aspect of Belkhanu that is patron to those who study the Planes. Tsurana started slightly to see the sun so low through the window. She must have been meditating for three or four Kiren, at least. Stretching the kinks from her back from sitting motionless for so long, Tsurana looked toward the doorway and saw the fidgety messenger. She motioned the boy into the room and took the scroll from him, smiling at his attention to her bare chest. Tsurana tossed him a Hlash, dismissing him.
After reading the missive, Tsurana put on her thin blouse, which she had removed in the remote hope that if unclothed, she would feel cooler while reading and meditating in the heat. She clapped to summon a slave girl, and handed her the small stack of scrolls and books from her table, telling her to return them to the temple librarian. As the slave left the room, Tsurana watched her long legs and thought warm thoughts.
On the trip to the clan house, Tsurana had ample time to think about the urgent summons from the clan master. Why had he asked Tsurana to help in this matter? Surely, it wasn't her grasp of Bednalljan history and language. How would that help? Perhaps reports of her magical studies had reached the clan master's ears. Beginning to learn the structure of The Planes Beyond had kept her mind excited and focused for many six-days. Sometimes, she forgot to eat and even missed a few assignations with lovers, because her brain was lost in riddling out the mysteries of the Universe. So, maybe her teacher, Tlayesha hiIllashte, had informed the clan elders of her progress. How those skills might be used was still unknown, but regardless of the reason, Tsurana looked forward to this break from her duties in the temple. Serving her clan in this important undertaking was a great honor, and she was enthusiastic to take it on.
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