3620/Shadow's Crossing

Shadow's Crossing
Date of Scene:	06 January 2016
Location:	Desert Mountains
Synopsis:	Nasrin teaches Yalai the Stave how to ride a horse.
Cast of Characters:	825, 879, 923

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Nasrin (923) has posed:
    The hot, dry winds had turned, bringing a dry, powdery snow to the mountain's edge where the fortress of Alamut stands, and below it, in the brambles and gullies now covered with a fresh layer of white powder, the sounds of children at play can be heard -- even Assassin children have to blow off steam. Their fingers red from the cold, cheeks and noses rosy and wearing homespun hats and fingerless mits, three are rough housing, the two older children with dull longswords used for practicing. Imal's curly hair pokes out from beneath his hat as he nearly tumbles backwards in order to lob a loosely-packed ball at Leila, whose long hair was hidden under her cap and heavier skirts didn't seem to slow her down any. She gives a yelp and laughter, hoisting her arm up to block some of the snow. Imal, in turn, ends up whitewashed when Zain, the smallest of the three (and having hid in a tree) dumps snow from his hood over his brother-in-arms, giving a toothy smile.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
There is cold in a desert, as surely as the sun will bake its sands. Few realise the danger of a desert in winter; that what had once been brutally hot has been trasnformed into cold to take the breath away, to rob a body of all warmth. Powdered snow now dusts the sands by Alamut, drifted up against its cliffs and walls. It does not shimmer, as the sand does, but it seems to glow when the light touches it.

Save, perhaps, where a shadow passes over it. The wings belong to a stork-like bird, wingspan stretching impossibly wide, wide enough to carry a man. Maybe even two. The bird is preceded by a ringing call, oddly dual-toned, a shrieking shrill that pierces the winter air.

The bird tips a wing and banks low, fast; so fast as to ruffle the wind and hair of the boy who throws a snowball, and the girl who partly blocks that snowball... and then both lose as the smallest one in the tree manages to bury both in a deluge of white.

They might hear high, clear, slightly mad-sounding laughter trailing the bird behind -- which if they look back they will find has a rider, clad in black with silver-thread, black cloak snapping behind, long stark-white hair flying. The bird tips a wing again, this time slowing to come to a halt in the yard, splaying its big feet and landing with a 'paff' in the churned-up snow and clackign its beak. It cocks its head, eyeing the children with slightly reddish eyes, while its rider pops up from above the bird's shoulders; while it has no saddle, it has a leather harness around its shoulders, which the rider seems to be holding onto.

Yalai the Stave pokes up from above the bird's shoulders, grinning her fox-grin. "That was being done with cleverness, little one," she calls, watching Zain with blood-red eyes. The whole of her is pale, as pale as the snow around her, contrasting sharply with the black that she wears, embroidered with silver thread in the shape of the Weeping Eye of the Sheikah.

"Can you be telling me if your mistress is being here?"

Ezio Auditore (825) has posed:
    Mentore is on deck today, as Nasrin will notice. He stands above the gullies, observing the children from down below. His gaze is impassive, stoicly appraising the childrens' performance. They are Nasrin's pupils, though he is not above giving the kids grades of his own. Zain has always been the natural at this. Then again, they were already pickpockets and thieves before Altair and Nasrin took them in. They held their weapons as adults would, Zain especially.

    Then again, kids will be kids. He chuckles a bit to see them snowball fight, Zain's little ambush in particular gets his attention just as he hears laughter from a large bird...or at least a woman /riding/ said bird.

    Cocking an eyebrow, the assassino does not bother to address Yalai just yet. She seems to be here for another today.

    He does climb his way down, while this is going on.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Ordinarily, they don't have fear of birds. They grew up with their Mualim's eagles in the aerie, what's to fear from them? But a large bird, large enough to carry them away?

    Well, it was a different matter. The children gather up close, Leila looping her arm around Zain protectively, and her foot around a root as she narrows her eyes in suspiscion. Imal flanks the two, his hand on the dulled straight blade of the longsword, two long and heavy for a kid his size to use effectively. Zain, though he was grabbed by Leila after tumbling out of the tree, peers around Imal, looking up at their visitor -- and her bird -- with curious eyes, his head canting like a hawk's, but eyes without fear.
    "We have no misstress." Imal states, still eyeballing Yalai with weary eyes.

    "Except Death." Zain adds, half-sullenly. Leila facepalms at that, and Imal takes a breath, and slowly lets it out. "You're probably looking for our /sister/."

    Who seems to just melt into being from behind a rock, hopping up on it to watch. She wears an Assassin's hood, though in lieu of the whites her mentor wore it was gray, slightly heavier to contend with the cold. The beak-like inverted point of the hood hides her face in shadow. Her pursed lips curl very slightly into a smile.

    "Yours is a voice I recognize. As-salamu 'alayki <Peace be upon you>, Yalai."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Blood-red eyes flick left, then, right, watching as the children form ranks and protect themselves. A little pack of wolflings, baring their teeth and growling, but perhaps she knows better than to judge them on their appearance. One hand has already begun shifting to her quarterstaff, perhaps fearing ambush from the mob. Not to harm them, of course, but to... discourage, if they should make any quick movements towards the great Loftwing.

There is some intelligence in the bird. Although it hasn't advanced, its head cocks this way and that, studying the children with uncanny brightness in that eye, somewhere between dark yellow and the same blood-red of its own mistress. Every time one of the children moves, its head tilts to regard them, singling that one out.

"Sister? Then I am being corrected," Yalai proclaims solemnly. Nor has she missed Nasrin's materialisation from seemingly thin air, head tilting to incline toward Nasrin respectfully; but the movement is strange. In fact, much of the way Yalai moves seems inhuman, too-articulated and perhaps even unnerving, depending on what sorts of strange life forms these children have seen in their lives.

Reminiscent, perhaps, of a little boy's pet cats while stalking mice; the languid contract-and-release of whipcord muscle.

At the greeting, Yalai bares her teeth; a fox's grin, too sharp. Her facial features, too, are clearly inhuman. Her skin is too white, her hair long, absolutely and starkly without colour. There is an angularity to her face foreign to most humans, eyes slanted and almond-shaped -- and easily the most arresting feature, those eyes are the colour of blood. Beneath each eye, beginning at the line of the jaw and rising up are two arrow-straight tattoos, bar-lines, that stop at her strong cheekbones. Marks of rank, perhaps?

She murmurs something, but the words are lost, and do not translate. A tongue even more mysterious than that of Assassins -- or perhaps one lost to the dust of ages. The quarterstaff is returned to its holster over the back of one shoulder, in a movement that would break or dislocate the shoulder of anyone else.

"And this one is wishing that peace is being upon thee, as well," she offers instead, clasping one hand in another and bowing, awkwardly, from the Loftwing's back. She slides neatly from the harness, letting go and landing in a three-point crouch. The Loftwing does not take off, though, remaining still as a statue beside her, but for the restive tilt of its head; the fixing of those great eyes on the children, the assassin, and the Assassin.

She shakes out her cloak; wraps it around herself. Snow is still a new phenomenon. "It was taking me some time to be finding this place, even searching from above. That is being good."

Ezio Auditore (825) has posed:
    An assassin wielding only a quarterstaff? Curious. Not impossible to put that to use, but Ezio certainly is more a bladesman himself. He observes Yalai curiously as he climbs down to join Nasrin, the kids, and the guest.

    "I am Ezio Auditore. I welcome you to our fortress of Alamut." He bows his head to the Sheikah. "Technically /I/ am now the master of this fortress, though the Brotherhood has been spread across the multiverse since we unified. Expansion has gone well enough, it gives us plenty of range to operate with."

    Lowering his hood, the assassin's hair done in a ponytail. He's certainly aged well, if Yalai appraises him for a moment, though not quite into 'silver fox' mode as it were.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Oh hey, Ezio in the daytime -- forget about Yalai appraising him, the Egyptian assassin sizes him up. Nasrin glances up to the elder Assassin, and she gives a slight smile. "Only by virtue of being so old, /Mentore/." she chirps, stretching her arms in front of her as she teases the mentor. There's a titter from the kids behind them, and she turns to the guest. "The mountains favor us here," she explains, motioning to the fortress nestled in the folds and craigs, "and it suits us well. Do not fear -- she is an ally." she states, and turns to the children behind her. Leila unhands Zain, and unloops her foot from the root. Imal attempts to put his sword into the ground, tip-first, but fails when he strikes a rock frozen in, and settles for grasping it awkwardly. Zain, on the other hand, is fearless and steps forward, holding his hand out to the bird. He gives an attempt at mimicking its call. "Your face looks like Nasrin's when she came back from war in America. Did you also drink that tea?" he asks of Yalai, turning his gaze to her.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
When the Sheikah shifts her weight, there might be a glimpse of something metallic under the cloak. A bandolier over her chest, stuck through with throwing knives. They're not the traditional lozenge-shaped kunai of so many multiversal assassins, but slender, almost needle-like blades, each blunt pommel pierced with a hole through it. Curious little weapons, but the quarterstaff must be her primary armament.

She tilts her head at Ezio when he speaks, although she had noted his descent with some distraction. He was not the one she had come to see.

"That is being truth." One palm wraps over a fist, and the Sheikah bows formally to Ezio as well. She may not have come to see him, but he still holds authority here, and it pays to be respectful, even if she may personally be indifferent. The gesture seems almost Chinese-style, the way she folds one hand over the other. He might get the sense she's deliberately sizing him up. Older, but still dangerous; she is not one to dismiss based on appearance alone. "I am being pleased to be making your acquaintance, then, Master Ezio Auditore of Alamut. I am being Yalai the Stave, of Kasuto, the... 'Shadowed Isle,' you would be calling it, in your tongue, and being also an ally of the Union."

When she straightens, those blood-red eyes turn back to Nasrin.

Blinking, almost bird-like, she turns to tilt her head at Zain when he expresses sudden interest in the Loftwing.

"I am not knowing what tea you are referring to." Her head tilts the other way, slowly, even as the Loftwing lowers its head, coiling its neck somewhat to hold its head sideways relative to Zain, eyeing him with that big reddish eye. Yalai makes no move to hold the creature back. "Oh -- this." She gestures briefly to indicate her face, long fingers articulated strangely. "My people are all looking like this. We of the Shadow Folk are not having dark skin, often, yes?"

Her ears are long and pointed, too. One of them bears a slender white-gold chain through it, pierced at the tip and then fastened lower down; it chimes, very softly, whenever her head moves.

Ezio Auditore (825) has posed:
    Ezio is quick to return the bow. He's respectful with other cultures, such a stud like that, and he offers Yalai a polite smile. "Nasrin then, is the one you wish to see." He shrugs at Zain's question. "Something about magical tea that empowers the drinker at the risk of insanity. It is a long story, and one I was not entirely present for." Ezio admits, sounding slightly sheepish as he folds his arms.

    He won't get in the way between the girls as they talk, despite his own curiosity in the matter.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin shifts her weight, uncomfortably, and by reflex a hand going to her cheek in embarrassment. "Zain." she states, her voice a soft, warning hiss.

    Zain tilts his head, watching her a moment, the eight-year-old's eyes going to the bandolier of weaponry and then to the tinkling chain. He appraises her, his hand still held up to the Loftwing.

    "Oh! You're a Djinni!" Leila figures, clapping her hands a moment against the cold. Imal purses his lips.

    "There's no lamp..."

    "That's a fairytale, you don't need a /lamp/. On the tele-vision there was one with a bottle. I think the girls have bottles."

    "... that makes /no/ sense, foo-- OW!"

    "She is not of the djinn." Nasrin states, her hand snapping out and grabbing to IMal's ear. "And you can disagree, but you will do so with respect to your brothers and sisters," Nasrin states, releasing the ear and letting IMal rub it to sooth the pain away. He looks angry, but finishes the thought: "'for what you call one another is what you call yourself', yes Nasrin."

    The young woman glances from Ezio to the stranger, and gives a sigh. "No, no, that is about the right of the Red Willow Tea. My mentor watched over me as I went through its trials... and you did not miss much. Other than my own daring assault on a Master of the Templar Order."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Although she blinks slowly, the Sheikah's expression does not change as she watches Ezio. Her regard is more bird-like than human-like, and something about those red eyes seems almost opaque; difficult to read or anticipate. She may seem mostly human, but this young woman, if she is indeed young, is decidedly not human. The colour of her hair makes it difficult to say how many years she's seen; though, aside from the tattoos, her face is not lined.

She tilts her head far enough that the motion seems definitely reminiscent of a bird of prey, regarding both Assassins cock-eyed from a moment before straightening. Magical tea empowering its drinkers at the risk of insanity? Sounds like fun times. Also the kind of thing she'd hurl into the void, hissing at it all the way. Unclean. Amoral alchemist's playthings.

Yalai's blink can only be described as owlish when the children seem to pass a satisfactory judgement of her, blood-red gaze flicking from each one, and her expression grows increasingly confused. Are they speaking Hylian? It sounds like it. But the words they're telling her aren't making any sense at all, and for a moment she's beginning to wonder if they're speaking in some other, bizarre language.

Djinni? Lamps? Bottles? None of that makes any sense at all.

Again there comes an owlish blink as Nasrin corrects the youngsters, one brow quirking slightly gaze flicking to where Imal's ear is quickly seized. Now, that sort of gesture is universal, isn't it?

Templars are also an unfamiliar term, and Yalai shows her teeth again, but this time the expression looks distinctly uncomfortable; like a fox baring its teeth. She does look rather fox-like, with those sharp features and those unsettling eyes. "I am seeing," she says, in a tone that suggests she has no idea what just happened.

"Allow me to be clearing your confusion. I am being one of the Sheikah, of who you might be calling in your own tongue, the 'Shadow Folk.' We are coming from a land being called Skyloft, high up there." Yalai lifts an arm and points, skyward, the cloak falling away from that side to show the knives more clearly. "You cannot be seeing it from here, but it is being a series of islands, floating in the sky, yes? We of the Shadow Folk are watching over Her Grace, the Goddess Hylia, who is being now mortal, and it is being our task to be guarding her. But it is also being our task to be scouting these new lands beyond our own familiar skies, with exactness."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
She lets her arm drop, huddling in her long cloak once more. It's entirely black, but the shoulder areas have elabourate embroidery in silver thread. Her tunic does as well, and the sigil of the Weeping Eye adorns the majority of the front; a great eye, with a tear below it, its lines worked in silver thread. A whisper of fabric issues as she settles more comfortably into the cloak, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Where the air is so thin, high up, it's also unsettling. If anything, she's had to adjust to the heavier air down on the surface areas.

"For many, many years we were being separated from the surface world. Then the Chosen Hero was winning a battle against the Demon King, Demise, and now we are once more exploring the surface worlds, yes?" She gives the Loftwing a pat, and it preens the joint of one wing distractedly. The children might sense that great unblinking eye is still upon them, though. "This is Neyir. She is being a Loftwing, the sacred birds being granted to us as a mark of favour and protection from Her Grace. They are being our lifelong companions, and the way in which we are navigating the sky-realms."

She leans a little closer to the children, showing her teeth. Even if she doesn't understand the specifics, she can understand folklore when she hears it, and some things are universal. "But perhaps I am being a Djinni after all, yes? Perhaps you had better not be making me angry, yes...?" The last word is stretched out; a slow, pleasant hiss between her teeth.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    All three of the orphans sloowly back away, and slowly, Zain (with his eyes on the scary lady), circles around to the far side of Neyir, hiding behind the loftwing.

    "She's not from our world. Don't try to pidgeon-hole her." Nasrin comments quietly, her tone neutral, and then she makes a jerk of her head, up towards the castle fortress, and the three children scatter, leaping and scaling up the steep sides of the ravine, calling out to one another.

    Nasrin takes a deep breath, and she gives a wry smile to the Sheikah, running a hand over her messy hair and giving a look upwards, but finding the skies once again empty for her, she turns her attention to Yalai.

    "So you serve a mortal goddess as guards and scouts for threats. Interesting." she gives another toothy little smile, and motions to the regular path upwards. "Neyir may be warmer up on our stables, if she does not mind the company of horses, and it would be rude of me to not offer you something hot to drink."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Turning to watch the children scatter, Yalai turns again when Nasrin scans the skies, watching the Assassin almost curiously. She scans the skies herself, constantly, using peripheral vision. It's a Sheikah's business to know that the skies are clear at all times. Few of the remaining demons are capable of flight, but one never knows what fresh challenges the multiverse might bring to the table.

"Mmm?" She tilts her head again, that curiously bird-like movement. "Just so. And we are taking more proactive roles, sometimes, yes?" A casual flick of her cloak displays the bandolier of throwing knives, briefly. "We are being not only scouts and guardians, but also assassins, too, in singling out particular demons. But we are never targetting our own kind. We are being... united, that is being the word, yes?"

Yalai follows Nasrin's motion, and then tosses her chin that way, shrilling a whistle through her teeth, this time without using her fingers. The great Loftwing surges into the air, mighty wingbeats displacing powdery snow. Once the Loftwing is a distant form, Yalai brushes extra snow from her black cloak.

"Just so. I am thanking you for your hospitality, yes? Though the cold is not bothering us. Skyloft is being very high up. I am still not being familiar with snow -- Skyloft is being too high for that -- but the air is still being thin and cold, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin gives a smile as the bird takes off, watching with a moment of childlike wonder at the sheer size of the creature... before she comes back to herself, and offers a wan smile to the sky-dweller. "Thin and cold was a problem in my youth, but my home was hot and dry. Al Masr -- Egypt my homeland is called. I was born on the banks of the river Nile, in the shadows of the tombs of long-dead kings." Nasrin attempts to sound creepy, but it falls short. She leads the way up the winding path. "Just so, what brings you to our home this day, Yalai? I will admit, my curiousity burns and I have not had much time to... reconnect with those in the Union."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Skyloft is not being hot. Neither is being Kasuto, the Shadowed Isle. It is being cold, most times, and the summers are being mild, most times." Yalai tilts her head, watching Nasrin with those blood-red eyes, her stare flat and intense as a bird of prey's. "I was being born in the shadow of the Thunderhead, as are all of we of the Shadow Folk, being between clear and storm, being between light and shadow, and belonging to neither. That," she says crisply, "is being our nature."

The Sheikah folds her arms behind her back as she walks, a curiously casual stance. Her posture suggests otherwise. Every movement carries liquid grace, and speaks of masterful self-control.

"You." One shoulder rises and falls in a casual half-shrug, but the precise way in which it moves is strange, alien; not humanly possible. "You were telling me that we should be talking, some time, and so I was searching, having nothing better to be doing. Oh, yes, yes; I could be tracking the demons, but they will not be going anywhere in my absence, and it is being something I can afford to be taking some time from, yes?"

She rolls her head back, white ahir hanging loose, regarding Nasrin from the corner of a red eye. "Reconnect? I have not been meeting you before," she says, raising a white brow. "Unless you were meeting another like me, in the multiverse, perhaps, yes? But I have been hearing that you are not being unlike we of the Shadow Folk, and we are always needing allies. Besides," she adds, with that fox-grin. "It is not being unpleasant to be talking to you, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Reconnect, with the Union in general. Some time ago, my mentor Altair found me and brought me here. I worked some missions for them. I was briefly involved with a terrorist cell in the ... modern world. I suppose you could say that." Nasrin explains, "With permission from Tyrael, but it became... a loss." she handwaves the memory, and gives a small shrug. "So, you seek to ally yourself with those who are like you then?" she offers a small, cunning smile. A Jackal's smile. "You're not going to try to convert me, are you? Our friend Faruja has tried. I'm afraid I'm rather godless."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Just so," Yalai says, in a tone that suggests she doesn't really see it all that well. That's okay. It'll come to her later, as she hasn't yet had the opportunity to delve into the modern world too much. Exploring the bounds beyond her own world is a daunting enough prospect, in her heart of hearts. The Sheikah do not like tumultous change. It makes them nervous.

She continues studying Nasrin from the corner of an eye, never quite looking at her Egyptian counterpart directly. "Just so," she says again. "I was not being one to refer to who or what gods you are following, or not following, but your methods. I am not caring about your gods. That we are following Her Grace is not meaning much directly in terms of what we are doing, yes? At least, not here in the multiverse."

"But it is meaning that I am accepting more tasks beyond the bounds of the Realm of the Sky. And it means that it would behoove me to be knowing more of my allies." She shrugs, gesturing vaguely with one pale, slim hand; fingers oddly-articulated. Double-jointed, probably. "And, on the other hand, to be knowing more of my enemies, as well, being as a member of the Union, yes?"

She shrugs. "Besides, it is being a personal choice, to be following Her Grace. And she is not being what she was; she was choosing to sacrifice her divinity. Many have been forgetting how, or why, but we of the Shadow Folk are being the keepers of lore, and we are remembering. And thus we are knowing it is being so." She inclines her head, faintly. "She is not being Her Grace, now; she is being only the girl Zelda, daughter of the headmaster at the Knights' Academy, in Skyloft. But she is also remembering who and what she was, yes?"

"It is being a curious path she is walking, caught between two worlds, but we are being there to be helping her walk it. And to be carrying out her will and words," she adds, "no matter what it is she may be asking of us. We of the Shadow Folk are being oathsworn, all of us. We cannot be refusing her service. Most literally," she adds. "It is being in our blood, and I am speaking literally. The first among us, when she was being still a goddess, were swearing blood-oaths."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    The Assassin is quiet, listening as they walk. She turns, pausing to examine a bit of rough footing for a moment before continuing, taking a deep breath and running a hand over her head. "My apologies, Yalai. Where I hail from, following no god was as much a death sentence as following the wrong god. My world is one bathed in religious war, and war waged with religion as the excuse. My orphans are among its victims," she explains quietly. "My brothers -- this Brotherhood that we belong to fight in the dark to serve a light, to keep mankind free while suffering our own imprisonment, bound in a creed and in our maxims." she explains. It's all information that had been made available in the Union; she didn't mind sharing it with Yalai. And the teen is quiet for a few moments as they walk, and they come to a small side gate in a thick wall. Nasin opens the gate, and holds the thick, wooden door open for Yalai to pass through. The courtyard has a twisted, lone, gnarled tree growing in the center, surrounded by what might be a rock garden.

    "My blood seems to share curious fate." Nasrin replies.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
To go by the blank and puzzled stare from the Sheikah, the concept of following the wrong god, or no god at all, is a completely foreign one in a land unambiguously created by a trio of goddesses. Although Hylia is by no means on their level, she is still divinity, directly entrusted with that divinity from the Golden Ones themselves.

There is no real denying the truth of this. The Golden Land from whence they depared, once they had created the land, is proof of it.

"I am sorry," Yalai offers, quietly. "I cannot even be conceiving of that. The Goddess..."

But she never finishes her sentence, trailing off awkwardly. Instead, she folds her arms, frowning. The Brotherhood certainly does sound similar to the Sheikah in function, if not in form. They wage war from the shadows, that their Hylian cousins might walk in the light. So it has been and so, she suspects, it shall always be.

Yalai slips into the gate when it's held for her; a whisper of fabric, and the faint scent of cinnamon, or some similar spice. For the brief instant that black cloak passes by, it's warm and finely-made, fabric soft as sin.

The tree and rock garden are eyed carefully for a moment, before she looks back to Nasrin with that inhuman stare. "How so...?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I know." The teen replies softly, and she draws her hood back up against the glaring light and the chill of the wind. Without the mountains to block it, the wind bites with cat's teeth. "Neither can Faruja, who works hard for us to see his gods' light. Neither can some of my kin, who would call me heretic." Nasrin states. She frowns a moment -- how do you explain to someone who entranced with their god -- their real god, given human form that there was no 'God' when as a fevered and terrified child, she was delivered to the hands of a man who would abuse her skill and body for nearly eight years? "If I ever were to meet them... a god from my world, they would have to beg my forgiveness for the atrocities I have witnessed and suffered at the hands of my fellow men. For my world, at least, there is no 'God'." Nasrin explains, and she looks to the tree.

    "There are those in the Brotherhood of Assassins who... see differently. Our eyes can pick up on differences between people more easily. It appears to run in families. I can only assume my father had it as well."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"No," Yalai corrects, but gently. "It is not being that. It is more... we are unable to be conceiving of it, not that it is being a difficult concept. Our servitude. It is being part of the blood-oath the first of us were willingly swearing. We are being servants; that is being our nature, and to be going against that nature is being..." She gestures with those long fingers, tangled and complicated. "Unthinkable."

It isn't so much that a philosophical difference is unthinkable to her or her people; merely that to actively behave in a manner contrary to their Goddess is simple impossibility. They are incapable of it. How or why, it's hard to say; there's probably some kind of inherent magic involved, but to the best of her belief (and she does seem to believe and accept this as a fundamental truth), the Sheikah cannot disobey their Goddess.

Uncomfortable silence falls for a few seconds, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric from her cloth. Her footfalls are near-silent.

"I am being sorry for you, my friend, that your life has been being one of such hardship."

Silence again, but this time thoughtful as she considers the description put forth by the Assassin. See differently? "Perhaps he was being part of this Brotherhood of Assassins, your father, yes? Or perhaps your mother was having it? I am not knowing how this seeing is running through the blood, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Hardship that has tested my mettle time and time again. Any blade would be forged in fire, yes?" Nasrin replies, picking up on the Sheikah's way of speaking for just a moment, lilting her voice. "Do not be sorry for me, Yalai, my past made me what I am, and I have been at peace with it for some time now." she adds, letting the silence fill in between the words, walking with purpose.

    "My father was an Assassin. I would ask of his homeland, Syria. My mother's home was Egypt. He posed as a shepherd for many years." Nasrin replies, opening the door to the massive main hall. Tapestries adorn the walls, plain black with the Assassin's stylized blood drop hanging on them in red -- different versions representing different branches. The ornate Roman branch has leafwork and pattern. The Levantine Assassins are unadorned, with a square labyrinth in the drop itself. Another with three stars set in the upturned bowl represented the American Assassins of their Revolutionary war -- brothers across different times and ages.

    "Nature, for humans at least, is malleable. I used to think that it was against nature to be cruel... I have often found it to be against human nature to be /kind/." Nasrin gives a soft scoff.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Those being of good quality are always being forged in the hottest of fires," Yalai agrees, briefly inclining her head in a gesture of diffidence. That seemingly solemn respect is tempered by the half-smile lingering at the corner of one mouth, though, and the wink of one blood-red eye. "Those being of the best quality are also being tempered, and tested, and strained until they are nearly being broken. Those are always being the strongest, yes?"

She slows as they enter into the main hall, neck craning to study the structure and the decor alike. What one's hall is made of can offer as much information as what one chooses to adorn that hall with. Strong and sturdy, this one is, with plenty of history, and perhaps a touch of self-assured pride. The Brotherhood knows what it is; what it has been, and it appears confident in knowing what it will be, going forward. Different Brotherhoods, maybe, but with a sense of unity among them.

"Our nature is not being so mutable, I think," Yalai muses. "We of the Sheikah are being what we are, what we were being made as, and it is being difficult for us to be changing that." She flicks one hand to indicate her face; her eyes. "It is being uncomfortable for me to be seeing in daylight. As uncomfortable as it is being for some of you to be seeing in night, I think, where I am seeing best. We are doing our best work from the shadows -- but that is not being metaphorical, I think; it is being literal. We were being /made/ for the shadows. From them, perhaps, yes? Sacred Nayru was not making us from the same stuff as the people Her Grace was favouring; She had a different plan in mind, I am thinking. A... balance. A... counterweight; is the word, yes?"

She tilts her head faintly, before thinning her lips in what isn't quite a frown. When it fades, those foreign, alien features are momentarily unreadable. Yalai tilts her head the other way, making a small, thoughful noise. "Perhaps I should be taking you to Skyloft. I think you would be liking it, there."

There's a brief instant of silence.

"Provided," she adds, carefully, "that you are not having fear of very high places."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    No, no, we don't talk about Unity. Poor Arno has no representation here.

    (Assassin's joke).

    Nasrin gives a wry smile as she turns to face Yalai. "I have no such fear of heights or falling. It is the sudden landing that I grow weary of. The highest tower is accessable through our Walk of Faith, even above the Aerie once meant to house the eagles, the griffon, and their keeper all." she comments, and she gives a wry smile. "it has been called 'Nasrin's Perch'."

    And she opens another door, off the main hall to... a relatively small kitchen. There is a wood fire stove here, and Nasrin bends over to stoke the coals, reaching for a few logs to throw on the fire, and stands, reaching for a kettle on a warming shelf above.

    "I think I would like that, though. Traveling again. Do you travel much, Yalai?"

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
As they walk, the Sheikah keeps her eyes open, studying the lair with all the alacrity expected of an assassin, explorer, and scout. She prefers to know these things, and she is generally more confident when she learns them through her own study. Out of habit that includes any convenient exits and modes of escape, but it's doubtful she'll be in any real danger here.

There is indeed something comfortable about this place. The shadows are welcoming, and plentiful. It's enough to make even a habitually, instinctively paranoid Sheikah feel at home.

Or at least some measure of relaxed.

Half folding her arms and half shrugging further into her cloak, Yalai leans against the doorframe, head tilted slightly to one side and eyes lidded. The outline of her where that cloak falls seems to... waver, unless stared at very intently; as though the elfin-looking woman could simply fade out of existence itself if she willed it.

At the question, those blood-red eyes, a shade or three darker than the coals, open a little more as though in interest. "Travel? I am being a forward scout of my people, into the multiverse, yes? I am expected to be travelling, and travelling often." She looks thoughtful, head lowering, white-gold chain in her ear chiming softly. "I would say that at this point in time, being in the multiverse for as long as I have been being, Aedan and I, we are being among the most-travelled of our respective people, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Can you tell me, friend, what is the most interesting thing you have seen here, in this Multiverse?" Nasrin inquires, and then she glances over her shoulder at Yalai hanging out in the doorway. "In our out, Yalai. Standing in doorways is an invitation for trouble... Khopfi..." she begins, and then she grips a hand around the kettle's handle, and she goes to the little sink to fill it. She's quiet for a moment, and she draws her hood back with her free hand as the kettle filles. "Khopfi used to ransack the kitchen for sweets." she states, and turns, putting the kettle on the stove and stretching her fingers out to the iron to warm them. She considers a moment, her face pensive, the scar that stretches from her chin, beneath her jaw and up to her ear catches the light from the fire, turning red-gold against her skin.

    "... well. Not all the orphans could handle the rigors of our life."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
In or out. The Sheikah raises a white brow at that admonishment, as though the superstition were amusing to her... though she probably has no room to split hairs over that. The Sheikah are a surprisingly superstitious people, and their Hylian cousins whom they guard are even more so. Especially when it comes to the Sheikah themselves. Relations between the two are somewhat wary; still new and uncertain.

Well, most of them. Yalai seems undisturbed by her Hylian compatriots, and it seems she works with someone called Aedan, unless that person is another Sheikah. She hasn't specified.

It's something else, though, at the end of it. The use of past tense is something she knows well. She has also lost many of her Sheikah compatriots in the surface war, against the pitiless remnants of Demise's armies. They are forces of pure evil, and it is almost hard-wired into her genetic material to stop the spread of the demons at any and all cost. Yalai looks down and away, leaving Nasrin her moment of privacy.

Finally brushing past the threshold and into the kitchen, Yalai settles for leaning against the nearest wall, looking more or less at ease and adopting much the same posture as she'd had in the threshold. As before, the lines of her seem to waver around the cloak. An artifact with a pinch of magic in its making, perhaps? For now, though, her mind turns to the question presented her, and the answer seems to require a certain degree of consideration.

"I have been seeing many things, here in this multiverse," Yalai muses, slowly. She drums the fingers of one hand against the opposite forearm. It's actually a difficult question to answer; she's seen so many strange things, and so many of it makes little sense to her. The Sheikah are somewhat resistant to change. "I am not being certain of that... many of my travels have been being away from the places the people live. I have been seeing islands in the sky, islands Her Grace was not raising up, and they have been strange, yes? Islands where there are being rivers on them, rivers through them, and rivers in the air itself. Water; water that has been floating, like a serpent, yes?" She frowns, looking almost puzzled. "Our rivers, what few we are having, are not behaving in that way..."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Rivers are something I know a little about." De Nile. Not just a river in Egypt. It's a bit of a big deal.

    The Assassin straightens, letting the dark moment pass across her face like the shadow of a cloud, and she offers a slight smile to Yalai, drawing from the cupboard a box and a metal sphere set with holes. The fixings seem sparse for such a huge fortress; most of it appears empty. There wasn't a lot of life around the place, in spite of the children. There seems to be suspiciously little adult oversight.

    "But... soaring islands in the sky. Magic. My travels have been mostly in the company of other people. I've seen people made of light, speaking to one another across great distances."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Normally we are having few rivers through the sky islands. Lakes and pools, yes, and waterfalls, yes, but not rivers." Yalai rolls one shoulder in a shrug, which moves in ways no human's shoulder ought.

The sphere is eyed for a moment, and so is the relative emptiness of the cabinet, more briefly. That the fortress is so sparsely populated doesn't seem to escape her, either; for so much space, it has suspiciously few occupants. The children are the largest group she's seen here yet. No one roams the halls, in quiet conversation or contemplation; no one practises skills in the yard. Yalai is accustomed to sparse populations of her own people -- the Sheikah have never been numerous, and with the surface war against the demons, even those numbers are slowly dwindling -- but there are still more Sheikah in any given place than there are people here.

Yalai blinks somewhat owlishly at that description; first one eye, rapidly followed by the other. People made of light, speaking to one another across great distances? That description doesn't seem to make any sense no matter how she looks at it. "The radios are allowing us to be speaking across great distances," she murmurs, obviously puzzled, "but people who are being made of light...?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "It was explained that they were holograms. That flesh adn blood people were sitting at... cameras. And they captured their movements as if they were there." the Assassin stated. Two plain earthware mugs in brown were retreived, and set out, along with a tall copper teapot. The metal orb is stuffed full with something from the box, and then dropped into the pot. Nasrin adds the hot water quietly.

    No, there was plenty of room at Alamut... but no one there.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Holograms." Yalai repeats the unfamiliar term, frowning. The word means nothing to her, just as many things of the modern world fail to do. She's been slow to adapt (wary of change as many Sheikah are) and has not yet had the opportunity to explore modern worlds too much, just yet, let alone ones boasting such technology as holographic projectors.

The mugs are much safer and more familiar territory; Yalai watches as the earthenware is retrieved and set, and the copper teapot prepared. It doesn't take long for the aroma of tea to drift through the kitchen, one that the Sheikah is appreciative of. Their own is much stronger, meant for warding the biting cold of high sky islands and the chill of hostile surface nights; brewed strong, almost more like coffee than milder things.

Mild is nice, though. She sniffs again, easing against the wall to resume her folded-arm stance of holding the wall up. "Strange. But the multiverse has been yielding many things that are to me being very strange," she adds, with a shrug. "My people are being one slow to change. New things... it is..." She gestures again, a complicated tangle of long fingers. "We are being slow to be learning of new things."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I was the same way, when I first arrived. Altair began shoving new weaponry onto me. guns. Sniper rifles. Weapons made from light. I hated it. I hated /all/ of it." Nasrin replies. The tea is not black tea. It has floral, bitter notes to it. Strong, almost medicinal, and with a little bit of spiciness to it. It was good to ward off the cold from bones. Nasrin takes a small pot, and adds a spoonfull of honey to hers.

    "Honey, Yalai?" she inquires.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The unfamiliar terms are stared at flatly, blood-red eyes for a moment more like a curious animal than a human's; opaque and unreadable. Soon enough the moment passes, though, and the light seems to return to the Sheikah's eyes. There is some part of her that is not human; has never been and will never be human. Little wonder the Hylians find their pale, red-eyed cousins so strange.

Yalai sniffs appreciatively, eyes lidded to half-mast. Is her sense of smell good, or is she just savouring something unfamiliar? Or pehraps the smell is one familiar to her. She doesn't clarify.

"Please." Well, at least she knows what honey is. Or maybe she's just adventurous, and willing to jump right into something new. "We are having tea, in Kasuto, the Shadowed Isle, but it is usually being only for the healing of the body or the mind, yes? It is being strong, and very bitter."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin has a spoon full of syrupy, reddish-gold colored honey. It's a little thin, but it's very sweet and flowery, to counteract the bitterness of the tea.

    "My brothers partake in..." Nasrin's eyes open a little wide as she tries to find a good, neutral word for what she's thinking, and settles on: "a variety of interesting substances... I do not partake in as many. Tea is one. I prefer coffee... but for warming the bones? This does well enough." the Assassin states.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Another round of sniffing, and the Sheikah seems to be savouring the scent of the honey this time. Different than the sort of thing that comes from the sky realms. Richer. The colour is quite nice, too, and she can imagine it will add a nice note to the tea.

Interesting substances? Yalai seems well able to fill in the gaps, solemnly arching a single white brow at that cautiously tactful description. "For warming the bones, we are using a particular wine, although one must be careful in drinking it. It is not warming the bones; it is only being a way to not notice the cold, so one is still technically feeling it, yes?"

In other words, it's still hypothermia bait for the incautious. "But it is being a good temporary solution, when one is needing to act." She settles more comfortably into her cloak, the garment rippling around her. "I am liking wine of many kinds, though."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Ours is a difference in that we choose not to feel, sometimes, in order to do our work." Nasrin compares the Assassins to the Sheika, and gives a small shrug of her shoulders.

    To the much more pleasent subject of alcohol!

    "Ah... I do not partake in wine, typically. There are rules against it in some factions of the brotherhood, and others imbibe in it. I... have not personally found the taste of wine to be to my liking," she shrugs "especially the overly-sweet wines."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"My people are doing that, as well. Usually with pain. Our threshold for that is being much higher than our Hylian cousins, yes?" Yalai slides one of the knives out of the bandolier; a thin, needle-like blade; idly, she cleans her nails with it, though they look clean already. "Then again, with the work we are doing, it is being most necessary."

An assassin, scout, and warrior who winces at the slightest little inconveniencing paper cut would not be a very effective one. That, or they'd have to be /really/ good at bluffing. Win battles before they start; techniques like that... well. Moving on.

She tilts her head. Rules against it? One could understand an Assassin not wanting to do their job with compromised motor skills, but surely they aren't trying to kill people at every waking moment. Right? "Too bad. I am preferring them to be dry, myself."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Mm." Nasrin replies, and she gives a shrug. "I use other peoples' love of inebreation to my advantage. I do not miss much." she replies to Yalai. "Though, speaking of the work we do..." she leans forward a little. "I should like to see how you fight sometime. I often watch in the wings of the Circle to see how others handle theri weapons -- and themselves -- as a matter of curiosity. Some are very brash. Some are more subtle."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"So too are we doing that." Yalai bares her teeth again, showing that fox-grin. "The demons are also loving their drink when they are finding it. Gorons are brewing fire-under-the-mountain, and it is being stolen, sometimes, and being used by the followers of Demise."

Fighting, now, that's something the Sheikah apparently likes. She visibly brightens at the prospect. A sparring match would be even better.

"I would not be minding that some time, yes?" That grin broadens a little. "I am usually using quarterstaff, and throwing knives, but I am also able to be fighting unarmed, like any of we of the Shadow Folk." She sobers, tilting her head and closing her eyes, as though in subtle substitution of a shrug. "Each of my people are specialising in a different weapon; that is being the source of our Second Name. We are ritually challenging one another for them, both in keeping and in taking. Those of us bearing more common-seeming names -- Blade, Spear, Stave, and being so on -- are being more difficult titles to be holding, because they are being challenged more often."

She grins, again, showing her teeth. "I am holding mine, over any other of my people who are wielding staves, or things like them, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Unfortunately, most Assassins do not have monikers so colorful... or sensible." Nasrin replies, and she leans back a little on her chair, considering. "I've mastered the longsword. Quarter staves are... not common in use in my time, though they are apparently still popular to the far East of my home." she considers a moment. "Nasrin the Hidden Blade." she gives a toothy grin. "Has a ring to it."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"I have not been practising with a long blade in many years, I think," Yalai muses, tilting her head up and looking skyward as she considers. "Loremaster Ikram is being much more intimiate with a weapon like that, yes? She was being the Blade, before she was being Loremaster." The Sheikah shows her teeth again. "But her weapon was not being hidden. It was not /needing/ to be, yes?"

Still, most Sheikah prefer to hide. They use ambush tactics, where possible, and they prefer to dispatch their quarry as quickly and efficiently as can be done. Demons are strong, stronger than Sheikah, and the element of surprise is what enables the Sheikah to be so successful.

"A quarterstaff can be deadly," Yalai agrees. "And it is being an unassuming weapon. Because it is not having a bladed edge, many are thinking it is not being as deadly as a blade. But that is not being true at all. I can be killing just as efficiently with this as I can be killing with my knives, yes?"

She reaches up, patting the bandolier of knives over her chest. "And these knives are being used by all of my people. Every one of we of the Shadow Folk are knowing how to be using them. They are being throwing knives, and they are also being knives for close combat, and in desperation they are also being used to be climbing with." She holds one of the needle-like blades up, showing the hole in the handle's end; too narrow to be a proper pommel.

"A climber can be wedging the blade into a crack between rocks, yes? And then tying rope to this. If they are tying well, and anchoring the blade well, they can be climbing up that way... but most of us are not needing them that way." She reaches up, flexing those long fingers in ways that suggest an absolute minimum of double-jointedness. "We can be climbing better with our hands and our feet, yes? If a Sheikah cannot be climbing a solid wall with no help, then he is failing in his training."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I underestimate nothing, nor anyone. That is an excellent way to get yourself killed." Nasrin replies agreeably... and then she considers, and begins to disarm. First, her own cashe of throwing knives -- slender and dull in color, save around the edges where the shine is as sharp as the cutting edge. And then another from her back. A long knive with a slight curve to it. A short, curved sword. Curved. Swords. A slightly longer straight blade from the small of her back, its hilt shaped as a wing and its pommel a bird's closed claw. A longsword, its swirls of Damascus Steel inherited from another Assassin. And then, she removes her braces as well, setting both on the counter... and then she glances up, and taps herself down.

    "I feel suspiciously lighter now." she mutters, then clicks her fingers, and withdraws another two blades from her boots.

    "I've had to use knives to help in climbing... though, to be honest, /that/ is a skill we're taught pretty much from birth in our families."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The Sheikah watches the Assassin disarm herself with some interest, blood-red eyes studying each weapon as they're removed and set down. The curved sword is given a particularly close look, her head tilting faintly in apparent recognition. Some Sheikah wield blades with a slight curve to them.

In particular, she blinks owlishly at the sheer number of knives presented, but there's a certain amusement in the slow, uneven blink of her eyes.

After a few seconds she throws her cloak back over one shoulder, revealing the bandolier. Unclasping it, she sets the whole thing on the table, supple black leather holstering no less than eighteen needle-slim knives on its face. The back also has an additional scabbard above the shoulder and below the shoulder; one knife to each section.

Two knives come from the inside of each sleeve, set atop the bandolier. The shoulder holster for her quarterstaff comes next; an intricate strap and holster of black leather, holding a beautiful runecarved quarterstaff of an indeterminate, smooth-worn wood; the marks in it, like the marks on her face, are a pale ashy grey bordering on white.

After a moment's hesitation she stoops down and retrieves a knife from her right boot, though this one is broader and flatter than the throwing knives.

She stands for a moment, considering, before shrugging as if to say, 'that's all of them.'

"We of the Shadow Folk are being much more specialised, I am thinking, than your Assassins," Yalai muses. "Each is being fitted to their task. And so too are being their weapons, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "We all have our tlaents. My mentor, Altair, was grim, and intelegent. Ezio is personable, boistrous and is at lease with his tongue as well as his blade. My brother Ratonhnhak�:ton was quiet, patient, a hunter. Me...?" she trails off, and she holds up her hand, and waggles it back and forth. "I'm a mimic." she straightens herself up in her seat, puffs out her chest, and gains a very British accent, but also a deeper voice. She sounds like a man, talking down to someone "No doubt you will tott along home, and tend to your lost cause. It may be too late for... some of you ruffians, but you are young, and impatient stronger than you look. You would have made an excellent addition to our Order. Come along, follow me."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"My mentor is being grim, and intelligent, as well. But she is being elegant, also, and is acting with exactness in all things she is doing." Yalai allows herself half a smile at this. Not very many people would consider the demanding and gruff Loremaster Ikram as elegant, but in some ways she is. "Others of us are being quiet, and others are being more boisterous. Most of us are being observant; it is being needed of us to be so."

She falls quiet, tilting her head in that bird-like gesture of curiosity as Nasrin slips into the bearing and voice of another, as easily as one might throw a favourite cloak over their shoulders. Stark-white brows arch; evidently impressed. "That is being a clever trick," she says, with that fox-grin. "Useful."

There's a shrug. "Impression is not being one of my talents. But I am knowing some music, and we are all of us knowing how to be calling a Loftwing by whistling. Each Loftwing is knowing its bonded partner's whistle, even out of many, yes? We are not knowing how they are knowing this, but they are knowing. There is being divinity in their blood, and a little magic, for those of us of the Sheikah; our Loftwings are being different than the Hylians'. That is maybe being how, I think..."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "It was. This is the voice of one of my enemies, and managed to confuse his own guard to the point that they let my brothers right in." Nasrin replies, and then coughs to clear her throat. "As much as I envy my brothers for their fighting prowess, imitation is a good skill to have. And it has served me well." she gives a whry smile, and she leans back, listening to Yalai speak.

    "The same can be said for some of our horses. My mentor valued the horse, so we all learned. Dabab can hear my whistles plainly, even above the wind." she gives a small smile. "I can only imagine what it would be like to ride the air currents as easliy as one gallops across the shifting sands."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Cleverly done." The Sheikah folds her arms, leaning back against the wall and letting that black cloak fall over her again. "Subtlety is being better than brute strength. It is known. Ask any of we of the Shadow Folk this, and you will be having the same answer. Even the strongest of us is being valued for cleverness."

Ah, horses. Something flashes in the Sheikah's eye as she listens, suddenly interested. They aren't a familiar creature to the world of Hyrule, but further toward the flatlands, some of the surface colonists have tried to catch the hooved ones. They're fast, and no doubt they would be a wonderful beast of burden on the surface.

She reaches up to rub a curled forefinger over her upper lip, blood-red eyes narrowing in thought. "And the same is being sald; I cannot imagine -- galloping? -- as one is riding the wind. My Loftwing is being smaller than most, but she is being swift." A faint smile, only slightly toothsome. "Perhaps some time I will be taking you flying, yes? And perhaps you can be teaching me how to be riding these horses."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I can try." Nasrin admits, "I am no expert. Altair and Ratonhnhak�:ton were far more skilled, but I know my way around saddle and tack." Nasrin replies, and there's s ort of earnestness in her eyes at the idea of flight. Not that momentary feeling of weightlessness when leaping, no, but flight. Ascending. Wings.

    ... it was all a very romanticized idea in her mind, but she gives a nod. "A fair exchange. Flight lessons for riding. Perhaps the Orphans will lend a hand for the latter." she considers a moment, rubbing the scar at her chin as she sizes the Shieikah up, and purses her lips.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"There is being no harm in trying, yes?" Yalai flashes a thin smile at that. "The worst that can be being said is that there is someone else to be doing the teaching, with more knowing, than the one who was being asked, yes?" It would be the same if she asked one of her people for weapons training in something that wasn't their specialty. Most of them are familiar with the rudiments of other weapons, but they just don't know enough to teach more than the basics.

Her arms are still folded, and she drums her fingers restlessly against the opposite forearm. Although her eyes flick to the earthenware mugs, her mind is somewhere else altogether. Where Nasrin might be daydreaming of flying, Yalai is considering the practical details. Chief among those is where best to teach Nasrin and how to go about 'borrowing' a Loftwing to teach her with. At first it would be best to double up astride her own bird, and...

"I suppose you are being like we of the Shadow Folk, then; being trained from youth," she adds, "and being expected to be proficient in those things they are training in, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
"Al Mualim <The Mentor> called it 'Furusiyya'; Assassins are instructed in many things beyond weaponry." Nasrin replies, "some of us just have more talent in some areas than others. For instance, Imal, the taller boy, is gifted with numbers. He outstripped my ability to teach him anything new before we joined the Multiverse. Leila is a talented seamstress and her clothes are of remarkable quality. She also brews poisons and memorizes the plants she needs by touch and smell. And Zain..."

    Nasin pauses a moment, and runs a hand over her hair. "Zain is remarkable in that he seems to scare most people. He means well."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"The same is being true of we of the Shadow Folk. We are learning many things, from weapons to infiltration to wielding the shadows, and other arts. There is also being one of our number, like Zain. His name is being Ayyho, and he has not yet been earning his Second Name. Small," she says with a grin, "but fierce."

She drums her fingers, glancing sidelong, but her mind is not on the room or on the merits of Sheikah training methods; it is on horses. They would be a great help to the growing order of knights that had chosen to remain on the surface. True, many of them still rely on their Loftwings, but the Goddess' guardian birds are not always viable for a situation or a place.

Clearing her throat, Yalai's red eyes slide back to Nasrin, blinking a little owlishly. "Maybe they are sensing his inner strength, yes? Even if he is being small, he is being clever. And he is being fierce."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I have decided that Zain and Ayyho should never meet," Nasrin gives a smile, "lest they begin to plot and things spiral wildly out of control. He, once, decided he was going to lay a trap for a Master Assassin. He almost caught him. It was quite vexing to the assassin, since Zain was a six-year-old who did not talk at the time..." she gives a smile, a proud little smile. "And he was fascinated with your loftwing."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"I do not think they will be meeting. Every one of my people is being needed, with the exception of those who have been given postings to be exploring the multiverse. With there being so few of us, there are always being demand for the things we are being able to do." Yalai gestures, nebulously. "We are being the best of scouts, better than the Skyloft Knights, for we are being able to hide in plain sight."

She cocks her head, very slightly, at the description of Zain. "I know. So sorry to be saying, for him, but my Loftwing is not being so very interested in him. They are being like their companions; individuals. Some are being outgoing. Some are not. And my Loftwing is being more... aloof, is the word, yes?"

Slowly, she begins gathering up her knives, sliding the bandolier back into place and buckling it. Once she's gotten both the throwing needles and the boot-heel blade back, balancing neatly on one foot to slide the hidden blade into place, she takes her quarterstaff up almost reverently and buckles the holster over her shoulder.

Her expression suggests that feels a lot better than not having all her knives and weapons on her person. Sure, a Sheikah can fight unarmed (they'd be a pretty terrible Sheikah if they couldn't), but she likes her weapons.

Half a glance is cast back to the hall from which they'd come, red eyes flicking to empty corridors, where there is decidedly no sound of anybody talking. Part of her suspects the children would probably be eavesdropping if they had half a chance, though. Children are all alike in some ways. "Has this place always been being so empty? It is seeming a very large place for a very small number, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "For that, I should be thankful." Nasrin mutters in regards to the small Sheikah, and she begins to re-assemble herself, sliding her knive sback into place, hiding behind sashes and belts, and finally she puts her bracers back on, giving a small smile at what would have been Zain's disippointment atht he Loftwing would hav e nothing to do with him. Alas. She'll make it up to him.

    And she glances up as those red eyes flick to the corridors... and Nasrin's calm expression falters a moment, and she looks off to the halsl themselves. "Alamut can house over a hundred, some with families. THere was once a village below as well... but we were never populous." she admits. "It was my mentor's dream to fill these halls with learning, with fighters and free thinkers. Now, with him gone... well. Ezio may consider himself 'master of Alamut', but he has his own duties. It is just us four who live here now." she admits quietly. "One journeyman assassin and three young initiates."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Some Loftwings are aloof, some like to be around people, and some don't mind mingling with strangers. Some of them prefer quieter environments. Some of them don't mind loud noises. Much like their humanoid companions, they come in every conceivable personality. Yalai's happens to be a little more aloof, preferring to find quieter places to be when feeling crowded by too many unfamiliar strangers.

Folding her arms again, Yalai glances over to listen to the description of Alamut. Her brows visibly arch at the fact that it can house so many. It does seem to be a large fortification, but that's bigger than she had expected. It must go deep into the mountain crags the foundations are built into; deeper than she would have thought.

Then again, the Sheikah is not used to large, formal fortifications. The Sheikah certainly don't make use of them, and even the Skyloft Knights don't really hold garrisons.

"It is seeming a bleak place," she comments, gesturing outward as though to indicate the desert. "Dry. Desert. There is not being much growing, here, and I am not thinking that there would be many people this place could be supporting. Certainly I was not thinking that many," she adds. "And I was not thinking this place's roots were going so deep into the mountain, yes?"

Her head tilts, white hair spilling over one shoulder, red eyes settling on Nasrin. "Well. Be thinking of it as space for more to be coming here, yes? None of this doom and gloom I am seeing." A grin, and she chucks the Assassin gently on the shoulder; friendly, but a stinging blow all the same if she can land it. "It is having potential, and potential is being worth more than a hall filled with grandmasters, yes?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Some assassins were aloof. Some liked to be around people, and others only let a select few. Some were quiet observes, acting only as they needed to. Others acted because they felt they needed to... and then there was Nasrin, caught between the world fascinated by possibility and the utterly stark reality and bleak future she's winding down.

    "I know its ins and outs; I helped build it." she admits, and she draws to a stand, gathering the earthernware mugs and the copper pot. "Much like the olive tree in our courtyard, Alamut is a weathered, tough place, but its roots run deep into the mountain, and into the history of my brothers' shared world." she explains... and she pauses. "... we are certainly a cheery organization, aren't we?" she asks sardonically, and gives a small smile. "No, Yalai. I do not think others will join us here. Zain, Leila and Imal followed me out of loyalty. Already several of the orphans I led and protected in Al Masr have left me, been adopted and taken away from warfare. It is not fair of me to ask any to stay here when so many have left it."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Oh. I was not speaking of this place." Yalai reaches up and rubs at her jaw, eyes sliding sidelong to watch the mugs gathered. "I was speaking of the multiverse. There are being others who would be learning the skils you are teaching, yes? Just because you are not being on a grandmaster's level does not mean you are not having any lessons to be teaching. There are being those of the Union who would be learning, I am thinking."

She shrugs; a fleeting movement, too lithe. "Or even those of more neutral places, yes? Self-defense, and similar things. Better to be turning this place into a place of learning, as you are telling me, instead of hiding in its solitude. Be telling those beyond this world, where it is safe to be telling, such as our allies. Be letting them stay, even if it is only being on a temporary basis, yes? Be teaching them. What you are knowing is still more than what many are knowing, even if you are not being a grandmaster."

"Or," she adds, rubbing her chin in seeming contemplation, a particularly human gesture, "I will perhaps be taking you to Skyloft anyway. It is being quite a sight to see if you have never been living above the clouds, yes? Perhaps you can be learning of we of the Shadow Folk, or even the Skyloft Knights. There is much to be learned for one who has never been living in the realm of the sky, I am thinking. And perhaps your young companions would be enjoying a change of place, too?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Ah. My short-sightedness is showing again. A terrible trait for an assassin." Nasrin mutters, half jokingly, but she listens to Yalai's wisdom, and she purses her lips, and then her face sours.
    "No. Most outsiders wouldn't understand. Some actively condemned us while Altair was our Grand Master. I have contented myself that we will never be fully understood by the vast majority of Unionites. They are brash. Some are very shallow. Most are loud and cry about freedom and what is right but will choose their victims and targets with the wind rather than with a narrow view, and some abhor the ideal of a knife in the dark. And I am abberant to share some of my learning with them because..." she softens her face. "... because sometimes their ways are better, and make far more sense... but this is what I know. It is all I know."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
At the jest about short-sightenedness, Yalai bares her teeth in what is, hopefully, a merry expression. It's hard to tell with those strange, angular features; those slanted eyes.

"Well," the Sheikah says, with a shrug, "it is not being my place to be convincing you one way or the other. The choice is being yours, though, and you and yours will be most welcome if you are choosing to visit Skyloft, yes?" Maybe a change of pace would be good for those gloomy and fatalistic thoughts. Not that the Sheikah doesn't indulge in that sometimes, herself. She'd be hypocritical if she said she didn't. Her people don't exactly have a bright and shiny lot in life themselves.

Absently rubbing her palms on the thighs of her leggings, she pushes off from the wall, walking over to poke through the mostly-empty cabinet furthest from Nasrin. "I could be bringing you things here, things we are not needing. Blankets. Dishes. If that is helping. I imagine it is not being an easy thing to be acquiring such wares here." What with it being in the middle of nowhere and all, surrounded by sand and mountains and more sand. Also, sand. Did we mention sand? Because there sure is a lot of sand. It reminds her of Lanayru Desert, only craggier, and with less ruins.

She squints, then, pausing as though doing some calculation. "...Tell me more about these horses. We are not having anything like these in Skyloft. And while we have been seeing them on the ground, they are being wild, and not letting anyone close to them, yes? But they are being..." Yalai pauses, thoughtful. "Pretty."

Really, she's starting to realise that she knows almost nothing about the beasts, and she's intrigued.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "... I can do better than that." Nasrin states, washing the cups with a precious little bit of water, and putting them up and away to dry. She didn't want to talk about coming home to find the place ransacked by others. She didn't want to talk about how they once had a garden with waterfalls, but there hadn't been anyone to take care of it, so it had gone dry.

    Horses were something pleasent. And Nasrin motions the Sheikah, and leads her down to the stables. It smell sof sweat and leather, of hay and horses and... the product of having horses. She pulls open the door, and there are several horses here, ranging mostly in browns and darker grays -- with a poy or two for the younger initiates to learn how to ride. the horses here are angular in form, with tea-cup chins and teardrop-curves to their ears.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The Sheikah follows, one hand on the sun-warmed walls (cooler inside the mountain, where the sun never reaches). The smells are unfamiliar. It takes her a few seconds to sort through them. Leather and old sweat, hay and the oil used for cleaning leather. Something less familiar.

Yalai tilts her head as she eases into the stable, eyeing them curiously. She rides a giant bird more than twice the size of most of these animals; horses on general principle don't frighten her. She works well with Loftwings, not just her own, and so the idea of working with horses isn't entirely a foreign notion to her.

"They are being... elegant," she decides, drifting toward the stable door of a slate-coloured horse, watching it carefully and offering her hand for it to sniff. "Smaller than Loftwings, but... they are looking fast."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    The gray mare gives a soft snuff, and approachs Yalai fearlessly, nsniffing at her hand. The ears move back and forth between The Stave and The Assassin.

    "They are fast." Nasrin gives a soft whistle, and the slate gray mare's ears flick up. Dark, bright eyes go wide at the sound of leather being lifted from hooks, and Nasrin comes from around the side, with the saddle. "My mentor's lady was keen on horses for the Brotherhood; she chose them based on our own personalities. Dabab is my own horse." Nasrin's tack is specialized. There is a holster for a crossbow, another long sheath for a sword. Detail work on the leather is fine and hand-made, showing a five-pointed flower. The mare seems to dance in her stall, the tail rising up like a banner.

    "The mares of these horses, the females, were valued for their battle prowess. Great leaders across nations rode them, gifts were made of them to heads of countries." Nasrin gives the horse a fond pat, slipping the halter over the head, and securing it.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Cautiously, the Sheikah inverts her hand once the horse has had a chance to identify her, stroking awkwardly at the velvet-soft muzzle. She's never been around horses, before, and the unfamiliarity shows itself. She is confident around animals, though. It's hard to fear when you work with a bird big enough to outweigh you.

"The work is being most beautiful," she observes, watching as both blanket and saddle are retrieved and laid on the horse's back. The horse seems eager to go; snorting and champing, flagging that tail like a banner of silk. "We are not using saddles with our Loftwings. Well, Aedan is using one, but that is being so he can be carrying things. I do not. I am using only the collar-harness."

"A loop of leather," she clarifies, "which I was braiding for grip. Otherwise, most Loftwings are not being large enough for saddles." Never mind that placing one comfortably on a bird is awkward. "And it is less to be burdening them with." She smiles, as the halter is laid into place. "It is being hard for me to be thinking of riding beasts only on the ground, yes? TO go places, to make war... or to give. One would never be giving a Loftwing. They are being bound to us when we are young, yes? Though, perhaps a Loftwing who has lost his rider..."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Humans aren't exactly the most equal race. They make games out of giving lives. Slavery is common in many cultures in my time." Nasrin explains, and she leads the horse out of the stall, and holding the reins and speaking a soft word, leads her out to a round yard, nestled between the mountain and the fortress. It's a good sized yard; a horse could easily run around here for a while, and sheruns her fingers down the horse's neck.

    "But for some of us, we value the lives that make our own easier. It would be a long, long walk without Dabab." the Assassin replies, and then without warning, she swings herself up into the saddle, gives a light jab of her heels backwards, and Dabab is off like a gray arrow, galloping across the dusty ground!

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Those are being things I would more readily be ascribing to the demons of Demise's armies," Yalai murmurs, folding her arms and leaning back against the wall. She pushes off to follow as Nasrin leads the mare out, though the other might notice how severely the Sheikah squints against the bright sun. She's drawn parallels before between her people and the shadows. Perhaps it really is literal, and she has difficulty seeing in bright light?

She adjusts, albeit reluctantly, and blinks a few times to clear the spots from her eyes -- and watch the horse flow like water, like wind.

Distantly, Yalai is aware she's gaping, but that still doesn't mean she can stop to shut her mouth.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin and Dabab move with a familiarity in one another. Dabab turns on a farthing, hooves skidding on the ground as weights shift, and she comes bounding full-tilt at Yalai!

    Only to skid to a stop, as calm as can be, though taking a moment to catch breath. NAsrin whispers encouragement tot he animal, and she slides off the saddle/ "Nothing to it." she pronounces, quite clearly. She raises her eyebrows. "Would you care to dry?"

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
There's no mistaking the ease and comfort both rider and horse have in one another; a bond, a trust, that cannot be feigned. The horse seems to float in the air, and the rider sits the saddle so easily that she might as well be perched atop a favoured seat and not a moving animal.

Oh, and suddenly they're moving straight for the Sheikah. Although she doesn't quite tense, something tightens around Yalai's eyes, and she looks ready to lunge to one side--

Dust sifts as Dabab skids to a sharp halt, close enough that Yalai had been a few inches short of hurling herself aside. Slowly, she straightens, tilting her head as though in curiosity, reaching out to touch Dabab's nose again. The gesture is distracted, though. She's studying the tack, how it connects and how it rests over the horse's body; how the various pieces are buckled.

"Truly?" Her eyes flick to Nasrin, momentarily dubious, but she'll slowly reach for the reins. And, once the saddle's clear, she'll reach, vaulting easily astride the animal--

--and sit there, looking visibly uncertain.

Silence, broken only by the momentary sighing of desert winds.

"...what am I supposed to be doing...?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Truly. She... like me... has softened over our time here." Nasrin gives a wry smile, and once Yalai is on, Nasrin gives a toothy little smile.

    "Hold with your legs around her barrel. Give her as much reisn as you dare... she's sharp. Oh.. and don't fall off. if you fall off the horse, you must get back on it."

    And Nasrin gives a barking command that sounds suspiciously like 'charge!', and Dabab, sensing perhaps that the rider is new, inexperienced, but fearless... takes off at a hellish pace, pounding into the ground, nostrils flaring. And NAsrin is just there, giving a grin.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The Sheikah glances slightly to one side, blood-red eyes settling on Nasrin from their corners as she follows the instructions given her. The instructions are not unlike those given to novice Loftwing riders, with slight differences with how the body is balanced astride the animal. There is no barrel to wrap around with a Loftwing. One simply balances atop the join of the bird's neck and shoulder, just forward of the wings, and tries not to rest their weight against the wings.

She's just processing that last command when the horse takes off like an arrow fired from a longbow. Yalai manages an ungainly squawk, forced to lean forward and wrap her arms around the arched neck, hanging on for dear life as Dabab thunders forward.

To her credit, she does /not/ fall off the horse, but for several moments it looks like it might be a narrow margin. A very narrow margin. The movement of a horse is very different from the movement of a Loftwing, or any flying creature; there are similarities, but there are also stark differences. Especially when the animal is moving at speed like this.

Slowly, though, Yalai sorts herself out and tries to find some kind of equilibrium in the saddle. Saddles are also foreign to her. She's never ridden with one before. Few Loftwing riders elect to use saddles; even among the Skyloft Knights, Aedan is one of a rare few who actually bother with using one with their Loftwing.

Nasrin might hear the Sheikah's trailing voice from halfway across the arena.

"How am I asking her to be turning, before we are hitting a wall--!?"