Tamiya spent the next few perigrees becoming accustomed to the ways of Sinter Heilig (and, she was sure, vice versa). His hive was now adorned with a thankfully minimal amount of her own “homey” touches, but her charity towards him was not lost. The gifts she had bestowed upon him in their childhood were joined by practical furniture for making her stay more pleasant, but other than that, Sinter’s hive was untouched by Tamiya’s interior design compulsions. It was nearly perfect when she entered it, and for sweeps she was sure that the smells of baking would elicit warmth and pale feelings in her pump biscuit. It was a respite for someone recovering from trauma, and while she may not have realized it, her moods stabilized. No longer was Tamiya afraid – she was focused. Driven.
Night trips to the city were now an exercise. Kabukidad’s will to socialize Tamiya with the masses was met: she trusted no one, but learned how to handle those who were below her on the hemospectrum. There were few trolls of her stature in Chittentown, and while she was accompanied by Sinter she felt an ease of communication that she had never felt before. He was her gate into their world – her interpreter. Thankfully, they didn’t live out a complicated life, or one that would require much haggling or scraping by. This pleased Tamiya. Occasionally she thought back to the shady lifestyle of Old Hemisect, and thoughts of Larque floated to the top of her thinkpan. He was better off in the new city, she decided. She did him, like all other trolls she met, a great service.
Much of Tamiya’s time was spent holed up in her small room, studying. The ways of the Messiahs had been lost on her since the incident – she had no way of piecing together what had occurred during the trials. But she would remedy that, with justice. There was nothing Tamiya hated more than the rebels now that she knew that somewhere – in the thick tangle of bodies assaulting her way of life – were mutants and supernaturals. Possibly leading the rebellion. There could be scores of them. She kept her conspiracies quiet from Sinter, but fed off of his concern for justice. Balance had to be brought back, but reconciling that with her faith was an ordeal. She hadn’t even sworn consistently for perigrees. She felt she didn’t deserve to curse. Kabukidad was not happy about this development, but Tamiya’s fearfulness had gone and his power over her had lessened. He resigned himself to encouragement instead of threat, and left her alone to her work as he hunted in the desert night after night, collecting a whole assortment of new creatures. Even during the day when he slunk back to the old barn’s rafters, Tamiya would stay up to read. The Chittentown Library had a woeful section of religious texts, but a mixture of prayer, spite-fueled-introspection and government broadcast brought her all the education she needed. This night, she woke up during the day to work. The sun was setting – the moons faded onto the horizon – and Tamiya was near a groundbreaking realization.
Finally, she had it. “The planet of ******** paradise…” A smile found its way across Tamiya’s black lips. “The bridge to achieve paradise requires capriciousness, but if no law is there to will mirth upon the people then there will only be suffering…”
She stood up and began to pace. “We must not only spread the word of our people, but crush those who oppose it. Justice. Vindication! The spirits of our ancestors serve as unfinished reminders of all of our sins and it is my sole task to purify the misfortune and corruption. There are symbols of dark that shine bright as a beacon, jingling with pleasant calls to lead us to our destination and there are symbols of light that echo and confuse us.”
Tamiya fervently began to trace out her thoughts, filling a page with notes and finding it unsatisfactory. She acquired a heap of papers and scribbled her epiphany with violent, shrieking energy.
The Carnival of Carnage. Life on Alternia is filled with natural brutality, from the womb of the Mother Grub to the streets. Everyone is born in the same caves, but only the most pure emerge – the evils of the world are harbored in all of us. We cannot let it corrupt us. Beware of the forces, the double angels who seek you pierce you and drag you into hell. Protect trolls who struggle the same struggle as you—your brothers and sisters.
The Ringmaster. You are the Ringmaster, twisting your own destiny with the guidance of the Messiahs. They preach the word that you follow, but your followers must be controlled by your own bloodpusher. Control your world and your life will turn out as you desire it, as prophesized by the Big Top from within your wildest dreams.
The Riddlebox. A reminder that placement in paradise is uncertain – only pure intentions and faith will allow you to achieve your ultimate desire to ascend, because there is no way of knowing whether you will be cast into the underworld. Always be fearful, but be fearless because no one can ever know for sure.
The Illusionist. He tempts you – he can take your life away. Never trust a character that tells you to stray, even though their rewards may be everything you desire. Enemies of the faith and the Alternian people may appear to be anyone – from their spirit to their outer features.
The Jugglers. They juggle our sins and good deeds – never let your sins outbalance your good deeds, or you will fall with them. The struggle of balance is eternal and guiding. Forever be present. Forever know.
The Wraith. Two-sides – life and death, living in eternity. Paradise is worth every strife. Burning in despair for ever will befall an impure follower. Follow The Wraith and you will see if your life has been good enough or bad.
Through these tenets, bringing good fortune from the living and dead was optimal. “Follow what my heart feels…” mumbled Tamiya. She breathed a sigh and looked over her work, soon looking for pins to tack up her tenets to the walls of her respiteblock. She let out a string of profane prayers.
“For the highbloods who cannot see, and must be saved,” announced Tamiya, bowing her head to the floor. “For the lowbloods who have sway over the forces of the supernatural,” she picked up a pin to stab the page through the wall, “I come for you. With new vigor. For Alternia, our home. To cleanse and protect. To maintain good and the balance. For those who have been lost, and for those soon to come into our world.”
She was ready to face those she had touched. Tamiya was resolute. This night, nearly the half-sweep anniversary of her moving in, she would tell Sinter she was moving out. Sinter could follow her in her life path, but she wouldn’t burden him by living in his abode. He gave her clarity—she could not just leave him. They were… Moirails. Tamiya smelled breakfast. Cinnamon. The excitement bubbled up inside of her. She gave herself a quick hug and rushed to clean up her space. “Sinter!” She called out. Tamiya opened the door to the respiteblock and hurried downstairs to greet the night.
