[ACT 2 TEASER] JP: Great Mother Elirielle & Advocate Chavrainne - Holy Vessels of the Flame, Part 1

[Ava Munro]

((The Great Mother Personal Chamber - The Golden Spire))

From the highest level of The Golden Spire she could observe her city. The home of her people. The Great Mother clasped her upper hands together and frowned. The growing, gnawing fear only got worse as her eyes tracked the billowing smoke from fires. 

oO Are those the screams she could hear from this high up? Oo

The sorrow of her people was keenly felt. 

The atmospheric controls flashed once and then twice. The false purple sky and sunlight vanished and were immediately replaced with a permanent darkness above them. 

There was no doubt of the screams from below. How did it come to this? She had been so blind to the wounds of her people? Why had Luirétt left them and taken the majority of the Yurum? 

It had spread like an infection. They had fired on the sacred. The dissenters had spread the images of the fleeing colony ship amongst the people. What started as small gatherings evolved into riots and the dissenters were prepared to harvest from the chaos. 

Her very own Luirétt had betrayed her but still she did not blame them. They did not know what they would do, how could they? Or did they?

Her own mother had favoured Luirétt, she had stayed close to the Yurum herself. She had spent many years in Sun Haven watching her mother read children's tales to a young Luirétt. When her mother considered Elirielle it was to school her in the ways of a woman of noble blood and a would be Great Mother herself.

There had been rumours that Elirielle’s mother had birthed Luirétt, in the shadow circles but Elirielle was sure to squash those heretic words. 

The Yurum did not belong to a single pairing, they belonged to all of them. For as long as the records told, the Yurum were the supporting column that held society together. They did not have parents for weren't they the children of all Boraxians? 

She had tried to maintain it with the few Yurum that had remained but most of the ceremonies had to be cancelled: betrothals, death rites, matrimonies, ascensions and gatherings. The Yurum were not able to bless the people, the buildings new and old or the waters and food. She had read reports of communities that refused to consume unblessed food stores or water. Hospitals filled with believers that were suffering from starvation and dehydration. Yet they still refused. 

The few Yurum they had left had to be protected. She was fearful the dissenters would take them and what if Luirétt did not return to her? 

The people looked to the spires for guidance and to her shame were met with silence. 

oO how could I tell them that the Yurum had forsaken us… that Luirétt of Sun Haven, Eldest of the Yurum, High Orator of Tressymé The Most Devoted had abandoned their people Oo

It was her failing to delay the words. She knew that now. She had hoped that Luirétt would return once the damaged vessel began to fail. Yet they did not. 

When she finally addressed her people the wound had already been infected and had begun to spread from one district to the next. She had heard that even some of the spires had begun to become restless. 

Many generations of her bloodline had exerted its influence over the Boraxian Matriarch; they were known as The Guardians of Ellet. Her house and family was the closest to Ellet, the forgotten homeworld, of any living bloodline. The others had fallen, or bred themselves out. They remained, stronger than ever. 

Over a thousand years of tradition, and order. A duty to her people. She, and her mothers before her, had devoted their lives to the Boraxian people. Ever since The First Great Mother, Olessia, united the roaming bloodlines. She had forged this floating city to house them as a United species, no Boraxian would ever be parted from the whole again. It was her greatest achievement and now they had lost the most precious of all of them. The Yurum.

Simoneé: Great Mother Elirielle? 

She turned, pulling her golden gown along with her. It plumed outwards and floated around her, the light caught against the golden filaments delicately inlaid into the fabric. She kept her upper arms behind her back and her lower arms clasped together. As was only decent of a noble female. Her upper arms had been decorated with weighted bands of precious metal.and then bound together. Each one signified a year of her life. A symbol of her age and wisdom. A reminder of the weight of her responsibility over her people. 

Age was a great pride within the Boraxian culture. They only got stronger with age. Her stature was larger than most others. Simoneé, her youthful attendant, was half the size of herself despite being a fully grown adult. The coronet she wore had been gifted to her mother by the Klingon High Council. 

Simoneé: Great Mother? 

She heard the concern in the young woman's voice. 

Elirielle: I am coming, Simoneé. 

Elirielle placed one of her free hands on Simoneé's head, connecting it with her blowhole. A momentary jolt between them signified their connection. Then it passed. This was a reminder of the Yurum, who were able to prolong this connection, this was their gift. 

Simoneé: :: worried :: The Library of Jessia has been pillaged - the people … they loot. 

This last word was spoken in an embarrassed horror. 

Elirielle: Looting? They take from their own? The dissenters would stoop this low to ransack an historical monument?

Elirielle couldn't hide the shock in her voice. She had never heard of a Boraxian that would steal from their own before. Not in groups, not like this. 

There was deviance among them, there always had been but they were taken and treated by the Yurum. 

She imagined a people without the Yurum… would they all become the worst parts of themselves? 

Simoneé: They say that :: stumbles ::They say that there is hidden truth in the old readings? 

Elirielle didn't like the question in Simoneé’s words. The Great Mother looked to the attendant and tried to provide her with a reassuring smile. Simoneé was from a lesser house, yet she had proven herself capable, intelligent and Elirielle had intended on elevating her bloodline in the coming years. Maybe in a generation or two they might serve as a Matriarch bloodline. 

Elirielle: The teachings have always been available to all. The Boraxians have no secrets from each other :: frowns :: The remaining Yurum?

Simoneé: They are safe in the Spire. A crowd has gathered but they appear to be devotees and they only pray. For now. Many have fallen ill as they refuse to eat the unblessed food or drink the unsanctified water. 

Elirielle: Send additional guards. Prepare to bring the Yurum to me. And have them bless whatever food stores and water we can. 

Elirielle paused for a moment. 

Elirielle: Ensure the blessings are sent to the spires. 

Simoneé didn't need to say any words, her disappointment was apparent as her arms dropped sullenly. 

Elirielle: I can't afford to lose the loyalty of the bloodlines, Simoneé. Not now.

Simoneé nodded and turned to perform her tasks. 

Elirielle: Oh and also bring me Chavrainne. 

Simoneé paused and hesitated words hung in the air between them before the younger woman nodded and rushed out of the room. 

(( Chamber of Echoes – The Golden Spire ))

Chavrainne stood alone beneath the obsidian ribs of the Chamber of Echoes, where generations of Advocates had walked in silence and submission. No light touched her from above. The ceiling – vaulted and immense – was carved from the devourer’s stone: a mineral that drank illumination like thirst incarnate.

The only glow came from below.

At her feet, an amber basin of luminescent oil cradled thirteen drops of Suralit sap, each drop surrendered with a bowed head. With each, she recited a sacred line – not aloud, but within the deep cathedrals of her memory.

For the Matriarch, who walks the Circle Unending.

For the First Breath, from which all song is drawn.

For the Yurum, holy vessels of the flame.

For the Binding of Voice and Silence.

For the sanctity of ascent and descent.

For the blood that remembers.

For the minds that forget.

For the sacred wound that birthed our world.

For the veiled pillar and its foundation unseen.

For the keeper’s hand, unmarred by choosing.

For order, which is its own reward.

For structure, which bends not to mercy.

For the fire, which must never stray from the hearth.

She did not look away from the pool. That would have been grief.

Instead, she watched as the Suralit sap bled into the oil – each drop unfurling in iridescent spirals that shimmered like stained glass liquified. Above and beyond the sanctuary’s curved window of transparent metal, the city of her ancestors hung in silhouette – a dying blossom, its petals curled in smoke.

The false sky – their once-constant canopy of violet light – had been extinguished. Now the spires stood bare beneath an indifferent darkness.

The world that generations of her ancestors had served was cracking.

And yet –

She did not weep. Did not clutch at her robes. Did not gnash her teeth as the lesser castes did, howling beneath their unmade altars.

Instead, she raised two fingers – upper right hand – to the sigil at her throat. A ritual gesture. Ancient. Measured. Still as time entombed.

Chavrainne: ::softly:: Order. Order is not a matter of survival. It is sanctity.

The sound of footfalls did not startle her. Simoneé was light on her feet, yes – but her presence always preceded her like an omen. A question with too many answers.

The child was earnest. Sweet. Frighteningly capable. But today – today – Chavrainne could smell the doubt on her like mildew on old ceremonial robes.

She turned – slowly. Intentionally.

Simoneé stepped through the arched threshold, her lower arms held in a posture of uncertainty – crossed, but not clasped. Her upper hands hovered, obediently still at her abdomen. But her shoulders – those spoke her real truth.

Chavrainne said nothing. She merely studied her, serene and unblinking.

Simoneé: ::bowing:: Advocate Chavrainne. The Great Mother… she summons you.

A lesser being might have blinked.

A lesser being might have asked why.

Chavrainne did none of these things.

She inclined her upper-left hand in a slow spiral – acknowledgement – then spoke, not newly, but as if reciting a phrase long memorized and first spoken in a better age.

Chavrainne: It is ever my honor to answer Her call.

Simoneé hesitated. A swallow. A gathering of words not yet brave enough to be spoken out loud.

Simoneé: The… city is in distress. The Library of Jessia was ransacked. Some say – some say there are truths being hidden.

A pause. Not silence – an excommunication of speech.

Chavrainne stepped forward, her robes whispering like ash washing over vellum. She stood a head taller than Simoneé, yet she did not loom. She encompassed.

Chavrainne: ::quiet gravity:: Truths are never hidden, child. They are guarded. That is the burden of the sacred. Would you fault a mother for shielding her young from a storm?

Simoneé: ::barely audible:: But… the Yurum…

Chavrainne: ::interrupting gently, but with finality:: The Yurum are a flame. And we – we are the keepers of hearth and structure. Without the vessel… without the fuel… without careful tending – the fire consumes all. And then burns itself into oblivion.

She stepped past Simoneé then, four arms folding in perfect ceremonial symmetry. Her every motion a glyph inked on the parchment of time.

Behind her, the basin glowed strongly. Beneath her, the stone still remembered. Before her, the summons of Her Matriarch – all as sacred and inescapable as gravity itself.

The Great Mother Elirielle 

Boraxian Leader

Boraxian City Ship 

As simmed by:

Lt Commander Ava Munro 

Acting Commanding Officer 

USS Artemis-A 

A240004LL2

&

Advocate Chavrainne 

As simmed by:

Ensign Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

A240205RB1