Tales of a Child Eternal [NSFW]

[Helene Dakesh]

Hawke's basement was a great place for rituals. The room was unfinished, with a poured-stone floor and rough stone walls; Hawke used it for storage, mostly, but the things she stored were easily moved upstairs to stack in the parlor, giving them lots of floor space to draw chalk diagrams on. This was important for higher-level rituals, where the amount of space could mean the difference between getting each rune correct and botching a small line that renders the whole ritual moot -- or worse, enacts the wrong ritual altogether. 

It was also preferred over other large spaces Helene had access to because of the privacy. For a ritual affecting their body in this way, they would have to be naked; some sources indicated luck with a thin cotton gown for modesty, but it was debated, and they didn't want to take chances, not when the digit in question had been magically preserved for some time. 

Helene unbutton their vest, their back to the room, nervous. Zevran, of course, had seen it all before. Wynne, for that matter, was a healer, and thus was unlikely to be shocked. But Beinn Varric... they wanted Beinn Varric to see them as they were, not as their shell appeared to be. The memory could be removed, but... it made them nervous, still. 

[Tethras Clan]

Wynne seems more interested in double-checking the condition of the finger more than anything else. Zevran is pacing a little nervous, tossing a worried but supportive smile  at Helene every, oh, twenty seconds. And Beinn Varric is spot checking the array Helene had done up, an approving nod coming every once in a while. "Neatly done with the draconic-celestial meshing on the west arc," he comments.

[Helene Dakesh]

Nearly done. Nearly time to begin. They take another deep breath, fidgeting with the button on their trousers nervously. Swallowing, they fix their eyes on a point on the wall, unhook the button, think a quick prayer to Alydra, and lower their trousers and boxers in one fell swoop. They shiver, a motion that has little to do with the slight chill as the basement air touches their bare behind. 

Step one accomplished. Another deep breath, and their fingers methodically unbutton the row of buttons down their shirt. The shirt slides to the floor, and they reach up to untie the breastband, letting it fall atop the shirt. Step two. 

They squat, picking up the clothing, tiding it into a pile. They keep their back to the room. They run down the list of disciples of Founding Lights, looking for something, anything, to think about rather than their nakedness. 

[Tethras Clan]

When they turn around, they notice that Wynne is already in position as the lead for the healing ritual, sitting cross-legged on a soft pillow with the finger before them. Zevran has moved out of the way, leaning against the wall. He offers them a bolstering nod, then winks at them. Varric is the surprise- he's standing in the north cardinal point, ready to add a balancing factor to ensure a smooth rite. That Helene expected.

The blindfold they did not.

"Ready when you are Q&A," he comments easily, head tilted slightly as he listens carefully.

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene blinks, staring at the blindfold a moment. Then, slowly, a smile creeps across their face. Beinn Varric truly is generous.

They move to sit in the center of the circle, taking the small box with their finger from Wynne. "Ready, Beinn Varric." 

[Helene Dakesh]

Here is how it was supposed to go:

Helene picked a name, a very feminine name, with aspirations of being beautiful. Everyone would coo and gush over Helene's name, and praise 'her' on being so very apt with 'her' choice of name. Over the next few weeks or months, Helene would feel more and more feminine every time they were called by the name they had chosen. They would begin to wear dresses, learn to braid their hair the way other girls did, and soon, they would be indistinguishable from the other girls except for their blue skin. Finally, they would be adopted, and leave the orphanage with a new set of parents to take care of them. They would learn and grow and eventually become like everyone else, would fit in. 

A year later, nothing like that had happened. Helene sat under their favorite tree, by the duck pond, feeling utterly wretched. Every time they were called 'she' these days it felt like a slap. They hated every single ruffle on their petticoat, hated the pink-and-white dress they were put in, hated having their hair long and braided and the flowers they had tucked in did nothing but make them look like a stranger in their own reflection. They had become, if anything, more withdrawn and softspoken. Today marked the sixth day since they had said so much as a word to anyone. It didn't matter what they said, it always came out wrong. They always did it wrong. 

They did everything wrong. 

They had begun to steal. They knew it was wrong to steal, but it was also wrong to skip school and to cry in front of the teacher and to hate every inch of this wretched town, so they figured what was one more wrong action? Their whole life was wrong. They had clearly incarnated incorrectly. Maybe they should move on to the next incarnation, hope that whatever horrible accident had befallen their soul between incarnations would not repeat itself. 

They mostly stole books, out of the library. They were free for the taking, but if they checked them out, that invited questions about their reading habits, so they stole them instead and put them back when they were done. They still felt guilty, of course, but they told themself they didn't care. They just needed a distraction. 

School would be a distraction, of course, but it was also pure torment, so they didn't bother about that. 

They opened the book to a random page, skimming through a primer on Celestial modes of address. This book was about worship of Alydra, but as Alydra's pavitras were very particular about how they were addressed, there was a whole chapter discussing the gleaned wisdom from visits and omens about the pavitra, and it opened with a primer on modes of address. Helene ran their fingers down the list, smiling to see such variety. There was male and female, and there was one that meant both and one that meant neither, and one that meant masculine-but-not-male, and one that meant femme-but-not-female, and a few whose meanings were unknown but which appeared to be specific to the messenger that had requested the use. If only I was a Pavitra. Then I could do as I pleased.

But Samasaran were not Pavitra. They were sexed male and female, and gendered accordingly. Just like everyone else. 

'It is important to be clear on the appropriate forms of address for yourself, as Pavitra of Alydra prefer being precise and exact when they do need to address the one who summoned them. The default assumption seems to be Seeker, as this is a gender-neutral title, but of course that is only applicable to the clergy.'

Helene's heart stopped. Gender-netural? A Seeker isn't a miss or a mister? But is... something else? Something more like a Pavitra?

Only applicable to the Clergy. Helene had no qualms with that. There was only one deity for them, only Alydra, and what was this life for if not for worship? They would throw this life away and begin again for their own sake; for Alydra, it was a simple matter to dedicate the remainder of it to their service. They closed the book, taking another volume from the stack beside them, skipping to the end: the section on Oaths of Service. 'Swear one of these oaths, and the gods will listen.'

But which one? There was an oath to become a healer, an oath to educate, an oath to adventure in their name, an oath to protect. Helene didn't know what they wanted to do. Helene just wanted to serve, wanted a purpose, wanted to belong. And in exchange, a neutral term of address would be enough. 

Helene spoke the words. The world flared white, and vanished.

[NPCs]

Then a cloud moves in the way and the light glaring off the nearby pond dulls enough that Helene can see again. Movement to their left suddenly reveals an elderly... human? It's hard to tell, but they're tossing bread to the ducks there, one small bit at a time. They're wearing dull blue robes, folded in a strange fashion but one that seems... fitting for the person. Very appropriate. Dark, sun kissed skin that holds a wealth of wrinkles and lines and no hair save for a few wisps of white, almost down-like tufts on their otherwise bald head.

They sit on the ground, cross-legged, with a crooked staff resting against their shoulder. A brown canvas bag sits in their lap, where they reach in for a single pebble-sized bit of dried bread at a time. As Helene watches, the person tosses another bit of bread onto the pound, a tiny gosling rushing ahead of its siblings to eat first.

"Heavy words."

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene stares for a moment. How did someone get past them, sneak up on them? Well, no matter. They were here, after all. It's only polite to speak to strangers. Even if they were likely to hurt them.

"I am serious about them," they insist. "I wish to serve, in any way possible. I will do what it takes."

[NPCs]

"Very heavy words," the elder corrects their previous statement. "What reasons does that one have, to be so willing to carry th meaning of such words?"

[Helene Dakesh]

"This one does not belong," Helene says quietly, in a small, girlish voice. "This one wishes to belong to Alydra."

[NPCs]

"A fine deity, if a deity one must pick." Another bread crumb is tossed into the pond. "But why does that one not belong?"

[Helene Dakesh]

"This one is... broken," they whisper. "This one incarnated incorrectly. This one is considering... a fresh start."

[NPCs]

That gets a thoughtful look. "Incorrectly that one says? This one did not realize that mortals were so fine at judging such things. Perhaps that one simply does not understand the reasons that one was created in the fashion that one was?"

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene bows their head, hands clasped together. "This one will humbly receive wisdom."

[NPCs]

"Wisdom cannot be given," is the slightly reproving answer. "Wisdom can be nurtured, can be coaxed into kindling, but it has to come from within a being. Wisdom from without... is just knowledge at best, mimicry most common and lies at worst."