An out of breath acolyte finds Snowcora and Ningishzida still in the catacombs, where the Ksh'atga has been learning the archival code used to identify offerings and who they belong too, along with where that shrine-shelf is located. "Mistress K'Shasti sent me," the young girl wheezes. "There is a funeral scheduled, and the body is about to undergo the final preparations, and the Ksh'atga is invited to observe."

Snowcora bows slightly. "Thank you. I will take her to Yodhsunala K'Shasti," the human says politely. To the naga, she then notes, "It looks as if you will get to see a funeral as well. If you do not mind taking a break from your help here, of course."

"I can alwayssss come back," Ningi says. "I think the need for me will ssstill exisst. Let usss not keep the honorable misstresss waiting."

"Of course," Snowcora says, grateful to get a chance to walk again. It's a welcome distraction to the undergarment that in still rutting her. It even somehow simulates male climaxes, which is ... really disturbing when that happens. Talk about reusing some of what it drinks for other purposes.

The walk is long, with lots of stairs, which gives Ningi more of an issue than Snowcora - although it is a bit more tiring than the walk down the stairs was. The human can feel the Creeper swing back and forth a bit with each stair-step. A level path is a bit of relief, but that is countered by a hurried pace.

The chamber they arrive in is different than the initial preparation area. K'Shasti is overseeing two acolytes that are wrapping the body on the table in linen strips - not unlike the bandages worn by the Yodhgorphat, but also a bit more detailed. They are covered in symbols.

Snowcora is reminded how much she dislikes gravity having to go up stairs; it makes her miss not having wings. But, the roll of the creeper is rather nice. She has to admit that she likes the creeper, even if it can drive her crazy now and then! The hurried pace is not as nice, but getting back to the preparation room gives her something else to think on. "Who provides the bandages?" the human asks as she approaches the body to examine the symbols for familiarity.

K'Shasti waves both of the women closer. "The family provides them," she explains. The cadaver's gender is hard to place, given its elderly visage and the shriveling caused by the drying. "This man traveled to many lands, and those travels are recorded on the wrappings for his legs."

Snowcora bobs her head at that. "I imagine it is because they can then take the story of their life with them," she notes, "Metaphorically speaking."

"Precisely," K'Shasti notes, and lifts up the next roll. "This one names his children, and grandchildren and their mothers and fathers." She hands it to the acolytes, who wrap it around his hips and groin in a common underwear pattern. "His torso will be wrapped by his favorite indulgences, his chest with his loves. Friends and allies will cover his right arm, enemies and competitors his left, and his head will be wrapped in the wishes of his family."

Snowcora actually finds that interesting, but she doesn't comment to make it seem like she doesn't know most of this. "Whenever someone's life is written out like this, it is reminding that all lives touch so many others," she says. "Even when to the one who lived it may not always see it."

"A life," Ningi says. "I've never ssseen it like thisss before. All of the relationsships, successses and failures. I thought of each as being a book. It isss easy to forget the living for me."

Snowcora looks to the naga. "All lives have stories. Some end complete, others unfinished. All of us touch and affect others and the world in unknown ways. As the Barsunala once said: One person can change the world. 'Simple things, simple efforts. They start as small ripples, and over time become waves'. When you see a life written out like this, you can see the wave forming. Wife, children, to grandchildren, and beyond," she says.

A colorful green cloth is laid out on another table. The acolytes carefully cross the arms over the chest before lifting the wrapped figure. K'Shasti holds the wings in place - their membranes are fragile as parchment, but they've been shredded before the drying process. It makes sense, otherwise the wing fingers would be drawn together awkwardly. And also as a symbolic gesture: a sign that the person will not rise again. The man is laid on the cloth, which is then wrapped around him again to hold his wings.

Snowcora steps back to keep out of the way of the preparers. She never thought about wing constriction at death before.

"The family provides the burial shroud," K'Shasti explains. "Sometimes they are quilts, or tapestries. This man was a dye merchant, I think. Green may have been his favorite, or most profitable." Another bundle is brought to her, which she unwraps. There are two coins in it, one with Sunala's symbol, and one with the Barsunala's. There are little holes along the edges. There's also a mask in the bundle, made of porcelain and depicting a man that is laughing.

K'Shasti carefully sews the coins into the wrappings over the man's eyes, making certain they are properly aligned. Sunala's mark must never be turned upside-down after all.

"He'd have been popular with the Gorphat temple for green cloth," Snowcora thinks, but doesn't comment on that. "Symbolic fare to the afterlife," Snowcora explains quietly to the naga.

"No," Snowcora comments quietly in response. "All buried are provided with it, if I remember right."

"To represent whatever the family wishes it to," K'Shasti says. "This man's family loved him. Sometimes the wrappings have epithets or curses - getting the last word in, as it were."

The mask is finally placed over the face, so that the coins show through the eye holes. Two barsunala are summoned, carrying a ceremonial stretcher - a flat plank with two long poles tied to the sides. The acolytes transfer the body over to this. "The preparations are done," K'Shasti says. "The body will be taken to the reception area, where the funeral party will carry it the rest of the way to the House of the Dead."

"Thank you for letting us observe this," Snowcora tells the Yodhsunala. "And for patience with the questions."

"You are welcome, Shrine Maiden," K'Saski says, and answers Ningi with, "No. They are meant to express the person's personality. But they are all different. Some are wood, some chitin, some baked clay. Expressions can be sorrowful, angry, stern.. even agonized. Sometimes it is not left to chance, and people will have death-masks cast while they are alive, according to their wishes."

"If you wish to see the final blessings and internment, you will need to go with the funeral party," the Yodhsunala adds, as the two barsunala begin to carry the body down a different corridor.

"Do you wish to see the funeral procession?" Snowcora asks. Then to the Yodhsunala, she adds, "Will the Barsunala make an appearance at the procession?"

"The Barsunala is technically present at all funerals," K'Shasti notes. "If he will be there in the flesh.. that I do not know. I am unsure if he has attended other funerals. My participation ends when the body leaves my care."

"Understood. I can rarely divine what he may be thinking. He is inscrutable and frustrating," the Shrine Maiden remarks. "Come," she tells the naga, "I will guide you to the funeral procession."

Ningi bows and thanks K'Shasti again, before following Snowcora. At least they have the barsunalas to follow, which is handy, because the corridor splits seven ways. The bearers takes the body down the leftmost branch.

Snowcora bows to the Yodhsunala right as the creeper dones something particularly stimulating. It's so good she has no furr and she would exploded into a puff. Instead, she manages to rise, then walk stiffly after the Barsunalas.

"Are you in pain?" Ningi whispers to Snowcora as they follow along. "You sssseemed to tense up back there."

While Ningi clearly wants to follow up on that.. they have already arrived at a small chapel. It is dominated by two statues overlooking a rather small altar: one of Sunala, and the other of Inala. The barsunala carry the stretcher to the altar and rest it down on top. The bow to the people gathered, and then head back through the corridor. The mourners are all.. old. But there are at least six of them, four men and two women.

Snowcora approaches the mourners and bows slightly from within her robes. "I am sorry for your loss," she murmurs softly to them. "And as the Shrine Maiden, please allow me to echo that the Goddesses' will care for him on his journey."

The family seems a bit stunned. "We are honored," the eldest of them replies, and bows. Nobody questions Ningishzida's presence - probably just assuming she's with the Maiden.

Snowcora then steps back. She takes a moment to bow to both Sunala, then Inala. She serves both, after all, and must respect both equally.

The aged children split up, so they are three to a side, the women in between the men. With practiced ease, they reach down and take the poles to lift up the desiccated remains. It's likely that the wooden stretcher weighs more than the body.

To the naga, Snowcora whispers, "I must commune with the Goddesses while I am here. Can you follow them quietly and observe? I will find you later."

They must have been here for a while too, since there are offerings in the urns under the statues. Inala's has wine in it, from the scent.

Ningi bows in acknowledgement to Snowcora. "I will return here if I can. Otherwise I will find my way to the archivess again."

The procession isn't moving at any great pace - the youngest pallbearer still looks to be in his fifties, with the oldest pushing seventy. There's a bit of a shuffle to their walk as the try to synchronize their steps. Ningi is silent in their wake.

And Snowsora waits until they are cone and lets out a slow breath. Now she just has to figure out how to get the creeper off! It needs ... cold. So, she breathes out and lets shadow flow outward, to see if she can use it to cool the creature down. Harder than it looks, because it's 'diddling' of her is really, really, distracting. She actually has to lean on the statue of Inala for a moment and have a succession of intense orgasms she had been fighting back.

As the shadow moves through the Creeper, Snowcora gets a slight ken-like sensation. The creature is, after all, mindless and simple. Simple enough to map out the nerves. It should be possible, via the shadow, to make it let go. The shadow can control the undead.. but apparently 'simple' creatures aren't much different, so long as there's nothing to fight for control with.

Once Snowcora is done with her moaning, she can focus better, and starts to try and use the shadow to trick it into thinking it is cold.

The Creeper goes back into hibernation mode with the nudge. This means Snowcora has to move quickly to grab it before it just falls off of her onto the floor.

Snowcora makes a quick grab for it! Once she has hold of it, it'll wake back up soon enough. So ... she eyes the statue of Inala, then grins widely. "For anyone else, this will be blasphemy," the human comments, then tries to stick the weird creature to the statue.

It doesn't want to stick, since the statue is cold. It could fit inside the offering urn though - but it would smell like wine when retrieved then. There's a space between the urn and statue.. or it could just be draped over Inala's shoulder.

Snowcora hmmms. The space between the urn and the statue is less visible. So, she picks that spot so no one will find it while she's gone.

The Creeper fits in nicely - it's pretty 'flat' for the most part, except for the tips of its extremities.

Snowcora steps back and stretches. "Right, time for Mr. Spooky to make an appearance," she quips to herself and plops her butt onto the cold floor. She closes her eyes and focuses, breathing slowly and allowing her to disappear into the shadow so that Alptraum can be found and have form for a while. Shadow-cloaked, but still him.

It's a good thing Snowcora remembered to take her own cloak off first, or things would have gotten a bit tight in the wing area. The change seems.. smoother. Maybe it's from being on Mt. Sunala, where he was born? Or maybe it's just practice. But Alptraum does notice that the statue of Inala is leering a bit from the perspective of his regained height.

"Yeah, I know, I'm hot," Alptraum quips to the statue of Inala as he rises and stretches a few time. He has to use the shadow to clothe himself; it makes him look a bit oiled, but it's better than going around nude. "Right, time to go to a funeral," he says, then heads off in the direction the mourners went.

House of the Dead, Mt. Sunala
Unlike the small towers or shrines used as private Houses of the Dead, the one on Mt. Sunala is a sprawling, high-ceilinged maze that extends partly into the mountainside. It is laid out like the streets of a city, with avenues and intersections and a small park. Instead of homes or shops, however, the walls that define the avenues covered in alcoves, each with a shelf for offerings, a name, and occasionally a face as well.

Being able to sense where everyone is located is pretty useful for Alptraum. It tells him where the procession is.. and where they're going, since there's a single Yodhsunala deeper into the mausoleum, at one of the intersections. She's in some sort of meditative state, so seems likely to be the priestess that is going to be handling the service.

So Alptraum keeps a wide berth so that the procession cannot see him. If he can manage to get around them, he'll slink through the darkness to find the meditating Yodh. He'll also have to be on good behavior here, respectful and polite. No glib comments to anyone this time.

It's convenient that the intersection isn't in the underground section of the mausoleum, so that it's actually open to the air slightly - there's a dome structure over it, but the sides are opened for ventilation. The Yodhsunala looks like she's asleep, sitting on the altar there, but the incense burners and other supplies suggest otherwise. She's also turning something over in the fingers of her left hand.

Alptraum moves quietly towards her, to see if he can spot what she is holding without disturbing her. He's actually trying to actively use the shadow to muffle any sounds he may make, instead of just relying on his usual sneakiness.

It's not hard to make out what she has in her hand, since he's just seen its twin: a Barsunala coin. The Yodh's face is an aged one under her cowl, and it doesn't look like she's used her wings in a while either.

"Good afternoon," Alptraum says quietly. "I hope you do not mind me making a corporeal appearance today."

The Yodhsunala opens her eyes and looks at Alptraum. "You're a bit blurry," she notes. "Come closer. And if you're here for me, you'll have to wait until after the funeral. I'm not going out with an unfinished duty."

"I am not here for you," Alptraum says as he draws closer to to the older woman. "There are guests on the Mountain today, escorted by the Shrine Maiden. I thought I should ... take a more visible role."

"Yes," Alptraum says politely. He doesn't press the question he wants to ask; if she always saw him. He rests his left hand upon his shoulder. "I know it isn't normal protocol."

"Just as well, my hands are a bit shaky today," the woman claims. "You can do the Seal and the Oil for me."

"Can I help your hands?" Alptraum asks as he moves his right hand to rest upon hers.

"Can you?" the Yodh asks. Her hands seem a bit stiff, with either swollen joints or reduced flesh.

"Perhaps," Alptraum says as he allows the shadow to make itself a bit known, at least to the woman's hands; sinking slowly in them to see if there is anything he can ease.

There's plenty of joint inflammation, not uncommon in elderly Eeee. It shouldn't be difficult to temporarily ease it.

Alptraum does what he can to ease the inflammation and regenerate those age-worn joints. It won't last forever, not without the light to back it, but it will help for a time. Once that is done, he withdraws the shadow, then his hand from hers.

"I didn't think your hands would be so warm," the Yodh admits and flexes her fingers. "Thank you. I suppose next time you'll take away all my ache, eh?" She cracks a smile, then tucks the coin into a pocket of her robes. Her eyes may be going, but not her ears. Alptraum hears the procession slowly approaching now as well.

"Not for a while yet," Alptraum tells the old woman softly and squeezes her shoulder, then withdraws his hand and takes a step back so as to not 'be in the way'. He doesn't know all the rituals, after all.

The Yodh stands, and turns to light a black candle on the tray next to the altar. "Be a dear," she tells Alptraum. "Hold this flask of oil over the flame and swirl it around would you? It flows so much easier when it's warmed up. Better for my hands too."

"Of course," Alptraum says as he takes the flask in his left hand, so that he can better feel it warm up. He then holds the flask over the flame and slowly swirls it around, not letting the heat stay in one spot too long so that it doesn't crack. While he keeps his eyes on the oil to be sure not to spill it or damage the container, his ears remain trained on the direction he heard the mourners coming from.

The procession takes its time.. and the bearers are looking a bit tired as well. Ningi looms behind them like a spectre, but doesn't make any sound at all. Ksh'atga are probably trained to move quietly. The two lead bearers notice Alptraum first, but don't show any signs of recognition. Given the age of the Yodhsunala in attendance, they might think him her aide.

This makes Alptraum's lips draw into a brief, and wry, smile. When it comes down to it, though, he really isn't that important and he knows it. He's just a symbol.

That is, until they get closer and the Yodhsunala says, "Be honored, children of Raphael bar Zenophius, for the Barsunala attends this farewell in person."

This little announcement nearly causes them to break rhythm. All six cast a glance at their father's laughing mask as if wondering if this is some posthumous prank. First the Shrine Maiden, and now the Barsunala!

This actually makes Alptraum feel a bit self-conscious! So, he keeps his tending of the oil as he looks to the bearers, closes his eyes slightly, and bows his head in a polite, if quiet, greeting. when his eyes reopen, he checks on the oil again. If warm enough, he returns the bottle to its place on the altar.

The procession starts up again, as the stretcher is laid down on stands before the altar. The half dozen family members step back a bit, unsure how close they should get to the Barsunala. The eldest son is the closest, however, and bows his head.

Not wanting to distract them from being with their deceased family member, Alptraum takes a step back. "Please, do not let my presence disrupt your farewell. This day is for the passing of the one you loved," he says, gently, "I am here to pay my respects as well."

The family comes in closer again, and the Yodhsunala lifts the death mask off of the deceased and places it on the altar. "Raphael was a devout worshipper of Inala, and in return She granted him eight fine children by two wives," she recites, apparently from memory. "Both wives and two of your siblings have preceded him into the Sea, and now he will be prepared to join them."

The six mourners bow their heads and recite, "Through the Grace of Sunala will his spirit be without strife."

For now, Alptraum remains quiet, hands folded together before him, ears forward and intent on listening.

The Yodh picks up the oil that Alptraum warmed up, and pours some into her hands. She rubs them together briefly, and then uses it to draw symbols across Raphael's chest. "Let the Tears of Inala wash away the pains of life, leaving only the joys."

The Yodh then holds the flask up oil up.. pauses, and turns towards Alptraum with it. "Blow into the flask please, Barsunala," she asks.

Alptraum repeats it too, quiet, though. He bows his head this time, though his ears remain ever-focused. "I am surprised Inala would be mentioned here," he thinks, "But it does make sense now knowing his life and family." When bidden, his head rises and he leans forward to blow gently into the flask the elderly Eeee holds out to him.

There's an eerie, sepulchral note emitted from the flask, and the Yodhsunala lowers it to pour a spot directly onto the deceased forehead. "Let Sunala's Breath blow away all mortal bonds. All debts, all grudges, and all regrets that might weigh Raphael bar Zenophius down, so that he floats gently upon the surface of the Sea of Souls instead sinking to the depths."

Again, the mourners repeat the litany, "Through the Grace of Sunala may his spirit be without strife."

"Well, that was .... creepy," Alptraum thinks to himself. The sound, not unlike a soft, but howling wind from his youth. But, he understands the symbolism of it. When the litany is repeated, he joins in saying it.

The flask is placed back on the tray, and the Yodh lifts the fat candle and swirls the molten pool around the wick slightly, as if gauging the amount. She sets it back down, and says, "If any here has a weight upon their heart not expressed in the Wrappings of Life, now is the time to unburden themselves. Let no mortal judgment leave these halls." With that, she actually sweeps her gaze and a pointing finger across the children, very much like a crone promising to curse anyone that disobeys.

The youngest daughter quietly says, "Please.. do not play any jokes on mother if you catch up to her. She loved you but found them far too embarrassing."

"Wow. Okay, that would cause just about anyone to drop to their knees," Alptraum thinks, feeling a bit unnerved himself. He could add to this by using the draconic aura to increase the oppressiveness of the room at that point, but decides such would be improper.

The middle son takes a deep breath, looks upwards before closing his eyes, and then says, "Father asked me to say this, with.. with the promise that we must all do this at least once, when the opportunity arises." Opening his eyes he looks to the mask on the altar. "He never managed to make this happen, but.. there is a cafe that he frequented, because he knew a certain Yodhblakat would pass by every few days and take something from the plate of a patron. And so, every day after mother's passing father would go there and order a plate of berries. When the Yodhblakat was spotted, he would.. quickly douse the plate in kyootcumber extract, in hopes of playing a joke on the Yodhblakat."

There are a few groans and a titter from the children. "Of course he'd want us to follow up," the eldest daughter says, covering her mouth. "He could never let a setup like that go wasted."

Alptraum has to force himself not to smirk. He knows exactly how that would play out, and the fury and bluster of a Yodhblakat with her mouth 'on fire' would be a sight to behold. Especially from many, many, feet away. Thing is, even Blakat would laugh her butt off if such happened. Blakat has a sense of humor, after all.

Looking to Alptraum, the Yodhsunala says, "I always meet the interesting men too late."

This causes half of the children to burst out laughing, followed by the other half after a moment.

"I have to admit I would laugh if I saw that happen," Alptraum notes to the Yodhsunala with a smile. "So would Blakat; she would tell her Daughter it served her right, then probably smack her upside her head."

There are a few more snorts at that, but eventually the children regain their composure - only the tears remain from the laughter.

"Of course," Alptraum replies politely and takes up the requested candle, careful to not spill the wax. Wax seals he figures. Not uncommon around the world.

The Yodh smooths out the forehead wrap, and the circular stain from the oil. "Pour here please," she says. "The first to soak through to the skin, the following to build up the disk."

Alptraum carefully pours the first layer of the seal and stops. He waits a few seconds for it to sink through and embed into the material. Once it appears to have start hardening, he pours the second layer to build up a molten disk of wax.

The Yodh nods when the wax is thick enough, and produces a signet-stamp from her robes. She says a prayer over it that is so quiet she might be mistaken for merely mouthing it. Then the stamp is applied to the wax, and she says, "Raphael bar Zenophius, your body and soul now belong to Sunala. Let any that dare to disturb either suffer Her divine wrath." The seal is removed, leaving the symbol of the Grave impressed in the black disk. The priestess places the seal back into her robes, and picks up the mask from the altar. "Now we bear you to your final bed within this House."

Alptraum quietly replaces the candle upon the alter now that the seal has been set. He takes a couple steps back so as to nor crowd the bearers and once more bows his head. He will follow them into the House of the Dead once they start to move.

The children take their positions on either side of the body, and lift up the poles once more. The Yodhsunala leads the way down a cross-avenue, with the bearers following. That leaves Ningi to fall in next to Alptraum.

Alptraum glances over at the serpent, then back to bearers. "Thank you for helping the city," he says to the naga, softly.

"I haven't done anything yet," the Naga whispers, watching Alptraum with one eye. "Do you know me?"

"I know everyone, Ningi," Alptraum says in the vague way everyone seems to expect a demi-god to act.

"Everyone everyone, or jussst everyone in Babel?" the Naga asks, with a tone of genuine curiosity.

Alptraum just gives the naga a sidelong look, smiles, and resumes looking forward.

It takes a few minutes before Ningi realizes she isn't going to get a straight answer, and looks embarrassed about it. Up ahead, a ramped platform as been put in place so people can get up to the level where an open alcove waits. The Yodhsunala and the procession are heading for it.

"Relax," Alptraum whispers to the naga, "It's my duty to be, well, mysterious." His attention then shifts back to the bearers so that he can follow them up to the level with the alcove.

Ningi seems relieved to come across a ramp! It also makes it easier for the seniors. Once the reach the top, it's clear that there is an engraved capstone beneath the alcove, with "Raphael bar Zenophius" at the top, two pegs beneath that, and an epitaph on the bottom reading, "Sunala always has the last laugh, but I've secured all the previous ones."

"A man with no regrets. If only more could have such a life," Alptraum remarks quietly to himself. He approves of that epitaph.

It takes some maneuvering, but the stretcher is slid into the opening, feet first, and then the poles are twisted until the come lose and are slid back out. The two daughters hold onto them as if they were flagpoles while the men lift and place the stone.

As a final formal act, the Yodhsunala places the mask, the pegs in the stone fitting through the eye sockets. She then steps back, and the children begin to place small items on the shelf before the stone. One of these is clearly a small vial of kyootcumber juice.

Alptraum smiles wanly at this. Will anyone remember him so fondly when he has gone?

The elder son approaches Alptraum. "Thank you for your presence," he says, and then gestures towards Alptraum's right hand. "May I?" he asks.

Alptraum holds up his right hand. "It was an honor to attend," he tells the elder son. "Your father will rest that of a man with a life well-lived."

"And you will remember him as well now," the son says.. and promptly drops to one knee while taking Alptraum's hand.. and kisses the pale orb as if it were his lord's ring.

This ... surprises Alptraum. He's not quite sure how to take it. While he knows it's meant as an act of respect it makes him feel rather uneasy. Still, he dare not say anything as the man meant only good things with the gesture. "I will never be able to look at a bottle of kyootecumber juice quite the same again," he says instead; wanting things to keep the happier feel they had when the stories were told. "I just hope your family will not mind if I happen to use that idea some day on one of the Yodhblakat."

"If you do, can we adopt you so we won't have to do it?" the man asks with a grin.

This causes Alptraum to laugh, quiet, and brief. "Perhaps. If such does come to pass, I will pass on the story," he says, amused.

Of course, the other five children line up to thank him and kiss his 'ring' as well. Eventually they have all left the platform, and Alptraum is free to rub his wrist if he wants.

Alptraum waits until no one is looking before he does that. It also makes him oddly feel like he's the head of some underworld gang ... and he has no idea why. Well, time to head back, it seems, and collect the creeper. Which of course means going back to being constantly molested as a woman. Oh, the burdens he must bear.

Except Ningi is still there. The Yodhsunala thanks Alptraum for 'warming up her hands' as well, before making her own way down the ramp.

Alptraum looks over at the naga. "I hope it was educational," he says to the serpent.

"Yesss," the Naga says, staring at Alptraum in that way Nagas do. "Do you do thisss often?"

"Not too often; my duties are varied and my time scarce," Alptraum claims as he stares back at the naga. "I am more often precent at these in spirit, not so much the physical"

"Sssso you can be in two placess at once.. or posssibly more?" Ningi asks. "That mussst be convenient. Are you and the Shrine Maiden related, or lovers?" she then asks, and uses one of her hands to point to Alptraum's right one.. which, after all, is identical to the hand of the Shrine Maiden.

"I allow her to share some of my abilities, which is why her hand looks like mine," Alptraum claims as he looks at his own hand. "As for if we are lovers? No. It would make working together awkward."

"Allow her?" Ningi asks, and suddenly rises up several more inches. "Did you create her?"

"Of course not. I cannot create life," Alptraum claims as he folds his arms together.

"You recruited her then?" Ningi asks, and slithers closer. "She isss human, after all, not Eeee. She isss human, isn't she?"

"Yes, I recruited her, more or less. And yes, she is mostly human," Alptraum notes, brow arched a little.

The tongue is flicking just a few inches shy of Alptraum's nose now. "What isss your garment made of? Are you alwaysss flesh and blood, or do you become a ssspirit? Are you attracted to the soundsss of bellss? Does thistlebark cause you disssscomfort?"

"My garment is made of shadow flesh. Yes, I am generally flesh and blood; I am a person, after all. No, bells haven't particularly held any fascination for me, and as for Thistlebark, I don't know if it bothers me or not; I've not been around it," Alptraum answers as he leans back, just a little.

The tongue flicks several more times, before Ningi asks, in a rather serious tone, "If I die in Babel, would you take me to hell for being a Ksh'atga?"

Alptraum blinks at this. "No," he replies. "You have done what your people have needed. I cannot condemn you for that. It is no different for, say, someone from Sylvania, where need requires funeral pyres. Neither are deliberate acts to dishonor the dead."

The Naga pulls back some, relaxing. "That isss good to know," she says. "Iss it true that you gave Mage Rostre breastss?"

That makes Alptraum laugh. "For a time, yes," he admits. "She wanted things to squeeze."

"She isss a constrictor," Ningi reasons. "I do not require such, however. My natural endowmentsss are sssufficient," she adds, waving her four arms.

"PRobably for the best. I would have to give you four," Alptraum says, sounding serious.

The arms immediately close up over Ningi's chest. "Yess, for the bessst. I musst return to the Shrine Maiden. I have an odd urge to compare her breastsss to Rostre's now,"

"Or perhaps you want six, to show off?" Alptraum inquires, this time it's his turn to lean in and smile like a predator.

"All down your front, like floppy insect feet," Alptraum suggests. "Though that wouldn't compare to the High Priestess of Gorphat who has eight."

Ningi blinks (a rarity) and stares for a moment. Finally she says, "Insect feet are not floppy."

"Nor do I wish too," Ningi says. "The sssmall oness are annoying enough. The bane of the Ksh'atga. We prefer flesh-eating beetlesss."

"Such comments would not be popular at the Temple of Gorphat," Alptraum notes, "They breed them there."

"How doesss one breed fliess?" Ningi asks. "Would it not be difficult to ssselect for the desired traitss and only allow those fliesss to mate?"

"I have no idea. You would have to ask the High Priestess of Gorphat," Alptraum says and shrugs. "I only know rumors."

"Doesss Gorphat also have funeral practicesss associated with her?" the Naga asks, thinking that is what would be worth talking to a Yodhgorphat about. "Because of disease that may linger or fessster in the dead?"

"Not to my knowledge, though they did perform purges once to burn out plague pits in the lower levels," Alptraum says and shrugs a little. "Anyway, did you not say you had to get back to the Shrine Maiden?"

"Yess!" Ningi recalls. "She wasss going to wait for me, I think." She looks around to get her bearings. "Is it allowable to slither quickly in thisss place?"

"It would be best to take it slow," Alptraum claims, though the real reason is so he can get back before her and 'suit back up' as it were. "You should never hurry in life, after all, take time to savor the moments you have."

Ningi looks around again, then back at Alptraum. She does not point out that savoring life might be difficult in a mausoleum, especially if one takes it all in. But she looks like she has a question about it. But.. she's late, and the Barsunala probably has better things to do than indulge her. So she bows, thanks Alptraum for his time, and slithers down the ramp at slightly less than a hurried pace.

"Thank you again," Alptraum calls after her as he now heads down too. Of course he'll pass her by as he must, and hurry himself back to the statues before she gets there!

At least Alptraum can fly, which means he can get out through the intersection dome the same way he got in, while Ningi was stuck on the ground.

"An d so that is what he does. At least he can fly here, and hurry, without being Yodh accosted. "Well, that went ... I feel proud of that. A funeral that was more of a celebration of who he was," the Eeee thinks

Arriving at the chapel (from outside, it's clear there is one for each of the Sisters along with Sunala - and one for just Sunala) Alptraum finds things undisturbed, and the Creeper where he left it.

Alptraum slips inside and ducks behind the Inala statue so that he can sit down and try to shift quickly back to the Shrine Maiden. So, on his butt he goes, eyes close, and he breathes slowly so that he can 'fall' into shadow and then emerge in a new body, and a new gender.

The Primary Forms are relatively easy now. But there's a certain amount of time pressure - Ningi may keep to a sedate pace while still within the House of the Dead, but once outside of it she can probably move fairly quickly. By the time the change has finished, the Naga's aura isn't that far off.

And so then there's a human panicking as she grabs a hold of the creeper and sort of toss-holds it around her back to her chest and pleads, "Come on, attach," under her breath. Hopefully, it will attach to her chest soon and start its constant nursing and nipple stimulation.

It takes some time for the creature to warm up - which in turn chills Snowcora's breasts some. Eventually it firms up and holds on by itself though.

Then Snowcora is reaching between her legs to pull the lower 'paddle' up and press it to her bare vulva. She also has to wiggle about to get its tail to slip between her buttcheeks like a thong. "You know you want to go back in me," she hisses at the creeper. "So, fill me already and rut me like an insatiable demon."

It isn't quite up to insatiable demon standards, but it does stick in place. By the time Snowcora is getting her cloak, the Creeper as extended it's.. whatever.. into her again. "Shrine Maiden?" Ningi calls as she pokes her head into the chapel.

Snowcora shivers a bit as her body is entered again. Most people might be worried it might implant something, but it seems safe enough at this point. "I am here," Snowcora calls out as she pulls her cloak about herself. "I hope the funeral was educational?"

Ningi slithers the rest of the way inside, and approaches the statue of Inala. "Yesss, it was very interesting," the Naga admits. "I've never witnessed a funeral before. The Barsunala was there as well. I teased me I think."

Snowcora arches her brow as she wiggles a little; her 'underpants' are getting more active now. "Why do you say that?" she inquires, curious.

"He mentioned giving me four to six breasts," the Naga says. "He has given two to Mage Rostre, a fellow Naga in the Sphere of Spirit. Did he give you yours?"

Snowcora laughs. "No, mine are natural to humans," she says and shrugs. "Now, come, I'll take you back to the archive."

"Having lots of breasts can be useful. Think of all the mouths you could feed at once," Snowcora comments to the naga. Granted, it makes her think of Scourge and how the insect children feed on her, but hey, you have to find humor in things or you'll go crazy. "Anyway. yes, he may have been teasing you. He has an odd sense of humor..."