The Old Man eyed Neblae in suspicion. She smiled a little bit and pulled on the black shiny gloves and preened in the full length mirror. She said, "Shaman, I should have elbowed you harder when you grabbed me out of the hallway by surprised! You haven't said WHY you're HERE of all places! WHY do you care about Narchi?" He pointed to the monitor showing a picture of her sparring with Narchi over breakfast that very morning. The image made her feel... uncomfortable. It was freeze-framed on one image of her smiling with and intense tenderness and affection at Narchi it made her feel light-headed. Neblae sighed, "I only met him! I went to a crash-site and he was there. He saved my life from the Eyes of the Machine-God. They had a Cyclops with them. He dropped a building on the first Cyclops. Damn, he's clever!" The old Shaman frowned and remarked, "Good and bad luck, I guess. Look here, Little Neblae! You have a mission to your PEOPLE! You can't afford to be distracted from it. Stay away from him! DO NOT INVOLVE him! Get to that flying city and DESTROY IT! WHY do you think you were taught about the technology that keeps them aloft?" She frowned. She asked, "Old Man, I completed Ahrini's work on the Relative Inertial Frame! Doesn't the work have merit?" He resisted the urge to shake her and said in a growl, "Of COURSE it does! You'll be remembered and sung of for generations after your death! The humans would make us slaves again in a flash. Some of our brethren are still in bondage to the evil humans. The Trashtowners have no power, so live with us as equals, NOT as masters. The Sky People MUST be BROUGHT DOWN! It's your duty as a Trow! There are millions and millions of your people depending on you!" She tried to change the topic, and said, "This armor smells brand new. The helmet is a marvel." He grunted. He barked sourly, "It was produced last month at one our Duergar-Trolli factories, off of an old Imperial Design that was never used during the Mech-War. If you are go to your death, you must be dressed ready to kill as many humans as possible. REMEMBER TARATANIA! Die well, foster daughter." He turned to disappear into the maintenance tunnels of the hospital, as she asked something she wanted to know from the instant she met Narchi, "Old Man! Is Narchi your son?" The old Shaman turned and looked at her sadly an answered with the weight of years, "I never met him, and we're closer than 'father and son'. You couldn't understand. Farewell, Neblae." She tried not to let her 'destiny' weigh her thoughts down. She knew she looked good now, and took a deep breath and stepped out of the old store-room back into the hallway. She suspected that her destiny was to be more than a suicide bomber for the Trow Insurgency, --to be continued!-- More revelations later! Media is Poser 6, Wings3d and Blacksmith 2.2. Worked on Neblae's eyeballs some to make more twinkle to them.