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Nammu
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The tree in the Garden with silver wings. The air around it is oppressive and inspires violence in those who even breathe a little in. Shards of the disastrous bark peel from it and litter the ground, and nothing grows in its shadow. It scintillates faintly at dusk. It has achieved its entelechy with every body falling, every civilization laid to waste, every leaf forged into instruments of ruin.
The Broodmother is hard to bother; she is constantly amidst her weeds, kneeling in the tangent dust, gloves covered in a mix of distant soils and metallic saps. She is listening to the music of the insects amidst the flowers, the unguent as it begins to drip from the ferns, the slight scratch of the Emanation beneath, and not to you, and certainly not to your cries for help.
Summary:
Nammu is very introverted and calm, unlike the other Isu. She would rather be alone than in the presence of others, where she studies the planets, the galaxy and Anu on a philosophical level. She is very honest and has a deep memory, and in conversation, she comes off as very warm and collected. Nammu was always a goddess that did not require much praise in order to be satisfied, again, unlike the rest of her kind. She does, however, receive power from life and creatures that prosper in the galaxy. She is the lady of purity and justice, which is why she works closely with En-il. She provides justice to all that are worthy, while En-il dishes out judgement to punish those who are not. She hardly cares for power or honor, but truth and knowledge. It's extremely difficult to have a connection to her, and many have tried, including Atriox himself who was punished for continuing to attempt bondage with Nammu. As the second-in-command of the Isu, Nammu stayed close to her master’s side. While En-il created the flax of truth, Nammu would spin that truth into a thread and weave it into the very reality around her. She is most notably known in galactic history for creating the very first Annunaki--Enoch himself, from the mud of the venerable Primeval Waters. Beyond her smoothly guided words and expressive gestures, her skin itself brought her tales to life. The patterns of her wings would flex and flow with her impersonations, driving the excitement of any congregation to rapt attention. Her death was met with great applause, for its realism. |
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My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.
Lightborne, Enhanced Light: