Temporarily relocating himself to an uncharted geographical region in the Congolian forests of Africa, Ishin's self-imposed isolation to the expansive floral encompassment stems from his objective of furthering his pedigreed spiritual refinement through undisturbed meditation, coveting a necessary separation from the metropolitan annoyances of the infra-structurally dominated globe. With only his necessities, and adorned in a dark blue flushed men's kimono bedecked by a black lining on the sleeves, the outer edge of his traditionalist attire tied together by a festooning dark blue sash while his beige geta embellish his feet, Ishin mutely immerses himself deeper into the dense floral environs, his sheathed uchigatana securely dangling from the left side of his waist, a perpetually accessible weapon in anticipation of potential confrontations, unaware that another wanders the tropical African rainforests, a beauteous temptress, an enchantress of celestial enthrallment seeking solace in the floral abundant terrain.
The lurid lights and drunken revelry fell away behind the Enochian. She had discarded her usual garb, and walked through the night naked except for a loin-cloth. She moved with the supple ease of a wolf, her lean muscles rippling under her crimson skin.
She had entered the part of the region reserved for the temples. On all sides of her they glittered gold in the starlight-ivory marble pillars with golden domes and painted arches, shrines of Nyame. She did not trouble her head about them; she knew that Nyame’s religion, like all things of a primitive, long-settled doctrine, was intricate and complex, and had lost most of the pristine essence in a maze of formulas and rituals. She had squatted for hours in the courtyard of the philosophers, listening to the arguments of Theologians and teachers, and come away in a haze of bewilderment, sure of only one thing, and that, that they were all completely out of their minds.
Her ways were simple and understandable. She was the Goddess, and she lived in a grand temple, with a promise of passion and fulfillment. It was useless to call on her, because she was an inattentive, lustful goddess, and she hated being alone. But she gave a man vigor at birth, and the will and might to lay his conquests, which, in the Naamahnites mind, was all any goddess should be expected to do.
Crimson bare feet made no sound on the gleaming pave. No watchmen passed, for even the thieves of the Maul shunned the temples, where strange dooms had been known to fall on violators. Ahead of her she saw, looming against the sky, the Tower of Anasi. She mused, wondering why it was so named. No one seemed to know. She had never seen a Spider in this region, but she vaguely understood that it was a monstrous goddess, that was a trickster.