Neferiwen

Summary

Straddling the border between divine spirit and god, Neferiwen is a profoundly enigmatic being despite his prevalence in Uatkara. 'His' (so-called for his masculine figure) domain consists of that of colors and dyes, anything at all to deal with how everything looks. Ever covered in a fine set of funeral wrappings for the dead, Neferiwen is adorned by a weather-worn cloak, and carries pouches upon pouches filled with all the colors of existence. There is not one he does not have, and no mortal has ever seen him open all his bags, thus some colors remain secretive still. To understand him is to take a look into the mindset of Uatkara, or rather, the worldly view of its nebusian progenitors.   The vast deserts of Sa-kemet can be beautiful in places, but pervasively consist of only a few kinds of colors. The eternal drab and dreariness weighs down upon the soul, drowning it out until the mind is numb and the body is alive but lifeless. So it was that Neferiwen came from the sands, ever wordless for he has no tongue to speak with, and met the nebusah. Some believe him a human, others a desiccated corpse despite his cleanliness, or something else entirely. Regardless, it was he who showed the nebusah color, opening his pouches and filling the sky with blues and whites. He dashed powdery greens and yellows, wrote upon their skins with chalky whites, and showed them veltron reds and browns. Many more followed, and all heard his words.   Neferiwen does not speak with sound, but color itself--a voice belonging to the soul. Intentional or not, he stirred the nebusian soul alive in the bleak sands, pushing it forward and driving the will to innovate. He thus was called the god of crafts, though it was not crafts he took when offered. Only dyes were taken, of any kind offered, however they might be, so that he can use them himself in his ever endless wanderings. Instead becoming the god of artists, he comes and goes as much as their own inspirations.   Although not presiding over the dead, the truth of color is one well ingrained in Sa-kemet's cultures. Many funerary rites see loved ones dying the departed's body or funeral wrappings in all sorts of colors. Some are wild and messy, others artful and as careful as a penned love letter. However one does, it is believed to be the living soul speaking the departed, offering final words as they leave for judgment (or elsewhere). By extension, tombs, graves, sarcophagi, organ jars, and other holdings of the deceased are fancifully decorated. Death is met with the heartfelt emotions of those who still live, and in the colors of these grave sites, they sing loudly. For one to be buried in dull sandstone or meek grays, it is a quiet, tragic end to meet.   It can come of no surprise how important dyes and various colors are to Atenkhet and the people of Sa-kemet. Celebrations and events of all kinds are marked by grandiose displays, and everyday wear is an ever changing spectrum of rising and falling flavors. For one who treads the dreary deserts, coming upon such places is like water for the soul, breathing life into bones nearly ground to dust.