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You find yourself in a place.

This place, in fact, is somehow, inexplicably, a reflection of your own mind.

There are a few doors scattered around. They don't belong—they are styled to belong to other places. Stepping through the doors lets you visit the places like this that belong to the people you know.

What do you do?

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Inside the faux-church, a motherly looking woman (http://izar.deviantart.com/art/Miles-Teg-and-Darwi-Odrade-35482347) looks up from her game of pyramid chess.

"You should see what that is, Sheeana."

"I don't want to." Pawn moves en gravitant.

"You're the dominant personality here. This is your responsibility."

Sheeana sighs, pulls her robe up over her stillsuit and looks out the door. "You're going to get very hot very quickly in that!" She calls to the figure.

"I'm fine!" a girlish voice calls back, with the faint tinge and slightly warped tone of a quiet voice given artificial amplification. "I've got good refrigeration."

Tess heads towards the little church structure, feet moving in a slightly rolling way that suggests heavy weight and a certain practice in making sure not to sink unduly into soft materials.

The Fremen have, by this point, gathered around her, looking suspicious. Who is this stranger with her odd stillsuit?

"And eventually your refrigerant will run out. I must take you in and see to your equipment, traveller." Enough Voice to disperse the fremen villagers.

"Shucks, not for longer'n I'll be staying around," she says, quite honestly. An odd manner of speaking, too.

As she approaches closer, the waves of heat rolling off the shapeless material draped around her shoulders are more noticeable, as if the whole mass was some sort of radiator.

"Well at least pull down your face-cover so I can see to whom I am speaking." So she's not planning on staying for very long? Because even at dusk, the sun on Arrakis gets hot very quickly.

The faceplate slides open--splitting in two vertically, with the sides sliding apart and retracting. Not the most practical design, perhaps, but it certainly looks interesting. The face thus revealed (as echoed by the form-fitting, except for certain extra panels and elements, traits of the suit) is that of a young woman. There's something strangely plasticine about her skin: to the cunning eyes of a Bene Gesserit, it doesn't take a second glance to tell that there's some transparent film fitted over her face, even stretching near-invisibly over her mouth and eyes, and far too well-fitted to seem like it could have come from a hand-performed process. Some esoteric method of water containment, perhaps?

"Nice to meetcha," she says brightly, takes a step forward, and offers a hand.

Indeed, Sheeana wonders. It's like a stillsuit but not. Sheeana remembers the archaic custom and shakes the offered hand. "I am Sheeana, of the Bene Gesserit." The villagers, seeing their leader does not consider the girl is threat, look a little bit less moblike.

The cloak is pumping out less heat now, but it's slowly changing color, with mottled and softly expanding patches tinging paler and glinting a little against the light.

Tess has a firm (but not uncomfortably so) grip. "Tennessee Lee, atcher service." She does have a weapon, it would seem--a funny-looking thing halfway between a sidearm and a longarm sitting on her hip, all in bright matte colors--but she's given it no attention.

Sheeana notes it...the girl has Murbella's fiery red hair but none of her twitchy musculature. "You should come inside. A Bene Gesserit learning temple will be more hospitable to a sophisticated traveler like yourself."

Tess moves with a kind of rough grace that suggests much more natural aptitude than actual training or experience. And she lets out a little bit of a laugh at that, half-suppressed, as she moves to follow Sheeana.

The cloak is almost all white now, shining a little iridescently in the dim light.

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