Original Submissions

• 

  Memoir #4 - The Senior Lady (Ceylara) by Rairen
  Added on Mar 16, 2009

  The conclusion of an exercise in Stockholm Syndrome, a Senior Lady of Borsail demonstrates how to break a northern slave.

  ---

  (Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence.  She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight.  That was four weeks ago.)  

   

  Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]

     In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations.  That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan.  Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest.  Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall.  A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.

   

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the ceiling as she walks, her features serene.

  You think:

       "Flawless peace."

  You think:

       "How often I once wished for this."

  You think:

       "What will I do when it goes away?"

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman doesn't turn around when she reaches the opposite wall.  She bends back, both hands pressing to the floor.

  After executing a crisp handstand, the ethereal, fair-haired woman turns and lands on her feet, again, to continue her walk.

  You feel strained.

  The slight, silver-crowned woman has arrived from the east.

  The feminine, smooth-featured man has arrived from the east.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman pauses her 'stroll' to dip into an eloquent bow in the slight, silver-crowned woman's direction.

  You think:

       "Flawless."

  Regarding the bow, the slight, silver-crowned woman looks at you.

  Voice soft as she straightens, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "A pleasure to see you, my Lady."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes are lined by dark cricles.

  You feel nervous.

  With a fond little smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Of course it is. Exercise once again, hm?"

  Amusement creeping into her eyes, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "... Yes, my Lady."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman touches your slave's collar, shifting it to the other side of her neck before folding her hands in front of her.

  Glancing aside at the muscled man with a patchwork face for a moment, then back, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Are you getting adequate rest?"

  With practiced ease, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "It is more than peaceful here, my Lady.  Thank you for the inquiry."

  You think:

       "She'll see through this like clear glass."

  Your mood is now eager.

  Recollecting herself as she gestures with one hand, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "My apologies.  May I offer you a seat?"

  Blinking suddenly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I may have to cut this visit shorter than I intended. But come."

  You now follow the slight, silver-crowned woman.

  The slight, silver-crowned woman beckons the muscled man with a patchwork face.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes a step forward, caution as well as curiosity in her smile.

  Moving to the door, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I gave my word to you on something, and so I shall keep it."

  The slight, silver-crowned woman walks east.

  You follow the slight, silver-crowned woman, and walk east. 

  (Walking... outside... through the arabet to the gardens...)

  You feel hopelessly overjoyed.

  Crystal-like voice too-level, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "How... kind of you to remember."

  You think:

       "... Pymlithe..."

  Looking aside with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Don't you think?"

  Cracking a smile, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "Only when you wish me to."

  You feel deliriously happy.

  Her expression souring a bit, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "This is hardly the attitude I would expect when receiving a gift."

  With a glance to her, her tone gentle, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "My Lady, I hardly know how to thank you appropriately."

  (hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the doorway a casual glance.

  As she steps out into the light and off the boarding plank, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Humble respect is a good start."

  The slight, silver-crowned woman leaves a massive, dark-crimson araba.

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes in a deep breath.

  In a soft voice, her attention torn between her and the wagon house, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "As you wish, my Lady."

  You feel jittery.

  Your mood is now deliriously happy.

  It is a cool night.

  The sky is clear.

  A cool breeze blows from the east.

  Jihae, the red moon, is high in the sky.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the sky, features serene.

  Walking down the flagstone byway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "It will be dawn soon."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the hands clasped behind her back holding tighter to each other.

  After a pause, crystal-like voice tranquil, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "Of what day?"

  Quietly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods, once, in acknowledgement as she looks back to the sky.

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes narrow, her jaw clenched tight.

  You feel overjoyed, miserable...

  Stepping out toward the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Before I took you into my grace, did you enjoy this city?"

  Strain in her soft tone, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "I had little opportunity to experience it, my Lady."

  Looking ahead, chin lifted as she watches the sky above, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "I spent most of my time in the compound."

  Quietly, walking across the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Perhaps one day you shall see more from my side."

   

  The Central Courtyard [NESW]

     Leaping, cavorting waters dance in the light of Suk-krath before musically plunging back into a marble fountain.  The random tessellations of the courtyard's flagstones seem to take on a mosaic pattern around its center, flaring out from the fountain circle like waves of flame from the disk of the sun.  The entire Borsail estate is laid out before the eyes here.  To the west is the central wing, the windows of its second story gazing down upon the courtyard from their point of vantage above the colonnade of a verandah.  The estate's gates loom further to the east, between a guard house and wagon house, while the courtyard extends to the north and through the House gardens to the south, before reaching the two flanking wings.

    

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's pale gaze wavers, the transluscent color shimmering.

  After another pause, her steps timed to match her own, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "If you feel me an appropriate companion, I would be delighted to join you."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, taking in a deep breath through her nose.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the marble fountain, head turned away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.

  With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Not so much a companion, girl. But an attendant."

  Gesturing toward a marble fountain, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I thought you might find this a pleasing sight."

  With an affirming noise, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "It is, my Lady.  More than pleasing."

  (hemote) Subtle creases line the ethereal, fair-haired woman's forehead.

  You think:

       "Sweet Krath..."

   

  Recollecting herself, a slight hitch to her crystalline voice, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "The entire estate is very lovely, my Lady.  You must be very proud."

  You think:

       "... It's beautiful..."

  Looking towards you, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Out here, in the open.. this is your future, girl. Your old life is past. But you shall enjoy a new one. In the glow of my radiance, you might enjoy an existance few common souls could ever dream of."

  Taking a few steps closer to the fountain and letting its mist blow across her face, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I take pride in my heritage, yes."

  With soft anguish, never quite looking at her, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:

       "I don't..."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.

  Turning and looking at you with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Go on."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, arms folded over her waist as she takes in the rest of the estate.

  In a firmer voice, the tension in it seeming to run down her neck and into her shoulders, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "... I am very... happy... to be able to see this, my Lady."

  You think:

       "Don't touch me."

  Passing servants in crimson livery and collared slaves, some bare-skinned and others in silks, make wide circles as they pass around the slight, silver-crowned woman's entourage, pausing to bow low to her.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands motionless, wind tossing her hair about her face.

  You think:

       "I'm too..."

  You feel ... overwhelmed.

  Her tone soft and even somewhat gentle, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "You seem too tense. I do not think that is what you began to say. Try again."

   

  Chin lifting, further rigidity rising to her posture, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "Perhaps, my Lady, but the... meaning is the same.  I'm... overwhelmed by your consideration."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows before letting an inaudible breath escape her lips.

  You feel like sobbing.

  Stepping closer and looking into your eyes, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I'm sure you are. But what was it you were going to say?"

  Looking away, pale eyes disrupted by unfallen tears, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "I'm not certain.  Some thoughts never have words... are never put to words."

  Soft, pained, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "I don't... understand you.  I don't... deserve this... So many I don'ts, my Lady.  I don't think I know all of them."

  Gently, in the tone a mother would speak to a child, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "I would not expect you to know. Come with me."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman inhales and nods, eyes turned again to the sky and away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.

   

  Gazebo [NE]

     A small gazebo, carved of pymlithe wood, its surface gracefully greyed by the touch of time, sits nestled among a cluster of blossoming trees, the clouds of flowers almost obscuring its roof.  Two carved wooden benches, softened with a myriad of tiny overstuffed silk pillows, sit adjoining each other inside it.  The air is sweet with the fragrance of the flowers, a heady almost intoxicating aroma which permeates the gazebo.  Latticed sides allow glimpses of the garden to the north and east while still providing the occupants with a modicum of privacy.  The softly rustling branches overhead are the only sound which competes with the glass wind chimes which hang from the eaves, singing softly.

  A set of glass wind chimes sounds softly in the breeze.

   

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, recognition in her eyes.

  You think:

       "... pymlithe..."

  The slight, silver-crowned woman makes her way over to a bench, waiting for the feminine, smooth-featured man to brush off its surface before she takes a seat.

  The slight, silver-crowned woman sits on a carved cylini bench.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at a set of glass wind chimes as she walks toward the slight, silver-crowned woman, but doesn't sit.

  Nodding at a spot down the bench from herself, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "You may sit."

  After turning a cautious glance down to the slight, silver-crowned woman, you sit on a carved cylini bench.

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman brushes a hand over the silk of the pillow at her side.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, quietly:

       "Confusion is natural for you. I imagine it may need to run its course."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a forced humor:

       "My Lady, I suspect that this may be a... very long course to run here."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a soft chuckle:

       "Perhaps. But I shall help it along as I can. Some things need to be broken down before they can be rebuilt."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits with flawless poise as she looks straight ahead, taking in the trees on the opposite side of the gazebo.

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, wavering:

       "Thank... you, my Lady."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, in a gentle, soothing voice:

       "You need to let me help, though, sweet. Some things I cannot force. Others I cannot. Trust is in the latter."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking down at her hands, linked around one knee:

       "... Why desire my trust, my Lady?  It's yours if you desire it - it is already yours, in fact - but why desire it in the first?"

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, her breathing deep and level.

  You feel overwhelmed.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, leaning back and turning her own hazel gaze out towards the gardens:

       "If I do not have it, I cannot give you much else than you have now. I cannot move this forward any farther, as I would like to."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly:

       "I exist to be adored. That is why the Highlord brought me into being... to receive the adoration of all His city and the awe of the foreigners, in His name. How can I be what I am if I cannot hold the trust of my own slaves?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, brushing a regrowing strand of hair away from her cheek:

       "... You have it, my Lady.  How are you asking me to prove this?"

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman closes her eyes for a quiet moment, features never losing their accustomed serenity.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, looking toward you:

       "There is so much tension in you. So much stammering. You remind me of a crystal glass when I watch you... so close to simply breaking, but holding back, as if you are afraid to trust me to pick up the pieces."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking at the trees again when her eyes reopen:

       "It is my place to carry burdens, my Lady, not share them.  Your respect I desire, greatly."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching out to rearrange the shortened strands of your hair behind your ear:

       "Your burdens are of interest to me. Especially now, when you are so utterly dependent on my care."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, eyes closing at the slight, silver-crowned woman's touch, shoulders tensing, almost flinching back:

       "I've... told... you, my Lady.  I'm... happy..."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's steady breathing hitches, shuddering.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, pausing the motion of her hand:

       "Yet simple words are still so hard. Why?"

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly, her eyes locked on you:

       "Have I not taken you in when you should have been executed? Have I not sheltered you, supported you? I have been your savior, yet you are still so frightened."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, faltering, one damaged hand holding lightly to the side of her face:

       "Simplicity does not... mean ease, my Lady.  You have... done all of these things and more, I know."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a sound like a groan, head bowing:

       "It's not... fear that stills my voice..."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting her head curiously:

       "Then what?"

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, a heart-broken sound as she bends forward, arms folding on her knees as she buries her face into them.

  In a voice of complete misery, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:

       "I'm... s-so... happy to be here..."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman shudders, back arching with quiet gasps for air as she sobs into her arms.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, scooting down the bench and leaning down closer to you, her voice soothing, but probing:

       "And it shames you. You're having trouble accepting it in the midst of what you knew before."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, body still bent as she presses fingers into her eyes, ineffectively pushing back tears:

       "Worse... I'm not ashamed at all."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, no composure in her tear-stained, haunted face:

       "I... don't... know how to serve you..."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, brushing a hand through your hair:

       "Then.. why so sad? Serve me as I ask for it."

  One of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands forms a tight fist, while the other continues to swat at the tears sliding down her face.

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a helpless gasp of air, so very much like a laugh:

       "I'm not... sad.  I'm so... happy to be here..."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives another low noise, like a groan, and turns, pressing her forehead into the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, not shifting away, glancing down at you in curious sympathy:

       "You should be, sweet. Keep talking. It will help us, knowing all this."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a feverish voice, broken by quieting sobs:

       "It's so... perfect..."

  Her voice rough, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:

       "The wind... the sky... the flowers in the air..."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's tears are hot, sinking into the material covering the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.

  You whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:

       "Thank you..."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, patting your shoulder gently:

       "I did tell you I would show you."

  A tragic smile lingers on the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips as she sits up, keeping flushed features and swollen eyes averted from the slight, silver-crowned woman.

  The slight, silver-crowned woman gives the wet stain on her pair of silver-stitched, crimson-silk pants a brief glance, then reaches out to brush your tears away.

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a soft, lyrical laugh, one hand reaching to still the slight, silver-crowned woman's hand:

       "I'm... sorry... I... tried to not."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with an amused laugh:

       "It's just silk."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, rolling her reddened eyes skyward for a moment, knuckles wiping at them as she smiles:

       "I meant the tears, my Lady.  I'm not hysterical by nature."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:

       "I understand. I think.. you needed it."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a quirk of a smile hand lowering to gesture to the gardens:

       "I needed this.  There are so few things... but I needed this."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, casting the slight, silver-crowned woman a side-long, tear-streaked glance:

       "... Thank you."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping her head a bit as she smiles at you:

       "I gave my word. Trust in me. Enjoy what you have here."

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman relaxes back, reclining with casual elegance as her drying eyes look over the gardens.

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a soft, gentle tone:

       "As you wish, my Lady."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, amusement warming her voice:

       "I've... been tasked with harder trials than that..."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, perking her sculpted brows:

       "Oh? Such as?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking back to the slight, silver-crowned woman, her smile warm if still weak from tears:

       "Harder than being asked to savor kindness, charm, and beauty?  I believe the majority of my adult education has been less... pleasantly phrased."

   

   

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, tilting her head:

       "I would have you tell me of that education, actually."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a curious inclination of her head:

       "... Of the Circle?"

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:

       "All of it. Tell me the story of before."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, a rueful touch to her smile as one hand rubs the back of her neck, beneath your slave's collar:

       ""The story of before."  That almost sounds like a song."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, in her soft, crystal-like voice:

       "I don't know how much you know, my Lady.  There are six Circles among my kin, and I am of the Driamusek."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a small smile:

       "It almost does, doesn't it? Perhaps I shall have you sing for me one day."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a nod to the slight, silver-crowned woman:

       "If you desire it, but singing was never my strongest virtue."

  You think:

       "... song bird..."

  You think:

       "... "A perfect pitch...""

  (hemote) A shadow crosses the ethereal, fair-haired woman's thoughtful eyes and fades away again.

  You think:

       "Never again."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a shrug:

       "For now the story shall suffice."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, hand brushing the silk pillow at her side:

       "My mother was a Driamusek, and she decided that I would follow her.  My entire life has been spent a bard, my Lady."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a patient tone:

       "We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but there are six main areas of study.  We call them "Arcs"."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish:

       "Music, Song... Words, Acting, Lore, and Blades.."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish:

       "A Master excels at all of them."

  The slight, silver-crowned woman listens with thoughtful attentiveness, her gaze straying between you and the rest of the garden.

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, arms folding over her waist without a drop of rigidity in them:

       "Each of the Circles has their preferences... the Elkinhym, for example, do everything with a humorous bent."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a tragically lovely smile:

       "My kin are much less... entertaining.  We are the... teachers, in many respects.  Tutors of the Chosen - ah, my pardon, of the nobility there."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her brows lifting quickly at that:

       "Really? Did you tutor any yourself?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a shake of her head:

       "Oh, certainly not.  Not as an Apprentice, no, but I did have the opportunity to teach some of the younger bards."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a blink, holding up a hand:

       "Wait.. wait. You mean to tell me that the fake nobles have themselves tutored by commoners... and not even common servants of their own family?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning to address the slight, silver-crowned woman now, with a polite confusion:

       "Yes, my Lady.  In matters of etiquette, diplomacy... dance and music, many have had my kin as instructors."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, trying to restrain her amusement, though a few giggles bubble out anyway:

       "Etiquette? Diplomacy? -Commoners-?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with evident mirth in her pale eyes:

       "... Have you found my company so distasteful that the mere thought of being tutored by one of my superiors is unbelievable?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking her head, smiling to herself:

       "This place is so strange.  In ways you, my Lady, are closer to your commoners than they would ever dream, and in others... It's challenging to navigate the boundaries of polite interaction."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, biting back a grin:

       "The taste of your company has nothing to do with it at all. Think of what you're saying. That a common, lesser form of being would actually... actually be able to -instruct- a supposed noble.."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head in sheer amusement:

       "It's unthinkable. It's such a blatant contradiction. How could a superior caste take instruction from something beneath them?"

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a great deal of fondness and no sign of offense:

       "And yet, I do not lie, my Lady.  We cannot teach them how to lead, but for the lesser parts - those we can teach, while our leaders focus on other affairs."

  You think:

       "Such an incredibly strange place I've found."

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish:

       "And even... about politics? Etiquette? What would a commoner know of such things, and how they apply to the life of supposed nobility?"

  At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her focus back to you:

       "I know you speak the truth. But surely you see the contradiction, the silliness of it."

  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a gentle, if apologetic, smile:

       "I can see the... point you make, but I think I would have more to learn here - about how you live - before I'll be able to understand, I think."

  Rising from her seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "You'll tell me more about this later. And we shall help you to understand the fallacies and contradictions."

  Pacing out of the gazebo, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "For now... I have other business."

  Falling into step at her side, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "I'll... look forward to it."

   

  Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]

     In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations.  That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan.  Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest.  Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall.  A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.

   

   

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman sighs as she steps back into the room.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, dropping into a polite bow before the slight, silver-crowned woman.

  Remaining in the doorway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Rest well."

  Straightening, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:

       "Be well, my Lady."

  With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:

       "Always."

  The slight, silver-crowned woman turns, motioning her guards to follow as she steps out.

  (Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence.  She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight.  That was...

  
  Continue Reading...