Original Submissions
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Memoir #5 - The Silver Scorpion (Iaelimar) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Now a servant-slave who tends to the Tor Academy barracks, Aja receives an unexpected visit from the Silver Scorpion overseeing her captivity.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
Tall walls of red stone rise upwards proudly, proclaiming their protection of the entrance hall to a large building. The floor is made up of tightly fitted black stone slabs, carefully hewn into square tower shields. Upon each of the shields is a finely etched scorpion, the small grooves kept free of sand by constant vigilance. A long table of baobab runs north to south, before the western wall. Upon the table are a variety of tools for repairing armor and weapons. Before the eastern wall is a long counter, topped with grey slate acting as a work area. Positioned carefully along the east and western walls are jade sconces cupping small crystals, casting a pale green light across the chamber.
The immense, braid-bearded man has arrived from the north.
The sturdy, black-skinned dwarf closes the door from the other side.
Pausing her work, the ethereal, fair-haired woman straightens and casts the immense, braid-bearded man a polite smile.
The immense, braid-bearded man halts within the door, pulling off his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm and tucking it under his arm before running a gauntleted hand over his bald head that glistens with sweat.
The immense, braid-bearded man stops using his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm.
Her broom held loosely at her side, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Is all well?"
Glancing over the room, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Morning, Aja. Everything well?"
With a flicker of amusement in her pale eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, Silver. Thank you for asking."
Nodding once, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good, good."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the immense, braid-bearded man with patient attention, her broom relaxed at her side and the barest hint of a smile toying at the corner of her mouth.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man looks you over carefully, thin lips pursing briefly.
As he moves forward with slow steps, the immense, braid-bearded man looks down at you.
(hemote) From beneath her collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, a subtle waver to her flawless posture.
Moving around you slowly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How long have you been in confined space now, Aja? Two years? Three?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head inclines back to keep her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man's own, curiosity evident enough in them.
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, I believe so. Time passes strangely here."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, keeping her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man, although she doesn't move from her spot.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's brow knits ever so slightly.
Nodding his head lightly, shifting his grip on his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I imagine. Seeing Suk-krath's light is not the same as being under it."
Coming to a halt directly beside you, turning his broad form to face your side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How do you feel about that confinement?"
Gaze flickering, just for a second, as she studies his features, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I feel as I must, that it is a necessity. Why this line of questioning, Silver?"
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's shoulders.
Seemingly ignoring your question, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All this time. Krath. I've heard of no attempts to escape. Have there been any?"
Her posture flawlessly correct, motionless save for the slight rise and fall of her chest, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"None."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes flicker over you again, his weight shifting.
His voice and expression unchanged, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man leans forward the slightest bit, his attention unwavering on you.
Her voice crystalline, calm, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because it would not be the right decision."
You feel warm. Very, very warm.
You think:
"What a foolish answer..."
Tilting his head to the side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
Voice softening a touch, patient, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because I want to go home, and because I owe the Warlord my life. I would have no hope for life as a fugitive from this one."
A few distracting strands of hair fall across the ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes, but she makes no move to brush them away.
A gauntleted hand lifting to flick against your collar, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You hope for release, then?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head jerks, ever so slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man's motion sparking a reaction from her.
Patient fascination in her pale eyes as she watches him, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Always."
Moving slowly around in front of you, then turning to face you again, head tilted forward for his amber eyes to blaze into your features, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Enslaved for spying, yes? What makes you so sure release will be coming?"
Her head craning back as far as it will permit to be able to meet his eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I have no assurance. No promise. I have only hope... and I was not enslaved for spying."
The last words of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's come at a crisper tone.
Squinting suddenly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I was told differently. Educate me, if you will."
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would not presume to do so. If I were a spy, Silver, it would have been death and not slavery that entrapped me. The accusation has been made often, but never substantuated, as I have insisted upon..."
Voice softening, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... innocence."
Deep voice even as he remains still with attention set on you, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Often. Why should you be enslaved while every other northern worker and visitor remains free, here?"
(hemote) The tension in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck spreads to her shoulders.
Pale eyes flickering down to his chin, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I cannot speak to that."
You feel a flash of pain.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes shift subtly back and forth, looking directly into each of your own intently.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hand tenses around her broom, knuckles growing a paler shade of white.
Your mood is now hurt and defensive.
Features turning slightly to the side before he leans in slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Explain that. You can't, won't, or there is no answer?"
Crystalline voice fracturing, just a touch, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I do not know the answer and I will not speculate as to my Lord's motivations."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head cants the opposite direction to accomodate the immense, braid-bearded man's motion, her gaze meeting his own once again.
You feel your heart pounding.
Narrowing his gaze as he leans in further, his deep voice lowering with the proximity of his features to your own, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know how release is even considered, Aja? What makes an owner feel it is earned? That..."
The immense, braid-bearded man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...word, 'earned', is a clue."
Her gaze steady, serene, although her voice becomes forced, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"By good service, I believe is the answer."
Voice lowering, you whisper to the immense, braid-bearded man in sirihish:
"Why this line of questioning?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture is rigid now and still - although, her breathing is a shade faster than it was previously.
A hand lifting to your collar again, keeping your features in place as he straightens again, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good service, and trust. Trust is earned in itself. Good service is recognized step by step."
Lowering his hand slightly, glancing down at the open palm before it returns to his side, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Soon, a page of the Warlord will be coming into contact with you. You will be accompanying the Warlord on a trip."
Amber eyes intent on you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It is the first step, a first motion of true trust, on his part. I -will- be watching you like a verrin hawk of your plains watches its prey to insure it is not betrayed."
With the immense, braid-bearded man's hand away from your scorpion-emblazoned slave's collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives only a shallow nod of acknowledgment, her pale eyes resuming an attentive polity.
With a slight lift to her brow, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Silver, a day may come when you no longer feel it necessary to intimidate me into good behavior. It is my sincere hope that it comes soon."
Lifting his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm back over his head, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The -possibility- of your release begins here. An attempt to escape results in less favorable consequences. Use the chances you're give-..."
The immense, braid-bearded man places his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm on his head.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture remains tensed, muscles rigid from her neck and down through her arms and shoulders.
Watching him still, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Thank you for the advice, Silver."
Attention unwavering, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is my investigation, Aja. This is my warning, my advice. This is me working for security. That statement does nothing to prevent further 'intimidation', only your actions will. Clear?"
A soft breath of air escaping her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Silver, you speak of things I know well and will speak on them again, I have no doubt. But as I hope for release, I must also hope that you see me as something other than a woman trying to kill you."
Your mood is now wearied.
Glancing you over, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"If I ignored possibilities that did not seem likely based on appearance, I would not be a Silver, nor would I likely be alive, Aja. Now...are we clear, that I -will- be observing you closely?"
Voice level as she inclines her head to him, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would have it no other way, Silver. If... I might ask, this trip - What is its destination?"
You think:
"Impossible southern soldiers."
His features impassive as he eyes you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Warlord's page will give you that information if he deems it necessary. You may resume your work, Aja."
As he turns back to the door, striding briskly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good work."
The faintest hint of a smile crossing her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Be well, Silver. And thank you for your company."
The immense, braid-bearded man opens the door.
The immense, braid-bearded man walks north.
Features serene, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stares after the door before returning mechanically to her work.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
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