Original Submissions by Medena

• 

  Of Kadian Racks and Chests
  Added on Feb 18, 2009

  A noble, a templar and a merchant discuss the relative merits of Kadian armour racks and chests.

  ---

  
  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
         "Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well?  With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
         "I was only wondering--we happen to have something like that on display, if you enjoy feathers, my Lady Fale..."
  

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish, tilting her head from side to side as she speaks:
        "I do already own many elaborate feathered headpieces."
  

  
  

  The dusky, curly-haired man nods at you.
  

  
  

  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
  A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
  

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish:
        "The gown, of course, will be fitted to me, I know, but even so I would like something of a style which shows off my form to advantage."
  

  
  

  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar mutters to himself, swatting dust off of his dusty frame as best he can.

  
  

  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar starts cleaning.

  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar dusts himself off.

  Strapping it to the back, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar puts his enormous, concave tortoiseshell shield into his oversized black backpack.

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding briefly a few times, pursing his lips:
       "Of course, my Lady.  I`ll detail this out specifically with our folk, and make sure we get something that will, ah, demonstrate that. "

  
  

  Lifting up a hand to wave in a graceful sweep, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "Look Lord Samos, the Kadian is still here and not even bound yet."

  
  

  Strolling over to a large round table in the center of the room, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
       "Enraptured by yer beauty, no doubt."

  
  

  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks down at the dusky, curly-haired man.

  
  

  The dusky, curly-haired man dips his head into a respectful nod towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, remaining at his seat near you.

  
  

  Grinning up at him, then patting at the boots near her hand on the table, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "Look at the delightful riding boots I have acquired."

  
  

  Grinning, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
       "Sure are very comfortable `n colorful-lookin`."

  
  

  After a thoughtful glance at the dusky, curly-haired man, turning back to him, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "Were you in need of Flop? I believe I am done with him for now."

  
  

  Snickering, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "Flop."

  
  

  Suddenly patting the chair beside her, you exclaim to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "Oh, and please do sit! You must think me most dreadfully rude!"

  
  

  Resting a hand on a chair, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the dusky, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
       "So you said you got an armor stand fer me... but Zaea don` wanna show me `er rack?"

  
  

  Smiling and shaking his head, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar sits at a large round table in the center of the room, beside you.

  
  

  Her voice rising into a squeal of giggling laughter, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "Is that what you asked? To see her rack? How delightfully entertaining."

  
  

  A group of merchants makes their way up the stairs, talking amongst themselves.

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a shrug of his shoulders:
       "I don` understand why she got so nervous. I mean, where`s a better place fer my spear `n a Kadian rack, huh?"

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, with a nod, a muscle near the corner of his mouth twitching:
       "Armor stand, yes, my Lord Templar--and I tried to explain that, but..."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
       "...she and the House seem to think that Salarr knows their racks pretty well.  They put all sorts of things in them all the time."

  
  

  The quiet bartender wipes the bar down with a dirty rag.

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish, after a wink at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, looking at the dusky, curly-haired man askance:
       "Are you saying then that Salarr has better racks than Kadius?"

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, suppressing a grin across his hard-lined face:
       "Well `f yer admittin` that Kadians ain` as familiar with racks `s Salarri... guess I gotta believe ya."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, frowning:
       "Kinda hurt, though. Reckoned most common folks `d love t` show me their racks."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, his tone exceptionally dry as he replies to you:
       "Quality over quantity, I think...they have a lot of racks, but none that look especially decent.  We -could- make up a one all special for you, but it`d be really more of a cabinet."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
       "It all depends on how you feel about racks.  If you`ve seen one, have you really seen them all, my Lord Templar?"

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish, raising her eyebrows up exceptionally high, then lowering them, her lips twitching as she speaks:
       "A cabinet sounds rather dreary as compared to a rack. Quite humdrum. Not a rack at all but merely a chest."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, shaking his head:
       "Oh, no, son. Nah. There`s some ravishin`ly sumptuous racks out there I just dream `f seein`."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders lightly:
       "But a chest of some definite qualities...very...ample.  Able to deal with anything, not just weapons, that are put into it..."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze back to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
       "That -is- an option, my Lord Templar--if you`d like to look at a Kadian chest.  I`d have to place the order for it."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to the dusky, curly-haired man, blithely:
       "How much it cost t` look at a Kadian chest these days?"

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "It surely does not cost anything to just look? If I were a Kadian, I`d be falling all over myself to show you my chest."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders once again:
       "My Lord Templar, probably more than peeking at a Salarri rack.  But like I said.  Ample...very ample. Multi-purpose."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
       "In truth, we do have a chest up in the warehouse now, one that even locks."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
       "Rather see a nice rack. Was countin` on it. I gonna get a discount on my armor stand cos there`s no rack like Sparkles said she`d show?"

  
  

  A slim half-elf server carefully carries a sizzling plate of Allanak flame cheese over to a table.

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, bobbing his head towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar easily:
       "That was the discount, my Lord Templar.  I hate to leave a customer wanting anything..."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
       "...originally, was going to be sold for seven small and a half small."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, scratching at his chin thoughtfully:
       "But, my Lord, since we`ve done business before a few times..."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a slow nod:
       "Ahh. I see. How much it gonna cost me now again, with th` discount?"

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat:
       "I`ll sell it at six and a half small."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
       "What a deal."
   
  At your table, you say in sirihish, tittering softly, her glance both bemused and questioning on the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
       "Is that a deal?"

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and nodding:
       "Always glad to make deals for future business, my Lord Templar."

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to you, not really hiding a smirk:
       "Well, I mean, I was expectin` two things `n got one, but... well, a whole small discount. Means I can spend th` fine I got from that thievin` elf on booze now."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat hesitantly:
       "Shall we go get it for you--or shall I get it and bring it here, my Lord?"

  
  

  At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
       "Yeh... bring `t here."

  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, gaze turning to you:
       "Is that all you have for me, Lady Fale?"

  
  

  At your table, you say in sirihish, swishing your thin, jade and black bone fan toward the dusky, curly-haired man:
       "Yes Flop, I did say so. Until you have some gowns for my perusal."

  
  

  The dusky, curly-haired man rises to his feet, bowing deeply to you and the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.

  
  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
         "Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well?  With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
  
  

  At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
         "I was only wondering--we...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Lapitia and Thialle: Marital Bliss? (Part I)
  Added on Nov 30, 2008

  Very soon after his marriage to Lady Lapitia Fale, Lord Thialle Fale (formerly Borsail) was arrested and thrown in the Highlord`s Dungeons. As the scene begins, Lady Lapitia, believing him to be still locked up in the dungeons, is in his room going through his things.

  ---

  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Lapitia."

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman darts from the room.

  
  You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.

  
  You think:
       "Like he knew...like he knew I was there."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Thialle."

  
  You feel your heart pounding in your chest.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Do something unpredictable for me."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Very well."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I haven`t got any specific suggestions, I merely imply.. say something unexpected."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "I wanted to say how distressed I am that my beloved husband, our marriage as yet unconsummated, lies languishing in that filthy dungeon."

  
  A titter spills out of the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s twisted lips.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Now that is rather unexpected.  Indeed, given our last conversation.  And the one before that and the one before and on and on."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "What was it that you did in the wine cellar, Thialle?  I really must know."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Did in the wine cellar?  I`ve not stepped foot in the wine cellar since the first day I arrived in your Household."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Where are my rings, Lapitia?  In predictable, unsurprising fashion they were taken from me during incarceration - and in no small hurry either."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "And by `no small hurry` I do mean conveniently quickly.  Who`s profitting from this outrage?"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "You really do disappoint me. A simple, unembroidered denial is singularly unentertaining. If you were going to lie you might have at least invented some fanciful story."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "You... your rings? The family ring for example?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "You`ve suddenly become predictable again.  Let me make something very clear.."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I swear upon the noble blood in my veins, upon my very loins even, that I did nothing in the cellar."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "As to my rings.  Oh, let`s see.  The family ring, the other silver band I owned.  Why, even my Scorpion academy ring.  What vile band of imps took even that, pray tell?"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "So much for your ... what was it you called it?  Your telepathic oath? There are witnesses that say otherwise as to your actions in the cellar."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "You went to the Tor academy?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Just like there are witnesses that I was dead?"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Thialle, I am among those who witnessed your dead corpse lying on the upstairs landing."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "It should be appallingly evident by now that some .. thing .. has caused a vile raucous in your Household.  A thing posing as me, evidently."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Have you ever heard of the Borsail quarantine practices?  Rest assured, if there were magick in me, I`d have been cleansed from my family long, long ago."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Well, you have no doubt employed some without such quarantine."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "And you, my Lady, are no doubt making rash assumptions."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "I am going into the cellar now. Most dreadfully curious."

  
  [Lapitia has by this time moved to the entry to the wine cellar.]

  Kitchen [SWD]
     Large but simple, this kitchen appears to have been designed to allow
  large quantities of food to be easily prepared.  Large brick ovens for
  preparing cooked meals are set into the north wall while counters, shelves
  and cabinets are set into all of the other walls.  The room smells strongly
  of smoke.
     A small wooden door is set in the south wall, and another in the west
  wall, both between counters and shelves.
  A wide-mouthed cistern, carved of stone, rests here.
  The short, plump purple-braided woman is here, overseeing a pack of Kadian cooks.

     A wooden trapdoor has been mounted in one corner.
  The trapdoor is closed.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Why don`t you go to the first floor instead?"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "*ripples of amusement* I am on the first floor right now. Naturally, one must pass along the first floor in order to get to the cellar."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Unless you`ll run round and cavort wildly like a barakhan with its head lopped off at the sight of me."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Not the ground floor, the first floor.  Upstairs."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "You... you are .. there?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Have you not heard?  I was just escorted by a retinue of servants and a Whatsit.  Now I reside in a new prison.  House Fale."

  
  You feel a wave of panic.

  
  You think:
       "WHAT!?!"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "That... that is ridiculous! Ridiculous! What do you hope to accomplish with such ... such vain attempts at trickery? I was just there!"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Lapitia, stop being frantic.  I was in the bathroom only moments ago.  Fine, meet me there then."

  
  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "No!"

  
  Feeling hysteria choking your throat, you think:
       "What am ... what am I going to do?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Seriously.  This is becoming really rather boring, Lapitia."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I haven`t even got access to wine!  How utterly un-noble."

  
  Sinking onto the bottom step, you sit down.

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman`s hands clench and unclench fitfully.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "~frazzled by impatience~ Fine, whatever."

  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  
  You think:
       "He is attempting to torment me.  It cannot be true."

  
  You dissolve the psychic link.

  
  You are unable to reach their mind.

  
  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Someone... someone must know. Damn it!"

  
  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Damn him!"

  
  You contact the sturdy, midnight-haired woman with the Way.

  
  You send a telepathic message to the sturdy, midnight-haired woman:
       "Markie... there you are. Where ... where are you?"

  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The sturdy, midnight-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
       "Currently in the Traders, my lady. I was... hoping to catch Lord Fale."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Are you going to meet me or not?  You do know you can ask any sycophant of the House if I was brought in."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the sturdy, midnight-haired woman:
       "Have you... have you seen any parties, any groups of people moving toward the estate?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "There is no food on this side of the mansion and the servants aren`t particularly eager to bring me any, besides."

  
  You dissolve the psychic link.

  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Where? Where are you?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "The ground floor, I told you!  I went to the bathing chambers."

  
  The sturdy, midnight-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
       "No, my lady, it`s storming pretty bad."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Do be a kind wife and bring some food, some wine.  I`m on the verge of wilting, literaly, to death."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "There now. I have caught you in ... in your foolish prevarications.  What have you been doing all this time in the bathing chambers?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Waiting for you, like I said."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "What was said when you were released?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Not a word.  Doubtless they intend to execute me still but have granted me the imprisonment due to one of my station."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Must we converse telepathically, Lapitia?"

  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "No. I shall come then. Perhaps you would care for a few of the treats still left over from the party?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I`m in no mood to beg for specifics.  A meal will suffice."

  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  
  Colour slowly seeps back into the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s face.

  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Lapitia."

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman darts from the room.

  
  You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.

  
  You think:
       "Like he knew...like he knew I was...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Lapitia and Thialle: Marital Bliss? (Part II)
  Added on Nov 30, 2008

  Thialle claims to be starving after his sojourn in the dungeons and so Lapitia gets a tray of food prepared for him and, accompanied by her bodyguard, takes it to him in the locked, private wing of the Fale mansion.

  ---

  
  You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*

  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "This way, Chaiten."

  A Small Purple Tiled Bathing Chamber [N]
     Small pieces of purple tile, spotted with green, have been laid together
  to cover the floor and walls of this room. A tiny windowed alcove has been
  set into the west wall, allowing a small stream of light to filter in. A
  circular-shaped bathing tub has been set in the room`s center, standing
  about two cords high, with a jozhal-mouthed faucet hanging into the tub.
  The room slopes downward a bit where it meets up with the tub, and a small
  hole is beneath the tub, acting as a drain for water to run down into it.
  A couple of racks filled with soaps, perfumes and towels have been hung
  on the walls, and a smaller door stands on the north wall, leading out into
  a hallway.
  A green stone incense burner has been set here.
  An unlit candle, striped in vivid purple and green, is here.
  The shapely, brunette young woman is here, drying down the floor.
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man is sitting on a circular-shaped green stone bathing tub.

  
  Standing well back at the doorway, you look down at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.

  
  Unfolding his leg as he sits upon the edge of a newly filled bathtub, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man looks up at you.

  
  A slender, purple and green clad servant slips near the open door from the outside for a moment, putting something down, before making a rapid departure.

  
  Her lips pressing upward into a semblance of a smile, voice rich and throaty, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Well. You do look... well."

  
  Motionless atop his perch, equipped with an expressionless visage, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Mm, so good of you to notice, my Lady."

  
  Flicking a finger toward the shapely, brunette young woman, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
       "Give the slave the tray I personally had prepared."

  
  The green-haired, green tattooed man dips a slow nod to you, keeping himself alertly positioned between you and the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man as he holds out his large tray.

  
  The green-haired, green tattooed man gives his large tray to the shapely, brunette young woman.

  
  Affecting innocent posture with a short shrug, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well, one never can be too certain, can they?  Uhatu - test my food for poison."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman compliantly slices apart a portion of food from the plate at random and consumes slowly.

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman eats a portion of her grilled, spicy carru steak.

  
  A genuine sound of amusement bubbles up from the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s magenta lips.

  
  Bowing low as she proffers the food, the shapely, brunette young woman gives her large tray to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.

  
  Draping an arm over the nearby towel rack, leaning back against the doorframe, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Now why would I bother having you poisoned if you are to be executed, anyway?"

  
  Countenance as bleak as granite, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man promptly delves into the meal seated in his lap.

  
  Through mouthfuls of hurriedly downed food, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I said most likely - and I wasn`t accusing you of anything, my Lady."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man eats his small portion of a plate of tender ribs smothered in honey and kalan sauce.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man eats a portion of his ball of soft white cheese.

  
  With a throaty chuckle as she watches him eat, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "You certainly do seem to have a healthy appetite."

  
  Her lips quirking upward, a trace of laughter dotting her words, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Though, I must say, you do look quite a bit ... healthier than the last time I saw you."

  
  Ravenously lapping his fingers clean, not bothering to make eye contact, absorbed in his meal, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Try enduring a week in an unlit cell."

  
  Icily landing his gaze up at you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "My, you suddenly seem rather unafraid of me being .. whatever it is I`m accused of being.  Why the sudden change of heart, my Lady?"

  
  Still leaning against the doorframe in an elaborately casual pose, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "So, have they said for what crime you are to be executed?"

  
  Swiftly rising from his perch, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I`ve had enough of this talk."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stands up from a circular-shaped green stone bathing tub.

  
  Edgy, a short, tow-headed boy creeps into the room, then rushes towards a spiral-carved green stone incense burner with a small smoking lump.

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman quickly untangles her arm from a hanging accessories rack and stands erect.

  
  A puff of smoke issues forth from a spiral-carved green stone incense burner.

  
  Racing, the small, tow-headed Fale boy races out into the hall, shrieking.

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman makes an unobtrusive signal with two fingers toward the green-haired, green tattooed man.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man observes the doorway in which you stand, gauging the remaining space left.

  
  The green-haired, green tattooed man draws a half-step nearer to you.

  
  Eyebrows upraised, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Whatever are you staring at?"

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman casts a glance over her shoulder toward the hallway.

  
  Left hand held aloft, cradling his large tray, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I`m wondering if you`re going to let me pass, or if you`ve more insults to assail me with."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Because if you`re quite finished, I think I`ll go seek more congenial company."

  
  A puff of smoke issues forth from a spiral-carved green stone incense burner.

  
  Tossing her head back to let a tinkling laugh spill forth, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "You are free to pass.  Please do."

  
  Clicking fingers, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
       "Come, Thialle is daunted by our presence."

   

  Small Hallway [NESW]
     This narrow hallway stretches to the north and south, its floor and
  walls constructed of sturdy agafari wood.  The solid wood has been polished
  to a lustrous glow.  A purple glass lamp hangs from the western wall beside
  a doorframe which shows signs of having been repaired.  The floor seems to
  have been polished, although a few scuff marks are evident, along with a
  long skid that goes all the way up and down the hall.  South of here, a
  simple bathing chamber can be seen, and northward is a flight of stairs. 
  Lain side by side near the southern door are curly-toed embroidered slippers.

  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "~condescendingly~ Predictable."

   

  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man has arrived from the south.
  The shapely, brunette young woman has arrived from the south.

  
  Stabbing a finger in the air towards curly-toed embroidered slippers, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Uhatu, are those mine?"

  
  Bobbing a rapid nod, staring vacantly at the slippers, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
       "Yes, master, if you wish them."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Fine, whatever.  It isn`t as though I own anything anymore anyway.  Having been robbed by a band of homonculi."

  
  Wafting his naked hand through the air, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Bring them to me."

  
  Returning to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, the shapely, brunette young woman kneels and brings up a slipper, cupped in her hand.

  
  Laughter spraying out, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "A band of what? What a lovely command of words you have. I have always admired that in you."

  
  With a slight huff, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
       "An advantage of education."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman looks up at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s face, eyes wide and hopeful.

  
   
  Blinking dully at you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "At least you`ve steered away from being predictable, my Lady."

  
  Though her brow crinkles, the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s expression remains unperturbed, a flicker of amusement in her slate-grey eyes.

  
  Blinking with exaggerated surprise, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh? How so?"

  
  Contriving a fragile smile aimed upon her, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Quite right, my belonging, my pet."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman lets a smile of warmth cross her vacant face.

  
  Lazing his shoulders in ascent, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Because I didn`t expect you to say something like that, naturally.  Certainly not at this moment."

  
  Lifting one shoulder with a silky slither, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "I have never been daunted about commenting on that which I admire."

  
  Grasping the proffered slippers with one hand yet observing you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Nevertheless, I didn`t see that one coming."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman twitches suddenly then shakes her head.

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman gives her curly-toed embroidered slippers to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman`s eyes narrow as she focusses on the shapely, brunette young woman briefly.

  
  You think:
       "She behaves as if in some sort of thrall."

  
  Twisting the pair round in his hand ponderously, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "My, these are better laundered than the ones I have on."

  
  Stepping out of them and expecting the shapely, brunette young woman to retrieve them, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stops using his pair of black silk slippers.

  
  Securing each on, one at a time with a wriggle of naked toes, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man slips his feet into his curly-toed embroidered slippers.

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman remains on one knee, head bowed before the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.

  
  Bleakly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Homonculus, the word was homonculus."

  
  Rolling a chubby, manicured finger toward him, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, Thialle! Did you ... had you made any headway with contacting one of the Great Lords?"

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman twitches suddenly then shakes her head.

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman shakes slightly, smacking at the back of her neck before then pulling an ivory comb out of her belt.

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman shoots the shapely, brunette young woman another quick, discreet glance.

  
  Distractedly averting his gaze from where it had been, fixed on your hips, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Hmm?  To what end?"

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman moves around behind the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, and begins to gently comb at the gnarled, damp silvery locks.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man inches his head to better accomodate the shapely, brunette young woman`s maneuvering of an ivory comb.

  
  Beginning to sing ever-so-lightly, the shapely, brunette young woman continues to work the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair with tender, gentle strokes, working out the snarls.

  
  Pressing her lips forward, an exasperated hiss of breath sounding, before quickly repressed, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Why about the emerald, of course."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman shakes her foot suddenly.
   
  Cocking his head sideways suggestively, streams of hair drawn through the teeth of her comb, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "In a manner of speaking, I did."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman stomps briefly downward, her sound muffled by the carpeting as she continues to work the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair.

  
  Spoken over his right shoulder, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "You`re still.. itchy, aren`t you?"

  
  Looking frightened, the shapely, brunette young woman exclaims, in sirihish:
       "It`s not my fault!  It`s this terrible place, master!"

  
  Turning further to address her in coaxing, sweet tones, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "I know, my pet.  I know.  I had terrible itches -- no, downright painful ones, right before I was incarcerated."

  
  Chuckling quietly, her accustomed smile plumping at her cheeks, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "And please do tell me of the manner? And do summon forth some deliciously eloquent words to describe its manner."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Middle Nobles were never very good at quarantining out pests and vermin from their estates."

  
  Slapping one thigh agitatedly with her hand, her smile growing taut, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Thialle, the manner of speaking?"

  
  As she continues to groom the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
       "The Senior Lady once said to me that Fale is wonderful because Fale lets all the proper born and loyal houses know precisely how to not act, master."

  
  Returning his focus of coal-dark orbs upon you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Oh, the emerald was it?"

  
  With a backwards swat of his hand behind him, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Hush, Uhatu."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman melodramatically ducks the back-swatted hand, and continues to groom at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair, resuming her humming.

  
  Tittering softly, her gaze shooting past him to the shapely, brunette young woman, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Do you spend time tutoring her in things to pop out with at odd moments?  Some sort of signal you give to let her know which statement?  How very clever of you."

  
  Shrugging as he towers before her, undergoing her grooming, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Sometimes I do indeed puppeteer her every reply to enhance my own words.  As fate would have it, she`s acting of her own accord right now."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
       "Uhatu, find Lapitia`s mind."
   
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman nods towards the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.

  
  Frowning at him, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "What is your game?"

  
  Canting his head leftward with an expansive spill of hair, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh come, it isn`t as though I pretend to know yours, Lapitia."

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman peeks briefly out from behind the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, continuing to groom.

  
  Strolling over to the staircase, placing a hand on the large knob at the end of the balustrade, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "Well, I suppose it matters not what -your- game is, does it? Since I seem to hold all the cards, as it were?"

  
  The shapely, brunette young woman sends you a telepathic message:
       "*a mental projection of pure animalistic lust and a satisfaction of being.  A sensation of being bent forward and used carnally by the silver-haired man standing in front of her*"

  
  Twin moles elevating as he shifts his eyebrows queryingly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "You do?"

  
  Her nose crinkling delicately, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "How disgusting."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "How is that question disgusting?"

  
  Eagerly downing as much as his mouth can accomodate in one gulp, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man drinks water from his purple-tinted goblet.

  
  Flicking her hand up from the balustrade, turning on a booted heel, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "You have gone too far."

  
  Clicking fingers to one side, the plump, prismatic-haired woman strides down the hallway.

  
  Wetting his lips clean, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I don`t understand."

  
  [Lapitia leaves Thialle in the hallway and goes for the main part of the mansion.]

  
  You hear a man`s voice shout from the south in sirihish:
       "Lapitia, wait!"

  
  You search through an etched, amethyst key-ring, looking for the key.

  
  You unlock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*

  
  You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*

  
  ****

  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Lord Templar Samos was suspiciously curious at why you might be interested.  I had ensured him it was only due to its colour."

  
  Snapping out her words through clenched lips, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
       "Instruct all the Warwhatsits, indeed, all the staff to be wary when they open any of the doors into the private wing."

  
  You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "I had not known that Lord Samos had been elevated to the position of Great Lord. I really must send him my congratulations, along with a nice gift."

   

  You dissolve the psychic link.

   

  You build a psychic barrier around your mind.

  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  
  You think:
       "How truly disgusting an image that was."

  
  You think:
       "I feel quite ill now."

  
  [She gets some food to settle her stomach and takes it out to the garden.]

  
  ****

  
  Your psychic barrier is crushed!
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "You didn`t think I actually knew any Reds personally? Of course I inquired through him."

  
  You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "You are so versed in satisfying me one moment, then turning me despondant and crestfallen the next, Lapitia."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Ceylara was personally acquainted with many."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Well as fate would have it, my name is not Ceylara."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Thank Tektolnes!"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Please do have your nasty little toy withdraw her mind from mine."

  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "I am still nauseated by the lingering image."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "She really is acting of her own accord, my Lady Wife.  Would you like me to have her punished?"

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "Yes."

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Fine.  Now, might I inveigle you to an uninterupted conversation?"

  
  The plump, prismatic-haired woman takes up a wooden spoon from the plate on her lap and then attacks your stuffed ginka fruit.

  
  Jabbing up an overflowing spoonful, you eat part of your stuffed ginka fruit.

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "To what end, Thialle?"

  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Lapitia, honestly."

  
  You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
       "I shall be very busy for the next while giving instructions for the lovely, intimate meal with Lord Samos that has been postponed too many times now."

  
  You dissolve the psychic link.

  
  You build a psychic barrier around your mind.

  
  You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*

  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "This way, Chaiten."

  A Small Purple Tiled Bathing Chamber [N]
     Small pieces of purple tile, spotted with green, have been laid together
  to cover the floor and walls of this room. A tiny windowed alcove...

  
  Continue Reading...