Original Submissions by laurajlmars of type 'Logs'

• 

  Thoroughly Soggy (Numus Gets Even)
  Added on Apr 19, 2010

  Speaker Numus of the Vivaduan Temple indulges in his favorite extreme sport - persecuting addlepated slave girls. (Thanks to Naox for providing one of the greatest, and most odious, npc animations I've ever witnessed.)

  ---

  The Temple of Vivadu [EW Quit]
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man is standing here.
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  You feel startled.
  
  A fine mist condenses near the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man as he begins a spell.
  
  You think:
       "I hate that spider."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man utters an incantation.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man falls silent.
  
  Pleasantly, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Welcome."
  
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man takes a firmer hold of your arm as he looks around the temple.
  
  In near whisper, her slippers noiseless across the marble floor, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Is Speaker Numus available?"
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Speaker? Sorry to interrupt your meditation, but you have a visitor."
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man closes his eyes, murmuring softly.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman has arrived from the east.
  
  Slapping moisture off his creamy hands, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It may take him a little time. One moment, please."
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks through the temple quietly, dipping a polite nod to the squat, hook-nosed man as she nears a shallow stone pool.
  
  Squinting at him, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man.
  
  Curiously, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman looks up at the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
  
  Nervously twisting her fingers into the sleeve of her robe, you say, in sirihish:
       "I don't want to disturb him. If he's busy."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man nods respectfully.
  
  Jerking his thumb at you, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, she says she doesn't want to disturb me, then forces me to do this by appealing to the Great Lord!"
  
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man leads you a few steps closer to the squat, hook-nosed man.
  
  Looking him up and down, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Another one? Wonderful. Impress me by staying alive."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man glances toward you curiously.
  
  Her lips twisting in a faint smile as she kneels next to a shallow stone pool, pulling her leather waterskin up, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "You're having a bad day, Speaker?"
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman stops using her leather waterskin.
  
  Rolling his eyes, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "And -not- getting yourself executed. Some of us have a habit of doing that. The name 'Kolt' comes to mind."
  
  The female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold's lips twitch downward slightly at the squat, hook-nosed man's words.
  
  Smiling broadly as he looks to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Oh! No no, wonderful so far. Better that you're here. You should have -seen- the way the Kuraci did it. With what -resolve-. Hah!"
  
  Squinting at you, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
  
  Beckoning with a fat finger, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well, come over here."
  
  Uncomfortably, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Yes, well... I'm not much the sort to go breaking laws or running off on adventures."
  
  While she dips her waterskin into the pool, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "What'd Kurac do?"
  
  Light glinting off the rubies dangling from her ears as she steps closer on velvet feet, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Ok."
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman fills up a leather waterskin from a shallow stone pool.
  
  You now follow the squat, hook-nosed man.
  
  Pushing the stopper back into her leather waterskin, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman looks at you.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman hangs her leather waterskin on her belt.
  
  With a fond smile, gesturing as though to saw into his arm, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Oh! Midge, the Salarr -- he put his stinger in her and now she's with child. I cut something out of her, but got to see the Kuraci squirm."
  
  Waving a hand, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Rance was the twerp's name."
  
  The female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold pales slightly.
  
  Squinting at her, beckoning with both hands in front of him, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
  
  Beckoning wildly, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
  
  Huffing, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
  
  Letting out a quiet chuckle and nodding, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "I see.  It wasn't a little egg thingy, was it?"
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks between the slim, darkly-tanned young woman and the squat, hook-nosed man, momentarily confused.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well -come here-. Come closer. I can't see those repulsive sockets of yours unless you get them over here."
  
  Clearing his throat, the black-haired, rip-scarred man nudges you forward in front of the squat, hook-nosed man.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man reaches out his pudgy palms and claps them to either side of your head, tugging back on the flesh of your temples.
  
  Stumbling off balance a bit, the female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold straightens hastily, hooking a thumb beneath her blindfold.
  
  Clasping her hands loosely behind her back, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, be nice.  I'll give you some candy later."
  
  Lips peeling back from her teeth, you stop using your night-black, sheer silk blindfold.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man mutters under his breath as he gazes with wide, beady eyes, struggling to see close into your wounded sockets.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks at your intact, but scarred over, eyes carefully.
  
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man grunts, glaring over your head at the squat, hook-nosed man.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks down at you.
  
  You feel a bit horrified really.
  
  Scoldingly, gripping you by the head and speaking close enough for you to smell his sour breath, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Well, what did you do to these things?! Don't you -know- they are delicate?"
  
  You feel very scrutinized and without the rugged, one-eyed man.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man pries and pulls back at the flesh around your eyes.
  
  In a nervous whisper, licking her lips, growing even paler as she submits to his fleshy pokes, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "It's a long story."
  
  With a dismissive wave, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Come, while I examine her! I may need...ideas."
  
  Her eyebrows arching slightly before she walks over a little closer, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Well, alright."
  
  Little black shoes clicking on the tile, the squat, hook-nosed man walks west.
  You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk west.
  
  Lobby of the Vivaduan Barracks [EU Save]
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman has arrived from the east.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from the east.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man steps through the giant wall of thorns as they pull back, allowing passage.
  Pacing up the stairs, pushing off his knees with each step, the squat, hook-nosed man walks up.
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks up.
  You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk up.
  
  Hallway [NSWD Save]
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from below.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from below.
  
  You feel a flutter of panic behind her ribs.
  
  Patting his paunch, the squat, hook-nosed man walks south.
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks south.
  You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk south.
  
  A Trickling Balcony Garden [N Quit Save]
  A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
  A white stone jug has been set here.
  A stream of water tumbles down an amethyst mound and circles the garden.
  A dull wooden cask with a cork stopper stands here.
  A cluster of spikey flowers grows among the low grass.
  A small, shaggy-headed tree bears handfuls of thick-shelled nuts.
  A leather waterskin hangs on a hook on the cistern's side.
  A wide-mouthed stone cistern is here sits in the shadow of a small tree.
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the north.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman follows along at the back of the group, poking her fingers into her belt.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from the north.
  
  Motioning vaguely to an amethyst waterfall, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Go in there and splash about a bit."
  
  Shuffling over to her, the squat, hook-nosed man asks the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "How are things?"
  
  A slight frown forming as she searches the pouches, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks, in sirihish:
       "Huh, where'd my candy go?"
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman closes a finely-crafted pouched belt.
  
  Obediantly, the blind, wine-haired female reaches for the black-haired, rip-scarred man's hand, who leads her over to an amethyst waterfall.
  
  Jowls drooping with a frown, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Your candy?"
  
  Tugging them off, you stop using your pair of black silk gloves.
  
  You think:
       "I don't like this."
  
  You think:
       "I don't like Numus."
  
  Heaving out a sigh before looking up, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, well enough I guess.  Someone stole an entire chest out of my apartment, but I did finally manage to get that skull I've been looking for."
  
  Little black eyes lighting up, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Oh! Marvelous."
  
  Shouting over his shoulder without looking back, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Right in. That's right, get -in-."
  
  Shrewdly, one eye running up and down, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the slim, darkly-tanned young woman.
  
  Uncomfortably, turning, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "My clothes will be wet."
  
  Soothingly, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's completely safe."
  
  Curling a grin as he looks to her wrists, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "You have such nice bracelets."
  
  Snapping back at you, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Of course you're going to get wet. Do you know where -you are-?"
  
  Flopping his hand about, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "But if you'd rather not, I can see you out."
  
  Flashing him a quick smile, the garnets embedded in her bracelets briefly glowing brighter, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Why thank you.  And how've you been, Numus?"
  
  Smiling back at her, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Well, well, I feel wonderful."
  
  Nervously, stepping away from him and back towards the waterfall, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "No thank you.  I'll go in. And I won't tell Great Lord Samos you're so rude to me either."
  
  Feeling furious and embarrassed, you think:
       "I will just remove his dearest memories. Or make him see nothing but bug heads where people heads should be. Revolting little man."
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man mumbles resentfully as he glimpses back at you, but remains otherwise silent.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "If you'd like to set aside some garments first, they'll be safe here."
  
  Filling his arms with girl clothes, you give your soft pair of black velvet slippers to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
  
  You give your pair of black silk gloves to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
  
  Ducking her head to escape it, you stop using your ornate black silk choker.
  
  You give your ornate black silk choker to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
  
  Slipping her leather backpack off halfway and reaching inside, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Will a yam make you happier?"
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman opens a leather backpack.
  
  Shrugging out of it, you stop using your sable and crimson over-robe.
  
  Gasping excitedly, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "It would!"
  
  Flinging it at him, you give your sable and crimson over-robe to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
  
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man juggles clothing, appearing more and more put out by the situation.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman grins slightly and pulls out a tiny cloth bag, poking her fingers inside.
  
  Digging it out, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman gets her mushroom stuffed yam from her leather backpack.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man rubs his hands in anticipation.
  
  You enter an amethyst waterfall.
  Inside an Amethyst Waterfall [Leave]
  A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
  
  Stepping through the veil of water, the blind, wine-haired female gasps as she's completely drenched, dress plastered to her body, teeth starting to chatter.
  
  Pulling sodden silken ribbons away from her forearms, you shout in sirihish:
       "Speaker Numus, I know you don't like me at all, but is this supposed to do anything? Just asking."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from outside in sirihish:
       "Come out when you are thoroughly soggy!"
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from outside in sirihish:
       "That is the result that you can expect from this -exotic- procedure of getting wet."
  
  You shout in sirihish:
       "I've taken baths before."
  
  You shout in sirihish:
       "Just they were warm, and I had no clothes on."
  
  You step out to...
  
  A Trickling Balcony Garden [N Quit Save]
  A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
  A white stone jug has been set here.
  A stream of water tumbles down an amethyst mound and circles the garden.
  A dull wooden cask with a cork stopper stands here.
  A cluster of spikey flowers grows among the low grass.
  A small, shaggy-headed tree bears handfuls of thick-shelled nuts.
  A leather waterskin hangs on a hook on the cistern's side.
  A wide-mouthed stone cistern is here sits in the shadow of a small tree.
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the north.
  
  Shrugging and shooting a curious glance towards an amethyst waterfall, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Is that cold?"
  
  Nibbling at his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Is that supposed to impress me? Hah!"
  
  The blind, wine-haired female storms out through the veil of water, her silk dress plastered to her figure, waist-length hair dripping copiously.
  
  Nodding to an amethyst waterfall, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Hop in and see."
  
  As she drips, you say, in sirihish:
       "I didn't like this dress anyway."
  
  Squinting at you, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
  
  Picking at his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Now find an appropriate place on the grass and sit."
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man takes a bite of his mushroom stuffed yam.
  
  A slight shudder running through her, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "I'll pass.  If it is, they'd be hearing my screams all the way across the city."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Here is a good spot."
  
  Astonished eyes searching over his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "This is wonderful! Spicy some, mmhmm."
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man licks at his tiny chops.
  
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man takes your elbow and steers you over to the spot indicated by the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man.
  
  Offering another wide smile, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Of course, the cooks in Cenyr are the best."
  
  Sinking down onto a rock, skirts puddling around her, rather like the actual puddle that also forms, you sit down.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The blind, wine-haired female sits on a rock beneath a small tree.
  
  Breaking pieces off with her fingers, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman eats her small portion of a stuffed piece of bread.
  
  Eyeing the spot with a sigh, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "I suppose -that- is why you are an amateur."
  
  With a confident wave, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You'll learn, don't you worry."
  
  You feel uneasy.
  
  You think:
       "Why is he so vile?"
  
  You think:
       "I don't understand."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man nods, stepping back.
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man strolls around you, wiggling his fingers in the air.
  
  Drearily, leaking all over the ground, her elbow braced against a knee, chin atop her fist, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "You are a truly inspired man, Speaker."
  
  You feel very unhappy and angry.
  
  You think:
       "He is so rude."
  
  Brushing her hands off against each other, then touching her right one to her forehead, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says, in sirihish:
       "I wonder if we'll get to have an actual meeting this week."
  
  Shaking his head at her, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
       "Ah, you see, you and Speaker Tar are miscommunicating. He expected my last week, I believe."
  
  Letting her hand drop, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, I thought they'd been moved.  So Tar's not dead then?"
  
  Clasping his hands, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Now! I -do- need to know what happened, to know the extent of your damage."
  
  You feel cornered.
  
  Her breath coming a little faster, as she starts to stammer, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "It was...it was..that is.."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the rugged, one-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
       "Can you come now, please?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman tilts her head to the side, her attention moving back to you.
  
  The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I'll come real soon."
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man watches the proceedings observantly.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
       "Please? I'm at the temple. Numus is being...rather vile."
  
  You think:
       "I know I said I wouldn't say."
  
  You think:
       "But I changed my mind."
  
  Snapping at the air, hands thrown up, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "You would gag at the wounds I've closed, the carcassess I've wrapped back in their floppy flesh, and each had -some- story to tell."
  
  Glaring down at you, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I hear it all, all the sad stories, oh yes. See the tears, the mourning, the grief, the shame...I simply don't care."
  
  The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Numus? What's he doing?"
  
  Hands on his wide hips, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "But I -need- to know what damage occured."
  
  Pushing a lock of dripping hair over one ear, nervous fingers of her free hand twisting into her sopping skirts, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "It was a knife."
  
  You feel like throwing up.
  
  Crooning, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Held by...?"
  
  Looking closely, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "It appears to... possibly self-inflicted."
  
  Speaking up suddenly, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "I don't think we have enough evidence to suppose that!"
  
  You feel the air in her lungs close off.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "A curious wound, if not."
  
  The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Saya? Are you..?"
  
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
       "NO."
  
  You feel like kicking Numus off the balcony.
  
  With a nervous hiss, continuing to twist her skirts into knots, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Do all these people need to be here?"
  
  The squat, hook-nosed man sighs and wanders over to an amethyst waterfall, standing by the pool and wiggling his hands over the clear waters.
  
  The rugged, one-eyed templar descends on a gust of billowing wind.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The rugged, one-eyed templar looks down at you.
  
  The blind, wine-haired female's head turns towards the rugged, one-eyed templar's descent, though her sodden hair and skirts fail to flutter.
  
  Glimpsing first, then double-taking and nearly falling over, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
  
  The slim, darkly-tanned young woman lifts her hand to steady her wide-brimmed, veiled black hat, the gust of wind stirring her clothing.
  
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man blinks as the rugged, one-eyed man appears, startled.
  
  Scrambling into a bow, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "My Great Lord! Apologies, I didn't see you there!"
  
  You feel relieved.
  
  You think:
       "It isn't so bad now. He can ask me anything, now."
  
  Looking past him to the skies beyond the balcony before bending in a deep bow, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Good... afternoon, Great Lord."
  
  Glaring, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
       "I WASN' here until a moment ago. What's goin' on here?"
  
  Twisting water out of handfuls of her soaking hair, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Can I stand up yet?"

  The Temple of Vivadu [EW Quit]
  The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man is standing here.
  The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
  The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  You feel startled.
  
  A fine mist condenses near the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man as...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  The Best Laid Plans (Part 1)
  Added on Oct 24, 2009

  Lord Templar Samos Rennik receives annoying news, and makes a dangerous decision that will have lasting repercussions. A log from the summer of 2007.

  ---

  A Spartan Meditation Chamber [S Save]
  A simple obsidian altar, trimmed in jade, rests here upon the floor.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar paces back and forth, head bowed.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stalks over to a jade and obsidian altar and drops down to his knees, letting out a frustrated growl.
  
  The blind, wine-haired female stumbles down into a corner of the room, furthest away from the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and a jade and obsidian altar.
  
  With a growl, smashing a fist into the floor, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims, in sirihish:
       "I can't HANDLE this!"
  
  Sliding down the wall, sightless eyes huge, you sit down.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The blind, wine-haired female huddles in the corner here
  
  A -crack- sounding from wood and stone as he smashes his fist to the floor again, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "SURROUNDED by fucking incompetence on every side."
  
  You feel disoriented and frightened by the waves of rage in his voice.
  
  You feel an insane babble of voices tumbling, deafening, through your head.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar clenches his hands into fists, teeth grit hard in frustration.
  
  As if a mirror to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's emotions, the blind, wine-haired female's teeth also clench.
  
  You feel completely baffled as to why you're sad, why you're angry.
  
  A dark resolve in his voice, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "If Weringa can't be trusted, I have to kill him."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "I'll cut out the rot in this order myself."
  
  Facing the altar, features stony, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "I have no other choice."
  
  You feel a shiver run down your spine.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks over his shoulder at you.
  
  A frozen expression on her face, the blind, wine-haired female rubs moisture from one cheek with dusty fingers, leaving a smudge against her pale skin.
  
  Speaking to the ground at her bare feet, you whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "It will make him laugh."
  
  Exhaling a hissing breath, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks you, in sirihish:
       "Who?"
  
  You whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "Gin."
  
  Still kneeling, peering at you in your corner, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks you, in sirihish:
       "Why?"
  
  Flinching further back, you whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "I don't know. I don't know. Laughter's the best poison."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
       "Stay away from him until we do this. I will leave nothing to chance."
  
  You feel unhappy.
  
  The blind, wine-haired female manages a tiny nod.
  
  You think:
       "No...no no no."
  
  You think:
       "This will lead to nothing good."
  
  You think:
       "Kicking out bricks."
  
  You feel nervous and apprehensive.
  
  You feel like an animal getting dragged to a bath.
  
  Turning back to the altar, bowing his head, tone reverent, if tinged slightly with desperation, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "Highlord Tektolnes, I pray you favor my actions."
  
  The blind, wine-haired female lifts a shaking hand to her white face, fingers lacing into her hair.
  
  The blind, wine-haired female crouches on the balls of her feet, ankle jingling slightly in the quiet as she shifts her position.
  
  You think:
       "Why is he so? Why...why doesn't he say...why does he do this?"
  
  Breaking the silence, facing away from you, rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
       "Do you have the poison?"
  
  Barely breathing out her response, you whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "Yes."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stands up.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar sighs, pushing up from the altar.
  
  Scrambling to her feet with a jingle of bells and a hiss of silk, you stand up.
  
  The blind, wine-haired female keeps her back to the corner, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides.
  
  Quietly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks you, in sirihish:
       "What should I do?"
  
  Uncertainty thick in her tone, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "You ask me for council?"
  
  With a weak, helpless, mirthless smile, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "Seems like yer the only person I can trust."
  
  Shoulders hunching, you whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "I'm just a slave."
  
  You feel your mind yanked back to the present, ignoring the noises in your head which grate back and forth like the edges of a serrated knife.
  
  Stepping closer to you, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "You know you're more than that to me."
  
  Plaintively, lifting both hands towards him, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
       "I'm not...truly, I don't know, please, I only want your happiness."
  
  One side of his mouth crooking up, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
       "Almost a foreign concept to me lately."
  
  The blind, wine-haired female's lips move soundlessly, folding her fingers in on themselves to stop their trembling.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar sighs, deflating, opening his arms to you for an embrace.
  
  Pulling you close, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Saya, tell me."
  
  Stepping forward into his arms, you whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "Weringa meets with the Warlord now."
  
  Blue gaze narrowing as he stares at the opposite wall, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
       "Are you..?"
  
  The blind, wine-haired female nods vacantly, cheek resting against the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's chest.
  
  With a grunt, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Then tell me."
  
  You whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "He hasn't arrived yet."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar purses his lips, chin resting on the top of your head.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Could you follow him? Hidden? And listen?"
  
  You feel sick at the prospect.
  
  You whisper to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar in sirihish:
       "He's in the Academy."
  
  Taking your arm, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Let's go."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks south.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk south.
  
  A Narrow Entryway [NES]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks south.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk south.
  
  A Sitting Room [NE Save]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  A Narrow Entryway [NES]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar gets his night-black, sheer silk blindfold from his dusty oversized black backpack.
  
  Turning you towards the door, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
       "Stay close.  Stay out of sight."
  
  Tieing it over your eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar gives you his night-black, sheer silk blindfold.
  
  Bowing her head, you fasten your night-black, sheer silk blindfold across your face, a whimper briefly escaping her lips.
  
  You feel dizzy.
  
  You feel tears threatening to come.
  
  Tugging your hood over your hair, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "You can do this. And you need to."
  
  Nearly inaudible, the female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold pants for air through dry, dry lips.
  
  You raise the hood of a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak.
  
  You are using:
  <worn on face>           a night-black, sheer silk blindfold
  <worn around neck>       a leather collar with a jade cross on it
  <worn on torso>          a diaphanous draped black dress
  <worn around body>       a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak
  <worn on right ankle>    a belled leather loop
  
  Stooping to her ankle, you stop using your belled leather loop.
  
  Standing, and turning to press it into his hand, you give your belled leather loop to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar gives your shoulder a quick squeeze.
  
  You search for a good place to hide.
  
  You attempt to hide yourself.
  
  You now follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar unlocks the door with a worn bronze key.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar opens the door.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  A Well-Lit Stairwell [EWUD]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes the door.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar locks the door with a worn bronze key.
  
  You start trying to listen.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks down.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk down.
  
  A Well-Lit Stairwell [EWUD]
     Fixed securely to the walls, small oil lamps keep this hallway well lit
  despite the fact that there are no windows.  The walls of this hallway are
  lined with doors, and where they are not, small ornaments hang, mostly
  sigils from one of the various noble houses of Allanak.  A set of stairs
  lead down towards the main entryway of this building, as well as lead
  further up into the building's interior.  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks down.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk down.
  
  Stonework Building [SU]
     This small stonework building is simple in design and function.  Set
  into the stonework of the meticulously kept northern wall is a large jade
  cross on an obsidian field.  A large, oval rug sprawls out in the center of
  the floor.  A sturdy door in the south wall provides the only other entrance
  to this building.  A large, semi-circular desk rests beneath the jade cross
  on the northern wall.  A split staircase ascends up from this foyer on both
  the eastern and western walls, meeting at the center, high above the jade
  cross.  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  A diminutive, white-robed templar sits at a semi-circular desk.
  
  The diminutive, white-robed templar stops using her sturdy steel key.
  
  The diminutive, white-robed templar unlocks the door with a sturdy steel key.
  
  The diminutive, white-robed templar opens the door.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks south.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk south.
  
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  Feeling yourself bawk, you think:
       "Nononono, do not want."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks east.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk east.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar sends up a call to the wall to open the gates.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar opens the gate.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks west.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk west.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks west.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk west.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  Stepping aside quickly, the fiery-haired, flat-nosed man says, in sirihish:
       "Opening on behalf of an Officer of the Academy."
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man stops using his slender ruby-red stone key.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man unlocks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man opens the door.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man fastens his slender ruby-red stone key around his wrist.
  
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man nods at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and walk north.

  A Spartan Meditation Chamber [S Save]
  A simple obsidian altar, trimmed in jade, rests here upon the floor.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar paces back and forth, head bowed.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stalks over to a jade and...
  Continue Reading...
• 

  The Best Laid Plans (Part 2)
  Added on Oct 24, 2009

  Lord Templar Weringa Borsail and Warlord Kharad Tor discuss a threat against Allanak and a number of available options, unaware that they are being overheard. A log from the summer of 2007.

  ---

  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  A Grand Onyx Floored Entrance Hall [NESW]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female stands here, rigid and alert.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man closes the door from the other side.
  
  You search for a good place to hide.
  
  You attempt to hide yourself.
  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female locks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Go to them. Find my mind if there's any trouble. I'll be nearby."
  
  You are no longer following anyone.
  
  You search for a good place to hide.
  
  You attempt to hide yourself.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar steps in, looks around for a moment, then shakes his head and leaves.
  
  Stepping aside quickly, the cynipri-skinned, dwarven female says, in sirihish:
       "Opening on behalf of an Officer of the Academy."
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female stops using her slender ruby-red stone key.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female unlocks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female opens the door.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female fastens her slender ruby-red stone key around her wrist.
  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female nods at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks south.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female closes the door.
  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female locks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You feel terrified without his protection.
  
  After a long moment of standing, petrified, in the middle of the hall, the figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak forces one bare foot forward, shaking all over.
  
  You slow down and start moving carefully.
  
  n
  Grand Onyx Floored Hall [NESWU]
  The svelte, ringlet-haired woman is here, patrolling the hall.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak creeps up the stairs on soundless feet, both hands gripping the railing so tight her knuckles blanch.
  
  u
  A White Marble Foyer [NESWUD]
  The pepper-haired, square-jawed man is here guarding the ascending stairwell.
  
  You search for a good place to hide.
  
  You attempt to hide yourself.
  
  You feel your thoughts focus.
  
  You think:
       "As long as they...as long as..."
  
  Feeling yourself struggling for breath, you think:
       "I needn't...as long as I can feel him glow."
  
  Feeling betrayed, you think:
       "How could he do this? How could he leave me?"
  
  Groping her way blindly, the figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak crawls into a wall niche bearing a statue of black onyx, huddling motionless behind it.
  
  You feel your heart hammering in your throat.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak presses her back against the wall of the shadowed niche.
  
  You feel as though the only thread that connects her to sanity is fraying.
  
  s (almost crawling, feeling her way with bare feet)
  The Academy Lounge by the Bar [NEW]
  The keg-bellied female dwarf stands to the warbraided man's right.
  The warbraided, smoke-eyed man is sitting at a small, pale cylini table.
  The chiseled, auburn-haired woman stands watchfully here.
  The blockish, olive-drab dwarf stands to the warbraided man's left.
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar is sitting at a small, pale cylini table.
  The plump, brown-eyed woman stands here behind the onyx bar.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, peering across the table to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I do however, think it is time to take action against our neighbors in the not-so-nice part of the city."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak creeps silently along the edges of the room, feeling her way to a pillar near the warbraided, smoke-eyed man's table.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, uplifting a brow at the stone-faced, able-bodied templar as he rasps softly:
       "Ah, you do?  Has something transpired to change your sentiments?"
  
  Bare toes gripping the porous marble, fingers curling around obsidian lamp stems, the figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak nimbly, silently climbs straight up the side of the curving wall, bracing herself in a large stone arch.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak is braced against an arch, above the heads of many.
  
  You think:
       "They'll see me, they'll see me, they'll see...they'll see...see me, don't see me, listen, listen, listen..."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a soft smile:
       "Sharak and Horoz are dead, we can fully focus on the situation here... heal the city of that festering sore that has lingered far too long now."
  
  You think:
       "Remember, remember, remember."
  
  You think:
       "Oh! I can't see. I can't move. Can't feel. Can't...I am...a rational creature. Am I a person? If all of this is true?"
  
  Feeling wild, you think:
       "Looks better when you can't see it, nothing but specifics, poor decisions, help!"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "You and your men are fully with me in this, I imagine?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding deeply:
       "You know that I agree.  We certainly would be, yes."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, lifting another piece of steak from the plate:
       "Excellent."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar eats a portion of his half eaten kank steak.
  
  You think:
       "Don't see me. Don't look up."
  
  You feel your arms trembling.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, after swallowing:
       "Templar Samos doesn't feel it time, or something. Well, I do and actions are going to be taken."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, with a vague gesture of one spike-knuckled hand:
       "Lord Samos recently spoke on the matter with his Red, the Great Lord Shalak, who believed it was still not time."
  
  You feel ill with fear.
  
  You feel like throwing up.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding deeply:
       "Aye, he has expressed as much to me."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man with a sideways cant of his head:
       "Well."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, shaking his head once:
       "I've not yet been summoned to a Great Lord since my inprocessing to the city, my previous or any other."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "If my actions are to be stopped, I imagine I will be told as much after some of them are dead. I have the names of all those Gin wishes protected, we can start there."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding firmly:
       "Excellent.  Those will be more valuable to us than the top layers of scum we'd have to skim through going in blind."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, extending five fingers, one at a time:
       "Hek, Marin, Corin, Hazim, and Vel."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a faint nod:
       "Those five should cut his feet out from beneath him, forcing action on his part."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding once:
       "Hek attacked me a few weeks ago, and has fled to Tuluk, last I heard."
  
  You feel dread clutching at your throat.
  
  You think:
       "Were they to know."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, raising his brows:
       "Tuluk is it..."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a single shake of his head:
       "Unpleasant."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "He had rampaged in the Elemental Quarter and hid from the militia in the Commons.  I confronted him and tried to convince him to surrender for a stay in the jail, but he chose instead to try to butcher me."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a light smirk:
       "Aye... do you know of any of these others?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "And in the aftermath, Marin spoke to me psionically.  He claims to be in charge now, with Gin demoted, but when I demanded he forsake the bender, he grew irate."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, with a faint smirk:
       "And promised to have me assassinated."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a single shake of his head:
       "That will not happen."
  
  You think:
       "Quiet! Let go."
  
  You feel your panic drain away.
  
  You feel vacant, crystal clear, empty.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak's knuckles slowly whiten as they clutch, unmoving, the stem of the obsidian lamp.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, still smirking:
       "He warned me to test every drink and bite of food, for my first slip would be my last.  He didn't realize I've had that done routinely since I was eight."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar curls the corner of his mouth up in a grin before nodding once to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, lightly clearing his throat before rasping on hoarsely:
       "Marin has two rooms in the tenament building on Merchant's Road."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "The other tenants there are all gemmed mages, some borderline rogue, I'm told.  He keeps the east room on the second floor, and claims the west room there is under his protection."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a faint nod to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "Very good... any idea how often he visits them? Or does he stay there permenantly?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, simply:
       "If Marin says he is in charge, well, im not going to hesitate in breaking down his door and cutting his head off with first opportunity."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, shaking his head lightly:
       "He seems to spend more time in Folley's or the sewers, but when I had reports from a person renting in that building, he seemed to visit perhaps once every two weeks."
  
  A motor tic briefly contorts the left side of the warbraided, smoke-eyed man's face.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "Know anything... alright?"
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar looks over the warbraided, smoke-eyed man's face for a moment before shrugging a shoulder.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "Know anything about any of the others?"
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar looks at the warbraided, smoke-eyed man.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, as he works his jaw to relax the spasming muscles in his face:
       "I knew a Vel once, but he was an al'Seik tribal.  I somehow doubt it is the same one..."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a shake of his head:
       "I seriously doubt it'd be the same one... we really need to find out more about those who are in the Guild now."
  
  You feel completely vacant now, without conscience or memory, functioning only as a vessel.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding once:
       "I shall see if I can match faces to those names.  There is also Quick, of course.  The elf."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I've probed Gin a couple times now with things that tempt him... each time he has had me pass it off to one of his men, or to someone I trust that can take it to a messenger of his own."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, scowling:
       "Yes, Quick... the Nilazi."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, shifting his jaw:
       "Gin is a powerful mindbender, Lord Templar.  I withstood the worse the High Lirathans had in the War, but he was able to break me."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I have heard... what was he capable of against you?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "We sparred for half a day, perhaps... he repeatedly trying to break through my barrier.  Finally, in an instant before I could re-erect it, he slipped in..."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar furrows his brow and tilts his head forward in a single nod.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "He was fully capable of ending my life."
  
  The warbraided, smoke-eyed man purses his lips thoughtfully.
  
  You feel nothing good emanating from the sudden silence.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, scowling:
       "Bastard... is a blight to the city..."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, shaking his head once:
       "Too many have suffered their wiles and used them, instead of snuffing them out to get the job done themselves."
  
  You feel every sense but your ruined eyes on high alert.
  
  You feel the cold marble of the wall beneath your bare feet.
  
  You feel the scent of ocotillo wine tingling in your nostrils and the back of your throat.
  
  You feel the stringent taste of smoke and whiskey lingering in the air.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding simply:
       "I could not agree more."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, peering at the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I am glad someone in this city seems to still agree with me, Warlord."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, exhaling a single gruff chuckle:
       "On the contrary, I have long sought someone's agreement with me on this issue.  You opposed it so ardently when we last spoke, I admit to being quite pleasantly surprised now."
  
  You feel the words you hear being funneled, without understanding or comprehension, into a safe place in the back of your head.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man as he wags a finger back and forth:
       "If you remember, I agreed they had to be brought down... but it was not the right time then, as it is now. We have no other immediate dangers to the city and its peoples, other than them."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "Why we would wait when there are so few other meaningful places to turn our attention to, is beyond me."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding seriously:
       "Gin's violation has tapped a temper I usually keep in check, I admit, and the Guild's affiliation with the undead is deeply disturbing for all of the city."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar clenches his jaw and tilts his head forward with a firm nod.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "What I would give for the old days of poisoned daggers being the biggest problem they posed."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "Ah!  Here, here. That was a Guild I much prefered to deal with.  I have heard rumors that a similar undead presence has been amassing beneath Tuluk as well."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "Insideous mindbenders, Nilazi, outright attacks in the city to our very Noble blooded!"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, nodding once to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I've read such reports myself. Would not be so disturbing if we did not face the same here ourselves."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding:
       "Do you know a woman named Felicity?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a single shake of his head:
       "Not at all."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "Who is this Felicity?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "A whore from the alleys.  She was southside to arrange some purchases with Kadius, and also asking questions about the abilities of some mages who were at the bar."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "Affiliated with any of the Guild?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "Or do you propose we try and use her against them somehow?"
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish:
       "She appeared diseased... whether it was the onset of the 'cold dead' or something else... I do not know"
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar wrinkles his nose and tilts his head forward with a single nod.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, to the stone-faced, able-bodied templar:
       "No, I believe she is affiliated.  She warned a Drovian against snooping in the alleys, and told him 'Samos knows everyone of importance up there anyhow""
  
  Rapidly, silently, the figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak's chest rises and falls.
  
  You feel air automatically filling your lungs, leaving them, returning.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, the stone-faced, able-bodied templar speaks, pursing his lips and glancing to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man.
  
  You start trying to listen.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, to the stone-faced, able-bodied templar:
       "I am much less troubled now to be like minded with you.  I shall attempt to get some eyes and ears inside the alleys, and watch for these 'protected' here southside."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a firm nod:
       "Once spotted, find my mind immediately and together we will waylay them wherever they stand."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "I may need some funding if it can be spared Warlord, my bank account grows slack lately... the people fear the taxes I impose and the beatings, far fewer do they break HIS laws."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding firmly:
       "With pleasure, I shall seek your mind.  Funds?  Yes, of course, let me contribute to this effort."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "Speak with the gemmed Valla, see if she will report on Marin's coming and goings from his apartments."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "Snap as well, after the beating he took by them I am sure he'd gladly take part in this endevour... without being ordered."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "They both live in the same apartments on Merchant's Road."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding a couple of times:
       "Aye, Snap.  He is the one Hek attacked just before me.  He should recognize that I stood up for him."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "We'll need to use every angle we can in this. I'm not going to let anything stand in the way."
  
  You feel your limbs and position turn gradually to ice, frigid and unmoving and painful.
  
  Feeling pain wrack your motionless limbs, you think:
       "Hurts, must be seen, no pain could be so silent."
  
  Finishing off the last bit from the plate, the stone-faced, able-bodied templar eats his small portion of a kank steak.
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar puts his pile of coins into his pouched belt.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, scowling:
       "Still owe them back for the death of Templar Shiran."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding firmly:
       "And Lord Templar Evaren Sath, Lord Shiran's replacement."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar clenches his jaw and nods once to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "He led a small group into the sewers.  They killed him down in that muck."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
       "If any assault is to be made into that lair now it'll be in scores, Scorpion and the Jade Cross."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, gruffly:
       "When we next meet, I shall transfer some funds to you.  I am afraid I exhausted the coffer I keep here in my office."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish, with a firm nod:
       "Excellent, during this work keep yourself well protected... as you always do. I shall pray to the Highlord and HIS Blessing will be with us."
  
  The warbraided, smoke-eyed man nods firmly to the stone-faced, able-bodied templar.
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding firmly to the stone-faced, able-bodied templar:
       "I have lost many good Scorpions to the Guild in the last three years... all stabbed in the back by a knife, or having their lives ended by a foe far from site.  The rest of my men have been preparing to deliver a reply."
  
  At a small, pale cylini table, you overhear the stone-faced, able-bodied templar say in sirihish:
       "The Guild will be smothered by HIS swiftly beating wings in their most merciless state, Warlord."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar stands up from a small, pale cylini table.
  
  The warbraided, smoke-eyed man stands up from a small, pale cylini table.
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar says, in sirihish:
       "Walk beneath HIS wide-winged shadow and all will be well."
  
  The stone-faced, able-bodied templar walks north.
  
  The warbraided, smoke-eyed man walks north.
  The blockish, olive-drab dwarf walks north.
  The chiseled, auburn-haired woman walks north.
  The keg-bellied female dwarf walks north.
  
  You feel your entire body aching with long confinement.
  
  You think:
       "Roc, don't forget me."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak continues to sit braced in her perch, rocking back and forth slightly.
  
  
  
  <a long time passes>
  
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
       "You okay?"
  
  You feel yourself coming to.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, loose black silk greatcloak gradually unbends her fingers from around the lamp.
  
  You feel movement slowly returning, blood circulating painfully through your frozen form.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the rugged, stubble-bearded man with the Way.
  
  The figure in a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak slides down the wall, landing lightly on bare feet.
  
  You feel your iron limbs turn to flesh once more.
  
  n (creeping along the wall)
  A White Marble Foyer [NESWUD]
  The pepper-haired, square-jawed man is here guarding the ascending stairwell.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, stubble-bearded man:
       "Please get me out."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Did they find you?"
  
  You feel wretched.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, stubble-bearded man:
       "No."
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
       "*a wave of relief* Good girl."
  
  d
  Grand Onyx Floored Hall [NESWU]
  The svelte, ringlet-haired woman is here, patrolling the hall.
  
  s
  A Grand Onyx Floored Entrance Hall [NESW]  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female stands here, rigid and alert.
  
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man opens the door from the other side.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the south.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man closes the door from the other side.
  
  You now follow the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female locks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
       "I'm in the entry. Where are you?"
  
  You feel your icy cold and vacant demeanor melting under a nearly hysterical wash of relief.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, stubble-bearded man:
       "I'm with you."
  
  You send a telepathic message to the rugged, stubble-bearded man:
       "Go."
  
  Stepping aside quickly, the cynipri-skinned, dwarven female says, in sirihish:
       "Opening on behalf of an Officer of the Academy."
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female stops using her slender ruby-red stone key.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female unlocks the door with a slender ruby-red stone key.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female opens the door.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female fastens her slender ruby-red stone key around her wrist.
  
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female nods at the rugged, stubble-bearded man.
  The rugged, stubble-bearded man walks south.
  You follow the rugged, stubble-bearded man, and walk south.

  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  A Grand Onyx Floored Entrance Hall [NESW]
  The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
  The cynipri-skinned, dwarven female stands here, rigid and alert.
  The fiery-haired, flat-nosed man closes the door from the other side.
  
  You search for a good place...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  Not House Chaos
  Added on Dec 17, 2007

  Alek and Tanoske duke it out.

  ---

  u (munching on a kalan fruit)
  A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
     The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
  polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls.  Numerous rows of narrow
  beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
  and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters.  At the
  far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely.  A hum
  of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
  torch-lit chamber.  A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
  scent of perfumes, furs and wines.  A large open archway leads north into
  the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
  for preparing hides and storing food.  
  Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
  Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
  A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
  A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
  Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
  The freckled, ponytailed man sits on the floor here.
  A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
  A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
  
  You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Time to stop being so lazy."
  
  Licking her juicy fingers, you eat part of your partially eaten kalan fruit.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman laughs.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Lazy? Fuck. I rode out earlier this week."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I'm taking a well earned break."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman just laughs and laughs at the freckled, ponytailed man, flopping onto her usual seat, a soft, cream-colored couch.
  
  You sit on a soft, cream-colored couch.
  
  Grumpily, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "What the fuck's your problem, anyway?"
  
  Lounging against the single armrest of the couch, you eat part of your half eaten kalan fruit.
  
  Licking her fingers noisily, tugging the folds of your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak straight, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "I don't have a problem. Sounds like you have a problem."
  
  You eat part of your small portion of a kalan fruit.
  
  You feel better, and a little smug.
  
  Scoffing and glancing off to the side, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "So you end up knitting okay? Or did you have to limp back here and beg for help?"
  
  Sucking the remaining flesh of your small portion of a kalan fruit off the pit, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Dunno what the fuck you're talking about."
  
  You eat your small portion of a kalan fruit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Right."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman spits the pit over at a trash crate.
  
  Wiping her fingers off, unladylike, on your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "You met Jonglo yet?"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "No."
  
  You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "He's downstairs in the sparring ring."
  
  You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Hanging from one corner."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "That skeleton?"
  
  You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Yep."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man scoffs, then bursts out laughing.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's faintly amused expression darkens suddenly at the sound of the freckled, ponytailed man's sudden laughter.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man reels with his laugher, dropping onto his back.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man lies down on the ground and rests.
  
  You feel irate.
  
  You ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Fuck you laughing at?"
  
  Lacing his hands behind his head, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "For a second, I thought you were talking about a friend of yours. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that it turned out to be a skeleton."
  
  Jolting to her feet, you stand up from a soft, cream-colored couch.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Ooh. We gonna fight again?"
  
  Marching over to him, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "What's so funny about that!?"
  
  Dragging himself lazily to his feet, the freckled, ponytailed man rises and stands.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's funny, because you don't have any friends. So you have to name a dead guy to hang out with."
  
  You feel a burst of fury.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman hauls an arm back and bitchslaps the freckled, ponytailed man.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man's head jerks with your hand, the clapping sound sharp in the busy barracks.
  
  Stonily, slowly turning his head to face you again, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Ouch."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman keeps her hand half-raised, staring at the freckled, ponytailed man and breathing hard, as if she's run a long way.
  
  Some of the din of people quiets as attention draws to the freckled, ponytailed man and you.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "You fucking 'tok. You think you can just hit people and its okay because you're little?"
  
  Throwing it aside, the freckled, ponytailed man puts his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt onto a small leather cot.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man swings his the back of his hand sharply at your cheek.
  
  Not expecting that, the thin, cream-braided young woman gets slapped right back, the sound of skin against skin a sharp clap in the silence.
  
  You think:
       "Ok..."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man's hand stays extended out with the follow through, eyes narrowed at you.
  
  Launching at the freckled, ponytailed man and tackling him into a cot, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "That's IT!"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man stumbles back onto a small leather cot, grabbing for your wrists as he wrestles with you.
  
  Catcalls and cheers fill the previous silent barracks as the thin, cream-braided young woman and the freckled, ponytailed man tussle.
  
  Grabbing one of your wrists and trying to bend it back, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "You. don't. want. to. fight. me."
  
  Voice large for such a small frame, falling off the cot, yanking her wrist back, and making a tremendous amount of noise, you shout in sirihish:
       "You're going the fuck DOWN, Tanoske!"
  
  Backing up and bawling at her foe, you shout in sirihish:
       "Bring it on!"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man pushes up off of the cot, swinging a sloppy punch at you.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman ducks under the freckled, ponytailed man's punch and lowers her head, running full tilt for his stomach.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man has arrived from the north, stepping in from the yard.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man leans against the doorway, glancing into the barracks.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a huff of air as your body spears into his stomach, drawing his hand back to punch you in the back.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The thin, cream-braided young woman is involved in a fight here.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling into and then past the freckled, ponytailed man, banging her head against a cot.
  
  Holding an arm protectively over his stomach, the breath clearly knocked out of him, the freckled, ponytailed man turns to keep you in his vision.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's foot comes up on the follow through of her dramatic head over heels tumble, jerking out spastically in what might be the freckled, ponytailed man's direction.
  
  Folding his arms across his chest, the lean, ashen haired man watches with an expression of mild amusement.
  
  The stray foot of you catching him in the waist, the freckled, ponytailed man doubles over again, grunting.
  
  Stumbling back a step, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "You fucking bitch."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man kicks a cot out of his way, charging at you.
  
  Roaring the words and whirling to meet him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Son of a whore!"
  
  Shoulder rushing towards the middle of your chest, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "'Tok!"
  
  Calling over, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Hey, folks. You missed the arena match by a few hours. Although I'm sure Lord Shiran would be happy to sign you both up for the next one."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's back slams against the wall as she wraps her arms tight around the freckled, ponytailed man's neck, ignoring the lean, ashen haired man, and the rules of fair fighting, as she prepares to bite down on her opponent somewhere.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man grapples his arms around you waist, keeping you pressed against the wall, head ducking against your neck as he appears oblivious to the incoming bite.
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man has arrived from the north.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman chomps down, HARD, on...empty air, scrabbling beneath the freckled, ponytailed man's pin.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man flinches at the sound of teeth closing.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man slowly opens his eye, realizing he isn't dead, and begins frantically trying to knee you in the side.
  
  Bringing a knee up and driving it towards his stomach, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Get off me!"
  
  Body bunching up over your knee as it connects, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Oof. Fuck off!"
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman heaves at the freckled, ponytailed man's larger frame falling against hers, pinned against the wall.
  
  Turning his gaze from the two struggling combatants, the lean, ashen haired man looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man turns, still grappling you for a moment before releasing you towards the stair well.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling backwards from the throw, and plummets down the stairs.
  
  You speed up to a fast run.
  
  d (head over heels)
  A Smelly Room [SU Save]
     This room is cluttered, though neatly arranged, with hides hanging on
  racks, implements of tanning and treating raw hides lining the walls, and a
  few scattered racks for the hides.  The room itself is carved out of rock in
  a rough manner that isn't fitting when compared to the rest of the grounds,
  although it is quite apparent that the tools are of high quality.  Several
  barrels line one wall, containing liquids to be used for tanning hides.
  Square vents have been etched into the stone walls in an attempt to direct
  the strong odors of tannin and urine away from the upstairs room.  Along one
  wall stand some cabinets and chests for storing raw materials and finished
  goods.  
  A cracked stone storage bin, nearly falling apart, has been put here.
  Filled with unpolished gems, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
  Filled with partially completed crafts, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
  Filled with guts and gore, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
  Filled with materials to make arrows, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
  Filled with vines and grasses, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
  A large obsidian bin looms here.
  A simple wooden chest is here, and it's filled with tools.
  
  Dazed, slumped at the foot of the stairs, you sit down.
  
  You feel pain creaking through her ribs.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from above, bolting down after the tumbling body.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man takes a few steps down the stairs before jumping to land at the base.
  
  Landing with one palm to the ground, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "You fucking crazy bitch!"
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman groans, giving her braided head a vigorous shake, tumbled in a heap on the floor.
  
  You are hauled to your feet roughly.
  The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
  
  Whirling off the floor and lunging at him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Say that again!"
  
  You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man dives down on top of you, frantically trying to pin you.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "CRAZY BITCH! CRAZY BITCH!"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
  
  You shout in sirihish:
       "SHUT UP!"
  
  You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman slams all over the crowded and spiky looking room with the freckled, ponytailed man, terrified crafters scattering everywhere.
  
  Up above is a Busy Barrack.
  [Near]
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is standing here, arms folded, looking unhappy.
  The lean, ashen haired man leans here against one wall, arms folded.
  A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
  A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man rolls around with you, suddenly foregoing trying to pin you and balling a fist.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "You first!"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a pair of brown leather pocketed pants.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
  You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar gets in the way.
  
  Wadding up in a human pretzel with you, the freckled, ponytailed man begins pounding on your chest and stomach.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's breath rushes out of her lungs as she reels back and charges at the freckled, ponytailed man.
  
  You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a studded bone bracer gets in the way.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a studded bone bracer.
  
  You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man swings his bracered wrist up, blocking the incoming you.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man aims a circle kick at your head, but you quickly avoid it.
  
  You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his head.
  The freckled, ponytailed man reels from the blow.
  You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his body.
  
  You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
  You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his arm.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man blinks in surprise, stumbling back.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman punches repeatedly on the freckled, ponytailed man's face, giving him a swift uppercut.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man catches himself on the wall, pressing forward and lunging at you.
  
  Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings.
  You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket gets in the way.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Krathdamn you!"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
  You reel from the blow.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your waist.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
  You reel from the blow.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your neck.
  You reel from the blow.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  Wobbling back from the onslaught of blows in shock, eyelids starting to flutter wide, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Go to f-fu-"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man snaps a fist into your chin, grinning.
  
  You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
  The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Yeah."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
  The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
  Your vision goes black.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's head snaps backwards from the blow and she falls right over, head banging against the stone floor.
  
  Someone kicks a sandaled foot into your shoulder, rolling you over.
  
  Someone pants raggedly, wiping some blood from his lip.
  
  Giving in to a bit of frustration, someone kicks his foot repeatedly into your side.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman rolls obligingly and limply over, a far cry from the tense figure of unpleasantness she cut so finely just a few minutes before.
  
  a glass-tipped wooden bolt flies in from above.
  
  By the way, the thin, cream-braided young woman also looks quite a mess, lower lip split, a black eye promising to show up for a visit quite soon, and a nice purple spot on the side of her jaw.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The thin, cream-braided young woman is here, crumpled in an untidy heap.
  
  You feel pent up fury releasing with the boon of unconsciousness.
  
  You feel waves of blissful oblivion wash over her.
  
  Someone grabs you roughly, dragging you up the stairs.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised body bangs against the stairs as she is dragged up.
  
  Someone dumps you on the floor just in front of the stairs.
  
  You feel nothing much, since she's asleep. Nothing but the promise of pain on awakening.
  
  Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.
  
  You think:
       "Wha...oww.."
  
  You feel certain a nightmare is about to begin.
  
  A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
     The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
  polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls.  Numerous rows of narrow
  beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
  and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters.  At the
  far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely.  A hum
  of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
  torch-lit chamber.  A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
  scent of perfumes, furs and wines.  A large open archway leads north into
  the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
  for preparing hides and storing food.  
  Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
  Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
  A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
  A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
  Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
  The freckled, ponytailed man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man stands here casually.
  The lean, ashen haired man is standing here.
  A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
  A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man stands over you, arms folded, looking between the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the lean, ashen haired man.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman blinks at the painful light, making a few quickly aborted attempts to unwind herself from the human pretzel she's managed to twist herself into.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Huh. Well, least nobody has to explain to Agent Zaea that her assistant is broken and she needs a new one. Alek, what the fuck was that about?"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze flicks down at you starts writhing about.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I told you you didn't want to fight me. Again. Bitch."
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man quietly watches you from his position near the lean, ashen haired man.
  
  Pushing feebly against the floor, her tone and insults just as feeble, appearing very disoriented, you say, in sirihish:
       "Gonna fuckin..pounja. Jerk."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man sucks in a deep breath, then huffs it out.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh, yeah, you're gonna hurt me real bad."
  
  The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "That'll do. How 'bout you head down to the Gaj? Find Leuckhart and bring him over."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man asks the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "Who the fuck's Leuckhart?"
  
  Slitted, glazed gaze wandering the room insanely, going in and out of focus, blood trickling down the side of her face, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Heh...C'mere, Two Noose. Wanna dance 'gain?"
  
  The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "New guy. You're a hunter, you'll find him."
  
  As if for the first time, with slow, dawning, gradually awakening horror, you look up at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
  Long, brilliant red strands of hair fall in gentle flows from the top
  of this svelte man's scalp like tendrils of crimson numut.  His skin
  is black, well cared for, with a minimum of scarring available to the
  eye.  A firm, slender musculature sheathes his swarthy form, with his
  long limbs and straight posture lending to him an air of grace and
  poise.  Immaculate white teeth shine out from behind dark lips when
  ever they part.
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is in excellent condition.
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is using:
  <worn in left ear>       a dead mantis earring
  <worn in right ear>      a skeleton-carved ivory earring with ruby eyes
  <worn around neck>       a high neckband of gleaming onyx
  <worn about throat>      an ivory necklace with a dead ruby mantis pendant
  <worn on hands>          a pair of long, ruby-adorned ebony gloves
  <primary hand>           a raptor-tooth throwing knife
  <secondary hand>         a maar hand-crossbow
  <worn around body>       a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of crimson and black pants
  <worn on right ankle>    a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
  <worn on left ankle>     a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
  <worn on feet>           a pair of soft, ruby-buckled boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  You think:
       "Aw shit."
  
  Clenching his fists at his side and turning to you, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Don't make me fucking hurt you again."
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tugs a black fletched, glass tipped bolt out of a sheath on his thigh.
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man loads a maar hand-crossbow.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze draws between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, shoulders slacking a little.
  
  Hands unclenching, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Whoa. Okay."
  
  His voice soft, casual, as he loads his death toy, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "How about we all stay nice and calm."
  
  Backing away from you, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "Okay. Deal."
  
  His voice continuing to be calm, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "Go find Leuk...whatever, Two Noose."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs, all pained and icky, winding up to a half-reclined sitting position, arm wrapping protectively around what are likely damaged ribs.
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives a 'shoo'ing jerk of his chin to the freckled, ponytailed man.
  
  Pacing across the room quickly, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "Got it."
  
  Grabbing it in passing, the freckled, ponytailed man gets his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt from a small leather cot.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man asks, in sirihish:
       "Uh. Bring him here?"
  
  Softly, watching you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "Whatever the Second Hunter wants."
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The thin, cream-braided young woman lolls in a heap on the floor.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man asks the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Yeah, I want to talk to him. But no need to hurry, eh?"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah. Right... Got it."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man rests his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt over his shoulder, glancing back at you briefly.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman watches the freckled, ponytailed man go, one eye promising to swell shut.
  
  Before retreating out of the room, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I told you."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman hisses an irritated breath through clenched teeth, tensing, and regretting it.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Right, now that you're not going to claw anybody's eyes out in a hurry. Care to explain?"
  
  Sweeping back his drab, weathered stormcloak absently, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Thought you said no more fights was the plan."
  
  Picking her way slowly and deliberately over the words, lifting one hand to gingerly prod her lower lip, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "He was. Insultin'. Me."
  
  You look up at the lean, ashen haired man.
  With pale hair and faded blue eyes, it is almost as though the
  combination of sun and sand have scoured all traces of colour from this
  young man's lanky frame.  His bleached, ashen mane is matted into thick,
  shoulder length dreadlocks, standing out in stark white contrast against
  tanned brown skin.  Small, polished obsidian beads have been threaded
  amongst the tangled locks and knotted into place alongside feathers, pieces
  of bone and the small sharp fangs of one desert predator or another.  
  The lean, ashen haired man is in excellent condition.
  
  The lean, ashen haired man is using:
  <worn on head>           a chitin-studded anakore helm
  <worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
  <worn around neck>       an obsidian-studded, dark-leather collar
  <slung across back>      a long-handled, serrated broadsword
  <worn across back>       a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver
  <worn on left shoulder>  a scrab-shell shoulder plate
  <worn on arms>           a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
  <worn around wrist>      a long black leather wristsheath
  <worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
  <secondary hand>         a new curved agafari shield
  <worn on forearms>       a blue-streaked, purple wrist-sheath
  <worn on left finger>    a massive, skull-carved ring
  <worn around body>       a drab, weathered stormcloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of dark leather leggings
  <worn on right ankle>    a carru-leather knife sheath
  <worn on left ankle>     a small leather pouch
  <worn on feet>           a worn out pair of carru hide boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Yeah. And I'm sure you were just all polite and well mannered. "
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from the north.
  The average, green eyed man has arrived from the north.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman looks guilty as sin, crumpled on the floor in front of her jury.
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man puts his raptor-tooth throwing knife into his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak.
  
  Slowing in the doorway, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Found him."
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tucks a small blade away, and breathes a gentle sigh.
  
  The average, green eyed man strides in and nods towards those in the room.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man stops leading the average, green eyed man.
  
  With another cough, you ask the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "I really need to answer that?"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man takes a lean against the doorway, his sheath over one shoulder, unoccupied arm folded over his stomach protectively.
  
  Without turning from you, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Good job. Take him out to find a spare kank. Make sure he knows how to sit on it and shit. Have him spend a bit of time in the saddle, but not outside the city."
  
  Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "...Right."
  
  The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "No, I can pretty much guess. And then you what, slugged him?"
  
  Keeping his maar hand-crossbow casually aimed at you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man picks at some sand on his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak with his other hand, attention waning from the glass bolt tip.
  
  The average, green eyed man looks towards him and then once again makes to follow him.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze drifts between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, features drawn up tight.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman stares at the freckled, ponytailed man, unmoving.
  
  Breathing a sigh, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh, fuck, Alek, just tell them what happened."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "It was just a fight. You know, a fight? She hit me, I hit her, she hit me, I hit her, I hit her, I hit her, she fell down. That's it..."
  
  Defiantly, in spite of the bolt aimed at her face, and her general battered personage, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah I slugged him."
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's eyes harden slightly, his attention drawing back to you.
  
  Stubbornly ranting, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "It's not like it's that big of a deal."
  
  Glancing to the freckled, ponytailed man, the tip of his maar hand-crossbow following, and centering on his chest, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
       "What?"
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man draws in a deep breath, tensing as the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow trains on him.
  
  The average, green eyed man raises his eyebrows as he views the participants and stays silently towards the background.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "I... was just saying. It's not that big of a deal. It's not like we tried to kill each other."
  
  Drawing in a pained breath, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "I saw you, Milan. Saw you walkin' in when he had me against the wall.  Didn't see you taking...*wheeze*...pains to stop us when you did."
  
  His posture absolutely casual, voice soft, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "It is a big deal, when frays start outside of the proper fray location."
  
  Frowning a bit, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "Well. We're sorry. It's not like we hurt anyone.."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman shoots a gobsmacked and shattered look over at the freckled, ponytailed man from her place on the floor.
  
  You think:
       "Say -what-?"
  
  His thumb sliding a small pole upwards, bracing the crossbow string, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "House Kadius.  Kadius.  Not House Chaos."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a forced little laugh, eyes on the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow still.
  
  You feel all tension releasing with a fresh woosh of pain, making itself at home.
  
  Glancing towards the stairway, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "Next time, take it downstairs, settle it where it is supposed to be settled.  Or I'm going to have to spend four hundred more coins."
  
  You think:
       "Oww..."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man glances back at you, his rage dissolved in light of the recent addition of projectile weaponry.
  
  Brow knitting in confusion, the freckled, ponytailed man asks the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "Four hundred... coins?"
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "Because each of you is going to feel a two hundred 'sid bolt enter your ass.  And I'm not talking generally.  I will hit you in the ass."
  
  Grimacing, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
       "Oh."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman appears to have absolutely nothing to say to that.
  
  You think:
     "Nicely done. Spectacular finish."
  
  Pulling some coins out of a Nenyuck marked pouch, handing them to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Thank you, Second Hunter.  Make sure they remember this one, hmmm?"
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives some coins to the lean, ashen haired man.
  
  With a nod, the lean, ashen haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Yeah, I'll make sure they get this shit together, boss."
  
  You feel a bolt...heh...of terror shoot through her.
  
  Nodding to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "You always do."
  
  Glancing briefly to the average, green eyed man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Do you know if we have a spare kank in the compound for this one, Second?"
  
  Looking over at the average, green eyed man, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "There's a spare grey one Louas bought in. He can use that for now."
  
  Long hair, which falls to the lower back of this young human woman when
  freed, has been coaxed into a myriad of tiny braids and generally lies
  coiled, rope-like, atop her head to expose her reedy neck.  The color of her
  hair is between the hues of undyed canvas and over-creamed coffee, a pale
  shade that contrasts with the warm, olive tan color of her skin.  Her thin
  face bears sculpted eyebrows, sharp-seeming, slanted eyes of clear, piercing
  grey, a nose slightly crooked, and full lips the same tan color as the rest
  of her skin.  Though her vaguely feminine frame is rather sparse, and her
  features fine-boned, her jaw and chin have a firm, stubborn set to them.
  Apparently well looked after, her skin bears no visible scarring save for a
  few calluses on the ends of her slender, brown fingers.  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman is in excellent condition.
  
  <worn in hair>           an elaborate wooden comb
  <worn around body>       a hooded, black sandcloth windcloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of brown leather pocketed pants
  <worn on feet>           a pair of black-trimmed snakeskin boots
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman utters a muffled groan and bites her bleeding knuckles.
  
  You look up at the freckled, ponytailed man, like this is all his fault.
  Standing on the short side of average height, this human man's most
  striking feature is his shiny black hair, pulled into a ponytail atop his
  head, where it sprouts up and backwards, almost defying gravity with its
  thickness.  His face is youthful, heart shaped and lacking a strong,
  masculine jawline.  His blue eyes sit just above the freckles that dot the
  bridge of his nose and cheeks, his features boyish over all.  His build is
  forgettable - proportional arms and legs and an averagely weighted
  combination of muscle and flesh.  
  The freckled, ponytailed man is in excellent condition.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man is using:
  <worn in hair>           a scrap of cloth
  <worn around neck>       a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar
  <slung across back>      an obsidian longsword
  <left shoulder>          a tattoo of a pair of noose-faced dice
  <worn around wrist>      a studded bone bracer
  <worn around wrist>      a studded bone bracer
  <worn on forearms>       a pair of blue and purple armbands
  <worn around body>       a hooded, dark brown cloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
  <worn on feet>           a pair of sandals
  
  
  The average, green eyed man crosses his arms and looks back and forth at the interchanges taking place.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man runs his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth, returning the favor towards you.
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man looks down at you.
  
  As if seeing him for the first time, you look up at the average, green eyed man.
  This average looking man stands five feet seven inches in height.
  Auburn-brown hairs is cropped closely to his head and he wears a full grown
  beard.  He has a slightly tannned complexion.  His eyes are a dusky green
  shade.  He is of an average build.  
  The average, green eyed man is in excellent condition.
  
  The average, green eyed man is using:
  <worn on head>           a dusty wide-rimmed brown hat
  <worn around neck>       a dusty water gourd
  <worn across back>       a dusty bone-studded backpack
  <worn on torso>          a dusty sinew-stitched red sandcloth shirt
  <worn on arms>           a dusty pair of blue and purple armbands
  <worn on hands>          a dusty pair of jozhal hide gloves
  <worn about waist>       a dusty leather knife belt
  <worn on legs>           a dusty pair of loose sandcloth leggings
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of sturdy leather travellers' boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  Unloading his maar hand-crossbow, and tucking the bolt away, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "Lovely.  Now that we are all settled down, lets be about our day."
  
  Slumping ruefully against the wall, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Yeah..."
  
  The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
       "I've already spent two hundred coins today.  I'd hate to spend more."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman bares bloodied teeth at the average, green eyed man, noting his stare.
  
  The average, green eyed man looks down towards you and nods his head very slightly.
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman sulkily eases back, supporting herself against one wall.
  
  Straightening his drab, weathered stormcloak, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Alright. If you've got nothing better to do, I'd like Leuckhart up and on a saddle by dawn. Show him how how to get one saddled and shit."
  
  You think:
       "I think I broke something."
  
  You think:
       "That's going to be pleasant."
  
  You think:
       "I hope I broke something of his."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
       "I can show him out to get on and off and stuff, but I don't know I've got time to take him around myself."
  
  The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "No problem, just get him started off."
  
  You feel rage starting to build up again.
  
  Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Right."
  
  You think:
       "No no no. No no."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man pushes off of the wall, tonguing a split on his lower lip.
  
  Keeping an arm over his stomach, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the average, green eyed man, in sirihish:
       "All right. Let's do this..."
  
  The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.
  The average, green eyed man walks north.
  
  Glancing down, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I'd strongly suggest that you and Tan keep out of each other's way. It shouldn't be hard to do until we leave 'Nak."
  
  The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "If you need any bandages or shit... Well, I'll let you sort yourself out."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman's gaze traces over the damage done from the battle, pillow strewn, cots overturned, and other belongings scattered.
  
  An undefeated smirk twists the thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised features as she looks back at the lean, ashen haired man, pushing to her feet.
  
  You stop resting, and stand up.
  
  With a sigh, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Yeah, I know. You're a tough motherfucker and all that. Just no more fucking fights in the barracks."
  
  The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs her assent, tottering like she's ninety years old for the stairs.

  u (munching on a kalan fruit)
  A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
     The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
  polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls.  Numerous rows of narrow
  beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
  and women of all trades;...
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Grudge Match
  Added on Jul 22, 2007

  A Borsail noble, canny of the growing animosity between his two girly, girly aides, pits them against one another in the Wyvern's sparring ring.

  ---

  The Grey Room [S Save]
     The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
  in thick tapestries of serene grey.  Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
  outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room.  On the cool
  obsidian floor several wooden benches have been arranged around a raised
  platform.  A simple weapons rack stands between two cloth-stuffed dummies in
  the northern corner and a row of wooden footlockers lines the southern wall.
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man is standing here.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is standing here.
  A sand-filled sparring dummy is standing here, rigid and unmoving.
  
  A sand-filled sparring dummy swings to and fro on its rope.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead looks up at a sand-filled sparring dummy sadly.
  
  Sauntering into the expansive chamber, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
       "Ah, here we are."
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman flinches slightly as she nears a sand-filled sparring dummy, eyes darting to follow the movement for a moment, as if briefly hypnotised.
  
  Pulling your fine, wide-brimmed hat from her head and loosening her bangles on her wrist, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
       "So we are, my Lord."
  
  This young, human woman appears to be in her late teens, with a slender
  build and shapely limbs.  Her hair, which waxes towards a bright auburn hue
  of burnished red, is most often swept neatly in a thick pile atop her crown
  with some ornamental device or another.  When free, it slinks in sleek
  tousles, falling halfway down her back.  Thick bangs sweep sidelong over her
  high forehead, brushing the tops of her wide-set, dark blue eyes.  Skin the
  creamy, pale color of milk graces her sleight build, its surface even and
  unscarred by wind, sun, or any other hardship.  A faint bridge of freckles
  marks her high cheekbones and straight nose, beneath which sits an
  expressive mouth.  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead is in excellent condition.
  
  <worn on head>           a fine, wide-brimmed hat
  <worn in hair>           an elaborate wooden comb
  <worn in left ear>       an earring of glittering black glass
  <worn in right ear>      an earring of glittering black glass
  <worn around neck>       a grey silk, sapphire-set choker
  <worn around wrist>      a blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle
  <worn around wrist>      a blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle
  <worn around body>       a hooded, crimson linen aba
  <worn on legs>           a crimson and grey striped skirt
  <worn on right ankle>    a leather and chitin strap-sheath
  <worn on left ankle>     a small leather pouch
  <worn on feet>           a pair of snug knee-high boots
  
  You stop using your fine, wide-brimmed hat.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead rakes her hands through her bangs, exposing a brief bruise on her forehead before the locks flop back over it.
  
  You think:
       "Great! The second time in as many days that I get beat up."
  
  You feel irritated.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman blinks a few times, her focus returning to the room at large, hands moving uncertainly to touch against various trinkets of her attire.
  
  You stop using your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle.
  
  You stop using your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her ruby-studded obsidian circlet.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her polished, opal-inset charm.
  
  Clasping gloved hands behind his back, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
       "Now I know you'll both fight fairly and decently.  This is just to see which one of you can best the other, old-fashioned style.  Easy on the scratching - no bruises.."
  
  Yanking it off with almost betrayed annoyance, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her thin, amethyst-studded white collar.
  
  You think:
       "Yeah, I bet it is."
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her sapphire and amethyst stud.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her etched, agafari flute case.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her etched, agafari flute case into her double-layered sandcloth pack.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her ruby-studded obsidian circlet into her double-layered sandcloth pack.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her thin, amethyst-studded white collar into her double-layered sandcloth pack.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman closes a double-layered sandcloth pack.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead considers your fine, wide-brimmed hat for a moment, then tucks it back on her head, piling her upward-sweeping hair beneath it - presumably to avoid giving the sleek, sun-kissed young woman something to grab.
  
  You place your fine, wide-brimmed hat on your head.
  
  Dumping it down before turning back into the room, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her double-layered sandcloth pack onto a long wooden bench, eyes flitting nervously over you as she prepares.
  
  You put your earring of glittering black glass into your hooded, crimson linen aba.
  
  You put your earring of glittering black glass into your hooded, crimson linen aba.
  
  You put your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle into your hooded, crimson linen aba.
  
  You put your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle into your hooded, crimson linen aba.
  
  Shrugging out of it irritably, you stop using your hooded, crimson linen aba.
  
  Draping it over a relatively clean area, the whip coiled along her thigh exposed, you put your hooded, crimson linen aba onto a long wooden bench.
  
  You stop using your leather belt-pack.
  
  You put your leather belt-pack onto a long wooden bench.
  
  Frowning slightly as she watches you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her hooded, crimson linen aba, a hand then moving nervously in attempt to gather up the tumbling locks of hair without success.
  
  Giving up on it after all, for it does obscure visibility quite a lot, and simply tightening the hold that your elaborate wooden comb has on her hair, you stop using your fine, wide-brimmed hat.
  
  You think:
       "Oh, whatever.  If she pulls it she pulls it."
  
  You put your fine, wide-brimmed hat onto a long wooden bench.
  
  Stepping briskly to the ring on booted heels, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
       "Right."
  
  Swinging to and fro on her toes, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
       "Let's just get this over with."
  
  You look up at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.
  As distinguishable as a lavish songbird amongst the city streets, this
  young woman's features are overflowing with exuberant colors.  Hair, the
  colour of obsidian; sleek ebony touched with streaks and taints of Jihae red
  and resplendent gold, is scraped back, taut across her skull, in an
  intricate, knotted weave.  At her nape the mane falls loose in a flourish of
  locks, the chiffon tufts cascading over her narrow back and shoulders with
  the fluidity of a soft waterfall.  Her body is endowed with the gentle
  blossoming of early woman-hood: a narrow frame daintily fleshed by modest
  chest and hips.  Complimenting her build, elegantly supple limbs, the result
  of a comfortable lifestyle with only a little physical exertion, lend to her
  graceful stance.  Her whole countenance is completed with gossamer,
  sun-kissed skin which, combined with her rose-blushed high cheek-bones and
  delicately chiseled chin, leaves her in semblance of a tanned, porcelain
  doll.  Full lips lie beneath a slender nose, the natural pink enhanced by
  sienna inks and decorated with a thin sheen of oil to leave them with a
  wholesome shine.  Notably wide eyes are lined heavily with kohl and framed
  by a lavish curtain of thick, onyx lashes, the opalescent cerulean of her
  gaze penetrating through the the shadowy veil with ease and flawlessly
  matched by a liberal sleep of cobalt across her lids.  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is in excellent condition.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is using:
  <worn about throat>      a translucent scarf of crimson muslin
  <worn across back>       a leather backpack
  <worn on torso>          a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest
  <worn as belt>           a bone-buckled red leather belt
  <hung from belt>         a topaz-pommeled ivory dagger
  <worn on legs>           a crimson and grey striped skirt
  <worn on feet>           a pair of calf-high, crimson leather boots
  
  She is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  Turning weakly to face you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman asks you, in sirihish:
       "Right. How do we start this then?"
  
  Raising a hand to her throat, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
       "Oh wait."
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman looks down at you.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead hurries back over to the bench, removing your grey silk, sapphire-set choker.
  
  You stop using your grey silk, sapphire-set choker.
  
  Glaring at a quartet of wyverns ogling her, you put your grey silk, sapphire-set choker onto a long wooden bench, atop her pile of belongings.
  
  Calling out from his stance, hands behind his back, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
       "Like you would if you were defending yourself in a real life situation."
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead steps back up into the ring, brushing her hands down her skirt.
  
  Feeling fussy and irritated, you think:
       "I can't believe this!"
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman winces vaguely, lifting her hands before her in a weakly protective gesture.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead eyes the sleek, sun-kissed young woman from across the ring, one foot shifting forward uncertainly.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead slinks towards the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, and takes the role of the aggressor in this make-believe.
  
  You stop watching the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her wrist.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead darts backwards after the initial attack, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's fists swiping empty air.
  
  You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's neck with your hit.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her arm.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman sways slightly on her feet, her clumsy steps and movements causing her to stumble somewhat.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  You lunge at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, but your blow is deftly deflected by a crimson and grey striped skirt.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead comes back in, fists grazing against the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's shoulder, coming in for a full-body tackle against her.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her wrist.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her neck.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man intakes the pair of combatants before him with wide and interested eyes.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  
  You stop attacking the sleek, sun-kissed young woman!
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops attacking you.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead backs up quickly, holding up her hands defensively.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead touches the side of her neck gingerly, and eyes the sleek, sun-kissed young woman with mild concern underlaying her annoyance, before looking over at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with pleading expectancy.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman leans forwards, a hand planting down on her slightly bents knees as she catches her breath, a directed breath blowing a lock of stray hair from across her features.
  
  Shaking his head bemusedly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks, in sirihish:
      "You two both fight with such grace and speed, it was hard to follow.  Do.. do we have a winner?"
  
  Between her huffs of breath, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
      "Well, she backed down first."
  
  Shifting from booted foot to booted foot, her hair coming half undone, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
      "I was afraid I would hurt her, my Lord."
  
  Her features holding another expression besides tiredness, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman looks down at you.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead attemps to pile her hair back on her head and fails miserably.
  
  Straightening up, her panting almost returning to normal breaths, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to you, in sirihish:
      "I can worry about myself, Sathis."
  
  Waving his finger negatively in the air with a smile, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
      "I won't declare a winner till one of you steps from the ring in defeat."
  
  You feel a spark of rage kindling beneath the resigned irritation.
  
  A muscle in her jaw twitching as she looks sharply over at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
      "As you wish, my Lord."
  
  With a decisive motion, the slim, milk-skinned redhead yanks your elaborate wooden comb from her hair, twines the thick mass in a tight pile atop her head, and stabs the comb back in to hold it in place.
  
  You subdue the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.
  
  Advancing quickly, the slim, milk-skinned redhead hoists the sleek, sun-kissed young woman up in her arms, and chucks her off the platform, pushing her from the ring.
  
  You release the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, and roughly shove her south.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman has arrived from the south.
  
  Mulishly, crossing her arms, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
      "There."
  
  Barging back towards you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to you, in sirihish:
      "That was not leaving in defeat, it doesn't count."
  
  Whirling back to meet her, you exclaim to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
      "Right! Bring it on!"
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your waist.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
  Your attack on the sleek, sun-kissed young woman is absorbed by a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead grapples with the sleek, sun-kissed young woman determinedly, grabbing her upper arms and pulling down.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your arm.
  
  Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You viciously leap toward the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, but a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest gets in the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
  You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's neck with your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her neck.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your head.
  You reel from the blow.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman viciously leaps toward you, but a pair of snug knee-high boots gets in the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead tackles the sleek, sun-kissed young woman enthusiastically, nails raking against her skin.
  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stoops his neck forward, intaking the combatants before him.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman teeters slightly on her feet, hands flailing weakly towards you, fingers making a grasp for you hair.
  
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
  
  You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman's eyes roll back in her head.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman crumples to the ground.
  You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's head with your hit.
  
  You notice the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man glance your way.
  
  The Grey Room [S Save]
     The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
  in thick tapestries of serene grey.  Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
  outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room.  On the cool
  obsidian floor several wooden benches have been arranged around a raised
  platform.  A simple weapons rack stands between two cloth-stuffed dummies in
  the northern corner and a row of wooden footlockers lines the southern wall.
  The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is sleeping here, bleeding lightly.
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stands here, hands clasped behind his back.
  A sand-filled sparring dummy is standing here, rigid and unmoving.
  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Enough."
  
  The slim, milk-skinned redhead pants tensely in the ring after knocking the sleek, sun-kissed young woman flat on her back, standing with hair undone again and scratch marks on her arms.
  
  The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man paces across the floor in his slippers, nearing the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.
  
  Over the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's unconscious body, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "I knew you'd win, you've been practicing.  Have you got any reviving salts?"

  The Grey Room [S Save]
     The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
  in thick tapestries of serene grey.  Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
  outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room.  On the cool
  obsidian floor several wooden benches have been...
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Lunette Sees Again
  Added on May 5, 2007

  After a hard ride through the desert, a motley pair of assassins-turned-kidnappers stops for the night in a cave north of Luirs, where their blinded and helpless charge regains her sight.

  ---

  This is one part of the long, exciting story of Yellow Belly and Door, unlikely partners who were forced to flee Allanak after committing various acts of terrorism, murder, and other entertaining crime.  This part of the adventure takes place during a hastily planned "kidnapping" of a Borsail aide named Lunette (one of Yellow Belly's old contacts) from the streets of Red Storm.  Thanks to a temporary agreement Door forged with a Drovian, Lunette has been blind since they left the shores of the silt sea.  After a riding hard through the Red Desert, the crew has stopped for the night in a cave just north of Luirs.
  
  Cast of characters -
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah - Yellow Belly
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba - Lunette
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth - Door
  
  =============================
  
  It is dusk on Cingel, the 191st day of the Low Sun,
  In the Year of Vivadu's Anger, year 29 of the 21st Age.
  
  The area is filled with a green light.
  A Narrow Cave [SW Quit]
     You are within the confines of the massive mountain of rock known as
  the Shield Wall.  Here the rock does not appear very weathered, as
  the harsh winds and blowing sands of the Red Desert do not easily
  enter this cave.  Markings of old campfires litter the ground, indicating
  that more than one traveller has spent the night within this natural
  shelter.
     To the west and south the cave opens slightly, preparing to return
  to the harsh desert sands.
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah has arrived from the west, riding a grey kank.
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
  
  You drop a glowing green glow-crystal.  Shown to the room as:
  A glowing green crystal is lying here.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah swings his legs over and jumps off of a grey kank.
  A grey kank curls up on the ground.
  
  You swing your legs over and jump off of a grey kank.
  A grey kank curls up on the ground.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah gets a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a dusty ankle-length white djellabah.
  
  The creak of leathers announces the figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's departure from the saddle.
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "You can get down now."
  
  You draw a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.
  
  You draw a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.
  
  A ropelike bundle of a myriad braids in hues ranging from cobalt to azure
  slithers down the back of this girl to end above the subtly curving small of
  her back, each braid secured with a different colored bit of cloth.  Barely
  beginning adolescence, her body is a model of youthful vigor; slinky, sleek,
  and androgynous.  Slanted feline eyes which match the shade of her hair sit
  on either side of an aquiline but slightly crooked nose which promises to
  hook later in life, the full mouth which lies below bearing a dimple in one
  corner.  Thin, dark brows swoop with an upward flick above the
  aforementioned eyes, bestowing an expression a bit more sly than is probably
  desired.  Deep tanned skin seems wind-burnished to an even bronze even at
  this obviously youthful age.  Her legs are long and lanky, at least for a
  stature so diminutive, and they carry her with lazy ease that hints at speed
  now and possible stature, later on.  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth is in excellent condition.
  
  <worn on head>           a dusty leather and jet-colored chitin coif
  <worn in left ear>       a dusty ruby red glass earring
  <worn in right ear>      a dusty spiraling topaz earring
  <worn around neck>       a dusty snake-skin neckguard
  <worn about throat>      a dusty polished moonstone choker
  <slung across back>      a dusty duskhorn recurve bow
  <worn on arms>           a pair of red sandcloth sleeves
  <worn around wrist>      a stained small leather pouch
  <primary hand>           a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt
  <secondary hand>         a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt
  <worn on left finger>    a dusty small bone thimble
  <worn around body>       a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth
  <worn on legs>           a leather-reinforced sandcloth skirt
  <worn on right ankle>    a strand of bright glass beads
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of knee-high fringed moccasins
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah lights a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah straps a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal onto his ankle.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah draws a bloodied broad-bladed bone shortsword.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba tilts her head at the sound of voice.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
       "Ah beh checkin' 'round deh place."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba presses her hands on the animal, and slowly, oh slowly, slides down from the mount.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba swings her legs to the side and dismounts.
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth inclines her head to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, lashing a grey kank's reigns around her fist.
   
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Yeh let us know if yeh git yeh sight back."
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Yeh beh far 'nuff where yeh ain't able tah git back."
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Tell your animal to sit down, if you can."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba presses her back against her mount, as if unwilling to venture even a step away from the one certainty.
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth sighs, moves forward, and grasps the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's hand in her own, wrapping them around the reigns of a yellow kank.
  
  You begin leading a yellow kank.
  A yellow kank falls in behind you.
  
  You pull on a yellow kank's reins.
  A yellow kank curls up on the ground.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Yeh ain't got tah worry 'bout it."
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
       "Ah beh back."
  
  A Narrow Cave [SW Quit]
     You are within the confines of the massive mountain of rock known as
  the Shield Wall.  Here the rock does not appear very weathered, as
  the harsh winds and blowing sands of the Red Desert do not easily
  enter this cave.  Markings of old campfires litter the ground, indicating
  that more than one traveller has spent the night within this natural
  shelter.
     To the west and south the cave opens slightly, preparing to return
  to the harsh desert sands.
  A glowing green crystal is lying here.
  A yellow kank is reclining here, looking tired.
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba is standing here.
  A grey kank is reclining here, looking tired.
  A grey kank is reclining here, looking tired.
  
  Tone suggestive, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Why not sit down?"
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba instinctively shies away from the touch, with one hand still on the animal, she lowers herself carefully to the ground.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba sits down.
  
  The scrape of a stone against bone suggests that the figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth is sharpening one of her long, curved blades, leaning against the cave wall.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba bites her lower lip.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against one wall, sharpening a scimitar.
   
  You sheathe a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "So."
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's word falls into the dusky silence, broken only by the steady, rough grating of her sharpening instrument against the scimitar.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba blinks rapidly, then covers her eyes from the bright light.
  
  With her mouth slightly ajar, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stares at the cave.
   
  Hanging her head sideways slightly, peeking into her hood, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Can you see?"
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans forward and snaps her fingers in front of the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's face experimentally.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's long lashes flutters at your movement.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba wets her dry lips and nods.
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth draws her hand back to her side.
  
  Brightly, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Well, great."
  
  The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth gives her lithe body a vigorous shake, trails of sand fissing from the folds of her garments to pool on the ground around her.
  
  You start cleaning.
  
  You dust yourself off.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth rubs her blades clean, flakes of dried blood fluttering off the edges to fall to the ground atop the pile of sand.
  
  You start cleaning.
  
  You quickly wipe the blood off of a bloodied darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.
  
  You start cleaning.
  
  You quickly wipe the blood off of a bloodied darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba pushes herself tightly against the rough stone wall as she stares at you.
  
  Leaning against the opposite wall and meeting her stare from within the shadows of her hood, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Look, if we wanted to kill you, we wouldn't have gone through all that trouble. You think I like dragging blind girls through the desert?"
  
  Grim tone banished with a beaming smile, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "You'll thank us later."
  
  A yellow kank leisurely waves its antennae about.
  
  Scratching the top of a grey kank's chitinous head with the tip of your darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Ok, fine, we don't have to talk."
  
  A grey kank leisurely waves its antennae about.
  
  You think:
       "Wow, she hates me."
  
  Feeling a shimmer of teenage resentment, you think:
       "But this is for Yellow Belly...I don't have to like her either."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba draws her knees up and drapes her arms around herself, hiding her face from the green gleam of the crystal.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth begins to drum her fingers against the cave wall, your small bone thimble beating a faint but relentless tattoo against the rough stone.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against the cave wall, blades drawn.
  
  A grey kank makes a bleating noise and moves its head from side to side.
  
  Pursing her full lips as she leans against the wall, the figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth begins to whistle an eerie and childlike little tune, the sound magnified by the echoing cave.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba makes a little sound deep in her throat.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba lifts her head to peer at you, lucent, gold rims of her eyes dimmed by a flood of tears.
  
  Stopping her whistling abruptly, the sound dying away in the cave beneath the ambient movements of the kanks, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Oh, sorry, did you say something?"
  
  You are Door.
  Keywords: slinky blue-braided girl human Jailbait
  Sdesc: the slinky, blue-braided girl
  Objective: Get to Tuluk alive.
  Long Description:
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against the cave wall, blades drawn.
  
  You are 14 years, 2 months, and 214 days old,
   which by your race and appearance is young.
  You are 62 inches tall, and weigh 6 ten-stone.
  Your strength is average, your agility is exceptional,
    your wisdom is extremely good, and your endurance is below average.
  You are a little hungry and a little thirsty.
  Your health is 93(93), you have 131(135) stamina, and 95(95) stun.
  
  You have been playing for 10 days and 15 hours.
  You are standing.
  You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth reaches out a moccasined toe to roll a glowing green glow-crystal idly back and forth across the stony ground.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth resumes her whistling, the shadows outside the cave deepening as day turns to night.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's eyes has now dimmed to a dark purple, but the gold and copper in them are still burning with resentment and desolation, and lastly, the pains of betrayal.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth rolls her eyes.
  
  You think:
       "Oh gimme a break!"
  
  You think:
       "So we took her away from her home...and city...and everything she's ever known...without asking. It's not like we were mean about it."
  
  You think:
       "And we had good intentions.  Mostly good.  Stupid Allanak, anyway."
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth covers a yawn with the flat of one scimitar, eyelids drooping sleepily over an azure gaze before snapping alertly back up.
  
  Fishing your travel cake out of her pocket and holding it up between thumb and forefinger, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Hungry?"
  
  As if tireless, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba watches your every moment, fueled by a sandstorm of feelings more wild than the weather outside.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba looks at the cake in your hand, then licks her lips.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's full lips part in a slantwise  grin, and she tosses your travel cake into the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's skirted lap.
  
  The morsel landing with a thump in her lap, you give your travel cake to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba.
  
  The cake crumbles in her hand as the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba picks it up. But she pays it no more mind than the dusts that have claimed almost every surface of her attire. Her eyes never wavering from you, she takes an almost savage bite.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba eats a portion of her travel cake.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba coughs softly at the dryness, but forces herself to swallow.
  
  Tightening the worn leather straps of your dujat-shell breastplate, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "We're out of water. But we'll leave come morning, we're not far from Tuluk."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stares at you with wide eyed horror.
  
  With a pearly smile catching the light of a glowing green glow-crystal, you exclaim to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Plenty of water there!"
  
  Far from being comforted, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba almost choked on her cake at your words.
  
  Stepping out from behind a grey kank, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
       "'Ell ain't nothin' comin' 'dis way from deh south."
  
  Looking down at the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah asks, in sirihish:
       "Yeh know if Miss Lunette beh gettin' 'er sight back?"
  
  Crouching down on her toes to find her level and make eye contact with her, glancing sidelong at the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Oh, relax. Like you wouldn't have been executed if we hadn't stepped in."
  
  Pushing back up from the floor, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
       "She can see. Not talking much though."
  
  As if in response, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba looks at the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah with a glare that could scorch a desert.
  
  Looking down at the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba with a hearty laugh, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah asks, in sirihish:
       "'Ell good! Yeh kin see 'gain. Woulda been worse if yeh beh blind fer deh rest 'o yeh life, eh?"
  
  It is before dawn on Nekrete, the 192nd day of the Low Sun,
  In the Year of Vivadu's Anger, year 29 of the 21st Age.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba eats her small portion of a travel cake.
  
  As she moves amongst the animals, checking straps and saddles, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
       "It's almost morning. We should head out soon."
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah nods at you.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "'Ell, Lunette. Yeh git yeh sight back fer deh prettiest part 'o deh journey."
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Gonna beh seein' more trees 'n flowers 'n yeh e'er seen 'fore."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba works on the last bit of her cake and swallows.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stands up.
  
  A yellow kank leisurely waves its antennae about.
  
  You stop leading a yellow kank.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth tosses the reigns of a yellow kank to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, where they land by her feet.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah begins leading a grey kank.
  
  Swinging herself deftly into the saddle atop a grey kank, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
       "Well, get on up then, Miss Aide."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba accepts the reins with a sullen silence, and stares at the poor kank as if it is the fault of her current situation.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.
  A yellow kank rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah extinguishes a glowing green glow-crystal.
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah picks up a green glow-crystal.
  
  The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth holds out her hand for the crystal.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah tosses the crystal to you before he crawls up the side of his kank.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah gives you his green glow-crystal.
  
  As your green glow-crystal snaps neatly into the palm of her hand, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
       "Thank you, Yellow Belly."
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah jumps up onto a grey kank's back.
  A grey kank rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah falls in behind you.
  
  The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah sheathes a bloodied broad-bladed bone shortsword.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba falls in behind you.
  
  Making sure of the fit of your small bone thimble on her finger, gripping the saddle of her mount between her knees, and leading the group for the cave's narrow exit, you say, in sirihish:
       "Off we trot, then. Almost home."
  
  =============================
  
  Since the pair was already wanted in Allanak by the templarate, they later tried to trade Lunette back to the black city, in an attempt to remove the bounty from Yellow Belly's head - with disastrous results.   But that's another story. 
  

  This is one part of the long, exciting story of Yellow Belly and Door, unlikely partners who were forced to flee Allanak after committing various acts of terrorism, murder, and other entertaining crime.  This part of the adventure takes place during a hastily planned "kidnapping" of a Borsail...
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