Original Submissions

• 

  Leave No Stone Unturned by pof Dorri
  Added on May 7, 2023

  Dorri, a Rukkian, stumbles over a young woman who doesn't seem to realize what she really is.

  ---

  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You pass beneath the shadow of the red sandstone templar statue.
  The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [N, E, S, Quit]
  This common room composes the bulk of the Gladiator and the Gaj
  Tavern, a bustling establishment founded in the Year of Suk-Krath's
  Defiance of the 19th age. A cacophony of sounds fills the inn, from the
  busy murmur of the many merchants that frequent the location to the
  howling of the crowd, greeting the arriving news of the latest arena
  fight, to the drunken whine of the hundreds of commonfolk that have made
  the place famous. Stout wooden beams support the paneled roof of the
  room, each bearing many drawings carved by the patrons of the tavern.
  An agafari-wood bar dominates the western side of the room, the shelves
  behind it supporting the weight of many alcoholic beverages. Wood and
  stone tables with matching chairs are strewn all over the chamber in
  clusters as to allow waiters and waitresses to circulate with ease. A
  raised platform has been erected in the northeastern corner for the
  messengers and hawkers hired by the establishment that relay the latest
  news from the arena.
  To the north, a scarred tarp of carru hide leads out onto the busy
  Caravan Way. Flickering yellow and orange light spills out from the
  southern room of the tavern, where the meals are prepared and where
  travelers may roast their raw meat for free. Eastwards lies the public
  sleeping area, while a door lies behind the bar, most likely a back
  room.
  A wall here is designated as a message board.
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf is sitting at a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
  The short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak is sitting at a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
  The sandy-haired scruffy teen is sitting on a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
  The smoky-gazed Allanaki soldier drinks some ale at the bar.
  The smoldering-eyed, hale man is sitting at a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
  The angular, silver-eyed man is here, leaning casually against a wall.
  The brutally-scarred orange dwarf sits here at a table, drinking heavily.
  A dark-skinned human barkeep stands behind the bar.
  The lean, sun-reddened woman laughs as she talks at a large table here.
  The hairy, dark-skinned woman watches the room from beside the bar here.
  The towering, golden-haired half-giant is here, crouched beside a table.
  
  The hood of a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak is already lowered.
  
  To the south is the Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Roasting Pits.
  [Near]
  The short, buff, thick-maned soldier is standing here.
  
  A tarp to the east leads to the Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Public Dormitory.
  The tarp is open.
  [Near]
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is here, slumped on the ground in a corner.
  The sable-haired, jade-eyed soldier relaxes on a bedroll, off-duty.
  The slim human with olive skin is standing here.
  
  You are using:
  a scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered cap
  a dusty dusky-black feather
  a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar
  a dull black gem
  a carru-horn, baobab spear
  a dusty bahamet-embroidered leather backpack
  a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket
  a coil of numut-woven rope
  a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
  a bright blue sandcloth bandana
  a durrit-claw bracer
  a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth gloves
  a bead-sewn pouched belt
  a blackened serrated bone halfsword
  a long redhide pouch
  a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak
  a tightly-woven sash of dark sandcloth
  a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
  a dusty pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered boots
  
  
  While offering the sandy-haired scruffy teen a friendly wave, the ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf looks up at the short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak.
  
  The mousy, young man lowers the hood of his black, hooded militia dustcloak.
  
  The thin young woman knocks the grit off the bottoms of your dusty pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered boots, one at a time, by knocking the side of her foot against the arch's frame.
  
  You dust yourself off.
  
  At a long, scarred bar of agafari wood, the ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf speaks, grinning broadly.
  
  The thin young woman pushes away from the northern arch, wandering through the morning crowd toward a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
  
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf opens her dusty large chalton-hide backpack.
  
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf gets her plain bag of cloth from her dusty large chalton-hide backpack.
  
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf gets her large bag from her dusty large chalton-hide backpack.
  
  Absently wadding it up, the ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf puts her plain bag of cloth into her dusty scrub-camouflaged sandcloth duster.
  
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf gets her pale wooden longbow from her large bag.
  
  The mousy, young man holds a hand out to the ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf curiouslt.
  
  The ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf gives her pale wooden longbow to the mousy, young man.
  
  East, through a tarp, is the Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Public Dormitory.
  The tarp is open.
  [Near]
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is here, slumped on the ground in a corner.
  The sable-haired, jade-eyed soldier relaxes on a bedroll, off-duty.
  The slim human with olive skin is standing here.
  
  The thin young woman pauses before a long, scarred bar of agafari wood, then pushes past it.
  
  The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Public Dormitory [W, Quit]
  This spacious chamber provides a place for the public to sleep for
  free. The floor is covered with tens of soiled, greasy blankets and
  makeshift beds provided by their occupants. Crude insignia and drawings
  have been scrawled on the agafari walls, etched with knifepoint or drawn
  with charcoal. The stench of unwashed humanoid bodies mingles with the
  tantalizing scent of cooked meat wafting in from the bar and restaurant
  to the west. The carru-hide tarp hanging over the archway to the west
  hardly muffles the dull roar of the crowd. Though the conditions in the
  dormitory are quite dingy, it is certainly better than sleeping on the
  dangerous streets of Allanak.
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is here, slumped on the ground in a corner.
  The sable-haired, jade-eyed soldier relaxes on a bedroll, off-duty.
  The slim human with olive skin is standing here.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak weeps softly to hereself.
  
  Unabashedly curious, you look down at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  This young woman is scrawny and willowy in build. She is rather short
  and slender with a frame average for a woman of her height and width. Her
  arms and legs are especially thin, appearing almost like sticks. Her hair
  is a messy little nest of dark brown, cut very short. Her small eyes are a
  light grey. Her facial features are almost flat with a short little nose
  and a well rounded chin. Her complexion is lightly tanned and covered in
  some minor nicks and spots.
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is using:
  an angular, crescent shaped scar
  a dusty bone-studded backpack
  a simple sandcloth shirt
  a few pale, faint looking scars
  a dusty dark, hooded cloak
  a pair of light-brown pants
  a dusty pair of chalton leather boots
  
  She is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  The thin young woman turns, making her way toward a worn, woven mat lying against the wall.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak tries to hide her tears, thought she seems unaware of any attention upon her.
  
  With her back to the wall, you sit down, on the woven mat.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The thin young woman sits on a worn, woven mat, her back to the wall.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak shuffles and cries out in pain quietly as she attempts to sit upright in a corner.
  
  The thin young woman shoots another look toward the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, then tips her head back, resting back against the wall in a limp, loose sprawl.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak takes a few heavy breathes, becoming more quiet. She glances down at her ankle with wet eyes before huddling up by herself.
  
  Very briefly as she nervously looks around the dorm area, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at you.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks away quickly from you and back to the ground, weeping anew and closing her eyes.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lies down and falls asleep.
  
  Shutting her eyes, you say, in sirihish:
  "Krath."
  
  The thin young woman glances toward the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak again, then leans over, palming up off the mat.
  
  You stand up.
  
  The thin young woman stretches, pushes off the wall, then steps over to where the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lies.
  
  You think:
  "I'm too nice."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sniffles in her sleep, stirring only slightly before laying on the ground. She idly runs her hand about in some dirt.
  
  The thin young woman boots out at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's side ungently, standing over her.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak awakens.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak starts right away, yelping out in suprise.
  
  The thin young woman takes a step back, still looking down at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, caught between curiousity and resentment.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stares back at you, looking terrified. She seems caught between trying to run and being in pain.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:
  "I...please...don't...don't steal me soul...."
  
  Flatly, you say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "Are you hungry."
  
  In case the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak had any illusions about the thin young woman: it wasn't a question.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak whimpers, looking westwards.
  
  Very quietly, still starting at you's gem, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:
  "No...fine. Please...won't bother ya."
  
  Inhaling slowly, taking another step away from her - holding her hands out, palm up, placatingly, you ask the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "Gem means I'm collared. And I can't steal your soul, anyway. Ashbringers do that. I make shitty bread, and that's about it. You hurt?"
  
  Still looking extremely fearful but also pained and immensely tired, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:
  "I...what? You...but. No...fine. Fine."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak tries to stand again but clearly can't, wincing and clutching her ankle.
  
  Dropping down across from the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, on the floor, you sit down, before scooting back a little further, giving her space.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The thin young woman sits here, a ways from the cloaked figure.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak quivers a little as she eyes you, but exhaustion seems to be keeping her in place. She is covered in a lot of dirt and fresh sand.
  
  The thin young woman hunches her shoulders up, chin tipped down, trying in vain to mask your dull black gem's presence.
  
  After some time, offering lamely, you say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "My name's Dorri. Was born in Luirs."
  
  In a defeated tone, clearly unhappy, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:
  "Don't know where Luirs be. Please don't...don't make it hurt daemon. You win...can't be running."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lets a tear fall down her cheek.
  
  With a brief glance westward, toward the tarp, you say, in sirihish:
  "Luirs. It's the outpost north of here, on the road. Kuraci owned. It was nice, I guess."
  
  Opening an eye, clearly very confused but cornered, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
  "Kuralki? What they? North...so...Tuluk?"
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at you.
  
  Apparently content to talk to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, crossing her arms over your desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket, you say, in sirihish:
  "Boy, you don't know much, do you? Let's see. Tuluk's north in the scrub, but Luirs is south of there. It's in the middle of the road."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak merely stares at you, chewing her lip and drying one of her eyes slightly.
  
  Not unkindly, continuing to ramble on, you say, in sirihish:
  "Basically... And there's Blackwing Outpost, too, but I can't go back there, I bet. Or past Luirs anymore... But yeah, uhm, Kuraci. It's a House, like Salarr and all. The dun cloaks, you must have seen..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman lowers the hood of her dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Trailing off, tipping her head to one side, you say, in sirihish:
  "Mmm, I mean. I swear they had... people here. An agent. Maybe not. In Storm, though."
  
  Meekly, looking down, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Salarr? Uhm...merchant people like?"
  
  With a distracted nod, glancing back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:
  "Mhm. A Great House like Salarr or - well, Kadius."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman idly clutches at some dirt in the ground, watching you with a little less fear but immense confusion.
  
  Tonguing at the inside of her cheek, you say, in sirihish:
  "Merchant Houses. Kurac's big into spice trading. Zharal, Tho. That sort of thing. But not here, of course."
  
  A hint of curiousity, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Why...why do they let daemons walk...walk about? Why aren't ya...uh...you do take souls. Why daemons ain't right?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tries to lean up a little, nursing her ankle and tearing up again. She is clearly annoyed by this.
  
  Not quite bristling, but coming close, you say, in sirihish:
  "I'm one of His Gemmed Citizens."
  
  Quietly but quite honestly, looking a little tense, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Yah I ain't...too...daemons and Gemmed daemons. I know..."
  
  Reaching up to touch around, but never at, your dull black gem, you say, in sirihish:
  "Under His protection. I serve the Highlord, and Lady Templar Oash. Anyway."
  
  Meekly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Protection? Don't you get kept in cages till His Templar need...ya?"
  
  With a soft snort, dropping her arm back into her lap, you say, in sirihish:
  "Mostly in the quarter, I mean. I had an apartment out here for awhile but it's not the same. We're just... citizens."
  
  The thin young woman shrugs defensively and draws her legs up, bent at the knee, and wraps an arm about them.
  
  Mostly to herself, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Don't make sense...nothing makes sense."
  
  Resting her chin against her knee, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman curiously, you ask, in sirihish:
  "Is it supposed to?"
  
  Very quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Why ya...talking ta me? I ain't got nothing. Plenty of normal folk...out thar don't talk ta me. You...aint going to hurt me?"
  
  Clearly not sure how to answer, furrowing her brow, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Well...yah. Things should make sense..."
  
  Shutting her eyes, eyebrows beetling together briefly as her forehead wrinkles, you say, in sirihish:
  "I'm not going to hurt you - and that, that's shit. If things were supposed to make sense, I'd be a Faithful Lord's aide, or an Outrider for Kurac, or so rich and..."
  
  Wetting at her lips, murmuring, you say, in sirihish:
  "So - rich and silky that it'd hurt to sit up straight."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks slightly now, seeming to really not understand a word you is saying.
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Things made sense afore..."
  
  Opening her eyes, looking back to her, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Before... you hurt your leg."
  
  Her voice tried and a little wavery, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Na...afore I...uhm well. Afore I had to leave me home. Home was safe. Thought leaving might be nice...ain't. Everything is awful. Just like..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman rubs at her neck idly, shifting her ankle about a little and biting her lip.
  
  The thin young woman shrugs lamely in response to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, chin still propped on her knee.
  
  Looking worried, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Sorry...talking ta much. Stupid..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman huddles up again, before looking back at you.
  
  Glancing down at the floor, you say, in sirihish:
  "I left home, ended up - a few weeks, bumming around Luirs, and then this breed shows up."
  
  Musingly, you say, in sirihish:
  "Want to go to Tuluk? And - I don't know why - I went. He gave me a sunback, a nice spear. Off I went to His Ivory, and then this necker there - I joke about it, but I really do think I must look like an easy mark, or an idiot, or..."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "What be a breed? I...sorry...Pa said that word lot. Tuluk? Why ya go thar? They all crazy savages who eat folk?"
  
  Stopping and glancing at her feet, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Thought...can ya eat a daemon?"
  
  Ignoring the scrawny, grey-eyed woman for the time, you say, in sirihish:
  "But this sharp takes me in, and I hunt for her, and I make plenty of sid that way. My own apartment. There's this man, I run back off to Luirs with him for a few weeks - we were going to put one over on the sharp."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
  "'toks got him. So - but, by that time, I knew, I guess. I mean - I did, but I don't want to talk about it."
  
  Giving her head a sudden, hard shake, you say, in sirihish:
  "A breed. You know. Half and half. Or... well. Whatever."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Half and half what?"
  
  Blankly, you look at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  As if it's the most obvious thing, you say, in sirihish:
  "A sharp and a person."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman furrows her brow, clearly looking a little confused. However it seems something clicks and she looks horrifed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "That be what...but....that is even more...that is terrible."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman chews her lip hard, shaking her head.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Whira...things is all mixed up. "
  
  Exhaling slowly through her nose, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you ask, in sirihish:
  "Uhm. Yeah. You like gurth?"
  
  You hear a woman's voice shout from the west in sirihish:
  "If I ever catch who keeps stickin' their hand in my shit I'm goin' t' stick my mace up your ass!"
  
  Briefly, you look west.
  
  With a little start, looking fearfully towards the west, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I...Gurth? Uhm...like? "
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the puny, cherubic lass with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the puny, cherubic lass:
  "Hey, come here. Can you read this little rat's fortunes?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  Softly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Why do you want to know if...I like something?"
  
  With a shrug, you say, in sirihish:
  "For awhile, it's all I would do. Hunt gurth. I mean - I'm fighting them off in packs, and there's this sharp, a Sun Runner, and he's laughing at me... I don't know. I like gurth."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems quite interested as you speaks, though she still seems a little nervous.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Ya hunt things...in the wastes?"
  
  Shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:
  "Nmhm. Not now. I used to hunt. I'd hunt in the scrub, mostly. Sometimes in the waste, though. I don't now."
  
  Chewing her lip and nodding once, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Kay...why you talking to me again? You really don't...don't want anything? Got nuthin...would have bolted if I could. Ya not even going ta hit me?"
  
  Shaking her head once, without lifting her chin off her knee, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Nope."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems a little confused at this, but seems a little less tense now. She only now seems to notice she is rather dirty. She wipes at her face and stares at the dirt for a moment.
  
  Quietly to herself, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Pa would be mad..."
  
  You think:
  "Gul has a mascot. Why can't I?"
  
  Blinking and looking over, with a hint of shame, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Me ankle...is hurt. Don't know why. Fell on it."
  
  Without opening her eyes, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I can't fix it. I'm not... that sort of person."
  
  With a curious blink at you, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Why would ya be able to fix it? Stupid. Lucky sharps did na try to eat me in the street. Been trying to avoid em....they everywhere though."
  
  Talking to hereslf, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Really stupid. Need to...Whira..."
  
  Lifting her head off her knee, glancing westward, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Gul could. That's what he does. But it's sort of - I don't know. He pisses a lot, and that's that."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman glances to the west, seeing the large gathered crowd. She tense a little and shakes her head.
  
  Abruptly, glancing back, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "What's your plan? I mean - you can't just sit here."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "It' fine. Feels na so bad now..."
  
  Looking down a little, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Plan? I...I don't know."
  
  Seeming to spark up in a guard fashion, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Ya know where rocks can be found on the street. Been trying to fine some so can sell em for coin or...or something."
  
  Clearing her throat awkwardly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Ah... Don't take them off the street. You could greb for salt, though - but that's past the walls. Dangerous a little alone."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman clearly looks unhappy about this, slumping a little.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Ya...ya know anyone needs someone can clean? I can clean and...carry things and...and stuff."
  
  Uncertainly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Er. The - I... stay at the temple. You could clean that but... it's, you know."
  
  Finishing, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "In the quarter."
  
  With a light blink, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Where is that?"
  
  Face blanking, then regarding the scrawny, grey-eyed woman in open curiousity, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "...What?"
  
  Flushing red a little, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I don't...know where it is. I...don't really know where most things be..."
  
  You ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "But you're... a southerner. From here?"
  
  The thin young woman closes her hand into a fist, sans her index finger, and prods her finger at the floor for emphasis.
  
  With a low nod, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I...yah. But I don't...never..."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Never had to walk very far...before."
  
  Just that, you say, in sirihish:
  "Gee."
  
  Leaning over, you stand up, palming up off the floor.
  
  As she straightens, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Come on."
  
  Sniffing slightly, brushing some hair back, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Found place where they sell lots of things and...only got a little lost in some place with...uhm?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands up.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tries to stand and seems able, though she limps a little.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman falls in behind you.
  
  The thin young woman hesitates, then reaches out, extending her arm to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
  "You good?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman hesitates herself, seeming unsure what to do. She takes the arm and raises her hood.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman raises the hood of her dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:
  "Uhm...little. We going somewhere?"
  
  With a quick nod, you say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "Yup. Going to show you."
  
  The thin young woman turns, tugging the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak along with herself, and heads for the tarped archway.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak nods a little, seeming to have little to say.
  
  (Moving west into: The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [N, E, S, Quit])
  
  The tall figure in a dusty deep-hooded, brown robe pauses upon entering and bows stiffly toward the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man.
  
  The sunbronzed, dark-bearded man looks at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The slate-eyed, fat man looks down at the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man.
  
  Puffing her cheeks out, the ebon-skinned, matronly dwarf asks the slate-eyed, fat man, in sirihish:
  "Dregg's my mate, oy. You Meso's friend?"
  
  The tall figure in a dusty deep-hooded, brown robe looks down at the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man.
  
  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, red sandcloth windcloak shuffles over to a more empty corner of the bar, and plops down ont his ass.
  
  Turning his head to glance behind him, the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man looks up at the tall figure in a dusty deep-hooded, brown robe.
  
  Easing his back against a wall, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, red sandcloth windcloak sits down.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak limps along slightly, spotting the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man however she blinks and then lowers herself into a clumsy bow.
  
  The thin young woman slows, looking from the tall figure in a dusty deep-hooded, brown robe to the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man, then skirts the crowded tavern, headed for the northern arch.
  
  Reaching up with a hand, the lanky, black-haired half-giant lowers the hood of his dusty hooded, red sandcloth windcloak.
  
  The grizzled, purple-maned half-elf looks up at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Glancing aside, the tall figure in a dusty deep-hooded, brown robe looks down at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The grizzled, purple-maned half-elf looks up at you.
  
  You think:
  "Don't know why that Tor lord keeps slumming it in here."
  
  Lifting his voice, the sunbronzed, dark-bearded man asks the night-tressed, murfa-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Darcy. All goes well?"
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak limps behind you.
  
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The thin young woman ducks out onto the street - and gets a mouthful of grit, coughs, and hikes up your hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  You raise the hood of your hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  A faint shape blinks, seeming to be caught off guard at the amount of sand in the air.
  
  You feel uncomfortably hot.
  The figure in a hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak breaks into a fit of coughing, tears pouring from your eyes.
  
  Spitting, you say, in sirihish:
  "Fuck - fuck."
  
  A faint shape suddenly clutches tight against you, yelping out. The clutch seems to relax suddenly after a moment. .
  
  The figure in a hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak doubles over in a coughing fit, jerking unintentionally on a faint shape's hand, then straightens, moving down the road.
  
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You pass beneath the shadow of the red sandstone templar statue.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak wanders listlessly, her head beneath her cloak's hood swinging this way and that.
  
  A little hoarse, you say, in sirihish:
  "Uhm."
  
  A faint shape seems to clutch less against you, and her yelping stops as she takes in deep and easy breathes.
  
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  As the figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak wanders along, she wrenches from time to time on a faint shape's hand, mostly unintentional.
  
  
  Uncertainly, you say, in sirihish:
  "It's..."
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  A faint shape follows easily behind you, her speed seeming to actually match you's.
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak sniffs suddenly, then stops sharply, squinting through the sand at your tightly-woven sash of dark sandcloth.
  
  A weak, piteous moan sounds from somewhere atop the massive heap of bodies.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak pats down at your tightly-woven sash of dark sandcloth, then glances down - and finds herself standing pretty close to several desiccated corpses.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
  "...Oh."
  
  Quite clearly, a faint shape says, in sirihish:
  "It's a little hard ta be...oh..."
  
  A faint shape winces and backs up into her pair of light-brown pants.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak backs two steps up, then turns, doubling back down the street - more or less dragging a faint shape along with her.
  
  Raising her voice, you ask, in sirihish:
  "To be? What?"
  
  A faint shape lets herself be dragged quite easily, offering no resistance.
  
  A little dazed sounding, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Hard ta see. So much sand...so much."
  
  As the sand gradually lets up, pacing along more confidently, you say, in sirihish:
  "Oh. Yeah."
  
  Hanging back from the horde of people, skirting the edges of that crowd, you say, in sirihish:
  "Here, uhm... There."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak blinks a little as the dust starts to die down. She frowns a little, seeming to not really be paying attention to where she is going as you leads her.
  
  Gesturing vaguely northward, you say, in sirihish:
  "The quarter. For, uhm."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak snaps to attention and shuffles over to the north.
  
  Lowering her voice, you say, in sirihish:
  "His Gemmed Citizens."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak continues to skirt the edge of that restless crowd, tugging the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak along with her still.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak relaxes almost immediately, shoulders slumping.
  
  With a light blush, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Oh I...uhh...stupid. Yah went down that road while walking. Saw weird buildings. Ya I...I know I was not paying attention."
  
  Wincing at the memory, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Then I saw the gems and ran...must look a fool."
  
  With an easy shrug, wandering along the street - and even smiling a little, you say, in sirihish:
  "Yeah, well. I'll show you my temple, or whatever."
  
  As she wanders, you say, in sirihish:
  "I have a bird. From an Arabeti, a hawk. But he's sort of stupid, now."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak seems a little tense again, clearly on edge as she looks around. Yet she follows you in a manner which suggests she is keen to stay close to you.
  
  Slowing as the slim, compact youth rushes past, adding quietly, you say, in sirihish:
  "But it's a long story."
  
  With a worried expression, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Did daemons draw all this stuff? It...this looks familar."
  
  Glancing toward one of the statues lining the street, slowing again, you ask the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "Uhm. Really?"
  
  A bit lamely, you say, in sirihish:
  "I still can't make... heads or ass out of most of it."
  
  With a low nod, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Uhm yah. Guess I...this road I came down when got lost last week."
  
  Briefly, you look at the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Quietly, you say, in sirihish:
  "Oh. Yeah, well. Ah."
  
  The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak just shrugs, wandering.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at the patterns on the road, leaning again heavily against the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak despite walking quite easily now.
  
  Abruptly, the figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak breaks into a run.
  
  You speed up to a fast run.
  
  The tall figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stealthily moves south.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak skids to a stop, wrenching a look southward.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the severe, blue-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "Someone's sneaking around in the quarter. Taller than I am."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak frowns a little as she glances southwards.
  
  You slow down to a brisk walk.
  
  Hissing the words, you say, in sirihish:
  "Shit, almost got a good look..."
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak wets at her lips, glancing about uncertainly again, then lets her shoulders slump.
  
  With a light blink, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
  "What be...who was that?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Where in the Quarter? It ain't that small."
  
  Shaking her head once, resuming her much slower pace down the street, you say, in sirihish:
  "I don't know. There are these - uhm. 'rinth rats that sneak in. Through the wall."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "Down Ruk's Way. Like he came out of the 'rinth through that crack in the wall."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks concerned and chews her lip, seeming to at least understand this statement.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "But they would...daemons live here? I...whira..."
  
  Sighing and looking down, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Should probably just accept everything is weird..."
  
  A bit tensely, you say, in sirihish:
  "Yeah. That bastard in the Suk-Krath temple, he lets them come in without a -gem-."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
  "There was a flying 'rinth sharp a few weeks ago, floating around. Just - you know. Floating around."
  
  Feeling wary, you think:
  "Bet he's the same sort."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at you, clearly a little taken aback and frowning.
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in sirihish:
  "Ain't...right."
  
  With another quick, loose shrug, you say, in sirihish:
  "Lady Templar saw fit to end his life for his, uhm, audacity."
  
  Abruptly, you ask the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "You have people skills?"
  
  Nodding firmly, the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
  "That be good. I know bout His Templar. What does that mean exactly? People skills?"
  
  Wetting at her lips, twisting to look ahead at the temple entrance, you say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "You don't. Okay. Don't freak out."
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks a little confused at you.
  
  The Temple of Ruk [S, D, Quit]
  The walls of this small temple are made of smooth mud brick, the
  greyish red color of their composition left uncovered. The air is still and
  quiet, an atmosphere of peace and silence permeating the room. Statues,
  carved of dark stone, their forms amorphous and unguessable, are spaced
  evenly around the borders, what would seem to be their gaze directed towards
  the center of the temple, where a large clay dish has been placed on a
  pedestal, filled with murky water.
  A large open archway leads south out of the temple and onto the streets
  of Allanak, while a stone spiral staircase descends into the ground below,
  covered by a thin sheet of sand.
  A burly dwarf is here, watching the area.
  A pale, purple-haired woman stands here, beside a statue.
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the south.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak tugs the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak in and, with her free hand, reaches back, pushing down at her cloak's hood.
  
  You lower the hood of your dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman lowers the hood of her dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Her eyes tracking toward that one bit of floor that isn't floor, but is definitely sand, and definitely moving, you say, in sirihish:
  "Anyway. It gets dusty in here."
  
  Quite idly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Yes...came here. It's nice..."
  
  Uncertainly, you look at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems to focus a little more suddenly, looking uncomfortable.
  
  Pausing, you ask, in sirihish:
  "Really?"
  
  Frowning and back a little away, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Uhm...no. Feels weird. Can...can we go? I want to go."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman takes a few more steps back, clearly having no trouble with her ankle now. She looks confused and frightened however.
  
  The thin young woman watches the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, blatantly confused.
  
  A little awkwardly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Can we go now? It's...can we go?"
  
  Persisting, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Wait - it's, what?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman bumps into a statue, frowning heavily.
  
  Glancing about the temple - stone statues, spiraled staircase and sand shield, you ask, in sirihish:
  "It's... Well, okay. It's dusty. Is it really that bad?"
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "It feels odd. Not good really! You sure you ain't going to hurt me. You don't feel like you would but I...I'm confused. Me leg hurt but it's all better now."
  
  Hesitant before nodding quickly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Awful...terrible. The worst thing..."
  
  Tipping her head back, staring up, you say, in sirihish:
  "Weird. It's better past the sand - I lose track of the time, sometimes. I get stuck down there for weeks, just... Not even doing anything."
  
  Glancing back, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "But! I was thinking you could help tidy up the temple. Since you don't have anything better to do."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman glances towards the sand and actually steps forwards a little. She seems annoyed by this and then raises an eyebrow at you.
  
  Also glancing toward that sifting, shifting sheet of sand, you look down.
  A sheet of constantly-rippling sand bars the way down the spiral
  staircase into the depths of the temple below.
  [Near]
  Nothing.
  
  Meekly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Clean...but don't? I'm...I"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "I ain't allowed here? Am I?"
  
  With a loose shrug, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Gul brings Oz everywhere, and he's not - he's... you know. Normal. Nobody complains. And I'm not letting you -into- the temple, anyway, just the entry room. You can keep here clean."
  
  Idly pawing at the statue she has bumped into, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "But I am normal! Why would I..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks down at herself and starts to furiously dust herself, seeming only now to be bothered by her dirt. The dirt seems to cling a little however.
  
  Uncertainly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Don't - don't do that."
  
  The thin young woman watches the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, looking more and more confused, then abruptly steps forward.
  
  Agitated and back away from the statue, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "What? No...it's bad here. I don't like it...please. Thank ya for not eating me but can I go? I wanna go..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems to want to bolt although her movements seem clusmy.
  
  Holding out her hand, murmuring sort of placatingly to her, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Hold still, 'kay? I want to see something. And I'm going to get the dirt off."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stares at you look terrified but for some reason seems to stand still. She does not seem to understand herself.
  
  Meekly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Ya is doing something ta me. You is...trapping me. Why do you feel nice. You ain't...please let me go."
  
  The thin young woman chews at her bottom lip, regards the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, then sets her hand down on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
  
  You say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Just - I, uh, haven't tried this before."
  
  A little uncertainly, you say, in sirihish:
  "It's... probably fine."
  
  The thin young woman inhales slowly through her nose, then squares her shoulders.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tenses and freezes a little, before looking hard at you.
  
  Her hand on the scrawny, grey-eyed woman's shoulder still, the thin young woman begins to murmur, mostly under her breath - awkwardly pronounced, thick, ugly words.
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  You feel a heightened awareness with the elements.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman shivers slightly, starting to weep and looking immensely confused as her body goes stiff. .
  
  The thin young woman backs off, dropping her hand, then peers about.
  
  Pausing, you look at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The thin young woman squints a little, then reaches up, knuckling at her temple with a sudden, sharp flinch.
  
  Stepping back slightly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "What? What did ya do ta me?"
  
  Shaking her head, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Not you. Me. Ow. And - I'm not sure."
  
  The thin young woman blinks again, then glances back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, uncertainly.
  
  She is slightly older than you.
  She appears young for her race.
  She is slightly shorter than you.
  She weighs about the same as you.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman is in excellent condition.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman does not look tired.
  You sense a familiar presence within her.
  
  Face blanking, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Oh, hey."
  
  Chewing at her bottom lip, suddenly anxious, you say, in sirihish:
  "Oh. Uh."
  
  Clearly concerned, stepping back more and more, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "What? Can I go now? "
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I really wanna go."
  
  The thin young woman holds up her hand, hesitates, then clears her throat.
  
  Sinking back onto her ass, you sit down.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman waits, seeming to be extremely confused.
  
  The thin young woman opens her mouth, as if about to speak to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, then just snaps it shut again.
  
  The thin young woman crosses her arms over your desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
  
  You think:
  "She's... she doesn't know it, yet."
  
  Finally, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Shit."
  
  You think:
  "Do I report her... or let her go?"
  
  Clearly agitated now, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "What? What ya done? Why did ya do it..."
  
  Hooking her arm about her knees again, resting her chin there with a disquieted murmur, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I - uhm. Your pa died?"
  
  Blankly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Yah..."
  
  As equally blank, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I'm sorry. Uhm. You hungry?"
  
  Seeming to be in a slight daze again, looking confused, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Yah...what are ya doing ta me. I feel odd. Please let me go..."
  
  The thin young woman reaches up again, knuckles at her temple, then glances up, peering back at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slumps to the ground a little now.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sits down.
  
  The thin young woman exhales slowly.
  
  Glancing back down, chin still resting on her knee, you ask, in sirihish:
  "I'm not doing anything. How'd he die?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. Who's your friend?"
  
  Seeming to calm down the lower she gets to the floor, frowning, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Don't know. He was Byn...just died. That what the rent man said."
  
  You think:
  "She's - like me. And she doesn't know it."
  
  Glancing up abruptly, back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Want to see the sand fountain? It - it scares the piss out of me, but it's sort of... I don't know. It's not bad."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the severe, blue-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Yah...yah. I mean..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "Just some street rat I took out of the Gaj. I was going to let her sweep the temple for 'sid."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and makes to stand again.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands up.
  
  Quickly amending, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "You don't have to if you - don't want to."
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Lemme know if you see anyone else suspicious, yeah?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "No! Why would I? I'm going now."
  
  Wetting at her lips again, watching her, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "How long ago did he, you know? Die?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman starts to scurry towards the south, stopping only for a moment.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Few...weeks. How long I been...out the flat."
  
  Hesitating, flinching as if to move after her, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "You - hey. You want a drink?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stops again, looking back annoyed and fearful at you.
  
  Adding, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Or - I don't know. I don't, look. I don't bite. Really. There's a cask of flame in the barracks, by my bed."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
  "No...your a daemon trying ta curse me! Don't know why ya felt nice. I'm better now!"
  
  The thin young woman pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman still.
  
  Stumbling for the exit, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "And ya is making this place feel safe. It ain't"
  
  Breaking that glance to look down at the floor, you say, in sirihish:
  "Look - I. I want to talk."
  
  Stressing that one word, you say, in sirihish:
  "Please."
  
  You think:
  "I can't just - throw her to the templar."
  
  Quietly, looking confused again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Why...why do ya want to talk? I don't..."
  
  Closing her eyes and repeating the words, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I don't want...want to stay. Uhh..."
  
  Patting the ground beside herself, just once, without looking up, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Please."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman clutches her stomach suddenly, looking faint and exhausted. She slumps to her knees again.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman frowns and tries to reach for her pack, trying to get something from it.
  
  The thin young woman seems to notice the scrawny, grey-eyed woman slump, and glances up - but only a little, watching her from the corner of her eye.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman gets her strip of dried beetle meat from her dusty bone-studded backpack.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman eats her strip of dried beetle meat.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman chews down the meat quickly, sighing as she tries to stand again. She stares at you and nods.
  
  Agaitaed, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "I want...to say yah. Yah then...I...Whira..."
  
  After a lengthy pause, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Come here. You sure your leg's better?"
  
  You think:
  "How do you break it to someone that - that they're, you know. This."
  
  Seeming quite easily obedient suddenly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "My leg?"
  
  The thin young woman reaches up, fingers batting at the air by your dull black gem, but again only skirting the outline of that dull stone.
  
  Quite easily, nodding, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "It's fine. Never felt better..."
  
  With a single nod, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Mhm. You said you don't know how you hurt it, but - ? Oh."
  
  After a time, you ask, in sirihish:
  "You sure?"
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Well I did fall on it. Ran into a dwarf. Lots of em everywhere. Yes...very."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman moves her foot forwards and wiggles it about a little.
  
  The thin young woman nods a few more times, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman wriggle her foot.
  
  Quite placid now, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "All better...just needed walk guess."
  
  Wetting at her lips, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Hey. The Lord Templar gave me something. A - statue. A little one. I can't make head or ass out of it, either, though... But - you want to see it?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman raises an eyebrow at you, seeming very content as she now lays on the ground near you She still looks confused but merely nods.
  
  Reaching carefully toward your long redhide pouch, the motion slow, carefully slow, you say, in sirihish:
  "Just be careful."
  
  You get your small, hard-packed sand figurine from your long redhide pouch.
  It is very light.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Yah...why na? I...why are ya doing this. I don't want to sit but it...let me see."
  
  The thin young woman glance down over your small, hard-packed sand figurine, then holds it out aside to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  Firmly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Careful."
  
  You give your small, hard-packed sand figurine to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman takes the item carefully, her fingers running along it's texture. She actually smiles briefly.
  
  Quite dully, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "It's nice. Smooth...."
  
  Alternating looks from the scrawny, grey-eyed woman to that figurine, nodding encouragingly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Yeah, it's - well. I don't know. Yeah."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman furrows her brow slightly, clearly interested in looking deeper at her small, hard-packed sand figurine.
  
  Curiously, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Make anything of it?"
  
  Looking back at you, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Yah...what ya mean? The large man? Bald...big neck? Little picture on the figure..."
  
  You think:
  "If she runs... I should tell the Lady Templar... but - that'd... Terrify her. She doesn't know it yet. She's harming nobody."
  
  Frowning and looking concerned again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Why...why it glow?"
  
  Holding her hand out toward her, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "It just does. I don't know. I think if I can find the man who made it - well, he'd tell me. But me? I don't know."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman gives you her small, hard-packed sand figurine.
  
  Turning it in her hand, you look at your small, hard-packed sand figurine.
  This small, three-inch tall figurine is made entirely of sand that is
  hard-packed and dense. The features are vaguely humanoid, but no sex or
  race can be determined.
  A small image glows softly upon its surface.
  
  You put your small, hard-packed sand figurine into your long redhide pouch, carefully.
  
  With a frown, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
  "I don't understand...and I...is that magick? Why would ya let me touch it!"
  
  Glancing back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:
  "...It - it's harmless. You want to sweep the temple? I mean, for 'sid."
  
  Turning her attention back up to the ceiling, before her eyes lid, you say, in sirihish:
  "Until you figure out what you're going to do."
  
  Feeling guilt and resignation, you think:
  "I can't. I can't do it. Not if she doesn't know."
  
  You think:
  "And I can't tell her - who'd believe that? I mean, if they were told."
  
  The thin young woman reaches up, grinding the heel of her palm at her eyes, which remain shut.
  
  With a little frown as she makes to stand, shaking her head, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Why would I wanna do that? It...this aint a place for me. What...what did ya do to me before? Ya did something. Tell me..."
  
  The thin young woman clenches her jaw, looking briefly, abjectly, miserable.
  
  Dropping her arm, still just sitting on the floor, a distance from the nearest statue, you say, in sirihish:
  "I - I didn't know, you know. At first, for awhile."
  
  With a light blink, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "But then? What? "
  
  Uncertainly, mincing her words as she continues, you say, in sirihish:
  "It - it's better here than there. Up there. These 'toks came at this man, and I - saved him. I did it without thinking. But then I knew. And, and Tuluk, you know."
  
  Echoing, you say, in sirihish:
  "Tuluk. But - so I tried to hide it. Pretend if it wasn't there, it'd go away. But - I was in this cave, and - well. I didn't have this, then."
  
  The thin young woman reaches up, flicking her fingernail once against your dull black gem, and tenses, shoulders drawn up.
  
  Looking confused again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "What bout Tuluk? I...they all crazy and they wear silly inks. They want to murder all normal folk. Don't know nothing more."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman steps up to you, clearly actually looking annoyed.
  
  Trailing off, you look up at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, turning her head.
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Ya making me feel safe and not so afraid. Is this how daemons eat souls? I don't like it I don't feel...like...."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems to lose track of what she is saying, chewing her lip.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I dunno..."
  
  Drawing in a deep breath, the words rushing out, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "What-I'm-saying-is-if-you-like-it-here-you-should-stay."
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  Closing her eyes a little, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I...don't know if I like it. I don't want to like it. This is a bad place. Ya ain't right...world is dying cause of daemons. Why folk die. Once when I was young sky rained fired cause of daemons pa said..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman takes in a heavy and tense breathe, a lot of the dirt on her form suddenly falling off quite easily.
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak has arrived from below.
  
  Resting her cheek against her knee, now, and watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman like that, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I heard about that. Didn't see it."
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak looks at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman starts slightly, glancing at the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks at the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  
  Attention wandering, you look up at the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  This man has thick, messy hair that hangs roughly to his shoulders. Both
  the hair sprouting from his head like wilting plains grass and the gruff
  bear growing out of his face like lichen are a dark, muddy brown,
  interspersed with the odd, ashen gray hair. His deep-set, brown eyes are
  crowned by thick, bushy eyebrows and lined with faded kohl. A crooked,
  misshapen nose sits above a pair of thin, cracked lips, and his tanned skin
  is similarly weathered. Rounded shoulders protrude from a somewhat stocky
  torso, complimented by a paunchy gut. Stubby arms hang to just above his
  relatively wide hips, from which his legs, one slightly longer than the
  other, protrude.
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak is using:
  a black, sigil-decorated sandcloth bandana
  a dull black gem
  an obsidian-tipped spear
  a pitted, deep-looking scar
  a scrap of cloth
  a jagged, ebon-black symbol
  a pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
  a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak
  a pair of drab hempcloth trousers
  a pair of chalton leather boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the stocky, gruff-bearded man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the stocky, gruff-bearded man:
  "Leave. She's flighty. I'll explain later."
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak glances briefly about before strolling towards the street.
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak walks south.
  
  The thin young woman relaxes minutely.
  
  The thin young woman shifts her attention back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  Helpfully, you say, in sirihish:
  "That was Zahiid. He's nice, but he's new."
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Who is she?"
  
  Quite honestly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Don't even know why been talking to ya so long. Never talked this long with...anyone. "
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the stocky, gruff-bearded man:
  "Just a street rat, I found her in the Gaj. I was going to let her sweep the temple for some 'sid."
  
  Quirking a faint smile, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Yeah. Want that drink? It's good flame. Kadius."
  
  Looking confused again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Flame? What is that?"
  
  Pausing, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "It's - what it's... called. Your da kept you in there for awhile, didn't he? I mean. You didn't get out much."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman chews her lip for a moment, before nodding just once.
  
  Your awareness with the elements returns to normal.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  Palming up, you stand up.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman falls in behind you.
  
  The thin young woman stumbles a half-step after rising, reaching up to paw once around her eyes, then shakes her head.
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
  "There is an elf in the Quarter, from the Labyrinth by the looks of it. Perhaps the same one sneaking around last week and the one before. Watch out."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The thin young woman shakes her head again, then turns, making her way toward the sheet of sifting sand and spiraled staircase beneath it.
  
  Holding her hand back out, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Here. Hold on - and shut your eyes."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and takes you's hand, merely nodding.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Kay..."
  
  The sand over the stairs ripples and parts, rolling away from you and allowing you entrance.
  You step down the stairs.
  The curtain of sand ripples and parts before you as you descend the stairs.
  Within a Statue Ringed Chamber [S, U, Save]
  A simple, spiraling stone staircase descends from the ceiling of this
  large chamber. Carved in a single, seamless block from the living stones
  surrounding, the staircase makes a slow, curving arc around the edge of the
  circular chamber. Symbols of Ruk and Krok etch each step of the staircase,
  before disappearing into the barren, stone floor.
  Nine huge figures seem to emerge from the walls themselves, ringing the
  chamber and carved from highly polished black marble. Seemingly supporting
  the weight of the Temple above on their backs, their stylized features twist
  in concentration and strain, while corded muscles seem to move under the
  burden that they carry. Though nearly free-standing and in the round at
  times, they are half trapped within the living stone along the walls; their
  smooth, polished surfaces nearly clashing with the rough-hewn walls. Each
  statue has its own, singular rune chiseled into its forehead.
  A tunnel opens up to the south, leading between the legs of one of the
  giant figures.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman has arrived from above.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The thin young woman navigates the staircase blindly, but curiously adept - each step at a time, until she reaches the bottom stair.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman shivers a little, although suddenly seems extremely relaxed.
  
  The thin young woman opens her eyes, shakes herself a little, then hops that last step.
  
  A Dark Stone Passage [N, E, S, W, Save]
  This passageway seems to have been carved from the living earth
  itself, the walls bare of any decoration or adornments at all. The ground
  has been left completely bare, and only a few stones peer out of the packed
  earth, slowly worn down and polished with wear. Along the dark walls,
  stones are half-buried, nestled cozily in the secure, reddish earth. The
  occasional candle has been placed on a few conveniently outcropping stones,
  lighting the pathway, and serving as a guide in the dark passage.
  Simple archways lead to the east and west into separate chambers, while
  the passage continues on to the south.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman has arrived from the north.
  
  The thin young woman turns, slipping toward the eastern doorway.
  
  A Simple Stone Barracks [W, Quit, Save]
  Unmarked, light-grey stone makes up the walls of this chamber, largely
  unadorned. Seeming to grow from the hard packed red earth itself are two
  rows of grey stone slabs, reaching out from the earth as if they were
  fingertips of some buried giant. Shelves have been carved directly into the
  walls themselves, and oil-burning lanterns rest in sconces shaped out of
  stones on the walls. A few chests and footlockers have been placed at the
  foot of a few of the slabs, and a large stone table cantilevers out from the
  wall.
  A simple archway leads west, into a darkened passageway.
  A large, etched wooden cask sits by one of the stone beds, near the foot of it.
  A bone sided chest sits at the foot of one of the stone beds.
  A kenku-carved wooden chest has been pushed up against the stone table.
  A golden-eyed, crimson-winged hawk sits perched on the back of a chair by the stone table, dry bird shit painting the floor around it.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman has arrived from the west.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman opens her eyes, seeming to almost become excited as she looks around. This look is followed by a lot of agitation though.
  
  As she wanders further into the stone barracks, toward a large, etched wooden cask, you say, in sirihish:
  "I'm not sure... There's - mugs somewhere. Zhig, he fills most of them with sand, though, I don't know why, ah..."
  
  The thin young woman shoots a look at stone shelves.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman gets her strip of dried beetle meat from her dusty bone-studded backpack.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman eats her strip of dried beetle meat.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Are we...under the earth?"
  
  You get your clay jug from stone shelves.
  It is no problem, and more than half full.
  
  Peering into your clay jug, you say, in sirihish:
  "Mhm."
  
  It's more than half full of an oily liquid.
  
  The thin young woman squints, then carries your clay jug to a cantilevered stone table, frowning uncertainly.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
  "Krath... Nobody uses - anything - for what it's supposed to be..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks at you.
  
  You put your clay jug onto a cantilevered stone table.
  
  Snatching at it, you get your etched obsidian goblet from a cantilevered stone table.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  The thin young woman upends your etched obsidian goblet, shakes it, then holds it out in the scrawny, grey-eyed woman's general direction.
  
  You give your etched obsidian goblet to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks a little, looking at the goblet before lightly reaching out a thin arm and taking it. She looks at it a little oddly for a moment.
  
  You say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Don't tell me - it's for, you know."
  
  The thin young woman tips a nod at a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  With a blink and a light pout, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Well of course I do drink...just...this is a nice looking cup. Ya really drink from it?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  Looking a little taken aback, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I do. I mean - why not?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman moves over to a large, etched wooden cask, chewing her lip as she fills it.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman fills up an etched obsidian goblet from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sniffs her etched obsidian goblet and then takes a hesitant sip.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The thin young woman leans back into a cantilevered stone table - and ignores a golden-eyed, crimson-winged hawk's reproachful squawk - and gropes back for your dusty bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  
  Awkwardly, you open your dusty bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and actually smiles for a fleeting moment.
  
  Plucking it free, you get your ripe jallal fruit from your dusty bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  It is very light.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "It's...nice. Never had uhm...hmm."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman quickly swings back the goblet, clearly thirsty.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The thin young woman glances down at your ripe jallal fruit, then brushes it against your desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket a few times, her attention slipping back to settle on the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  You think:
  "How do I break the news? You're a - me. You're me. You're one of us."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman knocks back the goblet quite quickly, letting out a light hiccup.
  
  With a tick of her head to a large, etched wooden cask, biting into your ripe jallal fruit, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Take - much as you want."
  
  You eat part of your ripe jallal fruit, swallowing.
  You are no longer hungry.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks heistant.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "You...is sure?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  With a quick nod, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Mhm."
  
  The thin young woman brings your partially eaten ripe jallal fruit up again, taking another bite out of it.
  
  You eat part of your partially eaten ripe jallal fruit, chewing slowly.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks still a little unsure, before quickly going back and having another glass.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman fills up an etched obsidian goblet from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sips from her etched obsidian goblet.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman swings back another goblet, taking it quite greedily. She blinks however, a different vacant look now on her face.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The thin young woman pushes away from a cantilevered stone table, padding past a large, etched wooden cask and straight toward a low stone bed.
  
  Perching on the edge, you sit at a low stone bed.
  
  You eat part of your half eaten ripe jallal fruit, thoughtfully.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  With an odd sort of smile, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "It's...nice. Makes ya sleep though. Why does it be doing that?"
  
  You think:
  "Maybe - she'll realize on her own. Krath."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Sleepy even...heh...canna talk straight."
  
  With a helpless shrug, still chewing - speaking around a mouthful, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I don't know. It just does. You tired?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman lightly stumbles over to a low stone bed, nodding once.
  
  Sounding a little confused again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Little...."
  
  Quite idly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Felt like dying today...but then we went for a walk and well...felt better. Never been in a sand storm afore. Always...close shutters tight."
  
  Pushing back and sprawling out across a low stone bed, her boots planted firmly on the floor, still, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Oh. It's - ...Well."
  
  You rest on a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman rests at a low stone bed.
  
  The thin young woman trails off, brings up your small portion of a ripe jallal fruit again, and takes another bite of it.
  
  You eat part of your small portion of a ripe jallal fruit.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slumps back herself, her tension gone although she looks a little bit absent in thought.
  
  You ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Going to tell you something I can't tell many people. You'll keep quiet about it?"
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "How's it goin', Dorri?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You are already in contact with someone else.
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish:
  "Hmm?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman lazily looks over at you, nodding quite easily.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, tipping her head back, staring up:
  "When I knew, but didn't have the gem. I was in that cave with Tho, my inix. And - then I heard this voice. And I thought it was the rocks, so I threw down my bag and said I was sorry, I wouldn't kidnap them..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman listens idly towards you, furrowing her brow slightly.
  
  Hesitating, shrugging awkwardly against a low stone bed, you say, in sirihish:
  "Yeah, that was stupid. But it - wasn't rocks. It was an ashbringer. He let me go, sort of. I ran through a hallway and came out in the blue caverns. He said he'd come back and check on me, later...."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish:
  "...if - and I had to bring him gurth fat. Or he'd eat me. So I bought myself a beetle from Bam, she's Kuraci, and I rode south, here. And I found Lady Templar Oash and got my gem."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, seeming to look a little concerned again:
  "Ya...ya said you don't eat people...."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, shutting her eyes:
  "And it was the best thing I ever did. Food, water. A place to sleep. Tav. And - not -me-."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a quiet snort:
  "Him, the - ...That one. The abomination."
  
  You aren't in contact with anyone.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the severe, blue-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "It's - complicated. Explain later. *harried, agitated*"
  
  The thin young woman grimaces, shakes her head, then props up on her forearms, glancing aside at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, clearly looking confused:
  "I dun understand. All...magick is...abomination. Like pa said."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Need me over there?"
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, rolling over slightly:
  "But you don't feel bad but...why...that's because you done something."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "No."
  
  The thin young woman remains propped up, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "Take care."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, quietly:
  "Bet I can do something you can't."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "Is the Lady Templar around? Don't tell her anything, but I may need her later."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, meekly:
  "You making this place feel...not bad. But I know it is bad....what. What can ya do?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman turns back again, clearly a little drunk.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, pushing up in a sudden shove, straightening by a low stone bed:
  "Shitty, shitty bread."
  
  You stand up from a low stone bed.
  
  The severe, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
  "I'll find her, but I'm gonna need to tell her more than that."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the severe, blue-eyed man:
  "Forget it. I'll find her mind later."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman leans up a little, glancing oddly at you.
  
  The thin young woman clears her throat, paces a step from a low stone bed, then holds out her arms.
  
  With another odd smile, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Can't cook well. But okay I watch...figured it out. This a dream...I sick from me leg and this be a dream."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  With - of all things - a laughably dramatic flair, you exclaim, in sirihish:
  "Right! Waaaaatch that patch of floor - there!"
  
  The thin young woman points at the floor nearby, braces herself, then clears her throat.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman nods, rubbing her nose and watching you carefully.
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  You lost your concentration!
  
  The thin young woman squints, blanching as nothing happens, then appears to even wilt a little.
  
  Clearing her throat, you look down at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks herself, chewing her lip.
  
  Less dramatically, and a little ashamed, you say, in sirihish:
  "That... uh. Er."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "What ruk?"
  
  Lamely, you say, in sirihish:
  "It... never fails."
  
  The thin young woman scuffs her boot at the floor, then scoots back a step.
  
  Sidelong, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Shh."
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  You lost your concentration!
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman closes her mouth tight, before nodding slowly.
  
  The thin young woman hesitates, peers back at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman with a startled, guilty look, then clears her throat.
  
  The thin young woman twists, putting her back to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, and crouches down a little this time, almost nose to nose with the ground.
  
  Irritably, the thin young woman murmurs down at the floor.
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  Ok.
  A kalan fruit suddenly appears.
  A charred mass of gelatinous meat suddenly appears.
  A slice of gritty brown bread suddenly appears.
  A kalan fruit suddenly appears.
  A charred mass of gelatinous meat suddenly appears.
  A charred mass of gelatinous meat suddenly appears.
  A slice of gritty brown bread suddenly appears.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and her eyes widen slightly at the amount of food that appears.
  
  Caught somewhere between relief and smug satisfaction, the thin young woman straightens up, stepping away from the pile of food.
  
  Leaning down again to snag at a kalan fruit, then straighten, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Beat that and I'll pay you two small."
  
  You pick up a kalan fruit, actually.
  It is very light.
  
  You are carrying:
  a kalan fruit
  a small portion of a ripe jallal fruit
  
  Popping it in her mouth, you eat your small portion of a ripe jallal fruit.
  
  You are carrying:
  a kalan fruit
  
  With a light blink, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "I...well. Well course silly I canna do that. But that...is it safe to eat?"
  
  As she carries your kalan fruit back to a low stone bed, you say, in sirihish:
  "Mhm."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stumbles up from where she is sitting and leans down on the ground, reaching for a peace of food.
  
  Tossing it over, you give your kalan fruit to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman eats a portion of her kalan fruit.
  
  After a slight hesitation, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Try doing what I did. For - shits and giggles. Those words. But - wek, wek, wek."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman bites into the fruit and clearly enjoys it, smiling a very small and almost guilty smile.
  
  You sit at a low stone bed, on the edge again.
  
  Quite idly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Hmm? Wek?"
  
  With a firm nod, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Yup. Wek, not mon. Mon's a bitch."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman frowns a little, before shrugging and seeming to go along.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Just...a dream. Silly sounding words anyway..."
  
  The thin young woman watches the scrawny, grey-eyed woman quietly, hands folded in her lap.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands up from a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands a little oddly and then seems to quite blatantly say the words.
  
  You think:
  "Progress. She'll acknowledge it, take the gem."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the serpentine braided woman with the Way.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman utters the incantation.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the serpentine braided woman:
  "Could we speak when you have a moment, Lady Templar?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman suddenly looks really ill, and stumbles back slightly.
  
  The serpentine braided woman sends you a telepathic message:
  "Morning Dorri, what is the problem?"
  
  Shifting forward, almost pushing off a low stone bed, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Easy - easy, sit down. You did okay - but - sit down."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slumps back, before looking agitated. Some dirt in the air shifts as she suddenly quite simply falls unconscious on a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sleeps at a low stone bed.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the serpentine braided woman:
  "There's - no problem. I'm trying to handle this... I'm trying to be gentle, but she needs a gem. When she realizes, anyway. Can you do that? Oh. Oh, she passed out. Krath."
  
  The serpentine braided woman sends you a telepathic message:
  "Who? Where are you?"
  
  The thin young woman hesitates, opens her mouth, then snaps it shut again, watching the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The serpentine braided woman sends you a telepathic message:
  "This is nothing for you to handle, you tell me immediately if you detect a rogue."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the serpentine braided woman:
  "I'm in the temple, Lady Templar. I - of... of course, Lady Templar. I'm in the temple."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman groans a little, some sand lightly laying down upon her form. She tenses visibly but after a moment seems to be sleeping almost normally.
  
  The thin young woman watches the scrawny, grey-eyed woman awhile, then pushes back on a low stone bed until she rests, back to the wall, atop it.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman breathes in and out idly for a while, sniffing just once.
  
  The thin young woman stares down at her lap then, hands folded there, looking - again - just briefly, utterly, miserable.
  
  To the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, or nobody, you say, in sirihish:
  "I'm sorry about this."
  
  You think:
  "But it's dangerous out there, and you need guidance."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman awakens.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman wakes with a start. She sits upright quickly.
  
  Still staring down at her lap, at her folded hands, you say, in sirihish:
  "Someone important's coming. If you got to puke, do it now, not then."
  
  Suddenly seeming much clearer and focused, looking extremely unhappy, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims to you, in sirihish:
  "What! What is...no...why am I here? This is a dream!"
  
  
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands up from a low stone bed.
  
  Gently, still without looking up, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Sit down."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman quickly tries to stand up, immensely tense.
  
  The serpentine braided templar has arrived from the west.
  The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
  
  Quite childishly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "No! Let me go! Don't hurt me! Wha ya done to me! I..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and looks upon the serpentine braided templar She quite quickly falls to the ground, head held low.
  
  The thin young woman glances toward the serpentine braided templar, then pushes up from a low stone bed.
  
  You stand up from a low stone bed.
  
  Pacing into the barracks and stopping before the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, the serpentine braided templar asks, in sirihish:
  "Morning, Dorri... and who is this?"
  
  The serpentine braided templar looks down at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The thin young woman immediately doubles in a bow, though her attention slips toward the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  Straightening uncertainly, you say, in sirihish:
  "She's - like me. She doesn't know it yet."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman is quite clearly terrified in the prescene of the serpentine braided templar.
  
  Mumbling, clearly agitated and tearful, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "Mercy Lady Templar! The daemon did something ta me! I is stupid! Help me...mercy please I ain't done nothing wrong please mercy!"
  
  Staring down at her coldly, the serpentine braided templar asks the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Get up. What is your name?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman shuts her mouth and stumbles up to stand.
  
  Very meekly, weeping openly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "Brel...."
  
  Glancing aside to you, the serpentine braided templar asks the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "What did Dorri do to you then?"
  
  Feeling conflicted, you think:
  "I can't let her go, I couldn't have. It... had to be like this."
  
  Clearly panicked, her words jumbled, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "Made me come to this demon place! And...made it feel not bad! But I know magick be bad! I didn't do anything Lady Templar. Please dun kill me I do anything ya say!"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  Without a trace of emotion, the woman's posture strictly rigid, the serpentine braided templar asks you, in sirihish:
  "You are sure?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman continues to weep, though her terror in front of the serpentine braided templar seems to be keeping her quite rigid.
  
  The thin young woman glances from the scrawny, grey-eyed woman to the serpentine braided templar.
  
  After a noticeable hesitation, you say to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "I'm - yes."
  
  Amending, you say, in sirihish:
  "Yes, Lady Templar."
  
  Squinting at her, the serpentine braided templar asks the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "So are you, Brel? Are you touched by Ruk?"
  
  Clearly looking uncertain in her weeping, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "No I...I ain't a daemon Lady Templar. What...what is Ruk?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  Snapping her fingers at you, the serpentine braided templar says, in sirihish:
  "Explain it to her."
  
  With a flick of her wrist, looking irritated, the serpentine braided templar says, in sirihish:
  "I am not in the mood for this either."
  
  Dropping back onto a low stone bed, murmuring wearily, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Ruk and Krok. The stone. What you did earlier, with the words. Why you like it here. Why dirt sticks."
  
  You sit at a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks upset and darts a glance at you, before frowning and shaking her head.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
  "Ya making me feel sick. Ya making me feel like that! Why? What did ya do ta me!"
  
  You think:
  "That's it, I'm never going to the Gaj again."
  
  With that same, patient weariness, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I can't do that. I can do - crazy, crazy shit. But I can't make you do it. That's - you."
  
  Looking between you and the scrawny, grey-eyed woman with a bored expression, the serpentine braided templar asks, in sirihish:
  "What did you do Brel?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman whimpers in response, glancing at the serpentine braided templar and then looking down at her feet. She clearly has no response.
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "Don't...know Lady Templar. Nothing makes sense I...she touched me earlier and started saying all these things. I dun understand my Lady Templar. Please don't...be angry."
  
  Quietly, you say to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "She spoke words and Ruk responded. The ground, anyway, Lady Templar. The way it does when I do things."
  
  Crossing her arms, finally annoyed, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Show me what Dorri means or I will slay you."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks utterly helpless, glancing at you.
  
  Softly, even encouragingly, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "It's okay. Go on."
  
  Meekly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "What...words?"
  
  With a sharp inhale, you say, in sirihish:
  "The words you said before - just like that. Each word, like that."
  
  Adding quickly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I'll say em Lady Templar! But what...I dun remember."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman clearly makes to repeat the words, showing no inkling of their meaning.
  
  The serpentine braided templar remains patiently annoyed, the half-giant soldier trying to be tough at her side but clearly confused.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman utters the incantation, 'wek un ruk wilith wril'.
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman gestures, summoning food from the air itself.
  A charred mass of gelatinous meat suddenly appears.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and shudders violently for a moment, staring at what appears before her.
  
  The thin young woman wets at her lips, glances down at a charred mass of gelatinous meat, then clears her throat.
  
  The thin young woman opens her mouth, then shuts it again, staring at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  You think:
  "What do I say? Congratulations? This - this was like rape."
  
  Feeling disgusted, you think:
  "This is rape. She didn't know, and I forced her into it. And the gem."
  
  Tilting her head at her, unfazed by the magick, the serpentine braided templar asks the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Not a very appetising meal is it? You need practice. You do know what this means now, don't you?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman shakes her head, her expression once of honest unknowing.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "I dun...ya...slay me?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  Slipping a hand into her blue, hooded templar's robe, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "That you must be marked as an elementalist of Ruk, Brel."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman weeps a little quiter now, clearly very tired. She blinks as the serpentine braided templar speaks and simply nods obediently.
  
  The serpentine braided templar pulls a dull black gem out of a blue, hooded templar's robe.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tenses as she looks at the black gem.
  
  Extending her dull black gem to her by the cord, careful not to touch the dark material, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "It is a mark of His Blessing, a sign you follow His Will. It binds you to His Service and in it you will find purpose."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "His...his Blessing? His Service? It...it is Lady Templar?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman steps forwards, clearly upset and afraid.
  
  Still holding her dull black gem out to her, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Yes, Brel. Dorri will explain it in further detail. The rules, your new life... ... or you may flee Allanak, never to return."
  
  Clearly looking agitated, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "Na! Na Lady Templar I want ta serve! I don't want to leave. I...do anything ya say."
  
  Nodding softly, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Then accept His Gem, Brel."
  
  Passing it across, the serpentine braided templar gives her dull black gem to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The thin young woman reaches up, pinching at the bridge of her nose, and watches the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks and nods quickly, before lightly putting on the gem.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tilts her head forward and fastens her dull black gem about her throat.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman does it in a clumsy fashion, looking a little confused.
  
  The thin young woman exhales shortly, clearly relieved.
  
  Aside to her, the serpentine braided templar says to you, in sirihish:
  "I am busy Dorri, but do not 'handle' them yourself. Tell her what she needs to know."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman merely slumps now, bowing low before the serpentine braided templar and looking extremely lost.
  
  Her attention still on the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you say to the serpentine braided templar, in sirihish:
  "If I'd known in the Gaj what she was, Lady Templar, I wouldn't have."
  
  You think:
  "I would have turned the other cheek and left."
  
  Before turning on her heel and marching away, the serpentine braided templar says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "His Shadow shelter you Brel."
  
  The serpentine braided templar walks west.
  The half-giant soldier walks west.
  
  The thin young woman bows her head, slumping on a low stone bed, and crosses her arms over your desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket again.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman is quite silent, her expression vacant.
  
  Flatly, finishing, you say, in sirihish:
  "I'd have... turned, left. This was rape."
  
  Without looking up, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "I'm sorry. You should probably sit down."
  
  
  Starting to cry again, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Why didn't ya let me go? I...why has this happened? How can I be a daemon?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slumps onto a low stone bed and starts to weep quietly.
  
  The thin young woman looks more and more miserable, eyes trained on her lap.
  
  Lamely, you say, in sirihish:
  "I didn't know - and then, when I did, I - had to cover my own ass. It's... better this way. Trust me, it's better."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman clutches her arms and lets out a pitiful sigh.
  
  The thin young woman clenches her jaw, flexing it from side to side, back teeth grinding lightly.
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "Is it? I...don't. Would...what if we had na spoken? What if ya had left me hurt and alone like everyone else?"
  
  Flopping back with a ragged exhale, you rest on a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sits at a low stone bed.
  
  Shutting her eyes, draping an arm across her face, you say, in sirihish:
  "I don't know. It comes out eventually."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, with a light blink:
  "It...does?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sniffles a little, rubbing her brow slightly.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, just lying there:
  "Yeah."
  
  The figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, chewing her lip slightly:
  "Why did ya bring me here...did ya know from the start?"
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sits up quickly, gaze upon the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  
  As he enters, the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "Dorri, I am going hunting before sundown."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking her head, arm still draped over her face:
  "No. I didn't know."
  
  The thin young woman lifts her arm and props up, glancing toward the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak, in sirihish:
  "Hood down, Zahiid, and say hello. This is - uhm."
  
  Uncertainly, you look at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  Glancing at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, the figure in a dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "Any chance you could do that thing that made me stronger? I would like to maximize my chances of not being scrab food."
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man lowers the hood of his dusty tattered, brown hooded cloak.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stares blankly at the stocky, gruff-bearded man.
  
  After a pause, you say to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, in sirihish:
  "Brel? Brel - and, I can't. Not if you're running around the city with it on, it's not subtle enough."
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "Walking from here to the gates, but..."
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man shrugs his shoulders.
  
  Pushing up with a soft huff, you stand up from a low stone bed.
  
  Pacing away from a low stone bed, you say to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, in sirihish:
  "If you get caught, I'm not covering for you."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman clutches herself tight, clearing her face up a little.
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "I will blame gypsies."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks up at the stocky, gruff-bearded man.
  
  With a tip of her head, gesturing back at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, you say to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, in sirihish:
  "Gypsies are good. Say hello. She's - ... really new."
  
  Offering a lazy wave, the stocky, gruff-bearded man says to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "Hello. I am Zahiid."
  
  Wincing a little before offering a weak nod, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, in sirihish:
  "Brel...ello."
  
  The thin young woman stops well short of the stocky, gruff-bearded man and shuts her eyes, shoulders back.
  
  A charred mass of gelatinous meat fades from existence.
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  You lost your concentration!
  
  The thin young woman flinches, takes a step to the side, then glances about, blinking rapidly.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman shivers just a little at the shuddering earth, biting her lip.
  
  Glancing back to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, shaking her head again, you say, in sirihish:
  "Yes - No. No, krath. What's - wrong with me..."
  
  Raising an eyebrow, the stocky, gruff-bearded man asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "Hm?"
  
  The thin young woman rolls her shoulders, shakes her head yet again, then inhales slowly, beginning that low, slow murmur.
  
  The earth trembles in response to your call.
  
  You utter the incantation.
  Ok.
  You exhale a sandy cloud towards the stocky, gruff-bearded man, and his muscles bulge with newfound strength.
  
  Flinging her hand the stocky, gruff-bearded man's way, all the dust and grit in the room shifting toward him, you say to the stocky, gruff-bearded man, in sirihish:
  "I - no, I'm fine."
  
  Wiggling his fingers, the stocky, gruff-bearded man says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "My thanks."
  
  The thin young woman drops her arm and the dust and grit drops, too, and she turns.
  
  The thin young woman nods wearily, moving stiffly back to a low stone bed.
  
  To nobody in particular, the stocky, gruff-bearded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
  "His Shadow."
  
  The stocky, gruff-bearded man walks west.
  
  Briefly, you look west.
  West, through a door, is a Dark Stone Passage.
  The door is open.
  [Far]
  Nothing.
  [Near]
  Nothing.
  
  You sit at a low stone bed, on the edge.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stares a little the leaving man, before glancing back to you.
  
  Reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, kneading at the skin there, you say, in sirihish:
  "You can catch up with him, if you'd like. But he's reckless. He's likely to die out hunting scrab like that."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, quiet idly, her weeping seeming to have calmed:
  "No...he is weird. I...if you didn't want to kill me or eat me. And ya didn't know...why did ya want me to come with you?"
  
  Taking an idle bite, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman eats a portion of her partially eaten kalan fruit.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, lamely:
  "I - don't know. You looked like you needed help, and I thought I'd let you sweep the temple, then toss you a small or two."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "You wanted to help me?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a sudden, flinching laugh:
  "Yes - yes! Krath, I'm sorry."
  
  Idly looking at her feet, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Other girl did not want to. Ya see her. Saying things on somethings called kruth cards. Making things up but folk payed her and stuff. Said she was getting a job."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Thought cards telling things sounded unnatural. daemon talk....I...so...I am a daemon?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, musingly, staring down at her hands:
  "Some help I am. You're a - a Rukkian."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, firmly:
  "Like me."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slumps forwards slightly.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "Like...you?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, scooting back along a low stone bed again, pressing into the wall:
  "Mhm."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, with a deep and weary breathe:
  "Uhm...kay. I...so what happens now?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, shutting her eyes:
  "I don't know. Same as before, but... well, with - this, now."
  
  The thin young woman reaches up, about to touch your dull black gem, but draws her hand back short of it.
  
  You think:
  "Good question. What now. Krath - I don't know."
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Before I was trying to find some work ta be doing so I did na starve. I can't do much but sweep and clean..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman touches her dull black gem herself, wincing a little.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "It...come off now?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, her hand dropping, shaking her head:
  "Never. Not when you sleep, when you eat, when you fuck, or even die. It's - you get used to it."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish:
  "After awhile."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman tugs on her dull black gem, before nodding slightly.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman collapses to the ground in agony.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman winces and quickly withdraws her hand.
  
  The thin young woman's face blanks and she shoots a startled look at the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "Uh...uh sorry. I...see. Uhhhh...."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman takes in a deep breathe, clearly pained.
  
  Leaning over, holding her hand out to her, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Here. Don't do that."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman seems hesitant to take you's hand, but she takes it and then grips it hard.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Dorri. I dun know what ta do...."
  
  The thin young woman squeezes back, some half-hearted attempt at comfort, and tips her head back again, looking up.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman sniffles a little, leaning over closer to you.
  
  A little wryly, you ask the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "Did you before?"
  
  Quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "Things made sense before...now they make even less sense. Although..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman rests at a low stone bed.
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish:
  "Least me leg feels better...."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, resting her head back against the wall, shutting her eyes:
  "You won't starve. There's water in the cistern in the hall, and - if you need food... You can - well, you can ask. Or - make it, but - there's... no pressure to do that. Unless you want..."
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, clearing her throat:
  "Unless you want to."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish, with a light sniff:
  "I'm...tired. Dorri is there anything real important I should know now? I...I'm really tired."
  
  The thin young woman turns her head, opens an eye, and glances toward the scrawny, grey-eyed woman.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman looks quite intently at you now.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish:
  "No magick outside of the quarter. Don't break the laws. Don't practice but in the temple. Do not shit on the floor, this isn't the fucking T'zai Byn."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks slightly at the last part.
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, tone gentling:
  "And this is -my- bed."
  
  At your seat, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says in sirihish:
  "I...they do that?"
  
  At your seat, you say in sirihish, glancing briefly westward:
  "Zhig - you'll meet him. He's a dwarf."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman slowly makes to stand, idly placing her etched obsidian goblet down as well.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman puts her etched obsidian goblet into stone shelves.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman stands up from a low stone bed.
  
  Glancing around and rubbing her neck, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "You live here?"
  
  Shutting her eye again, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "You can sleep here if you'd like, if it makes you feel better. And - I do, yeah. It's... I can't sleep in an apartment. It's - look, forget it."
  
  After a pause, you say, in sirihish:
  "And - don't go into the 'rinth. Never."
  
  Your mood is now tired.
  
  Nodding quietly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
  "I...can I sleep her now? I'll sleep on tha floor and then I'll...go somewhere else later. Why would I go ta tha rinth? Everyone there is a murdered and a necker and a fiend and..."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman blinks slightly, looking troubled about something.
  
  Pushing up, you stand up from a low stone bed.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
  "One last thing...before that word...Ashbiter. Ya...so...we ain't that?"
  
  Padding away from a low stone bed, you say, in sirihish:
  "Sleep there. We ain' - we aren't."
  
  The thin young woman nods back toward a low stone bed.
  
  Stepping over to a low stone bed, meekly, the scrawny, grey-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:
  "I don't have to...eat souls and hurt folk?"
  
  Shaking her head, standing there awkwardly apart from a low stone bed, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "No."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman chews her lip, nodding in a dumb fashion. She moves over to a low stone bed and slumps into it.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
  "I'm sorry for....saying mean things afore..."
  
  Just standing there, you say to the scrawny, grey-eyed woman, in sirihish:
  "It's okay."
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman quite quickly slumps into a slumber. It is clearly a very deep one.
  
  The scrawny, grey-eyed woman has departed from the land of Zalanthas.
  
  You think:
  "What is this, atonement?"
  
  The thin young woman watches a low stone bed awhile, then paces to a cantilevered stone table.
  
  The thin young woman pulls a chair out from a cantilevered stone table and straddles it, leaning forward against the wicker wood backing, and props her chin against it.
  
  Feeling unsettled, you think:
  "My way of apologizing, I guess. Krath, I'm tired."
  
  The thin young woman shuts her eyes, slumped in that chair, and gradually dozes like that - arms crossed, head tipped forward.
  
  Come back soon!

  
  Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
  You pass beneath the shadow of the red sandstone templar statue.
  The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [N, E, S, Quit]
  This common room composes the bulk of the Gladiator and the Gaj
  Tavern, a bustling establishment founded in the Year of...
  Continue Reading...