Lenaara
Dreaming of honey cakes.
Hey 
Decided to restart this thread. I am looking for an RP partner, obviously. Before I move onto what kind of plots and ideas I have I'd like say a bit about myself and what I expect from my RP partner.
I am 24 and currently living in US, Arizona. Got lots of free time while studying, so replies should come regularly, at least once a day, and will let my partner know if the post is going to be late. I'd prefer if my partner was 18+. Stories with dark themes and complex characters are very interesting to explore, and I find it much easier to write with people who are around the same age as me. Timezones aren't an issue and I am very friendly, so chatting OOC either in PMs or Discord is welcome!
I usually write from 3-5 paragraphs minimum per post (700+ words), it may be less or more than that as it depends on the information that my RP partner is giving me.
Next is the issue of the plot itself. I'd like us to think of the setting or plot itself together, so that we're both agreed on it. Please contribute to the plot, otherwise it will be one sided and one of us will get bored.
I play both males and females, although my female characters are more developed than my male ones. Usually, I use my main character + a bunch of secondary characters, so my main may change throughout the RP if the plot calls for it.
Romance is not a must, but it allows for more possibilities in the story. You can use romance for drama and plot purposes, and that keeps the story going. I like mature romances, so no love-on-first-sight bullshit after the 3rd post. Characters may or may not get along with each other, and forcing the romance upon our characters is just strange to me.
When it comes to characters all I am asking from you is realism. Realistically developed characters who fit the setting of our choosing. A character had to have been shaped by the previous and current events of their lives, making them into who they are. So, a character of noble birth would not be running off into the forest to find fairies (unless the character is like 3), they would be bound by the expectations of their family and thus forced to act in a certain manner. Same applies to characters of any other background. Give me well thought out characters and I will love you forever.
OKAY. I'm pretty sure this is everything I wanted to note before moving onto the ideas.
I have no specific preference at the moment of what idea I'd like to use, but here are the plots I have at the moment with a short description of what they have:
Interest in a particular idea is defined by *.
Modern
We do not need to stick to the plots described above, as we can brainstorm our own or maybe you have some ideas that you'd like to use.
PM me or reply to this thread if you are interested c:
Decided to restart this thread. I am looking for an RP partner, obviously. Before I move onto what kind of plots and ideas I have I'd like say a bit about myself and what I expect from my RP partner.I am 24 and currently living in US, Arizona. Got lots of free time while studying, so replies should come regularly, at least once a day, and will let my partner know if the post is going to be late. I'd prefer if my partner was 18+. Stories with dark themes and complex characters are very interesting to explore, and I find it much easier to write with people who are around the same age as me. Timezones aren't an issue and I am very friendly, so chatting OOC either in PMs or Discord is welcome!
I usually write from 3-5 paragraphs minimum per post (700+ words), it may be less or more than that as it depends on the information that my RP partner is giving me.
Next is the issue of the plot itself. I'd like us to think of the setting or plot itself together, so that we're both agreed on it. Please contribute to the plot, otherwise it will be one sided and one of us will get bored.
I play both males and females, although my female characters are more developed than my male ones. Usually, I use my main character + a bunch of secondary characters, so my main may change throughout the RP if the plot calls for it.
Romance is not a must, but it allows for more possibilities in the story. You can use romance for drama and plot purposes, and that keeps the story going. I like mature romances, so no love-on-first-sight bullshit after the 3rd post. Characters may or may not get along with each other, and forcing the romance upon our characters is just strange to me.
When it comes to characters all I am asking from you is realism. Realistically developed characters who fit the setting of our choosing. A character had to have been shaped by the previous and current events of their lives, making them into who they are. So, a character of noble birth would not be running off into the forest to find fairies (unless the character is like 3), they would be bound by the expectations of their family and thus forced to act in a certain manner. Same applies to characters of any other background. Give me well thought out characters and I will love you forever.
OKAY. I'm pretty sure this is everything I wanted to note before moving onto the ideas.
I have no specific preference at the moment of what idea I'd like to use, but here are the plots I have at the moment with a short description of what they have:
Interest in a particular idea is defined by *.
Modern
- One or both of our characters are spies, agents for different government organisations, that happened to get stuck together after their mission was compromised on foreign land.
- MC is a mercenary gang member. The gang is hired for assassinations, smuggling, spying and kidnappings. YC is a law enforcer who is undercover, aiming infiltrate MC's gang and get information of their employers and backers.
A winged species had invaded Earth and wiped nearly all of humanity. YC saves MC after having witnessed MC be attacked by these so called angels. Either one of our characters is a wingless "angel". Now they have to survive a post-apocalyptic world where food is scarce and humans are at war with one another for resources.- The setting is in our modern times, with a twist. People are able to use magic. Witches and wizards exist among people, they are able to use elemental magic or magic through the usage of runes. Most of these gifted people go insane, the magic making their minds very unstable and soon they turn against the society. Thus, those who are still sane are under constant watch of special police forces that keep these people in check. YC can be one of such magic users and MC, who is a member of the police force, is assigned to yours to YC's sanity keep in check. **
- A vampire setting. Can be anything, anywhere, about anyone. At the moment, the idea behind the plot will be an investigation into several bloody murders. The default setting would be a society where the existence of vampires is known but vaguely, where humans use vampires as means of assisted suicide or a way to start their life anew, by serving the vampire. This servitude could, however, have a dire effect on the human, and they are turned into a mindless creature (thrall) that only responds to the commands of its creator. Without supervision, thralls are extremely territorial and bloodthirsty. The murders in the RP will be thought to be the work of thralls, and the only vampire in the area would be MC, so the blame would fall on them by default. YC can be investigating the murders or be involved through other means. *****
- MC is a bodyguard, who is hired by YC. The details of this plot are fully open to discussion, as YC can be of a different background with different reasons for hiring a bodyguard. Can involve a civil unrest or a full-scale war. *****
- An arranged political marriage. This plot involves a lot of court intrigues, backstabbing and warring kingdoms. YC can either be involved in the political marriage to MC or be someone not related to the royal family. A very open plot, preferably set in an inspired by Turkish/Ottoman Empire/Ptolemaic Egypt setting. It is not a romance plot, most of the focus will be on the Court and civil wars. *****
- Something along the lines of The Last of Us and Fallout. A virus/parasite that kills the host and its primary function is to spread. Walled cities are constructed to keep the rest of humanity safe. The antivirus is administered through food and water in case of an outbreak. Lives are controlled from birth, from assigned couples to regulated jobs based on a person's aptitudes. Outside the walls the environment has been polluted with radiation, the last resort employed by humanity to eradicate the creatures infected by the virus. Venturing outside the walls is forbidden, except to deploy scouting and hunting parties to assess the situation. This setting is very open to brainstorming. We will fill in the details together.
- I'd love to do a space travel story. It can be along the lines of Star Wars or Mass Effect, where our characters are involved in a large scale war. It can be a spy story, with backstabbing and secrets. A heist to steal some artifact. Anything.
What if you could bring a loved one back in a form of an android? Character A loses their lover. Character B is an android, manufactured to look and act like A's late lover. However, the memories weren't implemented correctly and the personality matrix is faulty. A now has to live with B, a physical copy of their lover with fragmented memories of them together, and B struggles to find who they truly are - an android, or a person in their own right.
The Commander remained stoic by her desk, head bent to read the manuscripts sprawled across the wooden surface. She stood with her side to me and whatever I could see of her face remained still, neutral, as always. Unlike mine. I stared at Nathan and Ellis, my face surely displaying all sorts of conflicting emotions.
What was there for me to say, to feel? It was my job to remain silent and loyal. Surely Nathan expected that of me, for he did not wait or even glance in my direction as he stormed out. He thought coin was enough to buy my loyalty, at least while it kept steadily flowing into my purse. He wouldn’t be wrong.
Like a heartbeat, Nathan’s words were a steady echo in my mind. Want your life to matter. Whether he actually had that sort of pull was questionable; I never pegged Nathan to be anyone of influence, even if he was a Knight. His order remained a hazy memory in my mind. It had never occurred to me that they were more than just religious zealots, worshipping a forgotten pantheon of Gods.
Perhaps sensing my doubt, Ellenia offered me a look I couldn’t read. What I did see was an exhausted woman, barely able to stand upright with the weight of the armour pressing on her shoulders, amongst other, intangible, things. That momentary flash of anger I felt had dissipated, clearing my vision, and though I hated the way Ellenia felt comfortable in social warfare, I still felt pity towards her. She was, after all, a friend.
When I turned to leave – neither of us were in a habit to part in tearful goodbyes – Ellenia spoke. “His order is viewed as royalty, you know, in the nations they’ve built. He has the power to hold all of our lives in the palm of his hand and decide what to do with them. You decide if that is someone you wish to follow.”
Ellenia may have meant these words to be for Ellis, an attempt to have him stay loyal to her, but I understood the meaning behind her words and the look she’d given me.
Without a word, I headed for the door. Ellenia did not turn to look at Ellis when she continued:
“You may leave if you wish. This is not a place for heroics and fame. We are stuck in the cesspit of this land to contain an evil that is spreading due to the foolishness of others.” I had stepped over the threshold by then and went down the steps. The Commander’s voice followed me down the staircase. “No ballads will be sung about any of us and our names will be forgotten. Though mine will be cursed by many for leading their sons and husbands to a sure death by the hands of foul monsters.” By the time I had reached the base of the spiral staircase, Ellenia’s words were muffled, barely audible sounds against the staccato of my footsteps. “It matters little. All I care about is that the swamp is contained, because of it is not, it will swallow the world.”
I could claim that Ellenia’s revelation had no effect on me. That a Knight’s role being similar to that of a monarch meant nothing. Many would’ve been proud, lucky, even, to be working for someone of such importance. But I would be lying and Nathan was right, I was very bad at it, for I was sure my thoughts were on full display.
By the time I reached the stables, exhaustion began to prickle at my breast. I was running, hoping movement would clear my mind before I had to see Nathan. But whatever traitorous thoughts were chased away returned the moment I noticed Nathan standing by the stables, silent and angry. Without a word, I neared him and waited for the stable boy to ready our horses. A quartermaster brought our belongings shortly after my arrival. He carried my traveling bag and spear and a package wrapped in canvas that he gave to Nathan, explaining it was provisions for the journey. Then, he excused himself and returned to the main tower, leaving Nathan and I in an awkward silence.
The groom was dressing our horses for the journey quickly and efficiently, humming under his breath as he worked. I watched him as I slung my traveling bag across my chest and checked its contents out of habit and to give myself something to do. As I leaned against one of the supporting the ceiling wooden beams, legs crossed at the ankles, I opened the flap of my bag to take out the folded map and went over the planned route to Escus. We would have to travel through the night, which I wasn’t fond of doing, but with so little time to spare I imagined Nathan couldn’t care less what time of the day it was.
Raising my gaze from the map, I glanced at Nathan and flattened my lips. A pang of disgust rolled through me, rising bile to the back of my throat. The way he spoke in Ellenia’s chambers sent shivers down my spine and I hated remembering the way he spat out threats and claimed disinterest in the lives of others. It had never occurred to me that a Knight was someone of importance, possessing such authority as to try and give Ellania orders. But now that I knew, I hated that Nathan chose to use his authority – no matter how small it was, if Ellenia was to be believed – to threaten those who tried to do good.
But I did not know Nathan, did I?
Did I want to know him?
When the stable boy led a young thoroughbred chestnut to me and helped me on, I looked up at the fortress gates. I could leave. The thought was so tempting that I gripped the reins tighter and the horse obediently turned, silent and docile beneath me. Much unlike my previous mare, whose ripped carcass remained at the back of my mind.
Looking over my shoulder I watched the stable boy lead the other horse to Nathan. I looked back at the gate, gripping the reins so tightly the leather stripe scrunched in my hands and bit into the palms of my hands painfully. Window of opportunity was passing me by and…
This was supposed to be a normal, ordinary job. The child and the man protecting her were supposed to be normal, just people stuck in a situation when they needed a bodyguard and a guide. Out of selfishness and sheer belief that fate had brought me an opportunity to repay the debt I owe to Leon I chose to take on this job. Whether that was a mistake remained to be seen, but the more I thought on it, the more I wanted out.
I wanted to go back to the normality of my life. Away from politics and men with enough authority to rival that of a King.
The groom passed the reins into Nathan’s hands and, warily inspecting Nathan’s armour, asked if he required help getting onto the horse. I looked at the gate for the last time and pressed my lips so tightly together all colour drained from them.
No, I was not doing this for Nathan, even if he was the one giving me the coin. A child has been taken and I had to save her, not only because I knew what happened to those who got caught by the Church, but because I owed it to the kid. She’d saved my life out of selfish foolishness and desire to help.
Once Nathan was ready to set out, I led us towards the postern gate. The stable boy had given Nathan and me oil lanterns and the soft light helped illuminate the path towards the postern gate, which was dark and mostly abandoned, save for the men posted there. The gate was much smaller and was guarded by four tired men. They peered at us from beneath their helmets, their faces obscured by shifting shadows from the torches on either side of the gate.
“We were told to let you out,” one of the men said, his voice too loud in the empty silence.
The double doors creaked as the men pushed them open. I looked over my shoulder at Nathan, truly looking at him for the first time since we’ve left Ellenia’s chambers, “Do you want to wait for Ellis?”
What was there for me to say, to feel? It was my job to remain silent and loyal. Surely Nathan expected that of me, for he did not wait or even glance in my direction as he stormed out. He thought coin was enough to buy my loyalty, at least while it kept steadily flowing into my purse. He wouldn’t be wrong.
Like a heartbeat, Nathan’s words were a steady echo in my mind. Want your life to matter. Whether he actually had that sort of pull was questionable; I never pegged Nathan to be anyone of influence, even if he was a Knight. His order remained a hazy memory in my mind. It had never occurred to me that they were more than just religious zealots, worshipping a forgotten pantheon of Gods.
Perhaps sensing my doubt, Ellenia offered me a look I couldn’t read. What I did see was an exhausted woman, barely able to stand upright with the weight of the armour pressing on her shoulders, amongst other, intangible, things. That momentary flash of anger I felt had dissipated, clearing my vision, and though I hated the way Ellenia felt comfortable in social warfare, I still felt pity towards her. She was, after all, a friend.
When I turned to leave – neither of us were in a habit to part in tearful goodbyes – Ellenia spoke. “His order is viewed as royalty, you know, in the nations they’ve built. He has the power to hold all of our lives in the palm of his hand and decide what to do with them. You decide if that is someone you wish to follow.”
Ellenia may have meant these words to be for Ellis, an attempt to have him stay loyal to her, but I understood the meaning behind her words and the look she’d given me.
Without a word, I headed for the door. Ellenia did not turn to look at Ellis when she continued:
“You may leave if you wish. This is not a place for heroics and fame. We are stuck in the cesspit of this land to contain an evil that is spreading due to the foolishness of others.” I had stepped over the threshold by then and went down the steps. The Commander’s voice followed me down the staircase. “No ballads will be sung about any of us and our names will be forgotten. Though mine will be cursed by many for leading their sons and husbands to a sure death by the hands of foul monsters.” By the time I had reached the base of the spiral staircase, Ellenia’s words were muffled, barely audible sounds against the staccato of my footsteps. “It matters little. All I care about is that the swamp is contained, because of it is not, it will swallow the world.”
I could claim that Ellenia’s revelation had no effect on me. That a Knight’s role being similar to that of a monarch meant nothing. Many would’ve been proud, lucky, even, to be working for someone of such importance. But I would be lying and Nathan was right, I was very bad at it, for I was sure my thoughts were on full display.
By the time I reached the stables, exhaustion began to prickle at my breast. I was running, hoping movement would clear my mind before I had to see Nathan. But whatever traitorous thoughts were chased away returned the moment I noticed Nathan standing by the stables, silent and angry. Without a word, I neared him and waited for the stable boy to ready our horses. A quartermaster brought our belongings shortly after my arrival. He carried my traveling bag and spear and a package wrapped in canvas that he gave to Nathan, explaining it was provisions for the journey. Then, he excused himself and returned to the main tower, leaving Nathan and I in an awkward silence.
The groom was dressing our horses for the journey quickly and efficiently, humming under his breath as he worked. I watched him as I slung my traveling bag across my chest and checked its contents out of habit and to give myself something to do. As I leaned against one of the supporting the ceiling wooden beams, legs crossed at the ankles, I opened the flap of my bag to take out the folded map and went over the planned route to Escus. We would have to travel through the night, which I wasn’t fond of doing, but with so little time to spare I imagined Nathan couldn’t care less what time of the day it was.
Raising my gaze from the map, I glanced at Nathan and flattened my lips. A pang of disgust rolled through me, rising bile to the back of my throat. The way he spoke in Ellenia’s chambers sent shivers down my spine and I hated remembering the way he spat out threats and claimed disinterest in the lives of others. It had never occurred to me that a Knight was someone of importance, possessing such authority as to try and give Ellania orders. But now that I knew, I hated that Nathan chose to use his authority – no matter how small it was, if Ellenia was to be believed – to threaten those who tried to do good.
But I did not know Nathan, did I?
Did I want to know him?
When the stable boy led a young thoroughbred chestnut to me and helped me on, I looked up at the fortress gates. I could leave. The thought was so tempting that I gripped the reins tighter and the horse obediently turned, silent and docile beneath me. Much unlike my previous mare, whose ripped carcass remained at the back of my mind.
Looking over my shoulder I watched the stable boy lead the other horse to Nathan. I looked back at the gate, gripping the reins so tightly the leather stripe scrunched in my hands and bit into the palms of my hands painfully. Window of opportunity was passing me by and…
This was supposed to be a normal, ordinary job. The child and the man protecting her were supposed to be normal, just people stuck in a situation when they needed a bodyguard and a guide. Out of selfishness and sheer belief that fate had brought me an opportunity to repay the debt I owe to Leon I chose to take on this job. Whether that was a mistake remained to be seen, but the more I thought on it, the more I wanted out.
I wanted to go back to the normality of my life. Away from politics and men with enough authority to rival that of a King.
The groom passed the reins into Nathan’s hands and, warily inspecting Nathan’s armour, asked if he required help getting onto the horse. I looked at the gate for the last time and pressed my lips so tightly together all colour drained from them.
No, I was not doing this for Nathan, even if he was the one giving me the coin. A child has been taken and I had to save her, not only because I knew what happened to those who got caught by the Church, but because I owed it to the kid. She’d saved my life out of selfish foolishness and desire to help.
Once Nathan was ready to set out, I led us towards the postern gate. The stable boy had given Nathan and me oil lanterns and the soft light helped illuminate the path towards the postern gate, which was dark and mostly abandoned, save for the men posted there. The gate was much smaller and was guarded by four tired men. They peered at us from beneath their helmets, their faces obscured by shifting shadows from the torches on either side of the gate.
“We were told to let you out,” one of the men said, his voice too loud in the empty silence.
The double doors creaked as the men pushed them open. I looked over my shoulder at Nathan, truly looking at him for the first time since we’ve left Ellenia’s chambers, “Do you want to wait for Ellis?”
“You are his, after all.”
The words cut the air with their coldness like a sharp knife. They spoke the truth and it did not hurt, but rather worked as a reminder of a status that Irene refused to accept. So her eyes narrowed for a moment only at Kydoimos and her lips thinned. When he spoke again and turned to follow Galene, Irene regained her calm and looked at the ground for a moment, palms on her knees.
Hunting was not a skill that she was not sure of. It fed her for years. Leon, among many others, had taught her how to set up snares and dig traps. This was not something one could learn overnight and it was a skill that had to be perfected over the years, when food sometimes was scarce and its lack would serve as a warning that it could happen again.
Galene knew how to hunt. Or rather, Irene thought the girl did. She had shot a crow, not tracked it. Arrows and a bow was never a weapon that Irene preferred, thinking it too unpredictable and slow, but perhaps it was her own inability to actually hit something that made her not like the weapon.
Still, personal feelings aside, Galene was allowed free rein in the forest to hunt. And Irene was not.
No matter, Irene thought as she pushed herself up and followed Galene and Kydoimos, staying a few feet behind them.
There were other ways to prove her worth. Hunting was but one of the skills needed on this mountain. There were others, ones that would not arouse suspicion of her past. While Galene was a useful ally, Irene trusted her as much as she trusted a rock to fly far on a windy day.
The first year with Hisraad was the worst of her life. Worse than the first few months of when Irene’s life had drastically changed and she had to flee her country to save her life, dragged by Leon who never spoke and never looked back.
So Irene planned, waited and fought in the end only to be shot down, literally. By an arrow that marred the back of her shoulder in a scar that should have been much less in size had they removed the bolt before it started to rot and spread infection. After that foolish and rash attempt of escaping, she’d stopped. Stopped caring. Stopped planning and keeping herself in shape.
Time had eaten away at her strength and her will, and so she waited and took on a passive role of an obedient servant. Not truly choosing to run or stay, Irene balanced on the edge and hated herself for it.
Hated herself for being one of those indecisive people that she’d always looked down upon.
Even now, she chose to go with the current and see where it took her. Not truly choosing to plead her case to Hardeep, thinking it was a waste of breath. Not truly trying to prove her worth, choosing to rely on Galene’s power of persuasion.
It was time to end this.
One glance at the forest and the skies above was enough to prove her suspicions correct. The snow was soon to fall in large flakes, burying the ground and the forest, giving freedom to creatures that lurked in the snowstorms and fed off the corpses of those who died from intense cold. A few weeks, no more, and then they’d be stuck in that little village with limited food and watchful eyes. It would be impossible to escape. It would be suicidal to escape.
It was time to take a more active role.
The question that she’d asked Kydoimos, as rhetorical as it was, was given an answer on the way to the cabin as they passed through the village. Among the mountain folk, dressed in layers of hides and furs and waterproofed leathers, were others. Riders and their slaves became a common sight and Irene kept her eyes down and listened, instead. Many languages surrounded them, some she’d recognized instantly and others she had to listen to and search her memory.
Hunting could wait. She’d arrange something else, plan for a loophole. Bargaining was a different matter. She knew most of the languages that the merchants used and by their appearance alone she could determine where they’d come from and what they were offering. There were not many, only three or five different men, but it was enough to trade goods with. Had there been only one, she’d pester him enough to trade with her.
It was time to fight against the current and do it on her own, otherwise she’d hate herself for having lost an opportunity to escape.
Are you willing to use others?
Irene looked at Galene and Kydoimos, their backs to her they continued towards their little cabin. Both were so young and shared a relationship forbidden by most, if not all. Both naïve to a certain extent. Both possibly good people with their own principles and morals, their past.
She chose not to answer this question.
When they neared the cabin, Warren had just arrived to its door. Carrying a large wooden basin in both hands filled to the brim with water, Warren had halted to a stop and splashed some of the basin’s contents onto the porch. The blush that coloured his cheeks did not look like it was from the cold. Looking back and forth between Kydoimos and Galene, the guard seemed to have been wondering if it was appropriate to bow and let them pass, or go in first to bring in the water.
Bowing as much as the basin permitted him without splashing water on himself, Warren quickly entered the cabin. Irene followed suit after Kydoimos and Galene and, once inside, watched Warren put down the basin by the fire. There was a pot above it and Orien was working with the pestle, mashing something inside the pot. Warren had straightened, put his hands onto his back, and cracked it with a sigh that he was careful to mask as Kydoimos was nearby.
“Do you need more?” Warren asked and flexed his fingers, probably tense after pulling the bucket from the well and carrying the basin back and forth to the cabin.
The guard turned around and eyed the crow in Galene’s hands. His lips pursed he turned around, no doubt thinking it disgusting to eat such an unappealing animal. He rummaged through some bag and held it open for Warren.
“The…” Warren glanced at Irene as if in thought and then turned back to Orien, “hare can be cooked. Should we?”
The meat would be a good addition to their meal. It had been a while since Irene’s had it, hare or any other kind of game.
Ignoring the empty pit that was her stomach, Irene crossed the cabin room and was about to settle down onto the floor, when Warren had looked in her direction and pointed to a pile of clothing.
“It is yours,” he said coolly and turned back to Orien.
Blinking in confusion at the man, Irene doubled back and knelt by the pile. Clothing lay stacked there, all folded and intermingled with furs and some pelts. Everything was thin to touch and Irene would have frowned at the given items had she not been admiring the colour.
She let her hand slide under a piece of fabric and looked at it lie on her tanned arm, its violet contrasting with her olive skin tone. It was a lighter colour than she used to wear once, but it mattered little. The thinness mattered little.
A warm feeling spread through her chest and Irene felt as she did when she was flying with Balin. Hopeful.
Standing up, Irene chose several pieces of clothing and stepped back to lie them down onto the floor by her feet. She’d picked a blouse and jacked with a high collar, partly for the tattoo on her chest and the slave’s collar at her neck.
Though before she undid the sash, Irene thought it better not to undress before so many possible viewers. Nudity was not an issue, but not everyone could react to the scars on her body and the ink on her chest with a calm demeanour. Mountain knows, Galene would have a heap of questions after seeing either.
So Irene had picked up the chosen clothing and entered one of the rooms on the side, feeling Warren’s wary look in her direction. She’d returned a short while after, wearing an attire that was a layering of clothes that sat surprisingly well on her. Loose and free, the attire consisted of two blouses layered on one another, tucked into a thicker pair of pants and then finished off with a long to her mid-thigh jacket secured by a wide sash coiled around her waist.
The bone comb, usually hidden in her braid, was now wrapped into the folds of the jacket and hidden by the sash, away from anyone’s prying eyes. She’d have to find a better place for it later.
Experimentally, Irene rolled back her shoulders to confirm that the clothing didn’t tug or pull, she ignored the fact that it was several sizes larger than her. Oddly enough, it suited her.
Or maybe, it was the way she wore it. Irene had almost brightened at having changed into something different than the usual crème coloured linens that slaves wore. She appeared almost…confident. Like how she used to be, before the leather was wrapped around her neck like a noose.
Turning around, she noticed Warren staring. Quirking a brow, Irene cocked her head. Warren opened his mouth and closed it again, after having thought better not to say what he was thinking. Instead, Irene was the one who spoke.
“Do you have a thread and needle?” She asked.
“Uh,” Warren muttered and blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting such a question. “Yes. My mother’s given me some. There is…light purple thread in that bag. Why?” Warily, he eyed Irene as if she’d thought of some vile way to use a needle and a thread.
“Embroidery,” she said simply.
“What?” Warren looked taken aback by the answer.
“It is a part of my tradition. Is that a problem?”
“No. But you should ask Sir Hardeep for permission.”
It was doubtful that Hardeep was going to decline the clothing given to a slave being broidered, but Irene simply said, “Alright,” and headed across the room towards the pile of clothing that was now hers. She’d folded her previous outfit and brought the pile towards the wall. There lay several pieces of clothing of superb quality; its leathers sturdy and lined with thicker fur.
“What is this?” Irene asked hesitantly and waved a hand at the leathers as Warren turned to look at her.
“Lady Azar Sohrab had generously gifted us these. They are for Sir Hardeep and Sir Kydoimos,” Warren said sternly.
“Gifts?” Furrowing her brows, Irene regarded the items in confusion. No one gave us such good quality items without expecting something in return. Whoever this Lady Azar Sohrab was, she was either immensely stupid and naïve, or cunning.
Warren only shrugged. “It is not for us to decline them. Sir Hardeep accepted the gift.”
A simplistic way of dealing with the situation, but there was no other. Warren was doing his job.
The words of the gift’s origins had reminded Irene of another rider was more of an immediate threat than a woman who might possibly be not all too bright. Throwing a glance at Galene as Irene had set down the pile of clothing, she wondered how to get the girl’s attention.
“Galene,” Irene said, “can you help me bring more water in?” It was the best excuse that Irene could come up with. “There might be someone there who’d wish to do me harm.” That was a valid reason. Several slaves had already looked at Galene and Irene, wearing their warm pelts, with hungry eyes full of envy and resentment as they shivered in thin linens. Not that Irene needed protection; Galene knew as much.
Irene only hoped that Galene would get the hint that someone was no other than Ammon, a man to whom they lied for no other reason than to protect Irene’s pride.
“I can go with you,” Warren said.
“You need to protect Lord Kydoimos.” Irene tried to sound as calmly as she could and looked at Galene and nodded at the doorway. “Let’s go.”
***
Azar had given Hardeep a warm smile that transferred to her eyes and made them gleam. Maybe it was the firelight reflecting in the amber of her irises.
“Lene should prove useful, then,” Azar said calmly. “It brings her immense pleasure to talk about her homeland. I sense sadness there, too. Talking of the land she left eases that pain.”
Easing closer, Azar leaned forward while still holding the cup against her thigh with both hands. “I must let you in on a secret, Lord Hardeep,” Azar began, a smile still on her lips. Her voice had become quiet, a playful whisper. “I listen to her speak those tales for no reason other than to improve her accent. Sands of the desert, that accent is hard on the ear.”
Leaning back, Azar had lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip while still looking at Hardeep. The corners of her lips were still curved in a genuine smile. They sat so closely to one another on the bear belt that their knees brushed against one another with the smallest of movements.
“Indeed I have,” she answered his question. “It was sent to me by a relative of my dearest aunt. Bai She Suzhen of Anderfell, in Riverside. That woman comes from a land far east from here and sends my aunt gifts of tea. Selfish as I am, I thought it best to take this gift with me. To keep myself warm during cold winter nights.”
Setting down the cup onto the small chair, Azar pushed her hair back and it rippled like wild tongues of flame. “My ladies-in-waiting believe it to be a way to take a piece of home with me. Romanticising my selfish actions, no doubt.”
Glancing away from the man at her side, Azar straightened and craned her neck to cast a glance around the room. Separated from the rest of the cabin by the partitions, the area was dimly lit and empty save for the two riders. It was completely private.
There was shuffling to the side. Clothes rustled, someone’s muffled words were barely audible over the crackling of the hearth.
“Lene.” Azar did not lift her voice though it was authoritative and cut crisply through the air.
Shuffling of long skirts and faint footsteps alerted the woman to the servant’s presence. Lene circled around the partition across the hearth and stopped a respectable distance away. With hands folded before her, the girl bowed her head and said a quiet, “Yes, Madam?” under her breath.
“Do come closer,” Azar said. The servant obeyed and stopped when the soft orange firelight lit her features. Shadows danced across her skin and dress; the orange light lit her silky hair in an auburn hue. Lene knelt down onto the floor and kept her back straight as she smoothed the skirt over her lap.
“Lene, Lord Hardeep has asked me a question which I cannot answer for lack of knowledge. It regards the slave woman of whom you’ve told me about. The Izmarian one.”
Lene lifted her eyes and glanced at Hardeep. “I meant no offence, My Lord,” she said in a heavily accented Crubian and let her eyes focus on the floor once more. “It is surprising to see another of my people in these lands.”
“How did you know she was from your homeland?” Azar took the mug once more and pressed it to her lips, taking a sip. “There was no clothing like yours on her shoulders.”
“The skin and eye colour, Madam. I was not sure for the lack of a second braid. Our tradition forbids women from wearing our hair short before marriage, and the braids must be no less than two in number. One is reserved for the men of the Warrior Caste.”
“Does that mean she was a warrior?” Azar glanced at Hardeep, recalling her inquiry about the rumours.
“No, Madam. Women are forbidden from wielding a weapon. There are no women in the Izmarian Guard.”
Azar was looking at the mug that she’d set down onto her lap. Little bits of herbs floated at the top of the tea. “When you were brought into my homestead, you insisted on wearing red and white for these are the colours of the Izmarian nobility. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“What are the colours of the Warrior Caste?”
“Purple, Madam. Purple broidered with gold. That woman was not wearing them, for she is a slave.”
Azar hummed and looked up at Lene. “Of course. There is one other matter. Lord Hardeep has mentioned a mark on the woman’s shoulder. Did you recognize it?”
The entire time, the servant girl remained calm and composed. However, at the mention of the mark, a gasp escaped Lene’s lips and she leaned back and lifted a hand to her mouth. She settled the hand just below her neck and looked at Azar with wide eyes that appeared black as the firelight danced across her green irises.
“You do know of it?” Azar lifted her brows at the servant.
“Pardon my rudeness, Lord Passi, but did the mark look like this?” Lene asked quickly and looked at Hardeep with an ashen face and wide eyes, her lips parted and hand clenched over her chest.
Lene stood up promptly and turned around; the skirts of her dress flared and settled down. White broidery depicting a very detailed mountain range stood out vividly against the red background. The thread weaved through the fabric in curves and angles, intricate in its design with many details that caught the eye of those willing to look. It depicted a beautiful mountain range, nearly identical to the mark on Irene’s chest.
The words cut the air with their coldness like a sharp knife. They spoke the truth and it did not hurt, but rather worked as a reminder of a status that Irene refused to accept. So her eyes narrowed for a moment only at Kydoimos and her lips thinned. When he spoke again and turned to follow Galene, Irene regained her calm and looked at the ground for a moment, palms on her knees.
Hunting was not a skill that she was not sure of. It fed her for years. Leon, among many others, had taught her how to set up snares and dig traps. This was not something one could learn overnight and it was a skill that had to be perfected over the years, when food sometimes was scarce and its lack would serve as a warning that it could happen again.
Galene knew how to hunt. Or rather, Irene thought the girl did. She had shot a crow, not tracked it. Arrows and a bow was never a weapon that Irene preferred, thinking it too unpredictable and slow, but perhaps it was her own inability to actually hit something that made her not like the weapon.
Still, personal feelings aside, Galene was allowed free rein in the forest to hunt. And Irene was not.
No matter, Irene thought as she pushed herself up and followed Galene and Kydoimos, staying a few feet behind them.
There were other ways to prove her worth. Hunting was but one of the skills needed on this mountain. There were others, ones that would not arouse suspicion of her past. While Galene was a useful ally, Irene trusted her as much as she trusted a rock to fly far on a windy day.
The first year with Hisraad was the worst of her life. Worse than the first few months of when Irene’s life had drastically changed and she had to flee her country to save her life, dragged by Leon who never spoke and never looked back.
So Irene planned, waited and fought in the end only to be shot down, literally. By an arrow that marred the back of her shoulder in a scar that should have been much less in size had they removed the bolt before it started to rot and spread infection. After that foolish and rash attempt of escaping, she’d stopped. Stopped caring. Stopped planning and keeping herself in shape.
Time had eaten away at her strength and her will, and so she waited and took on a passive role of an obedient servant. Not truly choosing to run or stay, Irene balanced on the edge and hated herself for it.
Hated herself for being one of those indecisive people that she’d always looked down upon.
Even now, she chose to go with the current and see where it took her. Not truly choosing to plead her case to Hardeep, thinking it was a waste of breath. Not truly trying to prove her worth, choosing to rely on Galene’s power of persuasion.
It was time to end this.
One glance at the forest and the skies above was enough to prove her suspicions correct. The snow was soon to fall in large flakes, burying the ground and the forest, giving freedom to creatures that lurked in the snowstorms and fed off the corpses of those who died from intense cold. A few weeks, no more, and then they’d be stuck in that little village with limited food and watchful eyes. It would be impossible to escape. It would be suicidal to escape.
It was time to take a more active role.
The question that she’d asked Kydoimos, as rhetorical as it was, was given an answer on the way to the cabin as they passed through the village. Among the mountain folk, dressed in layers of hides and furs and waterproofed leathers, were others. Riders and their slaves became a common sight and Irene kept her eyes down and listened, instead. Many languages surrounded them, some she’d recognized instantly and others she had to listen to and search her memory.
Hunting could wait. She’d arrange something else, plan for a loophole. Bargaining was a different matter. She knew most of the languages that the merchants used and by their appearance alone she could determine where they’d come from and what they were offering. There were not many, only three or five different men, but it was enough to trade goods with. Had there been only one, she’d pester him enough to trade with her.
It was time to fight against the current and do it on her own, otherwise she’d hate herself for having lost an opportunity to escape.
Are you willing to use others?
Irene looked at Galene and Kydoimos, their backs to her they continued towards their little cabin. Both were so young and shared a relationship forbidden by most, if not all. Both naïve to a certain extent. Both possibly good people with their own principles and morals, their past.
She chose not to answer this question.
When they neared the cabin, Warren had just arrived to its door. Carrying a large wooden basin in both hands filled to the brim with water, Warren had halted to a stop and splashed some of the basin’s contents onto the porch. The blush that coloured his cheeks did not look like it was from the cold. Looking back and forth between Kydoimos and Galene, the guard seemed to have been wondering if it was appropriate to bow and let them pass, or go in first to bring in the water.
Bowing as much as the basin permitted him without splashing water on himself, Warren quickly entered the cabin. Irene followed suit after Kydoimos and Galene and, once inside, watched Warren put down the basin by the fire. There was a pot above it and Orien was working with the pestle, mashing something inside the pot. Warren had straightened, put his hands onto his back, and cracked it with a sigh that he was careful to mask as Kydoimos was nearby.
“Do you need more?” Warren asked and flexed his fingers, probably tense after pulling the bucket from the well and carrying the basin back and forth to the cabin.
The guard turned around and eyed the crow in Galene’s hands. His lips pursed he turned around, no doubt thinking it disgusting to eat such an unappealing animal. He rummaged through some bag and held it open for Warren.
“The…” Warren glanced at Irene as if in thought and then turned back to Orien, “hare can be cooked. Should we?”
The meat would be a good addition to their meal. It had been a while since Irene’s had it, hare or any other kind of game.
Ignoring the empty pit that was her stomach, Irene crossed the cabin room and was about to settle down onto the floor, when Warren had looked in her direction and pointed to a pile of clothing.
“It is yours,” he said coolly and turned back to Orien.
Blinking in confusion at the man, Irene doubled back and knelt by the pile. Clothing lay stacked there, all folded and intermingled with furs and some pelts. Everything was thin to touch and Irene would have frowned at the given items had she not been admiring the colour.
She let her hand slide under a piece of fabric and looked at it lie on her tanned arm, its violet contrasting with her olive skin tone. It was a lighter colour than she used to wear once, but it mattered little. The thinness mattered little.
A warm feeling spread through her chest and Irene felt as she did when she was flying with Balin. Hopeful.
Standing up, Irene chose several pieces of clothing and stepped back to lie them down onto the floor by her feet. She’d picked a blouse and jacked with a high collar, partly for the tattoo on her chest and the slave’s collar at her neck.
Though before she undid the sash, Irene thought it better not to undress before so many possible viewers. Nudity was not an issue, but not everyone could react to the scars on her body and the ink on her chest with a calm demeanour. Mountain knows, Galene would have a heap of questions after seeing either.
So Irene had picked up the chosen clothing and entered one of the rooms on the side, feeling Warren’s wary look in her direction. She’d returned a short while after, wearing an attire that was a layering of clothes that sat surprisingly well on her. Loose and free, the attire consisted of two blouses layered on one another, tucked into a thicker pair of pants and then finished off with a long to her mid-thigh jacket secured by a wide sash coiled around her waist.
The bone comb, usually hidden in her braid, was now wrapped into the folds of the jacket and hidden by the sash, away from anyone’s prying eyes. She’d have to find a better place for it later.
Experimentally, Irene rolled back her shoulders to confirm that the clothing didn’t tug or pull, she ignored the fact that it was several sizes larger than her. Oddly enough, it suited her.
Or maybe, it was the way she wore it. Irene had almost brightened at having changed into something different than the usual crème coloured linens that slaves wore. She appeared almost…confident. Like how she used to be, before the leather was wrapped around her neck like a noose.
Turning around, she noticed Warren staring. Quirking a brow, Irene cocked her head. Warren opened his mouth and closed it again, after having thought better not to say what he was thinking. Instead, Irene was the one who spoke.
“Do you have a thread and needle?” She asked.
“Uh,” Warren muttered and blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting such a question. “Yes. My mother’s given me some. There is…light purple thread in that bag. Why?” Warily, he eyed Irene as if she’d thought of some vile way to use a needle and a thread.
“Embroidery,” she said simply.
“What?” Warren looked taken aback by the answer.
“It is a part of my tradition. Is that a problem?”
“No. But you should ask Sir Hardeep for permission.”
It was doubtful that Hardeep was going to decline the clothing given to a slave being broidered, but Irene simply said, “Alright,” and headed across the room towards the pile of clothing that was now hers. She’d folded her previous outfit and brought the pile towards the wall. There lay several pieces of clothing of superb quality; its leathers sturdy and lined with thicker fur.
“What is this?” Irene asked hesitantly and waved a hand at the leathers as Warren turned to look at her.
“Lady Azar Sohrab had generously gifted us these. They are for Sir Hardeep and Sir Kydoimos,” Warren said sternly.
“Gifts?” Furrowing her brows, Irene regarded the items in confusion. No one gave us such good quality items without expecting something in return. Whoever this Lady Azar Sohrab was, she was either immensely stupid and naïve, or cunning.
Warren only shrugged. “It is not for us to decline them. Sir Hardeep accepted the gift.”
A simplistic way of dealing with the situation, but there was no other. Warren was doing his job.
The words of the gift’s origins had reminded Irene of another rider was more of an immediate threat than a woman who might possibly be not all too bright. Throwing a glance at Galene as Irene had set down the pile of clothing, she wondered how to get the girl’s attention.
“Galene,” Irene said, “can you help me bring more water in?” It was the best excuse that Irene could come up with. “There might be someone there who’d wish to do me harm.” That was a valid reason. Several slaves had already looked at Galene and Irene, wearing their warm pelts, with hungry eyes full of envy and resentment as they shivered in thin linens. Not that Irene needed protection; Galene knew as much.
Irene only hoped that Galene would get the hint that someone was no other than Ammon, a man to whom they lied for no other reason than to protect Irene’s pride.
“I can go with you,” Warren said.
“You need to protect Lord Kydoimos.” Irene tried to sound as calmly as she could and looked at Galene and nodded at the doorway. “Let’s go.”
***
Azar had given Hardeep a warm smile that transferred to her eyes and made them gleam. Maybe it was the firelight reflecting in the amber of her irises.
“Lene should prove useful, then,” Azar said calmly. “It brings her immense pleasure to talk about her homeland. I sense sadness there, too. Talking of the land she left eases that pain.”
Easing closer, Azar leaned forward while still holding the cup against her thigh with both hands. “I must let you in on a secret, Lord Hardeep,” Azar began, a smile still on her lips. Her voice had become quiet, a playful whisper. “I listen to her speak those tales for no reason other than to improve her accent. Sands of the desert, that accent is hard on the ear.”
Leaning back, Azar had lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip while still looking at Hardeep. The corners of her lips were still curved in a genuine smile. They sat so closely to one another on the bear belt that their knees brushed against one another with the smallest of movements.
“Indeed I have,” she answered his question. “It was sent to me by a relative of my dearest aunt. Bai She Suzhen of Anderfell, in Riverside. That woman comes from a land far east from here and sends my aunt gifts of tea. Selfish as I am, I thought it best to take this gift with me. To keep myself warm during cold winter nights.”
Setting down the cup onto the small chair, Azar pushed her hair back and it rippled like wild tongues of flame. “My ladies-in-waiting believe it to be a way to take a piece of home with me. Romanticising my selfish actions, no doubt.”
Glancing away from the man at her side, Azar straightened and craned her neck to cast a glance around the room. Separated from the rest of the cabin by the partitions, the area was dimly lit and empty save for the two riders. It was completely private.
There was shuffling to the side. Clothes rustled, someone’s muffled words were barely audible over the crackling of the hearth.
“Lene.” Azar did not lift her voice though it was authoritative and cut crisply through the air.
Shuffling of long skirts and faint footsteps alerted the woman to the servant’s presence. Lene circled around the partition across the hearth and stopped a respectable distance away. With hands folded before her, the girl bowed her head and said a quiet, “Yes, Madam?” under her breath.
“Do come closer,” Azar said. The servant obeyed and stopped when the soft orange firelight lit her features. Shadows danced across her skin and dress; the orange light lit her silky hair in an auburn hue. Lene knelt down onto the floor and kept her back straight as she smoothed the skirt over her lap.
“Lene, Lord Hardeep has asked me a question which I cannot answer for lack of knowledge. It regards the slave woman of whom you’ve told me about. The Izmarian one.”
Lene lifted her eyes and glanced at Hardeep. “I meant no offence, My Lord,” she said in a heavily accented Crubian and let her eyes focus on the floor once more. “It is surprising to see another of my people in these lands.”
“How did you know she was from your homeland?” Azar took the mug once more and pressed it to her lips, taking a sip. “There was no clothing like yours on her shoulders.”
“The skin and eye colour, Madam. I was not sure for the lack of a second braid. Our tradition forbids women from wearing our hair short before marriage, and the braids must be no less than two in number. One is reserved for the men of the Warrior Caste.”
“Does that mean she was a warrior?” Azar glanced at Hardeep, recalling her inquiry about the rumours.
“No, Madam. Women are forbidden from wielding a weapon. There are no women in the Izmarian Guard.”
Azar was looking at the mug that she’d set down onto her lap. Little bits of herbs floated at the top of the tea. “When you were brought into my homestead, you insisted on wearing red and white for these are the colours of the Izmarian nobility. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“What are the colours of the Warrior Caste?”
“Purple, Madam. Purple broidered with gold. That woman was not wearing them, for she is a slave.”
Azar hummed and looked up at Lene. “Of course. There is one other matter. Lord Hardeep has mentioned a mark on the woman’s shoulder. Did you recognize it?”
The entire time, the servant girl remained calm and composed. However, at the mention of the mark, a gasp escaped Lene’s lips and she leaned back and lifted a hand to her mouth. She settled the hand just below her neck and looked at Azar with wide eyes that appeared black as the firelight danced across her green irises.
“You do know of it?” Azar lifted her brows at the servant.
“Pardon my rudeness, Lord Passi, but did the mark look like this?” Lene asked quickly and looked at Hardeep with an ashen face and wide eyes, her lips parted and hand clenched over her chest.
Lene stood up promptly and turned around; the skirts of her dress flared and settled down. White broidery depicting a very detailed mountain range stood out vividly against the red background. The thread weaved through the fabric in curves and angles, intricate in its design with many details that caught the eye of those willing to look. It depicted a beautiful mountain range, nearly identical to the mark on Irene’s chest.
We do not need to stick to the plots described above, as we can brainstorm our own or maybe you have some ideas that you'd like to use.
PM me or reply to this thread if you are interested c:
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