Alfbie

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

Miria Sedina awoke before the crack of dawn. She was not a citizen of Renna, so she did not rise to four walls and a roof of a sturdy, permanent home. Though she had the money to afford it, she did not awake in the impersonal space of one of the city's many inns. Instead, she rose from a small cart, pulling back a thick blanket that smelled strongly of donkey. Large canvas bags surrounded her; these, along with the blanket, had kept her warm during the chilly desert nights. Groggily, she pushed back some of the thick, dark hair that had fallen over her face in silken tangles, assessed that all of her possessions were there and accounted for, and scooted out of the cart. Not a morning went by when she did not recall how she used to greet the days. As a little girl, she had risen after the sun from a clean, sturdy mattress under a mass of her favorite blankets hand-woven by her mother. She had her own room full of personal, impractical things, and never smelled like a donkey. Years later, as a woman, she would wake in a modest tent or in one of those impersonal inn beds, but the stark lack of lavishness compared to her comfortable childhood never mattered to her as long as the first thing she saw was the man laying beside her, a lean figure with hair the color of ivory, smiling eyes the color of amber, ears shaped like a jackal's, and a smile that always rivaled the brilliance of the morning sunrise. Miria was alone now. She had been alone for almost ten years, enough time to regard those memories with a forced indifference. She had no time to dwell on the past. Her cart was leaned against a haystack beside the stables of an inn. Her donkey stood by the cart, unbound, but Raha had been her traveling companion for many years and she trusted him explicitly not to wander off. She greeted him warmly with a stroke of his snout and a few affectionate scratches behind his ears as he nibbled idly on some hay and regarded her with gentle eyes. She then hurried to the nearby well to fetch some cold water to wash from her skin the smell of Raha and the previous day's work. At one time, Miria would be considered beautiful. She was still lean, a product of frequent, hard travel and never bearing children, but her once soft, shining hair had become brittle from years of exposure to the sun. She brushed some of the shine back into her hair then tied it back in a loose, tidy bun. Her creamy skin had darkened considerably from her years in the desert climate, her once soft hands and dainty feet now calloused. Stress lines edged her dark eyes and full lips; she had a narrow face and a narrow, prominent nose. She was approaching middle age, too old to marry in society's terms, but she had no intentions of marrying anyone. She wore a sensible, yet handsome salwar kameez, loose-fitting trousers and a long tunic, black trimmed in gold and red. Her sandals were dusty and a bit worn, but they were the only pair she owned. She finished the look with a few bangles on her wrists and feet and small, hooped earrings -- what was left of the jewelry she had once inherited. She found that she gained more customers if she gave off the appearance of having a bit of wealth herself. Wealth meant success, and success was generally trusted in the marketplace. Dressed, Miria took a quick bite to eat at the inn in front of the stables, then gathered the five canvas bags from her cart. Somehow balancing these off her tiny frame, she hurried off into the market square. She breathed a sigh of relief moments later as she set her bags down; she had managed to grab the last spot under the awning. Merchant spots were determined on a first-come-first-serve basis, and there were so few shaded spots. Miria had woken just early enough. A stout man with a thick beard glared and huffed his disgruntlement, having lost this coveted spot to Miria. Miria only smirked smugly at him, her gaze direct, challenging, then got to work setting up her wares. Miria sold hand-woven tapestries and blankets of many sizes, colors, and uses. Most were simple -- a few colors, a simple pattern, smaller, made in only a span of days during the evenings when Miria traveled. Some, however, had taken her several weeks or months to complete, a few even in years, the price reflecting her greater efforts. Most of her work she laid out over a large tarp spread on the ground; she had no table. Others she hung on collapsible easels to showcase her artistic eye for detail. She took great care with every piece, regardless of how small or inexpensive. Any contribution to her livelihood was made with pride and deserved her respect. Tapestry making was a family business. Miria's father had owned several small shops scattered throughout several towns and had hired shopkeepers and weavers to run these places and produce product. Though he never obtained the wealth of a nobleman, the family was fortunate to live in a modest yet cozy home, to eat comfortably and enjoy a few of the simple pleasures in life; all of these things were considered very well-to-do. Miria's mother, a weaver herself, had taught her how to weave when she was very young. Being the only child, Miria was expected to inherit the family business someday, and she was more than eager and prepared to do so. Now she was, though it was a far cry from her comfortable expectations. She owned no shops, she had no one working under her. She was the weaver, the shop keep, the bookkeeper, the valet, all in a tiny cart pulled by a humble donkey, what she called home. Wealth and stability weren't the biggest things she had lost, however. Miria had long ago stopped crying over what she truly missed in her life. Business began as the first rays of light peaked over the desert horizon. Miria greeted her customers with a wide smile and generous greetings, though the warmth was missing from her eyes and happiness did not strengthen her smile. She knew she had to work harder than many other merchants to sell her wares -- her tapestries weren't a necessity like food was. Because of this, she was a traveling merchant -- demand for her stock was greater when customers didn't grow used to seeing the same items day after day. Her entire route, which spanned most of the desert and some of the surrounding country, took four months to cycle, typically by caravan as it was far too dangerous to travel alone, and Miria would stay in a village for a week at a time, sometimes two. Today marked her last day in Renna. It was a busy last day; Miria loved such days not just because of the potential profits but because it also kept her busy and made the long days feel shorter. Perhaps, if business went well, she could treat herself to staying at an inn on the first night of her next destination. Miria had a sharp eye for consistency and typically had an easy time remembering faces, so it did not take her long to notice a lingering figure in the growing crowd. He was a jinni, made obvious by the horns on his head, older, or so the beard made him seem, and eyeing her stock. This annoyed her; though she understood the need for some customers to study her work before making a decision to purchase, loiterers made her nervous. She pretended not to notice him, however, keeping her focus trained on her customers, her smile never faltering, though he remained in her peripheral vision. Finally, when the crowd had thinned enough, Miria turned her attention to the nearby jinni, pinning him directly with expectation and curiosity, her smile a little strained. "See anything you like?" It was strange for a jinni to be so interested in her wares. Typically, their owners were the buyers. Maybe he had a sweetheart he wanted to impress or needed a gift for a special occasion. Miria knew that jinn weren't supposed to buy items alone without a wooden card, but business was business and she wasn't going to destroy a potential sale with such details. Casually, she fiddled with a few of her much smaller, less expensive pieces, smoothing each one out, folding them back, and returning them to the top of her selection, hoping one would catch the jinni's eye. Normally, she would draw attention to one of her more expensive pieces, but she didn't expect a jinni to be able to afford her price; a judgment made more from unfortunate fact and less on prejudice.

Vanish Into Light

You can draw! *swoons, dies* Sadly, I don't have the same talent. So, I'll have to figure out some sort of visual for Jeron when I put together his CS. *rubs hands together*

A Journey for Peace

Woo!

Vanish Into Light

Apologies for the shorter, lack-luster post after such a long wait. My situation was similar to yours -- work, then finals, then Thanksgiving, then Warlords of Draenor... but I'm back :)

How's the new job coming along?

Vanish Into Light

If Jeron had his way, they would have never stopped; he wanted to put as much distance between himself and that wretched town as he could. They had moved a fair distance at a fair pace for a good amount of time, all things considering, but fear still had a hold on Jeron's reasoning, though it also kept away the majority of the fatigue he would surely feel otherwise.

Finally, his savior collapsed, protesting her inability to take another step. Jeron cursed under his breath as he allowed the barely-alive human man to slip from his shoulder. "They will find us," he hissed anxiously as he glanced around, every shifting shadow in this forest a potential threat. The human man, however, looked like he would not be able to withstand another step of travel and the girl looked like she would faint from exhaustion. Jeron, too, was in no better shape, as much as he hated to accept it. Agonizing pain still saturated his body, his limbs heavy from a lack of energy. They had no choice but to rest here; he just hoped they were secluded enough to be out of danger for a little while.

While the girl tended to her friend, Jeron shifted his focus on other things. Muttering to himself, he began to pace around the area, peering at the ground as he pushed back ferns, bush branches, and blades of grass as though looking for something. Methodically, he began to pull weeds. Stuffing these in his limited-sized bag, he then moved to the trees, deftly pulling moss from some of the bark. Mushrooms he chose carefully, examining them by color, touch, and smell before adding them to his growing supply of foliage. All of this he did quickly, efficiently, clearly a skilled herbalist. He didn't have enough magical skill to make useful potions, but he knew enough about herbal remedies to know what plants were considered useful in this area. They needed to rest, they needed to heal, and they needed nourishment.

He paused when he caught the girl hold something out to him out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the flask of water with yearning and suspicion before his gaze shifted to her face. Where did she get an item so large? He didn't remember her carrying a flask before.... Furthermore, why was she offering it to him? No one dared to share with a Drow, even a half-drow such as himself.

His body's weakened state made it impossible to refuse the water, however. He snatched the flask from her while firmly reminding himself that it was not bait, she was not going to trick him into danger, and that there was no reason to be so hasty.

He took only a few mouthfuls, though he felt as though he could easily drain the entire flask, then handed it back to her without looking her in the eye. He just didn't feel right drinking all of her water; he could find his own well enough.

Instead of offering her his thanks, he resumed his foraging. "Do you have the skill to protect this area with wards or... something?" he asked as he began to gather sticks and twigs for firewood. Normally, he would try to avoid building a fire as it drew unwanted attention, but he doubted his savior's companion would survive the night without the warmth of a campfire... if at all. Jeron wished he could simply climb up a tree and forget they existed for a while, but he had made an agreement. If he was going to learn magic from these two, he had to make sure they all survived. One of many reasons why groups were so bothersome.

A Journey for Peace

Oh, I know! Last weekend was just awesome; able to enjoy it without worrying about homework :D

Good luck!