Speech
Thoughts
20th Trial of Ymiden, Arc 718
The streets of eastern Yaralon were damp from a recent rain. The skies broke overhead, though little sun was visible at a time near to sunset. Despite the smell of Yari, sweat, and shit of the city, the air had a certain refreshing appeal. Alora didn't mind it, having come out of the absolute cesspit of Augiery.
She wore her leathers, and over them a dress that consisted of a loose-fitting cotton blouse and sarong, wrapped by a sash. Her boots clipped against the cobbles of the street as she made her way from the smoke den. Her daily visits had taken their toll on her constitution, so it was good to get some 'fresh' air once in a while.
She glanced at the faces in the crowd, always on alert, her hand on the haft of her steel mace, where it hung from her sash. Yari were a dangerous lot. Rigid and honorable, the decades long shift from a dark treacherous city like Augiery, to one such as this, where honor is supreme, was a bit of a shock. Even so, she learned her way through their ways.
She'd made the damned fool mistake once or twice of getting caught alone in an alley without her weapon. One man had chanced upon her then, Shual was his name. Luckily he had no witnesses to confirm that she hadn't a weapon on her at the time, and so it was her word against his. Ever since, he'd hounded her through the streets, claiming that she was his rightful spouse. She obviously thought him to be a dullard and fool, ripe for slaughter.
That didn't detract from his determination to see that she be his. They'd fought several times over the course of the decade. He aging much swifter than she as a Naer. This only seemed to drive his sense of lust and desire after her.
It was on this day that she found herself once more face to face with the gray-bearded fool. Shual smirked as he surrounded her with a few of his compatriots. She stood her ground, planting her feet, and laying a hand on her weapon. "What's the matter Shual? Have you gathered this throng of quarterling cowards enough to make one real, full man?"
"Wife! You've eluded me for trials, but now I will wait no longer. I issue a formal proposal of marriage. You will be mine."
"I'm glad this is nearly over, then, Shual." She gave him a cruel smirk, "You needn't have waited until you were old, withered, and gray. Consider your proposal formally declined."
He unsheathed his cutlass at that, and pointed it toward her neck, taking a few steps back for good measure. "Challenge!"
She pulled her mace from her sash, and hefted it to a foreward stance. The other hand she used to grasp a dry, oil-tampered torch from her belt, which she struck against the ground, lighting it in an instant.
The duel was on. His men watched as they had it out. One of them had the decorations of a darstrion, come to watch the ensuing duel. Her face twisted in a wry frown as she realized he'd set her up for this.
She wore her leathers, and over them a dress that consisted of a loose-fitting cotton blouse and sarong, wrapped by a sash. Her boots clipped against the cobbles of the street as she made her way from the smoke den. Her daily visits had taken their toll on her constitution, so it was good to get some 'fresh' air once in a while.
She glanced at the faces in the crowd, always on alert, her hand on the haft of her steel mace, where it hung from her sash. Yari were a dangerous lot. Rigid and honorable, the decades long shift from a dark treacherous city like Augiery, to one such as this, where honor is supreme, was a bit of a shock. Even so, she learned her way through their ways.
She'd made the damned fool mistake once or twice of getting caught alone in an alley without her weapon. One man had chanced upon her then, Shual was his name. Luckily he had no witnesses to confirm that she hadn't a weapon on her at the time, and so it was her word against his. Ever since, he'd hounded her through the streets, claiming that she was his rightful spouse. She obviously thought him to be a dullard and fool, ripe for slaughter.
That didn't detract from his determination to see that she be his. They'd fought several times over the course of the decade. He aging much swifter than she as a Naer. This only seemed to drive his sense of lust and desire after her.
It was on this day that she found herself once more face to face with the gray-bearded fool. Shual smirked as he surrounded her with a few of his compatriots. She stood her ground, planting her feet, and laying a hand on her weapon. "What's the matter Shual? Have you gathered this throng of quarterling cowards enough to make one real, full man?"
"Wife! You've eluded me for trials, but now I will wait no longer. I issue a formal proposal of marriage. You will be mine."
"I'm glad this is nearly over, then, Shual." She gave him a cruel smirk, "You needn't have waited until you were old, withered, and gray. Consider your proposal formally declined."
He unsheathed his cutlass at that, and pointed it toward her neck, taking a few steps back for good measure. "Challenge!"
She pulled her mace from her sash, and hefted it to a foreward stance. The other hand she used to grasp a dry, oil-tampered torch from her belt, which she struck against the ground, lighting it in an instant.
The duel was on. His men watched as they had it out. One of them had the decorations of a darstrion, come to watch the ensuing duel. Her face twisted in a wry frown as she realized he'd set her up for this.
