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Show me the ROPES
Yeah, you probably can guess what it's about. It gets deeper though.
Trahey runs into one of his previous companions and initially monkeys around to cheer her up.
You have emoted: Trahey jumps about a mile, satchel almost slipping from where he has strategically positioned it.
You say, "L-L-Lady Shevat! I didn't see you there."
Aramel peers thoughtfully at you. "Hello," she says, quite formally. "I hope the day is finding you well."
You have emoted: Trahey stands as straight as he can under the circumstances. Half of him is bewildered at the distance, half of him seems to instinctively know why. "Cold day by necessity, but it's for a good cause, I assure you."
Aramel seems almost only half present. She blinks a little; then, as if realizing that she is remiss, turns her attention more fully to you and asks, "Oh? And what is the cause?"
You say, "Repairing plinths for Mister Adii, milady. Best way to get stuff from people is to look sad and ragged, it seems."
Aramel opens an inlaid chest of figured ivory.
Aramel casts a critical eye over you, glancing you up and down. Rather wryly, she comments, "I see that your shirt has so many holes in it that they have merged into one."
Somehow having grown used to the situation, you say, "Miracle in textile engineering, yes? But it seems to work on a lot of people."
Despite her measured demeanor, Aramel somehow cannot help a smile from tugging at her lips. "I would offer you something from my wardrobe," she says, "But I do not know if you have a taste for gowns." She furrows her brow slightly as she digs through her many satchels. "Oh, I have - hm - no -" She hesitates.
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.
You have emoted: Trahey plants a white platinum klangaxe of aurora borealis crystal onto the ground, leaning his weight onto the pommel as he waits with interest.
Aramel finally emerges with what looks like a sad, tangled handful of rope.
She shakes it out vigorously, and miraculously, it appears to be formed into the vague shape of a robe. "I'm afraid this isn't proper attire," she comments. "Actually, the wind is going to go right through it. But it's better than nothing."
Aramel gives a robe of woven cord to you.
This curious robe is made of a number of long, thin strands of corded rope, braided together to form a thick garment. The robe hangs stiffly from the shoulder down to the ankles, and bears little decoration save for a pattern in the braid, subtle yet intricate enough to lead the eye along its meandering strands.
Sounding slightly furtive, Aramel Shevat says, "Don't tell anyone I made that."
You have emoted: Trahey's usual smile had found its way back onto his face since Aramel's attention was shifted from whatever was causing her to grow pensive. The smile is still there once the robe falls into his hands, though for a moment it feels as though whoever controlling his facial muscles has been abducted. "Er, so, you made it yourself, milady?"
Aramel looks briefly skywards. "Yes," she says at length. "I designed it and crafted it. Don't tell anyone - my reputation among tailors would never recover. It was not meant for anyone to wear, but as it is a cold day, you may have it for now. I expect you to acquire proper clothing and burn that before anyone sees it, of course."
Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.
You have emoted: Trahey gives Aramel a long look, a little grin sidling its way onto his expression. "It's an honour, milady," he says solemnly, even adding an elaborate bow that sends his satchel swaying. He then removes the item in question, slips the mess of ropes over himself, boxers and all, and gives his mane a luxurious shake.
You slip into a robe of woven cord.
Aramel winces slightly, averting her eyes briefly from the utter tangled snarl that is the robe. "I should never have made that," she mumbles.
Long, thick feathers of a rich brown sheen freely cascade down Trahey's back, reaching almost to his waist like a protective cloak. Though he tops seven feet in height, the apparent absence of visible wings reveal the fact that he is an ordinary human. His eyes are bright grey, his cheeks ruddy, and his bushy eyebrows are often raised with mischievous curiosity. The youth is lithely built and slightly tanned from frequent hours in the sun, but the slight flecks of ink on his fingers as well as the unexpectedly intense gleam in his eyes suggest other facets to his character. His skin shimmers faintly from a thin application of oil and smells faintly of sandalwood, woody and fresh. He walks with the truefavour of Isune.
He is wearing:
a pathetic satchel
a robe of woven cord, worn proudly over his strengthening build and regal blue boxers.
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
You have emoted: "But you did, milady, and the model you surely had in mind had to be me?" Trahey swings his axe up, leaning the haft over his shoulder. He approaches Aramel, cords from his waist swinging with hypnotising ease. "Is it what you hoped it would be?"
A strange look crosses Aramel's face. "I - it - never mind," she finally manages. "It was not meant to be worn at all, I'm afraid. It is meant to be traded to gnomes in aetherspace, who all have terrible taste and poor judgement, in fashion as much as in other things. I should certainly hope no member of the Collective would link such a thing to me."
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.
You have emoted: Trahey then puts his weapon down, propping it up against a nearby sign. He leaps back with a great grin, landing with a prancing curtsey onto the marble road. The faint clacking of hardened rope against rope accompanies him. "But who else would be brilliant enough to design such a liberating item?"
You exclaim to Aramel, "Why, I doubt I'd have to say anything about the identity of its creator for people to know!"
Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.
Aramel tries valiantly to speak for a moment. A number of emotions flit across her face in quick succession - dismay, frustation, surprise, amusement, resignation - as she finally realizes that she is being jested with.
You say, "Fear not, fair lady, if you wish none else will see me in this save for the young mister over there and comrade custodian."
You nod your head sagely at a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing.
A trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing says, "I have deliveries to make, human."
Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 17th of Juliary, 530 years after the Coming of Estarra.
Aramel casts a quelling glance at a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, before her eyes suddenly wide. "Beware!" she calls. With a surprising quickness, she darts forward, her arm extended, shoving you behind her.
You have emoted: Trahey drops down into a crouch behind the elfen without question, cords flicking at the back of her gown with his sudden movement.
You tell Aramel Shevat, "What's wrong?"
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Hello!"
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Greetings."
Aramel looks briefly disoriented. "I... excuse me," she mumbles. "I saw - no, it was not here. A titanic figure, so tall. Taller than cities, wide-winged, up-reaching."
Aramel Shevat says to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "Did you see that?"
Looking mildly alarmed, a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing shakes their head.
You have emoted: Trahey rises slowly at that, placing a reassuring hand on Aramel's shoulder without thinking of proprietry.
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Anyone experienced any new anomalies since last month?"
You say to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "We'd best be on our guard. But don't worry overmuch. Time is Hallifax's domain, after all."
Aramel puts a hand to her temple. "And to think," she says ruefully, "That I had been boasting to Keeper Fraesic only last month that I was unaffected." She glances at you, and then tactfully takes a step back from you. "My apologies for startling you, Cadet," she says.
(Hallifax): Onya says, "I have not."
(Hallifax): Aramel says, "I have, just now. A titanic figure, reaching for monstrous wings."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Well, that's mildly alarming."
(Hallifax): Onya says, "The Collective has given a prophecy on the recent happenings."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Trahey saw a vision of ruin last month."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Oh?"
You have emoted: A reassuring smile follows, seeming to light Trahey from the inside. He blinks as Aramel steps away - he is once more a bewildered youth, and a robe of woven cord becomes, once more, a mess of ropes.
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Unfortunately, as with prophecies, they are... not very clear or helpful."
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Unfortunately, as with prophecies, they are... not very clear or helpful."
You say to Aramel, "No, no, not at all. These are frightful things we see these days."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Oh, yes, that one."
The sky lightens and stars fade as Father Sun approaches the horizon in his neverending quest to capture Mother Night.
Aramel nods briefly. She seems to have recovered her composure slightly, but the silence draws on. "I am afraid I quite forgot what we were speaking of before this," she says.
His bag of gemstones clinking loudly, a trill servant heads off to the south.
You have emoted: Trahey glances after the departing servant, apparently confused as to whether he should be relieved or worried that a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing is still standing in proximity to his robe.
Gently, you say, "Merely a laugh we were having, milady."
Trying levity once more, you say, "I was, at any rate."
Glorious rays of morning light burst forth from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the world's edge, announcing a bright and shining new dawn.
Aramel takes in the sight of you, wrapped in the quickly-tangling mess of cords, and says, "I suppose it is amusing... if nothing else, I suppose the sight is a unique one."
Fluffing his feathers, you say, "I shall be regaled as the Hero of the Lower Wards, who dared to defy convention and brought art one step forward. Once I get my recognition, I shall surely share this honour with you."
You flash Aramel a devilish smile, mischief on your mind.
"We hear so little news from the lower wards," Aramel says. "Do the Adherents not provide their members with access to the Over City?"
Aramel Shevat says to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "Or do you both require slips to go up into the higher reaches of the city?"
You have emoted: Trahey's feathers now puff with mild protest. "Of course they do! Just that, erm, it's something in my roots that brings me down here so often." He turns to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, silently repeating the query.
With an only slightly dark look at the servant, you say, "Ah, all mum? He knows what's good for him..."
Wryly, Aramel Shevat says, "It is what one is used to, from the people of the lower wards... you are unusually talkative in comparison."
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays. Wl
With a fond smile, you say, "My sist - er, my cousin, talks a lot when she does talk. Have to be talkative and witty to keep up, milady, though I suppose being chatty is something of my nature." L
Aramel makes a dismissive gesture and says, "Well, I am not of the same opinion as some, like Shalmae, who hold that the lower castes should be seen and not heard." Lightly, she adds, "Of course, I suppose I and many other occupants of the Over City come from unorthodox backgrounds, which may have something to do with it."
You have emoted: "Does she?" Trahey tilts his head, feathers swaying. "I wonder who are the ones keeping all you Overcity dwellers safe and supplying crystals for work orders?" His own tone is mild and joking, and there is no serious affront in his eyes. "Good to have someone at least who lets us be heard, though. Someone who understands."
You tell Aramel Shevat, "Of course, I haven't heard her express opinions on the lower castes, so perhaps I spoke too soon on that."
Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.
Aramel tells you, "She would never be so impolite as to say anything, but she does tend to order them out of her sight with alacrity."
You tell Aramel Shevat, "Best do so, then. We've lots and lots to do besides ogle highborn ladies, ourselves."
Aramel shakes her head slightly. "Do not ascribe any unique virtue to me," she says seriously. "There are many who do not subscribe to an absolute division of caste." She tilts her head up to the sky and the afternoon sun. "I spent my youth in a place with no divisions of caste at all, and though I can appreciate what it does for Hallifax, it still seems unnatural to me, even now."
You have emoted: Trahey's smile is soft and pensive. "And yet, the caste system must surely be one reason Hallifax stood tall for so long. What might seem, erm, less than palatable at first could still work well when looked at from a different perspective, when different people ascribe to it in different ways. This is a place of order, that I've heard so many times. And order is the power to change things. Improve them. Better things, so they'll look back on their past and still be glad they accepted that improvement."
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
Aramel takes in your soft and earnest smile, and an expression, half-fond and half-sad, crosses her face. "I suppose I could be made to believe that," she says at last, "But only on the condition that it applies equally to all. A military captain has no business editing novels, unless he is willing to learn to write; but neither does an artist have any business in deciding wars - unless he is willing to fight in them." A wry smile crosses her face. "There are some other corners of the Basin that could stand to learn as much."
You have emoted: Trahey hefts his weapon once again. "That is true, milady, justice is key. And if a fellow does have many differing passions, he ought to know where, in the very end, his heart lies and act accordingly." He pulls out a beret hat of soft white wool, apparently only to touch its cap in a parting gesture. "I'm afraid I'll have to retire for the day, but I'm glad I ran into you. I bet Madame Xinka and Boweni at home will love this little robe, and I'll make sure never to tell who made it. I promise."
Aramel inclines her head towards you. "Fair winds," she says. "Try to be careful - children can get into all manner of tangles with that."
You have emoted: Trahey offers Aramel a bow, slyly gathering up the ropes and then releasing them all at once with many gleeful clacks ensuing. L
You tug upon the aether strands around you, searching for one that connects to the Aetherplex Chamber.
(Hallifax): You say, "Fair winds, Hallifax, and stay strong."
(Hallifax): Aramel says, "Be well."
Trahey runs into one of his previous companions and initially monkeys around to cheer her up.
You have emoted: Trahey jumps about a mile, satchel almost slipping from where he has strategically positioned it.
You say, "L-L-Lady Shevat! I didn't see you there."
Aramel peers thoughtfully at you. "Hello," she says, quite formally. "I hope the day is finding you well."
You have emoted: Trahey stands as straight as he can under the circumstances. Half of him is bewildered at the distance, half of him seems to instinctively know why. "Cold day by necessity, but it's for a good cause, I assure you."
Aramel seems almost only half present. She blinks a little; then, as if realizing that she is remiss, turns her attention more fully to you and asks, "Oh? And what is the cause?"
You say, "Repairing plinths for Mister Adii, milady. Best way to get stuff from people is to look sad and ragged, it seems."
Aramel opens an inlaid chest of figured ivory.
Aramel casts a critical eye over you, glancing you up and down. Rather wryly, she comments, "I see that your shirt has so many holes in it that they have merged into one."
Somehow having grown used to the situation, you say, "Miracle in textile engineering, yes? But it seems to work on a lot of people."
Despite her measured demeanor, Aramel somehow cannot help a smile from tugging at her lips. "I would offer you something from my wardrobe," she says, "But I do not know if you have a taste for gowns." She furrows her brow slightly as she digs through her many satchels. "Oh, I have - hm - no -" She hesitates.
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.
You have emoted: Trahey plants a white platinum klangaxe of aurora borealis crystal onto the ground, leaning his weight onto the pommel as he waits with interest.
Aramel finally emerges with what looks like a sad, tangled handful of rope.
She shakes it out vigorously, and miraculously, it appears to be formed into the vague shape of a robe. "I'm afraid this isn't proper attire," she comments. "Actually, the wind is going to go right through it. But it's better than nothing."
Aramel gives a robe of woven cord to you.
This curious robe is made of a number of long, thin strands of corded rope, braided together to form a thick garment. The robe hangs stiffly from the shoulder down to the ankles, and bears little decoration save for a pattern in the braid, subtle yet intricate enough to lead the eye along its meandering strands.
Sounding slightly furtive, Aramel Shevat says, "Don't tell anyone I made that."
You have emoted: Trahey's usual smile had found its way back onto his face since Aramel's attention was shifted from whatever was causing her to grow pensive. The smile is still there once the robe falls into his hands, though for a moment it feels as though whoever controlling his facial muscles has been abducted. "Er, so, you made it yourself, milady?"
Aramel looks briefly skywards. "Yes," she says at length. "I designed it and crafted it. Don't tell anyone - my reputation among tailors would never recover. It was not meant for anyone to wear, but as it is a cold day, you may have it for now. I expect you to acquire proper clothing and burn that before anyone sees it, of course."
Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.
You have emoted: Trahey gives Aramel a long look, a little grin sidling its way onto his expression. "It's an honour, milady," he says solemnly, even adding an elaborate bow that sends his satchel swaying. He then removes the item in question, slips the mess of ropes over himself, boxers and all, and gives his mane a luxurious shake.
You slip into a robe of woven cord.
Aramel winces slightly, averting her eyes briefly from the utter tangled snarl that is the robe. "I should never have made that," she mumbles.
Long, thick feathers of a rich brown sheen freely cascade down Trahey's back, reaching almost to his waist like a protective cloak. Though he tops seven feet in height, the apparent absence of visible wings reveal the fact that he is an ordinary human. His eyes are bright grey, his cheeks ruddy, and his bushy eyebrows are often raised with mischievous curiosity. The youth is lithely built and slightly tanned from frequent hours in the sun, but the slight flecks of ink on his fingers as well as the unexpectedly intense gleam in his eyes suggest other facets to his character. His skin shimmers faintly from a thin application of oil and smells faintly of sandalwood, woody and fresh. He walks with the truefavour of Isune.
He is wearing:
a pathetic satchel
a robe of woven cord, worn proudly over his strengthening build and regal blue boxers.
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
You have emoted: "But you did, milady, and the model you surely had in mind had to be me?" Trahey swings his axe up, leaning the haft over his shoulder. He approaches Aramel, cords from his waist swinging with hypnotising ease. "Is it what you hoped it would be?"
A strange look crosses Aramel's face. "I - it - never mind," she finally manages. "It was not meant to be worn at all, I'm afraid. It is meant to be traded to gnomes in aetherspace, who all have terrible taste and poor judgement, in fashion as much as in other things. I should certainly hope no member of the Collective would link such a thing to me."
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.
You have emoted: Trahey then puts his weapon down, propping it up against a nearby sign. He leaps back with a great grin, landing with a prancing curtsey onto the marble road. The faint clacking of hardened rope against rope accompanies him. "But who else would be brilliant enough to design such a liberating item?"
You exclaim to Aramel, "Why, I doubt I'd have to say anything about the identity of its creator for people to know!"
Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.
Aramel tries valiantly to speak for a moment. A number of emotions flit across her face in quick succession - dismay, frustation, surprise, amusement, resignation - as she finally realizes that she is being jested with.
You say, "Fear not, fair lady, if you wish none else will see me in this save for the young mister over there and comrade custodian."
You nod your head sagely at a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing.
A trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing says, "I have deliveries to make, human."
Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 17th of Juliary, 530 years after the Coming of Estarra.
Aramel casts a quelling glance at a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, before her eyes suddenly wide. "Beware!" she calls. With a surprising quickness, she darts forward, her arm extended, shoving you behind her.
You have emoted: Trahey drops down into a crouch behind the elfen without question, cords flicking at the back of her gown with his sudden movement.
You tell Aramel Shevat, "What's wrong?"
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Hello!"
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Greetings."
Aramel looks briefly disoriented. "I... excuse me," she mumbles. "I saw - no, it was not here. A titanic figure, so tall. Taller than cities, wide-winged, up-reaching."
Aramel Shevat says to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "Did you see that?"
Looking mildly alarmed, a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing shakes their head.
You have emoted: Trahey rises slowly at that, placing a reassuring hand on Aramel's shoulder without thinking of proprietry.
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Anyone experienced any new anomalies since last month?"
You say to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "We'd best be on our guard. But don't worry overmuch. Time is Hallifax's domain, after all."
Aramel puts a hand to her temple. "And to think," she says ruefully, "That I had been boasting to Keeper Fraesic only last month that I was unaffected." She glances at you, and then tactfully takes a step back from you. "My apologies for startling you, Cadet," she says.
(Hallifax): Onya says, "I have not."
(Hallifax): Aramel says, "I have, just now. A titanic figure, reaching for monstrous wings."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Well, that's mildly alarming."
(Hallifax): Onya says, "The Collective has given a prophecy on the recent happenings."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Trahey saw a vision of ruin last month."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Oh?"
You have emoted: A reassuring smile follows, seeming to light Trahey from the inside. He blinks as Aramel steps away - he is once more a bewildered youth, and a robe of woven cord becomes, once more, a mess of ropes.
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Unfortunately, as with prophecies, they are... not very clear or helpful."
(Hallifax): Onya says, "Unfortunately, as with prophecies, they are... not very clear or helpful."
You say to Aramel, "No, no, not at all. These are frightful things we see these days."
(Hallifax): Alexandria (from the Aetherways) says, "Oh, yes, that one."
The sky lightens and stars fade as Father Sun approaches the horizon in his neverending quest to capture Mother Night.
Aramel nods briefly. She seems to have recovered her composure slightly, but the silence draws on. "I am afraid I quite forgot what we were speaking of before this," she says.
His bag of gemstones clinking loudly, a trill servant heads off to the south.
You have emoted: Trahey glances after the departing servant, apparently confused as to whether he should be relieved or worried that a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing is still standing in proximity to his robe.
Gently, you say, "Merely a laugh we were having, milady."
Trying levity once more, you say, "I was, at any rate."
Glorious rays of morning light burst forth from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the world's edge, announcing a bright and shining new dawn.
Aramel takes in the sight of you, wrapped in the quickly-tangling mess of cords, and says, "I suppose it is amusing... if nothing else, I suppose the sight is a unique one."
Fluffing his feathers, you say, "I shall be regaled as the Hero of the Lower Wards, who dared to defy convention and brought art one step forward. Once I get my recognition, I shall surely share this honour with you."
You flash Aramel a devilish smile, mischief on your mind.
"We hear so little news from the lower wards," Aramel says. "Do the Adherents not provide their members with access to the Over City?"
Aramel Shevat says to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, "Or do you both require slips to go up into the higher reaches of the city?"
You have emoted: Trahey's feathers now puff with mild protest. "Of course they do! Just that, erm, it's something in my roots that brings me down here so often." He turns to a trill servant garbed in cerulean clothing, silently repeating the query.
With an only slightly dark look at the servant, you say, "Ah, all mum? He knows what's good for him..."
Wryly, Aramel Shevat says, "It is what one is used to, from the people of the lower wards... you are unusually talkative in comparison."
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays. Wl
With a fond smile, you say, "My sist - er, my cousin, talks a lot when she does talk. Have to be talkative and witty to keep up, milady, though I suppose being chatty is something of my nature." L
Aramel makes a dismissive gesture and says, "Well, I am not of the same opinion as some, like Shalmae, who hold that the lower castes should be seen and not heard." Lightly, she adds, "Of course, I suppose I and many other occupants of the Over City come from unorthodox backgrounds, which may have something to do with it."
You have emoted: "Does she?" Trahey tilts his head, feathers swaying. "I wonder who are the ones keeping all you Overcity dwellers safe and supplying crystals for work orders?" His own tone is mild and joking, and there is no serious affront in his eyes. "Good to have someone at least who lets us be heard, though. Someone who understands."
You tell Aramel Shevat, "Of course, I haven't heard her express opinions on the lower castes, so perhaps I spoke too soon on that."
Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.
Aramel tells you, "She would never be so impolite as to say anything, but she does tend to order them out of her sight with alacrity."
You tell Aramel Shevat, "Best do so, then. We've lots and lots to do besides ogle highborn ladies, ourselves."
Aramel shakes her head slightly. "Do not ascribe any unique virtue to me," she says seriously. "There are many who do not subscribe to an absolute division of caste." She tilts her head up to the sky and the afternoon sun. "I spent my youth in a place with no divisions of caste at all, and though I can appreciate what it does for Hallifax, it still seems unnatural to me, even now."
You have emoted: Trahey's smile is soft and pensive. "And yet, the caste system must surely be one reason Hallifax stood tall for so long. What might seem, erm, less than palatable at first could still work well when looked at from a different perspective, when different people ascribe to it in different ways. This is a place of order, that I've heard so many times. And order is the power to change things. Improve them. Better things, so they'll look back on their past and still be glad they accepted that improvement."
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
Aramel takes in your soft and earnest smile, and an expression, half-fond and half-sad, crosses her face. "I suppose I could be made to believe that," she says at last, "But only on the condition that it applies equally to all. A military captain has no business editing novels, unless he is willing to learn to write; but neither does an artist have any business in deciding wars - unless he is willing to fight in them." A wry smile crosses her face. "There are some other corners of the Basin that could stand to learn as much."
You have emoted: Trahey hefts his weapon once again. "That is true, milady, justice is key. And if a fellow does have many differing passions, he ought to know where, in the very end, his heart lies and act accordingly." He pulls out a beret hat of soft white wool, apparently only to touch its cap in a parting gesture. "I'm afraid I'll have to retire for the day, but I'm glad I ran into you. I bet Madame Xinka and Boweni at home will love this little robe, and I'll make sure never to tell who made it. I promise."
Aramel inclines her head towards you. "Fair winds," she says. "Try to be careful - children can get into all manner of tangles with that."
You have emoted: Trahey offers Aramel a bow, slyly gathering up the ropes and then releasing them all at once with many gleeful clacks ensuing. L
You tug upon the aether strands around you, searching for one that connects to the Aetherplex Chamber.
(Hallifax): You say, "Fair winds, Hallifax, and stay strong."
(Hallifax): Aramel says, "Be well."
Poke the Hand of Doom for commissions.
7
(c) Iron Realms Entertainment 2012.
Comments
My pov, with visions (and pretty colours!)