Rending Talon
11-27-07, 12:23 AM
Alandriel pulled herself up to a full crouch with as much dignity as she could muster. Her eyes flicked left, then right; no one had seemed to take much note of her, thank the assorted gods and powers. Just one more arrival, she thought as protective camoflauge, gathering her cloak back around her. One more seasick foreign arrival. Nothing to see here. Oh, gods, I must be a mess… Yup, yup, yup. Nothing to see.
As discreetly as she could, she wiped her lips with her cleaner sleeve. The taste of sea salt was not what she currently needed in her mouth; it was too close to another familiar taste that had occupied it far too frequently over the preceeding days.
…That, and there was no telling what sort of things had touched the weathered planking before her lips.
Come to think of it, kissing the dock hadn’t really been a good idea. But it had seemed fitting at the time.
Her legs didn’t really seem ready to support any weight at the moment, so she pulled herself into a taller crouch, letting her eyes wander around. The docks of Scara Brae were lively with activity of all kinds, an overturned human anthill of sailors and natives and travellers. Even as she watched, a two-masted ship slipped its moorings, headed for the sea beyond -- possibly Corone, maybe the mainland. Then again, with the trouble in Raiaera, catching a ship heading in that direction would require a great sum of luck or gold. By Hadia and all its denizens, she’d been lucky enough to get a ship away, trouble with storms and all.
Perhaps kissing the dock hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
Next to her, a group of sailors was busy unloading cargo from the Silver Zephyr, the vessel that had carried her from the mainland. Alandriel noted with no small degree of envy tht the contingent hauling around cargo on the dockside didn’t look the slightest bit discomforted from all of the tossing and turning -- and the subsequent transition to stable land. Her eyes glossed over the markings in Tradespeak, crude ink stenciling that was mostly disconnected numbers and characters. In Scara Brae, it wouldn’t exactly do to unload a crate marked “valuable ore” or “shiny things”, she supposed…
One of the sailors cast an eye in her direction -- frowned -- hesitated. Alandriel sized him up in a moment, a broad-shouldered man with red hair and a bushy beard. Probably early thirties at most, though his face was weathered like a man ten years older. “Y’okay lass?”
She summoned up her best smile and gave her head a shake. “Nos--“ Dammit, hoarse voice. Alandriel swallowed and tried again. “No, sir. I’ll be fine in a moment. Have to… meet a contact soon.”
Meet a contact. Right. Smooth.
Fortunately, the nameless man didn’t stop to ask questions, but instead accepted Alandriel’s evasion with an easy shrug and turned back to the crates.
The naked truth, of couse, was that she had no contacts, friends or even distant relatives in Scara Brae. She was supposed to have landed in Corone, and proceeded inland -- but once again, ships departing had been scarce, and the wind blowing from the west would’ve made it difficult to reach Jadet anyhow.
This was, however, not her immediate concern. Getting to her feet was, and it proved rather easier than she had thought. With a small groan for her stiff legs, Alandriel staggered upright… stayed. Good. She warily tested her balance, nearly falling off the docks in the process, but managed to remain upright and on what might possibly pass for dry land. Better. Satisfied that she could maintain at least some level of operation, she picked up her bag and staggered away from the planks that had welcomed her to Scara Brae.
Step by cautious step, she made her way along the the dockside towards the interior of the walled city. Her eyes flickered between the buildings, all of which seemed to have risen from the rock itself; squat, sturdy, remarkably inelegant but durable in appearance. Also remarkably, none of them appeared to be burned-out shells or under rebuilding. An advantage, she supposed, to being an island kingdom that no one disliked enough to besiege.
Her footsteps carried her onwards, into the marketplace and bazaar. The distant cries of merchants and muted roar of the crowd of buyers now resolved, a nearly solid wave of sound that pressed into the side of Alandriel’s aching head.
“…sting in your swing! Best weapons, swords, daggers, maces, polearms…”
“…fine silk cloth from the mainland, don’t go out in anything less for…”
“…outrageous, I paid at least…”
“…guaranteed more chicken than rat, price can’t be beat! Step on…”
“…want my money back, you cheating crossbred son of a vampire and a…”
The noise, the color, the confusion -- it was too much, and Alandriel found herself staggering back into an alley, clutching the side of her head with the hand that wasn’t dragging her bag. A squinted look to the side revealed that it was empty. Thank the heavens for small mercies, she supposed, and leaned back against the wall. Slowly, the pressure of the noise began to recede. She pressed her back into the stucco, then spread out her arms on the wall as well, letting the solidity of the surface recenter her. She could do this. She could. Just a bit to lie down somewhere, and --
A presence, a familiar one, stirred somewhere above her breastbone; she frowned briefly, but allowed it to touch her mind.
<We’re here, we’reherehere, yes? Yes, yesyes? Time for fun things? No more storms and tossing and throwings-up of foodfoods?> Khwali sounded almost hopeful, at least hopeful as a rasping and distorted demonic voice in her head could sound. Thankfully, it didn’t spark the headache in her temple like the more audible voices around her had.
Time for Alandriel to find somewhere flat and lie down, she formed the reply, letting the words float in her mind a moment. Alandriel feels like shit.
Khwali imaged a dog lying flat on the porch with its tail giving a small apathetic wag; aside from the dog being pink, the mental image was the very essence of how Alandriel felt at the moment. <No worries. Khwali will think, plan, plothink while you rest. Khwali will be good and dutiful demon, yes!>
Alandriel didn’t wince too much. …Ngh, right. Okay, time to find an inn, then -- if I can get through the bloody marketplace intact.
A rustle of cloth snapped her attention to the end of the alley… but no, no one was there. Only a collection of old crates and a joining of two building walls. Bloody imagination playing tricks -- or maybe that was Khwali keeping her alert, she never could really tell. With a weary sigh she picked up her bag and headed back for the marketplace, hoping to make it to someplace with a bath and a bed without further mishap.
Open to all. ^_^
As discreetly as she could, she wiped her lips with her cleaner sleeve. The taste of sea salt was not what she currently needed in her mouth; it was too close to another familiar taste that had occupied it far too frequently over the preceeding days.
…That, and there was no telling what sort of things had touched the weathered planking before her lips.
Come to think of it, kissing the dock hadn’t really been a good idea. But it had seemed fitting at the time.
Her legs didn’t really seem ready to support any weight at the moment, so she pulled herself into a taller crouch, letting her eyes wander around. The docks of Scara Brae were lively with activity of all kinds, an overturned human anthill of sailors and natives and travellers. Even as she watched, a two-masted ship slipped its moorings, headed for the sea beyond -- possibly Corone, maybe the mainland. Then again, with the trouble in Raiaera, catching a ship heading in that direction would require a great sum of luck or gold. By Hadia and all its denizens, she’d been lucky enough to get a ship away, trouble with storms and all.
Perhaps kissing the dock hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
Next to her, a group of sailors was busy unloading cargo from the Silver Zephyr, the vessel that had carried her from the mainland. Alandriel noted with no small degree of envy tht the contingent hauling around cargo on the dockside didn’t look the slightest bit discomforted from all of the tossing and turning -- and the subsequent transition to stable land. Her eyes glossed over the markings in Tradespeak, crude ink stenciling that was mostly disconnected numbers and characters. In Scara Brae, it wouldn’t exactly do to unload a crate marked “valuable ore” or “shiny things”, she supposed…
One of the sailors cast an eye in her direction -- frowned -- hesitated. Alandriel sized him up in a moment, a broad-shouldered man with red hair and a bushy beard. Probably early thirties at most, though his face was weathered like a man ten years older. “Y’okay lass?”
She summoned up her best smile and gave her head a shake. “Nos--“ Dammit, hoarse voice. Alandriel swallowed and tried again. “No, sir. I’ll be fine in a moment. Have to… meet a contact soon.”
Meet a contact. Right. Smooth.
Fortunately, the nameless man didn’t stop to ask questions, but instead accepted Alandriel’s evasion with an easy shrug and turned back to the crates.
The naked truth, of couse, was that she had no contacts, friends or even distant relatives in Scara Brae. She was supposed to have landed in Corone, and proceeded inland -- but once again, ships departing had been scarce, and the wind blowing from the west would’ve made it difficult to reach Jadet anyhow.
This was, however, not her immediate concern. Getting to her feet was, and it proved rather easier than she had thought. With a small groan for her stiff legs, Alandriel staggered upright… stayed. Good. She warily tested her balance, nearly falling off the docks in the process, but managed to remain upright and on what might possibly pass for dry land. Better. Satisfied that she could maintain at least some level of operation, she picked up her bag and staggered away from the planks that had welcomed her to Scara Brae.
Step by cautious step, she made her way along the the dockside towards the interior of the walled city. Her eyes flickered between the buildings, all of which seemed to have risen from the rock itself; squat, sturdy, remarkably inelegant but durable in appearance. Also remarkably, none of them appeared to be burned-out shells or under rebuilding. An advantage, she supposed, to being an island kingdom that no one disliked enough to besiege.
Her footsteps carried her onwards, into the marketplace and bazaar. The distant cries of merchants and muted roar of the crowd of buyers now resolved, a nearly solid wave of sound that pressed into the side of Alandriel’s aching head.
“…sting in your swing! Best weapons, swords, daggers, maces, polearms…”
“…fine silk cloth from the mainland, don’t go out in anything less for…”
“…outrageous, I paid at least…”
“…guaranteed more chicken than rat, price can’t be beat! Step on…”
“…want my money back, you cheating crossbred son of a vampire and a…”
The noise, the color, the confusion -- it was too much, and Alandriel found herself staggering back into an alley, clutching the side of her head with the hand that wasn’t dragging her bag. A squinted look to the side revealed that it was empty. Thank the heavens for small mercies, she supposed, and leaned back against the wall. Slowly, the pressure of the noise began to recede. She pressed her back into the stucco, then spread out her arms on the wall as well, letting the solidity of the surface recenter her. She could do this. She could. Just a bit to lie down somewhere, and --
A presence, a familiar one, stirred somewhere above her breastbone; she frowned briefly, but allowed it to touch her mind.
<We’re here, we’reherehere, yes? Yes, yesyes? Time for fun things? No more storms and tossing and throwings-up of foodfoods?> Khwali sounded almost hopeful, at least hopeful as a rasping and distorted demonic voice in her head could sound. Thankfully, it didn’t spark the headache in her temple like the more audible voices around her had.
Time for Alandriel to find somewhere flat and lie down, she formed the reply, letting the words float in her mind a moment. Alandriel feels like shit.
Khwali imaged a dog lying flat on the porch with its tail giving a small apathetic wag; aside from the dog being pink, the mental image was the very essence of how Alandriel felt at the moment. <No worries. Khwali will think, plan, plothink while you rest. Khwali will be good and dutiful demon, yes!>
Alandriel didn’t wince too much. …Ngh, right. Okay, time to find an inn, then -- if I can get through the bloody marketplace intact.
A rustle of cloth snapped her attention to the end of the alley… but no, no one was there. Only a collection of old crates and a joining of two building walls. Bloody imagination playing tricks -- or maybe that was Khwali keeping her alert, she never could really tell. With a weary sigh she picked up her bag and headed back for the marketplace, hoping to make it to someplace with a bath and a bed without further mishap.
Open to all. ^_^