Walkabout (Scatha & Barrett) - Samheen 25th MT

[Barrett]

Barrett grimaced. His companion's lack of discretion actually caused him a physical pain. A dull throb in the pit of his stomach.
Even Erwin's coffers are not rich enough to pay me properly for this experience! She will ruin my second mission before we can even finish the first.

"Scatha! Those are very... extreme conclusions to draw given the vague nature of the elf's story. And I think you are confusing some of the bard's details. But you do raise some very good questions to ask the Rafao or the priests of the Goddess Anasati. If you feel it necessary, we will do so. But such speculations do us no good in the present endeavor."

[Brytan]

The matron of the inn looked away for a moment, as if trying to recall something from vague memory. "We don't see many travelers from afar come through here. I remember him to be a tall fellow. Didn't look very scholarly though, dressed for travel such as yourself so I guess that doesn't mean much. The sands will ask people to let go of their old habits really quickly."

She smiled, she had obviously lived here her whole life and knew what the environment could do to a person who came ill prepared.

"In fact, the only thing I really remember distinctly are his eyes. He had this really penetrating stare, as if he could see right into your very soul. Odd colour too, almost as if he had more than one colour eyes, green one moment, blue the next, depending on how you look at them. Disturbing it was..."

She thought some more, obviously willing to indulge these friendly visitors in their kind requests. She waited patiently while Scatha and Maigin exchanged words about the birds they were looking to find and about the storms.
She didn't really get a chance to say anything further though as Scatha excitedly discussed the information about Finodborn's story and moved off as her guests were obviously discussing their own business.

Maigin didn't seem to pay too much attention to Scatha's outburst, or he didn't seem to in any respect. As Barrett displayed the map he looked at it with some reservation. "The birds are usually found around this area, if they retreated further into the swamp we'll have to trek further in this direction." He indicated the route they should take on the map, the course only slightly diverging from the route they had been on. "It should not take us more than a mark or so more to get there I estimate, but the terrain will be difficult for the horses to traverse, we best leave them here and continue on foot."

OOC: I'll be pitching in for the remainder of your stay.

[Barrett]

The Querist found himself undecided on a course of action. The matron's description provided no information other than he was "a tall fellow" and that the man had blue-green eyes. Half the male population of the empire probably fit those parameters. Having a "penetrating stare" wasn't helpful as it was too subjective. He needed something, some unique or specific detail, that would allow him to find the person. There could be no uncertainty in the facts to be presented to the Council if he wished to bring justice to a person of influence.

Barrett found himself in a quandary. The reason that he had been sent on this journey was to find the person or method by which the toxin had made its way to Citadel. Finding the birds and feathers was a personal goal, as was an exploration into the mysteries of the Rosestones.

So, should he attempt to make more contacts here - in hopes that someone would remember something useful about the stranger? Or should he continue the expedition as planned in hopes of coming across another source? All of this while putting off, for the moment, the question of a more dangerous trek into the desert.

“On foot? My backside is quite pleased to hear that. What sort of things should we be aware of in this difficult terrain?”

As they prepared to leave, another thought occurred to the Dortman...
"Maigin, I wonder if you might be able to find some better information on this other foreigner that was looking for the birds. Surely he would have needed a guide. If not you, then someone you know perhaps?"

[Brytan]

Maigin considered Barrett's question for a few moments as he packed up his equipment and payed the innkeeper for his drink. "The swamps are exactly that. The delta sogs up the ground, making it treacherous to traverse if you don't know how to find the dry spots. Not to mention the quicksand pools around the edges." He looked once more at the map. "Once we get out there I'll tell you what to watch out for."

As Barrett and Scatha packed up their own gear, Maigin talked to the innkeeper once more, arranging their horses be kept safe until their return, and rooms for the night, so they could start fresh at morningtide to look for the birds.

He then turned to Barrett, in the meantime adjusting his turban so it covered his mouth and nose as he strode off to the door. A wind was blowing from the desert, trailing sand and a coarseness through the air. "If the man you speak of enlisted a guide, which is likely, and he got himself a good one, which is a little less likely, I might know who to ask." He looked Barrett up and down once, pondering his motives perhaps? "I'll put my ear to the ground, see what I can find out."

He went outside shortly to check the horses once more. A young girl was already coming out of the inn to tend to them, obviously happy to get the job, she patted the animals on the nose and looked at Maigin for approval. When he nodded she took to the horses and led them to a stable which probably lay behind the inn.

"That is taken care of, you can look around the town if you wish. I will go and see what I can find out about the current state of the swamp and perhaps something of this mystery scholar you're so interested in. We will make an early start so be sure to get a good night's sleep." And with that he was out the door and out of sight, leaving Barrett and Scatha to their own devices for the time being.

[Barrett]

(OOC: Apologies for my hyper-post. Scatha, feel free to pummel me if I'm rushing too much. I'll be happy to edit if I've over-stepped.)

"Maigin. A moment to consult if you please."

Barrett drew the guide aside in such a way as to see if anyone else was nearby listening or observing them. Once satisfied that the conversation was somewhat private, he continued.

"I didn't wish to say so inside, but the fellow in question may be the reason we were sent here. He is suspected of either being part of or working for a dangerous criminal network back in Citadel. He might be innocent of any wrongdoing, or he might not: I won't know until we have a chance to find out from him. Also, I don't wish to insult you, but I do not know your hiring arrangement or method of payment for the service and education you are providing us. Please rest assured that I am willing to cover any additional expenses my inquiry brings to you."

He watched, and listened to, the man's response most carefully. This far from familiar territory, the priest knew he was at the mercy of his guide. He needed to know that the guide would cooperate and speak honestly with him, and assure himself that Maigin was no agent of the unknown enemies. Every trick of reading people that he had picked up over the years was trained intently on the gruff guide.

Once that business was taken care of, the Querist assumed a more relaxed posture and trained his attention on Scatha. She needed to learn some discretion, but Barrett wanted to use a less scolding manner with her. After all, she was probably almost as sore as he was from the day's ride.

"Lady Scatha, perhaps a walk about town would do us some good. Sort of get to know the people of this place and see if there's anything nice to spend Erwin's money on?"

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha slurped down the rest of the goats milk, took one last bite, and emitted a satisfied burp. "Better out than in," she said cheerfully. "And at least its at the polite end."

She listened with interest to Barrett's proposal, and clapped her hands softly; "Yes! Erwin gave us some money, didn't he? Maybe there will be shops, with lovely clothes. And we must bring something back for the Duke, and his wife, to show that we haven't forgotten them. Something they can put on their window sill and think about Amun Rah." Scatha had once seen a peddlar who claimed to have bought exotic goods from Amun Rah, including a splendid glass cylinder fileld with different coloured sands, several small pink plaster models of the Rafao's palace and, best of all, a straw donkey wearing a wide brimmed hat. Scatha was quite sure that the Duke would covet the donkey almost as much as she had. She scrambled to her feet, and linked arms with Barrett; "Come on then. I'll be a lady, and you can pretend to be a gentleman. Escort me around the village, villain."

[Brytan]

Barrett pulled Maigin aside shortly before he walked off into the town. He didn't seem to disturbed. He looked like he had expected Barrett to do just that, or even, if he had been waiting too long for it.

"No insult taken here. I was asked to aid you and I gave my word that I would. I am from the sands, we live and die by our word. Whatever your interest in this man, I do not care much either way. I will go and see what I can find out, but more importantly I will focus on the morning that is to come. If the sands have shifted I must know."

Barrett did get the sense that Maigin was most sincere in his effort and his promise sounded solid.

As Barrett and Scatha started their stroll through the town they came to find out that it was indeed really quite small. The city had been a bustle of activity, the markets, the harbor, the palace, everything spoke of business and wealth on one side, poverty on the other. The town itself had only one square and several streets leading away from and around it, with a lot of ground level square plastered buildings that seemed common around these parts. As evening was already approaching there was not a lot of activity in the square right now. A few children were playing with some odd toys by the well which rested in the center and on the far side from where they entered there were a few small workshops and stores which seemed to still be open.

A small wooden ball rolled in their direction and hit Scatha's foot softly. One of the children rushed after it but screeched to a halt as he noticed the foreign faces.

[wyrdgirluk]

Strolling around the village, Scatha was slightly put out to realise that there were no straw donkeys to be had for love nor money. She was just about to inform Barrett about the lack of local cultural artifacts when a small, rather grubby wooden ball rolled against her foot, immediately followed by a small, rather grubby child. She bent down and scooped it up, tossing it experimentally in the air and catching it again before holding it out to the child; "Here," she said with a grin. "Mind you don't lose it again. Next time, it might a dragon's tail that it bounces against, and then you'll have some explaining to do..."

[Barrett]

Maigin’s statement that he was “from the sands” intrigued the Querist. It brought to mind yet another aspect of the varied cultures of Amun Rah. One that he would surely explore further if given the time.

I wonder if he is Sadun'Ibar Sabhaya, or if I read too much into his statement.

Barrett noted the local buildings and clothing and speech patterns as they wandered through the little village. It was all worth noticing, for the similarities with small villages everywhere made even the most minute differences of this one all the more noteworthy. Unlike Scatha, he was looking for things that might be worth noting as a merchant. Local craft goods and textiles, mainly. He was curious also as to what these people might have developed in the way of entertainment. He noticed Scatha giving an almost disappointed look.
Well, what had she expected. A farm girl from Dort shouldn’t be surprised at the lack of excitement in a small town...

He was just about to suggest that they head to some of the workshops, when the walk was interrupted. Amused, he watched his companion’s interaction with the child. The ball reminded him of a game he had played as a boy. One of his earliest discoveries of a love of numbers and geometry - although he had not known those words at the time.

[Brytan]

The child looked at the two travelers with eyes wide. As Scatha held out the ball to the young boy he started to cry and did not relent. Only moments later an older girl came up to comfort the boy and she looked at Scatha and Barrett with an apologetic look in her eyes as she took the ball from Scatha's outstreched hand.

"I'm sorry mem'sahib for my little brother. He gets scared of strangers quickly, I'm sure you meant no harm." All the while she said this she bowed several times while backing away from the two. "My humble apologies." she kept repeating as she finally turned around and the children vacated the square in a rush.

Before Scatha and Barrett could even get in another word, the square lay before them empty, save for the peddlers in their workshops who had been watching the scene from a distance without speaking or interfering. An elderly woman appeared from a doorway soon after, starting to beat a rug out against the wall while watching the two closely.

[wyrdgirluk]

"But there's no need to apologise," Scatha protested, and watched in astonishment as the two children hastily made their way from them, spouting apologies as they did so. Scatha was utterly bemused; "Do I look like a dragon that that would eat a child, just because its ball bounced against it tail?" she asked Barrett. "I mean, I don't even have a tail." She shook her head in bewilderment; "You'd have thought they'd never seen outsiders before. And yet the inn keeper said that other people had been through here recently... it's strange. What do you think I said wrong?"

[Barrett]

Barrett merely smiled a friendly smile and returned the girl's bow.
"Sorry we startled you."
No point in arguing or drawing out the smaller child's ordeal. Too make a big fuss would likely only bring more scrutiny.

As if that were possible!

The Querist did not miss the subtle and not-so-subtle looks.

"Scatha. It's not all about you. If the others that passed through were soldiers - well that wouldn't be good for a child to see. Especially if there were wounded or prisoners. Strangers would have bad associations. However, it's just as likely such a large number would have given the adults enough warning time to make sure the children were indoors. Any rate, our appearance is different enough from the average sand folk to make us seem strange."

He continued talking as he walked Scatha over to the craft shops.
"I don't think you did or said anything wrong in this particular instance. Except, well, you did take the ball. Perhaps he thought you were teasing. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

He expanded the conversation to include the proprietor of the first shop they came upon.
"Wouldn't you agree?"

[Brytan]

The first shop they came upon as they walked sold an assortment of baskets and pouches, most commonly used to carry water and other liquids. They all seemed made with the same skill and craftsmanship from decent materials, sturdy enough for desert use. The baskets were handwoven from a kind of reed that they had seen grow by the riverbanks and in the swamps, there were baskets with a very plain weave but some of the smaller ones, the ones most likely used for home storage of spices, were woven with ornate lines and patterns across the surface.

The proprietor of the shop was a young man who was busy packing up his wares as the two arrived within earshot. He had dark hair and brown eyes as most of the people here seemed to have, but the scar across his left forearm was very distinct as it went from his wrist all the way up to his elbow and was quite broad. The scar tissue hadn't tanned in the sun.

He seemed startled as the conversation was suddenly directed at him, but like any good merchant his surprise didn't linger for very long. "Ah, yes, ofcourse Sahib, ofcourse. One must not read to much into the fickle nature of a child's mind." He obviously didn't want to give the impression he had overheard anything save for the last sentence of their conversation. He did however stop packing his wares and waited to see what would happen. Perhaps one final purchase before they lost the light of day?

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha pursed her lips; "Even so, do we look like soldiers? It's not like we are carrying spears, or wearing armour." The child's reaction puzzled her, and she walked in silence with Barrett to the shop. She poked at the reed baskets in ill huomour; whilst they were well made, they were no substitute for the straw donkey she'd set her heart on. "I don't suppose," she said suddenly, "that you could make something else out of these reeds, other than baskets? Something like... a donkey?"

[Barrett]

Barrett was no weaver, but anyone from an Isle famed for its tapestries could appreciate good weaving craft when they saw it. The skill of hand and eye needed to make such things was plain, and the patterns of warp and woof were interesting enough even without decorative adornments. Surely a purchase was in order.

"A donkey! Why, Scatha, what purpose would that serve?"

He selected a basket that might be useful for herb (or feather) gathering in the swamps. Something waterproof and wearable.
"I think this might come in handy for gathering flowers, or feathers..."

His hands traveled to the smaller, more ornate, baskets. He scanned the woven patterns, looking for similarities to decorations at the palace and in the clothing of people they had encountered on Amun Rah.
"Scatha, perhaps you might help me pick a set of these. They look practical for storing things and the patterns will bring to mind this exotic isle... perhaps for Lady K'Mith."

All the time he was watching the merchant for anything that might betray why the folk here were so wary.
"Good master merchant, do you weave these marvelous creations yourself? And do the reed-gathering? Perhaps, is that scar -pardon me for mentioning it - is it a memento of one of the not-so-friendly creatures of swamp or riverbank?"

[wyrdgirluk]

"You can stick feathers in your hat, if you find any," Scatha commented peevishly. "I thought we could take the Duke a present, and I was looking for something he and his wife could put on their windowsill, like a straw donkey. Only they don't use straw, but they use reeds. I bet you could make anything out of them, if you tried." She returned her attention back to the merchant; "You could make a donkey out of these, couldn't you...?"

[Barrett]

"Straw donkey? Whatever are you talking about, really. Why would anyone want a miniature donkey as a decoration? It seems a highly inappropriate gift to bring to a Duchess as a reminder of our travel to this isle. Not only are you threatening to ruin this trip for me with your ill temper, but you'd put even those who aren't here in bad spirits by bringing back the wrong gift. Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden?"

As if she needs an excuse...

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha was outraged; and exactly what is not suitable about a donkey made of reeds? The cheek of the man! As if he had any taste anyway... "Oh, go and boil your head with a cabbage," Scatha said hotly. "That way it might pick up some taste. Your head, that is, not the cabbage. Whilst you're there, see if you can find a basket big enough to put over your head. That way I won't have to listen to your noise." With that, she turned smartly on her heels, and started crossly back out to the tavern...

[Brytan]

The merchant smiled at Scatha as she asked for her coveted straw donkey. "I apologise most humbly memsahib, such craftsmanship is more something the crafters of Abu'Sahir might be able to oblige you in. We are but humble folk who make what we use."

"And we certainly don't take time to make silly straw donkeys for the tourists."

He nodded in agreement to Barrett's suggestion of the pointlessness of such a crafted item. "Yes sahib, most of these I make myself. My sister and I run this humble shop, having been taught by our father who'se father before him learned from his father before him." At that point a young woman, who bore a striking resemblance to the young shopkeeper came out of the back of the shop. She had the same features as the young man and was dressed in a delicate and bright white almost silklike dress which seemed to consist of many different wrappings of cloth, tied together at the waist by a single ornate leather belt. Barrett and Scatha had seen other women dressed in this garb and had been told it was a highly rare traditional gift among freed female slaves, given to some of them by their old master as a token of their release.

The young man looked almost happy as Barrett asked him to recant his tale of the scar. It had probably sold him many baskets in the past. "Why, this scar sahib, I got whilst picking reed several yahren ago. I was young and I was very absorbed in my task, the desert sun lingering low over the marshlands when I noticed to late I got to close to the nest of..."

"Sehir, perhaps..." his sister interupted as Scatha persisted in wanting to get her donkey made.

At that point Scatha and Barrett got into their cabbage argument (OOC: which BTW amused me to no end) broke down in anger at Barrett for his proposed notion of sillyness and started legging back to the tavern, leaving both Sehir and his sister slightly dumbfounded for the moment.

[Barrett]

Barrett sighed deeply at Scatha's current outburst. Slight hints of worry creased his features as he considered whether to run after her... After a few flickers of internal debate, he decided not.

He faced the shopkeepers with a shrug.
"I'm afraid it wasn't very wise to bring her on this expedition. The farm girl from Dort has grown too used to the indulgences of city life. No doubt I shall have to find something sufficiently extravagant by way of a gift to calm the lady."

"In the meantime, I would like to purchase something wearable and suitable for herb gathering. And these small containers, do they seal well enough to preserve their contents?"

"Please be so kind as to finish your story, my good man. I will be traveling into the reeds myself, and while I trust Maigin is a good guide and will keep me safe, it doesn't hurt to hear what others have to say about the dangers. You were saying you'd found a nest of..."

Barrett listened carefully, both to test for veracity and to enjoy the full experience of what was likely a story well-told. Perhaps he might add it to his own repertoire.

The young woman's garb reminded the priest once again of the factor of slavery in Amun Rah life. Surely, he thought, if such gifts were worn like badges, it could not be such a bad thing for them.

As a Dortman and a supposed representative of the Trade Guild, Barrett was obliged to haggle a bit when making his purchase. It was expected, and done in the friendliest manner. In fact, he used the trouble with Scatha and a fascination with the Scar story as an excuse to let the merchant have a bit of an advantage in the deal. It was crucial that he stay on the man’s good side if he was to get any sort of useful answer to his next query.

Almost as an afterthought, before moving on to take a cursory look at the other stalls, the Dortman turned back to the sibling shopkeepers.

“I, ah, I hope this isn’t too rude of a question. But - you see - part of why my lady is so upset is that she thinks everyone here is judging her harshly for some reason. The frightened child earlier only made it more embarrassing for her... And, well, I was hoping to reassure her that we are not being looked down upon or anything of the sort.”

Thinker, guide my words true. That’s as close to the question as I dare voice. If I ask why they are suspicious, I might either insult them or confirm that they should be suspicious of me. This leaves them open to say something if they are sympathetic, without casting a negative shadow over a good business transaction. I hope.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha returned to the tavern, still seething at Barrett; Just because he can make a few squiggles on a sheet of parchment, he thinks he's better than me... AND he thinks he's got taste. Dried cow pats have got more taste than he has... Once inside the tavern, she sought out the woman who had first greeted them; "Can I be shown to my room, please?" she asked with a fixed smile. "And by the way, my companion wishes to sleep in the nearest pig sty tonight, in the hope that he might learn some manners from them..."

[Brytan]

As Barrett turned back to Sehir and his wares, his sister disappeared back into the shadows of the house. Sehir had quickly overcome his amazement as Barrett started talking shop again and he quickly assessed the goods he wished to procure.

"Ah, yes sahib, you seek some baskets for gathering in the marshes? Well, these are just the thing. You have a fine eye for quality as these are the best I have to offer. No two baskets are alike and all are finished with a resin from the sap of the Kumalia tree and very much waterproof. Why, I'd say that throwing it in the great river would not harm it's contents."

He continued to show Barrett a variety of different sized baskets which he claimed were all perfectly suited for the purpose Barrett intended, and then some. "Ah, my scar? Yes well, like I said before I was gathering reeds for my craft in the marshlands, the desert sun lingering low over the marshes when I noticed to late I had gotten to close to the nest of a Thufu bird pair. They are fairly big but this one was well hidden in the reeds along the riverbank and I stumbled upon it by accident to find a Thufu bird female nesting. Usually they are shy and friendly but the females can be fierce in protecting their nests so she went at me with her sharp beak and talons at an incredible speed. I tried to flee, run, shielding myself with the reeds I had gathered that day but as I turned she clawed her way into my arm, gashing it wide open. I had to drop my reeds and run for my life or she'd have surely taken it. Luckily for me she decided to defend her nest rather than chase me and I managed to get home, having tied the wound closed with the cloth wrappings I use to tie my reeds together."

He whipped out a set of bindings from the wall behind him, stained with blood which had long since dried. "These are the bindings I speak of. I keep them here to remind me of the day Uphuron felt kind enough to spare me my life after having disturbed His river creatures."

They continued to speak for a while, meanwhile bartering over the price of the baskets Barrett felt like purchasing. Sehir was pleased with the price he was getting and when Barrett spoke of what had distraught Scatha he felt more than inclined to share. "Ah, no sahib. It is not to do with you. The children are scared after what had happened a few weeks in the desert. They heard the tales of thunder in the desert and of strangers being involved. We also had some odd visitors come through over the past few weeks, not as friendly and generous as you. That is what has startled some of our children."

Scatha in the meantime returned to the tavern. The evening crowd had settled down for drinks and a little bite to eat. Mostly locals were present here, either sitting outside basking in the eveningtide sunlight or inside drinking and telling tales. The proprietor of the tavern smiled to Scatha, making sure she had her room prepared and showed her to it personally, a nice small but clean room on ground level, checking to see that everything was in order for the night. "Sleep well." she bade Scatha as she went back to the front to tend to her other guests. The room was spartan in its furnishings, with a bed, a chair and a small bedside table. On the table was a pitcher of water, slightly coloured but clean enough for washing up. On the wall hung a colourfull tapestry to decorate the otherwise empty walls.

[Barrett]

"Ah, thank you, my friend. That will help ease her mind a bit... once she forgives me for not wanting you to make an ass."
A roguish wink punctuated that statement.

"And perhaps carrying your goods will bring me luck tomorrow. May Uphuron recognize the workmanship and show favor to me as well: that I might witness his creatures without causing a disturbance."

The Dortman decided to cut short his shopping trip. There was no telling what manner of trouble Scatha might be stirring back at the tavern. As he walked, he mulled over the conversation with the basket-maker. The story had been good: fantastic without stretching the realm of believability. The blood-stained wrappings were a nice touch. And, from what Barrett could discern, it was a true story. Sehir had not over-embellished. The wrappings might not have been genuine, but something about the religious overtones suggested that the salesman would not have faked such a thing while invoking the name of Uphuron.

That had been another detail... Barrett was used to Mother or the Golden Lady or even Illuminatus being credited with such mercies. But on Amun Rah, all of those factors or aspects were divided between two deities: the desert Goddess and God. Barrett's own patron, fairly obscure even in the rest of the isles, was likely an unknown here. Only now did he realize that the absence of Aurelian signs in the Rafao's palace archives had shocked him. Which deity would take up such tasks in this place? Or would it be the domain of some mysterious ancestor-spirit?

At the tavern, the Querist was quite pleasantly surprised. He had thoroughly expected to find his companion carousing and carrying on with the locals - perhaps with a few whip or knife stunts thrown in. After passing some time listening to local tales, he had the mistress show him to his room (and point out where Scatha was staying).

The first thing Barrett did was check the walls, windows, latches and furnishings of his room for signs of tampering, traps and hidden doors. His old paladin "bodyguard" Thean had ingrained this habit in him on Oracle's Isle, and he was still a bit peeved at his failure to immediately spot the hidden door between the guest rooms at the palace.

Next, he sat calmly and started his evening's meditation. Physical wards and alarm magicks were not yet standard in his repertoire, but he wove a protective web of symbols to protect his mind and spirit from magickal invasion. Not knowing the subtleties involved in Amunic magick, he was left to draw energy from the internal imbuement of his patron and from his own life force. He took time to adjust even the most minor calculations, as the setting of the shield was an exercise in and of itself to improve upon each past construction and make his protection more complete while damping the magick used to a more subtle level.

Once these manipulations were established, the priest relaxed into the meditative state that was his version of sleep. His body free to relax, and his mind free from the ceaseless plots and puzzles for a time.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha closed the door firmly (making sure it was locked), kicked her shoes off, and threw herself on to the bed in a temper. She suddenly felt very tired of it all , tired of being on a strange bed in a strange land, with her only companions people who sneered at everything she did or said. At times like this, her aunts almost seemed a more attractive proposition... almost. She sat up with a sigh, and undid her hair from its ponytail, shaking it loose; despite the wide brimmed hat, the sun had already started to bleach it to a pale honey colour. "This won't do," she told herself firmly. "You can't go on being around people who make you miserable. You either have to hit them, or go somewhere else." Scatha was extremely good at hitting people, but she was wise enough to realise that it wasn't always the best option. "The thing is," she mused to herself, bringing her legs up and curling her arms around them so that her chin could rest on her knees, "What do I really want?"

She realised - much to her surprise - that she didn't want a prince anymore. In her experience, princes seemed to spend most of their time rushing off to fight battles or idling around palaces, neither of which appealed to Scatha very much. In fact, the entire experience of the Citadel - whilst very enjoyable at first, especially the softbeds and the warm baths - had nearly bored her witless. That wasn't to say there hadn't been interesting people - the Duke and Finodborn seemed very nice - but on the whole, she hadn't enjoyed it. She thought about all the places she'd been and seen, and what she'd done, and relaised that the best times had been either travelling to somewhere, or being outside. "That's it," she said to herself, suprised by the obviousness of it. "I'm like the creatures in the bestiary. I need to be outside, not inside, caught behind stupid words and manners." She sat back, quite breathless with the realisation. "That's it. As soon as I get back to the Citadel, I'll leave. And I'll go and find something to do where I can be outdoors, away from words and books and manners."

Something pressed into her thigh, and she fished in her trousers to retrieve the crystal. "Ah... what to do with you?" She rolled it contemplatively bewteen her fingers; "The Kona gave you to me to prove that I spoke the truth," she mused. "And it worked, Aesa and the Duke believed me. But now... now I don't need you, now that they know." For a brief moment she considered going outside, and throwing the wretched thing as hard as she could against a wall to shatter it - then shook her head. "No, you're useful to someone. Just not me. I'll give you to the Duke, as a thank you present instead of a straw donkey, and then I'll go."

Go where? a small voice whispered in her head. Scatha considered the question; it was a good one, and worthy of a good answer. "Somewhere outside. Somewhere where I can be useful. Somewhere where I can be good at something. Really good at something." Somewhere I can show them all, the voice murmured. Scatha nodded; "Yes... but what am I good at?" That was another good question, and she had to think a long time before settling on an answer. "A whip. I can use a whip better than anyone I know. Better than my brothers. I'll find someone who can make me even better. Maybe there won't be anyone better than me, and in that case I'll teach people. And when I'm the best, people will come to me and pay me to teach them, or to drive their herds." Her eyes widened; "That's it," she whispered to herself. "I could get my own farm, and run my own herd. That's it." The simplicity of it quite took the breath from her, and for a while she just lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wallowing in the images. Going to need something to live off though... the tiara! If I could keep that, and sell it, then I'd have the gold to buy a farm...

"Yes!" Scatha thumped the bed with excitement. There were a million possibilities laid out before her, a million new questions each with exciting answers. With visions in her head of rolling green fields and lowing cattle and an elegant grey-stone farmhouse overlooking it all, Scatha pulled her clothes off, washed away the grime of the day from her face, wiped it on her clothes (which she left in an untidy heap at the foot of the bed) and then crawled beneath the sheets and fell into a sweet (but slightly saddle-sore) sleep...

[Brytan]

As Scatha mused over her future in her room, edging on the brink of sleep, Barrett had come into the tavern and was shown his room which turned out to be adjacent to hers. The innkeeper made no remark about Scatha's earlier comment to her and left them to their rest for the night.

Barrett had some difficulty establishing the mental safeguards as his patron deity was far less powerfull in Amun Rah than in the Citadel or otherwise. Nonetheless, with enough focus and concentration, taking up more energy than Barrett may have liked he completed the rite and dozed off into his meditative state.

Samheen 25th - Early Morningtide

A knock on both their doors came at the earliest hour. The sun had not even broken through the horizon's boundary, with only the slightest hint of red coloration low on the sand. The stars still visible clearly in the sky through the small windows that both their rooms had, and which Barrett had checked thoroughly the evening before.

"We must go, time to get up." The voice of Maigin sounded through the door, brief and to the point. No urgency could be heard in the tone of his statement, just decisive reason. A moment later his footsteps moved toward the common room. In the early morning silence arrangements were made for their departure as Scatha and Barrett awoke to the next and possibly last day of their walkabout.