Closed A Familiar Face That Lay Beneath The Mask [Strig]

[Enria]

1st Summer 513AV

Summer had arrived and the atmosphere seemed warm and inviting. Enria always loved the Summer season and not because her birthday fell in Summer; but, because, everything seemed fresher and brighter than it had been.

It was the carnival today, where everyone celebrated Summer’s arrival; it was masquerade theme with everyone dressing up and donning masks. The whole idea of keeping a person’s identity a mystery by hiding behind a mask appealed to Enria. It seemed like a game, a challenge, to her to try to discover people’s identity that lay beneath their mask.

Speaking of masks, hers sat nestled on top of her clothes. Instead of purchasing hers at the market, she had decided to make her own; she weaved flexible twigs and vines to form the base of her mask and finished it by sticking wild flowers on the edge of the mask; as well as a few feathers she found on the floor on the times when she went walking. She carved two holes on the mask so her eyes could peek through and weaved more vines to create a strap to hold her mask in place, which sat just over her nose. It wasn’t an elaborate mask, in fact it was rather plain but it resembled her growing love of nature and that’s why Enria loved it.

Enria stretched and began slowly and delicately putting her clothes on. She wondered whether to bring her tarot cards. It would add to the carnival atmosphere and Enria was dying to practice reading other people; before she had only managed to read for a few people, including herself, at the Yasiry and hadn’t been able to read for others since. She placed her mask on her head and ruffled her red hair to frame her face. She grabbed her tarot cards, after all practice makes perfect. She placed hers cards in her bag along with her purse and set off towards the carnival.

As Enria made her way towards the carnival, she noticed how everyone poured out from different directions, like bees coming out of their hive. The thronging crowd, all heading in the same direction, was full of bright attractive colours from reds to greens to blues. The parade of colours flecked with more shades which bobbed up and down; everyone chattering away in excitement like the birds in the Cherry Grove. Enria looked at herself and felt rather out of place with her plain appearance, but shrugged it off, it wasn’t as if she looked ugly – she just wasn’t colourful.

Once she entered the courtyard, the atmosphere flickered and flared like fireworks. The crowd grew larger and the noise grew even louder. Colourful streamers and large swollen glass baubles, made by the glassworkers, stood proudly over the growing party. Stalls lined the outside of the courtyard, their goods stood proudly and boldly on each table to entice customers away from the dance floor and to their stall. Drinks were being sold and passed around, but Enria couldn’t make out where that was. A tabled area littered on the right side of the wall, and Enria decided it would be best if she settled on one of those for a while.

Enria tightened her grip on her bag; she didn’t want to lose it in the swell of people. Over the thrum of heavy chatter, Enria caught a lilt of music and a small glimpse of a dance floor twirling with dancers before people moved and blocked her view.

Enria stuck to the outside of the crowd, searching for an exit of the large crowd that swarmed around her, like a flock of Starlings in summer flight. Her eyes darting around the crowd of people, their masks making them look more akin to birds but none, in Enria’s view, would ever beat the beauty of real birds.

So far Enria hadn’t recognised a single soul here and her heart began to sink, she’d hate to spend the carnival on her own. As she neared the end of the crowd, Enria connected with something hard. Another person? Enria silently cursed herself, she always knew she was clumsy so why on earth did she not pay close enough attention to where she was heading? Her native tongue hastened to apologise to the figure she collided with, not daring to look up in case the figure saw her chagrin at her mistake; as she felt the familiar heat wave across her face, she was willing to bet her cheeks had flared a crimson red. Her bag in the collision had slipped from her grasp, her cards spilling out in all directions onto the floor, along with her small purse.

Enria quickly scrambled to pick up her bag, purse and most importantly her cards; they were something that could not be so easily replaced. Her hand connected with another’s. Her eyes traced the hand back to the owner and gazed up into a familiar set of stormy blue eyes. Enria’s eyes widened in surprise, before she dropped them back to the ground in search of her cards.

“Sorry.” She offered again in common.

[Strig]

oocShit, sorry for the delay RL was a bit hectic :') The lights were hurting Strig’s eyes. Bringing his arm up to shade them, he wandered past the swelling crowds of people, each of them adorning masks, chattering and cackling like small birds. Some danced, some sang, some haggled loudly with street vendors. Everyone was seeming to have a good time.Whether or not Strig was though… he still couldn’t decide, just when he had come to the conclusion that he had assimilated himself in the Inarta’s culture, something like this would happen. All the singing and dancing wouldn’t happen in Sultros.. it seemed too… personal, almost to vulgar. Strig slipped through the crowd and made himself get close to a stall where gleaming masks shone on wooden dummy heads. By the time the owner of the stall had realized that there was a mask missing, Strig was already invisible in the cacophony of movement… of sound. The mask in his hands was white, shaped in the rough smile of a beak, the porcelain gleamed from the light of the hanging candles above. ’You’re going to lose that…’ Whispered a voice inside his head. Strig had been hearing it a lot lately, attributing it to his former master Dreg who had left him in this strange city. Dreg had vanished like a ghost, in fact a part of Strig wondered if the old alchemist had died and now the voice in his head was a restless spirit, desperate for companionship. Or perhaps it was that Strig hadn’t really talked to anyone in the city… His Nari was still embarrassing; Strig didn’t want to be laughed at by the native. An Isur can still have his pride. With the mask securely tied over his face, he pondered what he could do next… Since arriving to the city, planning wasn’t his strongpoint, a nice change from the rigid structure of Isur life. Bare necessities first… Strig felt his stomach rumble and the smells of freshly grilled meats wafted in the air. He took a few proud steps forward, gaining in velocity as he realized just how hungry he was. Someone whacked into his shoulder and Strig flailed, catching himself before he fell flat, but his mask wasn’t as lucky. It spiralled in the air and hit the ground with a smash, the delicate white scattering over the pavement. ’That didn’t take long’ chided the voice. Strig frowned, pawing helplessly at the shattered mask, a small bead of blood welling from his thumb where he touched it. “Well…easy come, easy go...” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry!” Whoever hit him at least had the decency to stick around at least, a sarcastic retort was on the tip of his tongue as he looked around, it seemed that the perpetrator had fallen as well. He stopped. Obviously a woman, she wore a mask of carefully woven twigs, wild flowers and feathers stuck out around her golden eyes, brighter then the deepest Isuran forges. The words evaporated on his lips. There was something striking familiar about them, but Strig couldn’t quite place them. “My pardons Miss Inarta” Strig muttered quickly, giving a small bow. Her eyes had dropped and his followed them, she was looking for something. Falling to his knees again, he glanced at the crossing feet around them, the robes and dresses worn almost creating a curtain of pulsing colours. “What have you lost?” He asked loudly over the din of the crowds.

[Enria]

OOC :

It's okay! I've been a little busy in RL myself.

Enria heard a slight mutter coming from him but could barely catch what he was saying over the clamour of the crowd. She was far too busy searching for her tarot deck, that now littered the floor, to pay close enough attention to him. Her fingers tracing the ground like bloodhounds searching for a trace of what she’d lost. She came across one and added it to the few she had managed to find. But it didn’t soothe the growing panic that was slowly rising up her throat. She felt a tears prick her eyes, threatening to spill out and race down her cheeks. But she refused to cry even if some of her tears were veiled by her mask, after all it seemed silly to Enria to cry over some cards; even if they were special.

“What have you lost?” He asked her, his voice dispersing her panic-filled thoughts.

Enria had come across a piece of mask, and picked it up, which must have fallen and broken when she bumped into Strig. She felt a pang of guilt hit her stomach. Not only had she lost her tarot deck but she had almost broken his mask, in her clumsiness. She let out a small, almost inaudible sigh, before she looked up at him once more; the wave of familiarity washing over her, almost soothing her. She stood up, hoping that this would help carry her voice over the noise.

“I’ve lost my tarot cards.” She explained to him, while showing the few she had managed to find as proof. “They must have fallen out when I bumped into you.”

Her voice fell silent for a moment, as she contemplated what to say next. Her fingers fidgeting over the piece she held in her had. The piece white and fragile in her hand, it almost seemed to remind her of herself and how she was fragile like a chick, compared to the man standing in front of her. He seemed capable of taking care of himself; after all he had managed to make it to Wind Reach. As she turned the piece over and over in her hand, a sharp edge pricked her palm and left a small cut across her palm. Red liquid oozed from her cut as Enria let out a surprised gasp. Her apology to Strig over his mask being broken was lost, as if the words had evaporated from her lips.

She placed the piece along with the cards she had managed to find into her bag. Before, she edged past Strig and towards the table where there were napkins, which she used to stem the bleeding. She returned back to Strig and offered a small smile, though her heart didn’t seem in it; today seemed to be a disaster for Enria.

“I’m sorry about your mask.” She offered while clamping a napkin over her cut. A gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach made Enria sick with worry. Would she ever find all of her cards?

[Strig]

The woman had picked up a shard of Strig’s old mask, carelessly broken on the sidewalk. While he couldn’t read minds, the look of guilt on her face was unmistakeable… but he doubted it was the right time to tell her that he had stolen it. Recognition lit up in his eyes as he looked at her face, of course! She was one of the girls that he met in the dining hall the previous season… what was her name.. Endra? Enrie? His mind was a bit hazy. “I’ve lost my tarot cards.” She said lamely, opening her hands slightly and showing him the ones that she picked up. The name was unfamiliar, but he recognised some of the drawings. His people called them Life Cards, but few bought into the superstition. Every so often a traveller or trader might arrive in Sultros with an old and mangy deck, and a few of his peers would get a reading. His father never liked them, ‘Paltry superstition’ he used to call them. ‘It’s a hot forge that will give you your future boy, not a deck of false promises. Strig bowed his head and looked at the ground, somewhat chastised by the memory. The corner of a card poked underneath his knee, he must have trapped it when he went down to help her find what she had lost. Pulling it gently out from his wedged knee, he brought the image up to the lamp light. The word underneath the image was in a language and script he could not place, but the card was unmistakeable, featuring a skeleton in its stride. It was staring at him, its eyes not filled with malice, envy or rage, but acceptance. It was the greatest thief, one that stole your beauty, your mind, your friends and family before finally stealing your life. Death. Strig repressed a shiver. When he looked up, the woman seemed lost in her own world, carefully handling the white shard of mask, gasping as a small bead of pulled popped out of a fresh wound in her hand. He made a move to take it off her, to drop it on the floor and tell her that he didn’t like the mask anyway. But then she placed it in her bag along with her remaining cards. ’Hey look, she stole a piece of that mask you stole’ Dreg cackled. Strig waved the thought away. She inched towards a nearby table, getting a napkin to stop the bleeding. Smiling lightly, Strig could see that it wasn’t genuine. The poor thing looked miserable. ”I’m sorry about your mask” She finally said, locking her napkin around the cut. Strig waved it away with a lazy smile, ”No harm done… as my people say, easy come easy go.” No Isur in his right mind would say that, they were a people willing spend a hundred years nursing a grudge... But at least it might make her feel better. He stared at both of their cut hands and chuckled. ”Well… a little harm done.” With a smile he handed her the card he picked up, hoping that the action wasn’t as ominous as it seemed in his head. Handing someone death... But after seeing the cards, he felt like he suddenly had a chance to live out a childhood wish. ”Tell me… is there enough cards to still give a reading?” He asked hopefully.

[Enria]

Enria lifted the napkin slowly as she began to investigate the damage to her palm. The wound was small and had eventually stopped bleeding; but as she slowly flexed her hand, she was reminded with a short sharp sting that her hand was still going to hurt. She bit her lip to supress a wince and put the napkin in a nearby bin. Her excitement over today’s festivities suddenly diminished and she wondered whether she should have bothered at all.

”No harm done… as my people say, easy come easy go.” Strig said to break the silence that had fallen around them.

Enria gave a small smile; it was nice that he tried to comfort her. But Enria still felt guilty at how careless she had been. Her thoughts circling around her like vultures ripping chunks out of her. What if she just left her tarot cards at home? What if she had watched where she was going? Maybe then she would still have a full deck and his mask wouldn’t have been destroyed.

Enria felt miserable; this wasn’t a celebration at all, at least not for her. However, everyone around her seemed full of jubilation. People were dancing or singing or drinking, some were doing all three at once. Conversation was flowing around them and Enria suddenly felt lost in this sea of people. Almost like she was an outsider to her own people, like she couldn’t understand why they were celebrating and she was not. She knew why she was not dancing with the rest of them and it was her own fault. If she hadn’t been so stupid then maybe she’d feel like drinking with her people.

“Well…a little harm done.” Strig said, again filling the void; he was trying to make light of the situation by referring to their cuts.

Enria allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips but it was soon followed by a few tears. She felt foolish for crying about it and she wondered for a spilt second whether he thought she was foolish too. There was no point crying over spilt milk, Enria thought while she grabbed another napkin to mop up her tears.

“I’m sorry for crying. Just those cards meant a lot to me.” Enria explained once she had stopped crying. She binned the second napkin before turning back to face him.

He extended a card to her and she recognised it instantly. It was one of hers. He must have found it when she was fiddling a piece of his mask. She wondered where he found it and wanted to ask him, but what did it matter – she had another card back.

A skeleton figure glared out at her, her own script proclaimed that he was Death. Enria use to fear the card whenever it appeared but now that she understand that he wasn’t just a bad omen signifying the end of something or someone; but also one of new beginnings. This card had taught her that there was a little good in everyone even if it did not appear so. She smiled and took the card from Strig.

“Thank you.” She pulled out of the rest cards and counted them. She was still missing six of them.

”Tell me… is there enough cards to still give a reading?” He asked. His eyes lighting up with this childish glee that reminded her of her own glee when she had finished drawing the deck in her hands.

Enria opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She peered over her shoulder before spinning around to be greeted by a small woman with her wild red hair following manically over her orange mask. Enria couldn’t place her wild hair, golden flecked eyes or the sound of her voice. But the woman had explained that she had seen Enria stumble and lose her cards; and that she had managed to pick a few cards and was just coming to find her to give them back. Enria’s face lit up, a big smile spreading across her features. Before she could control herself, she threw her arms around the lady in a big hug and thanked her repeatedly. There is always a little good in everyone, her thoughts echoed.

She added the cards to her deck and counted them. They were all there; though a few were a little dog-eared from having been on the floor but Enria was just glad to have them all back. She turned to face Strig with a warm smile on her lips. She pulled a chair out from the table, that they had been standing by, and sat herself down at it. She gestured Strig to sit opposite her.

She closed her eyes while holding the deck, trying to cleanse the deck before she allowed a reading to take place. She always did this and couldn’t place when or why exactly she did this; but she always thought it helped. She gave them a little shuffle before handing them to Strig.

“I need you to shuffle them.” She instructed in a calm tone. Though her body fizzed and bubbled with excitement. This was the first stranger she’d be giving a reading to and she felt excited instead of nervous.

“It’ll help me give you a better reading.” She elaborated.

[Strig]

Strig’s banter didn’t seem to improve her mood, he bit his lip softly and for a minute he considered running away into the crowd, he never knew how to deal with people when they weren’t feeling great. The woman hastily grabbed a napkin to dry up the last of her tears. A part of him sighed in relief. Someone wearing a bright orange mask with a shock of red hair walked up to them and tapped the woman on the shoulder, handing her a small handful of cards. Strig suddenly felt hopeful, pondering what the cards would say about him. Nonsense or not, he could not deny his curiosity which flickered within him like a candle flame. The woman spread her arms around the stranger and embraced her, taking Strig back slightly. Even after a season in Wind Reach such flamboyant public affection shocked him. It was an effort to keep his face blank. She added the cards to the deck and counted them, by the smile on her face he guessed that she had a full deck again. She gave him a bright smile and took a seat at the table, she rolled her fingers towards him and the table, gesturing him to take a seat. What was her name… Endria? Giving them a light shuffle she handed them back to Strig. ”I need you to shuffle them” she said. She probably noticed his surprised expression. Some of the cards were dogeared and muddy on the corners, but they remained soft to touch. The sound they made as Strig casually cut and shuffled the deck reminded him of leaves in the rain while he was chasing game. ”It’ll help me give you a better reading.” she elaborated. Strig nodded softly, his focus on the cards as they danced past his fingertips, his breath held tightly, keeping a steady control on his left arm, lest he leave a mark on the paper with his gemstone hand. ”Who taught you to read them?” Strig asked. His voice raw and cracked, something about this made him uneasy. The cards? The girl? What if the future could really be seen with such flimsy pieces of parchment and if so, who was he to try to divine their secrets. Somewhere a firework screamed in the night sky, children sang and jumped on stones, their sounds skimming over the crowd. ’Old man Ivak sat on a tree, Rope around his neck The wind came ‘round and brushed him down And he didn’t sit back again! Skeleton, skeleton, hung from a tree, Chains around his arms, The old man came and began to sing, And they danced right into town. Baker, butcher, under the tree, We saw what you did, You can’t hide from the man inside, Who will chop you into bits! Strigs mind was lost in the cards.

[Enria]

The music and children singing flowed around them while fireworks fizzed and burst in the sky above; Enria watched as Strig carefully shuffled her cards. She wondered if he was nervous because he seemed to be taking great care in shuffling her cards. But then she remembered back to when she first met him when he made the imprint of his thumb on a bowl; perhaps he could do the same with her cards?

“Who taught you to read them?” He asked; his voice, in Enria’s opinion, having a nervous tone to it.

“Do you remember the girl I sat next to? Kitchi. She had Tarot cards and showed me them. I modelled my cards on hers and just practiced until I found my own way with them.” Enria answered, a smile sliding onto her face at the memory. “Are you finished?”

She took the cards from Strig and drew three cards from the top. She laid each card face down in a line before pointing to the card on the left.

“This card will tell me about your past.” She pointed to the middle card. “This about your present and the last card,” She pointed to the card on the right. “Will tell me about your future.”

She turned over the card on the left which revealed a woman with long fair hair and wings blowing a trumpet while a few people below her wept. The card read: “Judgement.” She looked at it for a few moments, noticing that it was dog-eared in one corner, and wondered how best to phrase its meaning. She didn’t want to frighten him off, but more importantly she did not want to withhold the truth from him.

“This card is called Judgement.” She explained. “It says that you have experienced a time of reckoning which has made you stand up for yourself.”

She looked up from the card and into his stormy blue eyes. She wondered what secrets they held and what troubles he must have been through before he sat down at this table with her. But if he wanted to explain or even just brush it off, he would have to wait to the end. Enria liked to perform the reading and then take any questions or comments afterwards. She placed her index finger to her lips in a signal that Strig should remain silent.

“I like to leave questions or anything like that to the end.” She stated.
She turned over the second card, the one that represented the present. A woman sitting under a tree with four golden cups beside her, two of which looked as if they had fallen over, appeared before them.

“This is the Four of Cups and it says that an offer of help will come from someone who cares for you more than you realise.” Enria spoke, returning to the reading.

The last card, the future, sat waiting to be turned over. Enria paused, her fingers hovering over the card. A part of her had a bad feeling about turning over the last card. She worried that, as soon as the reading was over, he would leave; as he had every right to, she couldn’t make him stay. But a part of her hoped he would stay; there was just something about him that intrigued her and she wanted to know what it was.

“Sorry, nerves.” She half muttered to herself, as if that were the real cause of her hesitance.

The last card flipped to reveal a man, a soldier, blindfolded with his arms crossed over his torso and two swords, propped in each hand, nestling close to his neck in a pincher-like movement. Enria was always wary of any of the sword cards and this card was no different.

“The last is the Two of Swords and it carries a warning.” Enria said, cautiously. “Someone from your past will reappear and cause some problems.”

Enria looked at the cards before her and struggled to piece it all together. They clearly showed a man with a troubled path, but surely that didn’t mean he wasn’t a good person. Good people can make poor decisions, right? Her brow creased, why was she defending Strig against herself, her cards? She went to pick the cards on the table up, and place them back in the deck, but something stopped her.

“Any questions?” She asked.

[Strig]

The women kept her eyes on him as he shuffled, there was something in her gaze that unnerved him, that recording stare. As if his every detail was being picked up, analyzed and stored away. Perhaps the card dealing, the ritual behind it all; was getting to him. ” Do you remember the girl I sat next to? Kitchi. She had Tarot cards and showed me them. I modelled my cards on hers and just practiced until I found my own way with them.” she paused. Strigs eyes widened, suddenly the names seemed familiar, Kitchi… Kanri and… Enria. ”Are you finished with them?” Sheepishly, Strig handed her back the cards. With a practiced elegance, Enria drew the top three cards and lay them flat on the table. “This card will tell me about your past.” Her finger hovered over the middle card. “This about your present and the last card,” She pointed to the card on the right.“Will tell me about your future.” Strig swallowed, his mouth was dry. ”I’d back out now… if I were you.” Suddenly he could imagine Dreg behind him, the squat Inarta whispering into his ear, looking at Enria with obvious distrust. ”You’re not going to like this.” Enria turned the first card, revealing a woman with shining hair and wings. She was blowing a trumpet at a group of weeping people below her. ‘This card is called Judgement.’ [[Strig was a boy again. Not physically, but mentally. The insides of his family home starkly grey in his minds eye. He had just come back from an archery lesson with Dreg, entering the living room with a smile on his face. The smile fell. Strig’s bow clattered to the ground.]] …It says that you have experienced a time of reckoning which has made you stand up for yourself.” [[Details were fleeting, the gasps of air from a boy who was flooded with panic. The lit lantern on the tabletop, filling the room with a brilliant white light, the box for firewood.. empty, he was supposed to fill it that morning but forgot to, the books on the shelf, his brother’s blood on the cobblestone floor. Thamon was lying by the fireplace, his good looks that had the local girls tittering now but a memory, replaced by a broken red mask, caved in with a gemstone ornament. Strig rubbed his hand across his brother’s cheek, recoiling at the smell of blood and brain matter, of torn muscle and cartilage.]] ”I’d like to leave questions to the end.” Enria stated plainly, focused on the cards between them. She flipped over the second card, It featured a woman sitting under a tree with four cups beside her, two of them carelessly turned onto their sides. “This is the Four of Cups and it says that an offer of help will come from someone who cares for you more than you realise.” Enria spoke quickly, as if uncomfortable, moving onto the third. She hovered over the last card, as if nervous about something. ’Last chance’ Dreg whispered. ’Trust me kid, it won’t make the future any brighter...’ Strig waited, although he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. ’Sorry’ Enria muttered. ’Nerves.’ She flipped the third card, revealing a… soldier. Strig frowned. It was a man wearing a blindfold, a sword in each hand, both of them leaning towards his neck, as if he was going to cut himself with them. “The last is the Two of Swords and it carries a warning.” [[Strig was at his cousin’s door, pounding his hand across the door frame in panic. A sleepy Faros opened, his brow furrowed. “Markos?” he asked. “…what’s wrong?” Strig babbled in shock, the words escaping his lips before he even had a chance to think about them. Faros put him in his room, leaving with a sword. Sitting on a bed, Strig stared at his own hands, dappled with his brother’s blood, from where he pawed Thamos’ face, as if such a gesture would make everything alright again. Faros came back and Strig pretending to be asleep, lost in his thoughts. “It’s a godless act” His uncle said in the other room. “A bit strange, don’t you think?” “Hmm?” “Well.. who benefits most from this? I mean, Strig is going to be the Flamewell clan’s seat in the council now right? Now that Thamos is gone... What if he did it…” Silence. “He is a… strange one.” Uncle relented, his voice mournfully low. “Imagine if he did hang for it… their grandfather stole the place from our family in the first place.. it’d be our first chance at a council place in two hundred years!”]] “Someone from your past will reappear and cause some problems.” Strig felt his blood go cold. [[Faro’s bedroom window was easy enough to unlock, Strig oculdn't remember much of it, arriving at Dreg caravan in the middle of the night. The old Inarta was still up, mixing ingredients. He looked at Strig with surprise. The cart was packed before the sun even rose… As they passed the gates of Sultros and went off into the world, Dreg pulled him close. "Markos Flamewell Sultros?" he whispered. His name... He nodded. "That isn't your name anymore... You answer to Strig now." Markos Flamewell Sultros~ Strig, nodded grimly, his mind in a haze.]] Reality crashed down on him, Strig blinked, wondering idly for a moment where he was. Enria didn’t seem to notice however, her attention on the cards. ”Any questions?” she asked. “How... often have you been right with these readings?” Strig asked with a dry chuckle, trying to make it a joke. He really needed a drink. ’Hate to say I told you so…’ Dreg whispered, his ghostlike voice wafting in the breeze.

[Enria]

Enria looked up at his face, which had paled, and wondered what he was thinking. Had she done a bad thing by giving him a reading? Or was it something she said in the reading that had upset him? He looked like he had seen a ghost. Enria began to feel nervous; her readings had never had this effect on someone before.

“How... often have you been right with these readings?” He asked, giving a hoarse chuckle in a vain attempt to lighten the mood.

Enria’s face crumpled as she contemplated the question; it had caught her off guard because it wasn’t something contemplated much. If she was honest, she didn’t ask her friends, of whom she gave readings to, whether their reading was accurate. She considered tarot readings to be messages which could be as right as the person she was reading allowed them to be.

What was he suggesting by that question? She picked up her tarot cards and began shuffling them absently. Was he suggesting that the reading was false? That what she was saying didn’t apply to him. Enria felt a small jab of hurt that he would think or even imply that her reading was bad; she always tried her best when giving someone a reading. Enria stopped fiddling with her cards and placed them in her bag. She struggled to swallow, as she felt the growing anger and need to defend herself rise.

“Tarot, for me, is about receiving messages,” She spoke, her jaw moving in tight motions and she struggled to control her rising hurt at the question; the more the she thought about it the more hurt and anger she began to feel. “They’re as right as the person receiving the message allows them to be.”

She took a deep breath as if trying to dispel her anger. What if that’s not what he meant? After all, he did look pale. Something she must have said must have put him on edge; maybe he asked that to find some comfort. As she began piecing this together, Enria felt the lump from the back of her throat go. She no longer felt defensive towards him.

She looked away from him as her cheeks began to flare up out of chagrin. She felt humiliated that she at her anger and to a stranger? How must she seem to him? She felt the urge to apologise but for what? She hadn’t insulted him, she was just being defensive; after all, she did think he was calling into question her abilities.

“Are you okay?” Her voice softening into that of concern; after snapping out of her thoughts. “You look a little pale.”

[Strig]

Enria’s face collapsed when Strig asked her the question. She seemed, shocked, ashamed… she picked up her cards and shuffled them thoughtfully. The Inarta were still very hard to predict, their emotions so varied and intense. For the most part his people were indifferent in most situations, how was he to respond to such things? Should he try to console her, take back the questions, Izurdin forbid, give her a hug? Strig flinched at the thought. People in masks passed them by, their stares hidden by the hollow darkness behind the masks, eyes clouded and brought to view by sudden flares of light- fireworks that cackled and screamed in the night sky. “Tarot, for me, is about receiving messages,” she said, the anger making her voice taut and controlled. “They’re as right as the person receiving the message allows them to be.” In his minds eye he could see the cloaks swishing over the pavement, hands moving, shaking, picking up objects from stalls and holding to them to the light, some hands juggling, one holding a gleaming knife, its shine making Strig shiver. Enria turned her head, flushed. It was then that Strig fully realized just how much he had insulted her, he frowned and tapped the table with his stony finger, the monotonous ring like a funeral drum, voices whispered in his head, but he couldn’t make out the words. A man nearby was whacking a lump of steel against an anvil, the children nearby sitting by the forge fire, mesmerised by the sparks. Strig turned his head in confusion; Enria said something and was looking at him expectantly. ”Sorry?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you okay?” she asked again, her voice softened. “You look a little pale.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The Inarta’s tarot cards had resurrected his past and now seemed to have left him with the angry ghosts. The gravity of the situation had fallen on him, what if there was knife waiting for him in the crowd… what if Dreg never came back… what if he could never leave Wind Reach… ”I’m ok…” Strig whispered, his voice husky. ”I suppose I just miss home… it was my younger brother’s birthday today, I miss him.” Strig sighed and tapped the table gently, careful not to make a mark on the stained wood. Ulson left home years ago, his head full of heroic dreams. A part of him wondered if he was still alive, if he was happy. Strig looked into Enria’s eyes, making a small smile. “What’s you story Enria?” he asked. ”Shouldn’t you be spending this time with family?”