Completed City of Thunder, City of the Younger

[Ianthe]

City of Thunder, City of the Younger Timestamp: 1st Day of Spring, 516 AV Location: The Gates, Ground Level The first thing she noticed was the noise. The overwhelming, migraine-inducing, do-these-people-ever-stop-talking noise. It hit her in unforgiving, nauseating waves. Wave after wave after wave of screeching and yelling and cheering and chatter. Every time she felt she was gaining her bearings, the noise would knock her right off her feet again - much like the farmer who slammed into her shoulder and knocked her directly onto the cold citadel floor. How other konti managed to survive here was anyone’s guess. “Mom…?” “I’m okay, Ducky,” Ianthe responded in Kontinese, hiding a grimace from her seven-year-old daughter. She tightened the pack holding their few worldly possessions with her right hand while pushing up and onto her feet with her left. Goddess, her pack felt light. They hadn’t taken much with them from Mura - some clothes, a few toiletries, and her suvai. But the real difference was the weight of gold. Paying for the wind eagle had been costly; more costly than she had expected. She would need to find work, and soon, if they wanted to survive here for more than a few days. She glanced down at her daughter, whose hands clutched at the hem of her thin blue dress. Ianthe had never seen Cleodora this unsure of herself. The girl was usually bouncing off walls, climbing up trees, building pretend castles of her own. Ianthe could not remember the last time, except in meditation, that her child had simply been still. And yet. Be strong, an inner voice whispered. You must be strong for your daughter. There was really no other choice. Ianthe lifted her chin, straightened her spine and grabbed for Cleodora’s tiny hand. Noise be damned. They were here now, and they would survive. No, they would more than survive. They would thrive. Even if it was a shadowy, noisy, crowded box of a city. Even if they knew no one. Even if they couldn’t be further from home. “All right, love,” Ianthe said, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she glanced around the citadel’s busy ground level. “Here’s the plan. One: Find a place to stay. Two: Find a place to work. Three: Take the world’s longest nap. How does that sound?” Cleodora nodded halfheartedly, eyes staring studiously at the ground. Ianthe sighed. “And then we’ll check out the bazaar place that Knight fellow was telling you about. Deal?”   After a brief moment of consideration, her daughter's head popped up and she gave Ianthe a face-splitting smile. “Deal!” That was more like it. “Okay then! Now let’s find that Welcome Center…”   And a pain-killing herb to deal with this looming headache, she added silently.

[Ianthe]

If there was one compliment Ianthe could give the city of Syliras, it was that their leaders were efficient. The three-story Welcome Center was situated close to the Main Gates, and was easily spotted with the help of a passing Squire. (Ianthe chose to ignore the boy’s pointed addendum to his directions: “Didn’t they point this out when you entered the city, ma’am?” Cleodora, on the other hand, didn’t believe much in moral high grounds and stuck her tongue out at the older child’s retreating back.) But before Ianthe could take her first step toward the Welcome Center, Cleo tore out of Ianthe’s hand and raced toward the rickety building like a squirrel in heat. “Cleodora!” Ianthe’s voice rose above the din with a clarity that only a panicking mother could emulate. “Cleo, get back here!” Her child’s giggles bounced between legs and looped around waists of the city’s citizens. Much to Ianthe’s chagrin, the newly confident girl did not stop running until she reached the entrance to the building. “Hurry… up… mother!” Cleodora shouted, clutching at her sides dramatically while she worked to catch her breath just outside of the front door. Oh, you are in deep shyke, child. Ianthe increased her pace, apologizing to passersby as she squeezed past them and grumbling all the while. Deep, deep shyke. When her mother neared, Cleodora took one look at the thunderstorm behind Ianthe’s eyes and immediately morphed her own expression into one of pure innocence. “What?” She tilted her head to the side as if she didn’t know exactly why her mother’s face was reddening. “I only want us to get to the Bazaar faster. What if it closes early?” Ianthe raised a single eyebrow. “Besides,” Cleo hastily continued. “Didn’t you say you wanted to find a job as quickly as possible? I’m helping!” She stabbed a finger at the sign on the door indicating Employment Office. “See?” Before Ianthe could respond, a Syliran citizen coughed pointedly behind her. “Make a decision, blondie. In or out. Some of us have real work to do.” “Our apologies,” Ianthe replied in Common, glancing meaningfully at her daughter. “Cleo, we’ll talk about this later.” The two konti pushed opened the worn door to the Welcome Center and were greeted by a small stack of papers on a table near the entrance. Ianthe nodded at Cleo, giving her daughter silent permission to explore. The older konti then brushed a scaled finger over the top of the stack, reading the Common language slowly to make sure she understood exactly what was being asked of her. “Take one… fill it out… bring to front desk,” Ianthe repeated in murmured Kontinese. Okay. That seemed doable. She moved the top paper over to a spare space on the small table, and grabbed the waiting quill from its ink pot. Name: Ianthe N’asira Relevant Skills: Meditation - 35 XP; Teaching - 15 XP Preferred Occupation: Meditation Teacher Base Pay: 1-15 GM/day - requesting 6 GM for skill level There. She looked over her completed request with pride. Quick and painless. And then she noticed the line.

[Ianthe]

How they manage to fit more than three people in this tiny room is beyond me. It took all of Ianthe’s willpower to keep her composure and prevent her foot from tapping in agitation. Usually, Eudore was the impatient one (or so Ianthe liked to tease). But today had been a trial by fire: new cities, new faces, and noise - so much noise. Change after change after change. All she wanted was gainful employment, a private room, and a bell of silence to gather her thoughts. And maybe a glass of wine. Instead, she was waiting in line. A line that, in the last ten minutes, had seen one person served. One! And there were still four more people left in front of her. It wasn’t that Ianthe regretted her previous thoughts of “efficiencies” so much as the patrons at the front desk liked to talk. And talk, and talk, and talk, and talk. Cleodora wasn’t faring much better than Ianthe. Given the small space, there wasn’t much room to explore. And when Cleo attempted to amuse herself by playing “wind eagle” - a game which involved a lot of sprinting followed by leaping (“It’s called flying, mom”) - the gray-haired woman at the front desk had sternly shushed her. So no, Cleodora wasn’t faring much better. Be the adult, be the adult, Ianthe chanted, momentarily forgiving her daughter’s previous disobedience in favour of an overwhelming empathy for the child’s plight. “Okay, Ducky. Here’s what we’re going to do while we wait.” Ianthe crouched down beside her daughter and tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind Cleo’s ear. “I’m going to tell you the story of the time your great-grandmother entered a singing competition back home.” Cleo’s face brightened. “Oh! Oh, I want to enter a singing competition! Did she win? She won, didn’t she? She won, right?” Ianthe nodded and then shook her head, flustered. “Yes, she- ah, I mean, no… I don’t want to give the story away, Duck.” “But I think you already-“ “So it was a cold winter morning - no, sorry. Evening. A cold winter evening. Not much to do in Mura on such a cold night, you know? So your great-grandmother heard about this singing competition-“ Ianthe paused dramatically, while Cleo waited expectantly for her to go on. “And…?” “Right! So she heard about this singing competition. It was being held at the Silent Garden - no, that’s not right. At the Starry Night! Yes, at the Starry Night. So, there’s this singing competition at the Starry Night, right? And your great-grandmother decides she may as well compete - what else was she going to do, you know? So she makes her way down to the Starry Night and she signs up for the competition. And guess what?” “What?” “There’s no one else signed up! It was too cold for people to go out or something like that. So it’s your great-grandmother and the judges, and the judges tell her to sing something - anything, really, because at this point she’s going to win by default as long as she sings. But then your grandmother gets stage fright. Can you believe that? Stage fright!” “Mother…” “So she gets stage fright and she thinks she won’t be able to sing. But the show must go on, right?” “Mother…” “So the show must go on, and she sings! Somehow she manages to sing a traditional konti song - I can’t remember which one - and she wins! Isn’t that wonderful? Your great-grandmother, a singing competition champ-” “Mom! It’s our turn now.” Ianthe looked up to find the face of the gray-haired lady peering expectantly at them over her desk. “Oh! Thanks, Ducky.” “And mom?” “Yes, darling?” “You’re not very good at telling stories…” “Oh, you shush.”

[Ianthe]

The gray-haired woman smiled benevolently at the two konti and shuffled a stack of papers together as they made their way up to the front desk. “What can I help you with today?” “I have filled out this form,” Ianthe said in Common, her language stiff in her attempt to communicate clearly. She set the employment request in front of the other woman, and waited expectantly. “Ah, excellent,” the gray-haired woman replied, scanning the form. “Eye-unth, is it? Well-“ “Oh, no. It’s actually pronounced eye-onth-ee.” “Ianthe, got it. I see here that you practice meditation. And you’re looking to teach meditation in Syliras?” Ianthe nodded. “Wonderful. I’ll submit your request and will let you know the outcome. Where do you live? We’ll send a note to your apartment once a decision has been made.” “I… that is what I also want to tell you. We,” Ianthe gestured to her daughter, who had crouched down to trace a finger across the desk’s wood grain. “We need a room in Syliras. Can you help?” The woman behind the desk clapped her hands together in an exclamation of joy. “Newcomers! Oh, why didn’t you say so? I thought you didn’t look like you were from here, but we get so many people in every day and everyone has their own style, you know?” Ianthe’s forehead creased as she tried to follow the woman’s Common language. She understood fragments, but the woman had spoken too quickly for her to catch everything. Rather than reply, Ianthe nodded sagely in an effort to convey an air of understanding. Cleodora continued to ignore them both. “My name is Trega,” the gray-haired woman continued. “Welcome to Syliras!” “Thank you,” Ianthe said. “For sleeping - is there a place you,” she paused here, searching for the right word. “Suggest?" “Well, there’s the White Swan Inn. Lovely place - elegant, good food, very safe. But if you don’t have a job right now, then that may not be the most, ah... pocket-friendly.” Humans said the strangest things. “My pockets - I think they are not friend or foe.” Trega stared at the konti woman for a moment. “I should hope not. What I meant is that the White Swan may not be affordable. Not cheap. You understand?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued her line of reasoning. “And the Herald’s Arms definitely won’t work. Ah! What about the Traveler’s Row?” “The Traveler’s Row?” “Yes!” Trega nodded emphatically, clearly pleased with her own suggestion. “You’re a konti, right? I can tell by the scales, see. The Traveler’s Row is run by a konti! And it’s very safe and so close by…“ Ianthe tuned out as Trega continued to sing praises for the Traveler’s Row. Run by a konti? That sounded perfect. A swell of home sickness washed over Ianthe, and her thoughts flashed to Konti Isle. Beautiful, peaceful Konti Isle. How much easier it would have been if she had stayed home. If she hadn’t felt this tug to leave- “-you got that?” Ianthe’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry, what?” “The Traveler’s Row is just west of the Main Gates. You can get there by walking straight out of here. It should be easy to spot.” Trega pointed around the room as she spoke, her gestures roughly matching the general directions she referred to. “West. Thank you,” Ianthe said. “Yes, west. Ask for Matilda. She’ll help you find a room.” Trega paused, and looked critically at the konti. “Now, did anyone tell you about the Syliran laws? Not that you look like a rule breaker, mind you, but we wouldn’t want you getting into any unnecessary trouble.” Ianthe shook her head. She had assumed, naively, that the laws were the same as Mura. Don’t kill your neighbour, avoid taking other people’s possessions without permission, no public disturbances, and so on. The Welcome Center's secretary eyed the line that was beginning to form behind Ianthe, and made a snap decision to ignore it. “Okay, dear. Let me tell you a bit about Syliras.”

[Ianthe]

It turned out that Sylirans loved their laws. “A way to maintain order in a world of chaos,” Trega explained. Ianthe listened intently as the woman spoke and tried to cement everything she understood to memory. The Knights, in particular, captured her attention. “But I thought they were just guards,” the konti said, thinking back to the little she had been told about Syliras in her youth. “Guards!” Trega’s eyes widened, and Ianthe grew afraid that she had offended the Syliran. “Just guards! No - the Knights are the ones who established our laws in the first place. They make the laws, they uphold the laws, and they keep us safe. These ‘guards’ are the reason Syliras is still standing. Order out of chaos, remember.” Ianthe ducked her head apologetically as Trega began rearranging the papers on her desk and muttering quietly to herself. (“Just guards! I never…”) The konti had a sneaking suspicion that her employment request had been relegated to the bottom of the pile. “Could you tell me more about your laws?” Ianthe prompted, softening her voice into a soothing tone that she hoped would alleviate the other woman’s frustrations. “This is very kind of you to help.” Trega’s restless hands stilled and her shoulders began to loosen. “Yes - yes, of course.” She cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair. “There are really three main points for you to remember. One: Conduct yourself in a civilized manner. Be polite, be helpful, and work hard. Avoid causing trouble or violence of any kind. This is especially important for non-humans like yourself.” Non-humans? Ianthe wasn’t sure how not being human could possibly affect the laws - a law was a law, was it not? - but she kept her questions to herself and waited for the secretary to continue. “Two: All property belongs to the Knights. Homes and businesses are all leased from the Knighthood. This is for the greater good of our city.” Trega recited the refrain as if she had said this hundreds - if not thousands - of times before. “You will be held accountable for any property damages. So try not to break anything. “And point number three: magic.” Here, Trega’s voice dropped to a whisper and she narrowed her eyes at Ianthe and her daughter. “You don’t practice magic, do you?” “I-“ “Don’t tell me if you do! I don’t want to be involved! Just know that you must never use summoning magic in Syliras. And damaging the city or our citizens with magic is a crime.” The gray-haired woman leaned back and pursed her lips. “Though I personally think all use of magic should be considered a crime. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ianthe remained silent, hoping Trega would take that as agreement. There was a time and place for political debate, and standing in front of a growing line at the Welcome Center was not it. “Mom, are we done yet?” Cleodora tugged at the hem of Ianthe’s dress. A pained expression had filled the girl's face - the kind of expression that could only be made by a child who had lost every last drop of patience and was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. “Yes, Ducky. We’re done now.” Ianthe turned back to the secretary and transitioned from Kontinese to Common, pausing first to arrange her thoughts. “Thank you for your help, Miss Trega. I - we will not be trouble.” Trega nodded in response, and returned her attention to the patrons in line. “Next!"

[Ianthe]

This is especially important for non-humans like yourself. The secretary's words took root in Ianthe’s mind as she left the Welcome Center. They curled around her thoughts and kept her from distraction, even as the clamour of the city rose up around her. Non-humans like yourself. What an odd thing to say. It implied - what? That the Syliran laws were more important for non-humans to follow? That humans had a level of leeway that non-humans simply couldn’t access? Ianthe frowned and side-stepped a quick-walking traveler. She had always assumed that human society did things differently (not living underwater, for one). But she never would have surmised that their laws would be more important for non-humans to follow. After all, the Muran laws weren’t any different for konti and non-konti. Or were they? If she were being truthful, she hadn’t actually thought much about how Muran laws affected non-konti. It hadn’t seemed very important; everyone she knew, everyone who mattered, was a konti. He wasn’t, a small voice whispered, tugging at restricted corners of her mind. No, he wasn’t. But Cleodora’s father had opted out of their lives a long time ago. And even when he hadn’t, Ianthe had never considered his experiences - how living in a city governed by and for konti would have affected him. Her frown deepened. Did that mean the Syliran laws were right to differentiate between humans and non-humans? Or were the Muran laws not quite as noble as she had believed? Questions for another day, it seemed. Ianthe shook herself out her thoughts in time to see Cleodora pointing excitedly at a row of apartments spanning the length of the city wall: the Traveler’s Row. The stone building sat on an incline, two stories high. Humans and humanoids filtered in and out of the numerous doorways. Some faces held expressions of boredom, as if they been coming and going for seasons. Others expressed wonderment - and the occasional flash of confusion. Ianthe’s own face expressed immense relief. The two konti soon found themselves inside the Row’s office. The room was simple, consisting of a desk and small waiting area. No one was present aside from themselves, and for a moment Ianthe was convinced that they had broken into someone’s home. The plate of cookies that Cleodora immediately dove for did nothing to reassure her, until she spotted the bell pull. Regular houses didn’t have bell pulls. A bell chimed in the distance as Ianthe pulled on the short cord and Cleodora munched on a cookie. One minute passed, and then another. Time had never seemed slower. Ianthe was about to pull for the bell again when- Click. Clack. First legs, then a torso, then long blonde hair. A konti made her way down the stairs in fragments, with the slow caution of someone who had lived a long life. Her cane tapped lighty on each of the wooden steps - click, clack - until she landed on the ground floor, face to face with Ianthe. Ianthe stepped forward and extended a pale hand. “Matilda?”

[Ianthe]

The older konti grasped Ianthe’s hand with an unexpected steadiness. “Yours truly,” she replied. Her accent sounded Syliran, and had no trace of the island lilt belonging to born-and-bred Murans. A sister, but not quite family. Matilda’s cane tap-tap-tapped its way over to the front desk, quieting only when its owner had settled into a red-cushioned chair. “What can I do for you?” Ianthe smoothed the front of her dress. “We are looking for a room,” she said in Common, nodding her head towards her distracted daughter. “Do you have something free?” A pause. A rustle of papers. The scratching of a quill. “It looks like we’re in luck. I’ve just had a few rooms become available this morning,” Matilda said. She traced a scaled finger along the inked page of her bookings journal. “How long do you plan to stay in Syliras?” “Ehm…” Ianthe had thought she’d leave when the timing felt right - when the itch to stay wasn’t quite so strong. But now that Matilda had raised the question, she realized “indefinitely” it wasn’t much of a plan. Or an answer. Matilda studied the hesitating Muran and, after a moment, broke into a smile. “That’s okay, dear. You can let me know whenever you decide. Now, are you looking for a single or a double? ” She gestured at Cleodora. “With that young one, you may want to consider a double room. It’s priced a bit higher, of course, but will give you both more space.” “And growing room,” Ianthe added in Kontinese, forgetting her audience. “You wouldn’t believe how quickly she grows! And goddess, the sheer amount of energy she has…” “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite catch that.” A sister, but not quite family. Ianthe hastily cleared her throat and returned to Common. “Yes, you are right. We will go with a double. How much is the cost?” “Thirty silver mizas per night.” The answer came without hesitation - the practiced response of a long-time businesswoman. “Of course, that’s for the elegant rooms. They’re lovely, really. Beautifully decorated, and-“ “No,” Ianthe blurted, ever the poor negotiator. “I mean, no, thank you. Do you have anything that is less cost?” She reddened, and prayed the other konti would recognize her good intentions and light coin purse. “Hmmm…” Matilda tapped her fingers theatrically on the desk. “Well, I do have a simple double. It’s much sparser, but will only run you three silver mizas per night.” It took every ounce of Ianthe’s self-discipline to keep from jumping on the appealing offer. Wait, she cautioned herself. You’re in a new city. You don’t know how these people think - even if she is a konti. What if Matilda was high-balling her? Three silver mizas per night seemed reasonable, but… “I can pay two silver mizas per night,” Ianthe announced, eyeing the Row’s owner cautiously. Matilda seemed unperturbed. “Two silver mizas and eight copper mizas,” she replied, turning her own eyes back to her bookings journal. Ianthe’s fingers twitched. “Two silver mizas and two copper mizas.” The answering silence spanned years. One year, two years, five… It was too much. Ianthe opened her mouth to retract the suggestion- “Two silver, five copper, and not a miza less,” came Matilda’s final reply. “If you can guarantee you’ll pay for a full season’s lease.” Ianthe’s shoulders relaxed with Matilda’s admission. What were 91 days in comparison to the centuries a konti could hope to live? “Yes, I will take it,” she said, and felt a thrill of triumph course through her veins. It wasn’t two silver mizas, but it wasn’t three either. That, she thought, is a win. . . . It wasn’t much longer before Ianthe and Cleodora stood in front of her new Syliran apartment, key in hand. “Our new Syliran apartment,” Ianthe whispered, trying out the words on her tongue. They felt unfamiliar, and not quite right. Still, the words were true. A new apartment. A new city. A new future. A new future - for now. The contradiction was not lost on Ianthe, but she liked it, as she liked all contradictions. A “for now” future was one without permanency, without finality. It was a future whose chavi was not set in stone. A future where she would find her way back home. Ianthe glanced at the plain wooden door. Room 42: The N’asira Family For now. Grader's Note : Rates negotiated based on the 25% discount for PCs taking a Traveler’s Row room indefinitely.

[Okara]

Grades and Awards   Ianthe Ianthe, please deduct Spring 516 living expenses from your ledger. Please edit your post in your grade request to reflect that it has been graded. PM me with any questions.