511 AV, Summer, Day 58.
Despite her initial distaste for the City, Riel could not resist the familiar, insistent drive to slake her curiosity. It was, literally, in her blood. It did not occur to her that a slave acting of her own volition, without an express command, was a punishable offense, just as it did not occur to a predator to feel guilt after a successful hunt. For her, it was an inescapable need. Only discretion and restraint had prevented reprimand in Zeltiva, just as they postponed discovery in Ravok.
At first, Riel had restricted her forays to the immediate vicinity of her Master’s residence, located precariously between the commerce and dock districts. She had grown intimately familiar with the building’s bellboy—a potted shrub, two feet in height and myrtle-colored. The plant had little trouble snaring cat tuft, thread, and other mundane debris in its needle leaves. Together, the garbage weaved an evolving tale of mystery, with actors that possessed neither names nor features, only hints.
As summer waxed, Riel lost interest in the bellboy. The heat amplified her restlessness, but she was not the only one affected; every evening her porcine Master would seek a bath house, determined to keep his odor controlled (with debatable success). Much to her delight, his schedule became predictable, and—when possible—she utilized the specific timeframes to extend her range of exploration.
On this particular evening, her Master had departed early; Riel could count four fingers to the sun’s position, which was two extra than usual. Doubt and caution were eclipsed by the temptation of intrigue. As soon as her Master's Ravasola had been navigated into a canal-proper, she fled the stagnant apartment. Her heart had not been so light, so quickly shouting with life, since Zeltiva.
As Riel was unable to afford her own Ravasola toll, the intricate system of alleyways and bridges proved difficult to navigate. She was forced to employ unconventional routes. Winding lanes, barely wide enough to accommodate her slight form, suddenly ended with imposing walls or canals. Several times, she had to backtrack. Only persistence delivered her to her destination: the commerce district.
Even subject to the stifling heat of evening, the commerce district crawled with humanity. Riel's senses were assaulted all at once; a sharp stench of fish and human permeated the air, interspersed by scents of herbs, leather, and fruit; shifting clothes, dyed primarily with rich gem hues, transformed the crowd into a veritable kaleidoscope; and the din of the market escalated and receded as easily as the tide. While bewitching, it was also overwhelming to the kelvic, who had little experience with such sizable crowds. She chose to remain separated from the district by a single canal, an anonymous figure neither necessary nor recognized in the heaving mechanism of bartering.
An opalescent glint caught her eye. At a stand bordering the canal, a woman was haggling over a modest packet of spices with a miserly merchant. By the furious gestures exchanged between the pair, Riel judged it was a heated argument. The thought dissipated as quickly as it formed; it wasn’t the woman that was captivating, but her garment. Crowning her brow was a row of iridescent shells, masterfully chipped into circles and embroidered into the hem of an undyed chiffon veil. Every time the woman bobbed her head, the shells jingled to life, heralding their origins in a stunning spectacle of color.
From the drudges of her memory, Riel recalled another foreigner. The previous autumn, a Svefra had visited the Evarsitus family to negotiate trade routes. Arrayed in rich silks and eccentric jewelry, the seafarer had been as exotic as the family’s Anhatep fresco, beguiling her from the start. Upon discovering her fervor for singing, he had taught her a refrain from a favored ballad. Although she had never been able to decipher the words, they remained branded in her mind.
Isnaur il tari,
Lanu sar Nutav.
Varnach vi ‘maeven?
Aelflach vi 'arnith?
Xari na sul magor,
Mae enarth vi larc Firel.
Sarnach na sul laun?
Sagirnach ene lain.
Riel murmured the refrain as she continued to comb the District for other discoveries, either mundane or eccentric. The melancholy tone was a contradiction to her subdued smile.
((OOC))The song is in Fratava. Though with Riel’s mispronunciations, it would be hard to tell. If any characters happen to reply that speak Fratava, PM me and I’ll send you a translation.
