Open - Her holy creed

[Marishka Timandre]

Timestamp: Day 70, Winter, 509 AV Far from home she be, yet never alone chasing a dream forever bound in stone A fledgling gone to seize and never stay marking the hallowed name of Timandre. Cruelty's the suit, and white is her steel the ambitions of men she loathes to feel Clasped in hand be the rose of duress the eternal creed of the Lightning Countess. Sword in hand, a grand raging silver glow the flash of an end which knaves dread to know Her ethereal beauty may promise peace, one but encased by the hearse's release. It has been a long day, and in the dying afternoon rays which covered the forests of Syliras' wildest natural regions, not a stir could be heard. None, save the cawing of birds and the frost-laden footsteps which strided over snow and leaf, marking the leafy trails back towards civilization. A cloak covered her face, and an elaborate suit of silk laced with bits of metal armor adorned her slim and fit body. Yet it was obvious from the way she moved, as well as the precious silver sword that hung from her waist that she was no ordinary lass. The figure moved across fields of white like the traveler that she is, with a cautious kind of grace. On every path and every corner her covered head would turn to see if there was anything around that could be a nuisance to her. Nuisance, for she had already tested--and beaten--everything that the forest could offer her. In the depths of the wildlands, there she walked in deadly grace and beauty, her thoughts blanketed by memories which she had long since kept under an imaginary palanquin of stoicism and self-declared duty. Yes, once upon a time she had been a simple konti girl, with unusual tastes for someone of her stature and race. She remembered everything vividly: her comfortable life, her beautiful, diverse and wonderful sisters, her ambitious but kindhearted grandmother. On every waking moment she remembers them, never lost, yet always distant as the stars in the sky. For while Mura has always been, and will always be her home, it was never the proper place for a warrior to seek her fortune. Thus when the call of destiny came knocking for her, she readily took up her crusade against stagnation and left everything behind. She has always been ready to forge her own destiny; be it a sin to the gods or not, she was her own making, her own creation. While everyone around her had dabbled and pricked on the mold that is her nature, the hearth and oven of fate was her. In fact, it could be said that the only indelible marks she had inherited from her family was her serenity and stoic, truthful personality. Her skill with the blade, her grace as a deadly entity, all of these belonged to her and her alone. And how they have learned to fear her wrath; all the men in their own center of civilization have learned to cower away from the justice she had splurged in heated blood and bated breath. When all things were desperate and without mercy, she would appear and pluck the unready away from their clutches. With each swing of her blade they fell like weeds against the farmer's scythe. Stopping by the middle of the woods for a moment of clarity and serenity, she basked in the call of yesteryears, letting all things about her pass her by. Like the flowing rivers of mother Tanroa's eternal springs, there was no stopping her from claiming her worth in the eyes of the world. This is her duty, her creed. The story of her life.

[Conor]

70th of winter, 509 AV

Travelling through the woods seemed lonely without a dirty little imp scolding at you or using his gasses in inhuman ways. In fact, Conor was more than happy that he had left that annoying little critter behind him; that freak had pitted him against a damn Ballicani after all. He was lucky to be alive! His horse neighed underneath him as it galloped through the lush fields of the wildlands. The rolling hills marked the area and every time Conor had reached the top of one, he had a good view of his surroundings. Ah yes, how great was travelling? He whistled a jaunty tune whilst he directed his horse to the grasslands, the next chapter in his journey. A vibrant wind toyed with his hair and a few patches of melting snow demanded his attention. Not one stone he passed did so unnoticed, travelling wasn’t the most safe occupation.

Minutes passed without anything interesting happening, unless you counted a fleeing fox as an fascinating incident for one that travelled all around the world. Well – for someone who was going to travel all around the world. Conor sighed, fortunately his need to travel kept him spirited when else he would have been grumpy longtime. He was happy that he had left the city behind him. Syliras wasn’t exactly his favorite location – sure, it bristle with light, but it was plagued by ignorant, narrow minded commoners who all looked, sounded and smelled alike to Conor’s great malcontent. He had had a lucky break when he had found that poster of that mage. The search for that necklace had at least been something adventurous, and the day he spent with Rai still was one of his beloved memories.

Ahead trees started to line the horizon, and as Conor neared them, he saw a great forest occupying the hills ahead. Grateful for a chance of his surroundings, he entered the woodland and he restrained his horse a bit. Galloping through the trees wasn’t exactly smart, and beside that, bandits and brigands could hide in every tree and behind every bush. Since there was no clear path ahead, Conor tried his best to go straight through, but often, he had to redirect his movement. Fortunately, he had the sun as orientation, as the woods weren’t that closed as he had presumed when he entered them. There were several intervals between the trees and different open spots marked the area. The trees looked much alike the pines he had passed yesterday in the forest that goblin had directed him to. Wary, Conor observed his environment; he didn’t want to repeat yesterday’s confrontation with a Ballicani just yet.

Ahead of him, he suddenly saw the contours of a human. Or perhaps it was just a humanoid, maybe she – it seemed like a she with her rather slender built – was of another race? That didn’t really seem likely, but Conor had had such a gut feeling before, and he had been right on most occasions. Or maybe he was just fantasizing about it, perhaps it was just because he wanted to meet new cultures that he imagined that everyone belonged to a different one. Maybe it was just a human. Maybe it was just a decoy of a brigand taskforce waiting in the trees. Cautiously, Conor grabbed one of his javelin, and he approached the figure ahead. When he was close enough, he restrained his horse until it moved no longer and he asked: “Who are you?” He held his javelin ready for a throw, but not ready enough to make it seem threatening. He had no wish to startle an innocent woman – or man, whatever it was.

[Marishka Timandre]

The thoughts in her mind were as tranquil and subtle as a falling bead of rain on a pond of dreams. The closed irises to her soul took everything in her heart to focus completely, relying on her sharp instincts to keep a perked ear for anything that could be happening around her. It was most certainly a useful instinct for her, as it was probably her most powerful weapon against anything. It guided her, it directed her, it kept her away from anything which she wouldn't be able to handle. This time, however, the presence which she sensed behind her, the quality of the voice which rang out a question for her, didn't seem to be much at all. For this one, she was game. She suddenly drew her sword from its scabbard and whipped her posture backwards to face her inquisitor, the point stopping two feet away from Conor. The length of her blade could have reached him even in his mounted state had she made even a tiny dash in her footwork, and had she not wished to know what the man wanted she could have finished him off before he had even been able to throw his javelin. Her eyes lit up with a deadly sort of seriousness as she faced the human intruder squarely. "I should be the one asking you that, don't you think so?" She then used her other hand to pull down the hood covering her face, shaking her head to let her white locks cascade down to her shoulders. The white of her skin shimmered in the rays of the sun, and her grey eyes sparkled like the stars of the night. Yet her hold on her elegant silver sword was straight and unshaky, marking the skill and strength that belied her slim and shapely frame. She said nothing further as the wind blew right past them both, locking them together in the silence of the forest. The Lightning Countess was always prepared to go to battle, or to war, whichever level of turmoil confronted her.

[Conor]

70th of winter, 509 AV

No one could have imagined that tranquility could change that fast into anger. It was like fury raged through her veins, like she was made up by nothing more than pure hatred. But perhaps that was like that because Conor couldn’t see her face. The only thing he could see was the tip of her sword, two feet away from him. "I should be the one asking you that, don't you think so?" she barked. At first, Conor was about to impale her on his spear, without even throwing it. He was sure that he could make it, and even if she could dodge the incoming attack, he could easily get on top of things simply by riding his horse and using his longsword. No matter how proficient this woman was, she remained dismounted and she didn’t seem to match his melee prowess. Or perhaps that was just his imagination, perhaps he underestimated her because of her gender? No, he would never do so, for he knew that a woman’s wrath often was one to behold.

When she pulled back her hood, he found that her face was more stunning than her fiery attitude. She was gorgeous; when Conor laid eyes upon her smooth, silky skin he couldn’t help but smile. Her hair was white, which made her seem a little like a divine creature, both gifted with looks and skills. But then reality took a hold of Conor again. He took a moment to observe her, and then he simply started to chuckle. How arrogant was she? Simply because she was pretty and because she had been the first one to react hostile, she thought that she was on top of the situation? His chuckle changed into laughter, clear and charming. “I’m sorry, milady, but I asked first, I don’t know what the customs of your culture are, but I doubt it involves pointing blades at those that do not react hostile towards one another.” Conor lowered his javelin, and put it back in its hold. His right hand remained stationed on his blade, ready to pull it out in an instant if deemed necessary. There was no way that she could surprise him again now. He was ready for a fight if it would come down to that.

But he wasn’t so keen on attacking a striking lady like the one before him, no, he’d much rather enjoy her company, even if it didn’t involve flirting or the like. “Perhaps we started on the wrong foot,” Conor said. He remained vigilant, but he attempted to broker peace between him and her. “I’m Gray,” he said, using his most common alias. He wasn’t about to give his real name, no that would be foolish. Real names held power over one another, even if that power seemed to be little. They gave away your last resort, they made you feel vulnerable to the other one. Especially if they lied back. “I’m sorry I startled you just there, I mean no harm.” Hopefully she understood that he wasn’t meaning her any harm at all. But then again, she seemed to be an unbalanced woman. Maybe she was sick of all those men doubting her skills – although Conor did doubt that they were better than his – maybe, she wanted to be loved for who she was, just like Conor. Only time would tell.

[Diem]

Secret :

Sorry its so long. If you want you can simply skip to around the part where the quotes pop up. The rest is mostly about why and what Diem's doing there. Which is fishing, and meditating.

Diem looked form his fishing line to the small stream before him and took a deep breath. As he released his breath he cast the line out into the center of the water and watched as the slow current began pulling it away from him. Just before it was to far away to allow Diem to reel it in, he slowly began pulling in the wire so the line traveled back up the stream. When it had reached him again he let the line go slowly, allowing it to be carried away by the stream again. Diem took another deep breath to taste the cool air of the forest.

The Wildlands of Sylira Region had always held a certain air of wonder for Diem. It was both calm and peaceful, serene and relaxing. The suns light reflecting off the snow and separating into so many different colors put Diem at peace in a way few things did, its radiance reminding him of the calming light of Priskil. He could summon a small, and much less radiant, bit of light himself. It often served to comfort him in his most trying times, and brought hope too him when all seemed lost. Most recently he found little time to to so though. So he was happy he had been able to leave Sunberth for a time and bask in the light of the sun reflecting off the snow. To go out alone into the wilderness was a dangerous thing though. Far to many risks, animals and monsters alike looking for food or enjoyment. The possibility of thieves or brigands, a little more remote for their own fear of the same thing, was also something not to be trifled with. So it was that Diem's excursions into the wild lands was limited to those few times he could find work protecting a caravan or small group of merchants.

In fact it was just such a group that he was now trying to escape, at least for a moment or so, by fishing at this secluded stream. The other guards were nice enough, if a bit silent and detached, but the merchant who had hired him was a different matter entirely. He seemed to think because he had hired Diem on, he could order Diem to do a number of things normally done by oneself, especially when one was traveling. Fetching food and water was the least degrading of the tasks that had been assigned to him. It was also the least degrading task Diem failed to perform. He could feel the merchant was ready to confront Diem on the matter, and most assuredly it would be the very topic he would have upon his return. In fact had he not stole himself away the moment the wheel on the merchants wagon of goods had broken, he might have been having it at this moment. To do so would be folly though. Diem was almost as frustrated as the merchant. In such a confrontation between employer and employee one needed to be calm in order to triumph. So here he was, enjoying the splendor of colors reflecting off of the snow, the trickle of the stream as it passed over the rocks in its bed, and the sound of the forest as the inhabitants went about their daily tasks.

Diem took it all in and then when he was sure he had noted everything, or everything he has a human could note, he closed his mind to it all. Sight was easy to block off, Diem simply closed his eyes. For the other four sense it was a more difficult task, and at his level Diem had to affix his mind to a single image in his mind to accomplish it. This time he chose the Gnosis mark on his head, the one that had been gifted to him by Priskil. Over an hour of time passed by the sounds of the stream and animals, the smell of fresh snow, the feeling of the cold wind, and the taste of a winter afternoon all began to lose their importance in Diem's mind. It wasn't a matter of forgoing what his sense gave him, simply a matter of ignoring it. Meditation was an important tool for Diem, who often found he needed to calm the storm of thoughts that made up his mind. Before confrontation such as the one he foresaw with the merchant Diem would take any chance he could to meditate, allowing him to order his thoughts and feelings. It was also something he did to prepare his other Sight as he liked to call it. The person who had taught him how to use it had called it Auristics or something of that nature. Diem thought it was a little much and thought it simply called it the Sight. Of course this was wholly inaccurate because others might not actually use their sight to see Aura's but it mattered little to Diem. So it was now that he prepared to use his Sight by meditating.

For maybe a half an hour Diem sat in the snow, his blanket underneath him and his fishing pole in hand and unmoving. For maybe a half an hour Diem sat in this trance like state, taking in all around him without taking notice of any of it. For maybe a half an hour Diem allowed none of his cares bother him. Then the fishing rod in his hands twitched. Diem took note of this and then let it go by. It twitched again. Diem once more took note of this occurrence, but this time he did not let it go by. This time Diem began to open his mind once more to the outside world.

First, Diem focused on his sense of smell. He allowed all the scent he had blocked off to once more enter his attention. The scent of sap from the nearby trees, the smell of fresh water and crisp clean snow. Diem took it all in and made sure his mind recognized each individual smell. Next Diem allowed what he felt to take importance in his mind. The cold snow beneath his blanket on which he sat, the dry chill air of a winter afternoon brushing against his cheek. Diem took it all in and made sure his mind remembered each individual feeling. Next was his taste, as easy one considering all he really tasted was the fresh air of the wild. Diem took that in as well and continued. His Hearing came next. He could hear the animals of the forest near and far going about their life. Birds chirping away was the most prominent. Diem took note of this and moved on. With the first for sentences Diem had painted a picture in his mind. It was both vibrant and beautiful, but it was missing a great deal. He allowed no memories to intrude on the picture, his mind was not trained well enough to do so accurately. This meant the image in his mind was seemingly abstract. The trees around him were both larger and thinner then they truly were. The water in the stream in front of him was moving at a different speed every few feet. The birds he heard chirping away numbered in the tens. He still had one sense left though to complete the image.

Diem opened his eyes and the image in his mind clarified to a sharp brilliance, almost painfully so. Not only was it clear but it now showed a variety of lights emanating from each and every object. The trees were surround by a greenish brown that was both warm and ancient, but tinged in a bit of blue as they slumbered away. The water and snow were a mess of almost every color Diem could think of, dividing the light from the sun that shown down upon it. Through the waters Aura though Diem perceived another. A bluish Aura, only slightly larger then a fish was very near his bait. Diem focused his Sight on the fish's aura and proceeded to gently pull the line in. When the Aura glowed brighter Diem stopped pulling the line and waited. Soon the Aura dimmed once more and once more Diem began reeling the line in again. Just as he was about to pull it out of the water a voice rang out through the forest. It wasn't particularly loud, simply more noticeable in its singularity.

“Who are you?”

Diem jerked his body around and lost his focus on the fish, which quickly pulled away in fright. The voice had not come from the direction of the merchants, whom were to far to have been heard anyway. Other people in the forest? Diem could not read the voice very well, especially considering the distance, but it sounded cautious. Before he could think to do anything the clear ring of steel reverberated of nearby trees. Someone had drawn a blade. A more feminine voice spoke out.

"I should be the one asking you that, don't you think so?"

It sounded as if things were becoming troublesome. The normal traveler or mercenary would wrap things up and move away in hopes of avoiding any involvement. Diem was either crazier or more foolish then the normal mercenary and proceeded to wrap his fishing pole in his blanket and bury the blanket in the snow. It only took a moment and when he was sure it was hidden but not hard for him to find Diem quickly moved in the direction of the voices.

More words, a chuckle. the first voice, sounded like a man, was talking again. However he could not here anything over the crunching of the snow beneath his boots. There was little he could do though except hurry on. Just as he reached the origin of the voices he caught sight of two figures, one on horseback on the other side of the second draped in a cloak blade drawn. The one on horse back had no weapons ready but that meant little. From the short distance between them Diem was able to notice only a few details. He seemed sort of boyish in appearance, though his stature and demeanor suggested a man. His dark ensemble was intimidating but many mercenaries took the style in hopes of earning more money for services. He had a blade on his waist and a javelin on a sort of rigging upon his horse. Neither were drawn but his hand was on his blade, ready to do so at a moments notice. Diem looked from the man on his horse to the woman. Instead of simply an imposing warrior with blade in hand Diem was greeted with the sight of an equally beautiful and fierce visage. Appearance could be decieving though, so for the second time that day Diem opened his eyes to the sight. Unlike before, where he had time and preparation, this time the bald monkish man simply closed his eyes and opened them to the Aura's of the world. It was more taxing, it took a great deal more effort, and he quickly lost focus. He only needed a moment though. The man on the horse had an interesting aura, a myriad of grays that swirled around his body. It was hard to follow and simply looking at it hurt Diem's eyes. It also gave him little. The woman's Aura revealed only a little more and not from the color. Diem could only manage a glance before turning away, the woman's light shined to fiercely to look at directly. Diem closed his eyes and when he opened them once more he saw the world as he normally would.

“I’m sorry I startled you just there, I mean no harm.”

The males voice sounded disarming enough, and the women quite breathtaking in appearance, but neither would keep Diem from remaining vigilant. With hand's raised in a sign of peace, though since he did not use or carry a weapon it left him mere seconds away from a defensive or offensive stance, Diem ventured forth. He made to stay to the side of the women and stopped when he was about 6 feet away from each. With a calm tone Diem spoke. "It seems both of you are far to ready to commit to violence at the moment. One with his hand upon his sword waiting for the moment to draw, the other with her blade having already escaped her scabbard waiting to taste the blood of another. Perhaps, if neither of you have any quarrel with each other, you may forgo your weapons in favor of speech." Being only marginally trained in unarmed combat, Diem had to hope he could talk the two out of violence. Since he knew neither of them it might seem a strange thing to put so much effort, but in this Diem had taken after his goddess Priskil. He disliked confrontation, though it did not stop him from acting should the need ever arise. It often carried onto his dealings with others, though situations like this were definitely not the norm.

[Marishka Timandre]

The lady in black silk robes neither budged nor wavered in her stance, with the tip of her silver blade still pointed at Conor's face, merely tilting her head back for an instant and then clicking her tongue inside her mouth. His words did not exactly appeal to her sense of injustice at his transgression. After all, he was the first one to sneak behind her and poise his javelin to throw. Yes, such was her wariness of these volatile human men. The icy stare she had on simply sharpened when he had begun to apologize; she was not about to let it go without saying something. "Two things, my friend. First of all, you had approached me with a rude question and a deadly weapon." she said in a cool and confident voice. "Secondly, you did not startle me." Just as things were about to boil over---surprising, considering how calm she'd usually be in such situations---another man stepped forward. He seemed more like a monk to her than anything else, and no doubt someone with skill in the djed arts. His approach was better than the other man's, and she appreciated how he wanted to see words flying instead of weaponry. How she was ready to duel this man for this insult, but due to the apology it would have been a travesty on the codes of chivalry. A wound shall be repaid with a wound, an insult with an insult, and a sincere apology with acceptance. With this she lowered her sword to her side. Casting a look at both Diem and Conor, she sheathed her sword back as she started to walk closer to Conor, only to pass him by. "Very well. Let us conclude this foolish business, for I have no interest in petty quarrels over who started what." Stopping for a moment with her back turned to the two men, a sigh and a shake of her head could be seen. Putting the hood back on, she spoke with hard conviction in her voice. "It seems that there is no point for me staying here. Too bad, you two seem to be interesting fellows, albeit one of you has too much air in his lungs. Fare you well. Syliras is a long way back, and time is not friendly to those caught in the night." Unless stopped, the lady leaves but the trails of her feet behind her, slowly returning her thoughts to the sea of dreams she had been so immersed in before being so rudely interrupted.

[Conor]

The woman clad in white sure wasn’t human. Or maybe she wasn’t humane? All she did was flaunt around, supported by her own arrogance that possessed enough force to lift her spirit of the ground. Her words were twisted to her own advantage and with them she tried to reverse the situation. Conor merely had acted wise, one did not confront another with their presence without being armed, certainly not if it happened in the wilds. But even his apologies met deaf man’s ears… And then yet another figure – a monk no doubt – appeared urging him to use his vocabulary instead of his brutal melee prowess. Conor simply shrugged, clearly the monk wasn’t informed about the situation, even though he had approached the woman with his javelin, he had done so without threatening her, and he had even lowered his throwing stance to seem less hostile. Yet she had taken it as if he had insulted her holiness for being the most experienced tramp on Mizahar. Her looks, her gender and her attire – she didn’t wear armor - were the few things that kept Conor from throwing his javelin right into her diaphragm.

The monk – a bald one with an almost despicable affection for tranquility, or so did he appear to Conor, seemed to be giving the advantage of the doubt to her royal ladyship, no doubt influenced by her divine looks. But that was the faith of all man choosing for celibacy – or were certain monks allowed to have sex after all? Or maybe they just didn’t admit that they did. Despite Conor’s prejudices about all those choosing to aspire a holy life, he decided to be the bigger man, and he gave the man the benefit of the doubt. He removed his hand from his javelin to indicate that he agreed with his proposal – unless the lady in white decided to slander him some more. “Let us conclude this business,” she propositioned, “for I have no interest in petty quarrels over who started what.” So clearly she was a hypocrite as well, she had been the one that had made all that fuss about who had threatened whom, and now she was dismissing it all with a wave of her beautifully white hand. And then she left – or at least she tried to. With hard conviction in her voice she bided them farewell. She walked by and left, tranquil as before.

But Conor didn’t let her leave, part of him was attracted to her, not only because of her looks or her spicy attitude, part of him wanted to know the key to her personality. He wanted to know what had caused her to become so harsh, what had made her come here. Confident, Conor dismounted and held his horse by its leash. “Wait,” he said. “When I offered you my apologies, I did so because I came to you for a reason. I was wondering what a woman like you – and with that I simply mean as striking… and fiery as you – was doing here… You seem like an interesting person, why not talk then?” It sounded a bit clumsy, but Conor meant what he said. He had started this journey to learn about the world and its inhabitants, not to simply let them walk away the instant they started on the wrong foot. Hopefully she was gracious enough to forgive him his rudeness – and to accept her part in it. Maybe he had just jumped to conclusions to fast, maybe she wasn’t as hostile as she acted. Maybe she wanted to be loved just like Conor. Maybe she had had a harsh youth to? Who could tell?

[Diem]

The man, or rather the boy perhaps, spoke awkwardly enough to confirm one of Diem's suspicion's. His boyish face was not just for show, he was indeed young. How young Diem wondered, and why would one so young be traveling. A memory of a time before passed before Diem's mind. He could see himself ragged and tired from days of walking, no food or water but to frightened to stop lest those who hunted him caught up. For a moment Diem could even taste the blood in his mouth and feel the pain of so many smaller cuts and scrapes. Then the memory was gone as quickly as it appeared. Diem supposed there were reasons to be traveling at such a young age. What was this young man trying to escape from.

Now that it seemed violence was not going to be the outcome of this confrontation, though the boy might be pushing the matter if it was true he mistakenly caused this situation, Diem lowered his arms. Now he had time to think of other things. The female with the sword didn't look to be human, but Diem never really put much stock into being human to begin with so he had no real trouble with those of other races. She was obviously skilled with the weapon, her stance was appeared at the very least competent even to someone such as Diem who had so little experience with weapons. To be traveling the Wildlands alone was no small feet, and carrying ones supplies could be tiring. Perhaps she would be willing to sit down for a meal. He had found long ago that the offering of food was rarely met with disdain. "If you are to begin such a long trek, perhaps you might want to share a meal first. I have some fish I caught recently that would otherwise go to waste with my small appetite."

[Marishka Timandre]

Marishka stopped walking when Conor called out to her. It seems that the persistent young man was not about to let her go that easily either. An exasperated sigh was drawn from her lips, with another icy glare half turning towards Conor. "What is it that you still want?" she asked, obviously still very much ticked off. His continued persistence of his apologies and his protestations of his innocence was certainly not going to make things work better. "If you want an apology from me you are not going to get it." She crossed her arms together, only turning towards the two of them when Diem the monk asked her to dine with them. The thought of food was certainly very generous, but it took her a moment longer to say yes, closing her eyes in thought. "Since it would be rude to ignore such a gracious offer, I accept your invitation, kind... Monk?" It was then that she realized that none of them have introduced themselves yet. As a warrior it was certainly rude not to introduce oneself. "My name is Marishka Timandre of Mura. I'd be... Honored," folding her arm on her abdomen and bowing slightly, she cast a sharp look at Conor before returning to a more pensive expression, "... to have your names, gentlemen." She was definitely more interested in what the monk had to say, and waited for him to introduce himself before leading the way to his camp. Such was her pride when roused, and Conor had caught her in a really bad time.

[Conor]

Forgiving certainly wasn’t one of her best skills and, ticked off as she was she simply sneered: “What is it that you still want from me? If it’s an apology then you are not going to get it!” Conor shrugged, he hadn’t expected this overly proud being to give him one, obviously, good manners weren’t her best skill. The monk had something else to say, an invitation for dinner. Again, Conor simply shrugged, he had little or no wish to stay with the arrogant woman, but like always he did want to uncover her deeper self, perhaps her kinder self. He decided to ignore the whole incident and start anew, even if she would continue her ungraceful behavior. Obviously her culture was a ferocious one, or at least one were good manners were either despicable or absent.

She was acting more friendly towards the monk, and that was what bugged Conor. Yes, he had somehow offended her ego – not really a hard feat since that was flaunting all over the place – but still she acted like Conor had thrown his javelin at her, and the monk had rescued her from some goblin guy like Conor had met yesterday. "My name is Marishka Timandre of Mura. I'd be... Honored," And then she asked “the gentlemen’s” names. Conor didn’t really know if his would interest her, but hers certainly sounded appealing to him. “I’m Gray,” Conor said. “Forgive me if I sound insolent, but could you tell me where Mura lies?” Perhaps he could visit it during his travels and so, perhaps he could unlock the secret to its culture.