Pavi Shmavi {Taylani}

[Timshel]

22, Fall 513 Endrykas was chaos, as far as Timshel could tell. The last of the caravan had arrived mid-morning, and already he could see some Drykas pavilions breaking down for their daily move. At the same time, other tents moved up to take their place. To Timshel, the whole city seemed like a stone, hard, rolling slowly around the outskirts of the grass sea, orbiting the center of Cyphrus. Like two sides of a stone, morning Endrykas was different from evening Endrykas, but it was still made of the same stuff, and it was all the time kicking and gathering dirt and moss to carry with it-- and leaving behind an undulating footprint in its path. Currently, it was mid-day Endrykas, and the stone was in full motion. Timshel felt his head spin just watching it all. He stretched his arms up way up into the air, twisted to crack his back, and looked over his shoulder at the rest of his companions. He saw sagging shoulders. Heads were held low to their chests. Over to his five-o'clock, Timshel caught sight of one particularly old merchant-traveler snoring loudly on his horse while his poor daughter tried to manage the reigns from around his waist. Timshel blinked, also feeling the full weight of gravity as his body anticipated warm stew and a soft bed later that night. ... They were just finishing setting up the tents on the outskirts of the city, when they were met by a young local wearing thick leather armor and a short sword by his side. Military no doubt. Bright brown eyes shown through his helm and long black hair flowed behind it. “Ho, traders,” he said, deftly bringing his horse 'round to face them. “Welcome to Endrykas. I'm a Ra'athi of The Watch. If you're lost, I'll be happy to guide you in the right direction.” His accent was thick, but he spoke fluent enough Common. Timshel spoke up, “Well I'm fine with my lodgings, but Jas here is a bit high maintenance. Perhaps their's something available for her?” The guard laughed and made some sort of hand gesture. Then he said, “Follow me”. ... Up close, the local didn't seem like much more than a boy. Nineteen cycles, at most. Timshel watched as his long black hair bounced in unison with the horses mane. He didn't have the normal girdle and tack of most riders, but rather, a colorful mat and breast collar beneath a sort of girth with grips and hooks for the rider to hold on to. The horse's glassy coat glistened beneath it with a certain freedom and mobility. “So sleek and streamlined,” Timshel said, eying his own tack and girdle. Jasmeet snorted. “Oh, don't be insecure, Jas.” Finally, they arrived at a large purple tent with a line of posts beside it. Between the posts were a line of horses, tethered or otherwise, with a handful of Drykas men and women tending them. The boy dismounted and walked up to one, an older woman who was grooming a horse and smiling. The two said something in another language, gesturing the whole time. Timshel dismounted and brought Jas up next to the boy's horse. “Here, Kelna will take care of her,” the boy said. The woman maintained her smile and held out her hand. “Don't worry, she's in good hands,” she said. “Oh, it's not you I'm worried about,” Timshel said, looking first at the large operation she was running-- then Jas. “You be a good girl now,” he said to her as he handed over the reigns. “Do you want a ride back to the outskirts?” the watchman asked when the transaction was done. “Oh, no no. I think I'll take a walk.” The guardsman gave Timshel a queer look before shrugging, mounting his horse and trotting away. Timshel watched him go and then walked into the depths of the town.

[Taylani]

Moving amid the Amethyst clan pavilions, Taylani is not really moving to try and escape notice more as moving to not ..attract attention. A small distinction, but one indeed, since she was not hiding rather was simply avoiding. It was during a time of moving, and she herself has her meager belongings in hand, sure that no matter where she wandered off too someone would take her right back the these purple bedecked pavilions, right back to Fallan. But for the moment she was free of him, and of his confusing nature and her awkward feelings clashing within her.

Her red hair swung free, an oddity in merely the bright color but also the fact that it was neither short cropped as a slave, nor was it beaded and braided as Drykas women tended to do. Her clothing was also another oddity out on the plains, where most Drykas declared their clans in the colors of their clothing, bright and decorative, Taylani's was plainly sewed with only the natural color of the cloth, its cut and design also simple and serviceable.

When a man riding a horse drifted by her, easily moving around her but not paying her any more mind then to make sure she was not trampled underfoot, the Dancer scowled but did not speak. She only moved to the right and then back once he had passed. She is not sure what possessed her to walk this way, toward the Amethyst clan horse paddock, the smell of horse bringing back not too unpleasant memories of her first riding lesson but memories she scarce wanted to bring up. Yet here she was.

Walking, lost in her own thoughts, Taylani found herself walking almost on top of a man she did not recognize. Blue eyes go wide as she stops short, surprised that she had not seen him before now, silently grumbling to herself for her own stupidity for not paying attention to where she was going. "Sorry.." She mumbles in common, backing up a few steps, staring at him openly. She does not think he is Drykas, the clothing, the hair style, does not look the same as the Drykas men that she has seen and been around for two full turns of the moon. She had been among the first captives auctioned so she couldn't be sure that he wasn't among them.

[Timshel]

All thoughts of Endrykas as a stone faded away while Timshel tried to navigate the scatterplot of tents before him. It seemed neither a maze nor a grid to Timshel. Just piles of stuff strewn on the grassland, like a giant had come along and let balls of cloth roll off his palm as he walked. Then the cloth-balls had floated and landed as tents. The Drykas had just come out of the grass to inhabit them. Timshel watched the locals bustle and bump about him. There had to be an order. No one else looked lost. He stopped and spun around, looking at the tops of the tents for flags, a signal-- something. Timshel frowned. These tents were so big. So square. The people were in such a rush, and there were so many of them. Growing up in Eyktol, the tents were sleeker, breezier and made of goat hair. Not this thick stuff. Timshel's brow furrowed. Even on the outskirts, the grass created a natural wall around the city. Timshel wasn't able to see the horizon at all. His stomach felt queasy. He brought his knuckles to his mouth, letting his forearm rest on the back of his other hand. Suddenly, something bumped into him. He turned to see the soft-blue eyes of a Benshira looking at him. “Cousin!” he said, “...oh.” It was not a Benshira; or rather, it was a young lady. She stepped back, muttering something Timshel couldn't quite grasp. She was taller for a woman, about four inches shy of Timshel. Pretty-- but pale with crimson-colored hair tumbling well past her shoulders. She was simply dressed, with an undyed tan-colored shirt and similar pants. That's when Timshel first noticed. All around, the Drykas wore different grades and shades of colors. He brought his hands down to look at his own cloth. A simple tunic, undyed, like the girl's. The two of them were an island of tan amongst blue bandanas, white weaves, and purple sashes. Colors of dyed cloth blended between necklaces, pearls and silver strands. And all of it beneath mosaics of brilliantly weaved hair. Timshel ran his fingers through his own short-cropped strands before noticing the girl again. She was looking at him. “It's impolite to stare, you know,” he said, smiling. Then he moved passed her, to a crafts-tent, buying a peice of charcoal and a sheet of parchment. After handing over the seven silver Mizas, he turned and looked at the young woman, trying to catch her attention again. “What's your name?” he asked.

[Taylani]

Taylani makes a small noise when he exclaimed, probably more from surprised then anything else. The hustle of the city around her barely attracting her attention. She has been captive within this city for more days then she can count, losing track after the thirtieth day or so, and every day it was the same...yet different. Pick up and move, pick up and move, the same actions but each day brings a different point of view, not that it matters much to Taylani since each view point was more grass, without a proper structure to be seen.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the thick mass always creeping forward to obscure her vision, Taylani tilts her head to the side when he speaks. He spoke common, but was he here as a captive, or freely? Was he one like Reaut who willingly became Drykas and traitorously helped to kidnap others, or was he a visitor -a guest. As impolite as it was to stare, Taylani feels it will be more impolite to come right out and ask if he is a slave. Even just the thought of that word causes her brow to furrow but when she speaks her voice is evenly toned and still, showing no trace of the bitterness or anger that sometimes invades.

"Hmm yes, impolite to stare. It is also impolite to bring up another person's impoliteness.." This last is said with just a hint of a smile, a slight up turning of her lips. "You speak common, and you do not look like these barbarians, though I have found in my...stay...here that one doesn't have to look a certain way to be considered Drykas."

She hesitates before speaking again, her eyes turning to sweep her surroundings, perhaps looking for something or someone before she turns her attention back to the other man. "Taylani. That is what I am called, and you?" Taylani might not have stayed around to have a conversation if the other man had not spoken fluent common. But it is a headache to have to decipher broken common, and even more so trying to learn the complicated Pavi language. It was almost a comfort to speak to someone else who spoke common as well. Though she knew that there were other captives who spoke fluent common, the ones she has met hurt her heart more then lifted. The ones she has spoken to have been dispirited, and broken, by the simple capture perhaps or perhaps from the trauma of being a captive. Either way it made Taylani uncomfortable for it made her think of the possibility of her own self becoming such a ghost of a person.

[Timshel]

“Barbarians...?” Timshel said, ignoring the part about manners. He looked down, giving his plain, tan tunic a shake between his fingers. “I bet they're calling us that right now." Timshel let his tunic fall. "But no-- I'm no Drykas, that's for sure," he said, "I'm from Eyktol." Timshel turned to point back the way he came, towards the path with stone-markers. "One day, I decided to take a walk. It turned out to be quite a long one." Timshel turned to face the girl again. "I'm just passing through until Endrykas gets closer to Riverfall," he said. They were deeper in among the tents now, well beyond the outskirts. Looking behind the girl, Timshel saw almost no other foreigners. There was still a large quantity of merchants, but they were all Drykas, babbling in whatever the local language was called, and gesturing wildly. The Eyktoli traders had told him about the language, but he had never caught the name of it. He did know the gestures actually meant something. It wasn't like the Drykas were just overly-excited all the time. The girl had tossed her hair and tilted her head, letting the crimson strands lay unhindered on her shoulder. Now she was shifting her eyes, looking beyond him. He watched her, smiling, his right brow raising slightly. When she focused in on him again, he learned-- her name was Taylani. She wanted to know his. “Especially with how untamed you hair is,” he said, ignoring the question at first, bringing the topic back to "barbarians." What a peculiar choice of words. “Although, I must say I do prefer those who can let their hair down a bit. These braids and buns seem so up-tight, you know?” Timshel put the charcoal and parchment in his left hand so that he could hold out his right. “The name's Timshel,” he said, “What brings you to Endrykas, Taylani? Business or pleasure?”

[Taylani]

Taylani moves with the man, keeping some distance between them warily but not enough hopefully to convey a wish to be rid of him. For a time she simply listens to him speak, and contemplates the oddity and a new situation for her. She had not thought of the possibility of finding someone who was not Drykas, a captive, or like the Eyktol merchants, impossible to speak to without Drykas being extremely nearby. That thought was worth thinking on, not that she could act on any plans now, not with them coming into a busier section. Here she can see the pavilions in the distance, the colors standing out in the greens and blues of the grass and sky. Endrykas was not a large city, but it was much larger then a simple camp and everything was efficient and simple.

"Just clothing does not make a barbarian...a barbarian." She says, her voice having a steely edge to it, "They are savage and cruel, and care not for anything that is not Drykas." Her blue eyes glint for a second before once more she composes her features, a slight flush raising to her face as she realized the vehemence of her words. Of course cruelty and savagery has a way of being a perceptional thing in many cases, and might be in this case. Yet his mention of Riverfall causes a stab of yearning that she could not quash, "Riverfall? I have never been there..but I have always wanted to go and dance at their Amphitheater." For a moment her hard expression softens, and a very slight smile lifts her lips again, before she remembers that she is probably destined to never even seen Riverfall let alone its ampitheater.

Her hands unconsciously twin into her hair, gathering it in a thick bunch before loosening and letting her arms fall back to her side. She sidesteps anyone who moves past her, only faltering when he introduced himself and asked her why she was here. It was just a little falter, a sort of hiccup in her step but she recovers and moves forward again with only a little stiffness in her gait.

"My hair has gotten me into more trouble then its worth, beaded up or braided down. I won't wear my hair like them, sooner cut it off, cut until nothing was left." She looks over at him, one red brow slashing upward over a blue eye in a quirk. Her next words are intended to be emotionless and deadpan but a slight quiver at the end ruins the intentions when she speaks.

"What brings me to Endrykas? Three men and a club against my head brings me to Endrykas, neither pleasure nor business for me." She gives him one last look before continuing forward. "What made you want to ...take a walk. Did you not like..Eyktol?"

[Timshel]

Earlier, Timshel had begun sketching on his piece of parchment, drawing crude boxes and lines. He was trying to make a map, but it was already getting sloppy. He simply wasn't familiar enough with the area yet. Then, he scratched out his work and began to simply take notes of his surroundings. That's where he had left Jas. That's where he had bought the parchment and charcoal. That's where he had met Taylani. During this time, Timshel had been walking, and the girl, Taylani, had followed. At a bit of a distance, but she followed. That turned out to be enough since as she spoke, comprehension began to show on Timshel's face. His smile slipped and gave way to understanding. He watched her as she changed subject, switching from Drykas cruelty to something about an amphitheater. She had smiled, then, and began to play with her hair. But when he asked her why she was here, she wavered and did not take his outstretched hand. Now Timshel understood. He dropped his hand and opened his mouth. He was going to say, you don't need to put words to it, but she had already started, so he listened and followed her as she walked onward. His map and charcoal were still in his left hand. He folded them up and put them in his sleeve pocket. "What made you want to... take a walk?" she asked. Timshel didn't answer and simply kept walking. Finally, he said, “We have slaves in Eyktol, too, you know. Ahnatep, specifically. Do you know the the races of Eyktol?” He pointed to his green-blue eyes. “Benshira,” he said. Then he pointed to his cheeks, where his skin had remained olive-colored and fair, despite the rest of his tanned and wind-burned body. “Eypharian,” he said, “I'm a half-breed.” “Outside the city walls of Ahnatep, Eypharians, and other like-minded men and women, enslave anyone weak enough to let them. But inside the city, Taylani-- you should see the wonders...” Timshel looked up, as if he could see the city in the sky. “Marble and sandstone. Rich men and women wear diamonds and gems on their wrists and waists. They brush gold flecks on black shadow to highlight their eyes. It's a beautiful sight to behold... and terrible.” Timshel gave a sidelong glance at the girl. “I'm not from there,” he said. Then Timshel looked down at the colorful, dyed cloths of Endrykas with a new lens. “I hadn't thought--” he began, “hadn't heard that the Drykas were the same way...” He noticed that most of the men and women were young. Yes, they were well fed and fit. Their knots and braids were remarkable, too. But many also had scars, and there was little softness in their faces. There were no flower-gardens, courtyards or concubines. No one was rich enough to be fanned and lounge on a pillow. “I'm not convinced,” he said, finally. But then he looked at the girl before him, her long hair drifting in the breeze. There was a smidgen of dirt on her nose. Timshel tried to imagine her with short-cropped hair, deliberately cut with a dagger. “But maybe I'm wrong.” He took out his piece of parchment again. Beneath his scribbles and notes he drew a small semicircle. “This is Eyktol,” he said. Then he drew two dots, diagonally apart on either side of the semi-circle. He pointed to the bottom-most one. “Ahnatep,” he said. Next, the top-right one. “Yahebah.” Then he drew a larger oval above the semi-circle. “Cyphrus,” he said. A dot in the western part of the circle. “Riverfall”. A dot on the other side, a little south. “Endrykus. That's where we are,” he said. He handed the charcoal to her, pointing to the map. “Where are you from?” he asked.

[Taylani]

Her arms cross over her body, as if to ward off a chill that wasn't in the air. Taylani moves still through the camp, barely noticing that he was once more moving with her, but she stops coldly when he speaks. Facing him, her face set in a stony scowl and her chin lifting completely unaware of the smudge of dirt on her nose. "I am not a slave." She fairly hisses, mainly because her jaw was clenched trying to reign in the flash of anger that is -truth be told- what ultimately had lead to her capture in the first place.

It takes a visible effort to calm herself enough to not speak in angry tones, but her eyes still were accusatory almost. "What right does anyone have to ..to kidnap people and make them less then ..people." Her arms now fold tightly, her gaze now no longer 'almost' accused him but outright glared as if she blamed him personally for Eyktol slave practices..and perhaps Drykas practices. Though the Drykas were not kidnapping people for slaves, but Taylani did not wish to go into just what Fallan was extorting from her. Just bringing the thought to her mind sent another blush through her cheeks.

Preoccupied she ignored his remarks on the belief of Drykas and slavery, and she is more then happy to look at the map he sketched, though it took her by surprise by how tiny the distances seemed to be on the cloth yet they could have been on one of the stars for as accessible as they were.

"Syliras." She says softly now, subdued by just the idea of all those cities, all those people. She had been pretty sheltered in the city, too sheltered. "I. I don't know much about people called Benshira. I have met an Eypharian once when they came to my Dance instructor for tutelage...but.." She trails off not quite sure how to finish her remark without sounding rude, but her eyes trail down over his tunic perhaps looking for bulges or other signs of extra appendages.

"Did you own slaves?" Her words wavered and her lips curl in distaste as she said the word, but her eyes did not drop nor did she apologize for her outburst earlier. "Do you now? Drykas..some are slaves. Those who refuse to accept. Accept certain requirements. But slave or accepting.." Taylani shrugs, now letting her gaze drop along with her head, ducking her chin downward to peer at the grasses at their feet for a moment, gathering her thoughts before raising once more. "None are free."

[Timshel]

Timshel had been so self-absorbed in his image of Ahnatep that he hadn't noticed Taylani quivering next to him. He had plowed onward in his own pensive thought during her outburst. But now her words began to catch up to his mind-- and he blinked. 'What right?' She had asked, arms folded. Timshel furrowed his brow. Now it seemed her voice was softer. “Syliras,” she said, as she began to recall an encounter with an Eypharian. Timshel nodded as he listened. "Yes, that place up north," he muttered under his breath. She was taught by a Eypharian dance instructor there, but had never met a Benshira. That made sense... Wait. A dance instructor? He shook his head. She was gazing at his sides now, but Timshel was so busy squinting into the distance and rubbing his beard that he didn't notice. She kept talking. She asked him if he owned any slaves. Her voice seemed to shiver and snarl at the word, "slave," spluttering as hot emotions met cold. At that, Timshel's eyes came back into focus. Suddenly, her voice was soft again, and she dropped her chin, resolving that “None are free”. Timshel pinched his parchment between his middle and forefinger and rested his hands on top of his head. He stopped walking, placed one foot behind him, and whirled to face the girl next to him. Words tumbled from his mouth. “A dance instructor? Were you training to be a concubine?” Timshel looked her up and down, then, but continued talking without pause, “Didn't you say you were brought here by threat of being clubbed to death? What do you mean, 'by what right?' And gods no, I don't have slaves! The Benshira people are still trying to recover after being so long enslaved!” Timshel stopped to take a breath. The parchment in his hands riffled as he brought his hands back to his sides. He leaned downward and looked into her once-familiar blue eyes. “You're not a slave, but you're not free, eh?” he said before finally standing tall again, “You draw odd lines in the sand.”

[Taylani]

The moment he asked if she was training to be a concubine Taylani gasps and her hands went to her hips, perhaps because it is a little too close for comfort to what she believes Fallan is indeed using her for. Her lips part to respond but he continues, and when he leans forward her stubborn pride does not let her back up, though her body trembles with the urge to take a step back.

When he finishes, she takes a moment to breathe a breath, one hand raising to dash across her eye perhaps to catch a stray tear. But when she speaks, her eyes are dry if not calm. "No. I was not training to be a concubine. Why...nevermind. You know I had a life in Syliras, I had hopes and dreams. I was not property to be stolen."

She settles down once more, turning away from him "I do draw odd lines perhaps, but if I allow myself to become their slave. Then that is all I will ever be. I wasn't threatened, I was clubbed. Woke up with a traitor who turned against Syliras to willingly come to Endrykas, who helped them." She stopped suddenly, as if she realized she was rambling and she falls silent for a brief moment. "Benshira's, they were slaves? Not any more?" The attempt at turning the conversation around was a weak one, and a sigh is given "I am sorry. I perhaps should not let my emotions...my temper get the better of me..."