The Caravan's Return

Tales of S'jira and others from the barbaric lands of Llothgar and beyond.

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S'jira
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Location: RhyDin or Llothgar

The Caravan's Return

Post by S'jira »

(Posted: Fri Nov 18, 2011 11:21 am)

Not-so-quiet whispers reached RhyDin of the caravan's return before mid-morning could be fully marked. S'jira was on the docks and found many of the men grinning and talking when there was more than plenty of cargo to load and unload for the ships. One or two kept pointing in the direction of the river or the marketplace.

S'jira put down the fishing net she had been working at repairing the last couple of days. Her hand slid over it and pressed against it as she hopped down from the large crate. Without hurry and a wise dose of caution to approach any of the rough men who worked the docks, 'jira came closer to the handful of men before pausing a few paces, at a respectful distance.

Their conversation came to an abrupt stop and turned their attention to the small woman. One or two were polite enough to welcome her with a nod and a smile, while the others were not at all kind in their lecherous or scowling looks.

"Please forgive..." S'jira began it not so quiet as her words would have been lost to the noise of the docks, but gentled enough to be polite and respectful. "May it be known what is happening?"

A burly, black and white haired man with a scraggly beard eyed her. They had seen one another in passing in all of her time helping on the docks and she knew him to be called Padraig. "Aye, 'jira. Ye kin be knowin' it." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction again, towards either the direction of the marketplace or river. "A caravan be 'n town 'n causin' astir."

"A stir?" Eyes were nothing short of apologetic, trying to follow his thick brogue the best that she could. "May it be known -- is it a bad thing, or to be found good?"

" Uhk!" He grunted at her and shook his head."Tryin' to understand ya's is hard, 'jira!" As if his own brogue were clear and enunciated. "Aye, a good thin', lass. Dancin' 'n music. Thin's of that lot." He grinned and winked at her. "A lovely lass wit' the blondest a'hair, like new yellow silk."

S'jira wondered at it immediately if the woman he spoke of was Althrae. "Have they been there long?" She stayed well where she was as the others would not stop looking, keeping her gaze upon Padraig.

"Hmm.'?bouts since dawn this mornin'. Seen 'em arrive m'self, lass. Tents 'er up 'n the grasses tween river 'n markets."

With that heard, she smiled more than she had in a while and turned to put the net away to work on later. "Thanks is given for the information!" Then 'jira pulled the large, old cloak about her shoulders and the rest of self and hurried from the docks on light feet within those softleather boots of hers. She headed in that direction without stopping.

The caravan was of a good size, with more than twenty horses, several large wagons, and even a few goats and two crates that could be readily seen to hold a couple of chickens earch. The numbers of those that travelled with the troupe were fifty in all. And though they were not very wealthy or doers of great deeds or feats, they were a very lively bunch with talents that were very much their own by mark and trade.

Colors seemed to be everywhere with vibrant shades of red, gold, purple, and green on every wagon. Even the tents that were being put up had more than enough color to be called gaudy by those of a more conservative nature.

Hammers were striking stakes to firmly keep the tents of varying sizes in place no matter the weather. Straw was strewn in an area further out for the sheep in goats that were wandering about in a makeshift pen that caravan hands had rendered.

The wind was cold and whipping that morning to promise snows in days or weeks to come. Ribbons on one man's outfit fluttered wildly in a tempest of colorful whispers about his person. The ribbons were pinned on his goat's skin jacket to contrast greatly.

Men and women were talking amongst themselves, some standing to the other side of the tents in deep talk of what needed to be done next while others were arriving with ample firewood and starting to light fires that would be for warmth as well as cooking.

Out of place entirely amongst the weather-leathered faces and travel-strong forms moved a woman with ethereal grace. Even those much used to Althrae travelling with them stopped to watch her when she walked, but especially when she danced.

Most of those who claimed to be a part of the caravan were Human, though they had an Elf and a half-Dwarf in their numbers. But Althrae was none of these. She was called a Fael'rahk. Though she looked Human, she was too beautiful to have been called an angel and the few of her kind left lived at least thrice as long as Humans.

Flesh and face lured in ways that none that were taught or schooled at could. The men of the troupe whispered, when they could not be heard by the woman, that a man could be bewitched by a single look from her.

It was, of course, not the case. Althrae had to work at bewitching a man, or woman for that matter. And though she had the sultriest of gazes and could dance until a man would give her anything she wanted, she had fire within her that burned bright and strong with emotions. She could entice men and women but called no claim upon any one of to say that she loved anyone by name. The Dancer, as many very simply called her, guarded her heart very closely even if she did share her public and intimate company with others.

Althrae pushed the leather flap aside and stepped out of her tent. It was the loveliest of all of the tents of the troupe for more than one reason. As she was the face that drew people to see the other acts to the caravan, she brought the group coin and things of trade. It had been decided a long time ago to make certain that hers was a place to entertain polite and not-so-polite company.

Her name was one that she said meant "Brazier-Life" but could roughly translated as "Fire-Dance" and it was what she brought to the shows that the caravan put on in the smallest or the largest of places they travelled to. It is rumored that she is on loan by a great Sultan, but few have ever seen him. But those rumors also suspect that if Althrae was in the caravan at all, it must mean that the Sultan owed a very, very steep debt to someone.

Travelling with her was a man of swarthy flesh, a Moor some might call him, by the name of Santarem. He was no man to be trifled with. Part of his face was scarred, but appeared to be a handsome man overall. His head was shaved to the flesh without hair atop it. Other, old scars were on his right, upper arm and shoulder.

His gait was strong and certain. Ways and manners bespoke one who could wield the swords, something that resembled bolas, and other weapons he carried with expert care and knowledge. And normally, he wore clothing similar to the other men of the troupe of tough wool or leather shirts and britches but his was worn with a difference that one could not put a finger on. Offset from the others, his cloak of leather and wool kept him warm enough in the winter.

Santarem towered over Althrae, his charge, in a protective few paces behind her. If not behind her when she was travelling or walking, he was still within reach of his sword to the belly of any who might harm her. Rumors were strong on this point: Santarem was the arm of the Sultan.

The morning was cold and Althrae had not care for it or snow. She adored the heat of the sun on milky skin that never seemed to burn under its rays and she missed the warmth of the sands between her toes. She pouted and said as much at Santarem but he only gave her a look that mutely told her that complaining would do her little good, to change the weather or to barter sympathetic comments from him.

She softly sighed and moved on. Sandals with their long straps were crisscrossed securely into place from her delicate ankles to just below her knees. Layers upon layers of silks were worn. But they were not like the little slave silks she had seen in this region or others. Her garments, too, were worn with a difference.

The dancer had been within the tents of the Sultan?s tents for many years, and though she had not aged a day since that first one or that she was not originally of their culture, she had taken on some of the ways of the ancient desert lands of Zsaltahim.

It had taken Althrae years to earn her position within the Sultan?s tents. The place as his highest and most coveted gem was not an easy achievement. His moods were erratic and he could be cruel and the women of his tents were vicious in their competition for such a place of favor.

Despite the cold, silks were worn. They started at the slender planes of her shoulders where they were gathered in place by circles of metal, and then the fragile cloth flowed down until the ends of it brushed against her toes. It was two panels of rich, dark green that seemed to be the same color of her eyes.

The panels did not quite meet on either side and left a couple of inches from the start of where her ribs were to her ankles. Had it been any of the warmer months, flesh would have been seen, exposed to entice the onlooker. But it was cold and a silken dress of sleeveless white was worn beneath; white showing through at the sides.

Trailing down in metallic swags of fine silver and gold chain links, the chain dancer wore them as a piece of her garment. The delicate chains teased and moved against arms and shoulders, and against her shoulder blades. About her trim waist was a circle of chains with real, small coins from Zsaltahim ? enough to buy the entire troupe a meal every day for a month if chains and coins were sold. When she walked, it was a smooth and slithering sounds of soft metals against metals.

Althrae never forgot her place or purpose among the troupe?s tents, or those of the Sultan?s. But it did not make for her to be a timid thing. In fact, the chain dancer was fiery in her ways at times with her pouting or temper, as much as she was sultry in her dancing. What few knew was that to be Fael?rahk was to have one of the strongest of libidos and need for music. The latter was something unexplained to others, but to witness her dancing was to know it was not a practiced thing but a thing surfacing with a speed and rush likened to being too long underwater and starving for breath.

Santarem seemed entirely immune to her though and it bothered her. When he had first been assigned by the Sultan to protect her, she had tried to seduce him and draw him from his moody, silent walls. But he would have nothing to do with her in these ways. His place was to protect her, not to bed her.

But she was looking for something to warm her that day, against the cold that would get bitterer with each day to come for months yet. Where he would not, she sought out a fire instead. One of the women from the troupe had helped set the stones in their circle about the pit and filled it with stones, then firewood. For a short time, not long enough to blaze or feed well yet, the fire looked to have been burning.

She frowned and longed from a huge pyre that she could not presently lounge beside. Instead, she shivered and crouched down beside it. Teeth clattered quietly and hands had a slight palsy to them. A gruff noise was heard somewhere behind her and by the time she turned her blond-haired head, Santarem was putting his cloak on her.

"A kindness, 'Tarem?" Not in the mood to see if he was really be kind or not, but it did make her smile to proverbially needle him with such things.

The gruff noise was heard again and she saw him scowling at her. "No. But I can hardly say that I protected you if you go about half-clothed in the winter months." The tall, dark fleshed man chided her as much with a single look as the words he spoke. He stepped aside to one of the wagons that were slowly being emptied. On the back was a pile of furs used as rugs for the floors of the tents, to keep it warm and to sleep on. He dragged one of the pelts off of the wagon and drew it about his shoulders.

"Ah, I see." Her voice was mercurial by nature, not in the attempt to lure him over for warmth. "That is a shame, 'Tarem. I had hoped after all of these years that you would smile freely around me."

"And give you coin to sell a pleasant story for it? I think not." He crouched down beside the slowly growing fire and put his hands near it. "Why are we here again, deil Althrae?"

Gaze left him. She hated it when he called her "deil Althrae". Deil was a word among the Zsaltahim people that meant 'little' or 'small' when refereeing to a child. For him to use it towards her was to call her young and by that he meant that she still had much to learn.

"For the same reasons we are at each village, town, and city that can afford the coins to pay us for performing, 'Tarem. Coin and trade keeps us fed and well-paid."

"No. When you come here, it is different." He shook his head, but his gaze never seemed to leave the angelic looking woman nearby.

A strand of blond fell over her gaze as it was turned towards him. "I do not know what you mean, 'Tarem." Though she knew exactly what he meant. There was life within the realm in way that weren't seen outside of it. She felt a certain enjoyment to be there at different times of the year, but found that travel throughout it before had only allowed the great city to be seen every handful of months or so. "You are being bothersome with your questions, 'Tarem. Can you not go away... go fight with one of the men or something." She pulled his cloak in close against her neck and cheeks.

'Tarem didn't laugh or smile, but there was something in his gaze that was triumphant to see her writhe in this way and not others. "Of course, deil Althrae." He made certain to put a bit more emphasis on her being, or at least acting, young. What made him pause was his next thought. "The Sultan would not like you being unhappy."

She could have spat. A glare was aimed at him as if she held a dagger to his heart. Or throat. The imagery in her thoughts was enough to satisfy her and how she felt in that moment. Her words were very quiet, playing upon a beautiful mouth. "The Sultana would seem to want things another way, 'Tarem."

The Sultana was another matter entirely. The Sultan could not keep the event from happening a handful of years ago and the result of a very deadly week was Santarem being assigned to Althrae to protect her from The Sultana's men who wanted her dead, by poison or blade. It was obvious that neither cared to continue any topic that had to do with that dangerous, dark woman that the Sultan claimed as his First-Wife.

An approach was lightly heard by not those of the troupe, by a small, brown-headed woman with dark eyes. Olive-hued skin of her and the gentle timidity of her brought a genuine smile from Althrae and her scowl was gone even as she was smoothly rising from crouch to standing. "Face to the sun, S"jira!" The beautiful, delicate chains made a soft sound beneath the cloak as she moved to greet the tiny woman.

S'jira had heard about the Caravan's return, heading there at nearly at a break-neck speed from the docks to the banks of RhyDin River that flowed beneath the spance of bridge that took denizens and travellers from the northern towards the southern lands.

The day was colder than she had expected, but was certain it would warm with a higher lifting of that day's sun in the sky. The old large cloak, notably one of Panther's by the look of it, was still about her shoulders to ward off the cool morning's touch. But darkly colored eyes were alive and warm already.

Althrae was beautiful. Some had said it of 'jira and the small one simply had never felt worthy of the word. Althrae exuded it effortlessly. In the cool morning and wearing a man's cloak, the gem of the caravan was seen making her way towards the barbaric little opposite who was shy, where Althrae was bold.

In that moment, when near enough, s'jira embraced the blonde, graceful woman that was known to charm the gold out of men's pockets, and from some women too.

Darkly colored eyes lifted as her face did to look to Althrae with an uninhibited smile. "You have been missed.. "

The Moor watched s'jira and Althrae. His guard was rested when the small thing from Llothgar was around. The girl was pleasant and harmless, though he did notice the top of the small knife that was sticking out of s'jira's right boot.

Althrae hugged the younger woman tightly and laughed aloud, more than she needed to but she was calling attention to the whole scene. Perhaps so that all within the caravan could see that she was not as cold-hearted as some of them were steadfast in their thinking when it came to the caravan's star attraction.

"S'jira, my dear. You look ..lovely." The finest wrinkling of her nose could be seen but it was so brief it could have been missed. S'jira smelled of the docks and the fish she had been helping with and it bothered the finer senses of the prim performer.

"You will need to tell me all that you have been doing. What is going on within this city that is worth knowing about? Who holds your favor? Have you been practicing the dancing I taught you?" She hugged s'jira more about the shoulders and steered the smaller woman with her towards the fire and where 'Tarem was crouched there and staring at them.

S'jira glanced towards the Moor and offered to him a smile that accompanied a respectful nod. In ways, he reminded her of some of the men from Llothgar. But he smiled more and had never given her a reason to take off running.

Althrae smelled of honey and spices. S'jira noticed the expensive dancing silks she wore under her guardian's cloak and could hear the faint sounds of coins at her hips tinkling and singing their song softly of metal against metal.

"Dances have been practiced.. " Dark eyes avoided Althrae's look that was briefly stern and doubtful that any kind of practicing was not long enough or to anything the dancer of the caravan might appreciate fully. "..and there has been much work." But she shook her head and looked up at the blond haired woman that would not let her completely go.

She felt Althrae pull the cloak about the much smaller woman and shield her from the chill that had settled.

"A few... have been favored. But they ..do not walk the same path as this one anymore." Lips found a smile, but it was a fragile thing and she pushed ahead to speak of other things so that weightier matters would not ruin such a reunion. "Are you to stay a while? May it be known if you are to dance at the markets... or is there someone with greater coin for a dance for a special day?"

The caravan's gem had been known to lead the troupe in many kinds of areas, from the edges of rivers, the middle of a marketplace, and even the private grand courtyards of castles in lands with names s'jira had never been to.

She smiled up at Althrae and listened well for her answer. The day was going to be a long one....thought it was nothing but good to be known that day.
ڿڰۣ-ڰۣ ڿڰۣ-ڰۣ ڿڰۣ-ڰۣ

~S'jira~
Much can be said without saying a word.
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