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<blockquote data-quote="Corey" data-source="post: 1013591" data-attributes="member: 140"><p><strong>Ajax and Yasmeen</strong></p><p></p><p>The home where Yasmeen and Catika are residing is two stories of mudbrick surrounding a courtyard. After Ajax gives his name he is quickly admitted. Passing from the doorway into the courtyard, he is amazed by the number of cats wandering around. Several of them look him over, as if appraising a threat, before returning to their pursuits- generally sleeping away the blistering Phrada day.</p><p></p><p>The doorman leads Ajax into a room on the first floor. Its dirt floor is covered by a colorful rug. A wicker tray with a fired clay container and leather cups sits in the center of the room.</p><p></p><p>Reclining against one wall with a reading stand before her and scrolls piled around is Catrika. Her hair is covered in its usual veil, an archaic fashion among Median aristocrats. Corum’s former teacher is in her early forties and is well-reputed for her ability to draw men’s stares. Her attention, as always, remains almost totally focused on her reading material.</p><p></p><p>Yasmeen the Fars also sits in the room, directly across from the blanket that hangs in the doorway. Her eyes snap up from a copy of the Recitations of Arrousha that rests in a reading stand before her. Ajax is not sure, but he thinks a grin tries to cross her face before her features settle into their usual expressionless mask.</p><p></p><p>Ajax is asked to sit and offered water. Then the questioning starts. It lasts an hour and is very through. </p><p></p><p>There are only two interruptions. At the news of Corum’s death, Catrika’s face takes on a pained look and she makes a couple of inquiries. From that point forward Ajax has her full attention. Later, following Ajax’s use of the term “angel,” Catrika politely interjects “oracle.” </p><p></p><p>At the interrogation’s end, feeling as if he spent the day squeezing through the deepest tunnels of Therma’s lapis mine, Ajax sips some water. The memory of mining work brings several images: claustrophobia, the fear of cave-ins, and the asphyxiating feeling of deep holes.</p><p></p><p>The young man manages to maintain his uncaring façade as Shana pushes in past the blanket in the doorway. The woman looks as if she just woke and the right-side of her face is black and blue. </p><p></p><p>Seeing Ajax she smiles a warm greeting, the expression looks as if it hurts her. She waves off his concern about her condition. Reading between the lines of her, certainly abbreviated, tale Ajax gets the impression that she spent several days alone in the desert being chased by the Aga Singh’s guards- and something else of a more vile nature. She relates the story as if discussing a strenuous hike. She arrived just last night. </p><p></p><p>Finally, Yasmeen begins to talk.</p><p>“An enemy that appears from history’s nowhere searching for something we no nothing of,” she muses, “how frustrating.”</p><p></p><p>“Catrika tells me of a Kakanda in Purushanda who mentioned ‘the Perfect People” to her once, it was a fragment of oral history that a scribe committed to ink in the Age of Erroneous Idolatry. So the secrets to our enemy’s lie in the most ancient of places. </p><p></p><p>“Their word for what they seek is eldrach. It appears to imply concepts such as ‘ghastly’ and ‘weird.’ We still have no idea what it is- though I become more and more convinced it is a being of some kind. The oracle did say “ancient conqueror” and that agrees with the statements of the Ghinn we captured. He said: ‘The traitor god left us to them.’ I assume the ‘them’ are those beings that inhabited the building you found Katanga watching.” </p><p></p><p>Knowing what he does of the Ghinn, Ajax shudders at what occurred to acquire that scrap of information from the prisoner. For all her piety, the Wearer of Black sitting before him is capable of astonishing brutality.</p><p></p><p>“Your party is doing well,” Yasmeen continues, “In a time of limited success, you are contributing to Avasara’s ultimate victory. I do not command you and you have executed your commitment to Jehna’s Gray Council. I do hope you will continue your efforts in this struggle, by now I am sure you see its outcome has a direct impact upon you.”</p><p></p><p>The sun is long gone when Ajax emerges from the house.</p><p></p><p>Wandering back into the Empty Quarter the young man passes a particularly decrepit dwelling. A voice from inside, however, gladdens his heart.</p><p></p><p>“My child, I understood your baby talk despite its absent words,” says Leeya Nefrat to her unseen audience. “Wah-Wah meant you wanted a drink…ma-ma meant you were hungry… and as for ca-ca – well the moment you said that I had you out of the house and held you at arms’ length.”</p><p></p><p>There is laughter, hers among it.</p><p></p><p>Passing the open doorway, Ajax sees the young poetess. Her eyes meet his and he quickly reads that her time as a slave is finally in the past. Her smile holds a promise never made during Jehna’s cold winter. Quickly, she hustles her audience, all older members of the Nefrat tribe, out of the house. Many openly scowl as she takes the young Ionian by the hand and leads him inside. </p><p></p><p>“Tonight,” she whispers, “war, slavers, and the Perfect People are troubles for others.”</p><p></p><p>“Leeya, there’s no door,” Ajax says as they pass through opening.</p><p></p><p>“True,” she replies, “and there is no roof either.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Corey, post: 1013591, member: 140"] [b]Ajax and Yasmeen[/b] The home where Yasmeen and Catika are residing is two stories of mudbrick surrounding a courtyard. After Ajax gives his name he is quickly admitted. Passing from the doorway into the courtyard, he is amazed by the number of cats wandering around. Several of them look him over, as if appraising a threat, before returning to their pursuits- generally sleeping away the blistering Phrada day. The doorman leads Ajax into a room on the first floor. Its dirt floor is covered by a colorful rug. A wicker tray with a fired clay container and leather cups sits in the center of the room. Reclining against one wall with a reading stand before her and scrolls piled around is Catrika. Her hair is covered in its usual veil, an archaic fashion among Median aristocrats. Corum’s former teacher is in her early forties and is well-reputed for her ability to draw men’s stares. Her attention, as always, remains almost totally focused on her reading material. Yasmeen the Fars also sits in the room, directly across from the blanket that hangs in the doorway. Her eyes snap up from a copy of the Recitations of Arrousha that rests in a reading stand before her. Ajax is not sure, but he thinks a grin tries to cross her face before her features settle into their usual expressionless mask. Ajax is asked to sit and offered water. Then the questioning starts. It lasts an hour and is very through. There are only two interruptions. At the news of Corum’s death, Catrika’s face takes on a pained look and she makes a couple of inquiries. From that point forward Ajax has her full attention. Later, following Ajax’s use of the term “angel,” Catrika politely interjects “oracle.” At the interrogation’s end, feeling as if he spent the day squeezing through the deepest tunnels of Therma’s lapis mine, Ajax sips some water. The memory of mining work brings several images: claustrophobia, the fear of cave-ins, and the asphyxiating feeling of deep holes. The young man manages to maintain his uncaring façade as Shana pushes in past the blanket in the doorway. The woman looks as if she just woke and the right-side of her face is black and blue. Seeing Ajax she smiles a warm greeting, the expression looks as if it hurts her. She waves off his concern about her condition. Reading between the lines of her, certainly abbreviated, tale Ajax gets the impression that she spent several days alone in the desert being chased by the Aga Singh’s guards- and something else of a more vile nature. She relates the story as if discussing a strenuous hike. She arrived just last night. Finally, Yasmeen begins to talk. “An enemy that appears from history’s nowhere searching for something we no nothing of,” she muses, “how frustrating.” “Catrika tells me of a Kakanda in Purushanda who mentioned ‘the Perfect People” to her once, it was a fragment of oral history that a scribe committed to ink in the Age of Erroneous Idolatry. So the secrets to our enemy’s lie in the most ancient of places. “Their word for what they seek is eldrach. It appears to imply concepts such as ‘ghastly’ and ‘weird.’ We still have no idea what it is- though I become more and more convinced it is a being of some kind. The oracle did say “ancient conqueror” and that agrees with the statements of the Ghinn we captured. He said: ‘The traitor god left us to them.’ I assume the ‘them’ are those beings that inhabited the building you found Katanga watching.” Knowing what he does of the Ghinn, Ajax shudders at what occurred to acquire that scrap of information from the prisoner. For all her piety, the Wearer of Black sitting before him is capable of astonishing brutality. “Your party is doing well,” Yasmeen continues, “In a time of limited success, you are contributing to Avasara’s ultimate victory. I do not command you and you have executed your commitment to Jehna’s Gray Council. I do hope you will continue your efforts in this struggle, by now I am sure you see its outcome has a direct impact upon you.” The sun is long gone when Ajax emerges from the house. Wandering back into the Empty Quarter the young man passes a particularly decrepit dwelling. A voice from inside, however, gladdens his heart. “My child, I understood your baby talk despite its absent words,” says Leeya Nefrat to her unseen audience. “Wah-Wah meant you wanted a drink…ma-ma meant you were hungry… and as for ca-ca – well the moment you said that I had you out of the house and held you at arms’ length.” There is laughter, hers among it. Passing the open doorway, Ajax sees the young poetess. Her eyes meet his and he quickly reads that her time as a slave is finally in the past. Her smile holds a promise never made during Jehna’s cold winter. Quickly, she hustles her audience, all older members of the Nefrat tribe, out of the house. Many openly scowl as she takes the young Ionian by the hand and leads him inside. “Tonight,” she whispers, “war, slavers, and the Perfect People are troubles for others.” “Leeya, there’s no door,” Ajax says as they pass through opening. “True,” she replies, “and there is no roof either.” [/QUOTE]
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