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Message: <blockquote data-quote="ForceUser" data-source="post: 935409" data-attributes="member: 2785">-Dera-The next morning Dera awoke earlier than usual. After availing herself of the privy she went back to her room and settled cross-legged on the soft feather bed provided for her by Lord Delorn. Shades drawn and eyes closed, she began to methodically stroke her long locks with an ivory-handled brush. The rhythmic motion soon fell into the background, and in her mind’s eye rainbow visions danced. From a wellspring deep within her she felt the power slowly rise and wrap around her, an old friend, a persistent lover. Beside her on the bed Tiki cooed and ruffled his feathers. He became it with her: a surge of knotted muscles, wind whipping beneath leathery wings, and far below, tiny people dashing for cover amidst a rolling green landscape. She craned her head toward the sun and cried out in delight; from somewhere below wafted terrified screams, but she ignored them. All that mattered was the sun baking her scales, the wind buoying her powerful form, and the transcendent thrill of flight. Fleeting images. Tingling with power, Dera awoke from her reverie and sighed. The brush lay in her lap. Muscular orange light now forced its way into her room, a fiery window-shaped corona masked by the thick curtains. She stood, wrapped her robe about her, walked to the window and threw back the drapes. Dawn sauntered through the floor-length panes triumphantly. Below her stretched the lord’s garden, and beyond that squatted a low stone wall green with ivy that marked the boundary of the estate. Light-blinded, she squinted and turned her head away. Tiki squawked in irritation and dove beneath the cotton sheets. “Oh hush, you,” she said.“You could have warned me,” came the mental response, reproachfully.“I’ve let the light in every morning since we arrived,” she replied aloud. She washed her face and hands in the fresh bowl of water a servant must have provided while she’d been meditating, then walked to the armoire to begin dressing. She chose white cotton trousers, baggy in the southern style, a voluminous silk shirt the color of the open sky, and a sleeveless cotton floor-length coat, also white. Her hair, shiny from brushing, framed her face in luxurious waves of molten gold; she tied it back with a discreet black cord. As a finishing touch she selected a long silver chain with a crystal pendant that dangled artfully between her breasts. She studied herself for a moment in the floor-length mirror, decided she looked presentable, then left the room in search of breakfast. In the hall she passed a serving man, to whom she smiled pleasantly. He gaped at her, blushed, and almost dropped the linen he’d been carrying. Dera continued on past and down the grand staircase, where she fell under the sour gaze of the head maid, Matilda, who glared at her from below where she was dusting a small table. Pretending not to notice, Dera bade her good morning and swept by, conscious of the woman’s grudging response. In the dining room she met the lord’s castellan, Rodger. “Good morning, Rodger,” she said brightly. He had been arranging the morning’s selection of fruits on the long oak table. When she spoke he looked up in surprise, then smiled faintly and bowed from the neck, “Lady Alvett. I trust you slept well?” “I slept wonderfully, thank you.” Dera liked Rodger. He was tall and thin, in his middle years, with graying hair retreating from his forehead. His manners were impeccable, as was his sense of discretion, and he handled the party’s oddities with grace and charm. Dera wished she had a grandfather like him. They spoke of pleasantries as she ate slices of pear and apple and washed them down with milk. As she was telling him of her home in the City of Greyhawk, Erak and “Travis” walked in – she had liked the name Valentine better, why couldn’t he have kept it? – speaking rapidly about something in low whispers. When they spied Dera and Rodger in the hall their conversation abruptly ceased, and Erak had the look of a thief caught with the family jewels. Travis, of course, was unreadable, and that annoyed her. What kind of person opened and closed their emotions like a fortress gate? For a moment he stared at them impassively, eyelids heavy like a lizard’s, and then his plain face lit in a convincing display of good humor and he smiled and said “good morning” like any normal person would. A shiver ran up her spine, but she suppressed it and returned the smile. It felt as genuine as his. Erak edged his way down the long table and sat the far end, alone. Travis joined Dera and Rodger and engaged the older man in a discussion of Furyondy’s financial system. Dera quickly got bored, so she picked up her plate and joined Erak, who seemed to retreat into his breastplate like a turtle when she approached. “Lady Dara,” he misspoke as he half-stood in a poor imitation of courtly manners. She grimaced at the way his mithril carapace scraped against the expensive table as he sat back down. “It’s Dera, Erak,” she reminded him gently, and not for the first time. He nodded vigorously as if to say “right, of course.” She knew that he wasn’t much older than she was, but lines of worry creased his brow like a man ten years his elder, and streaks of gray shot through his rich auburn hair. Beneath his bloodshot eyes lurked dark circles, and his whole demeanor spoke of weariness and resignation. Dera felt sorry for him.“Have you been sleeping well?” she asked, knowing that he hadn’t. He shook his head distractedly and pushed around the fried potatoes and sausage on his plate. He seemed embarrassed.“Erak.”He glanced up askance, as though unable to look at her directly. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell me about it. I’ll listen.” She meant it. She didn’t like it when the people around her were unhappy. He appeared to struggle with something then, and closed his eyes as though in fierce concentration. She noticed that he was sweating. Finally he looked at her and shrugged, a nervous gesture. "I…well…”“Yes?” she prompted.He swallowed and stood abruptly. “Thanks anyway. There’s nothing you can do.” “It might help if you talked to someone,” she tried.“Thanks anyway,” he said again, and left.As she watched Erak hurry out of the hall, she saw Travis regarding her. She turned away, unwilling to meet his eyes.--Reverend Falco didn’t return until the morning of the expedition’s departure. Dera had despaired of his acceptance of the mission, and she could tell that the rest of her companions were tense. They had found no other healer willing to go, and Mordecai had warned them that he was no cleric. Parv seemed nervous as well, and he spent the morning talking with the druid, Rodger and Aelic about various aspects of the trip. When the priest arrived Dera let out a breath, releasing tension she hadn’t been aware she’d carried. Jon wore a fine chainmail hauberk over homespun traveling clothes, and upon his belt lay a worn flanged mace. He carried a plain walking stick in one hand and reins in the other, and wore a weather-beaten wide-brimmed straw hat. Behind him trudged a pony laden with provisions. Around his neck rested a simple impression of the sun god, Pelor, blocky and carved out of wood. The holy symbol was the size of a plate. The priest was a handsome man with even features and a square jaw. He was tall and fit, though he didn’t have Mordecai’s spindly height and was not as well muscled as Erak. Sandy blond hair poked out from under the hat, and he looked upon the world with clear blue eyes framed in crow’s feet. He smiled at the assembled adventurers and their patron, and raised a hand in greeting as he came slowly up the drive. Garlok returned the gesture with a cry of “A ha!” that scattered pigeons. Parv strode down to meet him, followed by his wizard and castellan. The four of them spoke at length, Falco leaning on his stick and nodding from time to time, and at other times glancing toward the morning sun. Dera wasn’t really curious what the conversation was about. She knew the cleric was coming with them, and that’s all that mattered to her. He seemed like a nice person, and she was looking forward to having someone to talk to. Her other companions were poor conversationalists to a man. Mordecai was interesting enough, but oblique and disinclined to chat. All Garlok spoke of was beer and war, Erak avoided her, and she didn’t want to talk to Travis unless she had to. There was always Tiki, of course, but Tiki had the brain of a bird. ”Hey!” came the indignant thought in her head.“Sshhh,” she whispered.Their conversation concluded, the four men walked up the path to the circular end near the manor. Rodger spoke to a servant, who hastened toward the stables, and Aelic went back in the house. A few minutes later a groom emerged with a brown mare already saddled. He gave the horse to Falco and withdrew. “I’m so glad you’re coming!” Dera exclaimed to the priest, bouncing on her heels. He blushed and spoke to the horse behind her, “I believe my path lies with you. Er, all of you, I mean. Not you personally. Not that there’s…I mean, I’m sure you’re a lovely woman.” Falco turned quickly, apparently embarrassed, and began to adjust his horse’s saddle. Dera smiled and allowed Parv to help her onto her own steed. This was going to be fun. Tiki projected the mental equivalent of a sigh. “This is why you have no mate.”“Oh, stop it,” she rebuked.“What?” said Falco.She smiled sweetly, “Nothing.”</blockquote>

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