[piosenniel]

Durelin's post

Sevora adjusted her black robes, which she, Dristi, and Naramarth had changed back into as soon as they had reached the tribes. She felt much more at ease in the familiar red and black garb, but, then, the frustration and anger were all too familiar, too. She was suddenly aware of the twisted metal around her head; a metal thorn was digging into her skin. There had always been one that scratched, hadn't there… She had been gone from the Citadel for too long. She was beginning to seem absent minded, of all things! She really couldn't keep her head straight for too long, especially in silence. Silence. No, it was not silent. There was the buzz of low conversation coming from just over there, and the occasional creak of one of those rickety chairs that could be folded up. But inside… No! she screamed inside. She gripped the arms of her chair till her knuckles were white, and her fingernails dug into the wood. She shook her head once, hoping to clear it. Clear it of what? The voice was cold and harsh, sounding so much like her grating fingernails she could have laughed, if she were not busy basking in it. But the bliss was gone as soon as it had come, and she cried out in her mind. But there was no more. It was silent. So silent.

A sharp cracking noise and a stinging pain made her jump. Which only made her angrier. Barely holding back a snarl, Sevora looked toward the source of the pain. She had broken a fingernail. Now she laughed out loud, a cold, mirthless laugh, hoarse with rage. That her finger could ever be a source of pain. Pain. But that was not the kind of pain she wanted, not how she wanted to receive pain, not where she wished it to be from. Memories haunted her, memories of a cold stone floor, of hot blood running down her arm, of the Eye…of him stroking her very being, mind and soul. She would swear before the High Priest that he had touched her as if petting a cat that had been good. But he had not touched her body. He had touched her. He had! But she knew, and knew that she was avoiding it. It made her wish to weep. He had. Ghurdan, and this Jasara, but not her. Not anymore. The Great Lord had almost entirely abandoned her. He neglected her of his presence, of even a few words. Except for a fiery reminder of the truth. Since they had left the Citadel, Sevora had been talked to…once. And she had received only a planted thought, after that. It seemed she was not worth sparing effort. Was she not a good cat?

Sevora barely stopped her hands from clutching at her heart. That had been her thought. She actually thought of herself as… Well, she did belong to the Great Lord, but…scraping and begging for little favors from him was far from…her. Dristi and Ghurdan were looking at her strangely. And who shall be part of this convoy? A voice floated across her mind. Of course…he had asked. For the love of darkness, she had lost so much! No! She would not let him take it all! She pushed away any other thoughts, getting a firm hold on herself. "I hope that Dristi would be willing to lead the envoy…" She paused slightly to give Dristi a polite look, but one that said she really did not have a choice, then continued in a much lighter tone. She was feeling better already. A cat…perhaps she did like that. And a cat that was quite capable of taking care of herself. "I also hope we can spare five of your men, Ghurdan…" Again, she made sure he was well aware that they could spare five of his crewmen. "And…Rahvin, to accompany you." She said Rahvin's name as if as an after thought, though she would never have considered sending Dristi without Rahvin to oversee. He would not step in at any time, but he always brought back excellent reports. The man had a good memory, and a very good eye.

"I considered sending Khasia and some of those young, but I belive, as the situation stands…it would provoke insolence from the start. They cannot refuse the Eye, but we must do everything cautiously, all the same. Human error is the downfall for too many of the Great Lord's plans." They cannot refuse the Eye… Those words, they had had nothing of her usual fervor and certainty in them. And the thought had been anything but certain. The Eye had abandoned her, after all. But it was with Ghurdan…and Jasara. Her hands tightened into fists, and she was vaguely aware of her nails digging into her palm. All but one nail. Ghurdan must have seen the anger in her eyes, and he rose, bowing slightly to both priestesses. "As you say, so it will be. I will choose five of my men and prepare." With that he left. Dristi was frowning slightly at his retreating back. At least Dristi was not blessed. Oh how that would have rubbed salt in the wound! "You will be…polite with the infidels…?" It was not truly a question. "We must hope they will see sense. But if they do not, I expect you will keep your eyes open?" Again, not any question about it. "The…scouting party was helpful in some respects, but not so in others. Also, I know you will not mention our little tribesmen allies. We will need every advantage still within our grasp. You were absolutely right, Dristi, it will be close. Very close, with heavy losses, if we are forced to action. And unless, of course, we make sure it is not." The cat can take care of itself. It must.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]