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Bedoa isn't the only kingdom in Africa to suffer the storms of the Sahara. Board up the windows and hide from the winds in the street. Whilst sands in the Bedoan dunes are thick and heavy, choking the inhabitants where they stand, the storms of Egypt are strangled and redirected through the winding streets of Cairo, turning the roads and alleys into powerful tunnels of wind. Be sure not to blow away, Egypt!
JD
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JD
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Bedoa isn't the only kingdom in Africa to suffer the storms of the Sahara. Board up the windows and hide from the winds in the street. Whilst sands in the Bedoan dunes are thick and heavy, choking the inhabitants where they stand, the storms of Egypt are strangled and redirected through the winding streets of Cairo, turning the roads and alleys into powerful tunnels of wind. Be sure not to blow away, Egypt!
Hold On Event - Egypt
Bedoa isn't the only kingdom in Africa to suffer the storms of the Sahara. Board up the windows and hide from the winds in the street. Whilst sands in the Bedoan dunes are thick and heavy, choking the inhabitants where they stand, the storms of Egypt are strangled and redirected through the winding streets of Cairo, turning the roads and alleys into powerful tunnels of wind. Be sure not to blow away, Egypt!
Callidora had known it was a bad idea to try to keep her stand open with how windy it had already been that morning, but the Grecian widow was desperate. Every minute she wasn’t open was another minute she wasn’t making any money, and money was something she was in far too short a supply of. At the rate her business kept dropping, she’d be destitute in weeks. While she knew Skylla would never let that happen, she didn’t want to stretch her lover’s resources, either. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to provide for herself.
As the afternoon wore on, it became more and more apparent just how foolish her decision had been. Not only did she not have a single patron through the whole day, but the wind was picking up by the minute. The cloth awning she used to shade her stand had been ripped off by one of the bigger gusts, tearing down the street before Dora had a chance to go after it. Looking after it with a woeful expression, she sighed. It wasn’t like she could afford to replace it.
“Definitely time to close up,” the merchant muttered under her breath, though any words she said were immediately ripped away by the wind. At this point, she was having a hard time just standing up straight with how strong the gusts were. She had to get everything locked down. Fast.
Bracing herself against the frame of the stand, she came around to the front, pulling down what wares still remained to her and stashing them away. More than once, the wind tugged a swath of fabric from her hands or dashed a bottle to the ground, but at least she was able to save some of it.
Soon would come the issue of getting back to the tavern.
Watching despondently as the fourth bottle started rolling away, Dora clutched to the shaking frame of the stand and prayed to whatever god was listening that she hadn’t doomed herself with her own stubbornness. All around her, people were rushing for shelter and securing their doors and windows as best they could. Rushes were torn from roofs, the dust on the roads forming thick clouds that rolled through the city’s corridors and threatened to choke everyone in their path.
Bringing up the hem of her kalasiris to cover her face, Dora coughed violently and hid behind the meager barrier of her stand, trying to calculate possible routes back to the tavern that didn’t end up with her blown off into the Nile. What in the world was I thinking? she silently bemoaned, curling around her legs and burying her head in her knees to better protect her face. Am I just going to be stuck out here until it dies down?
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Callidora had known it was a bad idea to try to keep her stand open with how windy it had already been that morning, but the Grecian widow was desperate. Every minute she wasn’t open was another minute she wasn’t making any money, and money was something she was in far too short a supply of. At the rate her business kept dropping, she’d be destitute in weeks. While she knew Skylla would never let that happen, she didn’t want to stretch her lover’s resources, either. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to provide for herself.
As the afternoon wore on, it became more and more apparent just how foolish her decision had been. Not only did she not have a single patron through the whole day, but the wind was picking up by the minute. The cloth awning she used to shade her stand had been ripped off by one of the bigger gusts, tearing down the street before Dora had a chance to go after it. Looking after it with a woeful expression, she sighed. It wasn’t like she could afford to replace it.
“Definitely time to close up,” the merchant muttered under her breath, though any words she said were immediately ripped away by the wind. At this point, she was having a hard time just standing up straight with how strong the gusts were. She had to get everything locked down. Fast.
Bracing herself against the frame of the stand, she came around to the front, pulling down what wares still remained to her and stashing them away. More than once, the wind tugged a swath of fabric from her hands or dashed a bottle to the ground, but at least she was able to save some of it.
Soon would come the issue of getting back to the tavern.
Watching despondently as the fourth bottle started rolling away, Dora clutched to the shaking frame of the stand and prayed to whatever god was listening that she hadn’t doomed herself with her own stubbornness. All around her, people were rushing for shelter and securing their doors and windows as best they could. Rushes were torn from roofs, the dust on the roads forming thick clouds that rolled through the city’s corridors and threatened to choke everyone in their path.
Bringing up the hem of her kalasiris to cover her face, Dora coughed violently and hid behind the meager barrier of her stand, trying to calculate possible routes back to the tavern that didn’t end up with her blown off into the Nile. What in the world was I thinking? she silently bemoaned, curling around her legs and burying her head in her knees to better protect her face. Am I just going to be stuck out here until it dies down?
Callidora had known it was a bad idea to try to keep her stand open with how windy it had already been that morning, but the Grecian widow was desperate. Every minute she wasn’t open was another minute she wasn’t making any money, and money was something she was in far too short a supply of. At the rate her business kept dropping, she’d be destitute in weeks. While she knew Skylla would never let that happen, she didn’t want to stretch her lover’s resources, either. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to provide for herself.
As the afternoon wore on, it became more and more apparent just how foolish her decision had been. Not only did she not have a single patron through the whole day, but the wind was picking up by the minute. The cloth awning she used to shade her stand had been ripped off by one of the bigger gusts, tearing down the street before Dora had a chance to go after it. Looking after it with a woeful expression, she sighed. It wasn’t like she could afford to replace it.
“Definitely time to close up,” the merchant muttered under her breath, though any words she said were immediately ripped away by the wind. At this point, she was having a hard time just standing up straight with how strong the gusts were. She had to get everything locked down. Fast.
Bracing herself against the frame of the stand, she came around to the front, pulling down what wares still remained to her and stashing them away. More than once, the wind tugged a swath of fabric from her hands or dashed a bottle to the ground, but at least she was able to save some of it.
Soon would come the issue of getting back to the tavern.
Watching despondently as the fourth bottle started rolling away, Dora clutched to the shaking frame of the stand and prayed to whatever god was listening that she hadn’t doomed herself with her own stubbornness. All around her, people were rushing for shelter and securing their doors and windows as best they could. Rushes were torn from roofs, the dust on the roads forming thick clouds that rolled through the city’s corridors and threatened to choke everyone in their path.
Bringing up the hem of her kalasiris to cover her face, Dora coughed violently and hid behind the meager barrier of her stand, trying to calculate possible routes back to the tavern that didn’t end up with her blown off into the Nile. What in the world was I thinking? she silently bemoaned, curling around her legs and burying her head in her knees to better protect her face. Am I just going to be stuck out here until it dies down?
Hena normally wouldn’t be out, especially not as the wind picked up, but he had been in the middle of haggling for a fine piece of jewelry that he had his eye on for a few days, and he wasn’t about to let it go. Finally, with the jewelry piece wrapped carefully in cloth and tucked into a pouch that his slave had on his belt, he could take his leave, satisfied with his bartering skills and the low price he had gotten the jewelry at. He couldn’t wait to get home and try it on.
But as he stepped out of the shop, he had realized just how bad the wind had gotten, the sand in the air making it near impossible to breathe. He grabbed a spare piece of cloth, holding it up against his mouth and nose so he could breathe without inhaling sand, he stepped out of the shop, his slave in town. They kept their heads down as they attempted to make their way through the streets and back home, or at least some where safer than the open market.
A tavern came to mind, one he knew was nearby and would offer shelter from the storm and wine to pass the time, and so he turned his mind to making it there, until the storm let up and he could make it back home and to his own bed. He didn’t think it would last overly long, and he wasn’t even sure if his family had noticed that he wasn’t at the house in the first place.
He paused just a moment as he noticed a woman, crouching and attempting to hide behind the flimsy wood of a market stall. Was she completely mad? What was she doing out here? Though he supposed he was out there as well, but he at least had his slave to help him through the blowing sands, and as a man he stood a bit of a better chance in the storm than a woman did.
Normally he didn’t care to stop and attempt to help others, but this storm was bad, and she looked absolutely terrified. So, despite the angry growl he let out, he made his way slowly over to her through the wind and sand. He didn’t bother talking, knowing that she wouldn’t hear him over the roaring of the wind anyways. Instead he held one hand out for her, the look in his eyes would betray the urgency of his thoughts, telling her that either she took his hand and offered help now, or he would leave her there to fend for herself and likely end up a victim to the winds.
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Hena normally wouldn’t be out, especially not as the wind picked up, but he had been in the middle of haggling for a fine piece of jewelry that he had his eye on for a few days, and he wasn’t about to let it go. Finally, with the jewelry piece wrapped carefully in cloth and tucked into a pouch that his slave had on his belt, he could take his leave, satisfied with his bartering skills and the low price he had gotten the jewelry at. He couldn’t wait to get home and try it on.
But as he stepped out of the shop, he had realized just how bad the wind had gotten, the sand in the air making it near impossible to breathe. He grabbed a spare piece of cloth, holding it up against his mouth and nose so he could breathe without inhaling sand, he stepped out of the shop, his slave in town. They kept their heads down as they attempted to make their way through the streets and back home, or at least some where safer than the open market.
A tavern came to mind, one he knew was nearby and would offer shelter from the storm and wine to pass the time, and so he turned his mind to making it there, until the storm let up and he could make it back home and to his own bed. He didn’t think it would last overly long, and he wasn’t even sure if his family had noticed that he wasn’t at the house in the first place.
He paused just a moment as he noticed a woman, crouching and attempting to hide behind the flimsy wood of a market stall. Was she completely mad? What was she doing out here? Though he supposed he was out there as well, but he at least had his slave to help him through the blowing sands, and as a man he stood a bit of a better chance in the storm than a woman did.
Normally he didn’t care to stop and attempt to help others, but this storm was bad, and she looked absolutely terrified. So, despite the angry growl he let out, he made his way slowly over to her through the wind and sand. He didn’t bother talking, knowing that she wouldn’t hear him over the roaring of the wind anyways. Instead he held one hand out for her, the look in his eyes would betray the urgency of his thoughts, telling her that either she took his hand and offered help now, or he would leave her there to fend for herself and likely end up a victim to the winds.
Hena normally wouldn’t be out, especially not as the wind picked up, but he had been in the middle of haggling for a fine piece of jewelry that he had his eye on for a few days, and he wasn’t about to let it go. Finally, with the jewelry piece wrapped carefully in cloth and tucked into a pouch that his slave had on his belt, he could take his leave, satisfied with his bartering skills and the low price he had gotten the jewelry at. He couldn’t wait to get home and try it on.
But as he stepped out of the shop, he had realized just how bad the wind had gotten, the sand in the air making it near impossible to breathe. He grabbed a spare piece of cloth, holding it up against his mouth and nose so he could breathe without inhaling sand, he stepped out of the shop, his slave in town. They kept their heads down as they attempted to make their way through the streets and back home, or at least some where safer than the open market.
A tavern came to mind, one he knew was nearby and would offer shelter from the storm and wine to pass the time, and so he turned his mind to making it there, until the storm let up and he could make it back home and to his own bed. He didn’t think it would last overly long, and he wasn’t even sure if his family had noticed that he wasn’t at the house in the first place.
He paused just a moment as he noticed a woman, crouching and attempting to hide behind the flimsy wood of a market stall. Was she completely mad? What was she doing out here? Though he supposed he was out there as well, but he at least had his slave to help him through the blowing sands, and as a man he stood a bit of a better chance in the storm than a woman did.
Normally he didn’t care to stop and attempt to help others, but this storm was bad, and she looked absolutely terrified. So, despite the angry growl he let out, he made his way slowly over to her through the wind and sand. He didn’t bother talking, knowing that she wouldn’t hear him over the roaring of the wind anyways. Instead he held one hand out for her, the look in his eyes would betray the urgency of his thoughts, telling her that either she took his hand and offered help now, or he would leave her there to fend for herself and likely end up a victim to the winds.
Cursing inwardly, Callidora curled herself into a tighter ball while the wind howled and ripped through every street and corridor of Cairo. Boards were ripped off the market stall she’d sunk what meager funds remained to her, and with each tearing, cracking sound, her heart dropped further and further. Luckily, she kept most of her inventory back in the tavern with her, but if her stand was destroyed, where was she going to sell it? It did her no good tucked in the corner of a decrepit room.
Folly after folly, she angrily berated herself, sand whipping across her exposed flesh. Coarse and rough, it felt like it might rip her skin clean off, the woman attempting in vain to pull her clothing more protectively around her. However, a kalasiris barely covered much as it was; the effort only left her frustrated and more hopeless than before. The sigh she released was nearly a growl, silently running through a litany of her life’s misdeeds and wondering what exactly it was she had done to deserve all of the recent misfortunes that had come her way.
Just as she was ready to give up, certain there was no way she was making it out of this storm, footsteps stopped in front of her. Shielding her eyes, Dora dared to peek out of the relative protection of her knees and gasped at the impatient hand that thrust itself into her vision. That anyone still remained out in the seething winds was surprising in itself, but that anyone would then actually stop to help her…
She wondered if it was all just a mirage.
There was only a half second’s hesitation before she reached out to grasp the man’s offered aid, pulling herself up by his wrist and mouthing a grateful ‘thank you’ before stumbling alongside him. At least she knew it wasn’t an illusion, the warmth of his arm beneath her hand proving that he was indeed flesh and blood, rather than a filmy construct of her own imagination.
With no idea where the man intended to lead her, the merchant stalwartly followed, nonetheless. A huddled group of three certainly stood a better chance of getting to that destination than she did on her own, but she simply prayed it wasn’t far. The screaming gusts of wind were only compounding in their fury and even with two other people to grasp onto, it was not easy to keep herself upright.
One foot in front of the other. That’s where she kept her focus, leaning on her unknown rescuer while they fought their way through the unforgiving storm.
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Cursing inwardly, Callidora curled herself into a tighter ball while the wind howled and ripped through every street and corridor of Cairo. Boards were ripped off the market stall she’d sunk what meager funds remained to her, and with each tearing, cracking sound, her heart dropped further and further. Luckily, she kept most of her inventory back in the tavern with her, but if her stand was destroyed, where was she going to sell it? It did her no good tucked in the corner of a decrepit room.
Folly after folly, she angrily berated herself, sand whipping across her exposed flesh. Coarse and rough, it felt like it might rip her skin clean off, the woman attempting in vain to pull her clothing more protectively around her. However, a kalasiris barely covered much as it was; the effort only left her frustrated and more hopeless than before. The sigh she released was nearly a growl, silently running through a litany of her life’s misdeeds and wondering what exactly it was she had done to deserve all of the recent misfortunes that had come her way.
Just as she was ready to give up, certain there was no way she was making it out of this storm, footsteps stopped in front of her. Shielding her eyes, Dora dared to peek out of the relative protection of her knees and gasped at the impatient hand that thrust itself into her vision. That anyone still remained out in the seething winds was surprising in itself, but that anyone would then actually stop to help her…
She wondered if it was all just a mirage.
There was only a half second’s hesitation before she reached out to grasp the man’s offered aid, pulling herself up by his wrist and mouthing a grateful ‘thank you’ before stumbling alongside him. At least she knew it wasn’t an illusion, the warmth of his arm beneath her hand proving that he was indeed flesh and blood, rather than a filmy construct of her own imagination.
With no idea where the man intended to lead her, the merchant stalwartly followed, nonetheless. A huddled group of three certainly stood a better chance of getting to that destination than she did on her own, but she simply prayed it wasn’t far. The screaming gusts of wind were only compounding in their fury and even with two other people to grasp onto, it was not easy to keep herself upright.
One foot in front of the other. That’s where she kept her focus, leaning on her unknown rescuer while they fought their way through the unforgiving storm.
Cursing inwardly, Callidora curled herself into a tighter ball while the wind howled and ripped through every street and corridor of Cairo. Boards were ripped off the market stall she’d sunk what meager funds remained to her, and with each tearing, cracking sound, her heart dropped further and further. Luckily, she kept most of her inventory back in the tavern with her, but if her stand was destroyed, where was she going to sell it? It did her no good tucked in the corner of a decrepit room.
Folly after folly, she angrily berated herself, sand whipping across her exposed flesh. Coarse and rough, it felt like it might rip her skin clean off, the woman attempting in vain to pull her clothing more protectively around her. However, a kalasiris barely covered much as it was; the effort only left her frustrated and more hopeless than before. The sigh she released was nearly a growl, silently running through a litany of her life’s misdeeds and wondering what exactly it was she had done to deserve all of the recent misfortunes that had come her way.
Just as she was ready to give up, certain there was no way she was making it out of this storm, footsteps stopped in front of her. Shielding her eyes, Dora dared to peek out of the relative protection of her knees and gasped at the impatient hand that thrust itself into her vision. That anyone still remained out in the seething winds was surprising in itself, but that anyone would then actually stop to help her…
She wondered if it was all just a mirage.
There was only a half second’s hesitation before she reached out to grasp the man’s offered aid, pulling herself up by his wrist and mouthing a grateful ‘thank you’ before stumbling alongside him. At least she knew it wasn’t an illusion, the warmth of his arm beneath her hand proving that he was indeed flesh and blood, rather than a filmy construct of her own imagination.
With no idea where the man intended to lead her, the merchant stalwartly followed, nonetheless. A huddled group of three certainly stood a better chance of getting to that destination than she did on her own, but she simply prayed it wasn’t far. The screaming gusts of wind were only compounding in their fury and even with two other people to grasp onto, it was not easy to keep herself upright.
One foot in front of the other. That’s where she kept her focus, leaning on her unknown rescuer while they fought their way through the unforgiving storm.
Hena was almost ready to retract his hand when she took it. Instead he pulled her up to her feet, something that took all of his strength in order to keep both of them upright, glad he had brought one of his more muscular male slaves with him that day, for the assistance from the other man was greatly needed as the three of them attempted to keep themselves upright in the winds.
He wrapped one arm around the woman to keep her on her feet, hurrying to lead her to the tavern he had in mind. It wasn’t far, but when every step was a struggle, it felt like it took them a lifetime. Akhenaten was glad that he knew these streets so well, because he couldn’t see a damn thing. The only thing leading them was his sense of direction, which was awful most of the time, unless it came to getting to a tavern or an opium den, then he had absolutely no trouble.
Eventually they made it, and Akhenaten reached forward, ripping the door open with all his strength, he ushered the woman in first, following quickly behind her, his slave followed them and the door was slammed back shut with the force of the window.
Hena collapsed in the nearest chair, dropping the piece of cloth from his mouth, his breathing heavy from the exertion. When he eventually caught his breath, he spoke.
“I’m going to be washing fucking sand out of my hair for days!” He complained, already reaching up to run his fingers through his now wind tangled hair, bits of sand falling to the floor. To most people, that wouldn’t be the first thing they cared about in this situation, but Hena was serious about his hair.
He dropped his hand, the locks of black hair were a lost cause for now, and instead his eyes moved to a serving girl who looked at him nervously.
“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare! Bring wine!” He shouted, and she jumped a little before hurrying to the back room to grab wine.
His attention then turned to his new companion, this woman who had been crouched in the market, fearing for her life in the storm.
“What were you even doing out there? Did you really think that little stall would survive the storm and save you?” He scoffed, not sure if he believed she was dumb enough to think the shoddy stall would hold up.
He wondered if more people would arrive, this tavern was the closest place that would be safe from the wind and sand, so if anyone was in the area, they were likely to seek shelter here.
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Hena was almost ready to retract his hand when she took it. Instead he pulled her up to her feet, something that took all of his strength in order to keep both of them upright, glad he had brought one of his more muscular male slaves with him that day, for the assistance from the other man was greatly needed as the three of them attempted to keep themselves upright in the winds.
He wrapped one arm around the woman to keep her on her feet, hurrying to lead her to the tavern he had in mind. It wasn’t far, but when every step was a struggle, it felt like it took them a lifetime. Akhenaten was glad that he knew these streets so well, because he couldn’t see a damn thing. The only thing leading them was his sense of direction, which was awful most of the time, unless it came to getting to a tavern or an opium den, then he had absolutely no trouble.
Eventually they made it, and Akhenaten reached forward, ripping the door open with all his strength, he ushered the woman in first, following quickly behind her, his slave followed them and the door was slammed back shut with the force of the window.
Hena collapsed in the nearest chair, dropping the piece of cloth from his mouth, his breathing heavy from the exertion. When he eventually caught his breath, he spoke.
“I’m going to be washing fucking sand out of my hair for days!” He complained, already reaching up to run his fingers through his now wind tangled hair, bits of sand falling to the floor. To most people, that wouldn’t be the first thing they cared about in this situation, but Hena was serious about his hair.
He dropped his hand, the locks of black hair were a lost cause for now, and instead his eyes moved to a serving girl who looked at him nervously.
“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare! Bring wine!” He shouted, and she jumped a little before hurrying to the back room to grab wine.
His attention then turned to his new companion, this woman who had been crouched in the market, fearing for her life in the storm.
“What were you even doing out there? Did you really think that little stall would survive the storm and save you?” He scoffed, not sure if he believed she was dumb enough to think the shoddy stall would hold up.
He wondered if more people would arrive, this tavern was the closest place that would be safe from the wind and sand, so if anyone was in the area, they were likely to seek shelter here.
Hena was almost ready to retract his hand when she took it. Instead he pulled her up to her feet, something that took all of his strength in order to keep both of them upright, glad he had brought one of his more muscular male slaves with him that day, for the assistance from the other man was greatly needed as the three of them attempted to keep themselves upright in the winds.
He wrapped one arm around the woman to keep her on her feet, hurrying to lead her to the tavern he had in mind. It wasn’t far, but when every step was a struggle, it felt like it took them a lifetime. Akhenaten was glad that he knew these streets so well, because he couldn’t see a damn thing. The only thing leading them was his sense of direction, which was awful most of the time, unless it came to getting to a tavern or an opium den, then he had absolutely no trouble.
Eventually they made it, and Akhenaten reached forward, ripping the door open with all his strength, he ushered the woman in first, following quickly behind her, his slave followed them and the door was slammed back shut with the force of the window.
Hena collapsed in the nearest chair, dropping the piece of cloth from his mouth, his breathing heavy from the exertion. When he eventually caught his breath, he spoke.
“I’m going to be washing fucking sand out of my hair for days!” He complained, already reaching up to run his fingers through his now wind tangled hair, bits of sand falling to the floor. To most people, that wouldn’t be the first thing they cared about in this situation, but Hena was serious about his hair.
He dropped his hand, the locks of black hair were a lost cause for now, and instead his eyes moved to a serving girl who looked at him nervously.
“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare! Bring wine!” He shouted, and she jumped a little before hurrying to the back room to grab wine.
His attention then turned to his new companion, this woman who had been crouched in the market, fearing for her life in the storm.
“What were you even doing out there? Did you really think that little stall would survive the storm and save you?” He scoffed, not sure if he believed she was dumb enough to think the shoddy stall would hold up.
He wondered if more people would arrive, this tavern was the closest place that would be safe from the wind and sand, so if anyone was in the area, they were likely to seek shelter here.
She could have wept when they reached the tavern, stumbling inside with several hacking coughs. Heedless of her surroundings, she started shaking the sand from her clothes and hair. The irritating grains even stuck to her eyelashes, Callidora blinking rapidly to clear the sand from her vision. Gods, what a mess. What had she been thinking? She should never have left the tavern that morning.
Always so stubborn.
Her unfamiliar rescuer seemed to be in even worse spirits than hers, barking orders at the serving staff while Dora raised a brow in his direction. Judging from the state of his dress, the expectantly commanding tone of his voice, and the man who followed him in such a subservient fashion, he had to be a noble. Who else would act so entitled in circumstances like these?
When he turned to her and started questioning her in such a snippy voice, it was all she could do not to snap back at him. This arrogant fop was at least a decade her junior, barely more than a child, and yet he talked down to her as if she were just an ignorant toddler. However, she bit her tongue before she said anything she might regret; it did her no good to anger a member of the nobility, especially one who had just saved her life. Besides, could she really blame him for being so on edge? This storm threatened to endanger them all. Perhaps he was a more agreeable man in more agreeable circumstances.
“I made a foolish choice in the hopes of keeping myself from poverty, my lord,” was her mild answer, accented Coptic falling from dry and cracked lips. “There are those of us who have no choice but to work, even when the weather suggests we shouldn’t.”
When the clearly shaken serving girl returned with the wine, Dora offered a friendly smile to try to put her more at ease. “Thank you,” she said as she accepted a glass, taking a grateful swallow before turning back to the haughty young nobleman.
“And thank you for your help, by the way. You’re right, my ‘little stall’ probably won’t survive this storm, and eventually it would not have saved me. But what other choice did I have when the wind was so strong that I could not even stand?” There might have been a touch more sarcasm in her tone than she intended, but the gratitude, at least, was genuine.
“I’m Callidora, by the way, and truly, thank you.”
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She could have wept when they reached the tavern, stumbling inside with several hacking coughs. Heedless of her surroundings, she started shaking the sand from her clothes and hair. The irritating grains even stuck to her eyelashes, Callidora blinking rapidly to clear the sand from her vision. Gods, what a mess. What had she been thinking? She should never have left the tavern that morning.
Always so stubborn.
Her unfamiliar rescuer seemed to be in even worse spirits than hers, barking orders at the serving staff while Dora raised a brow in his direction. Judging from the state of his dress, the expectantly commanding tone of his voice, and the man who followed him in such a subservient fashion, he had to be a noble. Who else would act so entitled in circumstances like these?
When he turned to her and started questioning her in such a snippy voice, it was all she could do not to snap back at him. This arrogant fop was at least a decade her junior, barely more than a child, and yet he talked down to her as if she were just an ignorant toddler. However, she bit her tongue before she said anything she might regret; it did her no good to anger a member of the nobility, especially one who had just saved her life. Besides, could she really blame him for being so on edge? This storm threatened to endanger them all. Perhaps he was a more agreeable man in more agreeable circumstances.
“I made a foolish choice in the hopes of keeping myself from poverty, my lord,” was her mild answer, accented Coptic falling from dry and cracked lips. “There are those of us who have no choice but to work, even when the weather suggests we shouldn’t.”
When the clearly shaken serving girl returned with the wine, Dora offered a friendly smile to try to put her more at ease. “Thank you,” she said as she accepted a glass, taking a grateful swallow before turning back to the haughty young nobleman.
“And thank you for your help, by the way. You’re right, my ‘little stall’ probably won’t survive this storm, and eventually it would not have saved me. But what other choice did I have when the wind was so strong that I could not even stand?” There might have been a touch more sarcasm in her tone than she intended, but the gratitude, at least, was genuine.
“I’m Callidora, by the way, and truly, thank you.”
She could have wept when they reached the tavern, stumbling inside with several hacking coughs. Heedless of her surroundings, she started shaking the sand from her clothes and hair. The irritating grains even stuck to her eyelashes, Callidora blinking rapidly to clear the sand from her vision. Gods, what a mess. What had she been thinking? She should never have left the tavern that morning.
Always so stubborn.
Her unfamiliar rescuer seemed to be in even worse spirits than hers, barking orders at the serving staff while Dora raised a brow in his direction. Judging from the state of his dress, the expectantly commanding tone of his voice, and the man who followed him in such a subservient fashion, he had to be a noble. Who else would act so entitled in circumstances like these?
When he turned to her and started questioning her in such a snippy voice, it was all she could do not to snap back at him. This arrogant fop was at least a decade her junior, barely more than a child, and yet he talked down to her as if she were just an ignorant toddler. However, she bit her tongue before she said anything she might regret; it did her no good to anger a member of the nobility, especially one who had just saved her life. Besides, could she really blame him for being so on edge? This storm threatened to endanger them all. Perhaps he was a more agreeable man in more agreeable circumstances.
“I made a foolish choice in the hopes of keeping myself from poverty, my lord,” was her mild answer, accented Coptic falling from dry and cracked lips. “There are those of us who have no choice but to work, even when the weather suggests we shouldn’t.”
When the clearly shaken serving girl returned with the wine, Dora offered a friendly smile to try to put her more at ease. “Thank you,” she said as she accepted a glass, taking a grateful swallow before turning back to the haughty young nobleman.
“And thank you for your help, by the way. You’re right, my ‘little stall’ probably won’t survive this storm, and eventually it would not have saved me. But what other choice did I have when the wind was so strong that I could not even stand?” There might have been a touch more sarcasm in her tone than she intended, but the gratitude, at least, was genuine.
“I’m Callidora, by the way, and truly, thank you.”
Hena shook his head at her answer. Had she expected to find customers with the weather as such? How long had she been in Egypt? Did she think that Egyptians just went about their normal lives in a sand storm? He took a drink of the wine that he been brought to keep himself from questioning how stupid she was. He was in a sour mood, but he supposed it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t as if she had called the sandstorm down on them after all.
He passed the coin for the wine to the serving girl, along with extra to pay for the wine that he knew he was going to drink. They would be there for awhile, the storm wouldn’t let up any time soon, and it wasn’t safe for them to try and travel any where while it still raged. And he wasn’t about to sit here completely sober for Gods knew how long.
“Keep me well plied with wine while this storm rages and I will see more coin to your palm. My acquaintance as well, if she wishes for more wine.” He said, and the serving girl seemed to perk up a bit more at the prospect of coin to be made during this weather.
“You should thank what ever Gods you believe in that I was out in that sand then. Or you would have learned what it was like to fly with the birds.” He said with a snicker, his attempt at a joke. Truly it was a good thing for her that he had been passing by though, she would have never made it out there on her own.
“Akhenaten H’Sheifa.” He replied when she offered her name, wondering if she would know the H’Sheifa name or not. He had no idea how long she had been in Egypt, but if she had been here for any real length of time, she should know the noble families.
“When the storm is over, I’ll see to it that your stall is returned to it’s original condition.” He offered, not entirely sure why he was being so kind, but the cost of repairing her stall would be no great sum from his own pocket. He supposed he had a soft spot for pretty women, and she was a merchant, the very profession his own families money had come from. Repairing the destroyed stall would cost less than he had just spent on the jewelry he had been out to purchase when the storm had started.
“Food and drink is on me while we’re stuck here. There’s no reason we should be any more uncomfortable than we are already.” He said, attempting to shake some of the sand from his own clothing as he spoke. He just wanted to go home and wash the sand from himself, but for now he would just need to try and get as much of it off of him as he possibly could. There were no baths here, and no other way to get the sand off themselves.
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Hena shook his head at her answer. Had she expected to find customers with the weather as such? How long had she been in Egypt? Did she think that Egyptians just went about their normal lives in a sand storm? He took a drink of the wine that he been brought to keep himself from questioning how stupid she was. He was in a sour mood, but he supposed it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t as if she had called the sandstorm down on them after all.
He passed the coin for the wine to the serving girl, along with extra to pay for the wine that he knew he was going to drink. They would be there for awhile, the storm wouldn’t let up any time soon, and it wasn’t safe for them to try and travel any where while it still raged. And he wasn’t about to sit here completely sober for Gods knew how long.
“Keep me well plied with wine while this storm rages and I will see more coin to your palm. My acquaintance as well, if she wishes for more wine.” He said, and the serving girl seemed to perk up a bit more at the prospect of coin to be made during this weather.
“You should thank what ever Gods you believe in that I was out in that sand then. Or you would have learned what it was like to fly with the birds.” He said with a snicker, his attempt at a joke. Truly it was a good thing for her that he had been passing by though, she would have never made it out there on her own.
“Akhenaten H’Sheifa.” He replied when she offered her name, wondering if she would know the H’Sheifa name or not. He had no idea how long she had been in Egypt, but if she had been here for any real length of time, she should know the noble families.
“When the storm is over, I’ll see to it that your stall is returned to it’s original condition.” He offered, not entirely sure why he was being so kind, but the cost of repairing her stall would be no great sum from his own pocket. He supposed he had a soft spot for pretty women, and she was a merchant, the very profession his own families money had come from. Repairing the destroyed stall would cost less than he had just spent on the jewelry he had been out to purchase when the storm had started.
“Food and drink is on me while we’re stuck here. There’s no reason we should be any more uncomfortable than we are already.” He said, attempting to shake some of the sand from his own clothing as he spoke. He just wanted to go home and wash the sand from himself, but for now he would just need to try and get as much of it off of him as he possibly could. There were no baths here, and no other way to get the sand off themselves.
Hena shook his head at her answer. Had she expected to find customers with the weather as such? How long had she been in Egypt? Did she think that Egyptians just went about their normal lives in a sand storm? He took a drink of the wine that he been brought to keep himself from questioning how stupid she was. He was in a sour mood, but he supposed it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t as if she had called the sandstorm down on them after all.
He passed the coin for the wine to the serving girl, along with extra to pay for the wine that he knew he was going to drink. They would be there for awhile, the storm wouldn’t let up any time soon, and it wasn’t safe for them to try and travel any where while it still raged. And he wasn’t about to sit here completely sober for Gods knew how long.
“Keep me well plied with wine while this storm rages and I will see more coin to your palm. My acquaintance as well, if she wishes for more wine.” He said, and the serving girl seemed to perk up a bit more at the prospect of coin to be made during this weather.
“You should thank what ever Gods you believe in that I was out in that sand then. Or you would have learned what it was like to fly with the birds.” He said with a snicker, his attempt at a joke. Truly it was a good thing for her that he had been passing by though, she would have never made it out there on her own.
“Akhenaten H’Sheifa.” He replied when she offered her name, wondering if she would know the H’Sheifa name or not. He had no idea how long she had been in Egypt, but if she had been here for any real length of time, she should know the noble families.
“When the storm is over, I’ll see to it that your stall is returned to it’s original condition.” He offered, not entirely sure why he was being so kind, but the cost of repairing her stall would be no great sum from his own pocket. He supposed he had a soft spot for pretty women, and she was a merchant, the very profession his own families money had come from. Repairing the destroyed stall would cost less than he had just spent on the jewelry he had been out to purchase when the storm had started.
“Food and drink is on me while we’re stuck here. There’s no reason we should be any more uncomfortable than we are already.” He said, attempting to shake some of the sand from his own clothing as he spoke. He just wanted to go home and wash the sand from himself, but for now he would just need to try and get as much of it off of him as he possibly could. There were no baths here, and no other way to get the sand off themselves.
The day fell to ruin in the wake of a terrible sandstorm that thrust throughout the Northern Wastan. Wanderlust was a thing Anastasia of the Fallen Star had known very well as she sifted through identities and kingdoms like a spectre. There was no exception to be made in Egypt, even if the terrain was sandy and the weather unbearably hot. It simply made her adjust her itinerary to accommodate travel with the trader's caravans that made their way through the treacherous deserts. However, her journey was cut short when the caravan deemed their camels in need of sustenance. They'd stopped in a watering hole, only for the path to be made untenable by the intrusion of the fierce winds.
Anastasia had already given up on travel for the day by the time the world fell victim to the treachery of the very earth itself turning upwards. Instead, the bard did what she did best. A bit of flirting with the tavern keeper and the promise of diversion for the crowds was enough to secure her stay, and there was no shortage of playthings with which to ensnare with her words and voice. She could hear the jangle of coins in their purses, attached at the hip and well within reach. But, that was not the sort of thief Anastasia was. It was so easy to be a pickpocket and end with severed hands or reddened flesh. The marks of a thief were something that the beauty Anastasia had no desire to see on herself, and instead, she relied on her guile to bring that purse within reach.
Buy me a drink. Let me sing you a song. Be ensnared, you know you want to, she mused as she made idle chatter with a merchant. He spoke on about how his stand had been torn apart by the winds, how he wanted to drink the night away. Anastasia was glad to offer her sympathies in sing-song breaths, a sultry smile woven upon her lips. Then, the mead came, and she pressed a kiss softly to the merchant's cheek in gratitude. So easy it was to let him lean in, a careful movement of her hand pilfering a number of coins from the open purse before she pulled back. A coin between each finger, pulled them into her palm before a backward movement set her lithe form against the surface of the tavern's bar. She took a swig of her mead, placing the coins in her satchel with a delicate shift of her wrist. It was as she took her swig that she saw the entrance of a disheveled but incredibly familiar young man.
Hena? she mused inwardly, finishing her sip of mead before her gaze moved to the equally disheveled woman. Then, she heard Hena's complaint, a soft giggle escaping her lips. All of the struggle it seemed they'd been through and he cared very little about the woman, but rather, his hair which admittedly looked quite the sight. Poor Hena, she mused silently, letting herself remain unannounced. It'd be best to give the beautiful, but vain lord let off his steam in solitude before he indulged herself in a playful banter. She need not think twice, however, about staying back. For Anastasia caught the sight of the woman as she straightened her posture and began to speak. Her lips were ruined by the sandstorm, but there was a furious beauty within her that refused to be quelled by the ravishment of the elements.
B-bump. B-bump. Anastasia felt the tick within her chest race, her blood boiling within her body as she listened to the accented Coptic that came out like hers had at one point. Anastasia did everything to not be mistaken for a Greek, from shifting her voice to adopting the dress and custom of the Egyptian people. She'd never be one of them, but the striking beaded dress she wore about her waist and hips, the silken straps that held her shoulders in their smooth embrace, and the matching fabric of the shawl draped about her made every impression of her being a native. The malachite around her eyelids and the kohl that augmented her looks all worked in tandem to make Anastasia of the Fallen Star a striking beauty worthy of her self-given name.
At last, Anastasia deemed it correct for her to make her presence known. With a shift of her hips she fell to the ground on her two feet, blowing the merchant she'd been talking with a kiss before begging his forgiveness for wasting his time. However, the beautiful Greek woman and her Egyptian lord-playmate could not be made to wait. Quickly, Anastasia pushed herself into Lord Akhenaten, a quick dash of her fingertips through his hair intent on ridding him of some of the sand that existed there. She sought to bring the curls out of his face, shaking them slowly to release the weight of the sand. Her touch was far too familiar for a commoner to give to a lord, but that was the strange nature of their relationship. Anastasia felt quite comfortable interrupting their conversation, placing herself directly in the middle of it with ease.
"Oh, my lord. Your usual impeccable beauty has seemed to have met its match. But, come closer. Let me help, if you will," she beckoned. She offered a smile towards Callidora, having heard her name in her introduction to Akhenaten. It was, however, rude for the bard to repeat the name without implicitly being told it.
"Were you trying to sell in the sandstorm? By the Gods, it's a miracle neither of you were hurt! Here," she took the bottle a nearby servant was holding. She poured mead into two goblets, placing one in a hand of each of the two sandstorm victims she'd found along the way. She offered them an easy smile before she said,
"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I am Anastasia of the Fallen Star, a bard from realms uncharted." She gave her full introduction, tossing a playful wink at both Callidora and Akhenaten before leading them over to an unoccupied table if they chose to follow.
"Come, rest your feet and indulge yourself. None of us are going anywhere."
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The day fell to ruin in the wake of a terrible sandstorm that thrust throughout the Northern Wastan. Wanderlust was a thing Anastasia of the Fallen Star had known very well as she sifted through identities and kingdoms like a spectre. There was no exception to be made in Egypt, even if the terrain was sandy and the weather unbearably hot. It simply made her adjust her itinerary to accommodate travel with the trader's caravans that made their way through the treacherous deserts. However, her journey was cut short when the caravan deemed their camels in need of sustenance. They'd stopped in a watering hole, only for the path to be made untenable by the intrusion of the fierce winds.
Anastasia had already given up on travel for the day by the time the world fell victim to the treachery of the very earth itself turning upwards. Instead, the bard did what she did best. A bit of flirting with the tavern keeper and the promise of diversion for the crowds was enough to secure her stay, and there was no shortage of playthings with which to ensnare with her words and voice. She could hear the jangle of coins in their purses, attached at the hip and well within reach. But, that was not the sort of thief Anastasia was. It was so easy to be a pickpocket and end with severed hands or reddened flesh. The marks of a thief were something that the beauty Anastasia had no desire to see on herself, and instead, she relied on her guile to bring that purse within reach.
Buy me a drink. Let me sing you a song. Be ensnared, you know you want to, she mused as she made idle chatter with a merchant. He spoke on about how his stand had been torn apart by the winds, how he wanted to drink the night away. Anastasia was glad to offer her sympathies in sing-song breaths, a sultry smile woven upon her lips. Then, the mead came, and she pressed a kiss softly to the merchant's cheek in gratitude. So easy it was to let him lean in, a careful movement of her hand pilfering a number of coins from the open purse before she pulled back. A coin between each finger, pulled them into her palm before a backward movement set her lithe form against the surface of the tavern's bar. She took a swig of her mead, placing the coins in her satchel with a delicate shift of her wrist. It was as she took her swig that she saw the entrance of a disheveled but incredibly familiar young man.
Hena? she mused inwardly, finishing her sip of mead before her gaze moved to the equally disheveled woman. Then, she heard Hena's complaint, a soft giggle escaping her lips. All of the struggle it seemed they'd been through and he cared very little about the woman, but rather, his hair which admittedly looked quite the sight. Poor Hena, she mused silently, letting herself remain unannounced. It'd be best to give the beautiful, but vain lord let off his steam in solitude before he indulged herself in a playful banter. She need not think twice, however, about staying back. For Anastasia caught the sight of the woman as she straightened her posture and began to speak. Her lips were ruined by the sandstorm, but there was a furious beauty within her that refused to be quelled by the ravishment of the elements.
B-bump. B-bump. Anastasia felt the tick within her chest race, her blood boiling within her body as she listened to the accented Coptic that came out like hers had at one point. Anastasia did everything to not be mistaken for a Greek, from shifting her voice to adopting the dress and custom of the Egyptian people. She'd never be one of them, but the striking beaded dress she wore about her waist and hips, the silken straps that held her shoulders in their smooth embrace, and the matching fabric of the shawl draped about her made every impression of her being a native. The malachite around her eyelids and the kohl that augmented her looks all worked in tandem to make Anastasia of the Fallen Star a striking beauty worthy of her self-given name.
At last, Anastasia deemed it correct for her to make her presence known. With a shift of her hips she fell to the ground on her two feet, blowing the merchant she'd been talking with a kiss before begging his forgiveness for wasting his time. However, the beautiful Greek woman and her Egyptian lord-playmate could not be made to wait. Quickly, Anastasia pushed herself into Lord Akhenaten, a quick dash of her fingertips through his hair intent on ridding him of some of the sand that existed there. She sought to bring the curls out of his face, shaking them slowly to release the weight of the sand. Her touch was far too familiar for a commoner to give to a lord, but that was the strange nature of their relationship. Anastasia felt quite comfortable interrupting their conversation, placing herself directly in the middle of it with ease.
"Oh, my lord. Your usual impeccable beauty has seemed to have met its match. But, come closer. Let me help, if you will," she beckoned. She offered a smile towards Callidora, having heard her name in her introduction to Akhenaten. It was, however, rude for the bard to repeat the name without implicitly being told it.
"Were you trying to sell in the sandstorm? By the Gods, it's a miracle neither of you were hurt! Here," she took the bottle a nearby servant was holding. She poured mead into two goblets, placing one in a hand of each of the two sandstorm victims she'd found along the way. She offered them an easy smile before she said,
"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I am Anastasia of the Fallen Star, a bard from realms uncharted." She gave her full introduction, tossing a playful wink at both Callidora and Akhenaten before leading them over to an unoccupied table if they chose to follow.
"Come, rest your feet and indulge yourself. None of us are going anywhere."
The day fell to ruin in the wake of a terrible sandstorm that thrust throughout the Northern Wastan. Wanderlust was a thing Anastasia of the Fallen Star had known very well as she sifted through identities and kingdoms like a spectre. There was no exception to be made in Egypt, even if the terrain was sandy and the weather unbearably hot. It simply made her adjust her itinerary to accommodate travel with the trader's caravans that made their way through the treacherous deserts. However, her journey was cut short when the caravan deemed their camels in need of sustenance. They'd stopped in a watering hole, only for the path to be made untenable by the intrusion of the fierce winds.
Anastasia had already given up on travel for the day by the time the world fell victim to the treachery of the very earth itself turning upwards. Instead, the bard did what she did best. A bit of flirting with the tavern keeper and the promise of diversion for the crowds was enough to secure her stay, and there was no shortage of playthings with which to ensnare with her words and voice. She could hear the jangle of coins in their purses, attached at the hip and well within reach. But, that was not the sort of thief Anastasia was. It was so easy to be a pickpocket and end with severed hands or reddened flesh. The marks of a thief were something that the beauty Anastasia had no desire to see on herself, and instead, she relied on her guile to bring that purse within reach.
Buy me a drink. Let me sing you a song. Be ensnared, you know you want to, she mused as she made idle chatter with a merchant. He spoke on about how his stand had been torn apart by the winds, how he wanted to drink the night away. Anastasia was glad to offer her sympathies in sing-song breaths, a sultry smile woven upon her lips. Then, the mead came, and she pressed a kiss softly to the merchant's cheek in gratitude. So easy it was to let him lean in, a careful movement of her hand pilfering a number of coins from the open purse before she pulled back. A coin between each finger, pulled them into her palm before a backward movement set her lithe form against the surface of the tavern's bar. She took a swig of her mead, placing the coins in her satchel with a delicate shift of her wrist. It was as she took her swig that she saw the entrance of a disheveled but incredibly familiar young man.
Hena? she mused inwardly, finishing her sip of mead before her gaze moved to the equally disheveled woman. Then, she heard Hena's complaint, a soft giggle escaping her lips. All of the struggle it seemed they'd been through and he cared very little about the woman, but rather, his hair which admittedly looked quite the sight. Poor Hena, she mused silently, letting herself remain unannounced. It'd be best to give the beautiful, but vain lord let off his steam in solitude before he indulged herself in a playful banter. She need not think twice, however, about staying back. For Anastasia caught the sight of the woman as she straightened her posture and began to speak. Her lips were ruined by the sandstorm, but there was a furious beauty within her that refused to be quelled by the ravishment of the elements.
B-bump. B-bump. Anastasia felt the tick within her chest race, her blood boiling within her body as she listened to the accented Coptic that came out like hers had at one point. Anastasia did everything to not be mistaken for a Greek, from shifting her voice to adopting the dress and custom of the Egyptian people. She'd never be one of them, but the striking beaded dress she wore about her waist and hips, the silken straps that held her shoulders in their smooth embrace, and the matching fabric of the shawl draped about her made every impression of her being a native. The malachite around her eyelids and the kohl that augmented her looks all worked in tandem to make Anastasia of the Fallen Star a striking beauty worthy of her self-given name.
At last, Anastasia deemed it correct for her to make her presence known. With a shift of her hips she fell to the ground on her two feet, blowing the merchant she'd been talking with a kiss before begging his forgiveness for wasting his time. However, the beautiful Greek woman and her Egyptian lord-playmate could not be made to wait. Quickly, Anastasia pushed herself into Lord Akhenaten, a quick dash of her fingertips through his hair intent on ridding him of some of the sand that existed there. She sought to bring the curls out of his face, shaking them slowly to release the weight of the sand. Her touch was far too familiar for a commoner to give to a lord, but that was the strange nature of their relationship. Anastasia felt quite comfortable interrupting their conversation, placing herself directly in the middle of it with ease.
"Oh, my lord. Your usual impeccable beauty has seemed to have met its match. But, come closer. Let me help, if you will," she beckoned. She offered a smile towards Callidora, having heard her name in her introduction to Akhenaten. It was, however, rude for the bard to repeat the name without implicitly being told it.
"Were you trying to sell in the sandstorm? By the Gods, it's a miracle neither of you were hurt! Here," she took the bottle a nearby servant was holding. She poured mead into two goblets, placing one in a hand of each of the two sandstorm victims she'd found along the way. She offered them an easy smile before she said,
"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I am Anastasia of the Fallen Star, a bard from realms uncharted." She gave her full introduction, tossing a playful wink at both Callidora and Akhenaten before leading them over to an unoccupied table if they chose to follow.
"Come, rest your feet and indulge yourself. None of us are going anywhere."
The lord’s brash and unsympathetic joke was followed by an introduction, a name given with the self-assured expectation that Callidora would know exactly who he was and be honored by his attention. Truth was, the name H’Sheifa meant nothing to her, this foreigner on Egyptian sands. The only noble house she knew was Hei Naddar and only because of her rather… unpleasant encounter with the Pharaoh not terribly long after finding herself stranded in Cairo. It was not an encounter she cared to linger on, but at least it had ended with her keeping her life.
At what cost, she didn’t like to think.
For but the breath of a moment, she was lost to thoughts of Skylla, her beautiful, reckless, questionably psychotic lover. What was she doing now? Was she caught in the storm like Dora? Or was she ‘safe’ within the Palace walls? Her heart constricted, overcome with an unexpected bout of emotion. What she wouldn’t give to be in the other woman’s arms right that moment, her dusky scent filling her nostrils and the velvet softness of her skin nestled up against hers. She hated this forced separation, the other woman all but held hostage in the Evening Star Palace. Someday, Callidora would figure a way out of this, a way to get her lover out and on a ship that would take them far from this hostile land. Some day…
Abruptly pulled back to reality by the unexpected kindness of Lord H’Sheifa’s offer, it was all Dora could do to hide the shock on her face. Musings of Skylla were pushed aside for the time being while she stared at the younger man, struggling to string together a coherent thought to thank him for his unasked-for generosity. Such largesse made her paranoid; no one made such grand gestures without hope for reciprocation. What could Callidora possibly offer a member of the Egyptian nobility? But was she really in a position to refuse, either?
“I...” She cleared her throat, shaking her head in disbelief. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I… truly, you don’t have to do that.” As she heard the polite demurring leave her lips, Dora wanted to slap herself for her own idiocy. Don’t say no, you dolt! How do you expect you’re going to fix it on your own?
Dumbfounded nonetheless, she blinked the bewilderment from her verdant eyes. “I guess I don’t know what to say but thank you. We’ll… we’ll make the arrangements later, eh?”
At his offer of food and drink for the duration of their stay in the tavern, Dora found herself looking at him in a new light entirely. Perhaps she’d misjudged the foppish man, after all. He’d saved her, hadn’t he? Just because his words weren’t so polished didn’t mean there wasn’t a kind heart beneath. The merchant herself was proof enough of that, a blunt and sarcastic woman who often found it difficult to soften her speech.
Before she could remark on it further, they were joined by another woman, one who seemed to already have a close familiarity with her noble companion. Dora watched with mild amusement as the petite beauty brushed sand from Lord H’Sheifa’s hair and wondered at the nature of their relationship. The woman dressed like an Egyptian and spoke Coptic as if she was born to it, but the pale hue of her skin and the delicate cast of her features were distinctly Greek, suggesting perhaps the young lord had more of an affinity for foreigners than most of his countrymen.
But the woman… Dora looked on her with a mild fascination, curious as to why a Greek woman would try so hard to blend into the local flavor. Was it because of Egypt’s notorious hostility to those who were different, a survival technique to keep the sharks at bay? Was she like her own lover with mixed blood, born from some forbidden tryst? Or was it something else entirely?
Accepting the mead from the woman’s outstretched hand, the merchant’s face was somewhat dazed, frank curiosity written all over her features. Anastasia of the Fallen Star, she introduced herself, a moniker fit for the bard she professed to be. A bit ostentatious perhaps, but it couldn’t be denied this Anastasia held the beauty of the heavens in her exquisitely wrought face.
“A bard, eh?” was her warm response, taking a sip of the mead and trying not to grimace at the cloying taste that clung to her tongue. It was a bit heavy of a drink for a woman who already felt like she was about to choke on sand, but who was she to deny a gift from such a lovely creature? “I’d wager I have a tale to match nearly every one of yours, though I doubt mine would be as prettily woven.”
Dora laughed, eyes sparkling. Following Anastasia to the table, she took a seat with a soft sigh. “I am Callidora, and as you can see, yes, I was foolish enough to try to sell in this storm. Luckily, your friend here found me.” She gestured to Akhenaten as she joked, “Otherwise, I doubt I’d be here to tell the tale of my stupidity.”
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The lord’s brash and unsympathetic joke was followed by an introduction, a name given with the self-assured expectation that Callidora would know exactly who he was and be honored by his attention. Truth was, the name H’Sheifa meant nothing to her, this foreigner on Egyptian sands. The only noble house she knew was Hei Naddar and only because of her rather… unpleasant encounter with the Pharaoh not terribly long after finding herself stranded in Cairo. It was not an encounter she cared to linger on, but at least it had ended with her keeping her life.
At what cost, she didn’t like to think.
For but the breath of a moment, she was lost to thoughts of Skylla, her beautiful, reckless, questionably psychotic lover. What was she doing now? Was she caught in the storm like Dora? Or was she ‘safe’ within the Palace walls? Her heart constricted, overcome with an unexpected bout of emotion. What she wouldn’t give to be in the other woman’s arms right that moment, her dusky scent filling her nostrils and the velvet softness of her skin nestled up against hers. She hated this forced separation, the other woman all but held hostage in the Evening Star Palace. Someday, Callidora would figure a way out of this, a way to get her lover out and on a ship that would take them far from this hostile land. Some day…
Abruptly pulled back to reality by the unexpected kindness of Lord H’Sheifa’s offer, it was all Dora could do to hide the shock on her face. Musings of Skylla were pushed aside for the time being while she stared at the younger man, struggling to string together a coherent thought to thank him for his unasked-for generosity. Such largesse made her paranoid; no one made such grand gestures without hope for reciprocation. What could Callidora possibly offer a member of the Egyptian nobility? But was she really in a position to refuse, either?
“I...” She cleared her throat, shaking her head in disbelief. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I… truly, you don’t have to do that.” As she heard the polite demurring leave her lips, Dora wanted to slap herself for her own idiocy. Don’t say no, you dolt! How do you expect you’re going to fix it on your own?
Dumbfounded nonetheless, she blinked the bewilderment from her verdant eyes. “I guess I don’t know what to say but thank you. We’ll… we’ll make the arrangements later, eh?”
At his offer of food and drink for the duration of their stay in the tavern, Dora found herself looking at him in a new light entirely. Perhaps she’d misjudged the foppish man, after all. He’d saved her, hadn’t he? Just because his words weren’t so polished didn’t mean there wasn’t a kind heart beneath. The merchant herself was proof enough of that, a blunt and sarcastic woman who often found it difficult to soften her speech.
Before she could remark on it further, they were joined by another woman, one who seemed to already have a close familiarity with her noble companion. Dora watched with mild amusement as the petite beauty brushed sand from Lord H’Sheifa’s hair and wondered at the nature of their relationship. The woman dressed like an Egyptian and spoke Coptic as if she was born to it, but the pale hue of her skin and the delicate cast of her features were distinctly Greek, suggesting perhaps the young lord had more of an affinity for foreigners than most of his countrymen.
But the woman… Dora looked on her with a mild fascination, curious as to why a Greek woman would try so hard to blend into the local flavor. Was it because of Egypt’s notorious hostility to those who were different, a survival technique to keep the sharks at bay? Was she like her own lover with mixed blood, born from some forbidden tryst? Or was it something else entirely?
Accepting the mead from the woman’s outstretched hand, the merchant’s face was somewhat dazed, frank curiosity written all over her features. Anastasia of the Fallen Star, she introduced herself, a moniker fit for the bard she professed to be. A bit ostentatious perhaps, but it couldn’t be denied this Anastasia held the beauty of the heavens in her exquisitely wrought face.
“A bard, eh?” was her warm response, taking a sip of the mead and trying not to grimace at the cloying taste that clung to her tongue. It was a bit heavy of a drink for a woman who already felt like she was about to choke on sand, but who was she to deny a gift from such a lovely creature? “I’d wager I have a tale to match nearly every one of yours, though I doubt mine would be as prettily woven.”
Dora laughed, eyes sparkling. Following Anastasia to the table, she took a seat with a soft sigh. “I am Callidora, and as you can see, yes, I was foolish enough to try to sell in this storm. Luckily, your friend here found me.” She gestured to Akhenaten as she joked, “Otherwise, I doubt I’d be here to tell the tale of my stupidity.”
The lord’s brash and unsympathetic joke was followed by an introduction, a name given with the self-assured expectation that Callidora would know exactly who he was and be honored by his attention. Truth was, the name H’Sheifa meant nothing to her, this foreigner on Egyptian sands. The only noble house she knew was Hei Naddar and only because of her rather… unpleasant encounter with the Pharaoh not terribly long after finding herself stranded in Cairo. It was not an encounter she cared to linger on, but at least it had ended with her keeping her life.
At what cost, she didn’t like to think.
For but the breath of a moment, she was lost to thoughts of Skylla, her beautiful, reckless, questionably psychotic lover. What was she doing now? Was she caught in the storm like Dora? Or was she ‘safe’ within the Palace walls? Her heart constricted, overcome with an unexpected bout of emotion. What she wouldn’t give to be in the other woman’s arms right that moment, her dusky scent filling her nostrils and the velvet softness of her skin nestled up against hers. She hated this forced separation, the other woman all but held hostage in the Evening Star Palace. Someday, Callidora would figure a way out of this, a way to get her lover out and on a ship that would take them far from this hostile land. Some day…
Abruptly pulled back to reality by the unexpected kindness of Lord H’Sheifa’s offer, it was all Dora could do to hide the shock on her face. Musings of Skylla were pushed aside for the time being while she stared at the younger man, struggling to string together a coherent thought to thank him for his unasked-for generosity. Such largesse made her paranoid; no one made such grand gestures without hope for reciprocation. What could Callidora possibly offer a member of the Egyptian nobility? But was she really in a position to refuse, either?
“I...” She cleared her throat, shaking her head in disbelief. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I… truly, you don’t have to do that.” As she heard the polite demurring leave her lips, Dora wanted to slap herself for her own idiocy. Don’t say no, you dolt! How do you expect you’re going to fix it on your own?
Dumbfounded nonetheless, she blinked the bewilderment from her verdant eyes. “I guess I don’t know what to say but thank you. We’ll… we’ll make the arrangements later, eh?”
At his offer of food and drink for the duration of their stay in the tavern, Dora found herself looking at him in a new light entirely. Perhaps she’d misjudged the foppish man, after all. He’d saved her, hadn’t he? Just because his words weren’t so polished didn’t mean there wasn’t a kind heart beneath. The merchant herself was proof enough of that, a blunt and sarcastic woman who often found it difficult to soften her speech.
Before she could remark on it further, they were joined by another woman, one who seemed to already have a close familiarity with her noble companion. Dora watched with mild amusement as the petite beauty brushed sand from Lord H’Sheifa’s hair and wondered at the nature of their relationship. The woman dressed like an Egyptian and spoke Coptic as if she was born to it, but the pale hue of her skin and the delicate cast of her features were distinctly Greek, suggesting perhaps the young lord had more of an affinity for foreigners than most of his countrymen.
But the woman… Dora looked on her with a mild fascination, curious as to why a Greek woman would try so hard to blend into the local flavor. Was it because of Egypt’s notorious hostility to those who were different, a survival technique to keep the sharks at bay? Was she like her own lover with mixed blood, born from some forbidden tryst? Or was it something else entirely?
Accepting the mead from the woman’s outstretched hand, the merchant’s face was somewhat dazed, frank curiosity written all over her features. Anastasia of the Fallen Star, she introduced herself, a moniker fit for the bard she professed to be. A bit ostentatious perhaps, but it couldn’t be denied this Anastasia held the beauty of the heavens in her exquisitely wrought face.
“A bard, eh?” was her warm response, taking a sip of the mead and trying not to grimace at the cloying taste that clung to her tongue. It was a bit heavy of a drink for a woman who already felt like she was about to choke on sand, but who was she to deny a gift from such a lovely creature? “I’d wager I have a tale to match nearly every one of yours, though I doubt mine would be as prettily woven.”
Dora laughed, eyes sparkling. Following Anastasia to the table, she took a seat with a soft sigh. “I am Callidora, and as you can see, yes, I was foolish enough to try to sell in this storm. Luckily, your friend here found me.” She gestured to Akhenaten as she joked, “Otherwise, I doubt I’d be here to tell the tale of my stupidity.”
Hena had not at all expected for the woman to be suddenly upon him, fingers in his wind tossed and sandy hair, and his look of confusion showed as such until he realized who it was. Ana again. She was every where he went, and he was starting to wonder if it was perhaps not such a coincidence after all. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain she was planting herself in his life, looking for something, like some of the legendary H’Sheifa wealth.
She introduced herself in her usual whirlwind way, the woman was a storm herself, one that Akhenaten had been wrapped up in for some reason, though he still had his wits about him. This foreign woman just did something to him that no Egyptian woman had managed to do before. He gave Callidora a shrug and followed Ana to the table, taking a seat.
“My comb.” He commanded of his slave, and the man dug the comb from one of the pouches he carried at his belt, and he held it out to Ana.
“Carefully, if you please.” He said, his intent clear. He had planned on simply dealing with his hair upon returning home, not trusting his male slave to do anything with it, the man was likely to rip some of it out or something equally as foolish, but Ana would have the gentle touch needed to coax the sand and tangles from his thick head of hair, he was sure of it.
He brought the cup of mead to his lips, taking a long drink before setting it on the table in front of them, addressing the woman he had saved from the storm.
“I know I don’t have to replace your stall, I hold no obligation to do such. I am merely offering an act of kindness. A rare occurrence for me, if you knew me.” He said with a snort, though it was true. Anyone who knew him well would know that he was not a kind man. But the cost of replacing what she had lost in that storm would be nothing to him, he had likely spent more on the necklace he had been out purchasing when the storm had begun.
He sat back in the chair, listening as Callidora spoke in response to Ana, he took another drink of his own ale. The women seemed to have common traits, or at least, neither were from Egypt, yet both seemed to be living there. It was curious though, that Ana had put in the effort to fit in with the local fashions, and Callidora seemed to hold no care for such things. He wondered what her story was, perhaps he would find himself entertained at the very least.
“Tell us then, one of these tales of yours. Prettily woven or not, I always relish the chance to hear a good story.” He said, setting his cup down once more, his intense gaze locked on Callidora as he waited for one of these stories that she spoke of having.
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Hena had not at all expected for the woman to be suddenly upon him, fingers in his wind tossed and sandy hair, and his look of confusion showed as such until he realized who it was. Ana again. She was every where he went, and he was starting to wonder if it was perhaps not such a coincidence after all. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain she was planting herself in his life, looking for something, like some of the legendary H’Sheifa wealth.
She introduced herself in her usual whirlwind way, the woman was a storm herself, one that Akhenaten had been wrapped up in for some reason, though he still had his wits about him. This foreign woman just did something to him that no Egyptian woman had managed to do before. He gave Callidora a shrug and followed Ana to the table, taking a seat.
“My comb.” He commanded of his slave, and the man dug the comb from one of the pouches he carried at his belt, and he held it out to Ana.
“Carefully, if you please.” He said, his intent clear. He had planned on simply dealing with his hair upon returning home, not trusting his male slave to do anything with it, the man was likely to rip some of it out or something equally as foolish, but Ana would have the gentle touch needed to coax the sand and tangles from his thick head of hair, he was sure of it.
He brought the cup of mead to his lips, taking a long drink before setting it on the table in front of them, addressing the woman he had saved from the storm.
“I know I don’t have to replace your stall, I hold no obligation to do such. I am merely offering an act of kindness. A rare occurrence for me, if you knew me.” He said with a snort, though it was true. Anyone who knew him well would know that he was not a kind man. But the cost of replacing what she had lost in that storm would be nothing to him, he had likely spent more on the necklace he had been out purchasing when the storm had begun.
He sat back in the chair, listening as Callidora spoke in response to Ana, he took another drink of his own ale. The women seemed to have common traits, or at least, neither were from Egypt, yet both seemed to be living there. It was curious though, that Ana had put in the effort to fit in with the local fashions, and Callidora seemed to hold no care for such things. He wondered what her story was, perhaps he would find himself entertained at the very least.
“Tell us then, one of these tales of yours. Prettily woven or not, I always relish the chance to hear a good story.” He said, setting his cup down once more, his intense gaze locked on Callidora as he waited for one of these stories that she spoke of having.
Hena had not at all expected for the woman to be suddenly upon him, fingers in his wind tossed and sandy hair, and his look of confusion showed as such until he realized who it was. Ana again. She was every where he went, and he was starting to wonder if it was perhaps not such a coincidence after all. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain she was planting herself in his life, looking for something, like some of the legendary H’Sheifa wealth.
She introduced herself in her usual whirlwind way, the woman was a storm herself, one that Akhenaten had been wrapped up in for some reason, though he still had his wits about him. This foreign woman just did something to him that no Egyptian woman had managed to do before. He gave Callidora a shrug and followed Ana to the table, taking a seat.
“My comb.” He commanded of his slave, and the man dug the comb from one of the pouches he carried at his belt, and he held it out to Ana.
“Carefully, if you please.” He said, his intent clear. He had planned on simply dealing with his hair upon returning home, not trusting his male slave to do anything with it, the man was likely to rip some of it out or something equally as foolish, but Ana would have the gentle touch needed to coax the sand and tangles from his thick head of hair, he was sure of it.
He brought the cup of mead to his lips, taking a long drink before setting it on the table in front of them, addressing the woman he had saved from the storm.
“I know I don’t have to replace your stall, I hold no obligation to do such. I am merely offering an act of kindness. A rare occurrence for me, if you knew me.” He said with a snort, though it was true. Anyone who knew him well would know that he was not a kind man. But the cost of replacing what she had lost in that storm would be nothing to him, he had likely spent more on the necklace he had been out purchasing when the storm had begun.
He sat back in the chair, listening as Callidora spoke in response to Ana, he took another drink of his own ale. The women seemed to have common traits, or at least, neither were from Egypt, yet both seemed to be living there. It was curious though, that Ana had put in the effort to fit in with the local fashions, and Callidora seemed to hold no care for such things. He wondered what her story was, perhaps he would find himself entertained at the very least.
“Tell us then, one of these tales of yours. Prettily woven or not, I always relish the chance to hear a good story.” He said, setting his cup down once more, his intense gaze locked on Callidora as he waited for one of these stories that she spoke of having.
For as much as Sutekh prided himself on his intelligence, by gods he could be an absolute idiot.
When most people heard that there was a sandstorm on the horizon would take shelter in the sturdiest structure and wait the beast out. Sutekh, of course, was no stranger to this. They have always just been a part of life in Egypt. Throughout his twenty-four years, the young man had been through his fair share of windstorms. His memories of them ranged from huddling beneath his parents’ bedsheets as the wind howled around the Saraaya; his mother clutching her precious boy with one arm and baby Nenet, still in her swaddle, in the other. There had also been the times that they have struck while Sutekh was with the Harakat and he would have to take shelter in flimsy tents that did nothing to spare them from the assault of wind and grit. -- The latter of which Sutekh would have sworn was no better than standing in middle the storm itself.
So, the young man did not have as much fear as he should have when the winds first picked up. Why should he? He had been through storms like this before and he had been fine. This time would be no different, especially as he was in the Evening Star Palace. The building was so well-fortified that the threat of a sandstorm barely phased the staff who quietly began preparing to close the building as they went about their other tasks. Sutekh had barely even noticed that they were even taking any precautions at all with how jovial things were in the palace. Everything was business as usual as far as the royal household was concerned.
However, the threat of a sandstorm presented Sutekh with a unique opportunity. Ever since joining the Naddars, the Prince lived in abject terror that his death waited just around the corner. After all, he was not foolish enough to believe that his status as a bastard and Hatshepsut’s favor of him would be enough to protect him if her husband or mother saw the Princeling as a threat to their power. Sutekh was constantly on guard, waiting fearfully for the other shoe to drop and for either royal to make an attempt on the boy’s life. He was becoming paranoid with all the possibilities of how he could be offed -- but nowhere did his imagination go wilder than when it came to his meals. He knew how easy it would be for either party to slip something poisonous into his drink or his meat. It would be ideal too as the crime would be bloodless and utterly untraceable to the Pharaoh and Queen Mother. It was so easy that Sutekh refused to eat outside of the company of his half-sister; trusting that her presence alone would deter the others from making an attempt on him.
This was manageable for the most part, but Sutekh could only ignore the ever-constant pangs of hunger for only so long. His stomach was constantly growling and his face was growing gaunt as Sutekh’s body reacted to the less-than-steady supply of food. He was visibly weaker than he had been a month ago, but there was little Sutekh could do to calm his fears. Not while he lived under the same roof of the two people who would benefit the most from his death.
When Hatshepsut was busy, Sutekh didn’t eat… not unless, of course, he made his way to the market and found something for a few coins there. He couldn’t do this as often as he should as Sutekh knew that there would be questions as to why the Bastard Prince of Egypt was constantly buying food instead of enjoying the exorbitant meals offered by the palace. The last thing he needed, after all, was more rumors surrounding him.
However, the sandstorm presented a unique opportunity. Countless merchants would be eager to take shelter and would not think twice about a man who was stocking up on supplies. He could buy more than he normally did and eat like a pig that evening as everyone cowered from the storm. Sutekh would have to move quickly, but even if he did get caught in the winds, it would be no different than the sandstorms he had faced in his time as a soldier. It was perfect.
Almost too perfect.
For the most part, his plan had gone off without a hitch. By the time the winds had started to pick up, the basket he brought had been filled to the brim with bread, fruits, and other items that made his mouth water as he moved about the stalls that were rapidly shuttering down. He didn’t realize it, but his window shopping had cost him valuable time to get back to the Evening Star Palace before the true brunt of the storm bore down on them.
So, when the winds picked up and the sand came raining down, Sutekh was still on the city streets.
He was lucky enough that the wind had pushed him into a small, covered doorway that provided a modicum of shelter. However, the Prince that it would not be enough. Not with the wind threatening to lift him away and the grit assaulting his eyes, nose, and mouth. The former Sheifa would need to take shelter elsewhere. Luckily, for him, even through the brownish-gray hue that came with the sands of the Sahara being picked up and pushed in Cairo, he could see the waving sign of a tavern. As he hunkered down he could even see a few people go through its doorway; making it clear that it was a safe place to take shelter until the storm had passed.
Not wanting to spend another moment out in Set’s wrath, Sutekh hightailed it to the Tavern just a further bit up the street. He clutched his bag of goods as if his life depended on it as he fought against the gusts of winds that were threatening to uproot him. After all, he had gone through all this trouble to get this, Sutekh was not going to lose it that easily.
Perhaps if he had abandoned the parcel, he would have been faster in getting to the Tavern, but that hardly mattered as he came crashing through the door and nearly fell upon the ground. A serving girl gasped as the Prince pulled himself off the ground, waving her off as he tried to get his bearings and adjust to the fact that there was nothing trying to knock him off of his feet. Sutekh wasn’t surprised then to see that he brought a fair bit of attention to himself as he rubbed the grit from his eyes. Truthfully, he was used to that by now as his entrance to the palace was abrupt and the result of a scandal that heads turned no matter where he went. He was used to it by now.
But this time was a bit different. He doubted that anyone in the room would recognize him as the former Sheifa heir, especially as he was clearly carrying food and had purposefully dressed down before leaving the palace. All the stares were likely coming from his less-than-graceful entry into space. He blushed fiercely as he tried to ignore them, fully intent on finding some corner to hunker down in as he waited for the storm out. However, that was before Sutekh caught the gaze of the last person he would expect to be here.
Hena.
What on earth was his half-brother doing in a tavern like this? Had he been caught in the sandstorm too? And who was that with him? Sutekh’s innate need to police his wild brother’s behavior overrode his desire for anonymity as he quickly marched over to the little group. As he put the basket down near Callidora, who could very easily pilfer through it if she wished, the former Sheifa heir turned his attentions to his successor as he hissed at the boy, “ Akhenaten? What are you doing here? And with these people?” He said as he motioned to both Anastasia and Callidora. Sutekh expected Nia to be the one to spend their time with commoners, not the new heir whose responsibilities would keep him above the company of the rabble of Cairo.
His face grew red with anger as he considered the implications of Hena being here instead of being at Onuphrious’s side learning how to be the heir that Sutekh was. Hena should not be wasting his time in taverns when there was work to be done. However, this train of thought forced his temper to cool momentarily as a new, terrifying possibility began to creep in.
If Hena was here, was the other Sheifas as well?
His anger quickly dissipated into concern as Sutkeh questioned his brother on this, “ Brother, are the others out in the storm?!” The Prince’s tone was hurried and it was clear that if Hena confirmed his fears, the boy would leap up to find the Sheifas. It would be a foolishly dumb move -- possibly even more dangerous than identifying himself as Hena’s brother when everyone knew that the Sheifa family only had two boys… the older of whom was now a resident of the Evening Star Palace.
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Check out their information page here.
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Check out their information page here.
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For as much as Sutekh prided himself on his intelligence, by gods he could be an absolute idiot.
When most people heard that there was a sandstorm on the horizon would take shelter in the sturdiest structure and wait the beast out. Sutekh, of course, was no stranger to this. They have always just been a part of life in Egypt. Throughout his twenty-four years, the young man had been through his fair share of windstorms. His memories of them ranged from huddling beneath his parents’ bedsheets as the wind howled around the Saraaya; his mother clutching her precious boy with one arm and baby Nenet, still in her swaddle, in the other. There had also been the times that they have struck while Sutekh was with the Harakat and he would have to take shelter in flimsy tents that did nothing to spare them from the assault of wind and grit. -- The latter of which Sutekh would have sworn was no better than standing in middle the storm itself.
So, the young man did not have as much fear as he should have when the winds first picked up. Why should he? He had been through storms like this before and he had been fine. This time would be no different, especially as he was in the Evening Star Palace. The building was so well-fortified that the threat of a sandstorm barely phased the staff who quietly began preparing to close the building as they went about their other tasks. Sutekh had barely even noticed that they were even taking any precautions at all with how jovial things were in the palace. Everything was business as usual as far as the royal household was concerned.
However, the threat of a sandstorm presented Sutekh with a unique opportunity. Ever since joining the Naddars, the Prince lived in abject terror that his death waited just around the corner. After all, he was not foolish enough to believe that his status as a bastard and Hatshepsut’s favor of him would be enough to protect him if her husband or mother saw the Princeling as a threat to their power. Sutekh was constantly on guard, waiting fearfully for the other shoe to drop and for either royal to make an attempt on the boy’s life. He was becoming paranoid with all the possibilities of how he could be offed -- but nowhere did his imagination go wilder than when it came to his meals. He knew how easy it would be for either party to slip something poisonous into his drink or his meat. It would be ideal too as the crime would be bloodless and utterly untraceable to the Pharaoh and Queen Mother. It was so easy that Sutekh refused to eat outside of the company of his half-sister; trusting that her presence alone would deter the others from making an attempt on him.
This was manageable for the most part, but Sutekh could only ignore the ever-constant pangs of hunger for only so long. His stomach was constantly growling and his face was growing gaunt as Sutekh’s body reacted to the less-than-steady supply of food. He was visibly weaker than he had been a month ago, but there was little Sutekh could do to calm his fears. Not while he lived under the same roof of the two people who would benefit the most from his death.
When Hatshepsut was busy, Sutekh didn’t eat… not unless, of course, he made his way to the market and found something for a few coins there. He couldn’t do this as often as he should as Sutekh knew that there would be questions as to why the Bastard Prince of Egypt was constantly buying food instead of enjoying the exorbitant meals offered by the palace. The last thing he needed, after all, was more rumors surrounding him.
However, the sandstorm presented a unique opportunity. Countless merchants would be eager to take shelter and would not think twice about a man who was stocking up on supplies. He could buy more than he normally did and eat like a pig that evening as everyone cowered from the storm. Sutekh would have to move quickly, but even if he did get caught in the winds, it would be no different than the sandstorms he had faced in his time as a soldier. It was perfect.
Almost too perfect.
For the most part, his plan had gone off without a hitch. By the time the winds had started to pick up, the basket he brought had been filled to the brim with bread, fruits, and other items that made his mouth water as he moved about the stalls that were rapidly shuttering down. He didn’t realize it, but his window shopping had cost him valuable time to get back to the Evening Star Palace before the true brunt of the storm bore down on them.
So, when the winds picked up and the sand came raining down, Sutekh was still on the city streets.
He was lucky enough that the wind had pushed him into a small, covered doorway that provided a modicum of shelter. However, the Prince that it would not be enough. Not with the wind threatening to lift him away and the grit assaulting his eyes, nose, and mouth. The former Sheifa would need to take shelter elsewhere. Luckily, for him, even through the brownish-gray hue that came with the sands of the Sahara being picked up and pushed in Cairo, he could see the waving sign of a tavern. As he hunkered down he could even see a few people go through its doorway; making it clear that it was a safe place to take shelter until the storm had passed.
Not wanting to spend another moment out in Set’s wrath, Sutekh hightailed it to the Tavern just a further bit up the street. He clutched his bag of goods as if his life depended on it as he fought against the gusts of winds that were threatening to uproot him. After all, he had gone through all this trouble to get this, Sutekh was not going to lose it that easily.
Perhaps if he had abandoned the parcel, he would have been faster in getting to the Tavern, but that hardly mattered as he came crashing through the door and nearly fell upon the ground. A serving girl gasped as the Prince pulled himself off the ground, waving her off as he tried to get his bearings and adjust to the fact that there was nothing trying to knock him off of his feet. Sutekh wasn’t surprised then to see that he brought a fair bit of attention to himself as he rubbed the grit from his eyes. Truthfully, he was used to that by now as his entrance to the palace was abrupt and the result of a scandal that heads turned no matter where he went. He was used to it by now.
But this time was a bit different. He doubted that anyone in the room would recognize him as the former Sheifa heir, especially as he was clearly carrying food and had purposefully dressed down before leaving the palace. All the stares were likely coming from his less-than-graceful entry into space. He blushed fiercely as he tried to ignore them, fully intent on finding some corner to hunker down in as he waited for the storm out. However, that was before Sutekh caught the gaze of the last person he would expect to be here.
Hena.
What on earth was his half-brother doing in a tavern like this? Had he been caught in the sandstorm too? And who was that with him? Sutekh’s innate need to police his wild brother’s behavior overrode his desire for anonymity as he quickly marched over to the little group. As he put the basket down near Callidora, who could very easily pilfer through it if she wished, the former Sheifa heir turned his attentions to his successor as he hissed at the boy, “ Akhenaten? What are you doing here? And with these people?” He said as he motioned to both Anastasia and Callidora. Sutekh expected Nia to be the one to spend their time with commoners, not the new heir whose responsibilities would keep him above the company of the rabble of Cairo.
His face grew red with anger as he considered the implications of Hena being here instead of being at Onuphrious’s side learning how to be the heir that Sutekh was. Hena should not be wasting his time in taverns when there was work to be done. However, this train of thought forced his temper to cool momentarily as a new, terrifying possibility began to creep in.
If Hena was here, was the other Sheifas as well?
His anger quickly dissipated into concern as Sutkeh questioned his brother on this, “ Brother, are the others out in the storm?!” The Prince’s tone was hurried and it was clear that if Hena confirmed his fears, the boy would leap up to find the Sheifas. It would be a foolishly dumb move -- possibly even more dangerous than identifying himself as Hena’s brother when everyone knew that the Sheifa family only had two boys… the older of whom was now a resident of the Evening Star Palace.
For as much as Sutekh prided himself on his intelligence, by gods he could be an absolute idiot.
When most people heard that there was a sandstorm on the horizon would take shelter in the sturdiest structure and wait the beast out. Sutekh, of course, was no stranger to this. They have always just been a part of life in Egypt. Throughout his twenty-four years, the young man had been through his fair share of windstorms. His memories of them ranged from huddling beneath his parents’ bedsheets as the wind howled around the Saraaya; his mother clutching her precious boy with one arm and baby Nenet, still in her swaddle, in the other. There had also been the times that they have struck while Sutekh was with the Harakat and he would have to take shelter in flimsy tents that did nothing to spare them from the assault of wind and grit. -- The latter of which Sutekh would have sworn was no better than standing in middle the storm itself.
So, the young man did not have as much fear as he should have when the winds first picked up. Why should he? He had been through storms like this before and he had been fine. This time would be no different, especially as he was in the Evening Star Palace. The building was so well-fortified that the threat of a sandstorm barely phased the staff who quietly began preparing to close the building as they went about their other tasks. Sutekh had barely even noticed that they were even taking any precautions at all with how jovial things were in the palace. Everything was business as usual as far as the royal household was concerned.
However, the threat of a sandstorm presented Sutekh with a unique opportunity. Ever since joining the Naddars, the Prince lived in abject terror that his death waited just around the corner. After all, he was not foolish enough to believe that his status as a bastard and Hatshepsut’s favor of him would be enough to protect him if her husband or mother saw the Princeling as a threat to their power. Sutekh was constantly on guard, waiting fearfully for the other shoe to drop and for either royal to make an attempt on the boy’s life. He was becoming paranoid with all the possibilities of how he could be offed -- but nowhere did his imagination go wilder than when it came to his meals. He knew how easy it would be for either party to slip something poisonous into his drink or his meat. It would be ideal too as the crime would be bloodless and utterly untraceable to the Pharaoh and Queen Mother. It was so easy that Sutekh refused to eat outside of the company of his half-sister; trusting that her presence alone would deter the others from making an attempt on him.
This was manageable for the most part, but Sutekh could only ignore the ever-constant pangs of hunger for only so long. His stomach was constantly growling and his face was growing gaunt as Sutekh’s body reacted to the less-than-steady supply of food. He was visibly weaker than he had been a month ago, but there was little Sutekh could do to calm his fears. Not while he lived under the same roof of the two people who would benefit the most from his death.
When Hatshepsut was busy, Sutekh didn’t eat… not unless, of course, he made his way to the market and found something for a few coins there. He couldn’t do this as often as he should as Sutekh knew that there would be questions as to why the Bastard Prince of Egypt was constantly buying food instead of enjoying the exorbitant meals offered by the palace. The last thing he needed, after all, was more rumors surrounding him.
However, the sandstorm presented a unique opportunity. Countless merchants would be eager to take shelter and would not think twice about a man who was stocking up on supplies. He could buy more than he normally did and eat like a pig that evening as everyone cowered from the storm. Sutekh would have to move quickly, but even if he did get caught in the winds, it would be no different than the sandstorms he had faced in his time as a soldier. It was perfect.
Almost too perfect.
For the most part, his plan had gone off without a hitch. By the time the winds had started to pick up, the basket he brought had been filled to the brim with bread, fruits, and other items that made his mouth water as he moved about the stalls that were rapidly shuttering down. He didn’t realize it, but his window shopping had cost him valuable time to get back to the Evening Star Palace before the true brunt of the storm bore down on them.
So, when the winds picked up and the sand came raining down, Sutekh was still on the city streets.
He was lucky enough that the wind had pushed him into a small, covered doorway that provided a modicum of shelter. However, the Prince that it would not be enough. Not with the wind threatening to lift him away and the grit assaulting his eyes, nose, and mouth. The former Sheifa would need to take shelter elsewhere. Luckily, for him, even through the brownish-gray hue that came with the sands of the Sahara being picked up and pushed in Cairo, he could see the waving sign of a tavern. As he hunkered down he could even see a few people go through its doorway; making it clear that it was a safe place to take shelter until the storm had passed.
Not wanting to spend another moment out in Set’s wrath, Sutekh hightailed it to the Tavern just a further bit up the street. He clutched his bag of goods as if his life depended on it as he fought against the gusts of winds that were threatening to uproot him. After all, he had gone through all this trouble to get this, Sutekh was not going to lose it that easily.
Perhaps if he had abandoned the parcel, he would have been faster in getting to the Tavern, but that hardly mattered as he came crashing through the door and nearly fell upon the ground. A serving girl gasped as the Prince pulled himself off the ground, waving her off as he tried to get his bearings and adjust to the fact that there was nothing trying to knock him off of his feet. Sutekh wasn’t surprised then to see that he brought a fair bit of attention to himself as he rubbed the grit from his eyes. Truthfully, he was used to that by now as his entrance to the palace was abrupt and the result of a scandal that heads turned no matter where he went. He was used to it by now.
But this time was a bit different. He doubted that anyone in the room would recognize him as the former Sheifa heir, especially as he was clearly carrying food and had purposefully dressed down before leaving the palace. All the stares were likely coming from his less-than-graceful entry into space. He blushed fiercely as he tried to ignore them, fully intent on finding some corner to hunker down in as he waited for the storm out. However, that was before Sutekh caught the gaze of the last person he would expect to be here.
Hena.
What on earth was his half-brother doing in a tavern like this? Had he been caught in the sandstorm too? And who was that with him? Sutekh’s innate need to police his wild brother’s behavior overrode his desire for anonymity as he quickly marched over to the little group. As he put the basket down near Callidora, who could very easily pilfer through it if she wished, the former Sheifa heir turned his attentions to his successor as he hissed at the boy, “ Akhenaten? What are you doing here? And with these people?” He said as he motioned to both Anastasia and Callidora. Sutekh expected Nia to be the one to spend their time with commoners, not the new heir whose responsibilities would keep him above the company of the rabble of Cairo.
His face grew red with anger as he considered the implications of Hena being here instead of being at Onuphrious’s side learning how to be the heir that Sutekh was. Hena should not be wasting his time in taverns when there was work to be done. However, this train of thought forced his temper to cool momentarily as a new, terrifying possibility began to creep in.
If Hena was here, was the other Sheifas as well?
His anger quickly dissipated into concern as Sutkeh questioned his brother on this, “ Brother, are the others out in the storm?!” The Prince’s tone was hurried and it was clear that if Hena confirmed his fears, the boy would leap up to find the Sheifas. It would be a foolishly dumb move -- possibly even more dangerous than identifying himself as Hena’s brother when everyone knew that the Sheifa family only had two boys… the older of whom was now a resident of the Evening Star Palace.
Callidora offered Akhenaten another smile, taking a second swallow of her mead. “Nonetheless, I thank you for it, my lord,” she replied with a slight inclination of her head. “You have no idea how much you’re offering, even if it seems like so little to you. My life here depends on that stand. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along. I will find a way to repay you, this I swear.”
Glancing toward Anastasia when the young lord handed her his comb, she lifted a brow, but said nothing. Lover or servant? she wondered, flicking her gaze between the two of them with a detached interest. With the nobility, who knew? Could be both.
At Lord H’Sheifa’s suggestion she tell one of those stories, Dora’s smile brightened. The merchant had been so lonely since her forced separation from Skylla, hardly daring to speak to anyone for fear of darker motives. The country overall had not welcomed her very warmly, and her time spent in the Pharaoh’s dungeon only reinforced that. To be able to speak so freely with such unexpected company…
Even in the wake of such a disastrous day, it still managed to raise her spirits.
“Well, if it’s a story you want, then a story you shall have,” she replied with a sparkle in her emerald eye, leaning back in her chair and looking between the pair again. “But which one shall it be, hm?”
Dora thoughtfully tapped her chin, dredging through memories as she decided where she ought to start. “I’m a traveling merchant’s widow,” she explained as she took another sip of her mead. “We sailed all over the Aegean, down the Nile, up into the Red Sea… name it, and we’ve been there.”
Her sigh was wistful, vision going hazy with the recollection. “It was a joyful life, full of excitement and freedom. I got to see things most people never will and walk on shores that most will never see. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.” Setting her mead down, she offered her companions a crooked half-smile. “But such a life was certainly not without its dangers. Pirates, for instance, were a… significant worry.”
Leaning back in her chair, Dora shook her head as she brought old memories to the forefront. “Three years ago, before my husband passed, we encountered such an incident. We were carrying a shipment from Colchis to Taengea and were boarded rather… unexpectedly. The pirate even stole our first mate-”
Before she could continue her story any further, the merchant was interrupted by someone else approaching their table with fury in his tone and posture alike. Shouting at the young lord who’d helped her while insulting her and Ana in the same breath, the man who professed to be Akhenaten’s brother proceeded to take over the table while Dora bristled with scarcely concealed irritation. She truly couldn’t understand the nerve of some people, noble or not…
“Excuse me,” she butted into the man’s tirade, her ‘polite’ interjection perhaps a little louder than necessary. “At least one of ‘these people’ wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your brother’s generosity, so forgive me if I suggest you bring it down a little?” Callidora’s face was carefully neutral as she regarded this arrogant newcomer—it would seem the trait ran in the family. “We were actually having a very nice conversation before you started shouting. And if there are others caught out there in the storm, well, I doubt there’s much he can do about it now, eh?”
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Callidora offered Akhenaten another smile, taking a second swallow of her mead. “Nonetheless, I thank you for it, my lord,” she replied with a slight inclination of her head. “You have no idea how much you’re offering, even if it seems like so little to you. My life here depends on that stand. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along. I will find a way to repay you, this I swear.”
Glancing toward Anastasia when the young lord handed her his comb, she lifted a brow, but said nothing. Lover or servant? she wondered, flicking her gaze between the two of them with a detached interest. With the nobility, who knew? Could be both.
At Lord H’Sheifa’s suggestion she tell one of those stories, Dora’s smile brightened. The merchant had been so lonely since her forced separation from Skylla, hardly daring to speak to anyone for fear of darker motives. The country overall had not welcomed her very warmly, and her time spent in the Pharaoh’s dungeon only reinforced that. To be able to speak so freely with such unexpected company…
Even in the wake of such a disastrous day, it still managed to raise her spirits.
“Well, if it’s a story you want, then a story you shall have,” she replied with a sparkle in her emerald eye, leaning back in her chair and looking between the pair again. “But which one shall it be, hm?”
Dora thoughtfully tapped her chin, dredging through memories as she decided where she ought to start. “I’m a traveling merchant’s widow,” she explained as she took another sip of her mead. “We sailed all over the Aegean, down the Nile, up into the Red Sea… name it, and we’ve been there.”
Her sigh was wistful, vision going hazy with the recollection. “It was a joyful life, full of excitement and freedom. I got to see things most people never will and walk on shores that most will never see. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.” Setting her mead down, she offered her companions a crooked half-smile. “But such a life was certainly not without its dangers. Pirates, for instance, were a… significant worry.”
Leaning back in her chair, Dora shook her head as she brought old memories to the forefront. “Three years ago, before my husband passed, we encountered such an incident. We were carrying a shipment from Colchis to Taengea and were boarded rather… unexpectedly. The pirate even stole our first mate-”
Before she could continue her story any further, the merchant was interrupted by someone else approaching their table with fury in his tone and posture alike. Shouting at the young lord who’d helped her while insulting her and Ana in the same breath, the man who professed to be Akhenaten’s brother proceeded to take over the table while Dora bristled with scarcely concealed irritation. She truly couldn’t understand the nerve of some people, noble or not…
“Excuse me,” she butted into the man’s tirade, her ‘polite’ interjection perhaps a little louder than necessary. “At least one of ‘these people’ wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your brother’s generosity, so forgive me if I suggest you bring it down a little?” Callidora’s face was carefully neutral as she regarded this arrogant newcomer—it would seem the trait ran in the family. “We were actually having a very nice conversation before you started shouting. And if there are others caught out there in the storm, well, I doubt there’s much he can do about it now, eh?”
Callidora offered Akhenaten another smile, taking a second swallow of her mead. “Nonetheless, I thank you for it, my lord,” she replied with a slight inclination of her head. “You have no idea how much you’re offering, even if it seems like so little to you. My life here depends on that stand. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along. I will find a way to repay you, this I swear.”
Glancing toward Anastasia when the young lord handed her his comb, she lifted a brow, but said nothing. Lover or servant? she wondered, flicking her gaze between the two of them with a detached interest. With the nobility, who knew? Could be both.
At Lord H’Sheifa’s suggestion she tell one of those stories, Dora’s smile brightened. The merchant had been so lonely since her forced separation from Skylla, hardly daring to speak to anyone for fear of darker motives. The country overall had not welcomed her very warmly, and her time spent in the Pharaoh’s dungeon only reinforced that. To be able to speak so freely with such unexpected company…
Even in the wake of such a disastrous day, it still managed to raise her spirits.
“Well, if it’s a story you want, then a story you shall have,” she replied with a sparkle in her emerald eye, leaning back in her chair and looking between the pair again. “But which one shall it be, hm?”
Dora thoughtfully tapped her chin, dredging through memories as she decided where she ought to start. “I’m a traveling merchant’s widow,” she explained as she took another sip of her mead. “We sailed all over the Aegean, down the Nile, up into the Red Sea… name it, and we’ve been there.”
Her sigh was wistful, vision going hazy with the recollection. “It was a joyful life, full of excitement and freedom. I got to see things most people never will and walk on shores that most will never see. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.” Setting her mead down, she offered her companions a crooked half-smile. “But such a life was certainly not without its dangers. Pirates, for instance, were a… significant worry.”
Leaning back in her chair, Dora shook her head as she brought old memories to the forefront. “Three years ago, before my husband passed, we encountered such an incident. We were carrying a shipment from Colchis to Taengea and were boarded rather… unexpectedly. The pirate even stole our first mate-”
Before she could continue her story any further, the merchant was interrupted by someone else approaching their table with fury in his tone and posture alike. Shouting at the young lord who’d helped her while insulting her and Ana in the same breath, the man who professed to be Akhenaten’s brother proceeded to take over the table while Dora bristled with scarcely concealed irritation. She truly couldn’t understand the nerve of some people, noble or not…
“Excuse me,” she butted into the man’s tirade, her ‘polite’ interjection perhaps a little louder than necessary. “At least one of ‘these people’ wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your brother’s generosity, so forgive me if I suggest you bring it down a little?” Callidora’s face was carefully neutral as she regarded this arrogant newcomer—it would seem the trait ran in the family. “We were actually having a very nice conversation before you started shouting. And if there are others caught out there in the storm, well, I doubt there’s much he can do about it now, eh?”
Anastasia of the Fallen Star thought little of the why she did the things she did. A creature of instinct, she adopted identities and alibis as the truths in which to veil the countless lies of a past thrown by the wayside. At times the darkness of the past brushed upon the fringes of thought, bringing with it a frigid realization that she was, despite her countless efforts to conceal it, a Greek woman. Calliope of Aetaea still lay beneath the surface of her skin, unknown but noticeable to any who laid eyes on her. She brushed the thoughts of the past aside just as she brushed the sand out of Akhenaten's hair.
Anastasia alternated between using the digits of her left hand and the comb that sat in her right, nimble fingertips soothingly working along Hena's scalp. She worked with a slow, sensuous tilt to her motions, her gaze shifting for a moment between Callidora and the lord himself before she placed a kiss at the crown of the lord's head in proof to both him and herself that the task was done. When she was done, she took her seat next to Akhenaten once more, leaning back into the wood of her chair as she listened to the woman's words. Her Coptic wasn't quite as practised as Anastasia's, it seemed. Or rather, she hadn't worked as feverishly to dissolve the accent in it. It was a professional interest for Anastasia to work with words and adopt them as her own.
After all, words were the tools with which both of her lives came to a crashing union. The fortuitous skill of a thief needed the playful charms of a bard in order to succeed on her own. Be it through guile, wit, or manual dexterity, Anastasia found the pleasures and treasures she'd wanted and the example of that was the young Egyptian lord who so held her attentions. Hena went on to ask about tales from the redheaded visage, and the bard wouldn't be so bold as to contradict such a request. Of course, she wanted to hear them as well.
When Callidora brought to light the gratitude she felt for the pending revival of her stall, Anastasia felt a momentary flicker of distaste. The life of a merchant was one she knew all too well, placed at the complete mercy of one. It brought to light again the darkness of her past, and Ana couldn't quite hide the flicker of disgust in her expression, though she was quite aware of its existence and expunged it with a sideward gaze and another deep indulgence in her mead. Her head was becoming pleasantly light, and she let her head rest on Hena's shoulder should he allow it. Lips moved to settle upon the lord's throat as she pressed into his neck, pulling away only once she felt in proper control of her facial expression.
The story was one Ana paid half attention to, for her mood lifted in soaring heights and fell to the depths of Tartarus in the utterances. She hated the reminder of the past, even as such a reminder came unwittingly from lovely lips. It was a roller coaster of feral sensation and it was quite the relief when it all fell away in the light of the berating words at the hands of another Egyptian lord. Or at least, that was the impression Ana got. Propriety dictated that she hold her tongue, and she was fully intent to until Callidora interjected. The stunning redhead held a fiery temper that she kept veiled with polite words? At the very least, she interjected in a way that didn't incite violence towards her.
Anastasia, on the other hand, let a soft chuckle escape her lips. Perhaps it was the mead, or the fact that the the other Egyptian gestured to them so offhandedly. It was quite difficult for Anastasia to take him seriously when the other lord seemed so comfortable around commoners and foreigners. She was innately aware that it was the norm for Egyptians, but nonetheless, the laughter grew louder. Vivacious was the sound, almost carrying a tune though falling just shy of it. It was all the more comical when the anger flitted away and he switched his topic of conversation to the sandstorm outside and the possibility of others being stuck in it. Were they related? The familiarity bode to it, and Ana was quite aware that Hei Sheifa had other members to it.
"What a shame, Callidora, that your story was interrupted so soon," she spoke in half-hearted tunes. She turned her head towards Akhenaten before gesturing to the unknown guest of theirs.
"Would you sit with us, as well? Surely, you wouldn't ask the heir of H'Sheifa to go back into the storm and check up on your question? It's rather foolhardy to throw oneself into a dust bowl," she mused aloud, absently turning her hand to inspect her nails before she turned back to Callidora,
"For all of your mention of words not so prettily spoken, your tale was well said. I'd love to hear another or share a fable of my own, if it strikes your fancy?"
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Anastasia of the Fallen Star thought little of the why she did the things she did. A creature of instinct, she adopted identities and alibis as the truths in which to veil the countless lies of a past thrown by the wayside. At times the darkness of the past brushed upon the fringes of thought, bringing with it a frigid realization that she was, despite her countless efforts to conceal it, a Greek woman. Calliope of Aetaea still lay beneath the surface of her skin, unknown but noticeable to any who laid eyes on her. She brushed the thoughts of the past aside just as she brushed the sand out of Akhenaten's hair.
Anastasia alternated between using the digits of her left hand and the comb that sat in her right, nimble fingertips soothingly working along Hena's scalp. She worked with a slow, sensuous tilt to her motions, her gaze shifting for a moment between Callidora and the lord himself before she placed a kiss at the crown of the lord's head in proof to both him and herself that the task was done. When she was done, she took her seat next to Akhenaten once more, leaning back into the wood of her chair as she listened to the woman's words. Her Coptic wasn't quite as practised as Anastasia's, it seemed. Or rather, she hadn't worked as feverishly to dissolve the accent in it. It was a professional interest for Anastasia to work with words and adopt them as her own.
After all, words were the tools with which both of her lives came to a crashing union. The fortuitous skill of a thief needed the playful charms of a bard in order to succeed on her own. Be it through guile, wit, or manual dexterity, Anastasia found the pleasures and treasures she'd wanted and the example of that was the young Egyptian lord who so held her attentions. Hena went on to ask about tales from the redheaded visage, and the bard wouldn't be so bold as to contradict such a request. Of course, she wanted to hear them as well.
When Callidora brought to light the gratitude she felt for the pending revival of her stall, Anastasia felt a momentary flicker of distaste. The life of a merchant was one she knew all too well, placed at the complete mercy of one. It brought to light again the darkness of her past, and Ana couldn't quite hide the flicker of disgust in her expression, though she was quite aware of its existence and expunged it with a sideward gaze and another deep indulgence in her mead. Her head was becoming pleasantly light, and she let her head rest on Hena's shoulder should he allow it. Lips moved to settle upon the lord's throat as she pressed into his neck, pulling away only once she felt in proper control of her facial expression.
The story was one Ana paid half attention to, for her mood lifted in soaring heights and fell to the depths of Tartarus in the utterances. She hated the reminder of the past, even as such a reminder came unwittingly from lovely lips. It was a roller coaster of feral sensation and it was quite the relief when it all fell away in the light of the berating words at the hands of another Egyptian lord. Or at least, that was the impression Ana got. Propriety dictated that she hold her tongue, and she was fully intent to until Callidora interjected. The stunning redhead held a fiery temper that she kept veiled with polite words? At the very least, she interjected in a way that didn't incite violence towards her.
Anastasia, on the other hand, let a soft chuckle escape her lips. Perhaps it was the mead, or the fact that the the other Egyptian gestured to them so offhandedly. It was quite difficult for Anastasia to take him seriously when the other lord seemed so comfortable around commoners and foreigners. She was innately aware that it was the norm for Egyptians, but nonetheless, the laughter grew louder. Vivacious was the sound, almost carrying a tune though falling just shy of it. It was all the more comical when the anger flitted away and he switched his topic of conversation to the sandstorm outside and the possibility of others being stuck in it. Were they related? The familiarity bode to it, and Ana was quite aware that Hei Sheifa had other members to it.
"What a shame, Callidora, that your story was interrupted so soon," she spoke in half-hearted tunes. She turned her head towards Akhenaten before gesturing to the unknown guest of theirs.
"Would you sit with us, as well? Surely, you wouldn't ask the heir of H'Sheifa to go back into the storm and check up on your question? It's rather foolhardy to throw oneself into a dust bowl," she mused aloud, absently turning her hand to inspect her nails before she turned back to Callidora,
"For all of your mention of words not so prettily spoken, your tale was well said. I'd love to hear another or share a fable of my own, if it strikes your fancy?"
Anastasia of the Fallen Star thought little of the why she did the things she did. A creature of instinct, she adopted identities and alibis as the truths in which to veil the countless lies of a past thrown by the wayside. At times the darkness of the past brushed upon the fringes of thought, bringing with it a frigid realization that she was, despite her countless efforts to conceal it, a Greek woman. Calliope of Aetaea still lay beneath the surface of her skin, unknown but noticeable to any who laid eyes on her. She brushed the thoughts of the past aside just as she brushed the sand out of Akhenaten's hair.
Anastasia alternated between using the digits of her left hand and the comb that sat in her right, nimble fingertips soothingly working along Hena's scalp. She worked with a slow, sensuous tilt to her motions, her gaze shifting for a moment between Callidora and the lord himself before she placed a kiss at the crown of the lord's head in proof to both him and herself that the task was done. When she was done, she took her seat next to Akhenaten once more, leaning back into the wood of her chair as she listened to the woman's words. Her Coptic wasn't quite as practised as Anastasia's, it seemed. Or rather, she hadn't worked as feverishly to dissolve the accent in it. It was a professional interest for Anastasia to work with words and adopt them as her own.
After all, words were the tools with which both of her lives came to a crashing union. The fortuitous skill of a thief needed the playful charms of a bard in order to succeed on her own. Be it through guile, wit, or manual dexterity, Anastasia found the pleasures and treasures she'd wanted and the example of that was the young Egyptian lord who so held her attentions. Hena went on to ask about tales from the redheaded visage, and the bard wouldn't be so bold as to contradict such a request. Of course, she wanted to hear them as well.
When Callidora brought to light the gratitude she felt for the pending revival of her stall, Anastasia felt a momentary flicker of distaste. The life of a merchant was one she knew all too well, placed at the complete mercy of one. It brought to light again the darkness of her past, and Ana couldn't quite hide the flicker of disgust in her expression, though she was quite aware of its existence and expunged it with a sideward gaze and another deep indulgence in her mead. Her head was becoming pleasantly light, and she let her head rest on Hena's shoulder should he allow it. Lips moved to settle upon the lord's throat as she pressed into his neck, pulling away only once she felt in proper control of her facial expression.
The story was one Ana paid half attention to, for her mood lifted in soaring heights and fell to the depths of Tartarus in the utterances. She hated the reminder of the past, even as such a reminder came unwittingly from lovely lips. It was a roller coaster of feral sensation and it was quite the relief when it all fell away in the light of the berating words at the hands of another Egyptian lord. Or at least, that was the impression Ana got. Propriety dictated that she hold her tongue, and she was fully intent to until Callidora interjected. The stunning redhead held a fiery temper that she kept veiled with polite words? At the very least, she interjected in a way that didn't incite violence towards her.
Anastasia, on the other hand, let a soft chuckle escape her lips. Perhaps it was the mead, or the fact that the the other Egyptian gestured to them so offhandedly. It was quite difficult for Anastasia to take him seriously when the other lord seemed so comfortable around commoners and foreigners. She was innately aware that it was the norm for Egyptians, but nonetheless, the laughter grew louder. Vivacious was the sound, almost carrying a tune though falling just shy of it. It was all the more comical when the anger flitted away and he switched his topic of conversation to the sandstorm outside and the possibility of others being stuck in it. Were they related? The familiarity bode to it, and Ana was quite aware that Hei Sheifa had other members to it.
"What a shame, Callidora, that your story was interrupted so soon," she spoke in half-hearted tunes. She turned her head towards Akhenaten before gesturing to the unknown guest of theirs.
"Would you sit with us, as well? Surely, you wouldn't ask the heir of H'Sheifa to go back into the storm and check up on your question? It's rather foolhardy to throw oneself into a dust bowl," she mused aloud, absently turning her hand to inspect her nails before she turned back to Callidora,
"For all of your mention of words not so prettily spoken, your tale was well said. I'd love to hear another or share a fable of my own, if it strikes your fancy?"
Hena couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy both the feeling of Ana’s fingers and the comb working through his hair, along with the feeling of her doing as she was told by him with no arguments. A small win, and one that she probably wouldn’t even think of, but Hena had learned to take joy in any small victory he was able to get, especially when it came to getting his way.
Hena was content to find that his hair had once more been tamed, gently and carefully by his lover. She hadn’t pulled his hair once, at least not that he felt, and he made note to praise her for it later. It was a delicate task, dealing with his hair and not incurring his wrath in the process, one that many slaves had paid the price for messing up, one more than the others.
He listened as Dora spoke her story, though it was with little interest. Her words held no real interest to him. He had heard tell of pirates before, and he held no care for the menaces who sailed the seas, being someone who had no plans of ever finding himself on a boat beyond trips up or down the Nile. He was also half paying attention to Ana who’s lips were on his neck and she clung to his side in her own way, a way that Hena found he didn’t entirely mind.
Little did he know, things were about to take a turn.
The door opened once more, and Hena took no time to look up and see who it was, sure it was another commoner who had been caught out in the storm and would have another sob story about how the sand and wind had ruined their livelihood. He was not feeling near generous enough to help two common folk out with their issues, at least Dora was providing him with a small bit of entertainment while they waited out the storm in exchange for his assistance in repairing her stall.
Hena decided to turn his attention to the person who had slammed through the door, just in time to see his brother – half brother – storming over towards him. Akhenaten visibly rolled his eyes, having an idea of what was to come now.
He opened his mouth to say something to his brother, but before he could, his newest companion was speaking and Hena looked over at her, a smirk on his face at her words. He liked this one.
“Consider our business settled, we will discuss my end of the bargain at a later date when we aren’t in such distasteful company.” He said to the woman before his attentions turned back to his bastard brother.
Akhenaten ignored all of Ana’s words as she invited his brother to join them and mentioned telling a story of her own, her voice was just background noise as he felt his signature anger bubbling up inside him. There he sat, staring into the eyes of the brother who treated him horribly his entire childhood, who took all of their parent’s attention for all of their lives, the brother who’s shadow Hena had been in his entire life. The brother who he was now expected to turn into.
He stood from his chair, pulling from Ana’s touch as he did so, taking a step towards his brother so the two were face to face, only inches from each other. A dangerous glint in Hena’s eyes.
The two brothers stood the exact same height, though Sutekh was more muscular than his brother, Hena had his rage on his side if it did devolve into a fight.
“First of all, these people have names, asshole.” He growled, poking Sutekh’s chest with one finger.
“Just because you’re playing prince now doesn’t mean you get to dictate who I spend my time with, brother.” He said, spitting on the ground at the last word, to show what exactly he thought of Sutekh and the thought that they were related.
“If by others, you mean my family, then no, they are not. They are safe at the Sheifa household. Where you are not welcome any more.” He said simply, giving his brother a smirk and locking his gaze with Sutekh’s for a moment longer before he pulled away and returned to his seat. Upon sitting down once more, he pulled Ana into his lap, arms wrapping around her in an intimate embrace as he tilted her chin to face him and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, knowing that would piss Sutekh off.
When the kiss broke, he looked back at Callidora.
“Please, continue your tale. I wish to hear how it ends. Surely you were able to retrieve your first mate from the pirates?” He said, as if he had cared at all about her story. His brother was now left all but forgotten to the heir of Hei Sheifa, knowing how much his actions would piss his brother off.
‘Just try it, Sutekh’ he thought to himself, a self satisfied smirk upon his face still. If his brother made a move, he would gladly move Ana off his lap and lay his brother out on his ass on the dirty floor, where he belonged. His anger had waned so far, but there was nothing stopping it from returning if his brother pushed him. His fake title as prince would not stop Hena from going after him.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hena couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy both the feeling of Ana’s fingers and the comb working through his hair, along with the feeling of her doing as she was told by him with no arguments. A small win, and one that she probably wouldn’t even think of, but Hena had learned to take joy in any small victory he was able to get, especially when it came to getting his way.
Hena was content to find that his hair had once more been tamed, gently and carefully by his lover. She hadn’t pulled his hair once, at least not that he felt, and he made note to praise her for it later. It was a delicate task, dealing with his hair and not incurring his wrath in the process, one that many slaves had paid the price for messing up, one more than the others.
He listened as Dora spoke her story, though it was with little interest. Her words held no real interest to him. He had heard tell of pirates before, and he held no care for the menaces who sailed the seas, being someone who had no plans of ever finding himself on a boat beyond trips up or down the Nile. He was also half paying attention to Ana who’s lips were on his neck and she clung to his side in her own way, a way that Hena found he didn’t entirely mind.
Little did he know, things were about to take a turn.
The door opened once more, and Hena took no time to look up and see who it was, sure it was another commoner who had been caught out in the storm and would have another sob story about how the sand and wind had ruined their livelihood. He was not feeling near generous enough to help two common folk out with their issues, at least Dora was providing him with a small bit of entertainment while they waited out the storm in exchange for his assistance in repairing her stall.
Hena decided to turn his attention to the person who had slammed through the door, just in time to see his brother – half brother – storming over towards him. Akhenaten visibly rolled his eyes, having an idea of what was to come now.
He opened his mouth to say something to his brother, but before he could, his newest companion was speaking and Hena looked over at her, a smirk on his face at her words. He liked this one.
“Consider our business settled, we will discuss my end of the bargain at a later date when we aren’t in such distasteful company.” He said to the woman before his attentions turned back to his bastard brother.
Akhenaten ignored all of Ana’s words as she invited his brother to join them and mentioned telling a story of her own, her voice was just background noise as he felt his signature anger bubbling up inside him. There he sat, staring into the eyes of the brother who treated him horribly his entire childhood, who took all of their parent’s attention for all of their lives, the brother who’s shadow Hena had been in his entire life. The brother who he was now expected to turn into.
He stood from his chair, pulling from Ana’s touch as he did so, taking a step towards his brother so the two were face to face, only inches from each other. A dangerous glint in Hena’s eyes.
The two brothers stood the exact same height, though Sutekh was more muscular than his brother, Hena had his rage on his side if it did devolve into a fight.
“First of all, these people have names, asshole.” He growled, poking Sutekh’s chest with one finger.
“Just because you’re playing prince now doesn’t mean you get to dictate who I spend my time with, brother.” He said, spitting on the ground at the last word, to show what exactly he thought of Sutekh and the thought that they were related.
“If by others, you mean my family, then no, they are not. They are safe at the Sheifa household. Where you are not welcome any more.” He said simply, giving his brother a smirk and locking his gaze with Sutekh’s for a moment longer before he pulled away and returned to his seat. Upon sitting down once more, he pulled Ana into his lap, arms wrapping around her in an intimate embrace as he tilted her chin to face him and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, knowing that would piss Sutekh off.
When the kiss broke, he looked back at Callidora.
“Please, continue your tale. I wish to hear how it ends. Surely you were able to retrieve your first mate from the pirates?” He said, as if he had cared at all about her story. His brother was now left all but forgotten to the heir of Hei Sheifa, knowing how much his actions would piss his brother off.
‘Just try it, Sutekh’ he thought to himself, a self satisfied smirk upon his face still. If his brother made a move, he would gladly move Ana off his lap and lay his brother out on his ass on the dirty floor, where he belonged. His anger had waned so far, but there was nothing stopping it from returning if his brother pushed him. His fake title as prince would not stop Hena from going after him.
Hena couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy both the feeling of Ana’s fingers and the comb working through his hair, along with the feeling of her doing as she was told by him with no arguments. A small win, and one that she probably wouldn’t even think of, but Hena had learned to take joy in any small victory he was able to get, especially when it came to getting his way.
Hena was content to find that his hair had once more been tamed, gently and carefully by his lover. She hadn’t pulled his hair once, at least not that he felt, and he made note to praise her for it later. It was a delicate task, dealing with his hair and not incurring his wrath in the process, one that many slaves had paid the price for messing up, one more than the others.
He listened as Dora spoke her story, though it was with little interest. Her words held no real interest to him. He had heard tell of pirates before, and he held no care for the menaces who sailed the seas, being someone who had no plans of ever finding himself on a boat beyond trips up or down the Nile. He was also half paying attention to Ana who’s lips were on his neck and she clung to his side in her own way, a way that Hena found he didn’t entirely mind.
Little did he know, things were about to take a turn.
The door opened once more, and Hena took no time to look up and see who it was, sure it was another commoner who had been caught out in the storm and would have another sob story about how the sand and wind had ruined their livelihood. He was not feeling near generous enough to help two common folk out with their issues, at least Dora was providing him with a small bit of entertainment while they waited out the storm in exchange for his assistance in repairing her stall.
Hena decided to turn his attention to the person who had slammed through the door, just in time to see his brother – half brother – storming over towards him. Akhenaten visibly rolled his eyes, having an idea of what was to come now.
He opened his mouth to say something to his brother, but before he could, his newest companion was speaking and Hena looked over at her, a smirk on his face at her words. He liked this one.
“Consider our business settled, we will discuss my end of the bargain at a later date when we aren’t in such distasteful company.” He said to the woman before his attentions turned back to his bastard brother.
Akhenaten ignored all of Ana’s words as she invited his brother to join them and mentioned telling a story of her own, her voice was just background noise as he felt his signature anger bubbling up inside him. There he sat, staring into the eyes of the brother who treated him horribly his entire childhood, who took all of their parent’s attention for all of their lives, the brother who’s shadow Hena had been in his entire life. The brother who he was now expected to turn into.
He stood from his chair, pulling from Ana’s touch as he did so, taking a step towards his brother so the two were face to face, only inches from each other. A dangerous glint in Hena’s eyes.
The two brothers stood the exact same height, though Sutekh was more muscular than his brother, Hena had his rage on his side if it did devolve into a fight.
“First of all, these people have names, asshole.” He growled, poking Sutekh’s chest with one finger.
“Just because you’re playing prince now doesn’t mean you get to dictate who I spend my time with, brother.” He said, spitting on the ground at the last word, to show what exactly he thought of Sutekh and the thought that they were related.
“If by others, you mean my family, then no, they are not. They are safe at the Sheifa household. Where you are not welcome any more.” He said simply, giving his brother a smirk and locking his gaze with Sutekh’s for a moment longer before he pulled away and returned to his seat. Upon sitting down once more, he pulled Ana into his lap, arms wrapping around her in an intimate embrace as he tilted her chin to face him and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, knowing that would piss Sutekh off.
When the kiss broke, he looked back at Callidora.
“Please, continue your tale. I wish to hear how it ends. Surely you were able to retrieve your first mate from the pirates?” He said, as if he had cared at all about her story. His brother was now left all but forgotten to the heir of Hei Sheifa, knowing how much his actions would piss his brother off.
‘Just try it, Sutekh’ he thought to himself, a self satisfied smirk upon his face still. If his brother made a move, he would gladly move Ana off his lap and lay his brother out on his ass on the dirty floor, where he belonged. His anger had waned so far, but there was nothing stopping it from returning if his brother pushed him. His fake title as prince would not stop Hena from going after him.
Curveball Hold On
As those trapped by the raging winds attempt to take refuge in local buildings, the doors of the worst hit structures start to rattle and shudder. In minutes, as the winds pick up their pace, they are ripped from their hinges and sent firing down the streets like large, dangerous blades. With the doors destroys the sand storms are able to break inside sand whisk around the rooms, finding every nook and crevice they can invade!
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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As those trapped by the raging winds attempt to take refuge in local buildings, the doors of the worst hit structures start to rattle and shudder. In minutes, as the winds pick up their pace, they are ripped from their hinges and sent firing down the streets like large, dangerous blades. With the doors destroys the sand storms are able to break inside sand whisk around the rooms, finding every nook and crevice they can invade!
Curveball Hold On
As those trapped by the raging winds attempt to take refuge in local buildings, the doors of the worst hit structures start to rattle and shudder. In minutes, as the winds pick up their pace, they are ripped from their hinges and sent firing down the streets like large, dangerous blades. With the doors destroys the sand storms are able to break inside sand whisk around the rooms, finding every nook and crevice they can invade!