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After a body was found outside the gates of the Grecian military encampment in Israel, tensions between the two cultures have been high. Now, a group of Jewish citizens have accumulated around the gates of the section of the city that the Taengean soldiers call home. Some shout, some cheer but all are offering in a single voice, a single insistence. "You are not welcome. Go home." Only careful handling can stop this event from becoming violent...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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After a body was found outside the gates of the Grecian military encampment in Israel, tensions between the two cultures have been high. Now, a group of Jewish citizens have accumulated around the gates of the section of the city that the Taengean soldiers call home. Some shout, some cheer but all are offering in a single voice, a single insistence. "You are not welcome. Go home." Only careful handling can stop this event from becoming violent...
You're Not Welcome Event - Judea
After a body was found outside the gates of the Grecian military encampment in Israel, tensions between the two cultures have been high. Now, a group of Jewish citizens have accumulated around the gates of the section of the city that the Taengean soldiers call home. Some shout, some cheer but all are offering in a single voice, a single insistence. "You are not welcome. Go home." Only careful handling can stop this event from becoming violent...
As the morning sun rose over Israel, the air became thick with a sense of anger mingled with sadness. Although he could feel it, just like others in the city, Hazael didn’t know why this was… that was until his older brother Tiras came storming into the family home, clearly enraged and shouting for his brothers.
From what his brother had told him before demanding that Hazael follow him, there had been a body found outside the Greek portion of the city. At first, Hazael didn’t understand what was so important about this. The Greeks were not known to follow the same moral standards as most Judeans. Their quarter was well known for being rowdy late at night as the wine in their bellies warmed their barbarian blood. It wasn’t uncommon to hear that a scuffle within the barracks would, unfortunately, lead to a foot soldier being on the business end of a Doru in the morning. However, that was hardly something for any of them to be up in arms over and Tiras had practically been seething when he had stormed through the house gathering his younger brothers. After all, they were Greeks. Judeans like them didn’t bother with the deaths that occurred within the portion of the city that they were not welcomed in.
That changed though the moment the Judeans had learned that the dead had been one of their own. Hazael quickly learned through both word of mouth and the steadily growing crowd surrounding the gates that the young man they had found had been the eldest son of a merchant family from within the city. Although no one could seem to clearly say who the boy had been, with names such as “Abdiel” and “Yonah” being tossed around, it was abundantly clear that whoever he was… he had no business being on this side of the city under normal circumstances. With that constant, there was seemingly no reason for his body to appear outside the gates to the Greek encampment.
Something foul was afoot, that was for sure.
Though no one in the crowd seemed to know what that foul act was… or even if something foul had occurred at all! A sense of anger was quickly stirring within the crowd even as several religious leaders tried to keep the calm. However, the rumors that were quickly swirling through the crowd were a powerful force that could not be quelled as the crowd tried to gather some sort of answer as to what had happened. Standing in the middle of this, after having been dragged near the front by his furious brother who may have very well known the dead man, Hazael could feel the uneasiness of the crowd around him. It was something that had settled over them all like a blanket, but no one in the crowd had acted upon it yet.
Glancing at his older brother though told Hazael that this wouldn’t remain the case for long. There was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened. The nineteen-year-old could already sense what his brother thinking, this was an injustice and something must be done. Even though his brother didn’t say it out loud, Hazael knew that a blowup was coming and soon this powderkeg of emotion was going to explode as the crowd swelled to an almost uncontrollable number. Being weak and cowardly, Hazael already knew that he did not want to be a part of it when the fuse was lit.
So, once Tiras’s back was turned, Hazael took a step back to disappear within the crowd. When he was sure he was out of Tiras’s sight, he bobbed his way towards the fringes so that he might be able to escape quickly if things went awry. It wasn’t the easiest thing for the young man to do given how thick the crowd was and the fact that he was on his own without Bracha at his side. His movements were slow going, a necessity so he wouldn’t trip. However, it did allow him more time to hear the hushed whispers of the rumor of those around him, none of them wanting to be louder than the songs of mourning and tears lead by the religious leaders… the only ones with the capacity to contain this crowd at the moment.
“He may have slipped and hit his head on the stone.” A young man said to an elderly gentleman at his side. Hazael only saw a soft nod in response before he had to move away.
“They slashed his throat. He had done nothing wrong and the Greeks slaughtered him like some animal!” An irate gentleman shouted at another who seemed to be questioning the Greek’s involvement in the whole affair.
“Clearly,” A young girl whispered to another, “They did it. Why else would he be at the gate?” Her companion didn’t respond, but they seemed to be in agreement with one another.
Hazael didn’t know what to think of it all. He hadn’t seen the body. He didn’t know who the young man was or how he had died. All he knew was that it seemed undeniable that the Greeks were involved. Whether he realized it or not, his father’s decade long warnings to how the dangerous the Greeks were ringing in his ears as the rumors swirled about him. For years, Avriam had stated that they were men who were not to be trusted. They were dangerous, power-hungry vermin who were only in Judea still to oppress the people there. It’s only a matter of time, Avriam had constantly warned, before they show their true colors.
It was a sentiment that perhaps the Judeans should have taken to heart and it was clearly a lesson that needed to be learned now that one of their own was dead. However, whether that the sentiment would apply more towards the Greeks or Judeans was still yet to be seen… as just as Hazael had made it to the fringes, he could hear the voices behind him begin to swell with a chant that brought Hazael to a full stop as the crowd seemed to agree on one thing and one thing alone amid the confusion.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
This reminder of his father’s lessons in his ear and the reassurance that the others there felt the same way was all Hazael needed in order to join in. His voice began one of many, spouting the hate that he had been raised to believe… just like everyone else there in the crowd.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
Tensions were clearly rising and it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to calm the people once again.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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As the morning sun rose over Israel, the air became thick with a sense of anger mingled with sadness. Although he could feel it, just like others in the city, Hazael didn’t know why this was… that was until his older brother Tiras came storming into the family home, clearly enraged and shouting for his brothers.
From what his brother had told him before demanding that Hazael follow him, there had been a body found outside the Greek portion of the city. At first, Hazael didn’t understand what was so important about this. The Greeks were not known to follow the same moral standards as most Judeans. Their quarter was well known for being rowdy late at night as the wine in their bellies warmed their barbarian blood. It wasn’t uncommon to hear that a scuffle within the barracks would, unfortunately, lead to a foot soldier being on the business end of a Doru in the morning. However, that was hardly something for any of them to be up in arms over and Tiras had practically been seething when he had stormed through the house gathering his younger brothers. After all, they were Greeks. Judeans like them didn’t bother with the deaths that occurred within the portion of the city that they were not welcomed in.
That changed though the moment the Judeans had learned that the dead had been one of their own. Hazael quickly learned through both word of mouth and the steadily growing crowd surrounding the gates that the young man they had found had been the eldest son of a merchant family from within the city. Although no one could seem to clearly say who the boy had been, with names such as “Abdiel” and “Yonah” being tossed around, it was abundantly clear that whoever he was… he had no business being on this side of the city under normal circumstances. With that constant, there was seemingly no reason for his body to appear outside the gates to the Greek encampment.
Something foul was afoot, that was for sure.
Though no one in the crowd seemed to know what that foul act was… or even if something foul had occurred at all! A sense of anger was quickly stirring within the crowd even as several religious leaders tried to keep the calm. However, the rumors that were quickly swirling through the crowd were a powerful force that could not be quelled as the crowd tried to gather some sort of answer as to what had happened. Standing in the middle of this, after having been dragged near the front by his furious brother who may have very well known the dead man, Hazael could feel the uneasiness of the crowd around him. It was something that had settled over them all like a blanket, but no one in the crowd had acted upon it yet.
Glancing at his older brother though told Hazael that this wouldn’t remain the case for long. There was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened. The nineteen-year-old could already sense what his brother thinking, this was an injustice and something must be done. Even though his brother didn’t say it out loud, Hazael knew that a blowup was coming and soon this powderkeg of emotion was going to explode as the crowd swelled to an almost uncontrollable number. Being weak and cowardly, Hazael already knew that he did not want to be a part of it when the fuse was lit.
So, once Tiras’s back was turned, Hazael took a step back to disappear within the crowd. When he was sure he was out of Tiras’s sight, he bobbed his way towards the fringes so that he might be able to escape quickly if things went awry. It wasn’t the easiest thing for the young man to do given how thick the crowd was and the fact that he was on his own without Bracha at his side. His movements were slow going, a necessity so he wouldn’t trip. However, it did allow him more time to hear the hushed whispers of the rumor of those around him, none of them wanting to be louder than the songs of mourning and tears lead by the religious leaders… the only ones with the capacity to contain this crowd at the moment.
“He may have slipped and hit his head on the stone.” A young man said to an elderly gentleman at his side. Hazael only saw a soft nod in response before he had to move away.
“They slashed his throat. He had done nothing wrong and the Greeks slaughtered him like some animal!” An irate gentleman shouted at another who seemed to be questioning the Greek’s involvement in the whole affair.
“Clearly,” A young girl whispered to another, “They did it. Why else would he be at the gate?” Her companion didn’t respond, but they seemed to be in agreement with one another.
Hazael didn’t know what to think of it all. He hadn’t seen the body. He didn’t know who the young man was or how he had died. All he knew was that it seemed undeniable that the Greeks were involved. Whether he realized it or not, his father’s decade long warnings to how the dangerous the Greeks were ringing in his ears as the rumors swirled about him. For years, Avriam had stated that they were men who were not to be trusted. They were dangerous, power-hungry vermin who were only in Judea still to oppress the people there. It’s only a matter of time, Avriam had constantly warned, before they show their true colors.
It was a sentiment that perhaps the Judeans should have taken to heart and it was clearly a lesson that needed to be learned now that one of their own was dead. However, whether that the sentiment would apply more towards the Greeks or Judeans was still yet to be seen… as just as Hazael had made it to the fringes, he could hear the voices behind him begin to swell with a chant that brought Hazael to a full stop as the crowd seemed to agree on one thing and one thing alone amid the confusion.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
This reminder of his father’s lessons in his ear and the reassurance that the others there felt the same way was all Hazael needed in order to join in. His voice began one of many, spouting the hate that he had been raised to believe… just like everyone else there in the crowd.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
Tensions were clearly rising and it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to calm the people once again.
As the morning sun rose over Israel, the air became thick with a sense of anger mingled with sadness. Although he could feel it, just like others in the city, Hazael didn’t know why this was… that was until his older brother Tiras came storming into the family home, clearly enraged and shouting for his brothers.
From what his brother had told him before demanding that Hazael follow him, there had been a body found outside the Greek portion of the city. At first, Hazael didn’t understand what was so important about this. The Greeks were not known to follow the same moral standards as most Judeans. Their quarter was well known for being rowdy late at night as the wine in their bellies warmed their barbarian blood. It wasn’t uncommon to hear that a scuffle within the barracks would, unfortunately, lead to a foot soldier being on the business end of a Doru in the morning. However, that was hardly something for any of them to be up in arms over and Tiras had practically been seething when he had stormed through the house gathering his younger brothers. After all, they were Greeks. Judeans like them didn’t bother with the deaths that occurred within the portion of the city that they were not welcomed in.
That changed though the moment the Judeans had learned that the dead had been one of their own. Hazael quickly learned through both word of mouth and the steadily growing crowd surrounding the gates that the young man they had found had been the eldest son of a merchant family from within the city. Although no one could seem to clearly say who the boy had been, with names such as “Abdiel” and “Yonah” being tossed around, it was abundantly clear that whoever he was… he had no business being on this side of the city under normal circumstances. With that constant, there was seemingly no reason for his body to appear outside the gates to the Greek encampment.
Something foul was afoot, that was for sure.
Though no one in the crowd seemed to know what that foul act was… or even if something foul had occurred at all! A sense of anger was quickly stirring within the crowd even as several religious leaders tried to keep the calm. However, the rumors that were quickly swirling through the crowd were a powerful force that could not be quelled as the crowd tried to gather some sort of answer as to what had happened. Standing in the middle of this, after having been dragged near the front by his furious brother who may have very well known the dead man, Hazael could feel the uneasiness of the crowd around him. It was something that had settled over them all like a blanket, but no one in the crowd had acted upon it yet.
Glancing at his older brother though told Hazael that this wouldn’t remain the case for long. There was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened. The nineteen-year-old could already sense what his brother thinking, this was an injustice and something must be done. Even though his brother didn’t say it out loud, Hazael knew that a blowup was coming and soon this powderkeg of emotion was going to explode as the crowd swelled to an almost uncontrollable number. Being weak and cowardly, Hazael already knew that he did not want to be a part of it when the fuse was lit.
So, once Tiras’s back was turned, Hazael took a step back to disappear within the crowd. When he was sure he was out of Tiras’s sight, he bobbed his way towards the fringes so that he might be able to escape quickly if things went awry. It wasn’t the easiest thing for the young man to do given how thick the crowd was and the fact that he was on his own without Bracha at his side. His movements were slow going, a necessity so he wouldn’t trip. However, it did allow him more time to hear the hushed whispers of the rumor of those around him, none of them wanting to be louder than the songs of mourning and tears lead by the religious leaders… the only ones with the capacity to contain this crowd at the moment.
“He may have slipped and hit his head on the stone.” A young man said to an elderly gentleman at his side. Hazael only saw a soft nod in response before he had to move away.
“They slashed his throat. He had done nothing wrong and the Greeks slaughtered him like some animal!” An irate gentleman shouted at another who seemed to be questioning the Greek’s involvement in the whole affair.
“Clearly,” A young girl whispered to another, “They did it. Why else would he be at the gate?” Her companion didn’t respond, but they seemed to be in agreement with one another.
Hazael didn’t know what to think of it all. He hadn’t seen the body. He didn’t know who the young man was or how he had died. All he knew was that it seemed undeniable that the Greeks were involved. Whether he realized it or not, his father’s decade long warnings to how the dangerous the Greeks were ringing in his ears as the rumors swirled about him. For years, Avriam had stated that they were men who were not to be trusted. They were dangerous, power-hungry vermin who were only in Judea still to oppress the people there. It’s only a matter of time, Avriam had constantly warned, before they show their true colors.
It was a sentiment that perhaps the Judeans should have taken to heart and it was clearly a lesson that needed to be learned now that one of their own was dead. However, whether that the sentiment would apply more towards the Greeks or Judeans was still yet to be seen… as just as Hazael had made it to the fringes, he could hear the voices behind him begin to swell with a chant that brought Hazael to a full stop as the crowd seemed to agree on one thing and one thing alone amid the confusion.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
This reminder of his father’s lessons in his ear and the reassurance that the others there felt the same way was all Hazael needed in order to join in. His voice began one of many, spouting the hate that he had been raised to believe… just like everyone else there in the crowd.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
Tensions were clearly rising and it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to calm the people once again.
Neena was not an obstinate human being incapable of adaptation. It was what some people believed, she knew, because she was always true to herself wherever she could be. Normally, in situations people would, on average, adhere to social norm over individual desire. She liked how she dressed: the simple gauzy tunic kept her legs bare from the knee downwards and the arms uncovered, for ease of movement, and was dip dyed in a myriad of colours that reminded her of the kaftans in her homeland of Bedoa. She liked how she did her hair: ergo, in no which way at all because it was big, curly and hard to tame into anything more than the simple knotted bun she currently wore, little tufts protruding from the leather tie that held it. She liked how she spoke and acted; ergo, with no deference or subservience to anyone else and with a constant questioning of the standard accepted practices and mores of those around her. She was, in fact, the last person to ever be caught simply following trend without questions and assessing why.
Such characteristics had led her to several impositions, offensives and issues with more than one person or family in more than one land or kingdom. Despite the fact that her silver tongue and friendly, charming demeanour managed to get her out of such troubles (or maybe it was because of it?) Neena had never much worried of such disagreements. She would rather live her life in its intended manner than waste it in capitulation to rules she neither needed nor respected.
That being said, she had spent nearly three weeks in Judea now and had admitted to herself that a small allowance would make both her life easy and not offend so many people whom she might want to get to know or befriend. When an opportunity had presented itself, Neena had stolen a cloth from a hanging line in a back yard and fashioned herself a mitpahath. She would have happily bought one but her normal street-side tricks of gambling games and dancing had failed to impress the conservative people of Judea and she had had no coin with which to purchase the garment for herself. The cloth she had managed to snake was a dark one, embroidered in gold and umber thread with a tassel in each corner and with some sneaking looks at women hiding in alleys to readjust their own shawls, Neena had worked out pretty quickly how to fasten the piece in place over her head, around her neck and leaving enough free to cover the lower half of her face if necessary.
The headscarf didn't do anything for disguising her foreignness, for the dark brown of her arms and legs were clearly on show - not to mention the way her clothing was cinched at the waist and not at all as covering or cumbersome as the long tunics and gowns worn by both men and women in this region. But it did at least offer a semblance of humility and acceptance of their religious and social views regarding women and it stopped people from double-glancing quite so much. Or at least dampened their xenophobia enough for her to be able to pass down as street uninhibited or purchase a piece of bread for a few bronze pieces without being refused service.
She was glad for the mitpahath when, on one of her roaming walks to nowhere (for Neena hated staying in one place, even if it was a single street or road for more time than was necessary), where she had naturally followed the general current of people to the Grecian quarter of the city, Neena found herself facing a street that was almost entirely filled with people. Simlahs were lined up one after another to form a barricade across the street that, from the looks of things, was several men deep. The air itself was just as crowded, with shouts and gasps and angry words. Hebrew filled the air, all of the talk overlapping so that Neena's robust but rudimentary knowledge of the language wasn't able to keep up.
Even moving closer to the crowd, she couldn't work out what was happening.
When the figure of a younger man (older boy? it was hard to tell his age), seemed to push his way from further into the crowd to its outskirts, only a few feet from herself, Neena's curiosity got the better of her and she took several hurried steps in his direction intent on ask what was going on.
It was as she was entering within a close enough proximity to speak, however, that the young man - having not noticed her approach - turned to begin chanting with everyone else. With them all speaking of a single voice now, instead of a jumble of different conversations, Neena was able to understand just fine.
Something had happened that had spiked the natural xenophobia of the Judean people. Which meant the last thing anyone here wanted to see was a face so obviously not belonging to their lands.
It was one of those awkward twists of fate, however, that had Neena's mind a step behind her feet and it was just as she was deciding that this was the last place she needed - or wanted - to be, and that she needed to turn around, that her feet had taken their last step forward and gotten close enough to the young Judean for him to notice her presence.
Her hand still semi-raised, her mouth still a little open, her suddenly close proximity. Any objective party could easily see that she had been approaching to speak with him.
Shoot!
With mouth snapping shut and eyes widening a little - not in fear, though some might think so, but in an awkward moment of "crap!" - Neena wrinkled her nose and then said, in Hebrew.
"Never mind." And reached up to secure the tail end of her stolen mitpahath over her Bedoan face. She would be the last person that any of these people would talk to and it would be foolish to place herself in harm’s way due to simple curiosity. No telling what men did when their deepest-seated angers were piqued. Especially young ones with all the energy and none of the wisdom to carry it out.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Neena was not an obstinate human being incapable of adaptation. It was what some people believed, she knew, because she was always true to herself wherever she could be. Normally, in situations people would, on average, adhere to social norm over individual desire. She liked how she dressed: the simple gauzy tunic kept her legs bare from the knee downwards and the arms uncovered, for ease of movement, and was dip dyed in a myriad of colours that reminded her of the kaftans in her homeland of Bedoa. She liked how she did her hair: ergo, in no which way at all because it was big, curly and hard to tame into anything more than the simple knotted bun she currently wore, little tufts protruding from the leather tie that held it. She liked how she spoke and acted; ergo, with no deference or subservience to anyone else and with a constant questioning of the standard accepted practices and mores of those around her. She was, in fact, the last person to ever be caught simply following trend without questions and assessing why.
Such characteristics had led her to several impositions, offensives and issues with more than one person or family in more than one land or kingdom. Despite the fact that her silver tongue and friendly, charming demeanour managed to get her out of such troubles (or maybe it was because of it?) Neena had never much worried of such disagreements. She would rather live her life in its intended manner than waste it in capitulation to rules she neither needed nor respected.
That being said, she had spent nearly three weeks in Judea now and had admitted to herself that a small allowance would make both her life easy and not offend so many people whom she might want to get to know or befriend. When an opportunity had presented itself, Neena had stolen a cloth from a hanging line in a back yard and fashioned herself a mitpahath. She would have happily bought one but her normal street-side tricks of gambling games and dancing had failed to impress the conservative people of Judea and she had had no coin with which to purchase the garment for herself. The cloth she had managed to snake was a dark one, embroidered in gold and umber thread with a tassel in each corner and with some sneaking looks at women hiding in alleys to readjust their own shawls, Neena had worked out pretty quickly how to fasten the piece in place over her head, around her neck and leaving enough free to cover the lower half of her face if necessary.
The headscarf didn't do anything for disguising her foreignness, for the dark brown of her arms and legs were clearly on show - not to mention the way her clothing was cinched at the waist and not at all as covering or cumbersome as the long tunics and gowns worn by both men and women in this region. But it did at least offer a semblance of humility and acceptance of their religious and social views regarding women and it stopped people from double-glancing quite so much. Or at least dampened their xenophobia enough for her to be able to pass down as street uninhibited or purchase a piece of bread for a few bronze pieces without being refused service.
She was glad for the mitpahath when, on one of her roaming walks to nowhere (for Neena hated staying in one place, even if it was a single street or road for more time than was necessary), where she had naturally followed the general current of people to the Grecian quarter of the city, Neena found herself facing a street that was almost entirely filled with people. Simlahs were lined up one after another to form a barricade across the street that, from the looks of things, was several men deep. The air itself was just as crowded, with shouts and gasps and angry words. Hebrew filled the air, all of the talk overlapping so that Neena's robust but rudimentary knowledge of the language wasn't able to keep up.
Even moving closer to the crowd, she couldn't work out what was happening.
When the figure of a younger man (older boy? it was hard to tell his age), seemed to push his way from further into the crowd to its outskirts, only a few feet from herself, Neena's curiosity got the better of her and she took several hurried steps in his direction intent on ask what was going on.
It was as she was entering within a close enough proximity to speak, however, that the young man - having not noticed her approach - turned to begin chanting with everyone else. With them all speaking of a single voice now, instead of a jumble of different conversations, Neena was able to understand just fine.
Something had happened that had spiked the natural xenophobia of the Judean people. Which meant the last thing anyone here wanted to see was a face so obviously not belonging to their lands.
It was one of those awkward twists of fate, however, that had Neena's mind a step behind her feet and it was just as she was deciding that this was the last place she needed - or wanted - to be, and that she needed to turn around, that her feet had taken their last step forward and gotten close enough to the young Judean for him to notice her presence.
Her hand still semi-raised, her mouth still a little open, her suddenly close proximity. Any objective party could easily see that she had been approaching to speak with him.
Shoot!
With mouth snapping shut and eyes widening a little - not in fear, though some might think so, but in an awkward moment of "crap!" - Neena wrinkled her nose and then said, in Hebrew.
"Never mind." And reached up to secure the tail end of her stolen mitpahath over her Bedoan face. She would be the last person that any of these people would talk to and it would be foolish to place herself in harm’s way due to simple curiosity. No telling what men did when their deepest-seated angers were piqued. Especially young ones with all the energy and none of the wisdom to carry it out.
Neena was not an obstinate human being incapable of adaptation. It was what some people believed, she knew, because she was always true to herself wherever she could be. Normally, in situations people would, on average, adhere to social norm over individual desire. She liked how she dressed: the simple gauzy tunic kept her legs bare from the knee downwards and the arms uncovered, for ease of movement, and was dip dyed in a myriad of colours that reminded her of the kaftans in her homeland of Bedoa. She liked how she did her hair: ergo, in no which way at all because it was big, curly and hard to tame into anything more than the simple knotted bun she currently wore, little tufts protruding from the leather tie that held it. She liked how she spoke and acted; ergo, with no deference or subservience to anyone else and with a constant questioning of the standard accepted practices and mores of those around her. She was, in fact, the last person to ever be caught simply following trend without questions and assessing why.
Such characteristics had led her to several impositions, offensives and issues with more than one person or family in more than one land or kingdom. Despite the fact that her silver tongue and friendly, charming demeanour managed to get her out of such troubles (or maybe it was because of it?) Neena had never much worried of such disagreements. She would rather live her life in its intended manner than waste it in capitulation to rules she neither needed nor respected.
That being said, she had spent nearly three weeks in Judea now and had admitted to herself that a small allowance would make both her life easy and not offend so many people whom she might want to get to know or befriend. When an opportunity had presented itself, Neena had stolen a cloth from a hanging line in a back yard and fashioned herself a mitpahath. She would have happily bought one but her normal street-side tricks of gambling games and dancing had failed to impress the conservative people of Judea and she had had no coin with which to purchase the garment for herself. The cloth she had managed to snake was a dark one, embroidered in gold and umber thread with a tassel in each corner and with some sneaking looks at women hiding in alleys to readjust their own shawls, Neena had worked out pretty quickly how to fasten the piece in place over her head, around her neck and leaving enough free to cover the lower half of her face if necessary.
The headscarf didn't do anything for disguising her foreignness, for the dark brown of her arms and legs were clearly on show - not to mention the way her clothing was cinched at the waist and not at all as covering or cumbersome as the long tunics and gowns worn by both men and women in this region. But it did at least offer a semblance of humility and acceptance of their religious and social views regarding women and it stopped people from double-glancing quite so much. Or at least dampened their xenophobia enough for her to be able to pass down as street uninhibited or purchase a piece of bread for a few bronze pieces without being refused service.
She was glad for the mitpahath when, on one of her roaming walks to nowhere (for Neena hated staying in one place, even if it was a single street or road for more time than was necessary), where she had naturally followed the general current of people to the Grecian quarter of the city, Neena found herself facing a street that was almost entirely filled with people. Simlahs were lined up one after another to form a barricade across the street that, from the looks of things, was several men deep. The air itself was just as crowded, with shouts and gasps and angry words. Hebrew filled the air, all of the talk overlapping so that Neena's robust but rudimentary knowledge of the language wasn't able to keep up.
Even moving closer to the crowd, she couldn't work out what was happening.
When the figure of a younger man (older boy? it was hard to tell his age), seemed to push his way from further into the crowd to its outskirts, only a few feet from herself, Neena's curiosity got the better of her and she took several hurried steps in his direction intent on ask what was going on.
It was as she was entering within a close enough proximity to speak, however, that the young man - having not noticed her approach - turned to begin chanting with everyone else. With them all speaking of a single voice now, instead of a jumble of different conversations, Neena was able to understand just fine.
Something had happened that had spiked the natural xenophobia of the Judean people. Which meant the last thing anyone here wanted to see was a face so obviously not belonging to their lands.
It was one of those awkward twists of fate, however, that had Neena's mind a step behind her feet and it was just as she was deciding that this was the last place she needed - or wanted - to be, and that she needed to turn around, that her feet had taken their last step forward and gotten close enough to the young Judean for him to notice her presence.
Her hand still semi-raised, her mouth still a little open, her suddenly close proximity. Any objective party could easily see that she had been approaching to speak with him.
Shoot!
With mouth snapping shut and eyes widening a little - not in fear, though some might think so, but in an awkward moment of "crap!" - Neena wrinkled her nose and then said, in Hebrew.
"Never mind." And reached up to secure the tail end of her stolen mitpahath over her Bedoan face. She would be the last person that any of these people would talk to and it would be foolish to place herself in harm’s way due to simple curiosity. No telling what men did when their deepest-seated angers were piqued. Especially young ones with all the energy and none of the wisdom to carry it out.
As the volume of the crowd swelled with every passing crowd, Hazael found himself shouting the words as well. Though whether this was more from the hateful words he had been raised on or from the energy the crowd, he didn’t know. However, a small flash of fabric brought the Judean to a halt as he became aware that someone was approaching him to talk.
Turning around slightly, Hazael looked at this stranger with a confused expression painted onto his face. He didn’t know who this girl was, but she was clearly moving towards him for some unknown reason. That on its own was weird enough, given that Judeans were not ones to randomly approach those who they didn’t know. It just simply wasn’t done. This alone was enough for him to raise his hackles out of suspicion. Nevermind how the accusatory energy of the crowd was feeding into his wariness of those who he did not know. So, it was little wonder that he just regarded her, quietly questioning her intentions as she retracted her words.
His suspicion only intensified as he took a second to glance at her, immediately noticing the slight imperfections in her outfit that she had been hoping that he wouldn’t see. Her mitpahath was slightly askew which was something that no Judean woman with any self-respect would allow to happen. Her simlah was cinched at the waist and the fabric itself was simply too dark for the sweltering desert sun… unless of course, this girl wanted to fry in the heat. Neena didn’t even need to say a word for Hazael to instantly tell that she was not a native Judean. Though, then again that was probably clear enough on its own from her darker skin. As far as he knew, there weren’t many Bedoans in Judea.
So, having come to the obvious conclusion that this girl was a foreigner, Hazael furrowed his brows, now even more confused as to why she would approach him. However, as the words of the still screaming crowd filled his ears, the natural xenophobia of his people and the hateful words of his father filled his ears. Without him realizing it, the hateful swarm of people around him influenced his thoughts and brought him to an utterly ridiculous conclusion that could only make sense in the midst of a crowd that believed a group of Greeks killed one of their own.
“Show some respect and keep your thieving ways to the market.” He said in a bitter tone, fully convinced that the only reason that this Bedoan girl would approach him in a crowd like this was to steal from him. Luckily, for him though, there was nothing on him for this girl to pickpocket given that he has been practically ushered from the house that morning. Her attempts would have been unsuccessful regardless, but that didn’t stop a scowl from forming on his face all the same. Stooping to pickpocketing was a deplorable act in the morally sound country. There were plenty of ways to find charity if she so desperately needed it. Resorting to stealing, especially at an event marked by mourning, was something so low that Hazael even thought for a moment that his dogs knew better.
He didn’t say any of this out loud though. His father’s vitriol against people like her hadn’t been that deeply engrained within him yet to give him the courage to do that. But the energy of the crowd may just do that, especially when Hazael was safe in the knowledge that they would take his side.
His gaze leveled with her, making it clear that he had no intention of giving her another chance to sneak up on him. In fact, he was doubtful that he would let his gaze leave her until she was either gone from the scene of this heinous crime or she was too deep in the crowd for him to see her.
Little did he know that his assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth and Neena was more than likely to make that clear to the boy who’s emotions were a part of the crowd present and not his own.
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As the volume of the crowd swelled with every passing crowd, Hazael found himself shouting the words as well. Though whether this was more from the hateful words he had been raised on or from the energy the crowd, he didn’t know. However, a small flash of fabric brought the Judean to a halt as he became aware that someone was approaching him to talk.
Turning around slightly, Hazael looked at this stranger with a confused expression painted onto his face. He didn’t know who this girl was, but she was clearly moving towards him for some unknown reason. That on its own was weird enough, given that Judeans were not ones to randomly approach those who they didn’t know. It just simply wasn’t done. This alone was enough for him to raise his hackles out of suspicion. Nevermind how the accusatory energy of the crowd was feeding into his wariness of those who he did not know. So, it was little wonder that he just regarded her, quietly questioning her intentions as she retracted her words.
His suspicion only intensified as he took a second to glance at her, immediately noticing the slight imperfections in her outfit that she had been hoping that he wouldn’t see. Her mitpahath was slightly askew which was something that no Judean woman with any self-respect would allow to happen. Her simlah was cinched at the waist and the fabric itself was simply too dark for the sweltering desert sun… unless of course, this girl wanted to fry in the heat. Neena didn’t even need to say a word for Hazael to instantly tell that she was not a native Judean. Though, then again that was probably clear enough on its own from her darker skin. As far as he knew, there weren’t many Bedoans in Judea.
So, having come to the obvious conclusion that this girl was a foreigner, Hazael furrowed his brows, now even more confused as to why she would approach him. However, as the words of the still screaming crowd filled his ears, the natural xenophobia of his people and the hateful words of his father filled his ears. Without him realizing it, the hateful swarm of people around him influenced his thoughts and brought him to an utterly ridiculous conclusion that could only make sense in the midst of a crowd that believed a group of Greeks killed one of their own.
“Show some respect and keep your thieving ways to the market.” He said in a bitter tone, fully convinced that the only reason that this Bedoan girl would approach him in a crowd like this was to steal from him. Luckily, for him though, there was nothing on him for this girl to pickpocket given that he has been practically ushered from the house that morning. Her attempts would have been unsuccessful regardless, but that didn’t stop a scowl from forming on his face all the same. Stooping to pickpocketing was a deplorable act in the morally sound country. There were plenty of ways to find charity if she so desperately needed it. Resorting to stealing, especially at an event marked by mourning, was something so low that Hazael even thought for a moment that his dogs knew better.
He didn’t say any of this out loud though. His father’s vitriol against people like her hadn’t been that deeply engrained within him yet to give him the courage to do that. But the energy of the crowd may just do that, especially when Hazael was safe in the knowledge that they would take his side.
His gaze leveled with her, making it clear that he had no intention of giving her another chance to sneak up on him. In fact, he was doubtful that he would let his gaze leave her until she was either gone from the scene of this heinous crime or she was too deep in the crowd for him to see her.
Little did he know that his assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth and Neena was more than likely to make that clear to the boy who’s emotions were a part of the crowd present and not his own.
As the volume of the crowd swelled with every passing crowd, Hazael found himself shouting the words as well. Though whether this was more from the hateful words he had been raised on or from the energy the crowd, he didn’t know. However, a small flash of fabric brought the Judean to a halt as he became aware that someone was approaching him to talk.
Turning around slightly, Hazael looked at this stranger with a confused expression painted onto his face. He didn’t know who this girl was, but she was clearly moving towards him for some unknown reason. That on its own was weird enough, given that Judeans were not ones to randomly approach those who they didn’t know. It just simply wasn’t done. This alone was enough for him to raise his hackles out of suspicion. Nevermind how the accusatory energy of the crowd was feeding into his wariness of those who he did not know. So, it was little wonder that he just regarded her, quietly questioning her intentions as she retracted her words.
His suspicion only intensified as he took a second to glance at her, immediately noticing the slight imperfections in her outfit that she had been hoping that he wouldn’t see. Her mitpahath was slightly askew which was something that no Judean woman with any self-respect would allow to happen. Her simlah was cinched at the waist and the fabric itself was simply too dark for the sweltering desert sun… unless of course, this girl wanted to fry in the heat. Neena didn’t even need to say a word for Hazael to instantly tell that she was not a native Judean. Though, then again that was probably clear enough on its own from her darker skin. As far as he knew, there weren’t many Bedoans in Judea.
So, having come to the obvious conclusion that this girl was a foreigner, Hazael furrowed his brows, now even more confused as to why she would approach him. However, as the words of the still screaming crowd filled his ears, the natural xenophobia of his people and the hateful words of his father filled his ears. Without him realizing it, the hateful swarm of people around him influenced his thoughts and brought him to an utterly ridiculous conclusion that could only make sense in the midst of a crowd that believed a group of Greeks killed one of their own.
“Show some respect and keep your thieving ways to the market.” He said in a bitter tone, fully convinced that the only reason that this Bedoan girl would approach him in a crowd like this was to steal from him. Luckily, for him though, there was nothing on him for this girl to pickpocket given that he has been practically ushered from the house that morning. Her attempts would have been unsuccessful regardless, but that didn’t stop a scowl from forming on his face all the same. Stooping to pickpocketing was a deplorable act in the morally sound country. There were plenty of ways to find charity if she so desperately needed it. Resorting to stealing, especially at an event marked by mourning, was something so low that Hazael even thought for a moment that his dogs knew better.
He didn’t say any of this out loud though. His father’s vitriol against people like her hadn’t been that deeply engrained within him yet to give him the courage to do that. But the energy of the crowd may just do that, especially when Hazael was safe in the knowledge that they would take his side.
His gaze leveled with her, making it clear that he had no intention of giving her another chance to sneak up on him. In fact, he was doubtful that he would let his gaze leave her until she was either gone from the scene of this heinous crime or she was too deep in the crowd for him to see her.
Little did he know that his assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth and Neena was more than likely to make that clear to the boy who’s emotions were a part of the crowd present and not his own.
There were many people in the world, Neena was sure, that - when confronted with an accusation that wasn't true - would lose their temper. Enraged by the notion that another person should judge them beyond their own knowledge of their morals or personality, it was easy to see how fights and hatred began. Everything started with arrogance. With pride. The belief that you knew something beyond was what actually true. And, in return, the offended party became angry because they were arrogant enough to assume that this stranger should know them better than their accusations suggested. It all came down to ego. The determination that we should all know the most and be known the best by others.
For Neena, the experience had been repeated over and over. With people of her own race, with those of others. With those of differing religions. She had watched the distrust spark anger, the anger spark hatred. And humans were social creatures. They fed from one another, they launched into great mobs and crowds, spurred on by a sense of unity and tribe-like mentality.
It was one of the reasons Neena liked to travel alone. She liked knowing that her thoughts were her own. Entirely independent of any parent, any social class, any group of people or classification of human being. She thought as independently, uniquely and naturally as she was able to. She was, in truth, obviously a result of all of those she had met and trusted over the years. But she had never stayed in the company of one person or people for so long as to allow their thoughts to set her own into stone. She was her own being.
Free of the arrogance of those around her.
Neena's theory was just to accept and allow for the idea that she was an idiot. And that so was everyone else. Ignorant of the world and people around them. This boy clearly thought her a thief. Someone who would take advantage of the busyness and hubbub of the crowds around them - who had gathered for whatever purpose - in order to line her pockets. So what? It was a logical assumption to some extent. It was wrong. And it was sad that his mind had instantly jumped to something so heinous and negative. But her getting angry did nothing to prove him wrong.
So, instead...
She smiled.
Letting the strip of her headdress back down so that the gesture could be seen, Neena smile brightly at the boy in what she hoped was open friendliness. She offered a slight chuckle to her tone as she spoke -
"If was going to rob you, boy, you wouldn't have seen me coming." She told him with a tone of complete assurance. She had pick-pocketed before when she had been desperate but the young man before her would have never been one of her chosen targets. She was always careful to try and ensure that, in her desperation, she didn't pass such misgivings and grievances onto others. She never stole from anyone who looked like they couldn't afford to lose a few coin. Only the richer end of the world. And certainly not anything that might be considered to have emotional value. She had never, for example, plucked a wedding ring from any one's hand, or something that looked so well worn it was practically an addition to the person's body.
Only that that was casually worn and done so without conscious thought or attention.
It was why she pick-pocketed so infrequently. It was hard to find a target that matched her moralistic requirements.
"I wasn't trying to steal from you." Neena confirmed, just to be clear, before waving a hand to the crowd beside them as it grew in volume. Her eyes seemed to narrow in a wince. "I just wondered what everyone's so angry about?"
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There were many people in the world, Neena was sure, that - when confronted with an accusation that wasn't true - would lose their temper. Enraged by the notion that another person should judge them beyond their own knowledge of their morals or personality, it was easy to see how fights and hatred began. Everything started with arrogance. With pride. The belief that you knew something beyond was what actually true. And, in return, the offended party became angry because they were arrogant enough to assume that this stranger should know them better than their accusations suggested. It all came down to ego. The determination that we should all know the most and be known the best by others.
For Neena, the experience had been repeated over and over. With people of her own race, with those of others. With those of differing religions. She had watched the distrust spark anger, the anger spark hatred. And humans were social creatures. They fed from one another, they launched into great mobs and crowds, spurred on by a sense of unity and tribe-like mentality.
It was one of the reasons Neena liked to travel alone. She liked knowing that her thoughts were her own. Entirely independent of any parent, any social class, any group of people or classification of human being. She thought as independently, uniquely and naturally as she was able to. She was, in truth, obviously a result of all of those she had met and trusted over the years. But she had never stayed in the company of one person or people for so long as to allow their thoughts to set her own into stone. She was her own being.
Free of the arrogance of those around her.
Neena's theory was just to accept and allow for the idea that she was an idiot. And that so was everyone else. Ignorant of the world and people around them. This boy clearly thought her a thief. Someone who would take advantage of the busyness and hubbub of the crowds around them - who had gathered for whatever purpose - in order to line her pockets. So what? It was a logical assumption to some extent. It was wrong. And it was sad that his mind had instantly jumped to something so heinous and negative. But her getting angry did nothing to prove him wrong.
So, instead...
She smiled.
Letting the strip of her headdress back down so that the gesture could be seen, Neena smile brightly at the boy in what she hoped was open friendliness. She offered a slight chuckle to her tone as she spoke -
"If was going to rob you, boy, you wouldn't have seen me coming." She told him with a tone of complete assurance. She had pick-pocketed before when she had been desperate but the young man before her would have never been one of her chosen targets. She was always careful to try and ensure that, in her desperation, she didn't pass such misgivings and grievances onto others. She never stole from anyone who looked like they couldn't afford to lose a few coin. Only the richer end of the world. And certainly not anything that might be considered to have emotional value. She had never, for example, plucked a wedding ring from any one's hand, or something that looked so well worn it was practically an addition to the person's body.
Only that that was casually worn and done so without conscious thought or attention.
It was why she pick-pocketed so infrequently. It was hard to find a target that matched her moralistic requirements.
"I wasn't trying to steal from you." Neena confirmed, just to be clear, before waving a hand to the crowd beside them as it grew in volume. Her eyes seemed to narrow in a wince. "I just wondered what everyone's so angry about?"
There were many people in the world, Neena was sure, that - when confronted with an accusation that wasn't true - would lose their temper. Enraged by the notion that another person should judge them beyond their own knowledge of their morals or personality, it was easy to see how fights and hatred began. Everything started with arrogance. With pride. The belief that you knew something beyond was what actually true. And, in return, the offended party became angry because they were arrogant enough to assume that this stranger should know them better than their accusations suggested. It all came down to ego. The determination that we should all know the most and be known the best by others.
For Neena, the experience had been repeated over and over. With people of her own race, with those of others. With those of differing religions. She had watched the distrust spark anger, the anger spark hatred. And humans were social creatures. They fed from one another, they launched into great mobs and crowds, spurred on by a sense of unity and tribe-like mentality.
It was one of the reasons Neena liked to travel alone. She liked knowing that her thoughts were her own. Entirely independent of any parent, any social class, any group of people or classification of human being. She thought as independently, uniquely and naturally as she was able to. She was, in truth, obviously a result of all of those she had met and trusted over the years. But she had never stayed in the company of one person or people for so long as to allow their thoughts to set her own into stone. She was her own being.
Free of the arrogance of those around her.
Neena's theory was just to accept and allow for the idea that she was an idiot. And that so was everyone else. Ignorant of the world and people around them. This boy clearly thought her a thief. Someone who would take advantage of the busyness and hubbub of the crowds around them - who had gathered for whatever purpose - in order to line her pockets. So what? It was a logical assumption to some extent. It was wrong. And it was sad that his mind had instantly jumped to something so heinous and negative. But her getting angry did nothing to prove him wrong.
So, instead...
She smiled.
Letting the strip of her headdress back down so that the gesture could be seen, Neena smile brightly at the boy in what she hoped was open friendliness. She offered a slight chuckle to her tone as she spoke -
"If was going to rob you, boy, you wouldn't have seen me coming." She told him with a tone of complete assurance. She had pick-pocketed before when she had been desperate but the young man before her would have never been one of her chosen targets. She was always careful to try and ensure that, in her desperation, she didn't pass such misgivings and grievances onto others. She never stole from anyone who looked like they couldn't afford to lose a few coin. Only the richer end of the world. And certainly not anything that might be considered to have emotional value. She had never, for example, plucked a wedding ring from any one's hand, or something that looked so well worn it was practically an addition to the person's body.
Only that that was casually worn and done so without conscious thought or attention.
It was why she pick-pocketed so infrequently. It was hard to find a target that matched her moralistic requirements.
"I wasn't trying to steal from you." Neena confirmed, just to be clear, before waving a hand to the crowd beside them as it grew in volume. Her eyes seemed to narrow in a wince. "I just wondered what everyone's so angry about?"
Sweat slicks Gilit, but his cheeks and throat shimmer a clammy grey even in the heat as Visha supports him limpingly to the fringe of the crowd. She does not let him stop at the border between calm and chaos. Not half an hour earlier, two boys from Ammon had tumbled into the market, panting and shrilling at the other boys that the Greeks had started a blood feud by dangling Judean corpses from their gates. Visha had barely digested what they were gabbering about, barely stolen a glance at the barrel full of spades and sticks the boys were rushing for before she realized that Gilit had launched himself from the back of their wagon into the streets.
‘Esther, Esther!’ She’d had to rush to another stall. She'd had to wring her hands and plead with a family Gilit knew to watch their wares.
Then she'd twisted on her heel and her sandals had pounded the dust after Gilit. Dust, odd stones, and starvling weeds wended through many steep rises and allies ahead. Gilit would have to traverse them all before the Taengean encampment, its gates, and a mob of Judeans would rear up before him.
Her heart twisted with pride when she gained on him, his crooked gait swaying into view. Yet when she collided with Gilit, thrusting her shoulder under his arm as he staggered on, she could feel him trembling. The simple comfort of her touch was almost enough to unman him. He stopped, staring with dilated pupils into the throng of low buildings sheltering them from the burgeoning violence that lurked beyond a hulking, towering horizon-- a whole city jutting up in defiance. The morning fog rolling through the alleys seemed like that horizon's tense, fetid breath. He choked on that air, began to tense and shake his head and open his mouth to curse them all, curse his brethren of Israel, curse them to live in whatever sin their rash hearts birthed.
'No.' Visha jerked to a run again, awkwardly with him across her shoulders. She shattered the mercy he thought to hide in. Her shoulder blade was a lash across his hide, driving him faster than before. They were the eldest of the Judean bodies hurtling through the streets. His breath was a sucking, ragged gasp by the time they thrust into the thick of the shouting mass.
Now, in the thick of it, he cringes. He's overwrought to the point of blindness, he's half deaf to it all, but Visha’s eyes cut through the crowd’s immensity and it doesn’t dazzle her. Her nostrils flare as she casts about for them—Gilit’s friends—rabble rousers if she ever knew them. She hooks their brightly dyed coats in her sights and steers Gilit toward them. You would think their faces had transformed monstrously the way her husband balks again as she shoves him on. But she parts from him, pushes him, and he cannot run. It is all he can do to stand.
He bows his head respectfully. He gasps with his careful words: ‘I heard—a boy found dead—. Do you know what happened?’
‘What else?! What else can have happened, but that the Greeks who let him dangle there slew him?!’ Tevan sounds so much more girlish in outrage than when he's working carefully through a commentary on the Torah with Gilit, cross-legged in the back of their wagon.
Visha steps back. She can already see it, quivering in her husband’s pupils. They are sunken, his eyes, but they burn. If only he would go beyond his prostrations in taverns and inns, let them--.
‘Perhaps. Has anyone spoken to--?’
‘Gil, you are here! We never could have guessed you’d have the stones to come when there might be a fight for your brothers. Don’t ruin it.’
‘Fight?! Who?!’
‘The Greeks!’
‘What, all of them! Wise brothers, you must know which--.’
Visha has to bite her tongue and wrench herself from her husband’s arm, stalking to the fringes of the crowd. Gilit’s fight is no place for his woman. She knows this, and yet the impulse to seize Fether by the curls and bash his skull against his priest Tevan’s to knock the foolishness from them is so strong her fist clenches against her thigh. She would not have bowed to boys or fools any more than she would curtsy for a sheep. But Gilit is here. That is the best, the most that she can do without wounding him. This he must do. If not today, another. If not another, before his spirit departs him. Before his friends, she would not fear to speak her mind. It is not that she does not understand the source of her husband’s fear—no, more that to her the solution is so much smaller and simpler—so small, so simple, that she couldn’t stand to watch him…
‘Ah--.’ She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted.
Men pound the air, fists upraised. Women elbow each other to arch their necks like cranes and wail over the gates, as though they are the walls of Jericho, as though stone or iron or wood can be toppled by grief. This is a place to hold herself firm. A place to keep ready to bear Gilit on her back if needs be. She steps back to take a look at the girl she had jostled, and realized the girl had eyes on her.
'Do you need something?'
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Sweat slicks Gilit, but his cheeks and throat shimmer a clammy grey even in the heat as Visha supports him limpingly to the fringe of the crowd. She does not let him stop at the border between calm and chaos. Not half an hour earlier, two boys from Ammon had tumbled into the market, panting and shrilling at the other boys that the Greeks had started a blood feud by dangling Judean corpses from their gates. Visha had barely digested what they were gabbering about, barely stolen a glance at the barrel full of spades and sticks the boys were rushing for before she realized that Gilit had launched himself from the back of their wagon into the streets.
‘Esther, Esther!’ She’d had to rush to another stall. She'd had to wring her hands and plead with a family Gilit knew to watch their wares.
Then she'd twisted on her heel and her sandals had pounded the dust after Gilit. Dust, odd stones, and starvling weeds wended through many steep rises and allies ahead. Gilit would have to traverse them all before the Taengean encampment, its gates, and a mob of Judeans would rear up before him.
Her heart twisted with pride when she gained on him, his crooked gait swaying into view. Yet when she collided with Gilit, thrusting her shoulder under his arm as he staggered on, she could feel him trembling. The simple comfort of her touch was almost enough to unman him. He stopped, staring with dilated pupils into the throng of low buildings sheltering them from the burgeoning violence that lurked beyond a hulking, towering horizon-- a whole city jutting up in defiance. The morning fog rolling through the alleys seemed like that horizon's tense, fetid breath. He choked on that air, began to tense and shake his head and open his mouth to curse them all, curse his brethren of Israel, curse them to live in whatever sin their rash hearts birthed.
'No.' Visha jerked to a run again, awkwardly with him across her shoulders. She shattered the mercy he thought to hide in. Her shoulder blade was a lash across his hide, driving him faster than before. They were the eldest of the Judean bodies hurtling through the streets. His breath was a sucking, ragged gasp by the time they thrust into the thick of the shouting mass.
Now, in the thick of it, he cringes. He's overwrought to the point of blindness, he's half deaf to it all, but Visha’s eyes cut through the crowd’s immensity and it doesn’t dazzle her. Her nostrils flare as she casts about for them—Gilit’s friends—rabble rousers if she ever knew them. She hooks their brightly dyed coats in her sights and steers Gilit toward them. You would think their faces had transformed monstrously the way her husband balks again as she shoves him on. But she parts from him, pushes him, and he cannot run. It is all he can do to stand.
He bows his head respectfully. He gasps with his careful words: ‘I heard—a boy found dead—. Do you know what happened?’
‘What else?! What else can have happened, but that the Greeks who let him dangle there slew him?!’ Tevan sounds so much more girlish in outrage than when he's working carefully through a commentary on the Torah with Gilit, cross-legged in the back of their wagon.
Visha steps back. She can already see it, quivering in her husband’s pupils. They are sunken, his eyes, but they burn. If only he would go beyond his prostrations in taverns and inns, let them--.
‘Perhaps. Has anyone spoken to--?’
‘Gil, you are here! We never could have guessed you’d have the stones to come when there might be a fight for your brothers. Don’t ruin it.’
‘Fight?! Who?!’
‘The Greeks!’
‘What, all of them! Wise brothers, you must know which--.’
Visha has to bite her tongue and wrench herself from her husband’s arm, stalking to the fringes of the crowd. Gilit’s fight is no place for his woman. She knows this, and yet the impulse to seize Fether by the curls and bash his skull against his priest Tevan’s to knock the foolishness from them is so strong her fist clenches against her thigh. She would not have bowed to boys or fools any more than she would curtsy for a sheep. But Gilit is here. That is the best, the most that she can do without wounding him. This he must do. If not today, another. If not another, before his spirit departs him. Before his friends, she would not fear to speak her mind. It is not that she does not understand the source of her husband’s fear—no, more that to her the solution is so much smaller and simpler—so small, so simple, that she couldn’t stand to watch him…
‘Ah--.’ She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted.
Men pound the air, fists upraised. Women elbow each other to arch their necks like cranes and wail over the gates, as though they are the walls of Jericho, as though stone or iron or wood can be toppled by grief. This is a place to hold herself firm. A place to keep ready to bear Gilit on her back if needs be. She steps back to take a look at the girl she had jostled, and realized the girl had eyes on her.
'Do you need something?'
Sweat slicks Gilit, but his cheeks and throat shimmer a clammy grey even in the heat as Visha supports him limpingly to the fringe of the crowd. She does not let him stop at the border between calm and chaos. Not half an hour earlier, two boys from Ammon had tumbled into the market, panting and shrilling at the other boys that the Greeks had started a blood feud by dangling Judean corpses from their gates. Visha had barely digested what they were gabbering about, barely stolen a glance at the barrel full of spades and sticks the boys were rushing for before she realized that Gilit had launched himself from the back of their wagon into the streets.
‘Esther, Esther!’ She’d had to rush to another stall. She'd had to wring her hands and plead with a family Gilit knew to watch their wares.
Then she'd twisted on her heel and her sandals had pounded the dust after Gilit. Dust, odd stones, and starvling weeds wended through many steep rises and allies ahead. Gilit would have to traverse them all before the Taengean encampment, its gates, and a mob of Judeans would rear up before him.
Her heart twisted with pride when she gained on him, his crooked gait swaying into view. Yet when she collided with Gilit, thrusting her shoulder under his arm as he staggered on, she could feel him trembling. The simple comfort of her touch was almost enough to unman him. He stopped, staring with dilated pupils into the throng of low buildings sheltering them from the burgeoning violence that lurked beyond a hulking, towering horizon-- a whole city jutting up in defiance. The morning fog rolling through the alleys seemed like that horizon's tense, fetid breath. He choked on that air, began to tense and shake his head and open his mouth to curse them all, curse his brethren of Israel, curse them to live in whatever sin their rash hearts birthed.
'No.' Visha jerked to a run again, awkwardly with him across her shoulders. She shattered the mercy he thought to hide in. Her shoulder blade was a lash across his hide, driving him faster than before. They were the eldest of the Judean bodies hurtling through the streets. His breath was a sucking, ragged gasp by the time they thrust into the thick of the shouting mass.
Now, in the thick of it, he cringes. He's overwrought to the point of blindness, he's half deaf to it all, but Visha’s eyes cut through the crowd’s immensity and it doesn’t dazzle her. Her nostrils flare as she casts about for them—Gilit’s friends—rabble rousers if she ever knew them. She hooks their brightly dyed coats in her sights and steers Gilit toward them. You would think their faces had transformed monstrously the way her husband balks again as she shoves him on. But she parts from him, pushes him, and he cannot run. It is all he can do to stand.
He bows his head respectfully. He gasps with his careful words: ‘I heard—a boy found dead—. Do you know what happened?’
‘What else?! What else can have happened, but that the Greeks who let him dangle there slew him?!’ Tevan sounds so much more girlish in outrage than when he's working carefully through a commentary on the Torah with Gilit, cross-legged in the back of their wagon.
Visha steps back. She can already see it, quivering in her husband’s pupils. They are sunken, his eyes, but they burn. If only he would go beyond his prostrations in taverns and inns, let them--.
‘Perhaps. Has anyone spoken to--?’
‘Gil, you are here! We never could have guessed you’d have the stones to come when there might be a fight for your brothers. Don’t ruin it.’
‘Fight?! Who?!’
‘The Greeks!’
‘What, all of them! Wise brothers, you must know which--.’
Visha has to bite her tongue and wrench herself from her husband’s arm, stalking to the fringes of the crowd. Gilit’s fight is no place for his woman. She knows this, and yet the impulse to seize Fether by the curls and bash his skull against his priest Tevan’s to knock the foolishness from them is so strong her fist clenches against her thigh. She would not have bowed to boys or fools any more than she would curtsy for a sheep. But Gilit is here. That is the best, the most that she can do without wounding him. This he must do. If not today, another. If not another, before his spirit departs him. Before his friends, she would not fear to speak her mind. It is not that she does not understand the source of her husband’s fear—no, more that to her the solution is so much smaller and simpler—so small, so simple, that she couldn’t stand to watch him…
‘Ah--.’ She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted.
Men pound the air, fists upraised. Women elbow each other to arch their necks like cranes and wail over the gates, as though they are the walls of Jericho, as though stone or iron or wood can be toppled by grief. This is a place to hold herself firm. A place to keep ready to bear Gilit on her back if needs be. She steps back to take a look at the girl she had jostled, and realized the girl had eyes on her.
'Do you need something?'
Everything in Maeri’s family had seemed to be out of sorts since they had traveled to Israel. Talora hadn’t felt well the entire time they were there, yet didn’t seem to actually look particularly sick as far as Maeri could tell. Secretly she suspected that Talora had found a way to go out carousing here in this new city as well, though she was doing a much better job about being discrete than she ever had in Judah. Maeri didn’t think much about her decision to spend her time out drinking and partying in an unfamiliar town, especially one full of soldiers. She was putting herself in more than enough danger doing such a thing in their own familiar hometown.
The air at breakfast that morning was tense. Apparently something had been going on in the city, but Maeri was off in her own world daydreaming instead. She didn’t much like heavy topics, and instead considered whether or not she’d be able to teach Rayla to balance something on her nose as she had seen someone train their dog to do back in Judah. Surely it couldn’t be that hard. Though she had thought the same thing about training Rayla to dance on her hind legs, and that hadn’t gone very well. But it couldn’t hurt to try.
Maeri was determined not to let the mood in the house bring her down, so after scarfing down a quick breakfast, Maeri wandered out into the city, her dog following along behind. Well at least at first, quickly she was running here and there sniffing at the unfamiliar scents of an unfamiliar city. For a moment the dog bounced happily around in a circle, chasing a passing butterfly. Maeri had been heading towards the market, she could always find the most interesting things there, but today there appeared to be a crowd of people making a lot of noise.
Maeri headed towards the crowd, curious to find out what was going on. There were usually interesting things on the other side of a crowd, that’s why there were so many people all gathered in one place. Rayla also saw the opportunity and quickly slithered between the bodies in the crowd, faster than Maeri could follow. She pushed her way further into the crowd trying to follow the dog. “Rayla! Here girl!” she shouted at the quickly disappearing dog. The dog didn’t seem to give any sign that it had heard. “Rayla! Come back!” she shouted over the crowd, but the dog was thoroughly gone now. Maeri pushed deeper into the crowd, bumping into someone as she searched for her dog.
She turned to see it was a woman, who wanted to know if she needed anything. ”It’s just my dog….she ran into the crowd and now I can’t… Maeri cut herself off suddenly and she realized the angry tension running through the crowd that was surrounding her. This wasn’t a crowd gathered to see something fun, this was an angry crowd. Maeri glanced around, realizing that she had gotten herself into something she didn’t entirely understand. She turned back to the woman. ”What’s going on here? She hoped that she hadn’t just landed herself in the middle of something dangerous, especially with Rayla out there all alone.
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Everything in Maeri’s family had seemed to be out of sorts since they had traveled to Israel. Talora hadn’t felt well the entire time they were there, yet didn’t seem to actually look particularly sick as far as Maeri could tell. Secretly she suspected that Talora had found a way to go out carousing here in this new city as well, though she was doing a much better job about being discrete than she ever had in Judah. Maeri didn’t think much about her decision to spend her time out drinking and partying in an unfamiliar town, especially one full of soldiers. She was putting herself in more than enough danger doing such a thing in their own familiar hometown.
The air at breakfast that morning was tense. Apparently something had been going on in the city, but Maeri was off in her own world daydreaming instead. She didn’t much like heavy topics, and instead considered whether or not she’d be able to teach Rayla to balance something on her nose as she had seen someone train their dog to do back in Judah. Surely it couldn’t be that hard. Though she had thought the same thing about training Rayla to dance on her hind legs, and that hadn’t gone very well. But it couldn’t hurt to try.
Maeri was determined not to let the mood in the house bring her down, so after scarfing down a quick breakfast, Maeri wandered out into the city, her dog following along behind. Well at least at first, quickly she was running here and there sniffing at the unfamiliar scents of an unfamiliar city. For a moment the dog bounced happily around in a circle, chasing a passing butterfly. Maeri had been heading towards the market, she could always find the most interesting things there, but today there appeared to be a crowd of people making a lot of noise.
Maeri headed towards the crowd, curious to find out what was going on. There were usually interesting things on the other side of a crowd, that’s why there were so many people all gathered in one place. Rayla also saw the opportunity and quickly slithered between the bodies in the crowd, faster than Maeri could follow. She pushed her way further into the crowd trying to follow the dog. “Rayla! Here girl!” she shouted at the quickly disappearing dog. The dog didn’t seem to give any sign that it had heard. “Rayla! Come back!” she shouted over the crowd, but the dog was thoroughly gone now. Maeri pushed deeper into the crowd, bumping into someone as she searched for her dog.
She turned to see it was a woman, who wanted to know if she needed anything. ”It’s just my dog….she ran into the crowd and now I can’t… Maeri cut herself off suddenly and she realized the angry tension running through the crowd that was surrounding her. This wasn’t a crowd gathered to see something fun, this was an angry crowd. Maeri glanced around, realizing that she had gotten herself into something she didn’t entirely understand. She turned back to the woman. ”What’s going on here? She hoped that she hadn’t just landed herself in the middle of something dangerous, especially with Rayla out there all alone.
Everything in Maeri’s family had seemed to be out of sorts since they had traveled to Israel. Talora hadn’t felt well the entire time they were there, yet didn’t seem to actually look particularly sick as far as Maeri could tell. Secretly she suspected that Talora had found a way to go out carousing here in this new city as well, though she was doing a much better job about being discrete than she ever had in Judah. Maeri didn’t think much about her decision to spend her time out drinking and partying in an unfamiliar town, especially one full of soldiers. She was putting herself in more than enough danger doing such a thing in their own familiar hometown.
The air at breakfast that morning was tense. Apparently something had been going on in the city, but Maeri was off in her own world daydreaming instead. She didn’t much like heavy topics, and instead considered whether or not she’d be able to teach Rayla to balance something on her nose as she had seen someone train their dog to do back in Judah. Surely it couldn’t be that hard. Though she had thought the same thing about training Rayla to dance on her hind legs, and that hadn’t gone very well. But it couldn’t hurt to try.
Maeri was determined not to let the mood in the house bring her down, so after scarfing down a quick breakfast, Maeri wandered out into the city, her dog following along behind. Well at least at first, quickly she was running here and there sniffing at the unfamiliar scents of an unfamiliar city. For a moment the dog bounced happily around in a circle, chasing a passing butterfly. Maeri had been heading towards the market, she could always find the most interesting things there, but today there appeared to be a crowd of people making a lot of noise.
Maeri headed towards the crowd, curious to find out what was going on. There were usually interesting things on the other side of a crowd, that’s why there were so many people all gathered in one place. Rayla also saw the opportunity and quickly slithered between the bodies in the crowd, faster than Maeri could follow. She pushed her way further into the crowd trying to follow the dog. “Rayla! Here girl!” she shouted at the quickly disappearing dog. The dog didn’t seem to give any sign that it had heard. “Rayla! Come back!” she shouted over the crowd, but the dog was thoroughly gone now. Maeri pushed deeper into the crowd, bumping into someone as she searched for her dog.
She turned to see it was a woman, who wanted to know if she needed anything. ”It’s just my dog….she ran into the crowd and now I can’t… Maeri cut herself off suddenly and she realized the angry tension running through the crowd that was surrounding her. This wasn’t a crowd gathered to see something fun, this was an angry crowd. Maeri glanced around, realizing that she had gotten herself into something she didn’t entirely understand. She turned back to the woman. ”What’s going on here? She hoped that she hadn’t just landed herself in the middle of something dangerous, especially with Rayla out there all alone.
Visha crossed her arms almost as firmly as she pressed her lips together at Maeri's response. Truth told, the hardened woman hadn’t expected a bright-eyed girl bounding obliviously into the crowd after her dog. Not in this atmosphere. And having thrown Gilit to the wolves, sickly and tender ram though he was, the merchant wife couldn’t help answering irritably.
‘Have you not heard that you have countrymen who are dead, girl? They are blaming the Tangeans.’
I heard they were hanging as though on display!’ A woman next to Visha spat through her black teeth. Visha ignored her.
‘It is not a place to be playing,’ she concluded. Unbidden, her eyes slid after Gilit again… and again. Fethers had him by the shoulders, shaking him. Why can’t you see that it’s because we’ve let them occupy us that they feel confident to trample us!? They think they’ve conquered us without a single battle. What is it to them to slaughter lowly--?
‘Fethers, you don’t know what happened. You don’t know what they—‘
‘If not then why do they ignore us? The women’s wailing?’
Tevan stilled Fether with a hand on his chest, but his eyes were flashing near-black at Gilit instead. ‘If you want to flee and grovel—'
Gilit clenched his fists. Yet his voice still warbled out pleadingly. The priest and Fether were too thick in their rage to notice that the tremor was self-restraint, not fear—not any longer. Gilit averted his face to hide his bunched jaw, his flashing eyes. ‘What I want, brothers, is not to see you waste your time or your lives when it is clear that here, with our people gathered in a mob, we will not convince anyone our cause is righ—.’
‘A mob? Is that what you would call your brothers gathered together to mourn their--?!’
Others were staring now at Gilit and his friends, too. Gilit’s jaw wound tighter and tighter until the plane of his cheeks had gone red.
Avishag turned back to Maeri, her face drawn as though Gilit’s jaw were winding her tight each time he ground his teeth. Perhaps it was only with displaced provocation that she gave the errant youth a second glance at all. Or perhaps it was the affront Visha saw as part and parcel of the girl’s carelessness, leading her to believe the girl had no true guardians to put sense in her. Either way, she pushed forward. Her hand pressed insistently against hemp and wool and flesh, plying them aside. She moved in Gilit's direction-- not directly, but enough.
‘Let us find your dog,’ she barked, hoping that would run aground more incendiary talk about what was happening around them. ‘Well?’
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Visha crossed her arms almost as firmly as she pressed her lips together at Maeri's response. Truth told, the hardened woman hadn’t expected a bright-eyed girl bounding obliviously into the crowd after her dog. Not in this atmosphere. And having thrown Gilit to the wolves, sickly and tender ram though he was, the merchant wife couldn’t help answering irritably.
‘Have you not heard that you have countrymen who are dead, girl? They are blaming the Tangeans.’
I heard they were hanging as though on display!’ A woman next to Visha spat through her black teeth. Visha ignored her.
‘It is not a place to be playing,’ she concluded. Unbidden, her eyes slid after Gilit again… and again. Fethers had him by the shoulders, shaking him. Why can’t you see that it’s because we’ve let them occupy us that they feel confident to trample us!? They think they’ve conquered us without a single battle. What is it to them to slaughter lowly--?
‘Fethers, you don’t know what happened. You don’t know what they—‘
‘If not then why do they ignore us? The women’s wailing?’
Tevan stilled Fether with a hand on his chest, but his eyes were flashing near-black at Gilit instead. ‘If you want to flee and grovel—'
Gilit clenched his fists. Yet his voice still warbled out pleadingly. The priest and Fether were too thick in their rage to notice that the tremor was self-restraint, not fear—not any longer. Gilit averted his face to hide his bunched jaw, his flashing eyes. ‘What I want, brothers, is not to see you waste your time or your lives when it is clear that here, with our people gathered in a mob, we will not convince anyone our cause is righ—.’
‘A mob? Is that what you would call your brothers gathered together to mourn their--?!’
Others were staring now at Gilit and his friends, too. Gilit’s jaw wound tighter and tighter until the plane of his cheeks had gone red.
Avishag turned back to Maeri, her face drawn as though Gilit’s jaw were winding her tight each time he ground his teeth. Perhaps it was only with displaced provocation that she gave the errant youth a second glance at all. Or perhaps it was the affront Visha saw as part and parcel of the girl’s carelessness, leading her to believe the girl had no true guardians to put sense in her. Either way, she pushed forward. Her hand pressed insistently against hemp and wool and flesh, plying them aside. She moved in Gilit's direction-- not directly, but enough.
‘Let us find your dog,’ she barked, hoping that would run aground more incendiary talk about what was happening around them. ‘Well?’
Visha crossed her arms almost as firmly as she pressed her lips together at Maeri's response. Truth told, the hardened woman hadn’t expected a bright-eyed girl bounding obliviously into the crowd after her dog. Not in this atmosphere. And having thrown Gilit to the wolves, sickly and tender ram though he was, the merchant wife couldn’t help answering irritably.
‘Have you not heard that you have countrymen who are dead, girl? They are blaming the Tangeans.’
I heard they were hanging as though on display!’ A woman next to Visha spat through her black teeth. Visha ignored her.
‘It is not a place to be playing,’ she concluded. Unbidden, her eyes slid after Gilit again… and again. Fethers had him by the shoulders, shaking him. Why can’t you see that it’s because we’ve let them occupy us that they feel confident to trample us!? They think they’ve conquered us without a single battle. What is it to them to slaughter lowly--?
‘Fethers, you don’t know what happened. You don’t know what they—‘
‘If not then why do they ignore us? The women’s wailing?’
Tevan stilled Fether with a hand on his chest, but his eyes were flashing near-black at Gilit instead. ‘If you want to flee and grovel—'
Gilit clenched his fists. Yet his voice still warbled out pleadingly. The priest and Fether were too thick in their rage to notice that the tremor was self-restraint, not fear—not any longer. Gilit averted his face to hide his bunched jaw, his flashing eyes. ‘What I want, brothers, is not to see you waste your time or your lives when it is clear that here, with our people gathered in a mob, we will not convince anyone our cause is righ—.’
‘A mob? Is that what you would call your brothers gathered together to mourn their--?!’
Others were staring now at Gilit and his friends, too. Gilit’s jaw wound tighter and tighter until the plane of his cheeks had gone red.
Avishag turned back to Maeri, her face drawn as though Gilit’s jaw were winding her tight each time he ground his teeth. Perhaps it was only with displaced provocation that she gave the errant youth a second glance at all. Or perhaps it was the affront Visha saw as part and parcel of the girl’s carelessness, leading her to believe the girl had no true guardians to put sense in her. Either way, she pushed forward. Her hand pressed insistently against hemp and wool and flesh, plying them aside. She moved in Gilit's direction-- not directly, but enough.
‘Let us find your dog,’ she barked, hoping that would run aground more incendiary talk about what was happening around them. ‘Well?’
Amarissa was not fully sure what had brought her back into the heart of the city. Last time was such a disaster that she had refused to leave the house of their gracious hosts for days. But like most stays that lasted longer than expected, her father had gotten into socio-political debates with their host and Amarissa could only smile and nibble on grapes so long.
Excusing herself and slipping from the house, Amarissa found her way towards the market. It was quiet at first, quieter than normal if she were to be honest but she did not know this market as well as the one back home. It was only once she worked her way deeper into the market that she began to realize why. Emerging on the far side of it, she now knew why all the vendors were looking curiously down the street.
A large crowd had gathered and Amarissa could feel the anger and unrest rolling off of them like steam off boiling water. The dozens of voices speaking as one reached her ears and Amarissa cringed at the meaning.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
She still was not fully sure what had happened, but she knew this was a crowd ready to explode. Trying to work her way around the edge to see what they were all so angry at. Amarissa was looking straight ahead and did not see another young man running around, darting through openings until he slammed into her, knocking her down.
She yelped as she lost her balance, fully expecting a repeat of her experience earlier in the week and finding herself under the crushing weight of men once more but instead he seemed to regain his balance and continued on, only casting her a slightly regretful look before disappearing into the crowd once more.
Amarissa glared after him but then focused on gathering her few purchases and trying to get back up when a young dog raced up to her and began sniffing her all over, seemingly most interested in the meat purchases she had made that were safely wrapped up.
”No no no, you can’t have those!” Amarissa scolded quickly, taking hold of the dog’s collar and both pulling it away and using it to help herself get up. She could tell it was no roadside curr as it’s collar was beautifully tooled and its coat showed no sign of mange.
”Now where do you belong my dear? Surely not here” she mused softly as she gathered her belongings and began to look around, trying to see if there was a fretful owner seeking their obviously prize hound in this volatile mess of a gathering.
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Amarissa was not fully sure what had brought her back into the heart of the city. Last time was such a disaster that she had refused to leave the house of their gracious hosts for days. But like most stays that lasted longer than expected, her father had gotten into socio-political debates with their host and Amarissa could only smile and nibble on grapes so long.
Excusing herself and slipping from the house, Amarissa found her way towards the market. It was quiet at first, quieter than normal if she were to be honest but she did not know this market as well as the one back home. It was only once she worked her way deeper into the market that she began to realize why. Emerging on the far side of it, she now knew why all the vendors were looking curiously down the street.
A large crowd had gathered and Amarissa could feel the anger and unrest rolling off of them like steam off boiling water. The dozens of voices speaking as one reached her ears and Amarissa cringed at the meaning.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
She still was not fully sure what had happened, but she knew this was a crowd ready to explode. Trying to work her way around the edge to see what they were all so angry at. Amarissa was looking straight ahead and did not see another young man running around, darting through openings until he slammed into her, knocking her down.
She yelped as she lost her balance, fully expecting a repeat of her experience earlier in the week and finding herself under the crushing weight of men once more but instead he seemed to regain his balance and continued on, only casting her a slightly regretful look before disappearing into the crowd once more.
Amarissa glared after him but then focused on gathering her few purchases and trying to get back up when a young dog raced up to her and began sniffing her all over, seemingly most interested in the meat purchases she had made that were safely wrapped up.
”No no no, you can’t have those!” Amarissa scolded quickly, taking hold of the dog’s collar and both pulling it away and using it to help herself get up. She could tell it was no roadside curr as it’s collar was beautifully tooled and its coat showed no sign of mange.
”Now where do you belong my dear? Surely not here” she mused softly as she gathered her belongings and began to look around, trying to see if there was a fretful owner seeking their obviously prize hound in this volatile mess of a gathering.
Amarissa was not fully sure what had brought her back into the heart of the city. Last time was such a disaster that she had refused to leave the house of their gracious hosts for days. But like most stays that lasted longer than expected, her father had gotten into socio-political debates with their host and Amarissa could only smile and nibble on grapes so long.
Excusing herself and slipping from the house, Amarissa found her way towards the market. It was quiet at first, quieter than normal if she were to be honest but she did not know this market as well as the one back home. It was only once she worked her way deeper into the market that she began to realize why. Emerging on the far side of it, she now knew why all the vendors were looking curiously down the street.
A large crowd had gathered and Amarissa could feel the anger and unrest rolling off of them like steam off boiling water. The dozens of voices speaking as one reached her ears and Amarissa cringed at the meaning.
“You are not welcome. Go home. You are not welcome. Go Home.”
She still was not fully sure what had happened, but she knew this was a crowd ready to explode. Trying to work her way around the edge to see what they were all so angry at. Amarissa was looking straight ahead and did not see another young man running around, darting through openings until he slammed into her, knocking her down.
She yelped as she lost her balance, fully expecting a repeat of her experience earlier in the week and finding herself under the crushing weight of men once more but instead he seemed to regain his balance and continued on, only casting her a slightly regretful look before disappearing into the crowd once more.
Amarissa glared after him but then focused on gathering her few purchases and trying to get back up when a young dog raced up to her and began sniffing her all over, seemingly most interested in the meat purchases she had made that were safely wrapped up.
”No no no, you can’t have those!” Amarissa scolded quickly, taking hold of the dog’s collar and both pulling it away and using it to help herself get up. She could tell it was no roadside curr as it’s collar was beautifully tooled and its coat showed no sign of mange.
”Now where do you belong my dear? Surely not here” she mused softly as she gathered her belongings and began to look around, trying to see if there was a fretful owner seeking their obviously prize hound in this volatile mess of a gathering.
Curveball You're Not Welcome
As the calls and shouts of the aggravated and the hating rouse more to the street where the young Judean man was found, the people of the city start to hurl specific insults. Not just a determination for the Greeks to leave, but accusations of murder and violence against the Judean people - "How can it not be you?" "He was found at your boundary!" "No Judean would harm another in this way - what would we have to gain?!" - the calls can be heard near and far and suddenly - though no-one could spy the thrower - a rock sailed through the air, from the Judean grow into the collective of Grecian men. A sharp thwack could be heard as the piece of granite struck home against a piece of metal armour worn by the Grecian soldiers and within a heartbeat, swords are drawn by the front line of Taengean warriors and the atmosphere in the street becomes deadly quiet...
JD
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JD
Staff Team
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As the calls and shouts of the aggravated and the hating rouse more to the street where the young Judean man was found, the people of the city start to hurl specific insults. Not just a determination for the Greeks to leave, but accusations of murder and violence against the Judean people - "How can it not be you?" "He was found at your boundary!" "No Judean would harm another in this way - what would we have to gain?!" - the calls can be heard near and far and suddenly - though no-one could spy the thrower - a rock sailed through the air, from the Judean grow into the collective of Grecian men. A sharp thwack could be heard as the piece of granite struck home against a piece of metal armour worn by the Grecian soldiers and within a heartbeat, swords are drawn by the front line of Taengean warriors and the atmosphere in the street becomes deadly quiet...
Curveball You're Not Welcome
As the calls and shouts of the aggravated and the hating rouse more to the street where the young Judean man was found, the people of the city start to hurl specific insults. Not just a determination for the Greeks to leave, but accusations of murder and violence against the Judean people - "How can it not be you?" "He was found at your boundary!" "No Judean would harm another in this way - what would we have to gain?!" - the calls can be heard near and far and suddenly - though no-one could spy the thrower - a rock sailed through the air, from the Judean grow into the collective of Grecian men. A sharp thwack could be heard as the piece of granite struck home against a piece of metal armour worn by the Grecian soldiers and within a heartbeat, swords are drawn by the front line of Taengean warriors and the atmosphere in the street becomes deadly quiet...
Any knowledge that Maeri had hoped to gain from the woman about the situation went out the window with the woman's impatience. Maeri was used to it though. It wasn't often her questions were taken seriously. Even she had to admit that she had a lot of them, so perhaps it was right that they were ignored. Still, she was grateful to have someone who was willing to help her look for her dog.
The crowd seemed to churn uncomfortably as Maeri continued to call for Rayla, but Maeri put any worries out of her head. Surely if there was anything to worry about, the woman with her would have told her. Only a few moments later, Maeri heard yips over the noise of the crowd that she knew had to belong to Rayla. Maeri pushed forward through the crowd, following her dog's barks. "Rayla! Here girl!" Maeri called, hoping the dog would find its way back to her.
Instead, as Maeri continued towards the barking, she saw her dog with a familiar looking woman holding her collar. That woman was stealing her dog! "Hey!" Maeri called out, pushing through the crowd to get to her dog and the woman holding her captive. "That's my dog, you dog thief!" Maeri strode forward and took Rayla's collar, expecting that she would have to wrest it from the woman's grip.
It was then that the crowd drew quiet, the tension rising as the Greek soldiers drew their swords, not far from where they stood. Maeri clutched the puppy to her chest, her eyes going wide, scared of where this was headed. She’d never been this close to a drawn sword before that she could recall. Certainly not one that was being wielded agressively. Despite her previous accusations, Maeri found herself instinctively huddling towards the woman who had been holding her dog, though her eyes were fixed on the soldiers and their swords. They looked incredibly sharp, and it was all Maeri could do to keep herself from imagining what those swords were capable of should the Greeks get angry.
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Any knowledge that Maeri had hoped to gain from the woman about the situation went out the window with the woman's impatience. Maeri was used to it though. It wasn't often her questions were taken seriously. Even she had to admit that she had a lot of them, so perhaps it was right that they were ignored. Still, she was grateful to have someone who was willing to help her look for her dog.
The crowd seemed to churn uncomfortably as Maeri continued to call for Rayla, but Maeri put any worries out of her head. Surely if there was anything to worry about, the woman with her would have told her. Only a few moments later, Maeri heard yips over the noise of the crowd that she knew had to belong to Rayla. Maeri pushed forward through the crowd, following her dog's barks. "Rayla! Here girl!" Maeri called, hoping the dog would find its way back to her.
Instead, as Maeri continued towards the barking, she saw her dog with a familiar looking woman holding her collar. That woman was stealing her dog! "Hey!" Maeri called out, pushing through the crowd to get to her dog and the woman holding her captive. "That's my dog, you dog thief!" Maeri strode forward and took Rayla's collar, expecting that she would have to wrest it from the woman's grip.
It was then that the crowd drew quiet, the tension rising as the Greek soldiers drew their swords, not far from where they stood. Maeri clutched the puppy to her chest, her eyes going wide, scared of where this was headed. She’d never been this close to a drawn sword before that she could recall. Certainly not one that was being wielded agressively. Despite her previous accusations, Maeri found herself instinctively huddling towards the woman who had been holding her dog, though her eyes were fixed on the soldiers and their swords. They looked incredibly sharp, and it was all Maeri could do to keep herself from imagining what those swords were capable of should the Greeks get angry.
Any knowledge that Maeri had hoped to gain from the woman about the situation went out the window with the woman's impatience. Maeri was used to it though. It wasn't often her questions were taken seriously. Even she had to admit that she had a lot of them, so perhaps it was right that they were ignored. Still, she was grateful to have someone who was willing to help her look for her dog.
The crowd seemed to churn uncomfortably as Maeri continued to call for Rayla, but Maeri put any worries out of her head. Surely if there was anything to worry about, the woman with her would have told her. Only a few moments later, Maeri heard yips over the noise of the crowd that she knew had to belong to Rayla. Maeri pushed forward through the crowd, following her dog's barks. "Rayla! Here girl!" Maeri called, hoping the dog would find its way back to her.
Instead, as Maeri continued towards the barking, she saw her dog with a familiar looking woman holding her collar. That woman was stealing her dog! "Hey!" Maeri called out, pushing through the crowd to get to her dog and the woman holding her captive. "That's my dog, you dog thief!" Maeri strode forward and took Rayla's collar, expecting that she would have to wrest it from the woman's grip.
It was then that the crowd drew quiet, the tension rising as the Greek soldiers drew their swords, not far from where they stood. Maeri clutched the puppy to her chest, her eyes going wide, scared of where this was headed. She’d never been this close to a drawn sword before that she could recall. Certainly not one that was being wielded agressively. Despite her previous accusations, Maeri found herself instinctively huddling towards the woman who had been holding her dog, though her eyes were fixed on the soldiers and their swords. They looked incredibly sharp, and it was all Maeri could do to keep herself from imagining what those swords were capable of should the Greeks get angry.
Amarissa did not hear the young woman's calls above the crowd, but the dog did and started barking and straining at it's collar. Amarissa tried to precariously hold onto the collar and hold her purchases without letting either slip. This crowd was no place for a loose dog as obviously precious as this one to be running around. Attempting to calm the creature that was obviously riled up by the crowd, Amarissa tightened her grip on the collar and looked around unsuccessfully for its owner.
She was then taken completely off guard when a seemingly familiar young woman pushed through the crowd near them and accused her of stealing the dog. In shock and some indignant anger at being called a thief, Amarissa's hand slipped from the collar as the other woman nearly yanked the collar away, obviously expecting more resistance.
"No I was just trying to fin..." Amarissa trailed off as the sound of steel being drawing broke through the chants and the crowd grew deathly quiet. Amarissa found the young woman and dog now huddled against her and despite being the youngest, protective instincts kicked in.
Wrapping her now free arm around the young woman, Amarissa began to turn and usher them away from the soldiers and crowd. "Come. We should go. Now." Amarissa said, her voice leaving no room for argument or protest. The dread in the back of her mind felt very much like the day Gali died. The threat of death hanging heavy in the air and the crowd little more than timid and panicked animals. Though Amarissa had been but five years old, she recognized the situation only too well and wanted nothing more to do with it.
She did not know that the young woman had enlisted the help of another, but if the other woman caught up to them, she would usher them along too, collecting this odd brood and attempting to steer them through the sea of people to safety. She only hoped she was not too late.
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Amarissa did not hear the young woman's calls above the crowd, but the dog did and started barking and straining at it's collar. Amarissa tried to precariously hold onto the collar and hold her purchases without letting either slip. This crowd was no place for a loose dog as obviously precious as this one to be running around. Attempting to calm the creature that was obviously riled up by the crowd, Amarissa tightened her grip on the collar and looked around unsuccessfully for its owner.
She was then taken completely off guard when a seemingly familiar young woman pushed through the crowd near them and accused her of stealing the dog. In shock and some indignant anger at being called a thief, Amarissa's hand slipped from the collar as the other woman nearly yanked the collar away, obviously expecting more resistance.
"No I was just trying to fin..." Amarissa trailed off as the sound of steel being drawing broke through the chants and the crowd grew deathly quiet. Amarissa found the young woman and dog now huddled against her and despite being the youngest, protective instincts kicked in.
Wrapping her now free arm around the young woman, Amarissa began to turn and usher them away from the soldiers and crowd. "Come. We should go. Now." Amarissa said, her voice leaving no room for argument or protest. The dread in the back of her mind felt very much like the day Gali died. The threat of death hanging heavy in the air and the crowd little more than timid and panicked animals. Though Amarissa had been but five years old, she recognized the situation only too well and wanted nothing more to do with it.
She did not know that the young woman had enlisted the help of another, but if the other woman caught up to them, she would usher them along too, collecting this odd brood and attempting to steer them through the sea of people to safety. She only hoped she was not too late.
Amarissa did not hear the young woman's calls above the crowd, but the dog did and started barking and straining at it's collar. Amarissa tried to precariously hold onto the collar and hold her purchases without letting either slip. This crowd was no place for a loose dog as obviously precious as this one to be running around. Attempting to calm the creature that was obviously riled up by the crowd, Amarissa tightened her grip on the collar and looked around unsuccessfully for its owner.
She was then taken completely off guard when a seemingly familiar young woman pushed through the crowd near them and accused her of stealing the dog. In shock and some indignant anger at being called a thief, Amarissa's hand slipped from the collar as the other woman nearly yanked the collar away, obviously expecting more resistance.
"No I was just trying to fin..." Amarissa trailed off as the sound of steel being drawing broke through the chants and the crowd grew deathly quiet. Amarissa found the young woman and dog now huddled against her and despite being the youngest, protective instincts kicked in.
Wrapping her now free arm around the young woman, Amarissa began to turn and usher them away from the soldiers and crowd. "Come. We should go. Now." Amarissa said, her voice leaving no room for argument or protest. The dread in the back of her mind felt very much like the day Gali died. The threat of death hanging heavy in the air and the crowd little more than timid and panicked animals. Though Amarissa had been but five years old, she recognized the situation only too well and wanted nothing more to do with it.
She did not know that the young woman had enlisted the help of another, but if the other woman caught up to them, she would usher them along too, collecting this odd brood and attempting to steer them through the sea of people to safety. She only hoped she was not too late.
The crowd around them had whipped itself up into a panic as the Greek soldiers drew steel. There was something nerve-wracking about the way the tension in the crowd had suddenly broken as the conflict drew to a head. While some people were emboldened in their anger towards the Greeks, the vast majority of people were now looking to get as far away from the conflict as possible. Maeri found that she and Amarissa were now being swept away in a wave of people. It was all she could do to hold onto Rayla’s collar as they were swept along by the crowd. The press of people on all sides as they were hurried along was completely overwhelming and Maeri couldn’t help but feel scared.
The only thing that was keeping Maeri from completely losing her head in the scrambling crowd was Amarissa’s arm around her shoulder, guiding her safely through the crush of people and the noise of the crowd. It was only her guidance that kept Maeri moving forwards instead of stopping and finding herself knocked off her feet by the surrounding people who were also trying to flee the area. There was something that felt very comforting about the woman’s arm around her shoulders, something that made her feel like a port in the storm.
They fought their way through the crowd for what seemed like ages. Maeri held tightly to Rayla’s collar, not wanting to lose her dog in the crowd yet again, but the dog kept tightly to her side, just as Maeri stayed closely huddled to Amarissa. Suddenly, they stepped into a side street and everything quieted down. The crowd pushed on past down the main street, and Maeri looked up at Amarissa, awed by this woman’s quick thinking in a crisis. Maeri couldn’t help but be grateful. Maeri let go of Rayla’s collar and threw her arms around Amarissa. “Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done without you!”
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The crowd around them had whipped itself up into a panic as the Greek soldiers drew steel. There was something nerve-wracking about the way the tension in the crowd had suddenly broken as the conflict drew to a head. While some people were emboldened in their anger towards the Greeks, the vast majority of people were now looking to get as far away from the conflict as possible. Maeri found that she and Amarissa were now being swept away in a wave of people. It was all she could do to hold onto Rayla’s collar as they were swept along by the crowd. The press of people on all sides as they were hurried along was completely overwhelming and Maeri couldn’t help but feel scared.
The only thing that was keeping Maeri from completely losing her head in the scrambling crowd was Amarissa’s arm around her shoulder, guiding her safely through the crush of people and the noise of the crowd. It was only her guidance that kept Maeri moving forwards instead of stopping and finding herself knocked off her feet by the surrounding people who were also trying to flee the area. There was something that felt very comforting about the woman’s arm around her shoulders, something that made her feel like a port in the storm.
They fought their way through the crowd for what seemed like ages. Maeri held tightly to Rayla’s collar, not wanting to lose her dog in the crowd yet again, but the dog kept tightly to her side, just as Maeri stayed closely huddled to Amarissa. Suddenly, they stepped into a side street and everything quieted down. The crowd pushed on past down the main street, and Maeri looked up at Amarissa, awed by this woman’s quick thinking in a crisis. Maeri couldn’t help but be grateful. Maeri let go of Rayla’s collar and threw her arms around Amarissa. “Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done without you!”
The crowd around them had whipped itself up into a panic as the Greek soldiers drew steel. There was something nerve-wracking about the way the tension in the crowd had suddenly broken as the conflict drew to a head. While some people were emboldened in their anger towards the Greeks, the vast majority of people were now looking to get as far away from the conflict as possible. Maeri found that she and Amarissa were now being swept away in a wave of people. It was all she could do to hold onto Rayla’s collar as they were swept along by the crowd. The press of people on all sides as they were hurried along was completely overwhelming and Maeri couldn’t help but feel scared.
The only thing that was keeping Maeri from completely losing her head in the scrambling crowd was Amarissa’s arm around her shoulder, guiding her safely through the crush of people and the noise of the crowd. It was only her guidance that kept Maeri moving forwards instead of stopping and finding herself knocked off her feet by the surrounding people who were also trying to flee the area. There was something that felt very comforting about the woman’s arm around her shoulders, something that made her feel like a port in the storm.
They fought their way through the crowd for what seemed like ages. Maeri held tightly to Rayla’s collar, not wanting to lose her dog in the crowd yet again, but the dog kept tightly to her side, just as Maeri stayed closely huddled to Amarissa. Suddenly, they stepped into a side street and everything quieted down. The crowd pushed on past down the main street, and Maeri looked up at Amarissa, awed by this woman’s quick thinking in a crisis. Maeri couldn’t help but be grateful. Maeri let go of Rayla’s collar and threw her arms around Amarissa. “Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done without you!”
It was extremely fortuitous that the two of them had been able to escape the crowd and down a side street. It was a miracle that the young woman had been able to hold onto her dog. Amarissa was, admittedly, amazed.
Watching with both fear and adrenaline, her eyes wide, her arm clutching her purchases with fervor, Amarissa was rather surprised by the young woman's sudden display of thanks and affection. Amarissa hugged her back gently with her free arm and rubbed the young woman's back gently. It was obvious the poor woman was terrified.
"Come," she said softly, her arm gently moving to guide the woman along down the side street and following the back streets of Israel."We should get you home. And me too" she had a small laugh in relief. "I'm Amarissa of Rishona. I'm visiting with my family. Do you live here?"
They continued following the side streets, staying away from the main streets in case the crowd was still roiling and sometimes clinging to each other a little tighter when the normal inhabitants of the side streets leered closer. It was far from a relaxing journey home but they progressed as safely and quickly as they could.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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It was extremely fortuitous that the two of them had been able to escape the crowd and down a side street. It was a miracle that the young woman had been able to hold onto her dog. Amarissa was, admittedly, amazed.
Watching with both fear and adrenaline, her eyes wide, her arm clutching her purchases with fervor, Amarissa was rather surprised by the young woman's sudden display of thanks and affection. Amarissa hugged her back gently with her free arm and rubbed the young woman's back gently. It was obvious the poor woman was terrified.
"Come," she said softly, her arm gently moving to guide the woman along down the side street and following the back streets of Israel."We should get you home. And me too" she had a small laugh in relief. "I'm Amarissa of Rishona. I'm visiting with my family. Do you live here?"
They continued following the side streets, staying away from the main streets in case the crowd was still roiling and sometimes clinging to each other a little tighter when the normal inhabitants of the side streets leered closer. It was far from a relaxing journey home but they progressed as safely and quickly as they could.
It was extremely fortuitous that the two of them had been able to escape the crowd and down a side street. It was a miracle that the young woman had been able to hold onto her dog. Amarissa was, admittedly, amazed.
Watching with both fear and adrenaline, her eyes wide, her arm clutching her purchases with fervor, Amarissa was rather surprised by the young woman's sudden display of thanks and affection. Amarissa hugged her back gently with her free arm and rubbed the young woman's back gently. It was obvious the poor woman was terrified.
"Come," she said softly, her arm gently moving to guide the woman along down the side street and following the back streets of Israel."We should get you home. And me too" she had a small laugh in relief. "I'm Amarissa of Rishona. I'm visiting with my family. Do you live here?"
They continued following the side streets, staying away from the main streets in case the crowd was still roiling and sometimes clinging to each other a little tighter when the normal inhabitants of the side streets leered closer. It was far from a relaxing journey home but they progressed as safely and quickly as they could.
Curveball You're Not Welcome
As with all moments of tension, a spark is all that is needed to cause chaos. Where the spark happened or came from, no-one knows, but one moment there is shouting, calls for retributions and revenge... and the next, an arrow flies, a punch is thrown. Suddenly, the street of protesters demanding answers for the death of the Judean merchant son turns into an all out brawl that people run in every direction, attempting to escape...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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Please contact us with your queries and questions.
As with all moments of tension, a spark is all that is needed to cause chaos. Where the spark happened or came from, no-one knows, but one moment there is shouting, calls for retributions and revenge... and the next, an arrow flies, a punch is thrown. Suddenly, the street of protesters demanding answers for the death of the Judean merchant son turns into an all out brawl that people run in every direction, attempting to escape...
Curveball You're Not Welcome
As with all moments of tension, a spark is all that is needed to cause chaos. Where the spark happened or came from, no-one knows, but one moment there is shouting, calls for retributions and revenge... and the next, an arrow flies, a punch is thrown. Suddenly, the street of protesters demanding answers for the death of the Judean merchant son turns into an all out brawl that people run in every direction, attempting to escape...