Quest Ain't that a Kick in the Head

[Vice]

1st of Autumn, 514

The season had turned and far off, the Watchtowers had changed their light. However, in the city of Kenash, none might have known that the city had changed in its season. Sweltering weather pressed on and continued through the change. It did not relent. Sweat permeated from the brow of Orkat Draer as made his way out of the carriage. Him, Craden and Jal Draer were all at the Sailormen's Toil. The small dock was completely cleared, a plethora of slaves, all supervised by a number of guards, were all occupied with completing the construction of the massive raft that the opening of Autumn party was to take place on. The entire construction had taken a score of days. However, netting was fitted onto each side of the square raft, which measured to be ninety feet at each side.

Once it settled into the water, the It was the matter of arranging its transportation and subsequent anchoring into the sea, which took, in it of itself, two days to complete. However, as projected, the entire project was completed with time to spare.

And thus, Orkat, Craden and Jal were only truly overseeing, on the first of Autumn, the transportation of the supplies for the party. A large, twenty foot long, and five feet wide table was laden with food, large barrels of both rum and ale set about the table as decorations were cast to fit the theme of the sea, at Craden's insistence. Wood was painted in a pearly, ornate white, accented with blues of varying colouration. Upon the surface of the wooden floor were carpets made from fine linen, draped onto the wood, but kept far from the edges of the raft. A canopy was set at a perimeter of sixty feet, keeping shade upon the food and most of the festivities while leaving the outer edge prime for Kenashians who desired to drink in the sun and moderate climate of the sea.

Out in the ocean, all was still. All was calm this day, Craden Draer having poured a sack of mizas into the sea in offering to the god Laviku. Looking to Orkat, he asked,

"When are they comin' on?"

"Oh, it will be soon. In fact, Jal should be leaving now. The rafts need to be in place in time for the guests to use them."

"Aye."

And so, Jal made his way to shore, leaving the other two Draer, each with a glass of ale in hand.

~~~0~~~0~~~

One bell later.

~~~0~~~0~~~

Rowboats were cast upon the dock of the Sailormen's Toil in waiting for Kenashians of all stations to seek passage. The festivities were in progress, music already playing out at the sea, a one hundred meter trip, however in the hundred meters of Zulrav's winds and Laviku's sea, the sound was dulled. Orkat Draer, however, was at the Sailormen's Toil. Shaking hands with incoming guests, a vibrant smile was set upon his features,

"Welcome, welcome! Please, make your way onto the boats. Our slaves are well-prepared to take you to the raft. Please, enjoy! Partake. I will be there to join all of you shortly."

[Harkon]

Harkon walked into Zulaca's shop in a rather chipper mood. He had no work today, and was stopping in to pick up his order from several days ago, brand new boots and walking stick in hand. He smiled at the man who was the creator of his outfit. "Hello Sir Zulaca, I've come to pick up my order." The man nodded, several sewing pins in his mouth rendering him momentarily speechless. He gestured Harkon behind the counter. He placed Harkon's new undergarments, trousers and shirt in a neat pile on the counter, and went into the backroom. The young Benshira took this as a chance to get dressed. Zoroaster did not mess up measurements, but customers still would want to try on their garb. Harkon quickly changed into the surprisingly comfortable clothing. He was now adorned in his white, mohair wool shirt, black satin trousers, and the best part of all, his black silk undergarments. Zoroaster returned, with the rest of the attire. He handed him the silver and black brocade vest, with matching satin jacket. And to top it all off, the black silk top hat. Harkon pulled on the new boots he'd brought with him, and stood in front of a full length mirror. He had to admit, he could get used to looking like this, and it was incredibly comfortable. "I do not believe anyone could've done better than this Sir Zulaca. I am incredibly grateful." With a tip of his hat with his walking stick, he left, having paid days ago when he placed the order. It was dark when Harkon left the shop, and took a stroll toward Blade Island, to the Sailormen's Toil. Many guests for this event were arriving in carriages, having traveled from the plantations. And for once in his seven years in Kenash, Harkon felt a glimmer of belonging among the elite. He shook hands with the smiling Orkat Draer, and prepared to board a rowboat with a small mingling of Dynasts and Freeborns. He was first in line for his group, but as any proper gentleman would, stepped aside and offered a helping hand for the women to step down into the boat, accompanied by a tip of his new hat. Once they were in, he joined them, sitting next to a rather well endowed Freeborn woman in a vibrant red dress. It was a small struggle to keep his eyes cast forward, but he managed. The passengers chatted idly with one another, Harkon content with listening, keeping an eye on the larger craft in the distance. Upon arriving, he disembarked first, and once again, provided the support for the women to climb out. Harkon immediately made a beeline for the refreshments table. This was the main reason he came, for while he ate decently, eating this well was a rarity. He grabbed a large goblet, poured some ale into it. He then grabbed a plate and began heaping one of everything onto it until it was beyond full. Taking plate and goblet to a fairly uninhabited part of the raft, he began to delve into his delights, eyes watching for the offchance he might know a newcomer.

[Estrellir Konrath]

If nothing else, a mutual love for the sea bound the Draer and Konrath Dynasties tighter in spirit than others that nevertheless thrived in the middle of the swamp. While most arrived by carriage from their respective plantations, Lorenzo Konrath's daughter came by her own feet, comfortable in light sandals and an azure dress of flowing fabric. Her ivory hair was tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in wild locks, unrestricted, yet subtly shaped towards the desired effect. Dark lines brought out her violet eyes and scales shimmered on her skin, creating a more exotic air than any face paint.

As she maneuvered around the next carriage, she absentmindedly tugged at the blue scarf around her neck. It was of light fabric that cooled her skin in the stuffy swamp air. While the opening of the shipyard itself didn't interest her, not a lot, the Konti was looking forward to a few bells out on the sea with a salty breeze and various delicacies to refresh her.

A flash of midnight blue further down the line indicated one of her brothers or cousins, but Estrellir didn't move to join him. Content with her spot in the line of Dynasts and curious Freeborns, she waited patiently until it was her turn. Orcat Draer was graced with a friendly smile and a bit of a compliment about the raft and festival organization. Once in the small boat, she fingered her pipe in a hidden pocket and produced just enough smiles and words to entertain an elderly Draer lady for the duration of the passage. As she stepped on the raft, Estrellir noted with pleasure that the slight up and down of the tides could still be felt on its wooden planks, however faint.

Distancing herself from others that immediately rushed towards food and drink, the Konti started with a slow walk around the entire raft. Soon beads of sweat formed high on her forehead and in the lines of her hands. Alas, the fancy white hat lay forgotten at the bureau... Still, the breeze tousled her hair further and provided some refreshment. After one round, she was back at the spot where the rowboats docked and finally turned towards the other guests, observing with sharp eyes who was present and who wasn't, who conversed with whom and who stood apart like her.

Soon she'd be ensnared in conversation with a Dynasty member she only knew in passing or as a brief acquaintance, significantly limited in her ability to observe and analyze. For now she'd make use of that moment of regrouping and reorientation.

[Verena Lorak]

It was the start of a new season. Fall. Autumn. Harvest. It meant the sun will recede, giving way to cool breezes and gentle winds. The smell of change was thick in the air and Verena was grateful as the heat lessened.

A few days ago, Lorana had ordered her direct family to attend the Draer’s party that would celebrated on the first day of her rule as a Magistrate. That had meant Verena was bound to attend another of these vexing festivities. The young doctor had protested because she had to check on a patient that day, only to be glared at and reprimanded. But Verena would not back down either. After a few moments of debating, they agreed upon this: Verena would be prepared for the party early in the morning and she would be allowed to check on her patients for two bells at most, before Zorane would come and escort her to the event.

Now, the healer was waiting for her brother to come, having finished re-bandaging some wounds and breaking some fevers. She stood behind the long registration desk, flipping through her patients’ records. Verena shifted uncomfortably inside her soft violet dress - it was light at least . It had been a pain to keep the dress clean as she worked, but it had been part of the deal.

The door creaked as it opened and Verena made a mental note to ask Hallan to grease it. She was not surprised when a handsome, blonde young man clad in a flawless suit entered the premises. Through the glass doors, she could see a grand carriage waiting for them.

“Aren’t you impressed with my new title this season? Clerk Zorane Lorak?” her brother teased as he threw himself on one of the couches. Judging from his proper clothing, he had just returned from the Magistrate ordeal. Her brother started loosening his tie, then stopped himself as if he just remembered they were supposed to go to a party in a few chimes. “A little mouthful, don’t you think?”

Verena pressed her lips together, reminded of what she had been dreading for a few weeks already. After what happened last season, truthfully, she was deadly worried. An attempt for the last Magistrate’s life was made and she feared something had might befall her siblings while they were in the seats of power.

She remembered just a few seasons ago, when the Paille was in charge, how Zavic Paille’s son was murdered. He held the title of clerk, just like Zorane right now. What if . . .? Even the mere thought of losing Zorane made her stomach clench in anticipation. He was her brother, her anchor, her guide in this world she could never quite understand. Her earliest memory was of Zorane’s chubby hands holding hers.

“You are thinking of something awful, aren’t you?” Zorane asked with a raised eyebrow, breaking her train of pessimistic thoughts. “I know that look.”

“What if the Rujaro struck again and they tried to attack you and Lorana? What should I do if you were killed?” the healer asked bluntly, her intense eyes finally locking on Zorane.

His face softened and a smile bloomed on his lips at her sister’s concern. He was one of the few people to understand how deeply Verena cared. Something not everyone could see. “Do not worry about me, Verena. No clerk had died, right? Relax. Kenash can protect itself.” He buried his own worries deep within his chest. The Rujaros were getting fiercer, braver. There was no need to worry his dear sister.

Spending no more time in small talks, the siblings boarded the carriage and headed for the Sailormen’s Toil. At least the party had seemed slightly more interesting with the fact that it was floating in the middle of the ocean blue.

“We are going to a party, smile a little,” he encouraged teasingly as they boarded a small row boat. He knew it was no use. Zorane was more familiar to Verena’s sour mood during festivities than anyone else. The young man could still remember the days when she would refuse to come entirely or when she ran away when things had gotten too loud. His sister came a long way from the isolated girl he once knew, but it was still not enough for her to be truly accepted in the society.

Not that she cared.

[Viszragoneszh]

The Beginning Goneszh lay in the water a good hundred yards or more from the nearest flotation. He'd been keeping watch on the construction and outfitting of the barge for the last few days. It had all the appearances of a final culmination and launching of some celebration. Once again, humans were all about self-indulgence. The Dhani wondered what these humans could be celebrating. This went beyond anything he'd seen to simply honor the change of the season. He'd been prepared to honor Makutsi with his rain dance when the sounds of construction had distracted him. The obvious slave effort had intrigued him. There was such a wide degree of differing attitudes toward slavery among humans, it was a wonder they could keep track of when it was socially approved or not. He himself despised the institute of slavery, having once been a victim of the human version of it. Made to fight in a pit for their amusement. He could see it as a reasonable punishment for damage or debt. But so often with humans, it just seemed you could be enslaved for crossing the wrong street. He could also see it as reasonable spoils for victory in war. But when a culture depended on slaves to function, he saw that as a weakness. But he'd known he was coming close to such a culture for quite some time as he'd made his solitary way along the southern coast of the middle body of what the humans called the Suvan Sea. Gonezh found it typical that the humans would presume to name a body of water, created by the turmoil of the gods, after one of their failed empires. He'd found a steady rise in ghostly appearances as he'd made his way east along the coast. They'd rarely been any trouble, but they mostly all shared a demise that hinged on a slave's existence and death. And now here it was, a bustling human community, built on the backs of their own downtrodden kind. Humanity in all its glory. In a Dhani society, you were enslaved because you'd been defeated. Among humans, they seemed almost to expect you to volunteer to be a slave. As though to honor the splendor of some puffy, pampered dandy, that hadn't done a day's work in his life, was a worthy cause to waste your life on. And such pampered splendor was in full array upon the barge he was observing. He sighed to himself. His mother, Viszra, would have scolded him for being no less arrogant in his notion of superiority than he was accusing the humans of being. But Dhani WERE superior! They surpassed human capability in all things save the disgusting and incestuous ability to breed like rats. Was there any better explanation for the reason humans ganged up and killed them whenever they could? Dhani were stronger, faster, far more sensitive, as well as smarter in those areas that were WORTH intellect. The only reason they did not dominate the world, to the glory of their gods, was from the infighting, which was, of course, caused by all the other subraces. If only all Dhani could be Iyvess...