Placeholder Place Holder 2

[Elias Caldera]

He could feel it creeping up on him, like a spider behind his eyes. It slithered and crawled, burrowing its way into all the little nooks and all the little crannies that its spindly legs could find.

Rubbing his face with a calloused hand, Elias grimaced at the incoming headache. Another day, another close call with over giving. It seemed that with each passing visit to the institute of higher learning he was learning what if felt like to push himself to the very brink. With each lesson he eventually found himself standing on the precipice between just enough, and busted blood vessel. The whispers, of course, told him it was all just fantastic, a challenge to go beyond what he had allowed himself to grow complacent with. But even they sounded tired and bedraggled in their false jubilee, so much so their words fell on deaf and weary ears. Strange then, that their words weren't theirs at all, but his own...

Are they still sweet whispers if you know they're sweet whispers?

[Shiress]

Darkness had fallen deep within the lake city when Shiress began her familiar journey home. A gentle, cool breeze wafted up through the street before her, catching the flame of the torches that lined her path, casting ghostly figures fleeing up walls and shadowy shapes dancing along the stoned pavement. The days had grown warm, of late.

Walking along, Shiress tugged at the confines of her hair, freeing the long, chestnut locks to flow freely down the length of her back, the ends swaying just below her bottom. She wore a full-length lavender shift, pulled snugly around her torso with an under-bust, brown bodice, laced and tied beneath her breast and at her waist. It wasn't the Slave's normal garb, but since coming to Ravok, the slave had filled out her once malnourished, bony form healthily, and her choice of clothes became increasingly limited. The maleRavokian's didn't seem to mind her fuller figure, though, and Shiress wasn't about to complain.