Nobles are the ever-present face of Allanak's hierarchy. They live in opulence and are often surrounded by willing, and sometimes unwilling, servants. This is a good example of a set of commoners acting as nothing but the background noise to the nobles' conversation. This is told from the perspective of the graceful, silver-hued woman.

Keeping her eyes downcast, the graceful, silver-hued woman nods to the petite,
jet-haired young woman and turns to face the windchimes.

Nodding, a smile broadening, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says to the
plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "Oh most certainly. It is so difficult to find people to play."

Voice a soft whisper, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Crimson streaks the night-dark sky..."

Glancing towards the petite, jet-haired young woman and then to you, the
plumpish, sandy-blond man asks the fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "I wonder if she will sing to the caress of the whip?"

Her tinkling quietly, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "And dawn has come come much too nigh."

A smile touching his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man asks the youthful,
white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Wonderful! Would you fancy a game soon Lady Maoko?"

Placing her back to the fragile, spindly-limbed man, the youthful, white-haired
woman and the plumpish, sandy-blond man, the graceful, silver-hued woman pulls
the thigh length silver hair upwards, tying it above her head, the length of
your black slaver's whip swaying as she starts to move.

Whispering breathlessly, eyes downcast, the petite, jet-haired young woman
sings, in sirihish:
     "The city begins to stir and wake..."

Slithering downward at an alluringly slow pace, the graceful, silver-hued woman
coils your black slaver's whip around her body, the bright crimson of the sky
flickering over your back-laced, ivory silk bodice as she moves.

Pursing her lips tightly before her lips move as she speaks, the youthful,
white-haired woman says to the plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "If you'd like though...I should remind you that uh..it's been a -long-
time since I last played."

Waving his hand languidly, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the youthful,
white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "No matter, I still remember the rules.  After all, I've never lost."

Taking a deep breath before whispering, the petite, jet-haired young woman
sings, in sirihish:
     "And my arms you must forsake."

With a wink towards the fragile, spindly-limbed man, the plumpish, sandy-blond
man says to the youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Of course, I have yet to play against my cousin."

Without uncoiling herself from the whip, the graceful, silver-hued woman
girates to a tall, extended stand, her hands holding the handle of the whip
near the back of her head, her eyes staying lowered.

Glancing between the plumpish, sandy-blond man and the fragile, spindly-limbed
man, the youthful, white-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
     "Perhaps..I could observe then a game between the two of you instead?"

Arching an eyebrow, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says, in sirihish:
     "It looks like I will have to get some more practice in."

Smiling softly, eyes closed and head tilting to the side, the petite,
jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Stay a little while yet, love..."

With a shake of his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says, in sirihish:
     "Oh no Maoko, that would not do.  You may choose to play against myself or
my cousin."

As the faintest of breezes moves the wind chimes into song, the notes of the
petite, jet-haired young woman's whispered song lacing themselves around the
tinkling, the graceful, silver-hued woman's entire body slithers in a snake
like motion, without loosening the tight hold that your black slaver's whip has
on her.

Face turning up and moving to tilt to the other side, her soft voice barely
audible, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Till the sun is high above."

The youthful, white-haired woman's lips part very slightly as she licks their
interior sides, her eyes drifting between the fragile, spindly-limbed man and
the plumpish, sandy-blond man.

Lulling in its tone, thick with suant mystery, the petite, jet-haired young
woman's whispering causes the graceful, silver-hued woman to move, as if she
controlled her body with the softness of her voice.

After a rather long pause, the youthful, white-haired woman says to the
plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "Yourself then, Lord Prian...given that..you had inquired of it
beforehand."

Smiling, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says, in sirihish:
     "Aaah. It should be an interesting game."

Head tilting forward, shaking slowly as her quiet voice becomes sad, the
petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "It will be long ere we meet..."

A smile touching his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man asks, in sirihish:
     "As you desire.  Oh, I simply must ask, was your cousin simply being
obnoxious or was she trying her 'art' at politics once more?"

Impossibly, the lengthy leather of your black slaver's whip remains wrapped
around the graceful, silver-hued woman's undulating body as it gently slithers
into a kneel in time with the petite, jet-haired young woman's melancholy.

The fragile, spindly-limbed man idly picks at his stuffed ginka fruit.

The tones of her whispered song becoming slyly pleading, the petite, jet-haired
young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "So stay here a while, my sweet."

The upper tip of her brow raising a bit as it tightens, the youthful,
white-haired woman asks the plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "I'm..not really sure what you mean, Lord Prian. I've not spoken with...my
cousins in many a day. Unless you mean Lady Kayne or Lord Naruk, assigned to
the Academy?"

Waves of silver become loose from their prison and cascade down the graceful,
silver-hued woman's back as she gently girates into a stand, the ends of the
mane slowly licking at the back of her silk clad thighs.

The petite, jet-haired young woman rocks back and forth slowly, humming a few
bars quitely.

The youthful, white-haired woman lies down to rest, curling her legs up onto
the pillow, shifting on her seat into a more comfortable pose as she regards
the plumpish, sandy-blond man with a touch of curiousity.

With a shake of his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the youthful,
white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "No, of the Warlady.  She was.. how to say this.  Taking advice from a
desert elf, speaking to a northerner aggressor and hiring him"

His lips compressing slightly, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Oh, I do believe she even attempted to insult us at some points. I'm not
certain, cousin, was she trying?  Her clumsy attempts are so pathetic I lose
out on their intent"

Not once is the graceful, silver-hued woman's face visible to the youthful,
white-haired woman, the plumpish, sandy-blond man or the fragile,
spindly-limbed man as she continues to alluringly move her body to the petite,
jet-haired young woman's melancholy whispering and the song of the crystal wind
chimes swaying overhead.

Her whispered words lilting and suggestive as her mouth opens, the petite,
jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Let your day's work bide a bit..."

With a shake of his head, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says, in sirihish:
     "It was quite a sad sight to see. I thought her drunk at one stage."

His face brightening as he inclines his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man
asks the fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, that would make some sense.  But alas, I fear she is like that most
of the time.  How could she treat a northern thing better than our very own?"

Seemingly safely wrapped in her cocoon of silver locks and the tight embrace of
your black slaver's whip, the graceful, silver-hued woman gazes yearningly at
the floor before her and her lips part to be touched by her tongue as she wets
them, the slow moving to the ground, fluid.

The youthful, white-haired woman waves her gloved hand through her hair, her
eyes passing between the plumpish, sandy-blond man and the fragile,
spindly-limbed man.

With a shake of his head, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says to the plumpish,
sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "First the trend occurs within the Merchant Houses. Now this......"

With a languid wave of his hand, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says, in
sirihish:
     "Rabble they may be, they are better than the northern refuse by a huge
measure.  It was so.. yes, sad.. very apt.. sad to watch her consulting
directly and being so casual with this northern thing"

The tones of her voice haunting but sly, the petite, jet-haired young woman
sings, in sirihish:
     "While my lamp's still brightly lit."

The fragile, spindly-limbed man looks down at his half eaten stuffed ginka
fruit before discarding it.

With a graceful dip of his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "At least there is amusement to be found in her trivialities.  I wonder
if she feels we actually care about what she does?  True, I find it amusing to
speak about"

Though each of her movements to the petite, jet-haired young woman's whispered
song causes the silver of her hair to lick the air in response, the graceful,
silver-hued woman's dancing remains captivatingly slow and smooth, the
touching of the chimes and conversation seeming to blend in.

You think:
     "He's using her... as a weak link..."

The youthful, white-haired woman's fingers turn her stuffed ginka fruit around
in her left hand as she remains silently curled up on the pillow.

The volume of her voice dropping to be just barely audible and a wicked smile
on her pale lips, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "My bed's soft, your arms are tight..."

A smile lingering upon his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "But to actually care?  She overestimates her importance, once more"

The barest of wicked smiles touches the graceful, silver-hued woman's soft
lips at the petite, jet-haired young woman's last verse and though not seen by
anyone but her, she winks a solitary dark violet eye as she remains undulating
within your black slaver's whip's tight grasp.

With a wave of his hand, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says to the plumpish,
sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "One can never be sure of another's thoughts. Although it is nice to see
some gems with such eccentricities about."

After licking her lips slowly, growing slightly louder, the smile still on her
face, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Surely it can still be night."

Looking towards the youthful, white-haired woman, the plumpish, sandy-blond
man says to the youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Do not think anything of it Maoko, you know we have nothing against your
House."

With a languid dip of his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "Quite so, she is always good for a laugh or three"

Her eyes lifting from the flooring of the gazebo to gaze up at him, the
youthful, white-haired woman asks the plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "I can but hope what my cousins do are for the good of the family, Lord
Prian. I do not know their thoughts or plans...I can only hope, can't I?"

The graceful, silver-hued woman tilts her head downward, her eyes becoming
smoky with sudden emotion as she lowers to the ground and caresses the tip of
your black slaver's whip with her crimson fingertips, the late morning sun
darkening her bodice to russet as she dances.

With a solemn nod of his head, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Quite so, you can hope.  And, of course, provide an example of proper
protocal.  Who knows, perhaps making everyone laugh at her is what she is
attempting to do"

Her lilting voice growing louder very slowly, still barely above a whisper, a
sad smile on her face, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Stay a little while yet, love..."

The fragile, spindly-limbed man sniffs once before looking towards the petite,
jet-haired young woman and you.

Languidly waving his hand through the air, the plumpish, sandy-blond man asks,
in sirihish:
     "And to hire notherners who hate Allanak... yes, perhaps that part of a
deeper plot.  Hopefully not against the citystate but.. to whaj? ensnare more
subversive elements?"

In a dry tone, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says, in sirihish:
     "You never know with thak one."

Silk's whisper joins the petite, jet-haired young woman's song and the voice
of the crystal chimes as the graceful, silver-hued woman's body bewitchingly
moves within your black slaver's whip's grasp.


Brining a hand to his head, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says, in sirihish:
     "If you will both excuse me.... It was a pleasure to bask in your
companies once more."

The youthful, white-haired woman's head turns to the side as she looks off
into the distance, nodding a few times.

A smile immediately appearing upon his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man
says to the fragile, spindly-limbed man, in sirihish:
     "But of course cousin, it was mostly my pleasure.  Do be well"

Nodding, the fragile, spindly-limbed man says, in sirihish:
     "And you too."

Arms moving to hug herself tightly, face turning up, voice falling to just
above a whisper, the petite, jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Till the sun is high above."

The fragile, spindly-limbed man rises before smiling and nodding to the
youthful, white-haired woman .

The fragile, spindly-limbed man walks north.

Clearing her throat and looking to the withdrawing figure, the youthful,
white-haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "Good day, Lord Ithan, may the Highlord bless you..."

Turning his attention towards you and the petite, jet-haired young woman, the
plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the youthful, white-haired woman, in
sirihish:
     "I do believe they are actually fairly good.  Now that is also a pleasant
surprise"

Within the whispered music whose only accompaniment is a melodic, crystal
tune, the petite, jet-haired young woman and the graceful, silver-hued woman
continue their reverie undisturbed by the conversation around.

A smile touching his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the youthful,
white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "I'd gift them with jewelry but alas, Kadius has yet to deliver such to
me."

Head shaking sadly, her tinkling voice whispering, the petite, jet-haired
young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "For many days we must part..."

A light grin resonating on her lips, the youthful, white-haired woman says to
the plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "I'm sure the gift of your compliment was more than enough, Lord Prian."

Face shielded by a veil of silver waves, her back to the youthful,
white-haired woman and the plumpish, sandy-blond man, the graceful,
silver-hued woman shifts within your black slaver's whip's tightness and
lowers to the ground, her hips moving, completely unhindered by the whip.

Nodding his head seriously in agreement, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to
the youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "So it would be.  I imagine they are delerious with excitement at being
allowed to perform before us in this manner"

Her soft, pleading voice fading into an exhale at the last words, the petite,
jet-haired young woman sings, in sirihish:
     "Give this morning a late start."

As the sound of the petite, jet-haired young woman's voice fades into a gentle
vibrato of finality, the graceful, silver-hued woman slithers up into a stand
and the entire length of your black slaver's whip slides up her body with
enticing slowness, releasing her from its grasp.

Looking from you to the petite, jet-haired young woman, the plumpish,
sandy-blond man says, in sirihish:
     "Well done.  Quite impressive"

The petite, jet-haired young woman bows her head with a smile on her face as
she moves to rise.

The graceful, silver-hued woman turns to face the plumpish, sandy-blond man
and the youthful, white-haired woman and lowers into a curtsey, her face
completely serene.

The plumpish, sandy-blond man tosses a couple hefty sacks towards you and the
petite, jet-haired young woman, soft slinks filling the air as they land upon
the plymithe flooring.

The graceful, silver-hued woman coils the whip discreetly and places it on the
floor as she inclines her head to the plumpish, sandy-blond man, eyes downcast
as she accepts the pouch.

The petite, jet-haired young woman looks up at you with raised eyebrows after
catching the pouch with a start.

The plumpish, sandy-blond man rises and stands, rising smoothly to his feet.

The youthful, white-haired woman rises and stands, slipping off the bench and
stepping up to the plumpish, sandy-blond man's side.

A smile touching his lips, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the youthful,
white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Unfortunately Lady Maoko, I must rejoin my cousin and then get some
rest."

You fasten a thin veil of crimson silk across your face.

The petite, jet-haired young woman places a thin veil of deep blue silk onto
her face, covering a black rose tattoo.

The female wearing a thin veil of crimson silk twines her fingers to her front
and waits silently near the gazebo entrance.

Inclining her head to him, the youthful, white-haired woman says to the
plumpish, sandy-blond man, in sirihish:
     "I enjoyed the visit, as always, Lord Prian. Thank you for inviting me."

The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk stands next to you,
eyes looking down.

With a languid wave of his hand, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says to the
youthful, white-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "The pleasure was mine Lady Maoko."

Turning towards you and the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue
silk, the plumpish, sandy-blond man says, in sirihish:
     "Come, you will bask in the honor of my presence as I guide you to the
gate"