Date: 3/2/1998 10:11 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
( Author's note: This will be an ongoing thread as my ideas formulate and finalize. This will be a tale about the journey she took while me; her player; was experiencing difficulties. Please be patient and I thank you in advance for following along. <Reminder> Unless Dor has spoken of it aloud, your chara does not know anything about this trip. Thank you! )And Away They Went It is time. Things have quieted down a bit and she becomes restless. There is some unfinished business to be taken care of; something she had no time to do, having left in such a hurry. Dorae had told no one of her plans; she told only a few of a short trip she would take, but not what it was all about; and had made ready, putting things in order. There was still the matter of the Ceaonite ceremony which would formalize her finishing her training and the naming of her clan... but that could wait. This trip was more important than some ceremony... the dreams have returned in full force, making her fitful and tired. Maybe she should have discussed this with someone; there were three logical someones; but she is loathe to talk over much of her own troubles with anyone else, keeping her own council lest other's thoughts cloud her judgements. And then too, would they have fought her about going it alone? She hadn't thought so, but why open a can of worms when you don't feel like fishing. So now, early in the morning, Dorae packs the one leather satchel she affords herself and straps her sword, Coachwhip, onto her back. Violet eyes gaze around the one room house that she has lived in these last few years. Everything is in its place; the bed is made, her paints and brushes neat in their holders by the easel; piled in one corner are the canvas' that hold past dreams brought on by sleep. Up on the mantel above the fireplace is Myst's broken sword and propped against the wall; still in its deerskin wrapping; is the sword she had had made for him and had yet to give. The little area that serves as Dorae's kitchen is spotless and a vase full of freshcut flowers sits atop the table by the window... as if she would be right back. A curt nod sends dark curls flying as she finds all in order. Satchel in hand, Dorae opens the door and steps out, closing the door firmly behind her. Horse stands in front of the humble home, a bit impatient to start... he too needs this journey, feeling as restless as the serpent woman; needing to stretch his legs, feel the wind in his mane and hold his tail up high. He watches his human friend take leave of her home and lets out a snort through flared nostrils and paws the ground with one large, unshod hoof. Dorae ignores the equine for the moment and moves off the front steps to turn around and face the house. A slight smile creases thin lips.... much has happened since she has come to Rhydin; but this forest is comfortable, as is this little home and both have buffered the good and bad things that have happened since her coming here. A soft laugh escapes her as she thinks she has become attached to this place and she turns to the yellow and redbeauty behind her, knowing this will all still be here when she gets back... that notion being the only sure thing to count on. Easily she boards the big equines back, balancing her satchel in front of her and adjusting the sword behind her. A slight nod and a soft word to Horse and the pair is on their way. Though the equine is impatient, he starts them at a leisurely pace, knowing there will be time enough for galloping later.....
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
The journey home (Dor)
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Re: The journey home (Dor)
Date: 3/5/1998 8:22 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
Traveling Thoughts The light and the dark pair traveled without much hurry. Over mountains, across plains, through forests. They kept to themselves; the human of the two wanting not to deal with any inhabitants, secluded or in bunches. This was her time for thought, for cleansing, for quietude. Each night they made a crude form of camp; the dark woman making a fire as needed to cook a meager meal of whatever she sucessfully had hunted during the light hours and rolling out a thin deerskin to use as a bed. The yellow and red equine would graze close by, keeping a watch over his human counterpart while munching away at whatever greenery was within lips reach. The two respected one another and through some unspoken agreement, playedtheir roles to perfection. They got along splendidly in this manner. Their leisurely travel has taken them a month's time away from the hustle and bustle of Rhydin. From where they were at this moment, they were only two days ride from their final destination. But Dorae was in no hurry. Many thoughts occupy her time; her past and the present, but never the future. The past because it has molded her into who she is. The present because much goes on with her and it is having a big impact on who she is or who she will now become. The future is blind to her, as it should be for all men; besides, knowing the ending of one's life takes the fun out of trying to reach the finale. A sneer develops on thin lips and her blood boils whenever she thinks on her past. It was many years ago, but that year long event of revenge gives her fuel to live here and now. Each killing of her once tormentors brought a strange sort of pleasure to this woman... maybe more than it should have. She has not killed since then; that is not to say the opportunities have not been plentiful; and the few who do know her sense Dorae would nothesitate to turn one's status of alive to dead if the need arose. The last few years have been, well, interesting. Dorae has met many folk from every walk in life and of every shape, size and color. Many events have taken place, some she has participated in, some she merely has watched and been entertained. From time to time on this journey, she has focused on one event or another and a few of the folk who had been apart of the event; with or without their permission. Somethings have made her laugh andsome things have made her think hard. She senses that there have been changes to her person; some of which have been noticed, some have been subtle. Dorae takes the changes in stride, though not really with open arms; been too stuck in her ways... she is an old dog who would rather not learn the new tricks. But there it is, one softens with age... or do they? Not one for sentimental thoughts or gushy emotion, Dorae has drifted over flashes of Myst. His face will come out of the dark, or lurk against a rock and a small smile would crease her normally serious face. She can not afford thinking of him over long; their relationship is comfortable, yet frightens her a little. Here, once upon a time, men were her bitter enemy and now she finds that changing, befriending a few. But Myst... he is alittle different, being just a little more special than anyone else. Yet, something lurks in the back of her head about this man. There are things she knows of him, that he himself has told to her. Scared of him or for him, she can not tell. Once more she pushes him from her mind, but not before admitting just how much she misses his company.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
From: DoraeRasta
Traveling Thoughts The light and the dark pair traveled without much hurry. Over mountains, across plains, through forests. They kept to themselves; the human of the two wanting not to deal with any inhabitants, secluded or in bunches. This was her time for thought, for cleansing, for quietude. Each night they made a crude form of camp; the dark woman making a fire as needed to cook a meager meal of whatever she sucessfully had hunted during the light hours and rolling out a thin deerskin to use as a bed. The yellow and red equine would graze close by, keeping a watch over his human counterpart while munching away at whatever greenery was within lips reach. The two respected one another and through some unspoken agreement, playedtheir roles to perfection. They got along splendidly in this manner. Their leisurely travel has taken them a month's time away from the hustle and bustle of Rhydin. From where they were at this moment, they were only two days ride from their final destination. But Dorae was in no hurry. Many thoughts occupy her time; her past and the present, but never the future. The past because it has molded her into who she is. The present because much goes on with her and it is having a big impact on who she is or who she will now become. The future is blind to her, as it should be for all men; besides, knowing the ending of one's life takes the fun out of trying to reach the finale. A sneer develops on thin lips and her blood boils whenever she thinks on her past. It was many years ago, but that year long event of revenge gives her fuel to live here and now. Each killing of her once tormentors brought a strange sort of pleasure to this woman... maybe more than it should have. She has not killed since then; that is not to say the opportunities have not been plentiful; and the few who do know her sense Dorae would nothesitate to turn one's status of alive to dead if the need arose. The last few years have been, well, interesting. Dorae has met many folk from every walk in life and of every shape, size and color. Many events have taken place, some she has participated in, some she merely has watched and been entertained. From time to time on this journey, she has focused on one event or another and a few of the folk who had been apart of the event; with or without their permission. Somethings have made her laugh andsome things have made her think hard. She senses that there have been changes to her person; some of which have been noticed, some have been subtle. Dorae takes the changes in stride, though not really with open arms; been too stuck in her ways... she is an old dog who would rather not learn the new tricks. But there it is, one softens with age... or do they? Not one for sentimental thoughts or gushy emotion, Dorae has drifted over flashes of Myst. His face will come out of the dark, or lurk against a rock and a small smile would crease her normally serious face. She can not afford thinking of him over long; their relationship is comfortable, yet frightens her a little. Here, once upon a time, men were her bitter enemy and now she finds that changing, befriending a few. But Myst... he is alittle different, being just a little more special than anyone else. Yet, something lurks in the back of her head about this man. There are things she knows of him, that he himself has told to her. Scared of him or for him, she can not tell. Once more she pushes him from her mind, but not before admitting just how much she misses his company.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
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Re: The journey home (Dor)
Date: 3/5/1998 10:18 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
The Bandits They were two days ride outside of Rhydin when a rabble of young men set upon them with intent of ravaging and stealing. They really ought to have looked at the dark woman and the equine closer to see the sword strapped on her back and that there did not seem any place for valuables to be stored, but since they were new to the game, you have to have a little sympathy for them... just a little. Dorae, sitting atop Horse, had been mulling over a thought or two as the equine picked his path through a stretch of trees. He had chosen this way because there were plenty of low branches that would be ideal in scratching his itchy rump. Horse's coat; a thick yellow with red mane and tail; was starting to shed to make way for his lighter coat in preparation of spring and summer months. But since they travel in a southern direction, his hairbegins its change early. Besides, what are robbers to an equine?; especially this equine, for he wears no trappings for one to ride him... he has always picked his riders. So, as Horse gets his rump scratched by the branches and Dorae thinks, the youngsters jump down from the trees, taking advantage of the surprise.... or had they? At once, Coachwhip is grabbed by a tatooed hand and freed from its strap across her back. With a hiss of a laugh, Dorae knocks one assailant to the ground with her hilt before he has a chance to unseat her. Sensing Horse was about to do something, the dark woman grabs a fistful of mane and tightens her legs about his middle while keeping Coachwhip's tip up to the heavens. Horse was really surprised by the sudden attack and in an effort to let the assailants know how upset he was, had reared up. Large unshod front hooves strike out at those who had landed in front of him. One boy lost several teeth and suffered a broken nose from which bright red blood ran from. The other boy had his arm broken as he had raised it in hopes of warding off the blow. Both now lay writhering upon the ground. That left two more. When they had shimmied down from the tree they had been hiding in, the two had simply stood routed to the ground as first their leader is knocked down by the woman and the other two youths are damaged by the mad yellow and red equine. So stunned were they, that they never ran away.... which was to their folly. The two boys who were hurt crawled slowly to the two by the tree, taking comfort of them all being together,thinking it safer this way. When Horse had brought his front end back down and stood; chest heaving and snorting heavily as red eyes looked on in rage; squarely once more, Dorae looked at each boy with dangerously glittering violet eyes and tight face. Four pairs of eyes had all looked to the one she had taken out at the first with her hilt, giving indication that this was the leader of this rabble of bandits. She watched him as he rubbed his temple and made to rise. He sat up with a violent shudder and then an odd soup expelled from his mouth. The other boys looked away, lest they loose the contents of their stomachs out of revulsion of him and their own fright. Dorae blazenly watched himbe ill, giving no inch of mercy or pity. When he had finished regurgitating his last meal, Dorae spoke to him in a soft but deadly voice."And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Keepng her eyes to him, she then whispered low to Horse before sliding; on her rear; off of him. Once she was dismounted, Horse then turned and stood menacingly in front of the other four boys while Dorae; with sword in hand; approached the ill feeling one. The boy looked at the serpent woman with a mixture of fear and defiance in his grey eyes. His skin was pale with just a tinge of pink from the task of upending his stomach. He reached one thin hand to slip it across his face, adding dirt to his visage. In a voice that fortold his young age yet hid well his fear,"You travel through our home without paying a toll." He was very serious, Dorae could not fault him for trying, but burst out in laughter she did."Come now, there are no structures here that would suggest a village or town or any such place that would be considered inhabited. I saw you boys some time ago... you really need to be more quiet if you plan on doing this for a living." Grey eyes hardened first, then in a rush the boy tackled the woman. Dorae had been ready though, sensing that this one was strong willed, not unlike herself. Her free hand reaches up as he slams into her, grabbing the back of his neck and bringing her knee up into his face. He gave a howl that was part rage and part pain and tried to twist away from her. Coachwhip whistled past his right ear and its tip made a hot trace at the base of hisneck. The slashing was not deep, but would leave a good scar; in the shape of a serpent. Hissing at herself and at the foolishness of this youngster, she tosses him from her, making him once again take a seat in the dirt."That was foolish boy. Now you wear my mark so all will know how sssuccessful you were as a bandit." The word 'successful' was hissed out between clenched teeth, more with rage than any mocking tone. Quickly she turns around to the other four boys the equine watched over, leaving the leader to sob and embrace this first scar of his young life.... one he would always remember. The four just watched her approach, wondering what was to happen next. Horse inched forward till his flared nostrils were inchesfrom the first boys face, then lowered his neck and grabbed his shirt between his teeth, dragging him closer to the serpent woman. The equine lets go the shirt and moves back to keep the other three from wandering."You all will bear my mark, as a lesson to you all to study your subjects better. No matter what be your profession, you had best learn to be more observant, quiet and make sure that something other than a thrashing will be the fruit of your labors." Dorae could careless about their success or failures. These were boys now, but soon enough they would grow to be men and to her, that was in itself a bad thing though unstoppable. Perhaps they will learn a lesson from all this and grow up to be respectful and moral men... one could only hope. A serpented hand reaches for the boy Horse had culled from the still standing group. The last image the youngster has is of her coming for him and the bite of cold steal. The other three; like the one who had fainted; had not resisted. They feared perhaps the loss of their lives if any dared cross her... let alone that damn big equine. After she had 'branded' the last boy, Dorae had turned around to the leader and in softer, almost friendly tones;"Do not think that just because a woman travels without an armed escort, that she is incapable of defending herself and what belongs to her. I hopfully will not be the only such woman you all come across in your lives, for surely you will meet but a few. Just remember me, the one with the serpent tatooes, lest you forget your lesson." She looked at each of the five in turn with glittering violet eyes. The asp tatooed in the hollow of her throat seemed to pulse with each breath she takes. None of the boys would look at her until Horse pounded the ground and angrily neighed... that was enough to convince them that they ought to give sign that they understood and heard. Each shook his head quickly, then looked down at their feet. Dorae turned back to the leader, her hand reaching out, offering to help him up."What is your name boy?" The boy had shirked from that hand and refused to look at her. Dorae just stood there, hand still extended, trying to keep the annoyance her eyes tell from her voice."I am done with you boy. No further worries from me, unless you and your compatriots give me cause... and if you did, I think you will find you had wished you had learned your lesson at the first." Violet eyes stare at the side of his head, and feeling this, the boy slowly turns it to look at her face. He finds in her stance and visage that she will hold that promise and decides perhaps he ought to take the proffered hand and face whatever else will befall him and his friends by this woman. Her hand distracts him momentarily, as he studies the red tatooing on the back of it. Greyeyes stare in wonder, never having seen a tatoo such as this one; each finger is a serpent whose head starts at finger nail, the body going full length down the long fingers with the tails ending into one large one that curls twice around her wrist. His eyes move slightly to peek at the other hand that still holds the sword and finds it is a duplicate of the proferred one. For a reason he later was unable to explain, he finds he trusts thistatooed woman, even respects her. Slowly his small hand reaches for hers and grasps it, bringing his body up off the ground. Dorae had stayed stock still, waiting for the boy to make up his mind about her. Not that she cared what he thought, but was getting a might impatient with the whole ordeal. Children are not in her thoughts; there is no time, no reason and no hope; yet something in his face made her heart stop for a beat or two. So innocent at that moment, so full of wonder at something as simple as a tatoo. Neither innocence or wonder has ever shown up inher character nor has she seen it so clearly in anyone else as she does now, in this boys dirty face. An inward hiss at herself as she feels the youngsters hand take her own. His touch reminds her of the circumstances of this meeting and she pushes the novelty aside... she will, at a much later time, think on it again; now just was not a good time. She grasps his hand around the wrist and is reminded of the promise of strength that will come to him when full grown into a man. Her guard is back up, she quickly disguards his hand and takesseveral paces back away from him, keeping him and the other four in full view. Hands busy themselves, removing dirt from his not too shabby clothing and straightening the outfit; which is a very nondescriptive brown shirt, pants and shoes. Keeping up outward appearances, he props himself against the tree in an arrogant manner, his face kept in a neutral tone."My name is Pot." And with a thumb, points to each of the other four, reciting their tags as well. "That one there is Bin", who was the first to be branded, and had fainted, "Timber", who was the tallest out of the bunch and hadhad his nose and teeth broken by Horse, "Dingo", he has curly red hair and missing the pinkie on his left hand, "Sav", who looks to be in serious pain as he holds his broken arm close to his chest. Each boy, as his name is called by Pot, had flickered eyes at Dorae, then went back to studying their feet, still unknowing what would happen next, and they did not want to accidentally anger her or that damn big equine. Dorae wonders briefly if those be their real names, but says nothing about it; no concern of hers. A soft word and Horse backs from the four and goes to stand beside her. Coachwhip's blade is wiped clean by a few leaves and Dorae secures it to her back once more. She grasps some red mane, takes a hop and swings one leg over the large equines back, settling easily onto his back. Bored, Horse tosses his head and snorts; besides, his rump wasitching again and he needed some relief. Bin, Timber, Dingo and Sav had slowly moved to where Pot was standing, he no longer smug against the tree, but had moved a few paces toward the woman and the horse. Grey eyes showed mixed feelings; for these boys having no real home and no one to care for them. Pot wishes the woman would take him with her to where ever she is headed, thinking perhaps she could teach him to be as she is; hard, strong, determined, comfortable with who she is. But here it was, she settled on the large equine, obviously to continue on without excess baggage. And he too afraid and ashamed to ask."Each of you I will remember; your faces and names etched into my memory. If chance we meet again, I do hope the circumstances to be different." Violet eyes study each face, emphazing that she will remember each of them. She misses the look in Pot's eyes, not recognizing the emotion of needing to belong or needing help. She studies him lastly and quickly before giving Horse the signal to start off on their journey once more. The sun fades quickly in this wood and Dorae becomes a ghost, blending intothe darkness making it look as if Horse has no rider. Pot and his friends watch the pair go off, relieved that nothing worse than the serpent scars has happened. Dingo, Sav, Bin and Timber talk amongst themselves, Pot having culled himself away from them, watching as the yellow horse becomes a speck in the wood and then is no more, longing to be able to catch up or some how meet them again. Without a word to the other four; they being engrossed inembellishing their own parts in the botched robbery and further escalating Dorae's deeds as boys will do; he begins to walk in the direction Horse and Dorae went. It was quite some time before his friends realized he was gone, Pot being far away as they began their search of him.....
From: DoraeRasta
The Bandits They were two days ride outside of Rhydin when a rabble of young men set upon them with intent of ravaging and stealing. They really ought to have looked at the dark woman and the equine closer to see the sword strapped on her back and that there did not seem any place for valuables to be stored, but since they were new to the game, you have to have a little sympathy for them... just a little. Dorae, sitting atop Horse, had been mulling over a thought or two as the equine picked his path through a stretch of trees. He had chosen this way because there were plenty of low branches that would be ideal in scratching his itchy rump. Horse's coat; a thick yellow with red mane and tail; was starting to shed to make way for his lighter coat in preparation of spring and summer months. But since they travel in a southern direction, his hairbegins its change early. Besides, what are robbers to an equine?; especially this equine, for he wears no trappings for one to ride him... he has always picked his riders. So, as Horse gets his rump scratched by the branches and Dorae thinks, the youngsters jump down from the trees, taking advantage of the surprise.... or had they? At once, Coachwhip is grabbed by a tatooed hand and freed from its strap across her back. With a hiss of a laugh, Dorae knocks one assailant to the ground with her hilt before he has a chance to unseat her. Sensing Horse was about to do something, the dark woman grabs a fistful of mane and tightens her legs about his middle while keeping Coachwhip's tip up to the heavens. Horse was really surprised by the sudden attack and in an effort to let the assailants know how upset he was, had reared up. Large unshod front hooves strike out at those who had landed in front of him. One boy lost several teeth and suffered a broken nose from which bright red blood ran from. The other boy had his arm broken as he had raised it in hopes of warding off the blow. Both now lay writhering upon the ground. That left two more. When they had shimmied down from the tree they had been hiding in, the two had simply stood routed to the ground as first their leader is knocked down by the woman and the other two youths are damaged by the mad yellow and red equine. So stunned were they, that they never ran away.... which was to their folly. The two boys who were hurt crawled slowly to the two by the tree, taking comfort of them all being together,thinking it safer this way. When Horse had brought his front end back down and stood; chest heaving and snorting heavily as red eyes looked on in rage; squarely once more, Dorae looked at each boy with dangerously glittering violet eyes and tight face. Four pairs of eyes had all looked to the one she had taken out at the first with her hilt, giving indication that this was the leader of this rabble of bandits. She watched him as he rubbed his temple and made to rise. He sat up with a violent shudder and then an odd soup expelled from his mouth. The other boys looked away, lest they loose the contents of their stomachs out of revulsion of him and their own fright. Dorae blazenly watched himbe ill, giving no inch of mercy or pity. When he had finished regurgitating his last meal, Dorae spoke to him in a soft but deadly voice."And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Keepng her eyes to him, she then whispered low to Horse before sliding; on her rear; off of him. Once she was dismounted, Horse then turned and stood menacingly in front of the other four boys while Dorae; with sword in hand; approached the ill feeling one. The boy looked at the serpent woman with a mixture of fear and defiance in his grey eyes. His skin was pale with just a tinge of pink from the task of upending his stomach. He reached one thin hand to slip it across his face, adding dirt to his visage. In a voice that fortold his young age yet hid well his fear,"You travel through our home without paying a toll." He was very serious, Dorae could not fault him for trying, but burst out in laughter she did."Come now, there are no structures here that would suggest a village or town or any such place that would be considered inhabited. I saw you boys some time ago... you really need to be more quiet if you plan on doing this for a living." Grey eyes hardened first, then in a rush the boy tackled the woman. Dorae had been ready though, sensing that this one was strong willed, not unlike herself. Her free hand reaches up as he slams into her, grabbing the back of his neck and bringing her knee up into his face. He gave a howl that was part rage and part pain and tried to twist away from her. Coachwhip whistled past his right ear and its tip made a hot trace at the base of hisneck. The slashing was not deep, but would leave a good scar; in the shape of a serpent. Hissing at herself and at the foolishness of this youngster, she tosses him from her, making him once again take a seat in the dirt."That was foolish boy. Now you wear my mark so all will know how sssuccessful you were as a bandit." The word 'successful' was hissed out between clenched teeth, more with rage than any mocking tone. Quickly she turns around to the other four boys the equine watched over, leaving the leader to sob and embrace this first scar of his young life.... one he would always remember. The four just watched her approach, wondering what was to happen next. Horse inched forward till his flared nostrils were inchesfrom the first boys face, then lowered his neck and grabbed his shirt between his teeth, dragging him closer to the serpent woman. The equine lets go the shirt and moves back to keep the other three from wandering."You all will bear my mark, as a lesson to you all to study your subjects better. No matter what be your profession, you had best learn to be more observant, quiet and make sure that something other than a thrashing will be the fruit of your labors." Dorae could careless about their success or failures. These were boys now, but soon enough they would grow to be men and to her, that was in itself a bad thing though unstoppable. Perhaps they will learn a lesson from all this and grow up to be respectful and moral men... one could only hope. A serpented hand reaches for the boy Horse had culled from the still standing group. The last image the youngster has is of her coming for him and the bite of cold steal. The other three; like the one who had fainted; had not resisted. They feared perhaps the loss of their lives if any dared cross her... let alone that damn big equine. After she had 'branded' the last boy, Dorae had turned around to the leader and in softer, almost friendly tones;"Do not think that just because a woman travels without an armed escort, that she is incapable of defending herself and what belongs to her. I hopfully will not be the only such woman you all come across in your lives, for surely you will meet but a few. Just remember me, the one with the serpent tatooes, lest you forget your lesson." She looked at each of the five in turn with glittering violet eyes. The asp tatooed in the hollow of her throat seemed to pulse with each breath she takes. None of the boys would look at her until Horse pounded the ground and angrily neighed... that was enough to convince them that they ought to give sign that they understood and heard. Each shook his head quickly, then looked down at their feet. Dorae turned back to the leader, her hand reaching out, offering to help him up."What is your name boy?" The boy had shirked from that hand and refused to look at her. Dorae just stood there, hand still extended, trying to keep the annoyance her eyes tell from her voice."I am done with you boy. No further worries from me, unless you and your compatriots give me cause... and if you did, I think you will find you had wished you had learned your lesson at the first." Violet eyes stare at the side of his head, and feeling this, the boy slowly turns it to look at her face. He finds in her stance and visage that she will hold that promise and decides perhaps he ought to take the proffered hand and face whatever else will befall him and his friends by this woman. Her hand distracts him momentarily, as he studies the red tatooing on the back of it. Greyeyes stare in wonder, never having seen a tatoo such as this one; each finger is a serpent whose head starts at finger nail, the body going full length down the long fingers with the tails ending into one large one that curls twice around her wrist. His eyes move slightly to peek at the other hand that still holds the sword and finds it is a duplicate of the proferred one. For a reason he later was unable to explain, he finds he trusts thistatooed woman, even respects her. Slowly his small hand reaches for hers and grasps it, bringing his body up off the ground. Dorae had stayed stock still, waiting for the boy to make up his mind about her. Not that she cared what he thought, but was getting a might impatient with the whole ordeal. Children are not in her thoughts; there is no time, no reason and no hope; yet something in his face made her heart stop for a beat or two. So innocent at that moment, so full of wonder at something as simple as a tatoo. Neither innocence or wonder has ever shown up inher character nor has she seen it so clearly in anyone else as she does now, in this boys dirty face. An inward hiss at herself as she feels the youngsters hand take her own. His touch reminds her of the circumstances of this meeting and she pushes the novelty aside... she will, at a much later time, think on it again; now just was not a good time. She grasps his hand around the wrist and is reminded of the promise of strength that will come to him when full grown into a man. Her guard is back up, she quickly disguards his hand and takesseveral paces back away from him, keeping him and the other four in full view. Hands busy themselves, removing dirt from his not too shabby clothing and straightening the outfit; which is a very nondescriptive brown shirt, pants and shoes. Keeping up outward appearances, he props himself against the tree in an arrogant manner, his face kept in a neutral tone."My name is Pot." And with a thumb, points to each of the other four, reciting their tags as well. "That one there is Bin", who was the first to be branded, and had fainted, "Timber", who was the tallest out of the bunch and hadhad his nose and teeth broken by Horse, "Dingo", he has curly red hair and missing the pinkie on his left hand, "Sav", who looks to be in serious pain as he holds his broken arm close to his chest. Each boy, as his name is called by Pot, had flickered eyes at Dorae, then went back to studying their feet, still unknowing what would happen next, and they did not want to accidentally anger her or that damn big equine. Dorae wonders briefly if those be their real names, but says nothing about it; no concern of hers. A soft word and Horse backs from the four and goes to stand beside her. Coachwhip's blade is wiped clean by a few leaves and Dorae secures it to her back once more. She grasps some red mane, takes a hop and swings one leg over the large equines back, settling easily onto his back. Bored, Horse tosses his head and snorts; besides, his rump wasitching again and he needed some relief. Bin, Timber, Dingo and Sav had slowly moved to where Pot was standing, he no longer smug against the tree, but had moved a few paces toward the woman and the horse. Grey eyes showed mixed feelings; for these boys having no real home and no one to care for them. Pot wishes the woman would take him with her to where ever she is headed, thinking perhaps she could teach him to be as she is; hard, strong, determined, comfortable with who she is. But here it was, she settled on the large equine, obviously to continue on without excess baggage. And he too afraid and ashamed to ask."Each of you I will remember; your faces and names etched into my memory. If chance we meet again, I do hope the circumstances to be different." Violet eyes study each face, emphazing that she will remember each of them. She misses the look in Pot's eyes, not recognizing the emotion of needing to belong or needing help. She studies him lastly and quickly before giving Horse the signal to start off on their journey once more. The sun fades quickly in this wood and Dorae becomes a ghost, blending intothe darkness making it look as if Horse has no rider. Pot and his friends watch the pair go off, relieved that nothing worse than the serpent scars has happened. Dingo, Sav, Bin and Timber talk amongst themselves, Pot having culled himself away from them, watching as the yellow horse becomes a speck in the wood and then is no more, longing to be able to catch up or some how meet them again. Without a word to the other four; they being engrossed inembellishing their own parts in the botched robbery and further escalating Dorae's deeds as boys will do; he begins to walk in the direction Horse and Dorae went. It was quite some time before his friends realized he was gone, Pot being far away as they began their search of him.....
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Re: The journey home (Dor)
Date: 3/16/1998 8:18 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
AND SHE HAD CALLED THIS HOME? There is a yellow steak across a sun scortched field, a plume of dust rising up behind it. The distance is eaten quickly and there is a more definite bulk to the streak. Clearly it could be seen that a rather large equine with sun-yellow body and red mane and tail; looking like a flame; carries a figure on its back. Dark skinned, dark haired; the figure wearing loose yellow clothing with a red satin sash tiedabout its waist and with something shiny protruding over the top of its curly head. Of course it is Dorae, in perfect equitation upon Horse who's over large legs churn in a blur, bringing them closer to where they go. There is a road ahead of them, seemingly abandoned by the looks of its thick overgrowth of shrubs and grass and weeds that covers most of the man-made track. At some point and time, this was the path of trade that connected to several towns, eventually leading to the coast and the trades boats that took goods up to the north. But its been a long time since this part of the road was used; lifeless and desolate, a memory for but a few. As the pair comes within a few yards of the road, Horse skids to a stop. He prances in place, not at all happy at being stopped from what he thought had been a marvelous run. Dorae pats the equine absently on his neck while her violet eyes stare at the road. Horse snorts once, but then quiets and stands still, sensing a tension from the passenger upon his back. The night is black, the air is stiff, almost unbreathable. The days heat has yet to cool down and today had been stiffling; the thermometer had read 130 at one p.m. and had climbed a degree or two more before five p.m., of course, the humidity did not help much either. And with no lights of any kind; man-made or god-sent; the night seemed never ending. Perfect. That was the word that had jumped into her mind. No one will be foolishenough; no matter how much money is offered; to go traisping around in this darkness, this heat, looking for me. There hadn't been much to pack... in fact, she hadn't packed a thing. There was nothing here she wanted to keep, she wanted nothing to tie her to this place, no reminders of the hell this place represents. She had looked at the backs of her hands then, at the tatoos adorning both of them. No, the serpents had been her idea... sure, most women in these parts tatooed the backs of their hands, but these had meant something to her, gave herstrength; certainly not for the pleasure of others. The clothes on her back would serve for the now; especially in this weather. She could pick up new clothes as she traveled. Now it is time. Her original plan had been devine, evil, total retribution..... There were seven men in all and they all lived relatively close to one another; which was not surprising, since most of the townsfolk who worked the mines lived in the swamps. Dorae had thought of seven devices, all specifically picked for each of her tormentors; guaranteeing they would recognize the initial torment she would give them just before ending their lives. She wanted them to know how she felt; feel the pain, the humiliation, theanger each of them had put her through. And then, for the finale, they would feel her strength, as she choked out their last breaths with her bare hands. However, there was a slight flaw with that plan; too much noise and not enough time. The seven had to be killed, quickly and quietly and before dawn so there would still be enough thick darkness for her to escape in. So in the end, Dorae had simply stalked them that night; keeping tabs of who was in what bar and with which favorite prostitute and take it from there.... Something distracted her playback of that most satisfying night and she blinked twice to refocus. Horse was standing still under her, seemingly napping on his feet. Slowly she turned her head to her left and looked down the road. That way led to the coast. Nothing there but weeds, dirt and choked out trees. A slow turn of her head again and she looked down the road to her right; which looked no different in this direction; toward CroshMinor. There was no movement from that direction either, but she had an uneasy feeling; like something was watching them. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a prickly feeling went up her spine. Definately something or someone out there. The sun began to slowly sink now, heralding the coming of a hopfully cooler night. Dorae's cloths stick to her via the sweat that runs down her dark skin and her ebony curls spring out every which way as the humidity runs amok. Taking stock the time, the serpent woman decides it is time for them to move on. It will take the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening for them to reach Crosh Minor; all the better to arrive in the dark andtake a looksee around. Horse rouses himself from the stupor he had slipped into; he not being used to such temperatures. He started them off in a lazy walk which was just fine with Dorae. She was apprehensive now that they were this close to her birth place and a part of her past that has haunted her since leaving here. Will secrets be found? Will this homecoming lay to rest the ghostly hands that try to bind her to her fears? Has she come home to die? The dreamshave been useless, mere fragments of images and color in no certain order. People and places that are unrecognizable, yet familiar somehow. Without her easel and paints, the dreams barely tug at her conciousness, replaying only in her sleep and causing much unrest to her biorhythm. It was several hours later when the pair arrived in the outskirts of town. Dorae had avoided using the road, staying a mile or so away from it and not riding into the town proper. She would need to investigate, see how much the place had changed; if at all. Crosh Minor was in the bowels of the south; a hell all its own. The swamps housed death, rarely bringing life. The town was the breeding ground of the devil; those living there servedonly to keep cruelties and intollerable thinking to the world in general. The bowels of hell. That is what comes to mind for any unfortunate traveler who happens to come upon the town of Crosh Minor; or Hell's Gate as the locals refer to it with affection. Situated in the deepest part of the south, Crosh Minor is home to all types of unsavory and evil sorts of people. If you need an assasin, this is where you come; you need some pretty ladies to liven up a party, this is where you will find them; need something smuggled, someone kidnapped, monies laundered, books fixed, bets taken or whatever illegal thing you need, this is where you come to. Not a vacation spot, you won't find Crosh Minor beinghighlighted by your local travel agency, steer clear away if you possibly can. Besides being home to the underground folks, Crosh Minor is known for its depthless mines. Lots of things can be mined here; minerals, valued gemstones, coal, limestone and countless other things most have never heard of. A great deal of the townspeople work in the mines, since some of the illegal activities usually are conducted under cloak of darkness. What had started out as a simple cover for the illegal activities, soon became athriving business once the bounty the mines held were uncovered. With buyers from every market catching wind of the goods the mines regurgitated in large quantities, the town became wealthy, thus leaving plenty of time for espionage and everything associated with criminal activities. The streets are strewn with garbage and smell of decay. Rare green plants find their way through the cracks of the cobblestones and try to dook out a life for themselves. Usually a horse drawn carriage gives the greenery a quick demise, so nothing grows over 12 inches tall. A tree here, a tree there but for the most part, plant life is nonexistant. Most of the flowers that grow in and around town are ugly and evil looking; most beingpoisonous and have thick thorns growing from their stalks, not something you pick to give to your lady friend. No one seems to mind the runned down look of the buildings linning the streets of Crosh Minor. Paint chips and peels, windows are broken, steps are missing, some are even burned down to their foundations. Don't let that fool you, most of the buildings inside are tastfully done... and hidden. One must know what to look for to get to the real heart of a building. These buildings; for the most part; are not residential but the businessdistrict. In the hidden realms are brothels, bookies, assassins guild, ect. Some of the buildings do house business' out in the open; such as a meat market, bank, dry goods store; but that is mostly for the sake of appearance for those travelers who do ride through; and the law. Intrigue surrounds this town, and the folks living here play upon every aspect. So one who is inadvertantly caught having to ride through town will not give it a secondlook and go through it in a hurry. Usually vagrants; actually some townsfolk dressed up like one to keep up appearances; dot the street walks and doorways, groveling for a coin or two and generally just chasing away folk who have no business here. Swamplands surround the town and huts and small mud homes are dotted throughout the twisting turning swamps. If you were not born and raised here, one could get lost easily and if someone spies you wandering around, do not look for help from them... they will only get you more lost, and perhaps even kill you if you look like you need to be dead. Adding to the beauty of the place is the heat. The temperatures can boil water in a minute and roast a fat chicken in 15 minutes, skin crispy just so. All the peoples here are quite used to the temperatures and it seems not to affect them. Rain comes and goes with torrential down pours that last for an hour, then leave as quick as they had come. Nights take a quick turn. The temperatures can drop down 20 or more degrees, making it seem verycold compared to that of the day time. There are no changes in season, summer always, though not joyous in this part of the continent. There was a corpse of crooked trees whose crowns wore thick green dred-locks that fell in majestic lengths to the ground. If one could hack their way through the dred-locks, they would find cool air and a place to shelter; especially if one did not want attention drawn to them. There were plenty of these trees, clumped together all over this part of the south. Some of them had even been furnished as halfway houses for travelers on the morewell traveled paths and roadways leading from town to town. But this particular corpse was well away from any usual pathways and habitation, so suited the dark woman and her equine companion. Dorae had used her sword to cut a wide enough hole for her and Horse to pass through. This would be her camp while she investigated the town. Tomorrow she will buy some meager supplies of food and some clothing. There will be no need for a fire, for the days will be warm enough and the nights; as long as they stayed under the hanging branches of the tree; cool enough, but no so that warmth is needed. And cooking; there will be no need forthat. Dorae will buy fruits and vegetables enough that will give her strength and energy enough; there are also plenty of establishments where she could get a hot meal if she so desired. Horse had no need of anything, often foraging around for green grasses and young shoots of choice plants... though here, in this new place, Dor will have to get him grains, for many plants are unsuitable for equine or human consumption; many being of the poisonousvariety. Their home established, Dorae bids horse to stay under cover, lest his yellow hide give him away. She doubted anyone would be out this way, but better to be safe than sorry. Her satchel hung on a low branch and she had taken it down and withdrawn a black, light weight cape that had a deep cowl attached to it. This she swung over her body, concealing her yellow outfit and Coachwhip; her sword; which was secured across her back. Serpentedhands reached up and drew the cowl up over her curly head; giving the appearance of a faceless wraith; in the dark, not even her violet eyes could be seen. Well, that was the point; not to be seen or recognized. And it would not seem so unusual to see someone covered up like she would be; even in this heat. Often enough, the taverns and streets of this town were choked with folks in some disguise or another; for this was the norm here, intrigue isthe way of life, taught at your father's knee immediately after your birthing. Dorae reaches into the satchel once more and extracs black, leather gloves that are missing finger tips, which she slips on over her tatooed hands; someone may recognize the tatoos, she having been the only woman in Crosh Minor to sport the serpents. She was ready. Horse fidgeted and snorted, wanting to go with her. She had tried to explain to the over large equine that he would stick out like a sore thumb; there being no disguises for four legged friends. Dorae reassured him she would be fine, that this was only information seeking and no fighting would be done this night. Horse had doubted that, even he could feel how different this place was; feel the turmoil in the earth and smelldeath that hung like a thick heavy horse blanket, snuffing and choking what little goodness was still left in this part of the world. More and more Horse was begining to think Rhydin was heaven. Not having time to further reassure her friend, Dor turns with a snap of cloth around her ankles and slips through the hole and into the night. She had decided to circle all the way around town and slip in from a different direction. That feeling of being watched was still with her and it was hard to tell if it was her anxiety about the very nature of this place or if someone was actually following her. Not that it mattered now; if she was being followed, there would be no need to go sneaking about. Time will tell soon enough she supposes. It had taken her an hour to skirt all the way around town. Dorae had picked her way through copses of trees and brush, keeping the cloak tight against her body. Clouds covered the stars and no moon shone brightly, giving further aid in covering her in darkness. This night reminded her of the night of retribution; again the darkness turned out to be an ally. If she was being followed, the one pursuing her was being just as careful, just asquiet as she. As she came closer to the town, foul smells assaulted her nose. Heat simmered corpses; human and animal waste; decay. This had never been a pretty town, never been clean... it would seem it had been raised just as it looks today. Crumbling buildings; cobble stoned streets strewn with garbage, bedding down drunk folk, making a treacherous path for man or horse to follow with many holes filled with muck; devoid of any green life, devoid ofanything of beauty. Dorae clenches her jaw as the sight and smell of the town over ride her senses, fighting to keep in control her stomach. Dorae walks on, making her way to an alleyway she knows will take her to Vellum Square. This is where she might find useful information for the spy rings inhabit this part of town. Hopfully they still do, or at the least, there will be plenty of opportunity to scrape up what she needs to hear from the drinking holes up in Sagerun Square. Flamelight flickers off the stone walls as she approaches the square. Long shadows of people movingaround are displayed upon crumbled walls. She slips down the alley and makes her way to mingle with the population.....
From: DoraeRasta
AND SHE HAD CALLED THIS HOME? There is a yellow steak across a sun scortched field, a plume of dust rising up behind it. The distance is eaten quickly and there is a more definite bulk to the streak. Clearly it could be seen that a rather large equine with sun-yellow body and red mane and tail; looking like a flame; carries a figure on its back. Dark skinned, dark haired; the figure wearing loose yellow clothing with a red satin sash tiedabout its waist and with something shiny protruding over the top of its curly head. Of course it is Dorae, in perfect equitation upon Horse who's over large legs churn in a blur, bringing them closer to where they go. There is a road ahead of them, seemingly abandoned by the looks of its thick overgrowth of shrubs and grass and weeds that covers most of the man-made track. At some point and time, this was the path of trade that connected to several towns, eventually leading to the coast and the trades boats that took goods up to the north. But its been a long time since this part of the road was used; lifeless and desolate, a memory for but a few. As the pair comes within a few yards of the road, Horse skids to a stop. He prances in place, not at all happy at being stopped from what he thought had been a marvelous run. Dorae pats the equine absently on his neck while her violet eyes stare at the road. Horse snorts once, but then quiets and stands still, sensing a tension from the passenger upon his back. The night is black, the air is stiff, almost unbreathable. The days heat has yet to cool down and today had been stiffling; the thermometer had read 130 at one p.m. and had climbed a degree or two more before five p.m., of course, the humidity did not help much either. And with no lights of any kind; man-made or god-sent; the night seemed never ending. Perfect. That was the word that had jumped into her mind. No one will be foolishenough; no matter how much money is offered; to go traisping around in this darkness, this heat, looking for me. There hadn't been much to pack... in fact, she hadn't packed a thing. There was nothing here she wanted to keep, she wanted nothing to tie her to this place, no reminders of the hell this place represents. She had looked at the backs of her hands then, at the tatoos adorning both of them. No, the serpents had been her idea... sure, most women in these parts tatooed the backs of their hands, but these had meant something to her, gave herstrength; certainly not for the pleasure of others. The clothes on her back would serve for the now; especially in this weather. She could pick up new clothes as she traveled. Now it is time. Her original plan had been devine, evil, total retribution..... There were seven men in all and they all lived relatively close to one another; which was not surprising, since most of the townsfolk who worked the mines lived in the swamps. Dorae had thought of seven devices, all specifically picked for each of her tormentors; guaranteeing they would recognize the initial torment she would give them just before ending their lives. She wanted them to know how she felt; feel the pain, the humiliation, theanger each of them had put her through. And then, for the finale, they would feel her strength, as she choked out their last breaths with her bare hands. However, there was a slight flaw with that plan; too much noise and not enough time. The seven had to be killed, quickly and quietly and before dawn so there would still be enough thick darkness for her to escape in. So in the end, Dorae had simply stalked them that night; keeping tabs of who was in what bar and with which favorite prostitute and take it from there.... Something distracted her playback of that most satisfying night and she blinked twice to refocus. Horse was standing still under her, seemingly napping on his feet. Slowly she turned her head to her left and looked down the road. That way led to the coast. Nothing there but weeds, dirt and choked out trees. A slow turn of her head again and she looked down the road to her right; which looked no different in this direction; toward CroshMinor. There was no movement from that direction either, but she had an uneasy feeling; like something was watching them. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a prickly feeling went up her spine. Definately something or someone out there. The sun began to slowly sink now, heralding the coming of a hopfully cooler night. Dorae's cloths stick to her via the sweat that runs down her dark skin and her ebony curls spring out every which way as the humidity runs amok. Taking stock the time, the serpent woman decides it is time for them to move on. It will take the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening for them to reach Crosh Minor; all the better to arrive in the dark andtake a looksee around. Horse rouses himself from the stupor he had slipped into; he not being used to such temperatures. He started them off in a lazy walk which was just fine with Dorae. She was apprehensive now that they were this close to her birth place and a part of her past that has haunted her since leaving here. Will secrets be found? Will this homecoming lay to rest the ghostly hands that try to bind her to her fears? Has she come home to die? The dreamshave been useless, mere fragments of images and color in no certain order. People and places that are unrecognizable, yet familiar somehow. Without her easel and paints, the dreams barely tug at her conciousness, replaying only in her sleep and causing much unrest to her biorhythm. It was several hours later when the pair arrived in the outskirts of town. Dorae had avoided using the road, staying a mile or so away from it and not riding into the town proper. She would need to investigate, see how much the place had changed; if at all. Crosh Minor was in the bowels of the south; a hell all its own. The swamps housed death, rarely bringing life. The town was the breeding ground of the devil; those living there servedonly to keep cruelties and intollerable thinking to the world in general. The bowels of hell. That is what comes to mind for any unfortunate traveler who happens to come upon the town of Crosh Minor; or Hell's Gate as the locals refer to it with affection. Situated in the deepest part of the south, Crosh Minor is home to all types of unsavory and evil sorts of people. If you need an assasin, this is where you come; you need some pretty ladies to liven up a party, this is where you will find them; need something smuggled, someone kidnapped, monies laundered, books fixed, bets taken or whatever illegal thing you need, this is where you come to. Not a vacation spot, you won't find Crosh Minor beinghighlighted by your local travel agency, steer clear away if you possibly can. Besides being home to the underground folks, Crosh Minor is known for its depthless mines. Lots of things can be mined here; minerals, valued gemstones, coal, limestone and countless other things most have never heard of. A great deal of the townspeople work in the mines, since some of the illegal activities usually are conducted under cloak of darkness. What had started out as a simple cover for the illegal activities, soon became athriving business once the bounty the mines held were uncovered. With buyers from every market catching wind of the goods the mines regurgitated in large quantities, the town became wealthy, thus leaving plenty of time for espionage and everything associated with criminal activities. The streets are strewn with garbage and smell of decay. Rare green plants find their way through the cracks of the cobblestones and try to dook out a life for themselves. Usually a horse drawn carriage gives the greenery a quick demise, so nothing grows over 12 inches tall. A tree here, a tree there but for the most part, plant life is nonexistant. Most of the flowers that grow in and around town are ugly and evil looking; most beingpoisonous and have thick thorns growing from their stalks, not something you pick to give to your lady friend. No one seems to mind the runned down look of the buildings linning the streets of Crosh Minor. Paint chips and peels, windows are broken, steps are missing, some are even burned down to their foundations. Don't let that fool you, most of the buildings inside are tastfully done... and hidden. One must know what to look for to get to the real heart of a building. These buildings; for the most part; are not residential but the businessdistrict. In the hidden realms are brothels, bookies, assassins guild, ect. Some of the buildings do house business' out in the open; such as a meat market, bank, dry goods store; but that is mostly for the sake of appearance for those travelers who do ride through; and the law. Intrigue surrounds this town, and the folks living here play upon every aspect. So one who is inadvertantly caught having to ride through town will not give it a secondlook and go through it in a hurry. Usually vagrants; actually some townsfolk dressed up like one to keep up appearances; dot the street walks and doorways, groveling for a coin or two and generally just chasing away folk who have no business here. Swamplands surround the town and huts and small mud homes are dotted throughout the twisting turning swamps. If you were not born and raised here, one could get lost easily and if someone spies you wandering around, do not look for help from them... they will only get you more lost, and perhaps even kill you if you look like you need to be dead. Adding to the beauty of the place is the heat. The temperatures can boil water in a minute and roast a fat chicken in 15 minutes, skin crispy just so. All the peoples here are quite used to the temperatures and it seems not to affect them. Rain comes and goes with torrential down pours that last for an hour, then leave as quick as they had come. Nights take a quick turn. The temperatures can drop down 20 or more degrees, making it seem verycold compared to that of the day time. There are no changes in season, summer always, though not joyous in this part of the continent. There was a corpse of crooked trees whose crowns wore thick green dred-locks that fell in majestic lengths to the ground. If one could hack their way through the dred-locks, they would find cool air and a place to shelter; especially if one did not want attention drawn to them. There were plenty of these trees, clumped together all over this part of the south. Some of them had even been furnished as halfway houses for travelers on the morewell traveled paths and roadways leading from town to town. But this particular corpse was well away from any usual pathways and habitation, so suited the dark woman and her equine companion. Dorae had used her sword to cut a wide enough hole for her and Horse to pass through. This would be her camp while she investigated the town. Tomorrow she will buy some meager supplies of food and some clothing. There will be no need for a fire, for the days will be warm enough and the nights; as long as they stayed under the hanging branches of the tree; cool enough, but no so that warmth is needed. And cooking; there will be no need forthat. Dorae will buy fruits and vegetables enough that will give her strength and energy enough; there are also plenty of establishments where she could get a hot meal if she so desired. Horse had no need of anything, often foraging around for green grasses and young shoots of choice plants... though here, in this new place, Dor will have to get him grains, for many plants are unsuitable for equine or human consumption; many being of the poisonousvariety. Their home established, Dorae bids horse to stay under cover, lest his yellow hide give him away. She doubted anyone would be out this way, but better to be safe than sorry. Her satchel hung on a low branch and she had taken it down and withdrawn a black, light weight cape that had a deep cowl attached to it. This she swung over her body, concealing her yellow outfit and Coachwhip; her sword; which was secured across her back. Serpentedhands reached up and drew the cowl up over her curly head; giving the appearance of a faceless wraith; in the dark, not even her violet eyes could be seen. Well, that was the point; not to be seen or recognized. And it would not seem so unusual to see someone covered up like she would be; even in this heat. Often enough, the taverns and streets of this town were choked with folks in some disguise or another; for this was the norm here, intrigue isthe way of life, taught at your father's knee immediately after your birthing. Dorae reaches into the satchel once more and extracs black, leather gloves that are missing finger tips, which she slips on over her tatooed hands; someone may recognize the tatoos, she having been the only woman in Crosh Minor to sport the serpents. She was ready. Horse fidgeted and snorted, wanting to go with her. She had tried to explain to the over large equine that he would stick out like a sore thumb; there being no disguises for four legged friends. Dorae reassured him she would be fine, that this was only information seeking and no fighting would be done this night. Horse had doubted that, even he could feel how different this place was; feel the turmoil in the earth and smelldeath that hung like a thick heavy horse blanket, snuffing and choking what little goodness was still left in this part of the world. More and more Horse was begining to think Rhydin was heaven. Not having time to further reassure her friend, Dor turns with a snap of cloth around her ankles and slips through the hole and into the night. She had decided to circle all the way around town and slip in from a different direction. That feeling of being watched was still with her and it was hard to tell if it was her anxiety about the very nature of this place or if someone was actually following her. Not that it mattered now; if she was being followed, there would be no need to go sneaking about. Time will tell soon enough she supposes. It had taken her an hour to skirt all the way around town. Dorae had picked her way through copses of trees and brush, keeping the cloak tight against her body. Clouds covered the stars and no moon shone brightly, giving further aid in covering her in darkness. This night reminded her of the night of retribution; again the darkness turned out to be an ally. If she was being followed, the one pursuing her was being just as careful, just asquiet as she. As she came closer to the town, foul smells assaulted her nose. Heat simmered corpses; human and animal waste; decay. This had never been a pretty town, never been clean... it would seem it had been raised just as it looks today. Crumbling buildings; cobble stoned streets strewn with garbage, bedding down drunk folk, making a treacherous path for man or horse to follow with many holes filled with muck; devoid of any green life, devoid ofanything of beauty. Dorae clenches her jaw as the sight and smell of the town over ride her senses, fighting to keep in control her stomach. Dorae walks on, making her way to an alleyway she knows will take her to Vellum Square. This is where she might find useful information for the spy rings inhabit this part of town. Hopfully they still do, or at the least, there will be plenty of opportunity to scrape up what she needs to hear from the drinking holes up in Sagerun Square. Flamelight flickers off the stone walls as she approaches the square. Long shadows of people movingaround are displayed upon crumbled walls. She slips down the alley and makes her way to mingle with the population.....