Artistic Frolic Into The Distance, (Open)

The day was cooling, sunset was near, and the Bishop was already feeling the heat start to fade. It was very warm here during the day, but it was different to the warmth of Kelyea. Kelyea could be very humid, which made one want to sweat more. Well he did sweat here, but it was dry and his chest was not sticky. It was actually pleasant in a way, and he didn't feel the need to wash himself as often as he did on a hot Kelyean day. Then again, on the seaside of Kelyea there could be a nice breeze to counter the humidity, which made it tolerable in such areas. It was the inland parts of Kelyea where the breezes were intermittent that were more unbearable on a hot day. He saw how his grandmother could stand these desert lands, but alas the nights were the unusual part for him. Since the heat was escaping he stood in front of a bench in some cotton robes of a papyrus yellow, with a black silk sash around his waste. He also had a black cloak on the bench next to him.

The bishop faced west, looking at the flatness in the distance, and could see the foothills that lead into the mountains of Rodan. The sky was a mix of tangerine and magenta, so radiant, while if he looked east hues of navy and indigo dotted the heavens, with some of the stars beginning to twinkle. He exhaled, and then breathed in. The cooling made the air seem fresh, and he knew when he woke up early in the morning the next day he would breathe in fresh, crisp air. But the heat came not long after sunrise, so if one wanted to enjoy such freshness, they needed rise early. It was different being in this foreign land, even if part of Tetel'ac.

The people were darker, but that was nothing unusual for a Kelyean, as people of various skin colours came and went through Hanalei. There was a deep pride among the people here, a fierce stubbornness and determination. There was mood in the air, and he could feel that they were not too happy having the fair skinned types of Fexlund and Rodan running things. No one liked being occupied, but this occupation in Aknatar had gone on for over a century, with many failed rebellions over the years. Even though Tetel'ac crushed the rebellions, the Kings had never truly exerted full control over the region counting hundreds of tribes, nomads, bandits, and more.

Ezra had set up a stand with some linen canvas upon it. He had a table with various paintbrushes, and little jars of oils. These little oils were varying mixtures that created different colours and effects when used to paint upon canvas. He had already finished the rolling foothills in the distance, with a small building in front, representing the outside of Dal'ib. It was the brilliant, radiant sky that he was slowly replicating on his canvas. Such rich, bright colours, it would take time and patience to get it in. The good thing was that most of the weather was the same here, hot days, cold nights, but skies without too much cloud. If he couldn't finish it tonight, he would finish it tomorrow. Though he wondered if he would bring this painting back to hang in Grosvnersburg, or if he would present it as a gift to the future Duchess of Aknatar? Certainly it was something to think about.

Ezra put the brush down, and went to pour himself a glass of red wine. He let the taste swish around his mouth, taking his time to calm himself and enjoy this moment. It was a beautiful night, a lovely sight before him, he was painting and enjoying his time, all the while enjoying a fine bottle of Kelyea's best wine. Well he brought much wine with him, as much would be offered as gifts to the Duke in due time. A wedding was not a wedding without the best wines from Kelyea. He put the glass down, and then reached for the paintbrush. He needed to get more red, and bits of yellow onto the sky portion of the painting.

Drake was sulking more then usual. He was being helpful enough and having a roof over her head she didn't have to barter, pay or fight somebody for was a nice new novelty. For a start it allowed her to rest her ankle, spent hours asleep on the tumbledown old bed she had. It was as if her body had decided the best way to repair itself was to slip into a near coma. All the trauma of the years and sleepless nights as a slave, the injuries sustained in her bid for freedom, the near starvation...everything had finally caught back up to her and so, she slept. Probably much to Drake's relief she imagined. Still, sometimes he bought home food, sometimes he didn't. She wasn't entirely sure the food was for her and he had saved it for himself....she ate it regardless. Mary mostly convinced her existent was more of an inconvenience to Drake, but that's fine with her, she didn't need coddling.

Still, her ankle had healed to a point she could put a little more weight on it, perhaps even run if the situation called for it, but she still limped along with her grey bandage becoming slowly more dusty and ragged (Drake neglecting to offer her a second) . She was still in a rough spun brown robe and barefooted (she can climb better barefooted) with a white veil wrapped around her head showing only her miss matched eyes. White was a tactical choice, black would have shown the white of her hair through it.

Regardless of what she was wearing though, she had decided to go out while Drake went out doing...well whatever it was he did, she never asked. Sitting around growing thinner won't get her home, she needed to start 'earning' again and saving for her trip home. She slunk out of the apartments in the shadows as she did every time she left and had trotted through the village. It seemed quieter then normal, and ended up just wandering around in thought about her plans, she was actually tempted to head south first, see some more of this strange country. It was then she lifted her head and realised she'd almost walked out the village and had to stop to look around her.

She saw a man in creamy robes with...an easel? She was far enough behind him to have perhaps not disturbed him yet and she looked between the sunset and the picture. Not bad! Mary shook her head and remembered she isn't an art critic and decided to check him out instead. The robes didn't look cheap, the fact he has wine and paints too? This guys very likely has money, and rather helpfully had already started drinking. Mary wondered if she aught try her luck. She did her best at suddenly looking small and vulnerable, her shoulders haunched, eyes went wide and she shuffled her feet just enough to perhaps loosen a rock and draw his attention, else she'd stand and wait, deciding on a new course of action.

The painting was coming along fine, swishing the brush softly, hardly, and with all mediums of pressure in between as he worked at achieving the harmonious effect he sought to convey on the canvas. He had been focusing on the painting, and he felt he was getting more colours into the night sky. He turned his attention as the servant returned with a torch. The man raised the torch and put it on the stand, allowing for a large flame to spark up and provide a bigger, and larger fire near the Bishop. It gave some light, as well as warmth as the day was cooling more with each passing minute. He grabbed the goblet and took another gulp of wine, letting the taste stay in his mouth so he could enjoy the rich body of the drink. He reached to put the wine down. The sun was starting to descend beyond the foothills and mountains, this meaning that he would need to finish up for this evening and continue tomorrow. It was a beautiful night in Aknatar; everything was almost romantic. Unfortunately, this was also Dal'ib. It was not the safest place for someone so wealthy to travel alone through the streets among riff raff. He had come here with as little as his group as possible, just having a couple of servants who had been fetching some fire. Nevertheless they returned and he told them to pack up the painting materials and return them to their temporary residence. The two visible guards with him marched off with the servants, leaving the Bishop all alone. Appearances were deceiving though.

He watched as one servant grabbed the painting, the other painting tools, and one guard even took the remaining stuff. They walked down the road, returning to the small villa the Grosvners had rented for their official delegation to this wedding. All that was left was the Bishop sitting on the bench. He held his goblet, and the bottle of wine was in his hand. He rested the bottle on the bench, right next to him. He stood up, put the goblet down, and grabbed the black cloak, allowing himself to be swathed in the slightly warmer material. The night was growing cooler. He picked up the goblet and took another sip, once again glancing at a young woman who was looking at him. He only smiled and waved, not doing anything to get off his ass and go over to her. He was enjoying this evening, but he hopped if this beggar came over it would not draw more. Most of his guards were off at his estate, and he didn't wished to be swarmed and murdered by starving, poor peasants trying to get money from him. He reached to an inner pocket, and let his hands grab the leather purse. He did have some gold, but if a crowd started gathering he may be in trouble.

She just stood there watching the servant return it was then she noticed the second one and a couple of guards. her eyes flicked over them as had noticed Drake do, looking for weapons and the like. Her gaze went back to the well dressed man and gave him a quick look for weapons too. he seemed unarmed but indeed appearances are deceiving. Mary is unarmed, something she intended to correct with enough coin, just a small dagger.....even a letter opener would offer more protection then she currently had. These streets are dangerous for a lone girl and as the sun sinks, even more so. A breeze made her shiver and wonder why she was stupid enough to come out this late, she should have stayed indoors in the warm. Perhaps she could get this done quick and go before the chill sets in. The poor girl is little more then skin and bones, the cold desert nights chilled her to her bones.

She looked at him quizzically when he waved. She can't see a sign of a purse on the sash at his wait, which would have made life easier. He must be here for the wedding, probably from the south as he had whiter skin Mary's own skin the colour of milk almost but the only part of it showing was a tiny sliver around her exposed eyes and her feet which were dusty from the roads. Her hands were covered by the long floppy sleeves of the ill fitting robe. She had noticed beggars working in swarms in this city, like pigeons. One would find a tasty breadcrumb and ten more would flock to it. She worked alone and tried to avoid those packs, she shared her earnings with nobody!

She took a few steps forward and instantly realised she had no idea what language she aught speak. All these foreigners spoke so many different languages how can she be sure to get the right one? She'll have to give her worst Aknatari a try, and her common too.
"Good evening sir, you painting was very good" she decided to open with and then tried to think of the Aknatari for the same sentence....
"Good evening, you...good" was all she could manage and she winced. She was playing this cool, the fact his hand had gone inside his robes made her nervous, she didn't want the hand to come out with a dagger....so for now she stayed her distance. Her strange eyes judging him, but she maintained her image of vulnerability...

The servants and guards had gone, and so it was just the appearance of the lone Bishop sitting on the bench. The man was dressed as no Bishop though, he was just wearing expensive clothes that denoted he was wealthy. Aknatar would be an odd place to dress in the ceremonial outfits pertinent to the Church of Kelyea. Nevertheless, it did seem very odd for such a wealthy man to let his group with him take off leaving him behind alone. This was a dangerous place, but the Bishop was confidence in the measures he had taken for his security. On top of that, with all the dignitaries arriving in Dal'ib it seemed the Duke of Aknatar had stepped up patrols of guards to keep the peace.

Well he was from the south, but truly he was from the west. Aknatari viewed all of those from over the mountains to be of Tetel'ac, to be westerners and foreigners. That was as much as people from Rodan, Fexlund, and Kelyea viewing those in Aknatar as foreign. Odd how Aknatar even remained part of Tetel'ac with the different cultures and viewpoints, but even in Tetel'ac many regions were different from others. Ezra supposed nothing was as different as the bridge separating Aknatar from the other parts of Tetel'ac though. Perhaps solving those differences would be the key to taming Aknatar and ending the clashes in this deadly desert land.

Ezra's eyes focused on the girl, watching her seem to hesitate and think. Well it was daunting approaching a handsome, wealthy gentleman who had been enjoying his evening. Well she finally could speak, he had worried if she was perhaps mute. "Thank you for the compliment," he responded. Well everyone enjoyed a good compliment, it was good for the ego. Nevertheless, Ezra was the man of the Church and so he had to be as humble as possible, or at least try. Though he wasn't humble when it came to his comfort of living. She then tried to speak Aknatar dialect. "The common tongue will do," he said putting his left hand up letting her know it is okay. His right hand remained in his inner picket, but he grabbed about four gold coins and clenched them in his hand so they were hidden as he took his hand out of the pocket and rested it on his lap.

"What brings you here to Aknatar? You look like you could be from Fexlund," he commented, noting the blonde hair. It would be plausible with the Duke’s wedding, except that his woman was not dressed like a noblewoman or someone of wealth. The woman’s clothes didn’t fit properly, and looked worn, well used, and old. He was curious as to what would bring someone of lower class to a place like this, unless if she was a whore to some desert horsemaster, or came here with some mainland Tetel’ac lord who needed to get his jollies while on the road in a distant land. The physical trait he noticed the most was her two eyes, the two of them being completely different in colour. Ezra looked down quickly so as to make it seem like he had not stared too long. This woman had a case of crazy eyes going on. A'er help her!

Mary wouldn't have even known if he was a Bishop really, A'er isn't unknown in the north but where Mary lived they worshipped several gods not just the one. Mary was also well aware there security was upgraded, well, as far she she knew this was normal, but she knew this wasn't normal. So far she hadn't been caught however, but she was choosing easier targets and not taking risks.

Mary is from further north the Aknatar so EVERYONE is southern no matter how east or west they were. She always loved the country however, the people with their tanned skin and fine horses and exotic accents, but being thrown into it like this wasn't what she had planned at all! Everybody seems nice enough but it always seemed to be a veil of niceness hiding a far more grim interior. Like the bar tenders who want to whore her out, the kind young children who want to rob her pockets.... it seemed like never ending cycle of kindness to nastiness. hence her reluctance to get close to the man. Plus if she got closer, he may grab her, she preferred to make an exchange form a distance.

When he finally stopped her talking Aknatari she visibly relaxed a little letting go a puff of breath and she smiled and nodded at the mention to speak common. Her Aknatari was still quite rusty. His hand came out his pocket, thankfully with no dagger, but she still didn't trust him. She looked from his hand to his face, he was indeed quite handsome but she'd never really experienced boys very much except from a distance. When your father is not a small man by any means and master of the horse in a keep., boys tend to keep their distance. That never stopped her sparring with them but alone time with them was... well...hard to get.

She wasn't sure hoe he spotted her blonde hair and cursed herself to see a strand of the almost white blonde has escaped her head scarf and she quickly tucked it back in the tugged down the part covering her face so she may look upon him better. She shook her head, why not be truthful, she had nothing to lose?
"No sir, North sir" she noticed him look away from her eyes like everybody always did "Don't be afraid to look sir. The scholar in my castl- er...home said the blue eye simply lacks colour, it isn't spirits or ghosts or god in my eyes. Unless you believe the Aknatars, then it is all three I think" she offered a small smile and hoped he hadn't noticed her error. She lived in the keep for sure, but didn't want him thinking she was highborn. Well... she was and wasn't but she didn't want to get into it.

She wouldn't have known he was a Bishop as much as he wouldn't have known she was from the North. This was just further proof that appearances were not always as they seemed, and there was often stories of great variety behind each unique individual and the circumstances leading them through life to the present. Of course, identifying a person based on their compass direction was perhaps a form of categorisation too broad, especially when people liked to be identified by more specific, regional cultural names. A person from Huntingdon naturally would prefer to be referred to as a Huntingdonian, even if they were also a Fexlunder, and then to the Aknatari they were Westerners as much as Rodani and Kelyeans. People took particular pride in specific backgrounds, and where they hail from.

Fortunately for Ezra, he had never been in the situation like the woman opposite, and he really didn't know what her situation was. He likely wouldn't have cared too much, but he would be polite and have a good conversation with her. That being said, he truly could not fathom or relate with her predicament in life. He could only sit there politely, and say the proper pleasantries about how unfortunate it was, and perhaps at the most offer some gold. Then again, the man could take this girl and show her a life of luxury and comfort, but if he did that for everyone he met he would soon have to deal with his angry father. He watched with some amusement as she fiddled with tucking her lose strands of hair out of sight. Hiding must be a difficult task, he though to himself briefly. After all, one can run but they can't hide forever. Eventually fate catches up with everybody.

"The North?" He mumbled under his breath, quite surprised by his miscalculation. He had assumed she was from Fexlund, so in truth appearances were deceiving. "Of all places, what would draw you out of the North to come to the notoriously desolate deserts of Aknatar?" He had a legitimate question, as he didn't really like this place. He was only here for the formality of this wedding on behalf of his father, otherwise he didn't intend to come back here voluntarily. He was quite aware the difference in the eyes was just some birth defect, but he still found them to be strange to look at, and so he did mentally refer to it as crazy eyes. "I don't care for the superstitions of these desert dwellers," he replied nonchalantly, looking around, before returning his gaze to this young woman. He did hear her briefly mention a scholar, and stop as she was trying to talk about a castle. "Castle? What is your name, and which house do you hail from?" Ezra examined her clothing once more, she didn't seem to dress the part of a noble, looking like a common beggar. Though perhaps it was smarter to dress like that in a dangerous region like this, but then the savages would probably attack anyone they saw rich or poor.

Mary was no exception to taking pride in her home. She loved it. The clear icy mountain streams, pince forests that touched the sky, field of nothing but wildflowers punctuated by the occasional village... nothing compared to home. Her home being much colder then Aknatar also leaver her in some what of a situation here. She would be burned to cinders if she let her skin out for too long, but being warm all day for a change is something nice, and she is resilient enough to cold to be not too uncomfortable at night. Still, she'd much rather be in her feathered at home, her dog at her feet and no worries of where her next meal is coming from.

Yes she is hiding, but she had no intention of being caught and returned to her 'master' Mary was homeward bound or she'd die trying. She also was not used to this life of hardship. Okay so her home life wasn't exactly sitting on fluffed cushions and sipping fancy wines, she still had to work, but Mary at least wanted for nothing at home. The income provided by her father was ample enough to leave them comfortable, plus there was always the chance her stupid half-brother may have an accident in the many tournaments he attends....which would mean her father proclaiming her legitimate as she'd be his only heir. Then you can queue the fluffy cushions and fancy wines.

She considered his question and decided to give him most of the truth "My father and I come to the border often to trade with the Aknatars, horses, cloth spices...We were set upon by bandits and separated..." she decided that's all he needed to know about that story unless he asked further, which thankfully, he didn't. But he did ask about her home instead and she winced.
"Mary Constance Le Mont sir, from Hilmount keep" okay he didn't need to know they had in fact called her 'Flowers' so the common folk would not know her connection to their Lord.... even though everybody did anyway....She shuffled her feet, looking slightly uncomfortable at this turn of conversation. Ugh, why did she have to be honest, she could have just begged and left. She thought a breif moment about the sigil of her house. A rearing horse on a background of pine trees and wondered just how familiure this man was with her homeland.

Aknatar was a dangerous region, full of unscrupulous people who would murder, steal, enslave, and do other horrible things for their own interests. Well it was true of any place, but there was at least some class and civilized notions back in the core mainland of Tetel'ac. There was some sense of convention to prevent such stuff in the rest of Tetel'ac, but Aknatar had customs of their own which date back to before they were claimed as part of Tetel'ac. "I am sorry to hear about that," he said, not really sure of what else to say. What could he do? Well he could facilitate a return for this young woman with money available to him, but again if he did that for every person he met he would be a poor man.

The name of the place she came from was not a location he knew. He only nodded as she said her name. "Pleasure to meet you Lady Le Mont," he exclaimed politely. He didn't move for any formalities, because it appeared she was not here as a Lady, but rather as a damsel in distress, needing assistance for whatever it was she was hoping to accomplish. He let his right hand open and he tossed the coins towards her. Four gold coins landed in front of her, and they would be for her. "Sounds like you are in a bind. What is your goal, what do you plan on doing?" He was curious as to why she approached him, but more curious as to what she was doing here in Aknatar, considering she had not went home. It was likely that she had a goal in mind, and would likely pursue it if the means were available. He wanted to know her goals.

Mary had never experienced anything like it. The land was harsh and the people harsher. Okay she isn't stupid and is aware bad things go on all the time to varying degrees, but nothing like this. Sure she'd heard the rumours and tales of Aknatar being a place of bandits and badguys, but being a part of it was something different entirely. She had to grow up and fast. At first she cried a lot, was frightened and weak, it didn't take too long to realise crying wasn't going to get her home, being clever was. So she had started to toughen up, it was that or die.

She winced as he said her name like that and shook her head at him "Please sir, just Mary if it pleases you. I'm no lady right now, I don't deserve as such" she corrected him, unusually gently for her. She watched the gold come through the air and looked at the four coins in the dust. He called her a lady and tossed coins into the dirt for her? Her jaw tightened slightly and she took a deep breath, determined not to show her rage. Instead she gave him a piercing glance before picking up the coins and tucking them into a pocket.

"I plan on going home. Perhaps I was looked for, perhaps I wasn't but I've been missing two years I suspect they think I'm dead. Regardless, I must return" she replied, still keeping her distance and trying to get the soundof anger out of her voice. She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath before looking at him once more.

The young woman was likely naive to the dangers of this land, where on the other hand Ezra was just too paranoid about his safety in this hellhole. There was only one problem on the journey, and the men with his group had been able to resolve the issue with ease. He didn't know what he would do if he were in a situation like the girl in front of him, perhaps pray for A'er divine intervention to rescue him.

"Have it your way Mary," he responded. What was he going to do, get up and hand her the coins? He liked where he was sitting and didn't intend to get up. Tossing the coins to her was the best option, and that way if she didn't want them she could leave them. It seemed Mary had other plans, as she was quick to scoop the gold up. Good Mary, predictable Mary. When someone needed money, well it was obvious they would not pass a good opportunity to get it. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

He only looked at her and nodded. It seemed the cliché story, a woman trying to get home. Nevertheless, he realised that home was important for many people. "Mary, do you want me to pay for a wagon to take you home, perhaps transitioning to a carriage when out of the desert?" He was curious to how she would respond to such an offer, but he didn't know if it would even be considered.