A Copper for your thoughts.
The paint upon the brilliant tower of white seemed indelible. Workers had tried all day in vain with solvents to remove that which was etched into the stone of the Initiates Cylinder. 'You are Giants, Bow to No One' was the effigy. It rang up amongst the people, a slogan of their cause. The shouts along the Market Square were clear and full of the anger they had been storing up and pushing down for several hands. Taxed to the point of poverty, mothers, sons, fathers and daughters could all agree they needed to be heard. They would be heard. Men in their pristine robes of white scattered to alcoves for safety. Safe will not be the case to be sure. As I had told the First and his Brother, I would bide time for such actions to occur. The people needed to call out to the culpable parties who lunched high in their apartments. I would indeed set ruin to the grindstone of money sifting and theft. The priories across Ar should beware the masses. Nothing says good afternoon like a lynchmob on your temple doorstep.
Ibrahim arrived at my debtors residence in the southwest section of the Great Square District on time. He had been invited to a catered political event and wished for me to attend with him. Often I find myself wondering how does a man of Tor find himself in such high regard of Arian politicians? But, then again, why wag a muddy tail at good fortunes. Tonight I go on his arm as the lovely and wealthy first daughter, the Lady Desdemona. He had sent me a set of robes that were beautifully handcrafted in white heavy silk and beads. I think he meant to take me as far away from the black leather as he could. While veils are not a standard in Ar, I assumed ones that were more sheer. Women of station should never be seen fully in our opinion. Certainly Desdemona could show her face, but Oman preferred that not be the case. As a token Ibrahim had bestowed upon me a necklace of gold and matching bangles and rings. These were crafted of fine gold and gave the impression of sea treasures. The inlay was of moonstone, a personal favorite, though how this man knew that is an arcane a mystery as the golden beetle. It is my opinion, that the jeweler had made them himself just for me. The matching bangles which housed our secrets, attested that yes indeed he had. He looked quite proud to have me on his arm, and in truth, I felt quite proud to be there. His caravan of men along with my own retinue, made for an auspicious presentation as we rode our way towards the Tower Districts. It would not be uneventful. Ibrahim spoke, " She, it was not easy getting to you. Be prepared."
As we rounded through the streets, the outrage became apparent. The palanquin on which we rode was no formidable form of protection should the masses of protesters raise up against us. I cannot say I was wholly comfortable dressed up and on display. My Brothers were rallied close, Basle at the door. Ibrahim patted me on the arm, " Do not fret. I have taken care of everything, She."
It is very hard to be faced with such hypocrisy. Here I was, wearing something that was worth more than all of these men combined had made in a lifetime. They are right to rage out, and I am right to feel the truth of it. When we turned the corner to the High street the torches, smoke and shouting grew into hysteria. Ibrahim stepped out onto the street, and put Basle in his seat. He walked with his arms on his waist and a smile in his voice. "Yes, Yes!," he had shouted, " We are Giants, WE are Giants!" I could hear the jingle of lots of coin hitting the cobblestones. People were cheering, thanking him, praising him, supporting his cause. I caught only a brief glimpse of what was going on, that fact alone made me more nervous than walking through an office door and slitting a mans throat. From the billow of beautiful drapes on the palanquin, I saw his men tossing coins from great hip sacks. It was like a parade, the people screaming, "Giants! Giants! Giants!"
We arrived on time, and uninjured. Now to face the mob inside, that will be another story.
The paint upon the brilliant tower of white seemed indelible. Workers had tried all day in vain with solvents to remove that which was etched into the stone of the Initiates Cylinder. 'You are Giants, Bow to No One' was the effigy. It rang up amongst the people, a slogan of their cause. The shouts along the Market Square were clear and full of the anger they had been storing up and pushing down for several hands. Taxed to the point of poverty, mothers, sons, fathers and daughters could all agree they needed to be heard. They would be heard. Men in their pristine robes of white scattered to alcoves for safety. Safe will not be the case to be sure. As I had told the First and his Brother, I would bide time for such actions to occur. The people needed to call out to the culpable parties who lunched high in their apartments. I would indeed set ruin to the grindstone of money sifting and theft. The priories across Ar should beware the masses. Nothing says good afternoon like a lynchmob on your temple doorstep.
Ibrahim arrived at my debtors residence in the southwest section of the Great Square District on time. He had been invited to a catered political event and wished for me to attend with him. Often I find myself wondering how does a man of Tor find himself in such high regard of Arian politicians? But, then again, why wag a muddy tail at good fortunes. Tonight I go on his arm as the lovely and wealthy first daughter, the Lady Desdemona. He had sent me a set of robes that were beautifully handcrafted in white heavy silk and beads. I think he meant to take me as far away from the black leather as he could. While veils are not a standard in Ar, I assumed ones that were more sheer. Women of station should never be seen fully in our opinion. Certainly Desdemona could show her face, but Oman preferred that not be the case. As a token Ibrahim had bestowed upon me a necklace of gold and matching bangles and rings. These were crafted of fine gold and gave the impression of sea treasures. The inlay was of moonstone, a personal favorite, though how this man knew that is an arcane a mystery as the golden beetle. It is my opinion, that the jeweler had made them himself just for me. The matching bangles which housed our secrets, attested that yes indeed he had. He looked quite proud to have me on his arm, and in truth, I felt quite proud to be there. His caravan of men along with my own retinue, made for an auspicious presentation as we rode our way towards the Tower Districts. It would not be uneventful. Ibrahim spoke, " She, it was not easy getting to you. Be prepared."
As we rounded through the streets, the outrage became apparent. The palanquin on which we rode was no formidable form of protection should the masses of protesters raise up against us. I cannot say I was wholly comfortable dressed up and on display. My Brothers were rallied close, Basle at the door. Ibrahim patted me on the arm, " Do not fret. I have taken care of everything, She."
It is very hard to be faced with such hypocrisy. Here I was, wearing something that was worth more than all of these men combined had made in a lifetime. They are right to rage out, and I am right to feel the truth of it. When we turned the corner to the High street the torches, smoke and shouting grew into hysteria. Ibrahim stepped out onto the street, and put Basle in his seat. He walked with his arms on his waist and a smile in his voice. "Yes, Yes!," he had shouted, " We are Giants, WE are Giants!" I could hear the jingle of lots of coin hitting the cobblestones. People were cheering, thanking him, praising him, supporting his cause. I caught only a brief glimpse of what was going on, that fact alone made me more nervous than walking through an office door and slitting a mans throat. From the billow of beautiful drapes on the palanquin, I saw his men tossing coins from great hip sacks. It was like a parade, the people screaming, "Giants! Giants! Giants!"
We arrived on time, and uninjured. Now to face the mob inside, that will be another story.
No comments:
Post a Comment