LOCATION:

Adunabar

Main Deck of the Adunabar

Measuring a full 80 feet by 20 wide is this strong and maneuverable war ship. Three slim masts rise to cradle the webbing for sable sails of the darkest hue. Above it all on the primary mast flies the crimson and black silk of a mythical dragon. Off of the stern flutters another kind of flag, one of amber gold with a small black ship overlaying a red hawk with wings just opening to take flight.

A pair of ready ballista sit upon the shrewdly crafted deck, cargo hatch just aft of center. In the other end there is a door leading down to the sleeping quarters and the dinning hall. Above in the rigging upon the forward and aft masts are archer's nests and look out points. A smaller deck rises at the stern with the door to the offices and Captain's quarters. The hull at deck level is plated with overlapping scales of steel, each one as wide as a man is tall and painted red. When she's under sail, sails like great black wings of a mythical dragon, she is fast and very maneuverable.

Contents:

* Roziliel

Obvious exits:

Overboard

The time is that in which most of the ship's passengers and hands sleep. A moonless night keeps watch over the darkened seas, though the clear skies brim with starlight, casting an almost magical, silvery glow upon the still waters. Every now and then the breath of a soundless breeze coaxes the sails to full, though the winds are gentle and not given to any particular insistence.

Standing in the pale blue light, Roziliel looks more statue than maiden. The yellow of her silken, formal gown almost attracts the light, reflecting it and making her hard to miss as she stands upon the top deck, hands on the wooden railing. Gazing in mute admiration of the endless span of water, she dips her head as the sigh of a salt breeze tugs at the long, free length of her dark hair.

It would seem that Roziliel is not the only passenger out on deck this night. The merchant Minarak paces the deck, apparently deep in thought, the sea breeze ruffling his dark hair and pulling at his cloak, for at this hour it is cool enough that an overgarment is needed. Seeing a pale figure standing at the rail, he stops, hesitates for some reason, and then gently clears his throat.

Shadowy figures move among the masts and along the length of the topdeck under the starlight's faint illumination. But they pay the lady little mind, or the gentleman that approaches her near the railing.

Perhaps such happenings are common. Trivial.

But Roziliel does not expect to see anyone this even--let alone anyone that will pay her any mind. And so, when the sound of a softly-cleared throat is given attention behind her, she turns in full expectation to see her brother. "Mara--" she begins, but then falls silent with the realisation. "Oh..." She says, still uncertain of the other in the night's dim--shadowed as his face is by the masts and sails overhead. "You are not Marazon." Her voice is still not reflective of recognition. "Good even..or morning. Whichever it is at this hour." Her smile is faint, though warming in the cool night.

"Ah, 'tis the Lady Roziliel," the stranger exclaims. "Well met, my Lady." He gives a small bow. "It is the merchant Minarak who stands before you," he continues, taking another step or two forwards so that Roziliel can see his features, "at your service, as ever. You were expecting another? Alas that I am not he." For some reason he seems more reluctant to approach her than previously.

Upon the other's utterance, the smile shifts ever so slightly, though never wanes, rather seeming to increase, though the eyes are given to a glint of uncertainty. "Ahh, so it is. An odd hour for us to be out, is it not?" Roziliel bridges the moment of awkwardness with her lightly-uttered speech. "I was not expecting anyone," the scribe then reveals, standing aside to face the other now, and drawing the hindering locks of hair from her face with her right hand. "My brother Marazon was on watch earlier, and though he should be asleep, I thought maybe you were he."

"Ah," is all that Minarak says to that, a small, flat sound, and he glances nervously toward the sailors on duty, as if he expected the utterance of Marazon's name to conjure the man up out of thin air. However, straightening up and taking a step closer, Minarak continues in a plaintive-sounding tone, "I /do/ hope you have forgiven me for my misdemeanour the other evening. I have spoken already to my friend Nilotamar, a cloth merchant, who has a cargo of fine Elven silk in the hold. He has agreed to give me several lengths once our goods have been unloaded. I hope you will accept the gift, as a token of my sincere apology?" His voice rises in question, though he chooses to add, "But such a gift could not enhance the beauty of she who wears it. You look very lovely tonight, my lady. The jewels in the sky are outshone by the jewel who stands before me." Thin lips curve in a smile, as he observes the way the starlight glimmers in her eyes, highlights the curve of her shoulders ...

"Truly...Minarak...." Roziliel begins as the other finishes speaking. Her gentle grey eyes lift to meet the other's gaze. "Your gesture of new cloth is kindly and generous, but not necessary. The dress was not spoiled," she hastens to utter, though under the other's gaze--and then the compliments that follow, her words fail her. Perhaps given to resignation--seeing the other's penitence--the maiden at last nods her head. "But if you are still intent upon giving me the cloth, I will not refuse it further." Roziliel's gaze drops for a moment, selfconscious or shy, though once raised her composure is restored. "And so tell me, Minarak, what lack of sleep brings you atop the decks to view the night in solitude?"

Minarak smiles gently, encouragingly, at the maiden; his own grey eyes are unreadable. "You yourself have provided the answer," he tells Roziliel. "I find that when sleep eludes me, a walk often helps. It is a truly beautiful night, is it not?" For a moment - though only a moment - his eyes leave Roziliel to look upon the starlit sea. "And you also could not sleep?" the merchant queries, a hint of insistence in his tone. "Is something troubling you? You should not be wandering the decks alone at this hour - and the night is chill ..." He frowns in apparent concern.

Roziliel's laughter is bourne upon the breezes that stir in disquiet, though the maiden does seem more relaxed as Minarak continues to speak and the awkwardness first held apparent by the lady fades. "This is not a matter of not being able to sleep, really," she explains, turning now to face the salty breath that rises against the ship. "I sometimes do this in Umbar....rise to view the starlight and sample the evening's stillness. It is invigorating to me," she says, her gaze still trained to the glittering, dark waters. "So, nay. There is naught that troubles me of this morn." And a smile can be heard to frame the tone of her softly spoken words.

"That is good," Minarak replies with an answering smile. "As for I, little troubles me other than the question of how soon we shall reach land... Are you sure you are not cold, my dear?" This last is said with an earnest frown as he takes a final step to reach Roziliel's side, reaching towards one white hand as if to satisfy himself that the maiden is flesh and not marble, so pale she seems in this wan light.

Perhaps Roziliel is unsure of the changed demeanor of the merchant, or perhaps she is curious of her own perceptions. But whichever it is that spurs the next glance to the other, it imparts a gentle smile to the maiden's face, accompanied as it is by the faintly inquiring glitter of her eyes. "I find the evening pleasant, and not too cold," Roziliel answers, her gaze distracted momentarily by one of the deckhands who crosses upon the deck behind them. Looking back to Minarak--still smiling faintly--she next wonders in quiet words, "Are you impatient to reach Umbar, then?" Light laughter follows. "Sea travel does not agree with you, then?"

Minarak gives a faint laugh. "A merchant who did not relish sea travel? Now, that would be a thing to see. I doubt such a one would make much in the way of profit." He winks at Roziliel, as if sharing a joke. "No, my lady, I am only concerned for my cargo. Of course, all our goods are in the hold, where they will remain locked away safe and sound until we reach Umbar's noble shores." He adds in a more skeptical tone, "Safe from human hands, maybe, but if the rats should get in and spoil my furs ..." He trails off, rolling his eyes in mock horror.

Minarak's laughter is joined by the maiden, who nods in agreement of his assessment. And while the merchant's tentative handclasp is not fully returned by Roziliel, she does make the slightest move towards him as she turns once more from the sea to face him. The grey gaze studies his face a moment--again perhaps bidden of curiousity. "To dislike sea travel would indeed be a challenge," she utters, soft, as the winds again beckon the dark tendrils of her hair playfully about her face. "And yet, to worry over your goods must be a challenge with every voyage." Her lips purse with consideration, brows furrowing. "Are there not means to protect such things as furs from the cursed rodents?" she wonders.

Minarak laughs again. "None that are wholly effective," he replies. "Of course, one secures the bales in such strong wrappings as one can procure, but still ... those mischief-inclined of the ship's denizens will fins a way in. Rats, moths, cockroaches ..." He breaks off with a shudder. "In its way, every voyage is a gamble.

His tone alters as he glances up at the sky. "Why, I do believe that we dawn is nearing. Look there, my lady." Slipping one arm round Roziliel's shoulders, which brings his face so close to the maiden's that they are almost touching, he points with his other hand towards the eastern sky, where a faint grey glow can now be seen. His posture stiffens slightly, however, as he notices one of the sailors approaching.

Minarak's renewed interest to the skies in the east draws Roziliel's gaze in that direction as well, and as the merchant reaches over her shoulder, drawing closer to her with this motion. The scribe is first given to question, though it is quickly dismissed as she allows that motion. Yet, with the other's slight stiffening, she does hazard a gaze to the sailor nearby, but only spares that glance the merest moment, finally bringing the curious gaze to Minarak yet once more. A smile lifts the corners of her mouth, her head tilts slightly with the next. "You are different of this morn, Minarak," she says, the grey eyes glittering. "And I am trying to figure you out..and what there is of a simple scribe to gain the attentions of a well-to-do merchant."

Minarak meets Roziliel's gaze with a smile on his lips. "Is it so surprising that I seek your company, my lady?" he queries softly. "When I look on you I see beauty, coupled with a strength within. For you are one who is not easily diverted from her purpose, no?" His mouth twists in a wry grin. "And when I see such beauty ... Your hair is like ebony, your eyes hold within their depths the sea in all its changing moods ..." His attempts at poetic speech wane and his arm tightens around her shoulders, bringing her lips towards his.

With such words of flattery combined with the other's nearness--and the backdrop of the sea's mysterious depths and the faint-glowing light which eastward brings the dawn... Well, there is little more for the curious scribe to do but accept the merchant's closer explorations--and reply with the soft brush of her lips against his own. A tentative, soft touch, it is not long offered before Roziliel draws back, the questions continued in her gaze. "We are only recently introduced, Minarak," she breathes, pulling gently away from his embrace and tugging at the ivory-embroidered sleeves. "Though your attentions are sincere, they are perhaps...premature."

The merchant seems somewhat dazed, but allows Roziliel to pull away, though his eyes do not leave hers. "Premature? Can the heart control its yearnings? Ah, Roziliel, I feel I know you so well already..." But perhaps sensing that more than flattery is needed here, he adds, in a slightly hurt tone, "Yet I would not have it said that I forced my attentions upon you. Perhaps if we spent more time together, you would not feel so? Please, lady Roziliel; the way I care for you is more than obvious. If you do not share my interest, do not torture me with the pretense." He gazes pleadingly - and still longingly - at the maiden before him.

Roziliel is mute for the first of the merchant's entreaties. The grey gaze, gentled, searches his own at the first, though at last she lowers that gaze, carefully considering her words before saying else. "Minarak, I know not what I feel for you. To say I am equally disposed would be a falsehood, yet I cannot say that I am not intrigued.." Blinking rapidly, the scribe seems annoyed with her own present state of mind. "Is it possible to detain your pace? There is time enough to spend in eachother's company, and such affairs of the mind and heart should not be rushed." She clears her throat, looking uncomfortable for a brief moment. "Or so I have learned..."

"It shall be as you wish," replies Minarak, inclining his head slightly, though he looks disturbed at Roziliel's last comment. He frowns, then continues, "Dawn is fast approaching, and we both need to sleep." He manages a small, disappointed-seeming, smile at that. "Would you agree to meet with me again, perhaps in a few days time? Just to talk" - he holds up a hand at this - "of course. I would not rush you into anything you do not wish." The glint in his eyes seems to bely the words, though.

Roziliel catches the frown given of the other, though she is more determined than swayed, nodding as the other asks for another meeting. "I would welcome the chance to talk, Minarak," she states, offering to the merchant an expression meant to assauge his disappointment. "And sooner, if you wish it. Though aye, the morning comes swiftly, and I should seek a brief rest before the new day." Once more the gaze is searching--almost tentative. "So...I shall beg my leave. Send word to me when we shall next meet." Another smile, and the maiden turns upon silent step to go.

"Oh, I shall," Minarak assures Roziliel hastily. Perhaps afraid of repelling the maiden, he does not attempt to repeat the embrace but this time merely raises one of Roziliel's hands to his lips as she turns. "Farewell for now, my lady," he states, dropping the hand again. "And may you dream sweet dreams." With that, he steps back to allow Roziliel to go on her way.

Participants:

MINARAK

Barzag/Gimi's NPC, not desced at this time.

ROZILIEL Royal Scribe

Tall and fair of features and complexion, the maiden before you possesses a look of inquisitiveness not easily concealed in her grey-blue eyes, which sparkle as fields of ice touched by rays of the winter sun. Her long hair, lustrous and sable-dark, falls in thick, natural waves to the small of her back, and is most often left unbound.

She wears a fitted silk gown of dusty blue--of a fine fabric that rustles softly with each step and shimmers faintly in the light. The curved neckline is embroidered in a pattern of intertwining silver and golden leaves, pale and perfect in their ornamentation, so that the only jewelry worn in addition is a small teardrop pearl necklace held by a delicate silver chain. When needed, a dark grey cloak is worn, Long and lined with silver satin, it is held in place with an elegant sapphire and silver swan clasp.