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 morning is an overcast affair, with the cry of gulls to herald the day where the sun cannot but sift her light through the grey canopy. Still, the day is pleasant enough to offer a moderate breeze which hastens the ship towards Umbar. Several of the passengers walk upon the decks, though it is Roziliel alone who occupies the bow's lookout, turning her face to the winds that carry the ship forward before looking out over the sea once more. Her expression is hard to discern. Neither given to joy nor solemnity, she seems almost impersonal to the view before her.

One of the walking passengers is the merchant Minarak. He glances up at the overcast sky, then lowers his head with a sigh, reaching out to rub his throat. Seeing the lone figure at the bow, he steps towards her, then halts, arranging his dark curls across the side of his face to hide the livid bruising now rising there. Nearing the bow, he halts again and clears his throat gently, approaching no closer - perhaps Roziliel's charms have lessened somewhat in the wake of her brother's wrath?

The sound of a throat clearing breaks the scribes muse, and she turns to see who it is who approaches. Perhaps she fears it will have been someone else, for when she sees the merchant--downcast as he seems to be--a look of relief crosses Roziliel's face. "Good morning," she greets softly, her voice lacking its usual spontanaeity and verve. "At least I hope it is that," she adds, rather somberly.

The merchant begins to smile at Roziliel's look - and stops, grimacing as the movement stretches his torn lip. Wincing, he half-raises one hand and lowers it again. "Perhaps the morning is less good than it might have been," he admits, and from the subdued look in his eyes he is referring to more than the gloomy weather. He clears his throat again, before asking in a tone of concern, "You are unwell, my lady? For I divine from your tone that it is less than a good morning for you also. If there is anything I can do ..." A touch of his old overly solicitous manner resurfaces and he steps forward to close the distance between the two.

The merchant's greeting draws a smile from the scribe, who looks out again to sea upon the other's inquiry after her health. "I am well enough," she answers. "But I am troubled by events," comes the admission. The waft of a salt breeze blows the long dark lock of hair in a flurry about Roziliel's face, and she shakes her head to toss the encumbering length behind her. "I appreciate your concern, Minarak. And I feel compelled to apologise for my brother's behaviour towards you the other morn."

"That is very sweet of you, my dear," Minarak answers, reaching forward to gently, half-heartedly pat her hand. "But it is hardly your place to make such an apology." His right brow draws down in a frown, and his voice turns cold. "I believe that duty falls to your brother alone. I do not take kindly to being manhandled." The possibility that Marazon feels the same way has clearly not even entered his mind.

"Perhaps," Roziliel states. "Marazon is not tempered to any degree of patience once his mind is made up." The smile that upturns her lips is not given of cheer, but disgust. She turns her gaze downwards now, considering her next words. "I am not so naieve to think that it was all the fault of one alone, yet I told my brother that I expected more from him, certainly. I resent his shadowing of my every move."

Minarak shrugs - at least, he starts to, though the motion is curtailed a little - at the suggestion that two might be to blame for the fight. "Come now, he can hardly watch you every hour of the day," the merchant states, though it is noticeable that he gives a quick, nervous glance round the deck as if looking for the sailor. He pauses, then draws himself up to add more confidently, "And I am not one to be easily cowed." He reaches out a hand to lift up Roziliel's chin. "Fret not, my dear. Such incidents are regrettable, 'tis true, but as I said before, I will overlook the matter for your sake - if you are willing to continue seeing me." His voice holds the rising inflection of a question.

"But he would watch me every hour of the day if it were possible. You see, my brother thinks there are too few worth of his sister," the scribe states bluntly, bringing her gaze to look squarely upon the merchant. "And he deems you one of the many." Roziliel shrugs now, of her own, though quiets to silence as Minarak edges her chin upward with his hand. Once again the gaze lowers, though hardly in submission as she considers the merchant's proposal. "For my sake.." she repeats quietly; a faint smile graces her face. "Or for yours? What would my company still hold in favor now that Marazon has more than announced is disapproval of you...?"

Minarak's eyes widen at the question. "Why, I am surprised you need to ask," is his swift response. "Your brother considers you a treasure - well so do I," he insists vehemently, frowning for a moment at some hidden thought or perhaps just at the mention of Marazon. "When I first saw you, standing on the deck, caressed by the wind, eyes alight with some hidden joy that no other could fathom, fair and free as the gull that soars on high, I thought 'here is a woman of uncommon beauty, and uncommon self-possession'." He manages a slight smile for an instant. "You are a jewel to me - and a mystery." His gaze deepens. "And I wish to fathom that mystery. Ever you hold back from me; ever you doubt. Release that doubt - and free your soul to know joy." He gazes longingly at Roziliel, lifting one hand to stroke that dark strands of hair back from her cheek, though for some reason he makes no move to kiss her this time.

"A mystery," Roziliel does not chuckle. Not quite, but she does seem to still hold the merchant's words in some measure of....uncertainty. "Ah, Minarak," she says at last--the edges of doubt finding way to her words. "Perhaps such declarations should wait until land is reached. Tis easy enough to feel so readily drawn when confined to such a space?" she wonders. "And my brother is persistent, tis true. I have given him my reproof, but that will little hold much while on this ship."

At the mention of land, Minarak stirs uneasily. "Yes, perhaps you are right," he murmurs, no doubt hoping that on shore there will be many maidens less reluctant to return his attentions than the enigmatic Roziliel. Once more he manages a little smile, this one looking more pained than the last, as he withdraws his hand. In a faintly hurt tone, he adds, "I have told you before, lady Roziliel, that I would not force you into a relationship. It was wrong of me to hope that perhaps you returned my affections. Since you have made your feelings plain - and clearly wish to please your brother" - he cannot help grimacing at the mention of Marazon - "I will trouble you no longer." He begins to turn away. "Alas that we could not have met under better circumstances," is his final aggrieved remark.

Roziliel listens to Minarak's words in quiet consideration, reluctant to say much--even as the other withdraws his hand--until the merchant assumes her motivations in the last. Upon this, the grey eyes widen slightly, and the former defiance given to Marazon is now equally metered to the man before her. But not before she releases a huff of indignation--an unusual thing for the scribe. "Ah!" She exclaims, setting her jawn in attempt to quell her rebuttal. "Believe what you will, but believe not that" comes the retort. "I do not do this to please Marazon. I have all but dismissed him upon this voyage for his actions...." She closes her eyes a moment--perhaps wisely witholding any other words--for when she next speaks, there is a tranquility surpassing the sea. "You are mistaken, Minarak. I do this not for Marazon. I do this for the sense that it makes, all things considered. If you wish to find me once we have returned to Umbar, you shall find me agreeable to further meetings. You know of my shop in Summergate Square, and of my appointment to the Princess Miriel at the Palaces. I offer you that. But for now, I feel it prudent I offer you no more."

On hearing these words, Minarak's jaw automatically clenches, leading to another grimace of pain. "Very well," he says stiffly. The knowledge that it is not Marazon who holds his sister back seems to grieve him all the more. "Good day, my lady." He gives a half-hearted bow, and walks slowly away, apparently indifferent, although his right hand is clenched into a fist.

Participants:

MINARAK

Here is one who is doing well in the world, and knows it - at least that is what the faint sardonic smile often on his lips seems to convey. His grey eyes always appear distant, no matter whether glinting in laughter, cold with scorn or bitter with anger. High cheekbones and a long nose contribute to the air of slight haughtiness. His head is topped by black curls, which cascade down the sides of his face to just past shoulder level. He is clean-shaven, and his skin is pale though not without a hint of colour.

He is dressed in a shirt of white silk, and breeches of some velvety material, a midnight blue in colour. His boots are of polished black leather, as is his wide belt. Any impressions of austerity, however, are dispelled by one glance at his decorated waistcoat. The sky-blue silk is richly embroidered in gold and silver threads, arranged in complex geometric patterns, and edged by gold brocade. The buttons are gem-encrusted, as are the cufflinks that fasten his fine silken shirt at the wrists. Perhaps surprisingly, Minarak wears no rings. A short sword hangs by his side, its scabbard also decorated with jewels, these ones of deep blue and fiery red. If the weather is cool, Minarak wears a fur-edged cloak of deepest sable to keep out the chill.

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.