Snippet #2465125

Sarindur was... different. It might not really be that different than other cities, or just port cities, but it was different from Svariz and that was all Sarasa really had to compare it to. In Svariz there was the palace with all its large rooms built to house her, the main streets wide enough for her to slither down comfortably, and open grounds for her to spread out freely. Here, there was no palace, at least not one for her (though that could change with her ambitious and doting sister), the streets were narrowed, and open spaces didn't exist as far as she was aware. Not to mention that, in her home city, the common rabble stepped aside out of respect and worship, as is proper, for her, giving her even more room. Here, these merchants and beggars and peasants walked the same street as her at the same time, with only some making room out of avoidance and potentially fear of the women who not so much stood several feet higher than all of them in the air as rose to that height. Fear was certainly better than nothing, but it was clearly fear of her large tail, not of her or her status, and that irritated her to no end. One of these people had managed to cause a manifestation of this irritation of hers by actually coming into contact with her long tail as it trailed behind her, an action that sent the disrespectful person flying violently into a nearby wall.

But the worst part of this supposedly lovely city, the worst part, was this fabric that she had been coerced into wearing over her upper body. Savages, lesser beings, and servants were meant to wear clothing like this. Great ones, like her and her sister--like the great Dragons--wore jewelry or armor to distance themselves from this weak layer of cloth that even the slightest of breezes could command. "The savages are weak and need to cloth themselves and foolish enough to scorn those who aren't as weak as them" she was told, and she understood, but that didn't necessarily make it better. She was also told that they were made from silken fabrics like her bed, but one shouldn't be glad that they happen to be wearing their bedspread. Not only that, but Sarasa had also been stripped of her jewelry before coming here, for her safety and that of the gold and gems themselves she was told, leaving her with only her gold bracelets and a steel covering for the tip of her tail to jingle and jangle as she went. A cramped city with uncomfortable clothing covering her body and a scarce amount of Svariz's gold adorning her, so far she was not enjoying her journey outside of the city, and there was still a ship and an island to go.

But she would have to endure this and more, her sister was counting on her to retrieve the lodestone to help in the oncoming war; her sister was depending on her for the first time. So she held her complaints back and continued through the streets with her companion and guard Ravadhi, a Naralin warrior-priest with pale gray scales and an unnatural level of stability in his stride. It was he who was making sure the majority of the rabble kept away from Sarasa and he was the one who would be making sure she was able to accomplish her task properly. He facilitated inns, good food, travel plans, scheduling, breaking the bones of annoyances, and providing her with a sight at least reminiscent of her home. She had little problem listening to someone who was not only respected by her sister, but held as close a relation to the great beasts as she did and was a skilled practitioner in their worship.

"What is that?" She had noticed a different air about in this city than in the rest of her travels, and the newfound intensity as the wind picked up finally solicited the question she'd been pondering.

"That is the smell of the sea, my lady. The petty poison of the gods is what fills the air with its scent." He spoke with a focused, authoritative air about him and kept his arms crossed and rigidly still as he walked. His words were like a sermon, and she attentively listened to his religious explanation of the odd flavor that filled the air, and accepted the condemnation of mortals and gods alike naturally.

"How can they stand such a thing?" The smell of fresh air was an acceptable thing for Sarasa, though the scented perfumes and incense that filled the palace were much preferred, but this taste that mixed itself into every breeze and breathe was something she wasn't growing fond of.

"They grow accustomed to such things. Such is the acceptance of the fools, who would offer thanks if the gods saw fit to rape and torture them. We will merely have to tolerate this for the sake of my lady, your sister." His contempt for the people around him was quite clear through his biting words, though one wouldn't really be able to tell from his demeanor, and, once again, Sarasa took no issue with his explanation. "It would appear that you were not paying quite as much attention to my lectures as you had claimed, my lady." He tilted his head upward to meet the Naraga's now avoidant gaze, but the appearance of their destination, a Nàsk warship floating in the poisoned sea that would ferry them across.