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Snippet #2671420

located in The World, a part of Era of Bloodshed, one of the many universes on RPG.

The World

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Setting

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Character Portrait: Talmar of Visigoth Character Portrait: Ridahne Torzinei
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Inside the capitol building was an oasis of opulence compared to the dry, red-sand world outside of it, where everything was sunbleached and dusty and faded. Inside was a riot of different shades of blue--some of it glass, some of it lapis lazuli, and some of the color came from carefully maintained paint that coiled around the central pillars like ivy in some pattern known only to the Azurei. It had once been the home of Amaiera-Sol, of Azurei's revered matriarch. It often housed the councilwomen too, when they were around. One of them was now crumpled on the white marble steps--Khaltira Fesna of the Atakhara district. She'd always been a bold woman and her Taja were stout, sharp men unflaggingly loyal to her and the Sota-Sol above her, so naturally, she did not shy away from standing her ground when the capitol was attacked. She had died with the comfort of knowing her Sota-Sol Amiera was able to flee with her own Taja to protect her. But that hope was a false one, as the Azurei matriarch was tracked and cut down several hours later--her and every single one of her Taja.

The central room was looming, especially in the context of the low-roofed common dwellings of Azurei, which were built of red clay brick and deft hands, not carved marble and basalt blocks. For one thing, the building showed that Azurei as a nation was proud of her colors--rich indigo, silvery white, and an endless inky black. The trio of hues were everywhere inside the building with blue being the most dominant color. The air was cool inside, too. Cool, sweet, and tinged faintly with the delicate aroma of orange oil and woodsmoke. On the wall opposite the door was a chair, hardly anything more than a bench carved into the dark stone wall, but it was made with such care and love that in its simplicity it was still a beautiful thing. A simple fountain flowed like a manmade stream across the foot of it, burbling softly even still. To the left and right were many doors, each leading to halls, stairways, and rooms of many sorts including libraries full of leather scrolls, entire spaces dedicated to very involved murals depicting great warriors or powerful deities, baths, and an oddly empty room filled only with thick blue rugs piled in the center. The air in that room smelled heavily of a pungent, bitter herb, almond oil, and what could only be some kind of alcohol.

But despite the building's opulence, everything was empty. Hollow. Like the entire world had suddenly stopped one day. The entire building was unfriendly and looming, a still shadow of the power that once resided there.

----

Ridahne had struggled to not get caught. She kept to the dust-sea mostly, holed up in a burrow she made for herself hidden by tightly packed mud and clay and camouflaged by ever-shifting red sand. She kept very few possessions and it helped immensely that nobody, not even the invaders were keen on traipsing out into the dust-sea without absolute need. There were other ways to the mountains--more circuitous routes that were largely more passable due to better traveling conditions and unchanging landmarks. But eventually even she was rounded up by the invaders, who she did not like in the least bit. Still, she gave them all kinds of trouble in subversive, quiet ways. She wasn't immune to a harsh snarl and a few unkind words spoken in fast, jagged Azurian, but she preferred sneaking away equally as much. Someone somewhere must have had an idea of her former training, because she had yet to lose a limb for it. Somebody must have thought she was useful whole, and Ridahne would play that up for as long as she could. Either that, or the leaders of this new force did not yet learn that Azurei's women were more often soldiers and warriors than men. After all, it was common for other cultures to see women as people who did not fight. She didn't know. Either way, Ridahne would find every loophole she could.

She'd wandered back into the capitol building today in search of some kind of artifact, heirloom, or piece of art that was sacred to the Azurei culture--something she could save from the savages that invaded her home and keep safe until the nation found enough strength to rise up and become sovereign again. To become whole. Ridahne made it to the side of the landing at the top of the steps, somewhat concealed by a curved, painted pillar when one of them stomped up the steps like some ignorant, staggering thug and, facing Khaltira Fesna, her Sota, he raised his sword unceremoniously and--

Ridahne bit her lip hard to keep from crying out. She was no stranger to gore, but she was angry and part of her feared that he would be spiteful and cut her face. Khaltira's spirit was gone from her body now, but the disrespect of such an action would have been too much for any Azurei to bear. But no. Her tattooed face was left unmarred by his blade and instead she was cut down. The man disappeared inside and she felt the eyes of all her kin looking on. Watching.

She could bear it no longer. Ridahne dashed out from her shadowy place and scooped up Khaltira's arms, dragging her inside. Her kin watched. Silently. Inside was blessedly cool but Ridahne could feel her hands shaking already as she brought the ruined body to the center of the main room and arranged her there on the floor as if she had laid down to die herself--peaceful and graceful despite her gory wound. The tall, slim woman knelt beside her leader, dark hair kept out of her face by a rough knot of hair she tied behind her head. Her russet face was intricately tattooed in black, blue, and white and maintained with much care, unlike her clothes. She wore no shoes (Ridahne always hated them) and a very purposefully wrapped sarong-like garment that was not uncommon among women, and even men, though theirs were of a slightly different style and shape. She had a fitted half-shirt on that just covered her chest and upper back, but her skin was dusty. She also wore a thin leather harness of sorts that strapped a large, slightly curved knife to the curve of her lower back. With tears in her eyes, she began speaking softly over the body in Azurian with a ritual air about her. But she did not sob. No, Ridahne was not the type.

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