A feminine figure in black pants, a white shirt, and a black cloak stands on top of the Waukeen Temple under a spell of invisibility. In her hands are a stack of a hundred painstakingly handwritten pages, the writings of a lady. In one swift toss, they billow out into the wind into the streets, and she turns on her heel to shimmy down the rope that brought her up in the first place. Three sheets or a hundred sheets, who can really tell?



~



The foreign hand brushed along her cheek, and she smiled into it, cringing on the inside. An assault on her senses, was this unwanted touch, and yet she was powerless to stop it. He loved her in his own way, the forbidden diamond of beauty, and he would wear her in his crown alongside his other accomplishments. Oh the things one does for love, and for duty. He lover her for her favor, and she loved him for her duty. Her duty to him, and to her dear people. Once his, now hers, and both bound in service. A woman no longer own own, but a servant to those she cares for.

As her husband leaves her bed, she closes her eyes and envisions another face.

Her lover.

She whispers into the silence of her gilded cage.

"I would endure the touch of a thousand, for one moment with you."

_________________
Davion Telemos - Monk of the Four Winds
Korthan Isharnos - Dragon Shaman of Thunder Spirit Zamasham

Departing from the Waukeen Temple after one of his visits to restock a few things, Tyrus' head is suddenly assailed by one of these fliers. "Eh?" he murmurs in questioning surprise as he stoops to pick one up. Departing from the doorway he moves into the street and up one of the bridges, looking around. Seeing the fluttering pages he looks up, surmising that they must have come from above. Seeing nothing, he cocks his head a bit to regard the piece of parchment. "Hmmh..." he muses with a slight shrug after reading it and carefully folds it before securing it in his pack.

_________________
Whomst've'll'd'mn't I play:
Salema Nefahri :: A penny for your thots
Zrae'a'stra'fryn :: That which nightmares are made of
Khasir :: From the East a storm is coming

Chase moves quickly through the streets, not caring to slow her path from where she to where she was needing to get to. The city was growing more and more inhospitable to outsiders and it was best to get business done and be gone again. Turning the corner north, she barely had a step forward before something snagged her foot. In mid-step she pauses, looking down to her half raised booted foot and the thing half clinging to her toe.
Parchment; paper; average sale price 1000 gold; rare, clicked through her head.
Twisting her ankle to keep the sheet in place, she raised her foot and caught hold of it.
Then something else fluttered by, another sheet.
Looking about, her gaze clicks from sheet to sheet as they blow by on the wind, scattering about the streets and alleyways. Another piece flutters by, twisting as it goes, a blank face one moment, a turn, script scrawling across it the next.
She watches the sheet take its slow dance beyond her and then turns her attention to the one in hand.
Her destination and chores are forgotten, for the time, as she reads the script and reads again, sinking against the wall to consider what's there.
After a while of reading, she rolls the parchment as best as she can and stores it with her scrolls.
Pushing from the wall, she continues on her way, thoughts of chores returning to her mind.

A certain armored tiefling is walking along when the breeze blows one of the stray sheet straight into his face. Cursing and muttering to himself in drow about litterers, he reads the thing hoping to find someone he can potentially harass about the matter.

People leaving their trash around, even worse when its not even something worth reading. Sometimes I hate this place.

He tucks the sheet away till he can find some place to dispose of it correctly.

_________________
Sir Taelar Ardelyn of Wiltun
Winner of the Razor Tongued Award 2015!

Kira "Penny" Sigers
Better than Boulderdash!

The Old Salt finds a page that managed to flutter its way down south a bit, and spends several long moments reading the page over and over again.

"Huh, sounds like somethin' Missus Xavi might be on to. She is the local lady o' love, after all."

_________________
I have a large seashell collection which I keep scattered on the beaches all over the world. Maybe you've seen it.