House Sur resided at the very tip of a peninsula that looked out at the Great Sea that stretched beyond the eye’s comprehension. Not even a looking glass could see across the glassy waters or even to the string of islands that resided in a semi-circle miles off shore. Talissen was called the Dragon’s Tail where the islands were called its Teeth – or even its Grin – though the beasts the country was named after had not seen any of the creatures for some time now. Shahazen, the sea goddess and one of the Seven, was said to have resided here during her time before she retired from the mortal world to be transformed into – something beyond their comprehension, for sure. The legends spoke of Shahazen as having an affinity over the ocean, more it molded to her will like a devoted lover. Her children were what the sailors referred to as monsters, but to her the great serpents were her beloved. They listened to her, or perhaps she listened to them and garnered an understanding with them so that they would do her bidding when she called on them. The legends say that at the end of her days walking among mortal men, she instead turned and walked into the sea to become one with it. Her children – or so they called themselves – were littered in colonies throughout the islands around the Grin.<br/><br/><br/>Until war had caught up with them all. Fanatics who sought to chase away the remnants of the Seven gods and goddesses of old legends, were said to have made Shahazen cry tears of blood that fateful day that brought the peoples of the Teeth back to the homeland to recover or to hide, and it was all because of one prophecy, written too long ago, and until recently had been unearthed from an excursion somewhere in the west. The Houses tried to stay neutral during times of bloodshed. For the most part, they were successful with their indifference toward either side – until either side turned a greedy eye on the inhabitants that resided in their Sanctuaries. The threats that clung heavy to the air were often heeded, for a life often proved to be worth more than remaining out of the fuss. They were nothing but servants, after all, though who they served was often the lingering question that never received a true answer.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">“<i>Who do you serve?</i>”<br/>
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“<i>I serve the House.”</i><br/>
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“<i>Who is the Master of the House?”</i><br/>
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“<i>The House is its own Master and I serve the House.”</i><br/>
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“<i>Then who controls the House?”</i><br/>
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“<i>No one controls the House.”</i><br/>​</div><br/>Such questions met with obscure answers, depending on the receiver, were not often accepted favorably. It was typical that the Head of the House would then step forth to claim responsibility, and this would in turn bring about another line of question. Either anger would take, or blind acceptance to the puzzle, or simply agitation. Men especially had a way of condoning violence when they were not told the things that they<b>wanted </b>to hear. Miri Ora Sur (<i>Miri of House Sur</i>), being the Head of House Sur, had heard and seen the scenario more often in her short lifespan than she cared to. The difference between the slaves of the world and those who devoted their lives to a House might have been a slim one, but it was one that they did willingly – or did as a choice over being lorded over by a single person. In a way, the servants of House Sur were their own peoples rather than something that was owned by someone. Having been raised within the House, Miri knew little else than the Rules of her own House.<br/><br/><br/>It was why they now harbored the aftermath of Shahazen's broken temple within their walls. Three weeks prior to this day, their High Priestess and all of her acolytes, fellow priestesses, and all their children, having been accused of heresy and being occultists serving one of the evils of the old Seven, were put to their greatest test. And failed. Their example was made by the crucifixion of the last known High Priestess of her order, she being only six and ten this year – and would not grow to see any more. Those who tried to flee and were caught turned the spouting water from the great fountain located at the temple bright red with blood. None of the priestesses survived that had resided within the temple itself. The men and women who sought solace at House Sur were proof, however, of the horror that had befallen Shahazen's last sacred place.<br/><br/><br/>~~~<br/><br/><br/>She was a dark haired beauty among a sea of fair complexions and shining locks. Miri Ora Sur was no native to this country, where the ideal came in the form of illustrious golds, roses, and pale hazels and eyes glowed green and blue like the waves that splashed the beaches that it was known for this far south. Gold and bronze were the colors of their skin, their entirety welcoming precious metals into their genes. Her own came from more exotic stock than anything surrounding Talissen as a country. Her homeland was across the ocean itself, beyond the great dessert that the furthest shore met, and deep within the heart of a mountainous region called Uwhaite. She had never been there herself – nor, from what she had been told, had many others. Her origins were a secluded people, disinterested in travelers except for the occasional, tentative trade agreement between themselves and the dessert folk. Miri knew this simply by reading, rumors, and the occasional tale passed down from travelers; she had a likeness, they would say to her once they had taken in the flat, high planes of her cheeks, the unusual slant to her eyes, and the green of her eyes that was like the marshlands further north than the Dragon's Tail region. Of course, she was not the only exotic face among those that became servants of House Sur. There were girls that came here, devoted to the house so that they would not be sold by another.<br/><br/><br/>And they all had their own set of skills. Some more obvious than others. Miri threaded the needle through the minuscule eye of the needle before its sterilized point pierced the split open skin of a tow headed young man who clenched his face in pain as he threw his neck backward into the thin pillow underneath his head. Sweat beaded his forehead from the remnants of a fever that had broken as well as the stress his body had been put under. The medicine she had given him earlier softened some of his pain, but the gash on his arm needed to be stitched even if he did not make it into tomorrow. This young man had more worrisome problems than a cut on his arms; his guts may very well putrefy from the way his stomach had been slashed, threatening to spill the contents that she and another girl had struggled to keep him alive through while they packed him back up. He had said his name was Valin, in a voice strained with pain, when he had stumbled to their doors just yesterday, helped along by two other men. Refugees from one of the islands.<br/><br/><br/>The servants of House Sur had their hands full – often literally – with those that sought reprieve from the destruction that was happening just off shore where the locals were turning them away out of fear that there would be repercussions for assisting the helpless. Miri's brows furrowed together as she concentrated on the stitch that would weave his bloodied skin back together, though no doubt if the man survived this, he would always have a scar. Sweat formed on her own brow from the bodies packed into the room serving as their sick bay as well as stress from their situation. Shifting her weight from where she crouched on her knees beside the man, she patted her face with a clean towel then returned to the job at hand. Once she was satisfied with her stitching, she brought both trembling hands over to the bucket of water to douse them free of blood. And only when her hands were cleaned and dried did she rake her nails along her scalp and drag the dark waves back into a taught cinch at the nape of her neck again. The front of her garment was splattered crimson and fatigue was creeping in on her, but there were still more to see to, and not all of House Sur's servants knew any healer's trade.<br/><br/><br/>She wandered through the sea of bodies that either rested from their injuries or simply rested, her sandaled steps soft as they wound around like it was a maze, her eyes flickering among the faces who had found this as their Sanctuary. Only they were fast running out of room, despite the House having room for at least fifty guests in their villas. Their humble complex might have been fit for a Lord or Lady coming to visit, but it was not built as an inn would be, nor was it suited for extended stays by those who were injured. She left the room that had formerly been used for meditation and stepped into the hall, the wail of an infant greeting her ears as she left behind the moans of the weak. She stepped down the hall until she came upon the door that she slid open, amplifying the sound of the baby crying.<br/><br/><br/>“I wanted to check on you, but I see that you are already being well taken care of my Olise,” Miri offered to the room with a whisper of a smile on her face for the first time in weeks. Her eyes panned the woman who held the infant against her chest, a looked of shocked wonder mirrored from her pale features. It was the same look she had continuously wore on her face since her arrival; the day before Shahazen's temple was desecrated. She had short cropped, fine black hair that fanned across her face. She would have been beautiful if the events over the past weeks hadn't drawn her features into a picturesque vision of shock, pain, grief, and confusion – despite her attempts at androgyny. But the Loremaster huddled over the open mouthed, pinch faced baby chose her fine traveling wear as a means to fit into society in order to weave her lore. And the child that she cradled like a fragile doll in her arms was not her own; she was simply the infant girl's savior.<br/><br/><br/>Marlon looked up as Miri entered the room, relief washing her features and adding a little more color to her cheeks. Olise, the petite golden haired beauty that was assisting with the child, smiled angelically and scooped the swaddled, kicking bundle up in her own arms to bounce her around near the open window so that Marlon could stand to approach Miri. The younger woman stiffened at the sudden embrace that followed, but soon her own hands cautiously rose up to offer a comforting pat between the shoulder blades until the other woman pulled away to look down at her.<br/><br/><br/>“Thank you for this. Thank you so much. I promise once the roads are clear and any suspicion we might draw to us is gone that we will be on our way. The babe does not ever need to know what has befallen her true parents, or even who she really is. All I can do is thank you – and to let you know that I am in your debt for helping with this bane.” The candid words spilled from the woman's mouth as her eyes filled with tears. The emotion tore at Miri's own heart until she slid her hand forward and placed it on the pale faced woman's cheeks, her smile gentle as she rose her gaze to meet her eyes.<br/><br/><br/>“The bane you carry on your shoulders is one to share. No one will know that the child with you is not your own, that it is the last priestess of Shahazen's order, or what that entails. You should find a quiet room to rest, Marlon Santegroth the Loremaster. Olise will watch the girl.” She hesitated, stepping away to look at the child that was just beginning to settle down. “Have you named her yet?”<br/><br/><br/>The shake of her head was enough. Marlon started to open her mouth to add to the gesture but a knock on the screen door paused the words on the tip of her tongue. Miri turned at the noise, a smile frozen on her lips, as one of the House's servants bowed, hands folded across her lap. Crystalline blue eyes rose to met Miri's dark green with a flinched, hesitant look.<br/><br/><br/>“Miri Ora Sur, we have another guest. They have requested the Head of the House greet them.”<br/><br/><br/>The girl did not have to say more for Miri to know that those words meant. These were no refugees that had arrived at her doorstep this time, but something that undoubtedly reeked of trouble. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Marlon who had frozen, a look of fear on her face, then back to the girl. She smiled as if to reassure, but her own features were pinched.<br/><br/><br/>“Tell them the Head of the House will gladly welcome them. I have to change... Make them as comfortable as you can while they wait, Marilee. I will be out shortly,” she told the girl quietly. She bobbed her head in acquiesce and turned on her heel to pad off to the House's main entryway, where no doubt their new<i>guests </i>were waiting. Sucking a breath through her flared nostrils, she turned once more back to the woman, the babe, and Olise who cradled her. “Stay here. This is one of our quarters, not a guest quarter, so you should be no different than anyone. I doubt there will be any suspicion roused by the presence of one of ours and a newborn... But, Olise?” She turned her attention then to the girl, who paused her rocking to meet Miri's eyes. “Make her look like one of our Servants who is accepting of flesh trade. I will handle this.”<br/><br/><br/>And with those final words, she left the room to change into her House robes before venturing up to see what the new fuss was about.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="17" data-username="@Deviance" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/17/">@Deviance</a>