Esk Tales {TWWM-ARPG Writings Collection}

Strange {Maira}

Strange

{Maira}

.:+:.

It is rare to find any place among the rolling sand and scorching sun so full of life. Rarer still to find such a wash of color to clash against a seemingly endless sea of brown, tan, earthy tones, and muddy reddish hues. But here?

There is more color here than many of the arid lands would ever dare to dream of. Bright splashes of brilliant blues and turquoises, batches of the most vibrant blood reds and soft, delicate pinks layered in royal purples and lavenders of all types. Fabrics and weaves that ruffle in the hot desert wind, the glitter of sunlight dazzling off all manner of glass and metal things, finery and food and tools and necessity all mixed into one. The allure of this place is hard to deny, many a human and creature find themselves drawn by the bright colors, the bustle, the smell and promise of food and the lull of music and voices all woven into one. For some this is a stop to be made of need, but for most it is a want- they all somehow find themselves drawn in by the many wonders on offer, and for esk it is no different.

There is so much to be seen, so much movement, so much noise, so many things- a great many and much more than those who's Haunts are rarely ever touched by man. Much more than even those that inhabit the Dunemother's Lands, where here it overlaps between the Desert Rose and the ineffable one known as X. It is not a wonder this place draws in just as many esk as it seems to attract people, and really not a wonder so many come from further places and lands quite unlike this one. And with each new visitor daring to cross the threshold of their own Haunts and tread here in this one, each always without fail find themselves in the presence of the one who calls this place their own, and all without ever seeking her.

For many there is a sudden burst of light that glitters at the edge of their vision, dazzling them and urging their heads to turn, a faint and unknown hand guiding their gazes toward that glitter of bronze and gold, gentle and blinding all at once. Among the hundreds of clashing colors and splashes of hues scattered among the Bazaar and all it has to offer, this one seems to shine even more brightly than the rest. Their form both glass, fur, plant and flesh, their movement quiet and yet musical all at once, their voice soft and melodic and ringing with a metallic din that weaves this way and that around all the movement and the clamor and beckons.

Her name is Maira, she is quick to tell you. Just as quick as she is to find you, to snatch your attention and keep tight hold of it from near the very moment you have stepped across the threshold and entered her space.

"Come, come!"

She bids you, eagerly, the tone of her voice and the sound strangely endearing and evocative, even in souls who would otherwise shy away, or refuse the call entirely. She says come and you find yourself stepping forward before your mind has had a chance to tell your feet what to do, the distance cleared and your steps falling in sync with the clink and tinny patter of her steps just a few paces ahead- leading you, and you willingly tugged along even when you might have had thought to not.

She is dazzling. So full of energy and mirth and warmth that seems to rival even that that comes from the sun-baked sand. When she moves it is an orchestra, her legs clinking softly and sending up a storm of noise like wind chimes jangling in the breeze, and of soft rain patter on stone and roof. When she speaks it is like a symphony, melodic and soothing in a way that mirrors that odd warmth and vibrancy she seems to exude so effortlessly- a lullaby and a tune that catches all ears, floods all senses, tangling you in her light and her form, all encompassing but so soothing you do not know that you've become enraptured by her near utterly and completely.