[center][h1][i][color=khaki]Fields of Mercy[/color][/i][/h1][/center] [hr] The sun’s curious cresting of the east washed the village in a growing intensity of light, signalling the start of another warm spring’s morning. Rays of light searched their way through the thin linen sheet hung over the window, and cascaded a waking warmth on the massive bedstead dominating the room. Slowly but surely, a few among the dozen-and-a-half women on the bed stirred. Farah awoke with a smile on her lips as the morning sun caressed her cheek. Nestled in place between the quiet snores of Yazmina and the ever lazy Aisha, she decided to remain still and appreciate life, listening to the quiet morning clatter of the first who decided to get off the bed. As was usual, the sounds of waking people and the heat of the sun grew exponentially, and within minutes the bed shifted with movement and the room began to fill with ever louder conversation. Resigned to enjoy her morning in peace, Farah twirled a lock of her brown hair between her fingers, and raised it to idly compare it with Aisha’s. An older voice cut through the noise, and Farah knew it was time to move - the matron was awake. She had barely begun to try and shift free from the careless arm of Aisha and Yazmina’s awkward lean when the clash of wood on a pot rang through the room, together with the matron’s loud voice. A storm of motion erupted on the bed, and Farah was caught in the midst of it; Yazmina rummaged and rolled away in a panic, and Aisha stood straight up and nearly trampled Farah in her abrupt fit to get up and seem awake - just like always. Farah simply sat up with her smile and slowly edged off of the bed, meeting the glowering gaze of the matron as she finally stood up and mosied on over to get ready for the day. Alongside the other girls she wrapped herself in one of the simple dresses the matron had laid out. Beyond smiling, she chose not to pay the banter between the others any heed - she was already on thin ice with the matron for her jest last week. Spring was certainly in full swing; when Farah finally exited the domicile, she was barraged by the majesty of nature. Swaths of growing crops filled the vista as far east as she could see, and the whole southern meadow had become a sea of colours as wildflowers bloomed. She took a long and hearty breath, taking a moment to enjoy the sound of birdsong. That sound was soon overpowered by both the chatter of voices behind her, and the loud bass carrying from across the nearby field. A simple glance to the north confirmed the sound: the men had also awoken and were moving towards the fields already. That simple fact filled Farah with a certain delight. She hoped she’d get to work with Adnan today as well. She thought about his smile, his arms, his laugh, and felt a little flutter rush through her stomach that brought an embarrassed smile to her lips. Yazmina would tease her to death if she ever said any of this out loud. A few of the women spilled out past her, talking about the topic of the week - Farid’s awkward song for Aisha at the gathering during rest day - with much giggling and cajoling. Farah herself just smiled. It hadn’t mattered that it was awkward, because Aisha had loved it, and that was enough. “Farah,” boomed a familiar voice behind her. Farah felt her hopes wither inside, but still tried to maintain a cheerful demeanour as she turned to face the matron. [color=khaki]“Matron Nasira,”[/color] she responded dutifully, but the withered old woman did not seem particularly impressed. “I want you to gather flowers today. We need Whiteknife roots, Gold Tongue, and Summerbells.” the imposing lady continued, twisting a brow at Farah. It made her wrinkled forehead crease in all new ways. Before Farah could protest, she twisted away inside the domicile and returned a moment later. Farah’s heart sank when she realized why - the matron had found the biggest basket they had, and shoved it into Farah’s arms. She could barely stretch her arms around it, and it was almost as tall as her too. With a sigh, Farah slipped her arms into the tied on cloth straps, and hefted the sizable basket onto her back. [color=khaki]“What shall I do when I am done, Matron Nasira?”[/color] she inquired with a resigned tone. “Oh, we need -quite a lot- of them. Make sure to fill the basket, my dear. If you somehow manage to still have time in the day, you can help me in the kitchen. Speaking of, I prepared some food so you don’t have to trek all the way back just to eat.” the matron replied with a more pleasant tone of her own, but her face did not change in the slightest; she was still as unpleasant as ever. Still, she pressed a bundled package into Farah’s hands. “And don’t pout at me, Farah. That might work on the boys, but it won’t get you out of honest work today.” she reprimanded with a finality to her words, narrowing her eyes. Farah simply nodded, trying to mellow out her expression. When had she ever tried to get out of work? The Matron just always caught her in brief moments of rest. Farah knew better than to argue the point, and instead began the journey towards the southern meadows. Not much to it other than putting one foot before the other. It took a good half-hour or so to fully leave the crops behind and walk into the sea of color that was the meadows beyond. Broken up only by the quiet brook bubbling past further down the way, immersing herself in the ocean of flowers was like stepping into a slice of paradise. The gentle brush of wind provided a soft solace from the growing heat, and gave the longer grass amidst the flowers a pleasant sway. Green, gold, red, blue, and white patterns rocked gently with the wind, a dizzying blend of colors - and even more colours stretching into the horizon. Farah found herself unable to dislike her exile from regular farmwork, the pull of nature’s beauty was too great for her smile not to creep back onto her lips. Farah set the basket down gently in the middle of the meadow, laid her package of food down beside it, and waded demurely into the ocean of color, hands outstretched to brush against flower and grass. The sheer bliss of existing in the field was short-lived, however. The request the matron had given her seemed almost specifically designed to be as frustrating as possible. Summerbells proved to be very rare, and looked almost exactly like the much more prevalent Wolves’ Tooth from a distance. Gold Tongue was easy to find, their large golden flowers rising over many other plants - but their thistle-like leaves made picking each flower an unpleasant hassle at best. Even wrapping her hand in her sleeve did not alleviate the occasional sting. Finally, Whiteknife was among the most numerous flower in the entire valley, yet the matron had still managed to make it troublesome; between the fragile stem and the hearty roots gripping tightly to the earth, dragging Whiteknife roots out of the ground proved to be a sweaty and tedious process. It was an endless cycle, but at the very least the plants were plentiful enough to cut out most of the searching entirely. When the sun had begun to climb away from its highest point in the sky, Farah helped herself to a seat at her current picking spot, which just so happened to be by the brook. With a quiet sigh she began to unwrap her package of food, and glanced at the basket she’d now brought with her. She’d been at it for ages, yet the basket wasn’t even filled to a third of its capacity. Perhaps she would truly be out here until it was too dark to see, she mused, and idly peeled the shell of a boiled egg from her package. Shuffling a little closer to the water, Farah cautiously dipped her grass- and dirt-muddled feet in the brook, flexing her toes in the small and refreshingly cold stream. It wasn’t so bad, after all. She imagined Aisha was complaining about her back right about now, and Patron Abbas making his rounds scowling at all of them. The quiet peace and the colors was perfect, even if she missed the smiles of her compatriots. Farah was about to bite into her egg when something gave her pause; movement on the horizon. With a light squint she could make out a bundle of silhouettes, half a dozen perhaps, bobbing over the grasslands on the far side of the brook, perhaps even along the path from Karay far to the southeast. A few moments more, and she could confirm the shapes were growing steadily bigger, slowly but surely. Perhaps they were visitors? That lone thought exhilarated her, a brewing curiosity blooming within her like a gnawing thought she could not rid herself of. When had been the last time they’d had visitors? Ever since the Matron brought her here from Karay, she’d met outsiders only a few times. Even now, when she was by all rights a woman, neither the Matron or Patron ever chose her for the trading journeys - what few there were - and she could count the number of visitors that had visited the farm since her youth on one hand. What reason would they have for visiting? What wondrous tales would they be able to tell? Did they know how far the flowers stretched? With those questions and many more spiralling through her mind, Farah found solid footing once more and stood up to follow the shapes in the distance with eager anticipation. There were more of them than she had first seen. Perhaps an entire dozen. Farah quickly downed her egg and rewrapped her food packet, dumping it into the basket for easy storage. Her attention thoroughly stolen, she watched the curious band of silhouettes grow closer as they shuffled along what was definitely the beaten path, given the brief height shift as they walked over and past Boar’s Hill and the lonesome old oak that sat perched on it. Farah waited with baited breath, her expectant smile growing as she began to be able to make out the shapes properly. They looked human - which was expected, but also a shame - lending further credence to the theory that Aqil’s story about plantfolk was just a myth from his home. Farah could still not imagine how a flower would be able to walk around. As Farah was finally able to make out more detail, spotting their leather tunics, dangling trophies and odd garments, her excitement rose even further. They were on the far side of the brook, and even from here she could see they were near a dozen men and a few women by the looks of it. Then - with the urgency of a falling rock - her excitement evaporated in a flash. One of the men and all the women looked to be tied together with rope around their throats. The man at the back of their procession held some kind of long club, and used it to poke the slowest woman in the back to get her to speed up. Suddenly Farah’s urge to wave and call attention to herself had drained. She trailed the procession with her eyes for a few tense moments more just to confirm; they were indeed headed straight for the farm. That was all she needed. Farah grabbed her basket and slung it onto her back, and began to make her way back towards the crop fields with as much haste as she could muster. Why had she walked all the way to the brook? The journey back was more stressful and exerting than a full day’s work. Farah raced as quickly as she could through the sea of colorful flowers. She had waited too long. On the path, they would be in view of the farm in no time. A brief pain stung her foot with unbidden cruelty, and Farah gasped in surprise and agony, nearly tumbling over. Her foot had found an exceptionally short Gold Tongue lurking in the high grass. She stopped to gingerly rub at the sole of her foot, and catch her breath through gritted teeth. Precious moments lost, she pressed on towards the farmhouses beyond the valley of flowers, a little slower than before. Her throat burned with a dry lack of water and breath alike, and her legs roared indignantly with tired complaints, but through sheer force of will, she broke free of the meadow and stepped out into a field of vegetables in what felt like record time. It was too late, however. Across the fields, and between the high stalks of rosegrass planted in the furthermost field, she could see the suspicious travelers gathered by the men’s animal pen, and a whole crowd of her compatriots forming around them. With nothing left to do but catch up to the spectacle, Farah trampled across the fields with learned steps. When she reached the rosegrass, she eased the basket off of her back, and skirted through the stalks quickly. She could see that they were moving around, and she could hear their voices. A worry grew where fascination had been. The voices grew louder as she got closer. Heated and vicious. “We didnae’ trek all this way to be turned ‘round!” a brusque older man with greying stubble shouted at the crowd, headed by Adnan. “As I been saying, we willnae’ leave ‘fore we trade fer what we need. We brought good stock, eh?. Now where’s thiss’er Narisa?” He tugged on the rope in his hand, forcing the three women and solitary man tied to it to stumble forwards, to the collective gasp and disgust of the crowd of farmers. Unbidden memories of rope-tied wrists and tears surfaced somewhere deep from within Farah’s mind, and she felt a certain dread build in her throat and stomach. “We don’t want your kind around here. You’ll find no trade here. Now let them go,” Adnan retorted with a blazing anger. Farah had never seen him so worked up, his eyes fixed on the old man and his captives with a fury that scared her to watch. “How can you tie up another child of Kadeen like an animal? It is you who is the animal, brutish and without sense.” The old man frowned in turn, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Another of his men, a pale man with reddish brown hair stepped forwards and swung at Adnan’s face with the short end of his club. Panicked cries rippled through the crowd, and terror gripped Farah’s chest as a spray of blood rushed through the air. Adnan fell backwards onto the ground, clutching his face and nose. The old man took a single step forwards, causing the entire crowd to retreat. Farid, who was closest, tried to help Adnan up, but quickly backed off when the pale man raised his club. “Now,” the greying man continued, “if ye dinnae’ trade with us, we’ll be taking what’s ours. The Zaeem of Karay is a goner, ye can expect a lot of more of my kind, now that yer precious lil’ deal’s fallen through.” “What deal?” “What are you talking about?” “Monster!” The last voice in a chorus of many belonged to Adnan, who burst up off the ground in swift motion to pounce straight for the old man with a clenched fist. He was fast, but the old man saw it coming. In a deft motion of his own, he gripped Adnan’s arm and pulled him hard to the ground, twisting his arm in a hold that looked painful - something Adnan’s cry of pain confirmed. Another of the man’s cronies picked up the rope that he dropped, and a third stepped forward to flash a small knife of bone or white stone, pressing it against Adnan’s throat. The men muttered among themselves as the crowd rippled with fear, panicked cries, and men holding each other back for safety. It was all too much to handle. [color=khaki]“Stop!”[/color] Farah heard herself shout, before truly registering the will to do so. As eyes from both sides turned her way, many if not all noting her presence for the first time, she felt a cold chill run along her spine. Warily she took a step forwards so as to not hide in the rosegrass. She took another step, finding some confidence, and lending herself some brief time to think. Before the old man got a chance to think for himself, she raised her hands towards him. [color=khaki]“There is no need for this violence! You do not need to hurt us, nor do you need to trade human lives.”[/color] The greying man stared at her for a few moments, before taking the knife off of his comrade to threaten Adnan personally. “Ye speak of need, lass? What do ye know of it? Give us what we came fer or this lad gets it. We got many mouths to feed and we came here ready to take it.” Farah stared at the man and his band. They were ragged and unkempt, a few of them with sunken cheeks. They all had that same determination and spite in their eyes. Though she worried for Adnan’s safety, she raised her hands peacefully and stared back at the old man. She also glanced at her own crowd of friends. [color=khaki]“I swear to you that if you lay aside your weapon, no harm shall come to you and yours. We have food for all of us, we have lodgings. It does not need to come to violence. Adnan, as many of us, were slaves. What you ask is painful for us, but it does not need to be the end of civility. Please, on the blessing of Oraliyah above, listen to reason.”[/color] A gentle warmth washed over her, trickling into her mind, seemingly wrapping her in a hug. A voice quickly followed, soft and sweet. [color=gold]"Your heart speaks wisely beyond its years. Here, take this blessing in my name and do what others cannot in the name of peace and always remember that you are loved, Farah. Even in times of uncertainty and sorrow. All you need do is say my name and I will be with you."[/color] and as quickly as the voice came, it vanished but not before healing her fatigue and foot. She was not the only one to suddenly feel better, for the men and women in the old man's group, even Adnan, looked physically better and not so beaten down. A beam of light then flashed across the sky and illuminated Farah for a moment, basking her in a visage of Oraliyah before dissipating. Farah was gripped with a haze of delightful confusion. No more did she comprehend her visitation from the divine than any other, yet it did not seem to matter. She felt a warmth burrow deep within, and it made her feel safe and happy, even in this troubled moment. It struck her then - she had called upon a goddess and received a reply from the heavens; from the sun goddess herself! As the light began to dissipate, she released a breath she did not realize she had been holding in. Adnan fell to the ground, and slowly clambered up, awestruck as he stared at Farah. The old man, having released both the knife and his prisoner, did the same. They all looked at her. Then someone cried “Oraliyah!” and cheers erupted on both sides. Confusion reigned supreme, but the message was clear. The mere act of the divine’s visitation had forced a ceasefire. The now restored travelers looked dumbstruck and humbled alike, and one of them went so far as to help Adnan up. Farid and Aman crept up from behind and before she knew it, they had hoisted Farah into the sky and onto their shoulders. With the warmth of the goddess still lingering in her heart, she could only smile down at those who looked up at her, and to her surprise, many of them smiled back, the old man included. Peace had returned to the farm, even if Farah knew a long and serious talk would have to follow when the reverie died down. [hr] [hider=Summary] A small farming community in the Gardens awakens to another day. Among them is Farah, a mostly innocent and wholesome young woman who appreciates her peaceful life and all her comrades. Due to some previous hijinks, she’s in poor status with the matron of their community, and she’s sent on a terrible quest to pick flowers while everyone else gets to watch each other sweat and do hard labor and stuff. Farah labours with her difficult quest for a while before stopping to appreciate nature. It is then that she notices a group of travelers on the horizon - and they appear to be coming straight for the village! She soon realizes that these travelers are the bad kind, and rushes back towards the farm to let everyone know. She is a terrible long-distance runner, and the travelers beat her to the farm, where they hint at wanting to sell slaves for food. Some of those living on the farm, Farah included, are former slaves and are like “not cool bro”, and the group of travelers give them an ultimatum; trade or get robbed! The farmers find this terribly uncool, and try to knock some chill into the bad people, but the bad people are like, super good with karate and stuff and easily get the upper hand. Fearing for her friends’ lives, Farah jumps in with a passionate plea for reason and civility. She evokes Oraelia’s local name in the process, and Oraelia drops in to let her know that she likes when people have chill, and that she loves Farah’s little pow wow. The appearance of a visual miracle is enough to end the conflict - for now. [/hider] [Hider=MP] Oraelia 0MP/5DP Consecrated Hero - Farah -2DP (Towards Happiness/joy) Lover's Joy II - Farah can induce feelings of joy and happiness in others. This includes animals and plants as well, usually making situations less hostile. This power is generally infectious as Farah only needs to smile genuinely at a person for it to work. As the title progresses, these feelings become stronger and last longer, even if Farah has left. -3DP (Towards Compassion) Breath of Compassion III - Farah is capable of empathetically conveying understanding and sympathy through compassion by use of her voice and touch. By showing or telling a tyrant warlord the suffering of those they left to ruin, or a peasant who would not give a beggar bread, all in the hopes of changing them for the better. It is a powerful ability, and those affected most usually feel immense remorse and guilt for their actions until they realize the error of their ways. This ability cannot be used out of hatred, envy, or malice- It must be used as an act of genuine love and care for the wellbeing of others. 0MP/0DP [/hider] [hider=Prestige] Farah = +5 (10k+) Total: 5. [/hider]