My family, and some of the others, still loved their culture. They raised me based on the 'Old World' rules. They gave me an 'Old World' name. And they gave me 'Old World' values.
But these stories, the stories I'm going to tell, are not about me. You may call me Ali.
Scheherazade
I came from a wealthy family, but my parents saw no reason to
give me an easy life. They believed that their wealth came from their hardships, and that
if I were to make it in this world, I too must suffer hardships. (It is Ali. It is worth noting that Schera, my pet name for this young lady, lived in Trinsic just as I do. She did not take to the 'Old World' ways, but
fell in love with the culture of Britannia) I was eager to escape the rigid traditions of my father and mother, and so I made my way north to the capital. There I tried to find my way. I had little money, and spent most of it in setting myself up with a place to live. I had to take to thievery to get food. Fortune smiled upon me that when I was finally caught, it was by a merciful soul. His name was Gryfflet. He saw me as a young woman in need and told me that he had work for me. "If you want to make an honest living," he said, "I can help you." He was a lumberjack, and paid me to do deliveries for him. After a few deliveries, I managed to make enough money to buy some equipment, equipment that could put my training in swordplay to use (The aristocracy of Trinsic trained all their children in the noble art of fencing, in the hopes that their children would bring honor to their families through various tournaments. Schera was trained in it, but she had little interest in bringing honor to her family at all, let alone through swordplay).
Gryfflet gave me a job to travel to Moonglow, to deliver to a man named Kazmehr. I recognized the name, not because I had heard it, but because it had the distinct ring of my culture. I traveled to Moonglow and met this man. He was tall, dark, and reserved. I, for the first time, felt fear of a man. Not that I worried for my safety, but something different. Kazmehr spoke with a gentle voice, but there was something, something that was not spoken but seen within his blue eyes. It was this, I realize now, that scared me. Kazmehr noticed my blade, and asked if I would be interested in sparring. I agreed, though I'm not sure why. We traveled to his home. He handed me a robe. "Change into this," he said, "you don't want to get your clothing dirty." I walked into the room and Kazmehr was on me as quickly as a cat upon its prey. We danced about the room, the sounds of our blades clashing providing the music to this deadly waltz. His style was different than mine. He swung heavier, less precise, but deadlier. His strength was impressive, though I was faster. I was having difficulty getting away from his strength. My training had never prepared me for someone who fought like this. My memory quickly flashed to scenes of my father yelling at me when I made a mistake. Telling me that my errors brought shame to all of our family.
I felt rage well up within me, found an opening, and overtook Kazmehr. I held my blade to his throat, my chest heaving with anger and passion. He nodded. "I was wondering when you were going to begin trying." I smiled and let him go, trying desperately to keep my pains within. As I turned around I noticed an altar in the middle of the room, with dark stains upon it.
"What is that for?" I asked. "Maybe another time." The dark man replied.
He walked to the window and stared out to sea. It was then I noticed the waves crashing upon the cliff side in a soothing rhythm, muffled by the windows. I walked over and stood
next to him, staring out. "I should get going," I said, after some silence. "By the time I reach Britain, it will be nightfall." Kazmehr nodded. I left his home strangely disappointed.
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