by Janella Vallonia
Warm candlelight flickered as Janella stepped her way past the running bath. The water rose gradually with a delicious smell of patchouli, sweet orange and ylang ylang oils, rarities which Janella saved for occasional treats such as this. Her boots forgotten by the door, her belt and weapons inside, she slipped off her clothes, one by one the pieces dropping to the tiles. Finally, she tugged her hood free, discarding it as well, and held the ring which was suspended at her throat between her bare fingers, turning it. It was hard, even for she, not to admit that the ring wasn't beautiful, wasn't a magnificent, precious item. Despite what Janella always said, somewhere deep down she reserved a small sense of respect, pride, maybe even love, for the duel of swords and its Arena. This was the symbol, the keepsake, the prize so many challenged and fought for. Around her neck, worn on a fine chain, was what Jesse had won two years ago and then again this past Rannmont (February). The fourth baronial ring.
She traced the delicate engravings for several moments more as if she might remember their intricate patterns by touch alone. Illuminated by candle glow, the ring seemed old, a burnished antique yet returned to jeweled youth each time it was passed to its latest champion. Janella gave the baron's token an admirable smile then stepped into her bath, easing a relaxed sigh as she smoothly slid down. The moist air kissed her face and her senses with an almost sensual caress. Soon, the fighter wasn't thinking about duels or old baronial rings; she instead dreamed of her more basic desires, and the men who would fulfill them.
Warm candlelight flickered as Janella stepped her way past the running bath. The water rose gradually with a delicious smell of patchouli, sweet orange and ylang ylang oils, rarities which Janella saved for occasional treats such as this. Her boots forgotten by the door, her belt and weapons inside, she slipped off her clothes, one by one the pieces dropping to the tiles. Finally, she tugged her hood free, discarding it as well, and held the ring which was suspended at her throat between her bare fingers, turning it. It was hard, even for she, not to admit that the ring wasn't beautiful, wasn't a magnificent, precious item. Despite what Janella always said, somewhere deep down she reserved a small sense of respect, pride, maybe even love, for the duel of swords and its Arena. This was the symbol, the keepsake, the prize so many challenged and fought for. Around her neck, worn on a fine chain, was what Jesse had won two years ago and then again this past Rannmont (February). The fourth baronial ring.
She traced the delicate engravings for several moments more as if she might remember their intricate patterns by touch alone. Illuminated by candle glow, the ring seemed old, a burnished antique yet returned to jeweled youth each time it was passed to its latest champion. Janella gave the baron's token an admirable smile then stepped into her bath, easing a relaxed sigh as she smoothly slid down. The moist air kissed her face and her senses with an almost sensual caress. Soon, the fighter wasn't thinking about duels or old baronial rings; she instead dreamed of her more basic desires, and the men who would fulfill them.