(Six Months Ago)

Kiroth u'Lor* had presence, even in death.

He was known by some merely as The Barbarian, he softened his ways for no one. Not even the Barbarian's slave, S'jira.

As his body was laid into the ground of Rhy'Din's cemetary she watched the four men with ropes lower the litter of leather and wood into the deep hole. These were not his men who had battled and warred alongside of him most of his life. These four men were strangers, as were most everyone else within this realm that was foreign to Kiroth and S'jira.

But the ones who had killed him would not know that he lay there and the likelihood of his grave being desicrated was now a slim one. As shovels sent dirt into the hole and covered her Master's body, S'jira edged in a little closer. The small woman soon stood at the head of the grave. She felt numb with every moment she watched. Wind pulled the hair across her face, veiling it in black but she could still see her Master's body being covered with earth, shovelful by shovelful. Never did she realized how long an eternity it felt for them to take and fill it level with the ground upon which the girl stood. As if watching through a murky window in the body of someone else, S'jira saw the burly men put the slab of stone over the freshly turned ground. It was marked with a circle with a hawk clutching two swords. Nothing so grand or refined as one might find on the grave of a Lord or High Merchant, but it was seen plainly enough to know it without his name carved into it.

When the the men took their shovels and left, S'jira dropped to her knees. Cloth of dark brown seeped in against her hips and thighs but she did not think if she was modestly covered or not. Lithe arms draped wearily against the cold, stone that lay atop Kiroth's grave. Dark hair fell about her face and arms, blanketing her form there. Her shoulders shook and sobs wracked her small form.

How her heart ached and grieved. Did other slaves mourn their Masters when they passed? Did other women want to scream with lamentation?
S'jira had been in Master Kiroth's strong, noble shadow for three years. Three years she had cooked, cleaned, and travelled alongside of him. For most of those three years, the girl loved him.

Hours. Long hours, the small one did not leave his grave. Utter feeling of loss weighed within her stomach. Pain filled her heart. And her head pounded with grief.

When S'jira could finally manage to stand, it was dark. Without thought of it for the time, she moved out of the area and walked along the road. A road that would take her over water, passed a place called the Red Dragon Inn, and finally towards the large markets.

There, the girl would seek to find work and purpose. There she would heal until she was able to walk within another's shadow with gentle honor.

*Kiroth u'Lor is an NPC character created to help 'flesh out' the history of S'jira.

When she had seen to the old woman known to many as 'the fisher-hag', S'jira was left heavy hearted by the weakness the sickness had brought to Thale.

When she left her resting after a bowlful of stew and a tea filled with herbs that would help her sleep, S'jira made her way through the very large and busy realm. It seemed the most eclectic and diverse land she had ever travelled or lived within.

Across the expanse of the bridge that spread across the river, bare feet carried her. Tiny bells wrapped about her right ankle sang out with every other step she took.

S'jira was headed towards the cemetary. To visit with He who knew her best of all. Some might have called her insane, but the small woman needed to speak with him. Even if it was to nothing but the stone slab that rested atop his buried form. None knew her heart or the ways of Master and slave as they had when he was alive. None that she had met yet within the realm.

When she neared Master Kiroth's grave, she lowered down to the ground with the swell of her hip there and not upon her knees. It was a more relaxed position for the girl. Her left hand alighted against the cool stone that covered where her master had been buried. "Master, your girl is here."

It was how she started their conversations since the time he had been brought there almost seven months ago.

"Purpose is found, please be at ease. Work is helped with in one of the local inns. And if there is no trust that the work will be done well by the one who gave this one the work.. she will strive to prove this to him." S'jira's head lowered and she drew a knee in a bit closer to her chest and taut belly. "There is a woman cared for, Master. She is old and works the fishing nets here, but she is kind. She needs caring for, Master. Her lungs are.. wet and the noise of it is terrible."

S'jira sighed with the worry for the older woman. "Herbs have been bought and brought to her. This one has been assured the herbs will help her get better and it eases this heart a little." Her fingers carressed the stone nearby. "Know that caution is used and this girl strives very hard to exist with honor, Master."

She then shook her head, as if he were there to ask her that question that was never truly spoken aloud. "No, Master. None have been found yet. There is a Drowess that wants this slave as hers. But Master, she frightens a girl terribly!"

With a small look about, she ensured that no others were there. Surely she would be thought of as crazy to be talking to a grave if overheard. Another small sigh passed her lips. "A visit was just wished, Master. You are greatly missed. Your guidance and your love."

It was nonsensical. Perhaps even rediculous, but S'jira could not help herself. Time with him helped ease the pain of his death and the absence of him within her life. The small woman gathered herself to standing, brushing earthy debris from her backside and the tattered hems of her slave shift. A lengthy look to the grave and she gave into a turn that headed her out of the cemetary.

Time, it was, to make her way back into the main portion of the large city. Perhaps it would be a night different from others.