07-17-2023, 07:42 PM
((This is an old thread that I am reposting so that the end of it can work into other 3rd Age plots)).
![[Image: Graciela.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/Graciela.jpg)
So much time and seemingly no progress beyond the reassuring words of the Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, then one cool day an Aes Sedai herself knocks on the door to Graciela’s guest quarters within White Tower and everything changed.
A minor bump jostled the carriage: the first she'd noticed on these impeccably smooth roads. Graciela glanced out the window once more, a twinge of guilt rising that she could not talk the women of the carriage into opening the carriage windows. She had to remember she was not tuned to the same air temperature as these Southlanders. Where Graciela was wearing thin gloves, her hosts' were lined with rabbit fur. The same speckled furs lined the collars of their silk cloaks too. She went along with it though, despite what she felt was stifling warmth. Their constant chatting only made it worse.
The Lady seated next to her paused in her gossip long enough to pat her hand, but Graciela continued to watch the city roll by after giving only a grateful smile as to not seem impolite. It was hard to turn her eyes elsewhere, anyway. The street was wide, and the buildings were so tall. The same nervous awe overcame her when she first beheld the spires of Tar Valon peeking over the horizon. Up close, nestled within all the grandeur, brightly lit windows were spaced like square eyes peering back at her. Those smooth faces were adorned with intricate metalwork, usually gilded, like a noblewoman’s jewelry. Homes abutted the fronts of shops closed for the night which abutted the sprawling fences of palaces. The one to catch her study now being the fifth they'd passed since leaving the Darwyn's manor. It was all fascinating, in a magical, dreamy way she never fathomed even in her most elaborate of girlish imaginations, existed. And all these petite walls! They seemed barely strong enough to contain the plushness of an overgrowing garden than to defend those that lived behind them. She had yet to see any other measure of safety precautions. Not a single moat nor a spike wall; only the few guards pacing back and forth at the gates. None of them wore armor with a single mark, as though only donned for ceremony. She yearned for her homeland despite the beauty around her.
Their carriage came to a stop and soon footmen were helping the quartet of Ladies within. When her time came, Graciela laid a silk swathed hand in the servant’s and thanked him for the assistance. He looked almost aghast, and Graciela quickly wondered what custom she'd broken to offend him so. The answer never came, however, merely his graciousness for the acknowledgement and saw her safely from the street without muddling the hem of her gown.
The ladies in her company wore opulent dresses in quite a contrast to her own. Their corsets hefted their busts and narrowed their waists. Around their necks circled broad and gleaming jewels often with matching gems in their ears or adorning their tightly curled hair. Graciela's modest dress displayed only the prominence of the Shienaran royal house and her husband’s honor. Around her waist was draped with a long belt rather than narrowed by tight boning. Simple flowers danced across her chest and down the sleeves in metal threads. Crimson red and dark gray were her skirts, a style she came to learn was not popular among the Andorans, which they found quite noteworthy.
Theirs was one of many carriages waiting to deposit travelers upon the grand entrance of the Taravin’s palatial estate. Fountains, winter roses and lights greeted her as she emerged. As she was aided, her daughter, the raven-haired Lady Misaki and other daughters of the Darwyn’s were helped from their carriage. Misaki would be introduced separately, Graciela had been told. She was of an age to deserve her own recognition according to Andoran custom.
She gave her daughter an encouraging smile, and was soon swept inside.
Caemlyn, Andor
So much time and seemingly no progress beyond the reassuring words of the Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, then one cool day an Aes Sedai herself knocks on the door to Graciela’s guest quarters within White Tower and everything changed.
A minor bump jostled the carriage: the first she'd noticed on these impeccably smooth roads. Graciela glanced out the window once more, a twinge of guilt rising that she could not talk the women of the carriage into opening the carriage windows. She had to remember she was not tuned to the same air temperature as these Southlanders. Where Graciela was wearing thin gloves, her hosts' were lined with rabbit fur. The same speckled furs lined the collars of their silk cloaks too. She went along with it though, despite what she felt was stifling warmth. Their constant chatting only made it worse.
The Lady seated next to her paused in her gossip long enough to pat her hand, but Graciela continued to watch the city roll by after giving only a grateful smile as to not seem impolite. It was hard to turn her eyes elsewhere, anyway. The street was wide, and the buildings were so tall. The same nervous awe overcame her when she first beheld the spires of Tar Valon peeking over the horizon. Up close, nestled within all the grandeur, brightly lit windows were spaced like square eyes peering back at her. Those smooth faces were adorned with intricate metalwork, usually gilded, like a noblewoman’s jewelry. Homes abutted the fronts of shops closed for the night which abutted the sprawling fences of palaces. The one to catch her study now being the fifth they'd passed since leaving the Darwyn's manor. It was all fascinating, in a magical, dreamy way she never fathomed even in her most elaborate of girlish imaginations, existed. And all these petite walls! They seemed barely strong enough to contain the plushness of an overgrowing garden than to defend those that lived behind them. She had yet to see any other measure of safety precautions. Not a single moat nor a spike wall; only the few guards pacing back and forth at the gates. None of them wore armor with a single mark, as though only donned for ceremony. She yearned for her homeland despite the beauty around her.
Their carriage came to a stop and soon footmen were helping the quartet of Ladies within. When her time came, Graciela laid a silk swathed hand in the servant’s and thanked him for the assistance. He looked almost aghast, and Graciela quickly wondered what custom she'd broken to offend him so. The answer never came, however, merely his graciousness for the acknowledgement and saw her safely from the street without muddling the hem of her gown.
The ladies in her company wore opulent dresses in quite a contrast to her own. Their corsets hefted their busts and narrowed their waists. Around their necks circled broad and gleaming jewels often with matching gems in their ears or adorning their tightly curled hair. Graciela's modest dress displayed only the prominence of the Shienaran royal house and her husband’s honor. Around her waist was draped with a long belt rather than narrowed by tight boning. Simple flowers danced across her chest and down the sleeves in metal threads. Crimson red and dark gray were her skirts, a style she came to learn was not popular among the Andorans, which they found quite noteworthy.
Theirs was one of many carriages waiting to deposit travelers upon the grand entrance of the Taravin’s palatial estate. Fountains, winter roses and lights greeted her as she emerged. As she was aided, her daughter, the raven-haired Lady Misaki and other daughters of the Darwyn’s were helped from their carriage. Misaki would be introduced separately, Graciela had been told. She was of an age to deserve her own recognition according to Andoran custom.
She gave her daughter an encouraging smile, and was soon swept inside.
![[Image: Colette-signature-rainbow.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/Colette-signature-rainbow.png)