Watching the crowd before her, Isis scribbled into her diary. Her entire life had been one of chronicling the world, watching people. Seventeen years she had spent, wandering Veston doing this. Although her diary was thick, and she wrote on a page close to the end of the book, it was special, an item created by a wandering Magi she had t. In return for writing about his story and travels through the Mad House, he had made her a diary that was endless.
It had beco a priceless artefact, soemthing she knew could buy a lordship and castle if she sold it. Despite that, she couldn’t. For seventeen years, she had wandered, with a single command in the back of her mind from before she was born, told by a being incomprehensible by any human tric.
’Chronicle the world and choose a side when the ti cos.’
It was a command she had given no thought to before, sothing she was going to happily push to the back of her mind the first chance she got. But when she arrived in Veston and could finally travel around and see the world for what it truly was, she fell in love, wanting to write about it. It wasn’t out of a desire to follow the will of an all-mighty being, but because it filled her with joy and wonder each ti.
From a page detailing a jousting tournant between knights to the humble story of an old lady who lived and died in the sa village she was born in, Isis found a purpose in it all, to be the one who, when no one else rembers the lives the people lived, either high or lowborn, she would, and therefore the world would.
Putting the diary down, Isis clapped for the performance that had just taken place. She had travelled every major land within Veston, even the deadlands, but every ti she returned to the Artlands, she always found herself coming to Hampton, enjoying the unique culture built around art and poetry, every ti able to experience a new performance she had never seen before.
’Silk dresses interwined with one another as dancers waved fans over their faces, switching their masks with sleight of hand tricks. Behind them, string instrunts created a tune that changed with every change of the face, creating a hypnotic effect that dragged you in, always surprising you when you felt the dance couldn’t change again.’
Closing the diary after finishing her recollection of the dance, Isis carefully put the diary into her satchel and walked over, dropping a few silver coins into the basket being handed out, making the money collector beam with joy at the sudden influx of wealth. With a nod, Isis walked off and looked across the marble streets of Hampton. It was a city that, much like the culture it promoted, embraced art in every part of its design, not allowing anything to dirty its streets.
Shops lined the road, each one letting off enticing slls that beckoned people to co closer and buy more. The buildings, each more intricate than the other, looked as if they competed with one another, trying to stand prouder, be more beautiful, at tis looking gaudy. Isis watched the people. It was obvious who was an outsider and who wasn’t. The natives all dressed in extravagant clothing, their hair dyed in a variety of colours.
Looking at herself, she felt slightly embarrassed at not having prepared a proper outfit for her visit. Although her dress was beautiful, a navy blue that sparkled when the sun hit it just right, it wasn’t to the standard of the people of Hampton, who made sure to break with tradition and embrace stranger tastes than those of the rest of the Kingdom.
The woman wore a variety of furs over dresses cut shorter than usual. So wore silk veils or tallic masks, revealing only the barest outline of their faces to create an enticing look. So dressed like n, adding a feminine touch to the masculine attire by wearing corsets atop shirts or tighter-fitting clothes that revealed their bodies. It was a dress sense that stretched beyond age, with every generation of won experinting.
Much like the won, the n did the sa, wearing masks over their eyes or dressing in feminine attire with a touch of masculine features. So wore thick multi coloured coats. Yet the new trend for them seed to be in hats at the mont. Many wore tophats, with feathers pocking out of them, looking like peacocks.
Despite it all, she was slightly sad she didn’t see a single man be bold enough to try to wear a dress. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she looked up into the sky and wondered where to go next.
’Maybe I should go to the Bridgeway. Ahh, but I miss the food of Kript. But the hymns of the Judicary are always lovely.’ Grabbing the side of her head, she dug her fingers into her set of silkly white hair and groaned; the people around shot her strange looks.
’Actually, there’s a new king now, isn’t there? It’s been a while since I went to Everlight.’ Telling herself she looked in the direction of the capital of Veston and took a deep breath. ’No, it might be dangerous for a while. The Judiciary is off as well then.’ Sighing, she took out a coin. ’Heads Kript, tails the Bridgeway.’
Flipping the coin, it blocked the sun for a mont. Shooting her hand out, she caught it before it hit the ground and slamd it on the back of her hand. ’Kript it is.’ With a smile, Isis walked, signalling a carriage she saw carrying a banner of a noble from the Sandlands, and hitched a ride, making sure to pay the coin for its services.
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