Stubborn he thought, but as a denizen of the once powerful and still proud former Chosen Empire, he was as much captivated by a desire for linguistic autonomy. In Falloth, the people of the province speak a bastardized version of Yibouhese while their own oral traditions are long since forgotten. In the few colonies that exist in Benge, coin is exchanged and laws are written in the Empire's words.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
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