A bath shared

Umbar Public Baths

    The marble entrance hall opens into a single large room with a high vaulted ceiling. Here, despite the many sunken brass tubs set into the floor and continuously being filled with hot water by servants, the air is refreshingly cool and humid compared to the street outside. Cinammon incence smolders in ornately enameled blue urns around the room and the floor is composed of brightly colored mosaic tiles. Thick steam curls around to caress those who enter as well as partially obscures those who are submurged in the hot waters.

    Bustling with presicion are white clad serving men and woman who attend to your every need and greet you at the door. Silk screens are set up to one side to allow those who are more timid about nudity a semi-private place to change and shelves set into the wall hold clean towels and client's clothing.

Obvious exits:
Zuxzulder's Massage Parlor and Out

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Monday, Day 7 of February.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 14:51:04 MDT on Thu Jun 04 2009.
IC year 3047

Night has fallen in Umbar. Outside, the streets are dark save for the occasional flickering torch here in the bath house, that darkness is banished by a host of candles that twinkle like stars in a midnight sky, bathing the room in soft light and waking flickering reflections from the gently lapping water.

The bathhouse is quiet at this hour, mostly individuals seeking peace and quiet (one elderly man is even reading a scroll!) or couples more interested in each other than their fellow-bathers. A gaggle of noisy young men is being ushered politely out by a pair of white-clad servers with smiles fixed in place another girl stands with fresh towels, whilst a young boy is pouring fresh water into the basins.

One bather, his back to the entrance, is currently engaged in dunking his head under the water he straightens to reveal a back that is criss-crossed by old scars, battle-marks by the look of them.

[Alimah(#24218)]
A dark-haired Corsair with a distinctively large nose steps out from the changing area. Nothing would identify her as a Corsair, except perhaps a touch of her looks or the scar running across one shoulder--though scars are no foreign mark to the population of this city. Her towel is slung over one shoulder as she approaches the water, and that is all.

"Those scars seem hard-earned," she says, dipping one toe in the water experimentally into an empty nearby tub.

The bather grunts without turning. "Yes," comes the simple answer, in Haradaic that is slow and nasal. "This," he touches his shoulder, "was a scimitar. This," his arm, "an axe. This," he shrugs the other shoulder, "was ... how do you call it? The long stabber." At the query he glances up, and then he does turn, revealing scarred features - Barjad. The man looks the woman up and down, then eyes her outstretched toe with evident amusement. "The water is not cold," he tells her.

[Alimah(#24218)]
"Not cold but perhaps too hot," Alimah shrugs, then surprise lights her face--and some embarrassment--at recognizing Barjad. She hurries into the tub, as much as one _can_ hurry into steaming hot water, which is to say not at all. "That...problem..was taken care of," she says, trying to make conversation, perhaps.

Barjad continues to watch her, the right half of his mouth still pulled back in that half-smile. At her words, though he stiffens, then lifts a hand to dash the water from his eyes that he can peer at the woman more closely - her face, at least. A veil that hides all but the eyes can hide many indiscretions. Eventually, though, he responds. "The - the Gods listen to praying, sometimes."

[Alimah(#24218)]
Alimah blushes as the man's gaze moves to her face. "Sometimes." She sighs, finally into the hot water up to her shoulders.

"Strangely, a messenger of the man's very gods did the deed."

Perhaps Barjad notes the blush, for finally - and hardly before time - he looks away. "I do not care who did the thing, only ... that it is done." He shoots a sidelong glance at the woman then, his dark brows drawn down in a frown. "Do you think the gods do not answer? Sometimes it is only that we do not like the answer. If they take a thing, if they .. they take a man in a place he would not go, there is reason." The words may be slow, but they are careful.

[Alimah(#24218)]
"The gods listen. Of course they listen." Alimah adjusts her long hair, which is tied back, carefully setting it out of the water. "The question is, which god listened? I was told it was theirs."

Barjad lifts one scarred shoulder in a shrug, then lowers himself into the water a little further as the touch of the cool air is felt. The door is ajar, and a breath of wind drifts across the room, setting the candles flickering. "If you believe, you will know - here." He touches his forehead, where dark hair is still dripping. "You are of Farside, yes? There is a thing I would know."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"Farside, yes," Alimah nods, looking at the man curiously. "As far as knowing..well, my gods are the ...you know who they are. But the High Priestess, she told me it was a messenger of her god that slew the man.And that if it had been her god that had come instead, the entire city would have been razed to the ground. She said that happened in a city called Riavod."

"What about Farside?"

"I have heard tales of .. of a place to the east," Barjad answers, halting. So it is not /his/ homeland, then? "I do not ask - no, do not question them. The Eye has much power, and I - I fear. It." He takes a deep breath, then pushes on with his question. "I want to know what will happen to the one from Gondor that was taken. The one who did fight."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"After seeing what this messenger of the Eye did to Lady Azradi when all she did was witness the Inquisitor's end, I fear it, too," Alimah answes, whispering those words nervously. "Yet I will not betray my own gods for this fear. No, not even at the cost of my life. And friends of the dead man still live and roam the city, likely doing the Inquisitor's work, still."

She splashes water on her face to calm her nerves a little before continuing. "He is a fine looking man and strong, too--he would bring a fair price on the slave auction blocks. But Farside does not use slaves. I cannot say what Lord Alphros will do with him. Perhaps convince him to join his army, like the other pale-face has."

Barjad lets out a snorted breath. "The ones left are just men. And men .. die, sometimes." For a moment his features distort in a half-smile that is more snarl. The other topic is answered with a nod. "If he will fight, it is good. But - they will not give him to the Eye? You know that?" he demands, leaning forward a little.

[Alimah(#24218)]
"To the Eye? I had not thought of that," Alimah says, a frown now creasing her brow. "I can't say--it's a question for the Captain or Lord Alphros. Perhaps they will appease the Eye with him. Is..he is the enemy--you're concerned they will give him to the Eye?"

Barjad's features crease in a sudden scowl. "He is enemy, yes. But .. he is a fighter, as I am a fighter, and in fighting there is .. glory? No, that is not the word. There is rightness?" The scowl deepens, and in the end he resorts to a word in Common. 'Honour'. Back to his awkwardly phrased Haradaic, he goes on, "If he dies, it should be clean. Not ... that." The explanation is done, and he pushes himself up until he stands waist-deep in the water, looking as though he will say no more. But then, as he prepares to climb out, he adds something, in a fierce hiss. "They did not give me to the Eye."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"There is honor in fighting, yes...and I do not think that Lord Alphros would want to betray that honor. Especially not given that he is trying to claim the throne of Gondor. So...I cannot say, but I can guess they won't." Alimah arches a brow. "You will have to tell me where you are from. Meet me for a drink." But her head is dipping back sleepily against the edge of the tub, lulled by the heat of the water. "Soon.."

Barjad is already climbing out of the tub, dripping water on the pristine marble floor, but at Alimah's words he twists his head round to look back at her, some unknown emotion flickering across his marred features. "Perhaps."

Then he is off. He has not brought his own towel, and marches across the room to the alcoves dripping water, seemingly uncaring of whether anyone is looking. Behind him, a scurrying bath attendant starts to clean up the floor, her smile still fixed in place ... Slowly, peace returns.