https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gXJwGB_0tc&ab_channel=AyeletOriBenita – Daughters of the DragonMany of the now unmuted Stratiokas going about their own business pause in their talks, watching you, Mikail and Brother Rousseau curiously as you pass them by. Often the conversation resumes immediately afterwards, sometimes with a ring of laughter that you suspect is made at your expense. But none question Kyrios Leon’s escort, you continue unchallenged and effectively ignored right up to a compound of white marble and terracotta roof that could quite aptly be described as something betwixt a particularly large villa and a fortress. Two hoplites, women both, bar the way. Kyrios Leon pauses at the threshold, gesturing for you to continue as the hoplites lower their spears. Oddly enough, their alert eyes rest on as much the Kyrios Leon as they do yourself.
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-g">“Exoria.”</span></span> A stonefaced senior hoplite approaches you in the foyer courtyard. You’re reminded of the humourless Sergeant-at-Arms Berod back home and can’t help but think that you’re looking at a female Cathagi version of the man. Scars and all. <span class="mu-i">“In this House, only the Daughters of the Dragon may retain their weapons. The only men allowed to grace their feet with the touch of these tiles are slaves and exiles. Neither may bear arms.”</span>
<span class="mu-i">“I am Sir Emile Andrei, here at the invitation of the Kyria Eustace.”</span> You are surprised to hear you native language spoken so fluently from another Stratiokas, even Militades was quite heavily accented. <span class="mu-i">“I had expected another translator, but your Cantǒnian is flawless Mademoiselle-?”</span>
<span class="mu-i">“You shall address me as Kyria, not Mademmoiselle. Kyria Helena. I know who you are, Andrei, and I have decided to tolerate your presence for now.”</span> Hardly the warm greeting you had been hoping for, you begin to bridle at woman’s haughty tone as she strides in front of you. <span class="mu-i">“Know that I have killed norsemen, nomads, knights and mercenaries from every corner of the Dragon’s domain. And for each man slain by my hand I have first insulted them in their mother tongue before doing so, every time.”</span>
You pass by through a corridor overlooking a courtyard covered in fine sand, which is currently being kicked up by at least a dozen combatants engaged in various stages of determined wrestling. The slap of flesh and grunts of pain or effort echo up to your group on the balcony. The sounds cause you to look down, only for you to swiftly and decidedly turn your attention elsewhere. The combatants below are all women of various ages and all wearing very little in the way of clothing. Behind you, Brother Rousseau plants a hand on top of Mikail’s head and turns his head back to face the front.
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