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Revision as of 02:28, 19 July 2005

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The outrageous and decadent ceremony began quite dignified with music and idle chit-chat about insipid things - the kinds of things that preceeds gratuitous and meaningless sex.  People try to put up the facade of high civility, but one thing is on everyone's minds as they laugh, nod and agree.  They go along with it, because it is polite.  Like an epic piece of music, an orgy begins slow and sweet, with ample civility and grace.  Then the drums and horns chime in.  Some say that things degenerated from that point on, but in my eyes they progressed sensationally.

The outrageous and decadent ceremony began quite dignified with music and idle chit-chat about insipid things - the kinds of things that preceeds gratuitous and meaningless sex.  People try to put up the facade of high civility, but one thing is on everyone's minds as they laugh, nod and agree.  They go along with it, because it is polite.  Like an epic piece of music, an orgy begins slow and sweet, with ample civility and grace.  Then the drums and horns chime in.  Some say that things degenerated from that point on, but in my eyes they progressed sensationally.

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I made it my duty to patrol the masses of writhing bodies to ensure that their needs were being met - did they have enough bright-morning?  (Some enjoy the visual of the more 'carnal' little-gods that are attracted to such events)  Were the smoking pipes still filled?  Was the spilled wine on the floor becoming a safety concern?  There is a lot of meaning that can be divulged from the moans of the sensuous, and I interpreted that they were enjoying themselves.  Immensely.  This was around the stage where things started to get out of hand. Earlier I had spied a particularly proud and beautiful woman, she was haughty and vain, and she looked down on me even though she was *my* guest.  If memory serves she was a wealthy merchantman's wife, daughter or mistress or some such.  Dont ask me, I no longer remember and at the time I didn't much care for the facts.  Maybe she was all three.  Leaves quite a lot of moral, let alone metaphysical conundrums for the mind to unravel. I was passing one of the more sizeable groups of women when a hand darted out and grabbed my hand.  No it wasn't her, but I'll get to that...

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I made it my duty to patrol the masses of writhing bodies to ensure that their needs were being met - did they have enough bright-morning?  Were the smoking pipes still filled?  Was the spilled wine on the floor becoming a safety concern?  There is a lot of meaning that can be divulged from the moans of the sensuous, and I interpreted that they were enjoying themselves.  Immensely.  This was around the stage where things started to get out of hand. Earlier I had spied a particularly proud and beautiful woman, she was haughty and vain, and she looked down on me even though she was *my* guest.  If memory serves she was a wealthy merchantman's wife, daughter or mistress or some such.  Dont ask me, I no longer remember and at the time I didn't much care for the facts.  Maybe she was all three.  Leaves quite a lot of moral, let alone metaphysical conundrums for the mind to unravel. I was passing one of the more sizeable groups of women when a hand darted out and grabbed my hand.  No it wasn't her, but I'll get to that...

Ortegan silk is a fine material.  Every tunic is hand woven by blind six-fingered craftsmen trained since birth to weave the most intricate paterns through feel and desire alone.  Each tunic is a work of art, a reflection of the desires and whims of the weaver on the each day he worked.  There is but a single strand of silk, coloured intricately to make metallic and luminescant designs so fine one needs to look through a magnifier gem to see the details - even the hems are sewn from the same strand.  I read that the strand of silk is over a mile long though I'm unsure if that's true, so I'll leave guessing up to you.

Ortegan silk is a fine material.  Every tunic is hand woven by blind six-fingered craftsmen trained since birth to weave the most intricate paterns through feel and desire alone.  Each tunic is a work of art, a reflection of the desires and whims of the weaver on the each day he worked.  There is but a single strand of silk, coloured intricately to make metallic and luminescant designs so fine one needs to look through a magnifier gem to see the details - even the hems are sewn from the same strand.  I read that the strand of silk is over a mile long though I'm unsure if that's true, so I'll leave guessing up to you.

Onine/Cynis Orchid - Revision history

Onine: *

203-206-22-2.dyn.iinet.net.au: *