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Miles, noticing a bit of apprehension on Alec's face, said "I am sure you have come quite a long way, and are doubtlessly tired. Also, I imagine that you are lost. That's understandable, since you could not have found your way to this house otherwise. The road just outside can take you back to someplace more familiar at any time you wish, but the journey may be a long one. Master Barlow, the owner of this house, enjoys company and so his doors are always open to lost travelers. Please, he begs you, accept his invitation and rest here for a while."

As he speaks, he retrieves two towels for Kenzie and Alec, offering them when he is done.

Once the two are inside and have dried off a bit with the towels (should they desire to do so), Miles says, "The master is entertaining a number of other guests in the sitting room. May I show you the way, and offer you something to drink?" After a brief pause, he adds, "And might I trouble you for your names, so that sir and madam might be properly announced?"

Miles grinned in a most butler-ly fashion. "It's not a problem at all, master Alec. Right this way, please," he said, guiding Alec and Kenzie in the direction of the sitting room. As he approached the door, he asked, "And what would sir and madam like to drink? Hot apple cider seems to be the preferred beverage, but there are many other choices."

"Very good, I shall fetch two mugs right away," Miles says. He opens the door to the sitting room and announces: Master Alec and Madam Kenzie, sir. Sir and Madam, Master Barlow." Once Barlow has stood up, he says, "Excuse me," and walks to the kitchen.

The sitting room is much warmer than the hall or the foyer, mostly because it has a roaring fire and three ((maybe four, I'm not sure)) people in it. A number of comfortable chairs and a sofa surround a low cofee table in front of the fire place, and there are more chairs near the windows. An old clock keeps time with a steady tick.

"Ah, welcome to my house," says Barlow. Please, have a seat wherever you like... although we will probably run out of chairs if too many more guests arrive. Please let me introduce Bri, Blake ((assuming he's in the room, he might not be)) and Lexi."

Once Kenzie and Alec are comfortable (or at least, appear to be comfortable), Barlow sits back down and looks over at Bri. "Now then, for the second time, I do believe I promised you the story of the Poet and the Princess...

As I said, this story takes place in the ancient Tsaon empire. In those days, Emperor Leng Kao the Younger sat upon the Ruby throne. He was a stern, but just ruler, and the empire reaped the rewards of his wisdom. The apple of the Emperor's eye was his eldest daughter, a young woman of singular brilliance and great insight. She was also possessed of great natural grace, and a beauty that did not make an instant impression, but rather grew slowly as one got to know her. It was her destiny, as the oldest Imperial daughter, to become the chief priestess of Hastin-Ra, and indeed all the gods of the empire. So there was to be no arranged marriage to a tributaries prince for her. It was said that the Emperor loved her above all other members of his household, and above all the treasures of the world.

It is also said that another living treasure dwelt at the Imperial palace: the court poet. His skill with word and verse made him a legend in his own time, and the Emperor was fond of him. He provided the poet with magnificent quarters in the palace, and the freedom to travel at will through his lands, seeking inspiration wherever it may lie. And the poet repaid him with works of stirring beauty and splendor. The Imperial court spent many an evening enraptured by the poet's work. His subjects included both the large and the small, the extraordinary and the mundane. One of his most famous poems, in fact, was about a single flower blooming in the Imperial garden. The princess heard his poetry as well, and was moved by it.

The poet's work touched the princesses heart and also awoke in her a deep passion for verse that rivaled even his own. As time passed, the two fell in love, though they could never even so much as look at one another at court for too long without arising suspicion. So they composed love letters and poetry, and exchanged them covertly. For years, this went on.

Then, for the princess's twentieth birthday, the Emperor commissioned a poem in her honor. The poet poured his heart and soul into the piece, and produced one of the most moving works of poetry in all the worlds. The court was stunned, and for a long time nobody spoke. The Emperor was brought to tears by its beauty. He was the first to break the silence, and only did so to express regret that his opulent throne room was too crude a setting for a work of such sublime and elegant majesty. That night, the poet and the princess became lovers. They exercised the greatest discretion and secrecy so, of course, the entire court knew about it by the following morning.

Barlow grinned and stirred his cider with a cinnamon stick, then his face took on a more serious expression and he continued the story.

"The Emperor was enraged, and not without reason. The covenant which bound the god Hastin-Ra to his will was very specific. The oldest daughter of the Emperor was to be the high priestess of the mighty river god, and know no passion before she undertook the devotional rites, lest the purity of her mind and soul be tainted by the pleasures of the Earth. Now that such a thing had happened, the covenant was in danger of being broken. Now, remember how I said that the power of the Tsaon Empire rested in their ability to command the bound gods? Well, the power of Hastin-Ra lay at the very heart of the Imperial Kingdom itself. By his might, the heartland of the empire had been lifted off the ground, and sailed among the clouds. If the pact was broken and the binding undone, the whole of the kingdom would be cast down in ruin, and the empire would be shaken to its core.

There was only one way to undo the damage done. The offending poet must be sacrificed to appease the wrath of Hastin-Ra, and immediately thereafter the princess must enter a period of seclusion for a year and a day before entering the service of the god. So the Emperor had his personal guard place the poet in the most secure cell in his dungeon, and watch him carefully to see that he neither escaped nor killed himself. For if he died by his own hand, it would be impossible to properly sacrifice him. The act of sacrifice was set for dawn the following morning. All through the long hours of the night, the princess pleaded with her father to spare her love. She presented alternatives, but he calmly explained why each was not possible. She begged him, but he stood firm. She told him of the pain in her heart, and although his own heart broke to see his beloved daughter so badly hurt, he was resolved and did not waver. The Emperor, you see, is not simply responsible for himself and his house, but rather to the entire empire. And love stories rarely ended happily in the Tsaon empire.

At last, as the sky in the East was just beginning to lighten, the princess made one final appeal. If she could convince Hastin-Ra himself to spare her lover, would her father relent? He considered this, and answered 'Yes.' And so the princess ran to the sacred chamber of Hastin-Ra to make a final plea."

After a brief pause, Barlow continued.

"Only the line of high priestesses could enter the god's audience chamber. Even the attendant priestesses who maintained the binding rituals were forced to remain outside its doors. So there were no witnesses to the princess's plea. I do not know what was said, I only know the result.

Now, before I tell you that, you must understand the position Hastin-Ra was in. He had been bound to unwillingly serve the mortals for almost three thousand years, confined to a temple when once his mighty river had carved its way across the land as he saw fit. His anger was great indeed. He was bound to obey the terms of the binding pact, but if imposed upon, he could make allowances in those terms. By that, I mean that he could 'give a little more' on his end of the agreement if he so desired.

Just as the first light of dawn was breaking over the land, the princess emerged from the presence of the god. Saying nothing, she went to the place where the sacrifice was to be held. The Emperor and his retinue were there, as was the poet. There was unease in the air, but the Emperor had made clear his decision to wait for news from his daughter, so nobody protested. Even so, he held out little hope that the princess had been successful. The god had never yielded from the strict letter of the pact in all the years of the binding.

As the princess approached, all eyes were on her. She stood by the bank of the river and said 'The mighty Hastin-Ra approaches. Hear his words now.' And the river god came from the temple and spoke in a voice that was like the thunderous roar of a flood or great waterfall.

'Emperor Leng, lord and sovereign of the Tsaon Empire, whom I am bound to serve, hear me. You daughter has pleaded with me to stay the sacrifice of her lover. By the laws set forth in the binding, this is something I cannot allow. But her words still echo in my heart... And there is an alternative. In place of lives, I shall take their names. None will ever speak them again, and they will be as dead. Your next eldest daughter shall become my priestess, and the pact will be maintained. All this will be done if you command it.'

The Emperor looked at his daughter. 'Is this truly your wish?' he asked her. 'It is,' she replied. So the Emperor said to the god, 'The command is given. So it was spoken, so it shall be done.'

And Hastin-Ra did as he said he would. He took the names of the poet and the princess. But when he did so, all knowledge of them was also taken from everybody who ever knew them. In their loved ones, it was replaced only by a sense of overwhelming loss, and the understanding that something dear had been taken from them, and that they could neither reclaim it nor truly comprehend what it was. This was a part of the revenge of Hastin-Ra for three millennium of imprisonment. The Emperor himself was especially affected by this, because he loved his daughter dearly and valued the poet above any other member of his court. Hastin-Ra withheld this curse from only two people: the princess and the poet themselves. They remembered one another, and their love. And they left the kingdom of Tsaonast together. For the rest of their days, they wandered the empire, entertaining nobles and commoners alike with their poetry. The works of the unnamed poet and princess are still cherished on that world even to this very day, although none can say who first authored them."

With that, Barlow sits back and sips his cider. "I do like happily-ever-after endings, but sadly such things are rare in the love stories of that era."