Wandering into Shol Arbela {{open, Kelitor's arrival}}

[Kelitor]

Kelitor hummed as he wandered through the gates of Shol Arbela, the capital of Arafel, throwing back the hood of his cloak and took a deep breath of city air, savoring the foul stench of a city as a sign of his long-awaited arrival. Life was good: The sun was bright, the weather fair, and he had had a surprisingly good trip to the grand capital city. He had thought it made more sense to set out directly south in his search for the rumored Asha'man. Indeed, all he knew about them was that they were in the southlands, and the only hope he had was finding them, but his old master had made him see sense. It would make a lot more sense to journey north first, to Shol Arbela.

 

 

In Shar Arbela he could find work with merchants heading south at worst, best case would be running into some of these Asha'man out recruiting in the city. Then he wouldn't have to worry about lying convincingly to a merchant about actually knowing how to use the sword he wore at his waist. Thinking about the possible need put a frown on his face, and he ran a finger over the hilt. He supposed his build would help. Working the forges built you in a way that maybe the merchant would take a chance.

 

Kelitor stopped suddenly in the first large square he came to, trying not to let the crowds overwhelm him, and nervously looked around. It was then that he realized he had absolutely no idea, what in the Dragon's name these Asha'man would look like. Panic seized him, he was such a fool! He'd come all this way, and he could be passing the Asha'man in the street and have no idea how to recognize them! He'd just assumed that he would know them on sight, or they him.

 

Cursing himself for a light-blinded fool, he stormed on up the main way. He could always ask a guard if there were any Asha'man in town....

 

"Yeah right, moron" he thought to himself, "just walk up to any guard and ask, 'Excuse me sir, but I'm a man who can channel, and I'm trying to find a teacher before I go stark raving mad and die of an incurable rotting sickness while leveling the city around me. Can you help me find more like myself?'"

 

There was an amnesty, but he doubted an amnesty of perhaps a few decades outweighed the prejudice of decades. He wasn't stupid. A generation ago, men who could channel were stoned on mere suspicion, he doubted it would be a good idea to admit to anything to anyone besides the Asha'man.

 

"Well then, by the Pit of Dhoom, how do you think your going find them?!"

 

Starting to laugh, or cry, he couldn't really decide, Kelitor stumbled off into the city, bells tinkling at his frantic pace, praying to the Creator that the Asha'man would find him soon.

 

((OOC: anyone want to be recruiting in Shol Arbela and find a sobbing lost country boy desperately afraid of getting lynched?))

[Kelitor]

After a while of striding rapidly around the city, Kelitor eventually managed to calm himself. He managed to get himself thoroughly lost, but he didn't worry overmuch; the day was young yet, and surely there must be at least one smith, here in the grand capital, who would take a few hours of work in exchange for a pallet on the floor and a simple meal. In any event, he had enough coin to pay for a room and food for a day or two if he must although he would prefer to save it for as long as possible.

 

Wandering now into a crowded plaza, he took a seat on the lip of a splashing fountain, staring at his unassuming face in the waters while pondering his next move....

[Kelitor]

(2 hours later)

 

The sun high in the sky, Kelitor sits on the lip of another fountain across the city, shoveling food into his mouth in a vain attempt to silence his muttering stomach beneath the borrowed forge apron. He'd found a days work after all, in the small forge that served the City Watch, and after four hours of non-stop pumping of the bellows, he was starved. Not to mention his arms and shoulders were screaming so badly they shook and barely had the strength to lift his bowl of stew to his mouth.

 

Sighing, he set the wooden bowl down at his side, and hefted a small skin of water, washing down the creamy mix of beef and a few vegetables. Sighing with unadulterated satisfaction. For now he doesn't have to worry about finding these Asha'man. He has a job with food and a pallet for now, for a few days if he wants it, really.

 

 

Raising his eyes, scanning the square, his eyes skim over the crowd, pausing here and there on a pretty girl, until it comes to a man, standing in the corner, wearing a black coat whose presence tugged at Kelitor for no reason he could grasp....

 

((OOC: Someone wanna pick me up and take me to the Farm? Or should I make up some weirdness myself? Feel free to jump in, test me, and haul me off anytime!))

[Kelitor]

((OOC: Well, since its been about 20 hours, I'm going to move along.))

 

Suddenly, the black coated man pushed off from the wall and stalked over to him, scattering locals from around the fountain as he came. Finally he was standing just in front of Kelitor, glaring down with crazed dark eyes, muttering to himself.

 

He was a Taraboner, with rather unkempt mustaches giving him the appearance of some unusual walrus. His coat was black and none too clean, and a pin in the shape of a sword, and some weird serpentine beast, in gold and silver, rode high on his collar, and Kelitor found himself staring at the pin of the beast oddly mesmerized.

 

Suddenly, he realized that the man's last mutter had been directed at him.

 

"What?" He asked uneasily,

 

"Light blast you for a fool, boy", the man snarled, "I asked if you could."

 

"What?...." Kelitor thought uneasily, edging away on the fountain, ever so slowly inching his left hand across his lap to where his sword was belted.

 

Quick as a serpent, the man's hand lashed out, and with almost appalling strength, actually pulled the burly youth upright, staring into his eyes.

 

Now Kelitor was feeling scared. There were exactly five people who'd been able to manhandle him that easily since he'd gained muscle in the forge: His master who was a blacksmith, the local Lord, whom some said had been a Warder for the Tower, and his three closest friends, all of whom were nearly as large as he.

 

Suddenly the mad Taraboner snapped up a finger between them and without any warning, a flame spurted up. The Taragoner giggled "Well boy, if you won't tell me, I guess we'll just find out! Now look into the flame and we'll see, we'll see, we'll all see!" He cackled a little madly.

 

"Oh.... I must have the Dark One's own luck...." Kelitor thought, realizing he must have finally managed to stumble upon an Asha'man. "No way I could get someone who I could talk to. I had to stumble over one that'll probably blow my head off any second now..."

 

Staring into the flame, he had no idea what in the name of the Light he was supposed to do... so he just hung there in the Asha'man's grip and stared at the flame, for what seemed like hours...

 

Until suddenly, dozing off, hypnotized by the flame, the Asha'man crowed triumphantly and dropped him into a head, waving the flame over his head and howling "I knew it! I knew when I saw the boy staring at us that he could feel it! Ha!"

 

Grabbing him up, the Asha'man winked at him "Time to go now then!" he intoned almost normally. And spinning him back around to face the fountain again, Kelitor gasped: The fountain was totally obscured by a window floating in midair, showing what appeared to be a hill overlooking some village.

 

The Asha'man began herding him towards the hole, and Kelitor knew there was no way under the Light that the man was going to let him return to the smith to make his apologies, or return the leather apron he still wore. With a groan, he temporarily tore himself away from the Taraboner, dashing back around the window, which was oddly not visible from this side, and snatched up his bundle of meager clothing. He quickly striped the apron off, and hearing tittering giggles behind him, quickly flung on a clean (somewhat) shirt.

 

Finally he gave the leather apron and stew bowl to one of the braver matrons, one of the locals who hadn't fled the site of his trial with the Asha'man and begged her to return the bowl and apron to the smithy at the City Guard barracks and explain what had happened. Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel, bells clinking, he strode back to the Asha'man, who wore a sneer openly.

 

"Boy, you'll have to learn not to grovel for lickspittles like them. We can channel. They can't. Lesson one: Don't keep the Black Tower waiting on cattle." And with a contorted smirk, he reached out and flicked Kelitor's ear like a child.

 

Kelitor reminded counted to ten, reminding himself all the while that the man could reduce him to a smear on the cobbles, and never be made to account for it, before nodding.

 

"Well, no more wasting time, boy! Arath will be waiting for you...."

 

With that, Kelitor was all but flung through the Gate, across the continent, and onto the Farm, wondering who the hell this "Arath" was...

 

((OOC: I've arrived, and I'll be coming for Arath shortly. As soon as this crazed Asha'man finishes abusing me.  ;D    ))

[Kelitor]

Walking quickly, to avoid being driven like some beast of labor, something he was beginning to suspect this Asha'man to view him as. His suspicion wasn't alleviated by the way the Asha'man kept smirking at everyone else in site and then back at him, like he'd won some great prize by bringing him here.

 

After a few minutes of hurried walking, he realized that their destination was one a large building straight ahead, and had the appearance of some importance: men bearing enormous stacks of paperwork kept scurrying in and out.

 

Huh... It looks surprisingly... boring. I guess even the infamous "Black Tower" needs clerks.

 

But then he saw one of the clerks stop, stare into space, and suddenly a hole rotated into midair, leading into a black void, broken only by what appeared to be a simple wooden platform. Kelitor shuddered, trying to put the image of that emptiness out of his head.

 

Finally, he and the Asha'man reached the main building and a closed door.

 

"Here", snapped the Asha'man, and the door slammed open on its hinges, rebounding from the inside. Damn fool... Whoever, this "Arath" is, he's not going to like him channeling his door like that... Unless that WAS Arath...

 

With a hopeless wry smile, Kelitor minutely adjusted his sword in what he hoped looked like a professional manner, touched his braids to make sure his bells had survived the events of the last half bell or so, and stepped inside to meet this "Arath".