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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

The Yellow Brick Road [Open to casual rpers....ie, cameo appearances] [Attn Bard Babe and Arinth]


Starrik
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Faran Mesa Dar’Jurai paused from his walk, to gaze at the heavy walls of Fal Moran from a distance. The large, but massively fortified city sat before him, the town itself giving the impression of an ever-alert state, waiting for an attack from the north. His first time out of the Stedding, the purely human built structure seemed strange to Faran’s eyes, something built only for defence with no though spared for elegance. He had entered a world vastly different to his own, but this was how he wanted it. A wide grin split Faran’s face. A whole world to explore!

His wide strides brought Faran quickly to Fal Moran’s gate. Unlike the reception he would likely have received further south, the guards at the gatehouse had seen many Trollocs, and knew immediately that Faran was not of that kin. He waved to the soldiers, his huge hand drawing their eyes and even the harder soldiers found themselves grinning and waving back. Faran was someone’s whose inexhaustible enthusiasm quickly spread to whoever he was around. Wandering through the streets, he gathered a small following of curious Borderlanders that had never before seen an Ogier. Some seemed to expect him to do something extraordinary, or at least amuse them, but Faran was doggedly searching out a tavern. Despite his incredible gait, the walk from Stedding Sanshen had left him without ale for more than a week and Faran intended on resolving this as soon as possible.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Sitting quietly in a corner, his massive flamberge leaning against the wall beside him, Mehrin stared intently at the flagon of water and plate of food- some roast beef with potatoes, some bread, and cheese- and endeavored to forget about the people around him. Fortunately, the crowd was not very large. The Red Dawn, which, based on the clientele, was apparently a gathering place for some of the seedier elements of Fal Moran, was not on the main thoroughfares of Fal Moran. It was instead tucked down a little alley behind a tailor's shop and a dealer in weapons. Mehrin could smell the forge behind the shop, the scent of coal, fire, and hot metal. The smells of the forge brought with them fond memories that Mehrin allowed himself to briefly enjoy. Life had been so simple, once upon a time.

 

Then Mehrin had joined the Band, and the next several years became a steady stream of chaos.

 

Memories of battles and bloodshed wormed their way into Mehrin's consciousness, and Mehrin forced the memories away with a growl that drew the attention of the three nearest patrons. He did not want to think about war and death. Such thoughts would bring back the memory of Fal Dara, a memory that he really did not want to relive. A part of him urged Mehrin to bring back the memory, to allow it to fill him with rage. With an effort, Mehrin stifled the urge. He did not need any more rage in his mind.

 

Fal Moran. Just a stone's throw away from Fal Dara. Mehrin knew that he should go visit the graves of Drea's parents and apologize for what had happened to their daughter because of him, but he did not think that he could face those stones. If it had not been for the merchant train with which he had gone north, he would not have returned to Shienar. As it was, Mehrin was only in Fal Moran for the night; he was heading south towards Tear. Maybe he could find work there as a thief-taker.

 

The door opened, and Mehrin glanced up from his meal to see a massive hulk of a creature come through the door. A jolt of adrenalin sharpened Mehrin's senses, and he forced himself to stay seated. The massive shape was an Ogier, not a threat. The Ogier had been instrumental in the construction of the walls of the Band's Citadel, which were as firm and sturdy as they were beautiful. Ogier had come through his office several times, and Mehrin knew a lot of the polite phrases one could use with an Ogier.

 

Still, Mehrin found that he was not excited for a conversation, should the Ogier approach him.

Edited by Quibby
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Faran surveyed the bar, pointedly ignoring any gasps at his stature. Out of his comfort zone, he was scanning for the least threatening person in the place to sit nearby. Unfortunately, his sense of threatening had not yet fully developed, and he stomped over to where a sad-looking man was eating by himself and drinking sombrely.

"How are you good sir? Mind if I take a seat?" Faran rumbled. He hadn't really gotten the hang of the whole manners thing either and had no trouble pointing out when people were in the wrong. Faran sat down, the chair groaning under his weight and very nearly collapsing. He ordered some ale from one of the serving girls, and screwed up his face at the first taste of the stuff. "Nowhere near as good as a fine Ogier Ale. Ahh, but it is so good to finally have some alcohol. I didn't quite realised how far away this was." Faran set to studying his companions features. "What brings you here?" He inquired, ears flicking wildly with uncontrolled curiosity. "I'd wager you know how to use that thing." He said, trying to breathe life into the rather one-sided conversation.

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Luck was apparently not with Mehrin as the massive figure of the Ogier eased its way between chairs and tables, then gingerly sat down across from him. "How are you, good sir? Mind if I take a seat?" he asked, though it did not matter. When Mehrin did not answer right away, the Ogier eased into the chair opposite Mehrin; it creaked under his weight. There was a brief reprieve from conversation as the Ogier ordered ale, which Mehrin eyed with a small measure of envy. It had been a couple years since he had given up drinking, but Mehrin knew that it would only take one drink to bring it all back. That was a battle that Mehrin fought every day of his life.

 

"Nowhere near as good as Ogier ale," the hulking figure said as he tasted the drink that had been given to him. "Ahh, but it is so good to finally have some alcohol." It would be, would it not? the dark part of Mehrin's mind muttered. Shut up, Mehrin thought back. "What brings you here?" the Ogier asked. Before he could answer, though, his attention was drawn to the flamberge leaning against the wall. "I'd wager you know how to use that thing."

 

A peaceful dinner in silence was obviously not forthcoming, so Mehrin sighed and thought back on his Ogier etiquette. "Kisarei ti Wansho," he said, remembering his dealings with the masons at the Citadel. "My name is Mehrin Mahrvon, a mercenary. I took a contract that led me here, and I mean to make south again tomorrow. Old ghosts here." His left eye twitched as memories threatened to relive themselves; Mehrin hid it by scratching the long scar that cut across his left eye. Leveling a cool stare across the table at the Ogier, his brown eyes meeting the Ogier's eyes, he added, "But I get ahead of myself. What is your name?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

Faran sighed, actually taking in the figure sitting before him. There was a flicker in the man's eyes, something that almost seemed to suggest that this Mehrin did not, in fact, wish to speak with him. Ignoring his obviously crazy subconscious he introduced himself. "I am Faran Dar'Jurai, of Stedding Sanshen. Dispense with the pleasantries as you will, I left the Stedding to experience the world as it is, not with the cushioning that the Elders give it.”

Faran thought for a moment, which may have been minutes to the hasty man on the other side of the table. Faran was not anywhere near the best of fighters, and he knew this. The Elders had always told him that he would get himself killed on the Outside. Maybe this potentially dangerous man would be a good way to avoid that. The other voice in his head warned him again of the man’s reluctance of speech, and his reservedness. He rumbled, “You wouldn’t happen to be travelling toward Tar Valon, would you my dear friend?”

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  • 3 weeks later...

"Hey, you big tub of hair. Can you shut up and eat your light cursed food. Your rumbling is shaking my plate enough to knock it off the table." Cobrain growled.

 

The Ogier had walked in with a big grin like he was everybody's friend in the place and frankley it pissed Cobrain off. He didn't have any friends, wasn't looking for any and if he did get stuck with one he didn't want it to be someone who stuck out like a sore thumb. And the Ogier stood out like a 10 foot sore thumb.

 

Cobrain took a long drink from his mug. He looked around the room. The big man that had had the misfortune of having the Ogier sit down and start talking to him gave him a hard look. His expression, however, was unreadable. He didn't know if the man wanted to hold hands with the ogier or stick a knife in his eye. Cobrain didn't care either. He looked around the room. The Ogier was drawing looking from the others around the room. Cobrain did not like sitting so close to him. He did not want anyone's attention.

 

He was laying low. Waiting for the next rich fat merchant that needed an extra guard along one of the easier roads south. It wasn't that difficult most of the time. He didn't go out of his way to get in fights and others usually recognized the cold look in his eyes and found another table.

 

This Ogier though, well Cobrain doubted the Ogier would blink an eye if he called him every name he could think of, and that was not a short list, He'd find out soon if the Ogier would be quiet or not. If not, well then he could always move to a different table. In either case it should have been made clear that he had no interest in talking to the Ogier.

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