Closed Words of Water

[Isana Lin]

72nd of Spring, 514 AV
Continued from Seeds of Knowledge and Search for Seeds.

Bound leather hit the dry timber of the table with a dull thud. The book's impact threw up a cloud of dust that hung suspended for a handful of ticks, dancing in the beam of light peaking through a slit in the gatehouse walls for a moment before an uncomfortably heavy breath forced it away. The slit was the only illumination in the room today - though a bracket hung on the wall it would likely remain bereft of a torch until sundown. Isana had bought the book, her journal, to record the victim's recollections. She need not have bothered.

"You remember nothing?" A man shifted in the seat before her, nervous breaths sending new puffs of dust drifting through the tiny room. As well he should be. He was old enough to be Isana's father, greying hair already beginning the slow retreat to make its last stand somewhere around his ears. Old enough to be my father, and he still behaves like a guilty child dragged before his mother. Isana struggled to keep the contempt from her voice and failed utterly. "Not one moment?"

"I'm sorry, Sera." He waved meekly. So much like a child. Isana half expected him to start sucking his thumb. "I remember going in to the bar and orderin' a drink - fine wine, it was -.
"Yes. You've said. To celebrate your niece's wedding? Isana had already heard the story that morning. The man seemed to be trying to make up for his ignorance of the night's later events by recounting those preceding them in agonising, useless, detail. Not for the first time that afternoon, she wondered where Ironheart was. Sylir help her, she was beginning to miss the quiet.
"That's the one. Getting married to Gam from the mill down at Mithryn. 'course, I knew it'd work out soon as I saw it. Good lad, he is. From a good family too, even after that business with the Walters last summer. It'll work out just fine, oi said, I told 'em, and would you look at that? Old Tyr was right again." 'Old Tyr' must have had a trace of rabbit in him, because the twitch when he saw the glare Isana had turned on him came dangerously close to propelling him clear out of his chair.
"Your niece was to be wed in Mithryn, correct?"
Tyr nodded, his adam's apple bobbing like a ship caught in swell.
"And to celebrate this wedding in Mithryn, you chose to go drinking alone in Syliras?"
"Well, I couldn't afford a wagon..." He trailed off.
"Yet you could afford enough of that wine to completely forget what possessed you to pick a fight with two armed men. Remarkable."
Tyr shifted in his seat like a pinned snake. What a worthless waste of a human being. He hardly seemed worth the effort Baura had expended to save his life. White bandages wrapped his torso like war-paint, faintly visible through the thin homespun of his shirt - along with the rest of him, regrettably. Isana blinked a few times, trying in vain to banish the sight. Tyr had been lucky his wounds had been largely superficial, as sword cuts went - his attackers had been looking to injure, rather than kill. The alcohol had done the rest, mingling with the healer's potions and dragging him into a drifting stupor that it had taken Baura eight days to wake him from.

Eight days of waiting to find that she had put her life on the line for a balding drunkard. She ran a hand over the purplish patchwork of bruises covering her face, tracing the pattern of blows one of Tyr's attackers had sunk into her head, and wished that she hadn't bothered. "You have a job."
"Well, I've been doing some odds and ends at the forg-" Isana cut him off.
"I was not asking. I have spoken to Baura and he has, for reasons that I will admit I cannot fully comprehend, agreed to take you on as an apprentice to pay off your debt."
"My... Debt?" Tyr's brain was visibly struggling to catch up.
"Yes." Isana slowed her speech to a crawl. Considering the man's conduct thus far, it seemed an appropriate measure. "I thought it to be an exceptionally fair offer. Eight days of a healer's attention does not come cheap, Apprentice Tyr. Unless, of course, you would prefer to take your chances outside the walls?"
"No." Tyr's eye's gave a passable impression of saucers. "That's a generous offer, Sera. I'll just be off now, should I?"
"I thought as much too." She nodded, braid inching up the her back. "By all means, Apprentice." Isana folded the book under her arm as Tyr inched around her to the door. She glanced back as he wedged it open. "And Goodman Tyr?"
He shifted, halfway through the door, eyes darting into the daylight behind him. Isana could just make out the heavy frame of Baura, the light-haired healer waiting beyond the doorframe. "Sera?"
"I will not see you in the taverns again, shall I?"
He grinned sheepishly. "No, Sera."
The gatehouse door clicked shut behind him, leaving Isana alone. "I should hope not." She sighed to an empty room, slumping in one of the two wooden chairs. The combination of the interview and earlier journey to the training grounds had exhausted her more than she cared to admit. "Sylir protect us from drunkards and fools."

Where was that squire?

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS A young Isur strode through the halls. The few he'd passed had been curious enough to wonder where he was going, but the look of determination on his face combined with the pace he was setting made it quite obvious. It didn't matter where he was going because he was late. If they had been even a bit more inclined to solving mysteries then perhaps they may have even guessed that he was a Squire and his urgent business was that of a meeting with a Knight. As it was, he was not wearing armor nor anything that would signify him as a Squire. For all the eyes of the world could look on him and all they'd see was a young man in plain if not slightly worn clothes. His thoughts revolved around how late he could be and where exactly Sera Lin was. The Knight had not specified a time to him nor had she even told him a specific location. Though he'd spent nearly the whole season in Syliras, he'd spent most of it on the training grounds. He'd had little reason to go anywhere else. Getting lost was quite possible though with his natural sense of direction was much better than that of other races. If she'd at least given him a time to meet then perhaps he could have tried to arrive earlier to search for her. He wasn't too sure that would've been possible though. The Bazaar had been quite busy, not too mention the small distraction he'd had when he purchased the new silver pendant that hung around his neck. Altos continued to fret about his predicament until he saw a pair of men. One of them was a heavier set blond man. Following behind him was an older man, hairline receding and wearing clothes that even Altos could see were reaching their last days. The second man's face did not suit him as it appeared sheepish, as if he were a young boy who'd just been scolded for playing a prank. It was possible that they might know where Isana is. She did have some business here he supposed. If not they could at least direct him to were the Knights were most likely to be in the gatehouse. "I beg your pardon, but if I may take a moment of your time?" Altos was not likely to be accused of rudeness. At least not when he first spoke to people. He'd always approached each new meeting with an open mind. The issue was that he tended to judge rather quickly and most often people fell short of his expectations. It was not that Altos thought he was better than other's for he held himself to the same standards if not higher ones. It was just that even he did not usually tend to live up to his own expectations. "If you might be able to direct me to Sera Lin? And if not her at least the gatehouse then?" The blond man's response came with a gentle smile and a chuckle as if there was a joke only he knew. Nodding the man consented to give him directions. As he spoke he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the balding gentleman to his left stood a little straighter and his sheepish look paled a little. It seemed he may have known the Sera. Altos made a note to remember his face and ask Sera Lin about it. If this man was somehow a criminal he may need to locate him again. "She is in the gatehouse. It will be the first door on your right as you approach. Now if you'll excuse us." Politely extricating himself and his companion he gave a slight nod and continued on. The balding man took a few more moments and then as if a little slow on the uptake he realized he may be left behind. With a small jump he hurried to catch up, giving the Isur a small glance as he passed. He definitely seemed guilty of something. Perhaps that had been Sera Lin's business, dealing with the man. Truth be told he hoped the answer was such as even Altos who strived to be as patient as Izurdin was only mortal. If he'd been sent on his little request so that she would not have to make the trip to the chaotic Bazaar even Altos would anger. Pushing his darker thoughts aside he made to find this door. If Sera Lin was on the other side then she was much closer than he'd anticipated and there were still hopes he might not be late. Though if she chose to take offense to the length of time it had taken him to complete his task there was little he could say. Spotting the door, he been informed about he creaked it open. Opening into a small room that was sparsely furnished with only a small table and a pair of chairs he spotted the Sera. She was seated in a chair with a look of weariness that seemed to encompass her whole being. Stepping into the room, a small puff of dust accented his foot step. The room was ill-kept, dark and dreary. Noticing a book that lay on the table he had a passing wonder. Could this Sera read and write? Envy struck him as he remembered the original goal he'd had for the day. Moving on, Altos made his presence known to the Knight. "Sera, I apologize for taking so long. I had some trouble locating a booth which sold what you'd asked for."

[Isana Lin]

Old timber scraped across stone. Isana leapt to her feet, mail rippling. Had Tyr returned with some other story of his childhood with which to push her from the last rocky crags of her patience? She forced her tired body's protests to the back of her mind, straightening her back, lifting her head. She may be exhausted, but she would be damned if she was going to show it. Isana turned, fully prepared - well, prepared - to face another onslaught of Tyr's incessant babbling.

Instead, she saw Ironheart standing there patiently, explaining his successful errand. How long had he been there for? Had he seen her slumped there in the chair? Oh, such fine behaviour for a knight that was. Perhaps for her next trick she ought to start sleeping on the watch in front of the squires. Surely that could not help but provide a positive example. She flushed with embarrassment and turned back to the table, snatching the journal from the dusty timber, hoping that Ironheart hadn't noticed the tinge of crimson beneath her bruises.

"Storms Ironheart, were you ever taught to knock?" The words came out harsher then she had intended, but Isana pushed on. "I could very well have been in the middle of an interview. As it stands, you only missed it by a few ticks." Unfortunately. She exhaled, deflating a fraction. Any interruption would have been welcome compared to Tyr's rambling. Finally, she raised a hand, waving him in.

"You had best come in, then." Seeing as you are already halfway there. She waved to the largely empty room. "Take a seat. Or do not. Whichever you prefer, though after the fool that occupied it this morning I would not blame you if you wished to remain standing. Sylir forbid that idiocy be contagious."

She slid her gauntlets to the tables edge, the armour scraping trails in the dust of the table. Isana wondered how long it had been since this room was last used, what its original purpose had been. Empty holes sat high in the walls, mountings for... Something. Iron cell bars? A ventilation system? She dismissed the second idea as ridiculous. The balistraria provided a sufficient volume of air. She abandoned the thought. The archives would likely have some details of the wall's original construction, including the gatehouse. It could have been a mounting for a clothes line, for all she knew.

"There is no need for an apology. The task takes however long it takes, all I ask is that it be done." She tapped her fingers on her journal's pitted surface, feeling the gentle indentations in the leather. There was something relaxing about a book, even a largely empty one. "In any event, you seem to have met with greater success this morning than I." A fine waste of a perfectly good morning. She curled her fingers over the back of the chair ahead of her.

"Squire Ironheart, what would you say the purpose of the Order is?" The question came out more as a weary sigh.

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS Isana shot straight up just before he'd begun to voice his apologies. The speed with which she straightened actually impressed him. Even while wearing the heavy armor she still managed to move faster than he himself could in the blasted metal shell. He supposed that meant that somewhere under that layer of steel there was a fit if not muscular figure hidden. Flushing slightly Altos tried to banish the image that came to mind. Try as he might however it lingered in the back of his mind. As much as he might portray a mature image through his politeness and keeping his face from showing his emotion, Altos was really just introverted. He kept to himself and was not a fan of 'contact' with others. That did not however mean he was an emotionless or desire less brick. He was still young, to some at least. This had been proven by Isana. For as much as she might be younger than him she was also farther ahead in terms of knowledge and experience than he was. She proved to be the more mature of them when she admonished him on his lack of common etiquette. He was a little confused at her following statement. It took him a moment to put two and two together. The two men he'd seen only ticks ago had probably been the ones who'd had a meeting with her. Following her reprimand she waved him into the room and beckoned him to take a seat. Altos could guess which man she was ranting about. It must have been the sheepish looking one who'd been balding. He had not yet had to deal with Isana's full ire. He'd already found her quite impressive in her self-assured demeanor and could only imagine how unpleasant it may feel to be on the receiving end of her displeasure. As he moved to take a seat he simultaneously placed the bag on the table and slid it closer to her. Fishing through the small pocket on his pants he brought out the remaining miza she'd lent him for the purchase. "I believe I met your, ah, acquaintances. In fact it was from them I'd found out where you were. One of them was looking quite... chastised." A small smirk appeared on his face as he now understood the full meaning behind the man's sheepishness. He would have liked to have been here to have seen it. Surely it would have brightened his own mood to see someone else being the object of her dissatisfaction. "I believe these are the seeds you requested. To be honest I'm not too fond of the Bazaar and I hope to see it as little as possible in the future. I do hope that I didn't take too long." The chair he sat on creaked as he leaned back into the seat. The room was covered in dust and every little movement seemed to send a cloud of the infernal stuff everywhere. He would not be the first to mention it however. He'd had enough of appearing weak and as malleable as clay in front of this woman. The next question threw him for a loop. She'd changed gears quite quickly. This time she queried after what he believed to be the purpose of the Order. It was a question Altos had actually considered. Though he hadn't actively devoted any time to it. He'd spent the first part of the season so embroiled in training he'd had little time for anything else. It had been the trip with Ser Logan to the Archive's that had really opened his eyes. The Knighthood was not just a simple collection of men and women who fought to protect the citizens. It something else, something more. He had not yet figured it out and as Summer approached he truly began to think about what he was devoting himself to. "I'm.. not sure. I thought it was merely an order of those who wished to protect people but... after Ser Logan brought me to the Archive's well.. I'm not too sure any more. It seems too complex to be a group of.. well over glorified guardsmen. I had thought I knew what I was devoting myself to but now I'm not sure. The Knights seem to be aiming for something.. greater than just protecting some people." Flushing Altos lowered his gaze. He was not used to exposing his thoughts, especially not in such a long winded comment. It may have been that he did not know the Sera save for the few moments they'd spent walking the halls. It could be that he felt safe revealing such a part of himself to someone who was so far not a regular part of his life.

OOC- 1 GM
-Pouch of Seeds

[Isana Lin]

Isana slid the coin between the covers of her journal. The book seemed a fitting place for things of value, after all. The boy had done well on the price, and doubly so to return the change - she had not expected to see any trace of the coins she had loaned. Certainly she had hoped, but squires were squires, and often a handful of coins was a novelty squandered with all the fleeting enthusiasm of a man tossing timber atop a bonfire - never minding who was burned in the search for a fractionally brighter flame.

In any case, the coin was welcome. Her purse was uncomfortably sparse without light-fingered squires dipping into it. Her eyes flickered to Ironheart's metallic arm. Perhaps light-fingered is the wrong phrase. Starvation was hardly a threat here as it was in the wilds. The order would not leave her to wither, but there was a special sort of helplessness that came with an empty purse. She resisted the urge to inspect the seeds - it would have been a useless undertaking. Despite a childhood in a farming community Isana could not tell grass from grapevine. No, she would simply have to trust that Ironheart had made the correct selection. The thought was more than a touch unnerving.

So, Altos had met Tyr and Baura. She felt a moment's pity for the squire that burned away when he mentioned the drunkard's hangdog expression. Looked chastised? "As well he might. Tyr's dilemma was entirely of his own creation, though I doubt he possesses the wits to realise it. Were he any further bereft of sense he would be deaf, dumb and blind." She released her grip on the chair's back, working the kinks from her back. Sitting in armour may have been a useful interrogator's tool, but it was a nightmare as far as comfort was concerned. "It is a small miracle he possesses the foresight not to incinerate himself in the hearth for warmth on a winter's night."

Isana accepted the seeds with a nod, sliding them to rest alongside her book and gauntlets. "The bazaar can have that effect. If your goal is to avoid it altogether; however, I wish you luck." At least, until you have squires of your own. In a way it was reassuring to her know that her fear of the bazaar was not unique. After all, if an Isur found the cramped cavern discomforting, was it really so unusual that she felt the same? They lived in the cramped dark. No, all she had of her own were her nightmares. Wonderful.

Whatever else they were, the dreams were hers. Hers to fight and hers to manage. They had been hers since she first stepped through Syliras' gates, and hers she imagined they would remain until her heart froze in her chest. That did not mean; however, that she was above avoiding the worst of them where she could.

Ironheart slipped into silence for a handful of ticks, lounging atop the chair. Strange, to see the transition from Tyr's nervous wriggling to the squire's comparatively stony perch. Good, that he gives it thought. It was a question that deserved nothing less.

"You are not incorrect, Squire Ironheart. I have no answer for you." She finally settled in the chair opposite him and, though her eyes watched him her mind was somewhere else altogether. "I once thought as you did, that the order bore arms for the protection of the people. Then, I see people like Tyr and I wonder...

Are some of them worth protecting?" She fished a seed from the bag, a miniature almond-shaped pod the colour of fresh-baked bread, no longer than her thumbnail. "Tyr is not an evil man. A fool and a halfwit, certainly, but he is no more actively malignant than a grain of sand. Nonetheless, he flirts with evil and cruelty, draws it to himself. Inadvertently, perhaps, but he does so.

A misplaced comment here, a poorly-planned night's drinking there, and he finds himself in a dark tavern beneath the swords of two mercenaries who, had Tyr not been there that night, may have done no more harm than a passing breeze. He is injured. Not fatally, but certainly painfully." She set the seed on the table. "But that is not the end of it, no.

There is the innkeeper, his tavern's name stained by blood as surely as its floor. His business will likely slow." She set another seed down next to the first.
"There are his assailants, slain in retribution for the attack. Their caravan will travel with a half-guard." Another two seeds joined the pair on the table.
"There are the knights who heard the struggle and rushed to his aid, who slew two unarmoured men on the tavern floor." She met his gaze at that. Three more seeds.
"Finally, there is the healer, who is left with a wounded man to save with no coin in reward with which to buy his bread." Another.
"Then, there are the dozens uncounted. Those in the tavern, cowed by what they saw. A young miller's daughter who must forgo the healer's attention as he works to patch the night's wounds. The kin of the slain." She raised another half handful of seeds over the growing pile. "I trust I have sufficiently made my point without wasting a perfectly good plant?" She let the seeds trickle back in to the bag, plant fibre rattling like falling rain.

"Actions have consequences, and men like Tyr are like stones thrown into a still pond. Their ripples will still be felt long after they strike the lakebed. They are not the raging fire that devastates home and field. They are arguably worse than that, they are the spark that strikes the kindling. Once the fire burns, is it any surprise that it destroys? It is, after all, only its nature." She slid the rest of the seeds back into the pouch, grey eyes studying Altos.

"And do you know the curious part?" She smiled, but there was no trace of humour in it. "Not ten chimes ago Tyr sat in the very seat you sit in now and merely thought himself glad to be alive. He has no idea of the toll of his actions, nor is he ever likely to care to learn of them. He will be out drinking again before a day is out."

The final seed joined the rest in the bag with a muffled tsk. "And it shall begin all over again.

Is that fair, Squire Ironheart? Is that right?" She glanced back over her shoulder at the spear resting against the wall, point caught in the interplay between shadow and sun. "If I were to give you that spear and order you to step into the street end his life before he could inadvertently harm another, would I be justified in doing so?" All the while, her tone never crept above a gentle conversation, eyes watching him like a hawk eyeing a mouse, waiting for one incorrect move...

Ledger+ 1 GM
+ 1 Pouch Of Seeds

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS Taking a seat Isana affirmed that to have some insecurities concerning the Knighthood was normal. If at least only for a Squire. She plucked a seed from the very pouch he'd just given her. It was a small thing no bigger than a pebble though he supposed most seeds wouldn't be. The drop of each seed from Isana's mailed hand seemed to signify each consequence that the man had caused with his mere drunkenness. Altos' brow furrowed as he began to consider what she was saying. Of course the death of the men were on his hands but to think that because of one mere night of debauchery and indulgence one man could cause such far reaching effects was astounding in it's own way. He would never have considered the far reaching effects of the man's for once the problem had been solved his job would have been done. Isana was proving to be much different than his initial thoughts of her. Instead of a Knight who was stubborn and clung to her own convictions, she was more of the intellectual type. She considered the far reaching effects of nearly every word and action, and to do so quite accurately she must be quite intelligent. No doubt that if the journal was her's she was also able to read, and perhaps write. If he could learn those skills would he be able to see as much as Isana was? Fingering his pendant Altos drifted into thought, his eye's focusing on the grains and lines of the wooden table though not really seeing it. Maybe he could, but he was also not sure that he wanted her long gaze into the future. Understanding what an action could cause was truly something that differentiated the common man from an more intelligent one but it could also cause hesitation, and hesitation was a deadly thing for any man who fought on a battlefield. The slight sound of the seeds being returned to the bag pulled him back from his thoughts. He focused once again on the Knight who sat before him. In an almost complete turn around his opinion of her had changed. she had much she could teach him and like those seeds would eventually do he would soak up any knowledge she offered like water. The spear she mentioned was leaning against the wall, it's point illuminated in the light. Such a heavy question she was demanding an answer for. Would she be justified in her order? One would certainly think so from her tirade about the man who had been named as Tyr. If he would harm other's by merely being in existence wouldn't it be more prudent to uproot the cause before it became an issue? His thumb stroked the surface of his pendant, feeling out the shape of the hammer engraved on it's face. How would Izurdin dictate it should be handled he wondered? Would he use Strength to eliminate the issue before it became a problem? Or would his Patience win over? The man had been judged already by Isana. That was the prevalent thought that struck him. Even though she felt this way she had let him walk. Why? Certainly he could be blamed for the murder but was it by his hand that they actively perished? No, they had been slain by the Knights. Nor were any of the other things mentioned by Isana his fault. Altos clenched the pendant tighter for a moment before releasing in preparation for his answer. "I think.. that although the incident was his fault, he did not directly wish to create such trouble. Nor did he actively seek to cause the pain nor the deeds that he did. He was but a simple man, who made the wrong choice and is merely ignorant. To kill him when he might never make the same mistake, would not, I think be justified." The answer sounded a little weak even to Altos' ear. However killing a man was not something to take lightly. While it certainly sounded logical to take this man's life before he could cause another problem it all hinged on one fact. That he would indeed be the source of another issue. Hoping he'd given the right answer or at least been close enough, he gripped his knee's in anticipation. He waited to hear the Knight's response, his body and mind both tense in nervousness.

[Isana Lin]

Perhaps it was melodramatic, but Isana let the silence hang for a moment. Varner must have been rubbing off on her. She waited, watching to see if Ironheart would speak again, revise his opinion, retract it altogether. Would the Isur question his views as the silence drifted on, seek to justify them?

He did not.

Finally, Isana spoke. "It is a matter of intention, then. What one intends is more important than the actions themselves?" Isana caught a glitter of silver between the Isur's fingers. What was that? She made a mental note to ask the boy about it later. "That, is a difficult road indeed Squire Ironheart. Men are far more open with their actions than their plans, and the former are oft obscure enough. Particularly -" She eyed the door, some small part of her hoping that Tyr had remained in the vicinity. "- when their wits are too addled to remember them."

She relaxed a fraction, letting her eyes skate over Altos to the slither of road visible through the arrowslit. The rustle of armour beyond the slit hinted at the presence of the knights guarding the gate, pacing back and forth beneath the portcullis, stone shielding them from the afternoon sun. It was a dull, dragging duty but after a bell with Tyr, she envied them.

Ironheart had answered better than she had when Taven had asked a similar question of her, though that counted for precious little. She had said that he ought not to be killed because it would have made a horrible mess and she had possessed no desire to be dragged in to cleaning it up. Than again, Taven had started on such scenarios when she was still too young to properly comprehend a great deal beyond the number of fingers she possessed. She expected the Isur had a good number of years of training as a Squire behind him and, hopefully, mathematical capabilities not limited by the number of his extremities.

"Nonetheless, as you no doubt saw on your way, I agree with your conclusion, if not your reasoning." Isana rolled her neck, cracking the last of the morning's stiffness from her spine. "If I accept that I cannot know a man's intentions, than my own intentions cease to provide justification. If my intentions cease to matter, then killing Tyr would be nothing more high-minded than murder, and I can hardly claim to be upholding the peace while gutting an unarmed old man, can I?" She shrugged, as though it were as obvious as the blue of the sky.

"Conversely, if I accept intention as a valid factor in punishment, than Tyr's intention to avoid harm merits consideration against my intention to keep the peace. Again, I cannot harm him without the act being hypocritical." Though not necessarily wrong. She pushed past that particular sentiment. Life in the city made morality so much more complex than it was on the road. "And, as you said, killing a man for what he may do is a questionable line of reasoning at best and a rapid path to a migraine at worst." And I, for one, have no further desire for migraines today.

"But, enough of that. Tyr lives today, for better or worse." And a dozen bartenders rejoice, no doubt. Isana cocked an eyebrow. "You mentioned that Ser Logan has shown you the Archives? I am glad to hear it. There are a great many that neglect the knowledge their in favour of honing their skill at arms." The rebuke in her tone was clear as polished glass. "What subjects has he chosen to educate you upon? Military history and tactics, I expect?"

OOCSorry for the delay!

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS Silence dragged for a few moment's in the air but Altos had given his answer. He would not flit from idea to idea. No, he had given his answer and regardless of what thought's occurred to him in these moments he would not change it. Perhaps it was stubborn but Altos believed that once a decision had been made or words said they could not be taken back. Having said that the tension in his body only built as the ticks dragged by. The tension flooded out of his body as he sank back into his thoughts as she picked and poked at his answer. His new found state of relaxation however was not from relief but rather a mere release of effort. Isana once again dug his thoughts up from there roots and showed him the twists and curves in his logic that made his answer unsuitable. He had never been good at these types of questions. Altos would follow his commander and any man he respected into battle. He had always considered these thoughts as ones that only those of higher rank must be cursed with. Such moral considerations was not something he'd ever really pondered. Then again he'd also never taken a life, an act which seemed to be the center of all such discussions. Altos had finally reached a point where confusion flitted across his face. Essentially she was saying that her intentions and the man's intentions cancelled each other out, or so he thought. If so was there any answer to her query or had she merely meant to push his thoughts into a realm they did not often travel. Metal clinked and grated as she lifted her shoulders. The sound pulled him back to the cacophony of the training yards. Rather than the strenuous workout his mind was receiving he'd rather be back at the training post blankly swinging away. At least that was a simple process he understood. "But, enough of that. Tyr lives today, for better or worse." Thank Izurdin! Though it had been short, the trial he had just faced had probably been among the most trying and exhausting he'd ever been through. His elation could be seen as he began to perk up in his chair. Only to be dashed away yet again. This time he sunk into the chair more in embarrassment as his face flushed slightly. Inquiring after how his education had gone would not be a path strewn with plentiful growth. In fact he was quite loathe to admit but Logan had not yet embarked on teaching Altos much in those fields aside from their conversations during spars. As much out of Altos' shame as it was out of his desire to put it off he still had not learnt to read. Finally looking in another direction Altos could not hold his gaze as he admitted this to her, his face reddening. "I'm afraid that the extent of my knowledge on the subject is only what I've been taught by Ser Logan. At least what we've discussed in sparring." Reading was not a skill that just every commoner had in the streets but it did seem to be a common skill for the Knights. And it wasn't that he couldn't read at all it was just that the Isurian rune script was all he'd been taught. Gathering up his courage he tried to reassure himself. It's only been a season since he'd entered Syliras and not even a full one at that yet. He'd hardly been exposed to common most of his life aside from his lessons from his parent's so that he'd at least had a basic understanding. After all he had lived inside a mountain for most of his life. Facing Isana still flushed and embarrassed he tried to explain to her his situation though he doubted she'd see it as anything other than laziness. "You see, I've only been in Syliras for about a season now, and well there wasn't much written in common in Sultros, and so.. well you see.. I can't really.. read common yet" There it was out. His much loathed secret that only Logan had known. Though there weren't many other's he had in his life. Isana seemed to call out all his weak spots and put them on display where she could criticize them. Hoping that she wouldn't be to harsh he could only wait for her response.

OOCSorry bout the wait

[Isana Lin]

"You can't read?" Isana stared at him as though he'd just declared Syliras a burning wreck. A full tick passed before she recalled herself enough to clamp her jaw shut. The knowledge stored in the archives was among the most potent of weapons available to the order. More so than any number of spears, any Wing of blades. Without the information contained within those stone walls, the order was little better than a well-intentioned gang of armour-coated thugs. To not know how to access it was a disgrace. Than again, she really ought not have been surprised, she supposed. This was the same man that had left the squire to his own devices in the training grounds, after all. "A season, and you've not so much as touched upon it?"

The boy flushed. As well he should. She felt a spark of anger flare in her chest and had to fight to keep her voice level. "Storms, Ironheart. It's not your failing that you've not been taught, but a season?" No doubt this Ser Logan has had him swinging blades the whole time. Another brute with more concern for how to use a blade than when to do so. Not surprising, but disappointing. Very disappointing. "Has Logan made any mention of when he intends to teach you?" If he does at all. She waved the point away a moment later.

"Never mind that." The attitude was hardly unusual within the order. Unfortunately. They were meant to be something more than warriors, keepers of the peace, soldiers. The order was responsible, almost single-handedly, for keeping Syliras functioning. That was a task far beyond the capability of mere strength of arms. Not that it stopped some from trying. Certainly, the scribes could act as a counterweight to an extent, fetching and recalling information as it was required, but to neglect that education entirely was a significant lapse. To forsake all the knowledge in the archives simply to swing a sword a little faster? It was ridiculous. "This needs to be rectified, Squire Ironheart."

"There is far more to the order than just swordplay. Despite -" Her eyes were hard. "- what some may have you think, civilisation is more than a blade on your hip." Oh, they'll say they know surely enough. Actions; however, screamed far louder than empty words and one had only to compare the numbers swinging steel in the training grounds to those in the archives to see the truth of the matter. Perhaps she was no better, but at least she could access the archives when the need arose. The same, it seemed, could not be said for Ironheart. Her fingers tapped an idle beat on the dusty table. "The archives are key to that.

I am otherwise engaged until season's end." Isana had already missed enough patrols following an incident in a tavern - the same one that had left her face in its present, mottled, state. She had hardly a free day until the Watchtowers flared. Nowhere near enough time. "However. Come Summer, I expect I shall see you at the archive doors. The sixth, at seventh bell. Assuming, of course, that your patron can spare you for a morning." No doubt he would rather Ironheart spent the morning goring a training dummy. Sylir forbid I interfere with that.

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS Her anger seemed less directed towards him than it was towards his Patron. In his personal belief Ser Logan had not meant to leave it lay so long. Rather he'd given Altos the choice of whether or not too learn it. He'd tried to impress the need for him to garner an education but all the same he'd not forced it upon the young Isur. More or less Altos had been putting it off by focusing on his more physical training. When she pointed out that it had been near a full season and he'd still had yet to even begin the process he began to feel sheepish. In an attempt to defend Logan if not himself he spoke up. "Ser Logan has impressed upon me the need for learning but he has said he does not intend to force it upon me. He believes that I should want to learn otherwise the lessons will float in one ear and out the other." She waved away his paltry explanation for it was but an excuse. As much as he hated to admit it he'd left it for far too long. One of the first things he'd come to notice about the Knights was that they were relatively educated. Intelligence seemed to be valued here as the Knights were not only the muscle behind the peacekeeping force but also the brain. It was a surprise arriving to this conclusion as he'd expected the Knights to be more like the Hammer. Isana's opinion seemed to coincide with Altos' as she stated her view, though she seemed a bit more zealous about it than he did. Isana was giving him little choice in the matter. Though that was probably a good thing. He may have put it off if given one. With her demanding his presence in the Archives he now had no way to escape the task. That his teacher was going to be the female Knight however elicited a mixture of feelings from him. He had gained some respect for her through their conversation as she obviously possessed quite an intellect, but at the same time he was not sure if he could deal with her presence. She was quite headstrong and stubborn. Though the same could be said for him. "I'm sure my Patron will have no objections to that arrangement. If he does I'm sure he will notify you. If not I will be there." His mind and will both thoroughly worn down at this point he decided he'd take a risk and inquire about whether Isana needed him any further. It had been a morning filled with the chaos of the Bazaar and the unexpected meeting of a Knight. Perhaps one day he'd look back on this day and be thankful for it but for now he'd rather escape to somewhere he could recuperate from it all. Beside's with her early frustration at the citizen and her newest headache he'd just presented her it may be a good idea for him to leave while he had the chance. Attempting to keep himself formal and controlled, he tried to hide his desire to escape the room or at least mask it. "Will be all for today? Or is there another matter you need assistance with Sera?"