67th of Summer, 515 AV All of Mizahar was small, Branimir had realized. Certainly, it had taken weeks to sail from Zeltiva to Riverfall but more importantly there had been little in between the few mighty cities he passed. Much as he had wished to step off the ship in Ahnathep and find out about the man he had once been, he could tell even from the deck that the city's glory days were long gone. He had not wanted to see that. He would stick to his dreams and fantasies instead where the Eypharian cities were concerned. For now. All of Mizahar was small and coming to a foreign town was not necessarily something a lot of people did. THe sailors, sure, but they were a particular sort, his father had said. Some took to the profession because they sought freedom, some because they ran from something but few, so the shipwright had said, few ever found true happiness. The traders, the caravan guards, people whose profession required travel. And those who had a firm belief that a different city held something that their home couldn't offer. A better life. Branimir, the would-be architect belonged in the latter category. He had outgrown not so much his native Zeltiva, but the university there. Peerless as its reputation might have been, it somehow had not been to the liking of a self-professed bookworm and seeker (and lover) of knowledge of all stripes. His decision to leave had actually been made the night he received the mark from the goddess Eyris. No longer was he chained to bookshelves to find the knowledge he sought. The mark on his left hand allowed him to read into everything he could touch now, and the use of that gift had become as much second nature to him as copying those books that seemed of value to him for his own needs. EVen if he had to leave those behind as he travelled. Even travelling light was somewhat awkward. With his rulers and geometric tools and protractor and solar compass and all those things he needed in his chosen profession, the two books he stole from the University Library and a change of clothes at his mother's insistence he'd filled two sizeable crates to travel with. His books would have filled another one at least. But then he knew most of them by heart now. It would however be harder to share that knowledge without those materials to refer to. Not that he was in the business of doing so, normally. But one day he might find someone worthy of the things he knew. And did that mark on his hand not come with that price? In the end it did not matter. There was a reason to all things. Knowing about Lhavitian pottery designs might not save his life one day, but it might impress the right person at the right time. Knowledge was never useless. Knowledge was knowledge, after all. Branimir craved knowledge at all times. But right now, he mostly craved knowledge of his newly adopted home, and by extension the people that called it home. Though he did not actually care for said people all that much, he would have to live with and among them and therefore needed to at least have a handle on them. Everything happening for a reason, human interaction was after all a constant stream of action and reaction: A friendly greeting usually begat a friendly reply; a muted greeting might not gain any replies at all. Approach a person in the right way and you get the desired results -- at least that was his theory. The proper practice of it tended to elude him. But the people could be dealt with at a latter date. Stepping forth from the door of Atri's Place, which certainly lived up to its reputation as the cleanliest inn around, Branimir entered the late afternoon crowd outside. Most of the people seemed to be headed right, so he chose left. His reasoning was that they were probably headed home while he had no interest in family homes. So wherever they came from must be ultimately more interesting. Out here, Syna might have descended from her peak at noon, but the surrounding rock seemed to have soaked up the day's heat and now gave back of it bountifully. Lime or chalk probably wouldn't stick to these rocks, Branimir reasoned, and the sheer fact that the first thing he really thought of as he went to explore this alien city was of these things set his mind at ease. Buildings were buildings everywhere. Even if the Akalak apparently weren't fond of plaster. Threading his way through the crowd, Branimir saw Riverfall'S city walls loom not too far off in the distance. He might have remembered them had he not arrived at the inn after nightfall, he thought, then chided himself for not making the connection from the glow of the braziers on the wall at night. This looked like it would be a short outing. OOCIt's official, I suck at titles. I also have no intention to actually do anything with fletchers or sties in this thread. |