87th of Fall, 515 AV
Early Morning
Syliras was busier than Aoren remembered.
It was not that the city wasn’t always busy. The immense citadel that housed thousands upon thousands of people had always been something to behold. The feeling that had filled Aoren upon seeing the spires of the massive castle fortress had surprised him. He’d felt relieved. He’d felt...homesick. Aoren was happy in Riverfall. He’d found a great many things there. He’d been content in Zeltiva, he’d learned so much. But when Syliras had come into view a part of him had been filled with a sense of belonging and rightness in the world it had caught him off guard. Firstly because he hadn’t really expected to see the city so soon after leaving. Secondly because when he’d left he’d been filled with very different feelings.
For all of its flaws though, Syliras was still the home where he grew up. He might not have been born there but he was raised there. He took his first steps at the Welcome Home. He’d made his first friend there. He’d lost the closest thing he’d ever called a family in Syliras. But while the young man who had left Syliras had been largely ignorant of the world the man who returned was not. Aoren had faced down monsters. He had gone head to head with killers. He had delved into mysteries most minds shied away from. He had experienced pain for which there were no words. And as he walked through the Nettles District of the great fortress city he saw that Syliras too was changing.
People were moving about with purpose. Walls were being knocked down. Iron piping was being tended to by smiths and laborers. The din of activity wasn’t unwelcome but it was a shift compared to the relative tranquility he’d become accustomed to. Zeltiva had been a rather, when it wasn’t being shaken down to its bedrock, quiet seafaring city. Riverfall was highly meditative in its atmosphere. That was not to say the Akalak didn’t know how to throw a grand celebration when the occasion was called for. Aoren’s thoughts were interrupted as he noticed an individual struggling with a bundle of rods in their arms. The person was about to lose their grip and from the looks of it would likely injure themselves. Moving swiftly Aoren came up to the side grabbing a hold of a few of the unstable rods offering a measure of balance.
“Easy there friend. Need a hand?” Aoren wasn’t entirely certain what was going on in the city. He had, however, plenty of time on his hands as he’d yet to acquire a form of employment. He saw no harm in lending a hand where a hand was needed.
Early Morning
Syliras was busier than Aoren remembered.
It was not that the city wasn’t always busy. The immense citadel that housed thousands upon thousands of people had always been something to behold. The feeling that had filled Aoren upon seeing the spires of the massive castle fortress had surprised him. He’d felt relieved. He’d felt...homesick. Aoren was happy in Riverfall. He’d found a great many things there. He’d been content in Zeltiva, he’d learned so much. But when Syliras had come into view a part of him had been filled with a sense of belonging and rightness in the world it had caught him off guard. Firstly because he hadn’t really expected to see the city so soon after leaving. Secondly because when he’d left he’d been filled with very different feelings.
For all of its flaws though, Syliras was still the home where he grew up. He might not have been born there but he was raised there. He took his first steps at the Welcome Home. He’d made his first friend there. He’d lost the closest thing he’d ever called a family in Syliras. But while the young man who had left Syliras had been largely ignorant of the world the man who returned was not. Aoren had faced down monsters. He had gone head to head with killers. He had delved into mysteries most minds shied away from. He had experienced pain for which there were no words. And as he walked through the Nettles District of the great fortress city he saw that Syliras too was changing.
People were moving about with purpose. Walls were being knocked down. Iron piping was being tended to by smiths and laborers. The din of activity wasn’t unwelcome but it was a shift compared to the relative tranquility he’d become accustomed to. Zeltiva had been a rather, when it wasn’t being shaken down to its bedrock, quiet seafaring city. Riverfall was highly meditative in its atmosphere. That was not to say the Akalak didn’t know how to throw a grand celebration when the occasion was called for. Aoren’s thoughts were interrupted as he noticed an individual struggling with a bundle of rods in their arms. The person was about to lose their grip and from the looks of it would likely injure themselves. Moving swiftly Aoren came up to the side grabbing a hold of a few of the unstable rods offering a measure of balance.
“Easy there friend. Need a hand?” Aoren wasn’t entirely certain what was going on in the city. He had, however, plenty of time on his hands as he’d yet to acquire a form of employment. He saw no harm in lending a hand where a hand was needed.
