17th of Summer 518AV
Frequenting the Shinyama Pavilion wasn't at all part of his daily routine. Quite the contrary. In spite of having unfathomable respect for those who kept the city safe, Raeyn preferred to leave them to it. The only exception was when he couldn't find this dearest friend at the seclusion of the hot springs. A favoured destination of their where the two men could escape the hustle and bustle of the city and delight in some relaxed banter, just like the old times.
And as of late, even though the Inarta wouldn't dare admitting it, he needed friends. The unnerving whispering in his head started to intensify. No longer was it just the murmours of his name. It - what ever this 'it' might have been - now spoke full words, sentences even. And what it was saying was furthest from what Raeyn liked to hear. He was not one for getting his hands dirty unless it involved the practice of magic of the hunting of rabbits for supper. Having grown up a sheltered existence in a loving family lead the man's stomach to churn at the mere mention of spilling human blood.
As he passed Kagaya which a more of less ignored not of reverence in the pavilion hallways, those stomach churning requests was preciselly what he heard.
"So many weapons in this place. Wouldn't it be lovely to see them plunged into someone's chest?"
Raeyn shook his head, pale and disturbed at the mere thought. "It's just your imagination." he hummed beneath his breath as he swung open the door to investigate one of the training rooms, hoping for a familiar face to smile back at him once he entered. But between dummies of straw and wood and rack of training weapons, his eyes coduln't find the familiar mop of black hair.
For a moment Raeyn stood there, certainly looking quite peculiar wrapped up in his own thought. He was neither fine and frail, nor exceptionally muscular, yet his frame was clad in the most exquisitely cleaned and richly coloured robes. A rabbit fur lined cloak draped over his shoulders, keeping out this summer's chill. He was quite the refined presence with a face of somewhat androgynous beauty, disgruntled however by whatever turmoil churned behind the eyes. The Inarta ran his fingers though his hair, allowing long strands of white and red to fall onto his shoulders, revealing just for a moment a path of snow white skin that lined his hair line, matching the crescent beneath his eye. His left arm, albeit no longer in a sling, still seemed to retain the muscular memory of the painful event as it settled at the height of his stomach.
Frequenting the Shinyama Pavilion wasn't at all part of his daily routine. Quite the contrary. In spite of having unfathomable respect for those who kept the city safe, Raeyn preferred to leave them to it. The only exception was when he couldn't find this dearest friend at the seclusion of the hot springs. A favoured destination of their where the two men could escape the hustle and bustle of the city and delight in some relaxed banter, just like the old times.
And as of late, even though the Inarta wouldn't dare admitting it, he needed friends. The unnerving whispering in his head started to intensify. No longer was it just the murmours of his name. It - what ever this 'it' might have been - now spoke full words, sentences even. And what it was saying was furthest from what Raeyn liked to hear. He was not one for getting his hands dirty unless it involved the practice of magic of the hunting of rabbits for supper. Having grown up a sheltered existence in a loving family lead the man's stomach to churn at the mere mention of spilling human blood.
As he passed Kagaya which a more of less ignored not of reverence in the pavilion hallways, those stomach churning requests was preciselly what he heard.
"So many weapons in this place. Wouldn't it be lovely to see them plunged into someone's chest?"
Raeyn shook his head, pale and disturbed at the mere thought. "It's just your imagination." he hummed beneath his breath as he swung open the door to investigate one of the training rooms, hoping for a familiar face to smile back at him once he entered. But between dummies of straw and wood and rack of training weapons, his eyes coduln't find the familiar mop of black hair.
For a moment Raeyn stood there, certainly looking quite peculiar wrapped up in his own thought. He was neither fine and frail, nor exceptionally muscular, yet his frame was clad in the most exquisitely cleaned and richly coloured robes. A rabbit fur lined cloak draped over his shoulders, keeping out this summer's chill. He was quite the refined presence with a face of somewhat androgynous beauty, disgruntled however by whatever turmoil churned behind the eyes. The Inarta ran his fingers though his hair, allowing long strands of white and red to fall onto his shoulders, revealing just for a moment a path of snow white skin that lined his hair line, matching the crescent beneath his eye. His left arm, albeit no longer in a sling, still seemed to retain the muscular memory of the painful event as it settled at the height of his stomach.