Completed Seeds of Knowledge (Isana)

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS 72nd Day of Spring, 514 AV Altos wasn't sure which was worse, having to train in the rain or having the blazing sun glare down at his back. Spring was coming to a close with the coming of Summer, the rains had lessened and the sun had deigned to show it's presence. In all honesty it mattered little for he was expected to be out and training every morning regardless of the weather. Ser Logan said it was an unofficial policy of the Knights, his reasoning being that fighting in battle was done regardless of weather and so training should be done in a similar manner. Being so immersed in his own thoughts, Altos did not realize he had released his grip slightly too much and the training axe was flung quite a distance. He stood in shock for a moment before realizing how serious an incident it could have been. Altos sent a prayer of thanks to Izurdin that it had not hit any of the Knights or Squires currently training in the grounds. Altos, with a sigh, sauntered over to the fallen weapon and picked it up. He was now used to the heavy armor the Knights wore, or at least accustomed to the weight. Moving was still difficult in the armor, though he wasn't sure that was something that could be remedied. It probably stemmed from the fact that it was one of the 'general' use pieces of armor that the Squires wore. It was not fitted to Altos and so it was not quite the right size. With that thought Altos wondered if he should attempt to rekindle his training in smithing, for now the armor was fit for training purposes so he set the idea aside for later. Retrieving the piece of training equipment that had been thrown quite a fair distance from the training post, he had to consider whether or not to return to training. His routine was now mostly left up to himself, and as Ser Logan had said his skill with the axe was good enough, it was technique he lacked in, something that could only really be worked on mostly with experience or a teacher. Whacking away at a wooden poll was not likely to help him hone his skills at the moment and so he concluded that further training especially distracted as he was now would only be foolish. As he put away his training gear, weapon and armor both, he considered what other training he would fill up the reminder of the day with. While his close-ranged combat was acceptable, his ranged skills were far less than adequate and his ability to ride was much less than desirable. He had many things he needed to work on to become finally become a full fledged Knight. A scene popped into his mind, a memory of the Archive's. It was then that he recalled his time in the Syliran Knight's small but impressive library with Ser Logan. Not all Knights could read his Patron had said but he had recommended learning it. It had been much earlier in the season but he'd been neglecting to teach himself to read out of a sense of mixed apprehension and shame. Deliberating with himself about whether or not he should begin to learn, he decided to just throw himself into the task. He figured the rest might do him well and if he didn't start now he was unlikely to start anytime soon. With that driving thought in mind he headed towards the exit from the Antonius Training Grounds aiming to go to the Archives. Altos began to appreciate the nice weather. Now that he was out of the training armor the slight breeze blew through the light shirt he'd worn underneath the armor. It was one of the shirts he'd traveled with from Sultros, leaving his left arm open to the elements,it's deep green color a source of his pride in his clan, and the mark of Izurdin which nearly all Isur bore on there bodies. The rest of his clothes were of common make though worn with age and use. The hair he'd let lay loose in his helmet during practice was now tied in a loose ponytail. As much as the weather was pleasing, he'd be more comfortable when he reached the interior halls of Syliras.

[Isana Lin]

The clatter of steel beat out a savage rhythm over the training grounds, punctuated with the cries of squires and the urgings of their patrons. As Isana watched, a knight sent an incoming sword strike skittering down the shaft of his poleaxe, stepped neatly behind the attacking squire and then proceeded to push her over his knee, sending the student crashing to the ground in a cacophony of ringing steel. The sharpened point of the poleaxe hovered before her face for a moment before the older man set the weapon down and helped heave her to her feet. The same scene was played out in a dozen different ways throughout the grounds, spears set against axes, longsword-wielding duellists circling each other like hungry wolves as the knights honed their bloody craft in defiance of the glaring heat of Syna's gaze.

Isana found the violent scene oddly peaceful. The knights were training, and all was as it should have been. She ached to be among them, the myrian's condescending words still ringing in her ears. Fighting like child. His speech may have been broken, but the message was perfectly clear. The fact that it was true only made the comment sting all the more. She should have been training. Sylir knew she needed it. But there were some things that were more important than swinging steel.

She shifted her position near the stairwell leading to the ground, mail clinking with the motion. Training may not have been her goal, but she still wore the green tabard, mail and leather marking her as a member of the Green Company. Her spear rested easily against the wall beside her, arming sword and stiletto present at her hips, as always. Stepping outside the walls alone was a dangerous endeavour at the best of times. Doing so unarmoured was doubly foolish.

An axe thudded into the grass ahead of her, startling her from her reverie. Isana jerked her head up, eyeing the squire who stooped to retrieve it. A young man, by all appearances, hair slung back in a ponytail. A little taller than her, though Isana knew that meant precious little. No patron moved to correct him, no word of rebuke drifted across the grounds. Isana's eyes narrowed as he moved to the racks and piled the equipment away.

Isana intercepted him as he closed on the stairwell, eyes widening for a brief moment as she took in the deep green of his arm. An Isur? She shook herself. It hardly mattered. Whatever else he was, his presence in the grounds and the lack of a sword at his collar told her he was a squire first and foremost. A squire that had just sent a weapon skidding across the training grounds.

"Steady, squire." She stepped out from the wall, collecting the spear as she did so. "I was not aware the battleaxe was a thrown weapon. Pray, tell. Did your patron teach you such or did you develop the technique yourself?" True, she had not come to the grounds today looking to train. But there was always time to contribute. She watched the squire, one eyebrow inching up a face still sporting a trio of bruises from the previous week. "Well?"

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS He was so deep in his own thoughts, a habit of his Patron's that he seemed to be developing, that he did not notice her until she'd declared her. The woman standing before him stood only slightly shorter than he did. It was odd to be around people of a similar height to himself for in Sultros he had been much taller than nearly everyone he'd known. She had the look of someone who had recently been in a brawl and not on the winning side either. The bruises did seem to be fading as if the worst had already passed. His eyes wandered to the armor and green tabard she bore which symbolized which company she was a part of. He could not remember which particular company it was but he was still dealing with a Knight and that demanded respect. "Steady, squire. I was not aware the battleaxe was a thrown weapon. Pray, tell. Did your patron teach you such or did you develop the technique yourself? Well?" Blood rushed to his face in embarrassment. He had hoped that his little incident had escaped notice but it appeared he was not so lucky. The respect a Knight demanded from a Squire was only one way, and he'd heard of some Knights that were less than kind though he'd never encountered one himself. Although in any other situation the thought of Ser Logan teaching him to throw an axe may have been humorous, however the circumstance did not seem to allow such thoughts. Altos prepared his answer expecting either ridicule or a lecture from the female Knight standing before him. Neither was enticing to the Squire but he would take the latter over the former any day of the season. "My Patron prefer's a more practical style of combat, I don't believe he would endorse such a foolish act as to throw one's weapon away in battle. I'm afraid I allowed my mind to wander and I uh... forgot.. to keep my grip." He stood straight backed, fists clenched by his sides and jaw clenched tight. He did not break eye contact with the Knight. He was fully prepared to own up to his mistake, and would not cower like a pup in trouble. The axe had been thrown hard enough that if it had hit any of the other members of the Order in the training field it may have resulted in a serious injury. He'd removed himself from the grounds for that very reason. After losing his focus he'd only be likely to hurt himself or another if he continued to force himself to keep training. "I am only glad that I was not unlucky enough to injure anyone with my clumsiness."

[Isana Lin]

"Luck had nothing to do with it." She had to tilt her head ever so slightly to look the boy in the eye. Frustrating. "Was it luck that you sent your weapon skittering across the ground like a newborn pup chasing a stick, or was it because you let go? Did luck take control of your legs and march you to your place in the grounds, or did you choose to stand there?" Isana tugged at her gardbrace, checking its position. "Luck is an excuse used by fools too short-sighted to see the consequences of their actions, and I would thank you for not ceding responsibility to it within earshot of me again."

That aside, he had accepted responsibility for the failure. She watched him for a moment, fists clenched, back ramrod straight. That was something, though quitting immediately afterwards was hardly promising. She briefly entertained the idea of a formation crumpling beneath a charge because a man on their flank suddenly noticed he'd dropped his dagger and abandoned the group to look for it. Somehow, she failed to find the image at all entertaining.

She felt a stab of frustration that had nothing to do with the boy standing before her. True, he had made an error. A substantial one at that. One that, in real combat, would have meant an inglorious retreat at best and a messy death for him and those around him at worst. Responsibility for a student's failure; however, reflected almost entirely on the teacher.

A teacher that, despite carefully scanning the training grounds twice over, Isana saw no trace of. To leave a squire to train his fitness was one thing. Fitness was a matter of raw, grinding repetition. Weapons, though. Weapons were a matter of technique. Practice without guidance was akin to trying to swim up a rapid - more likely to end with the student battered, bruised, and even further from where they started.

"Would you care to share your name, or ought I continue addressing you as 'squire?'" Despite herself, some of her frustration at the boy's teacher spilled into her voice. She hastily reeled it in and extended a gauntleted hand. "Since you appear to be skipping courtesies regardless, I am Isana Lin of the Fourth Regiment. If you are feeling particularly formal, Sera will suffice." She didn't bother with company identifications. She was wearing green, for Sylir's sake. If the boy couldn't put that together then he had far more serious issues then a slack weapon hand. "Tell me, whom is your patron? Why have they neglected to join you on the field today?"

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS "Luck had nothing to do with it. Was it luck that you sent your weapon skittering across the ground like a newborn pup chasing a stick, or was it because you let go? Did luck take control of your legs and march you to your place in the grounds, or did you choose to stand there? Luck is an excuse used by fools too short-sighted to see the consequences of their actions, and I would thank you for not ceding responsibility to it within earshot of me again." The Knight had met his expectations, with a lecture of sorts rather than insults. At least it was mostly without insult. Her anger was directed more towards his comment on luck, rather than his mistake of flinging the training axe. Altos wasn't sure he agreed with her about luck though. As much as skill and technique were important unless you were a perfect being, good fortune and luck was something that was also important. It wasn't wise to leave everything in fate's hands but some things you just couldn't control. "Would you care to share your name, or ought I continue addressing you as 'squire?' Since you appear to be skipping courtesies regardless, I am Isana Lin of the Fourth Regiment. If you are feeling particularly formal, Sera will suffice. " He had not yet named himself to her, a fact which she had blatantly thrown at him. Regardless of the situation, even if there'd been no time to introduce himself it was still quite rude. This must have been another mistake in her eyes, lowering her opinion of him even further. He was beginning to think his reputation would be irreparable in her eyes. "Altos Ironheart, Sera. I apologize for the late introduction." Leaving out his clan name was something he had gotten use to quite quickly. Most of the other races seemed to only honor their families name, a custom he found strange. Did they have no pride in their clans? To many of his fellow Isur the arm hanging by his side clearly suggested he was of the Coglias however it was still polite to clarify it. It finally clicked that she was a member of the group of Knights who patrolled outside the city. Though it was of little importance he found himself wondering why she was in the Citadel. "Tell me, whom is your patron? Why have they neglected to join you on the field today?" Altos frowned at that. His Patron had given him the day off of training. He had yet to go out much into the city and neither did he have a companion to accompony him. He'd been busy as had Bitt and so the only other Squire he really felt comfortable around had not been free to go. With nothing else to do he'd found himself working his way to the training grounds. "Today my Patron, Ser Logan gave me a break from regular training. However with nothing else to do I found myself wandering here." That was the truth of the matter. At least most of it. Ser Logan had suggested he venture into Syliras. He said it was a good idea to familiarize with the town, and not just while on patrols. Altos hadn't really worried about getting lost. His sense of direction was quite stellar in fact. It was the awkward feeling of being around a smattering of other races with nearly none of his people. He did not like to be the subject of the quiet stares of people in the street. It was a trait he'd carried along from his childhood. It had been a suggestion however and not an order so he had chosen not to.

[Isana Lin]

Isana waved away his apology. A missed introduction was a minor fault among the litany of errors that seemed to trail Altos - though how many of them were wholly his own was a subject for further debate - and apologies served little purpose save to warm the already sweltering air. Ser Logan was an unfamiliar name to her, but it was one she resolved to listen for in future. Nonetheless, she had expected better from the squire. She expected better from all of them.

"Wandering in the training grounds?" Her eyebrow crept up again at the comment and for a long moment she teetered on the edge of another lecture. Finally, she decided to let the moment pass. There were some battles it simply wasn't worth drawing steel for. Her ribs were largely healed, but that didn't mean that she was in a rush to throw around more words than she absolutely had to. At least, not over half-considered comments. Were that the case, she doubted she would have made the walk past the squire's quarters - or several of the knights', for that matter - without cracking something. Instead, she contented herself with an exasperated sigh and gestured to the stairwell. "Walk with me a moment."

Isana felt the same air of discomfort she always did as they descended the stairwell into the glorified stone tomb that was Dyres district. It was close to midday, for all that time counted within the citadel, and there was a steady trail of people moving to the patch of light behind them that marked the training grounds. Isana resisted the urge to glance back up at the light. A thatched roof was comfortable, homely even, but to live beneath stone well beyond the reach of the sky, in perpetual dark lit only by torches and the occasional ventilation shaft when Syna settled just so in the sky - seemed fundamentally unnatural to her.

As much as the scholar in her tutted and scowled at the idea of spirits, she was certain there was a very good reason few grown men took comfort in a dark hallway or starless night. There was a nameless terror in absolute darkness that set the primal parts of one's brain scampering up the nearest tree. Speaking of that to the squire; however, was almost certainly a foolish idea. Her nightmares had already given her a reputation as cracked among those lodged close enough to smell the smoke when she had sent a bed-sheet into the hearth in the grip of a dream. She was yet to replace the damaged sheet. No. It was not a fit topic for conversation. It was hardly a fit topic for thought. Instead, she eyed the squire alongside her.

"The axe is an unusual weapon for a knight to employ. I imagine it would be heavy, unbalanced, perhaps. Yet, you evidently choose it over a sword. Why?" She phrased the question as a test, but in truth she was glad of anything to distract her from the darkened hallways. She kept her eyes to the torches ahead, the butt of her spear beating a staccato against the stone as they walked.

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS The repeated opening of his mouth to try and redeem himself did not seem to help his cause. With every word he only dug himself deeper into a rut. He did not answer her question as she did not appear all too interested in the response. The sigh that escaped her lips was an evident sign of her disapproval for the whole matter. She did however deign to drop the subject instead asking him, or ordering him, to join her for a moment. In truth whether she asked or ordered it was very nearly the same thing and so it mattered little. With a simple wave of her hand she gestured to the stairs, as she spoke. He was relieved that she was not taking it upon herself to instruct him 'properly' in the use of his weapon. Regardless of the bruises on her face she was still a Knight and would most likely be more than a match for him. Thinking that things could be worse than a simple walk, he followed Isana down the stairwell. He exhaled a slight sigh of relief as he entered the enclosed hallway. While he did not hate being outdoors per say it was still a slightly uncomfortable experience. He had spent his days living in the Coglias citadel and so was used to a roof of stone above his head. It had taken some time to get used to the idea of an endless expanse stretching above him. The next words that came out of her mouth were not reprimands, but an honest question. In truth the axe had been a family heirloom, but he felt he could not give that as the sole answer to her question. It was the weapon his family had preferred, when they used weapons at all. Most often the young boys he'd grown up with practiced wrestling and other forms of unarmed combat. While the same could be said for Altos he had focused more intently on his combat training than others of his age. The axe had seemed the natural weapon for him to take up. He'd of course tried his hand at the sword, but he'd not been able to get the hang of it. "I have not the... finesse I believe the word is, to wield the sword. I have always preferred the axe, ever since my childhood. It's balance is also different to that of a sword. It allows it to hit harder, with more force than a regular blade does. The weight differs from axe to axe but generally it is quite similar to most swords." He had brought the axe that had been passed down in his family with him. It was pretty much the only personal possession which he had brought with him from home. It was crafted from Isurian Steel and was his pride. Right now, it lay safe in his dormitory room though he dearly wished he'd brought it with him. Thoughts of his personal weapon and the pause he'd had to make brought back the realization that this was not his homeland, nor his mother tongue. It had been a while since he'd last thought of it and it was beginning to become more of a fact than a painful memory. It had been a long time since he'd left, at first seeking strength and a new start. Now he found himself heading towards a new path. The path of Knighthood and all that entailed.

[Isana Lin]

"Of course you do not have the finesse, Squire Ironheart. Nor do I." Isana's lips curled slightly at the idea. Discussing matters of finesse when it came to what was, for all intents and purposes, an oversized knife designed to gut people never ceased to amuse her. That wasn't to say that skill did not factor into it - it surely did, but draping it in such fine words felt like hanging lace from a workman's apron. Ridiculous ostentation for a simple tool. "If you have not trained with the sword, that goes without saying." It was not an insult, simply a statement of fact.

It was, she had found, a symptom of a wider problem within the city. Single combat was practiced near-exclusively in the training grounds, to the detriment of other styles. It held a certain sense to it. A knight in armour within Syliras was the equal of any man without it they were likely to encounter within the walls, and the city's winding corridors made fighting in formation a difficult proposition. The knight's favoured techniques led to the creation of exemplary duellists, men and women who could dance along a blade's edge in full plate - at the cost of a near-complete omission of the disciplined manoeuvring that drove formation fighting.

It meant that, one on one, a knight was a fearsome opponent and deadly heavy cavalry to boot. But on foot, against a foe individually more formidable than themselves... A darkened night and a hasty retreat, trees grasping at her arms, the forest itself determined to slow her footfalls, to drag her back into the cold embrace of death. A fire flickered in the distance, hastily abandoned to the forest, along with their equipment, tents and food. The promise of rain hang in the air, heavy and pressing, the smell mingling with the faint odour of her blood. Plate clinked and twigs cracked around her, the wing's ordered retreat disintegrating to a full rout in response to a barked order-

She shook her head, as if to dislodge the entrenched memory, dragging her focus back to the steady beat of her spear on the stone. Crack, pace. Crack, pace. The sound had pleasing physicality to it, each beat dragging her a little further back from the precipice of her nightmares. After a moment she realised she'd been holding her breath and released it in a rush of air, hoping the Squire had not noticed. What had they been discussing? Ah.

"I would only hope that you look to broaden your training beyond the axe. All weapons have a suitable time and place." She nodded toward the spear in her hand. "This, as Ser Mevelk was so quick to point out, is little more than an oversized twig. However, as twigs go, it is a distinctly useful one outside the wall, where reach has some greater application than the next turn in the corridor. Inside? It is hardly worth the effort to carry it." There was also the matter of the majority of the order within the walls favouring shorter weapons that made it next to impossible to properly hold a spear formation, but that was hardly Altos' concern. "It is a useful weapon, given the correct circumstances. No doubt your Ser Logan has already had this discussion with you." She tugged the stiletto from its scabbard at her hip, proffering the eight-inch blade to Altos, hilt first. Torchlight danced across the weapon's needle-thin point. "What of this blade? What purpose would you say it serves?"

She took another turn in the corridor, descending a thin stairwell that twisted its way down to the next floor. By her reckoning, they were not far from the lower level of Drye's district now.

[Altos Ironheart Coglias]

ALTOS Though she bore a sword at her side she made a statement which threw her abilities with it into doubt. That or she was making a sarcastic comment. Altos was not sure which as he was not socially inclined in the first place and was slightly confused at the small grimace which appeared on her face as she spoke. Her next comment stung his pride. That if perhaps he had trained harder maybe he would be using it now. He bristled thinking that she may have some rather derisive thoughts about his choice of weapon. Altos sent a quick prayer to Izurdin for patience as she was beginning to wear his down. "Of course, Sera." His voice while slightly tense still contained it's polite tone. He made every effort to contain his frustration. She may have been a Knight but she spoke to him as if she were his Patron and he was but a child. Among his own people he was still quite young and he appeared as such to other races. In reality he was much older than the other squires and even some of the Knights. He had 34 years, almost double many of the Squires. And this Sera Lin that he was following could not be older than 30. She had done little to deserve his respect. She even had a smattering of bruises across her face hinting at her own abilities. He would be polite as her rank dictated but for now he saw her as little more than an arrogant girl in armor. Her next comment was much more reasonable. It could be that the point she was trying to instill was that all weapons have their usefulness. That time and place were all factors as to how one would fight and with what one should fight. Altos had his own opinion on this subject of course. One could not prepare for every situation and while diversity was a good idea, he would rather hone a few skills than be decent with many weapons. Taking a chance he voiced his thoughts. "I do not intend to limit myself to the axe, Sera. I do not believe though that one should chose their weapon based on circumstance. It is foolish, I think to chose a weapon based on what is around you rather than what your own capabilities are." After mentioning a Knight that Altos had neither met nor heard of Isana presented a small blade to him. He couldn't recall what the type of dagger was called but it obviously was meant for close combat. It had a narrow elongated blade and was sharpened to a point. Altos frowned as he considered the weapon. It seemed useless to him though when one had an arm that was near indestructible and was as dense as a metal club daggers and other similar weapons were almost useless in most situations. In fact this one would hardly be usable as even a slashing weapon. It had been made purely for stabbing and he doubted it could puncture thick armor. "I would assume it is for use in emergency situations. A blade which you can easily unsheathe and stab your opponent in an unarmored spot with?" Altos did not approve of the weapon and it was evident in his voice. If you were going to carry around a dagger a more general purpose one with a wider blade would probably be a better choice. Then again he was no expert and he truly believed that the dagger would be a useless weapon for him to learn. Once they'd descend the stairwell bringing them down to one of the lower level's Altos returned the blade to her. It occurred to him that he had not yet asked where they were headed. If she had wanted to teach him something weapon related they would have remained at the training field. As it was she was leading him somewhere else. The only thing he could think of was that she needed him for some task. "Might I ask where we are headed?"

[Isana Lin]

Ironheart remained polite enough. Of course he did, the boy was showing himself to have the emotional flexibility of a steel bar. Was there something in that iron sculpture of an arm that seeped into a person's soul? Ironheart was the first Isur with whom she had had anything resembling a conversation. She wondered if all of them were like that. For a moment, she thought she saw a slither of frustration creeping through his immaculate mask - but it was only a flicker, and it vanished so quickly that she almost doubted she had seen it in the first place.

Then, he spoke on weapons, and Isana's eyes danced in amusement. Had it been darker, she may have even chanced a smile. Finally, some fire from the squire. She disagreed with him entirely, of course, - inflexibility in any thing, combat in particular, was unforgivable - but that wasn't the point. That had never been the point. The point was to push him. To make him think beyond what she said, to question her. Because if he could disagree with her perhaps, in time, he could disagree with his patron too.

More problems had their root in blind obedience than had ever been spawned by curiosity. There were exceptions, of course, combat being the most obvious. Nonetheless, on the whole it was a positive sign. However, as with weapons, there was a time and a place. So, she simply contented herself with a half-nod. Not a vindication, not an acceptance - but an acknowledgement.

Ironheart handed back the stiletto, but she did not return the knife to its sheath. His speech on the knife had been more or less what she had expected - and rather less than she had hoped for. "Perhaps. You have told me the method of its use." She could hear voices floating up the stairs. It was hardly surprising, they were barely a level above the bazaar, if her memory served. It had been years since she had lasted visit and, all going well, she would not be breaking the tradition today. "Purpose is a different matter. An axe, a sword, a spear - though different in form as you and I - all share the same purpose. To incapacitate an opponent, to move him or her as you will. To batter and bruise him until he falls or otherwise submits, would you not agree?"

She tapped one hand against the flat of the stiletto's blade. "True, this may do so as well, when it is a matter of necessity - just as an artist's fist can strike a blow as surely as paint a masterpiece. But that is not its purpose." Then, she handed it back to him. "Keep it. Dira willing, I will not have urgent need of it for some time. You may return it to me when you can tell me its purpose."

She walked on a few paces further, stepping off the stairs onto a landing. "You may ask, Squire Ironheart." She was quiet for what felt like chimes, seemingly content to leave the question as it was, the pair of them standing on the landing like statues on display. When she spoke again, her voice faltered a moment, as though struggling to find the words. Damnation, she could give orders all day. Why was it so hard to ask a favour? She covered the hesitation with a cough and pushed on, fishing a pair of gold mizas from where she had tucked them beneath her gardbrace - a difficult task with gauntlets on, but she eventually managed it.

"I am headed for the gates. I would have attended to this task myself, but there is a matter there that requires my attention." Tavern brawlers - insofar as lying on the flood bleeding could be termed brawling - had an alarming tendency to choose the worst possible day to haul themselves back to consciousness. Nonetheless, if she wished to question the man it would have to be today. Any longer and he would no doubt decide to leave the healers behind. Tracking him down again in a city the size of Syliras would be a nightmarish task. "I am; however, in need of a few items from the bazaar. Seeds, to be precise. You are familiar with the Sea of Grass, I trust?" She pushed on. "If you are not, I am certain you can find someone who is. I require a cup of seeds of the grass that grows there. Approximately as tall as a man. There should be no difficulties identifying them." She paused a moment. Sylir, why was this so much harder than it ought to have been? Perhaps she could put this off until tomorrow and do it herse- No. No, she was here now. What would Vathan think, seeing her as a full knight, too-ing and fro-ing like this? It was pathetic. "I would be grateful if you would do this for me."

She pressed the coins into his hand before she had time to further second-guess the idea, confidence slipping back into place like a key in a lock. "You may find me at the gatehouse when you are done. I expect my business will be concluded by the time you arrive." Isana turned to leave with a hiss of mail.

NotesLet me know if I assumed too much here. I guessed Altos'd take the stiletto back, but let me know if that's not the case. I'm happy to duck back in and change things.
Ledger- 2 GM, - Stiletto