One has to post here to gain entrance to the city.(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)
by Zark on Yesterday, 4:49 am
It was a terrible day. The deluge had started since before he woke up. The meager shelter he had managed to make was not enough to truly protecting from the waterfall that appeared to run from the canopy. The trees themselves proved no cover now from the sheer downpour of cold water. Zark stood up, feeling the cold as he brushed the sleep away from his eyes. He picked up the cloak from the ground; it was wet but not soaked through. He sighed in relief and slithered into the warmth. He picked up his meager belongings, tossing the burlap sac over his shoulder and he began to walk, not looking back. In the night, he had seen light in the distance. It was a clear sign of civilization. And he had followed the previous days the signs he interpreted were Myri given. Birds of prey watching him intently, branches forming shapes and symbols, the way the horizon stretched with the trees interrupting the panorama. He followed them blindly, not hesitating in his step. He was on a quest that was more important than himself; the hunger in his belly was tossed aside, the cold water that seeped through the fabric of his thick cloak was ignored, the squelching sounds of his boots trekking over the terrain while waterlogged was mostly ignored. The Myrian could take them off and walk barefoot, but he figured the added layers provided a little resistance to the cold. He would not spit on that.
After several hours of trudging through forest that was now mostly a bog, he reached the end of it. He sighed in relief, squeezing the neck of his burlap sack and marched on towards what appeared to be an entrance to a large city. Zark was a Myrian soldier, trial by fire was something he was used to. But the loins in his belly burned up at the many scenarios that ran through his head. What were the opinions the people would have of him, a Myrian? Would he grow weaker over time, if he spent time with mere humans? Would he end up on the streets, poor and starving? Would he be cut down for being an enemy soldier? Or worse, enslaved? He took a deep breath and began to prepare for the thousand different scenarios, he steeled himself, opting for a stoic approach to it all. His body was not important, the opinions of others did not matter. His ultimate goal, his ultimate purpose was the fabrication of a legendary weapon. It was the only way he could go home, it was the only way he could truly be accepted once more into the embrace of the Taloban people.
He looked down the lake, and saw the large tower with fortifications and makeshift… camp? He wasn’t sure. But he saw that the people were traveling from there to the main part of the city. Even in this tempest, the place was full of people.He hoped the bad weather would ease the duty of guards and let him through more easily. Perhaps they would be grouchier, give him issues with his entering the city. But there were always other options. His common was not well suited, but he figured if he spoke little, they wouldn’t catch onto his accent. The rain might cover the sound of his voice as well. Maybe the storm was a blessing of Myri herself. Was it her way of camouflaging the young Myrian in a den of wolves? He cared not, and he was reminded of the horrid shower as his movements were stiff with the cold. He was used to warmer climates, where even the rain was warm on naked skin. Here, it was as if each drop was cool enough to chill the very marrow of your bones. As he grew nearer, he began to feel different. The people from afar were many, like ants milling on an anthill. With the rain, they were less folk, all huddled beneath roofs and inside buildings. From a distance, he was afraid of them. But as he came to see them from this perspective, he realized they were all humans.
He had nothing to worry about, he told himself.
He squeezed through the many stalls that were mostly empty, save the few brave merchants that remained even with the downpour. Some had large oil lamps near them to keep them warmer, and thick cloaks they wrapped themselves in. The luckier ones had built wooden flooring that let the rain drain down below them.
Zark did not make eye contact. He merely walked on, wading through the path that was mostly mud. He was exhausted at this point, but his pride did not allow him to relent. He would find shelter here, he would find a proper master for artistry. He ensured his hair was all hidden in his cowl and that his face was mostly hidden beneath the fabric. He took deep, slow breaths, calming himself and focusing on the task ahead. He saw a gate and he approached it. A man in armor halted him. ‘What is your name?” He asked, speaking in a clear common that sent the Myrian aback a bit. This was the first time someone actually addressed him formally in as many weeks. He coughed in his hands, told his name quickly and coughed again, before wiping his nose dry of the water that dribbled down from his cowl. “Your purpose in the City?” He asked, before leaning forward and inspecting the young soldier. “Blacksmithing.” He replied quickly, hoping the speed of his speaking would confuse the accent and hide the fact he was a Myrian for now.
“Blacksmithing? You want to buy weapons and armor?” Asked the guard, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Make weapons.” He replied, using as few words as possible.
“Alright then. Have your weapons checked in with Albert; he’s the guy over there. Welcome to Ravok.” The guard looked at the tanned ‘human’, before walking away and meeting the next in line waiting for entry into Ravok.
Zark walked up to Albert, tilting his head slightly. The chestnut eyes inspected the man quickly and easily, before opening the flap of his cloak and drawing his dagger from the sheath on his chest. He did not give it over, but he did show the weapon in the palm of his hand. He remained silent, Albert noted it down before waving him off.
Zark put the blade back into the small scabbard and he walked off, looking for the nearest ferry available. He dearly wanted to get out of the rain now that it had served its purpose. As he waited, he prayed to Myri and all the other Myrian gods. He was finally here.
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