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Author Topic: Tower of Drapt’na’at (the Kings residence)  (Read 35571 times)
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Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin
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« on: October 08, 2007, 04:44:55 AM »

Araman limped from the garderobe, forgetting to close the double doors behind him, and made his way as quickly as he could to his bed chambers.  He threw himself onto the bed, and curled up into a ball.  The pain was excruciating this time.  Everytime the thought of even to pass water came to him, he would get panicked, not that he had to do it very often any more.  The feeling was there, but it just would never come.  Sometimes he would sit there for an hour in the coldness, his buttocks freezing on the stone seat, waiting for something to happen, but it would not.  But when it did, the burning and the pain were almost enough to make him call out in pain.  This time there was blood as well.

He lay there for a few moments, beads of sweat forming on his brow.  He managed to control his breathing, somewhat, which in turn eased his agony.  There was a knocking on his door, which he tried to ignore, but it occurred again, and was more insistant.  "What is it?" he finally called forth, irritability clearly heard in his voice.

The door opened and Allemedo stepped into the room, followed by a shrivelled old man, carrying a bowl.  Allemedo looked upon the king and his heart broke.  He bowed.  "Highness.  I was informed that you were using the privy and thought you may need some assistance.  I brought the physician.  He has prepared some medication for you."

The kings face went a deep crimson.  Was nothing he did private?  He glared at the adviser and the old man.  "Can I not do anything in private, that you need spies to tell you when I empty my bladder?"  Exasperated, he threw a pillow at the old man.  "Get him out of here!  I am tired of taking all these foul tasting concoctions.  Not one has eased my suffering or fixed what it is that ails me."  He glared at the old man who was looking to Allemedo with a questioning gaze.  "Do not look to him!  Get out!"  This was shouted and sounded almost like a scream.

Allemedo nodded to the old man, and when the door closed and they were alone, he approached the bed and sighed.  "You need something, Araman.  Look at you.  Laying there, soaking your sheets with your own sweat.  Something is wrong."

"You think I don't know that?"  The words were harsh from the pain, but he softened somewhat.  "I will be fine in a moment.  What news you bring?"

Allemedo cleared his throat.  "The Ximaxian ship has docked.  A patrol has  been sent to escort them back."

Araman nodded.  "Good.  I hope you sent that Jorgan officer."

Allemedo inclined his head.  "Of course, Highness.  As you had instructed."  He then paused.  "The nobles are requesting an audience with you as well."

Araman grunted.  "A pox on them!  I have no wish to see them.  Send them away."  Rellech and his band of money hungry merchants.  He had no use for them right now. 

Allemedo nodded.  "As you wish.  I will return when the delegation gets here.  Until then, rest highness."   He hated to see the king thus.  They had been together for many years, and were as much friends as they were king and adviser.  as much as he hated to admit it, he truly believed that Araman was dying.  Something inside the older king was rotting, and eating him from the inside out.  It broke his heart to see it.

Araman nodded and watched Allemedo leave.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  Yes, rest would be so very nice.
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Khel
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« Reply #1 on: October 09, 2007, 06:11:38 AM »

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Allemedo walked briskly down to the base of the Tower. Lines creased his old face, etched with worry. He worried for his friend and King, worried for their beloved city. His faith in the crown Prince, however, stayed that concern if only a little. Allemedo ran a wrinkled hand along the wall as he slowed his pace. His love for this place grew with each passing day, and he smiled in fond remembrance of memories here. Cinnabrown eyes flickered in the light as he made his way toward the entrance hall.

Passing by the throne room, the elderly man placed a hand on the worn handle. Pushing it gently open, Allemedo’s soft eyes surveyed the beautiful chamber, dark save for the beam of light from the opened door.  The throne lay at the far end of the light, and Allemedo took an involuntary step toward it. Stealing himself, he quickly closed the door and turned to descend the Tower again.

Reaching the bottom, he strode down the long hall to the entrance chamber. The warmly lit, light played at the man’s every feature, accentuating it, making him look older than he really was; as old as he felt. His beautiful xazure blue robes swam around him, and he seemed to float down the hall. Although he was not royal, aides and servants in the hall moved aside, inclining their heads with respect. Soon, a youthful boy, Brogan by name, caught his attention. The boy approached him with a respectful bow, and Allemedo looked at him fondly. Always a reliable messenger, Allemedo consistently called upon Brogan when he needed something. “What is it, my boy?” Allemedo laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

The young man and a clear voice as he spoke. Allemedo recalled his first visit to the Tower, a quavering youth, nervous and unsure. However, he quickly improved, for Allemedo had seen great potential in the child. “The man you requested has arrived.” He boy looked straight into the elder man’s eyes. For a moment they stood, as if grandfather and grandson, frozen in a perfect picture depicting the passage of time. Allemedo raised his bushy brows, “Oh? Early, but wonderful, wonderful...” Yes, Allemedo was skeptical about his decision to send for a scribe. However, in his old age he knew better than most how important a biographer for the King would be. To have it recorded, even if to be filed away, sometime in the future another would read the biography; find it inspiring and useful. Although he had not spoken to Araman of his idea, he wanted the task completed before it was too late.

Peering past the boy, Allemedo distractedly replied quietly, ”Thank you, off you go.” and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. Taking a few strides forward, Allemedo stood, folded his hands before him, and held his head high.
« Last Edit: October 09, 2007, 11:39:24 AM by Khel » Logged

..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
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Jon Smith
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« Reply #2 on: October 09, 2007, 08:28:45 AM »

The wind tousled his already windswept hair, blowing it across his eyes, as he strode toward the tower in the distance as it dominated the landscape. His feet were thankful for the cobblestones beneath them, his boots landing on each with only the slightest of thuds, after a long voyage by sea. It seemed as though his body would never become accustomed to the rolling of the waves, his stomach in particular. Even now he felt half-starved from upchucking more than half of his meals. And his balance was ever forfeit at sea as he proved unable to steady his wobbly legs. He was never any use to anyone on a ship; he would much rather have the earth beneath him any day.

His feet brought him to stand before the great tower as he paused. He should be impressed by the tower before him and by the city in its entirety, by the grandeur that surrounded him, but Jon could not help but remember his native city of Milkengrad, said to be the most beautiful human city in the world. The beauty of this Remusiat could not compare, though its fortifications were on par with Milkengrad’s own, if a bit different in nature. But then, the territory was vastly different; an island was much easier to defend than a city open to the land around it. Nor did his people have to worry about attacking orcs, their greatest foes were other Helcrani.

As he stood on the tower’s doorstep as it were, his gaze cast skyward at its topmost level, where no doubt the king resided, according to the rumors, Jon glanced behind him, reassured to see Luna still sleeping. Only her little grey ears protruded from her compartment in his pack, a single flap resting on her head and concealing it from view. Undoubtedly the little critter was tired from her rambunctious antics on the deck of the ship. At least someone had been having fun as he stood perched over the railing, emptying his stomach time and time again. He had not even bothered to keep a record of his sea voyage, so overcome was his with his malaise. No matter, he’d hardly be able to write in such conditions anyway.

Deciding that he had loitered long enough, Jon took a few strides forward with his long legs to the entrance of the tower, his gaze flickering back and forth between the two guards that stood there. His instructions specifically told him to come to the tower where he would be met and given further instructions, yet no mention had been made as to how he’d actually get past the guards. Would they know who he was? Or would they just lock him in some dark dungeon for daring to intrude on the king’s palace? He could imagine them dragging him off to a secluded prison deep underground, never to see the light of the sun again, leaving poor Luna to fend for herself.

Before he had lingered for no reason other than he was lost in his own thoughts, yet now he paused from fear, his mind conjuring up the possible outcomes. No matter that each was more unlikely than the last, he was never one to be ruled by reason. But he knew one thing, and that was that he was meant to be here. At the very worst, the guards would send for someone to confirm his identity, and that would be that. Or they’d just send him away entirely, after which he’d figure out something to do, no use worrying about it now. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the guards, bowing his head before speaking, his words quickened by his nervousness. “Excuse me my good sirs, I am the scribe sent for by the King’s advisor. Would either of you gentlemen know his whereabouts?”
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Khel
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« Reply #3 on: October 09, 2007, 09:34:43 AM »

Brogan

The youth scampered away, feeling quite happy with himself. He always loved to please the old man, however odd it sounded to his friends. Other aides in the Tower envied him, though, and he walked with purpose to the front entrance of the Tower. Scouts had seen the man arriving, but Brogan wanted to be the one to escort him into Allemedo’s presence. No, Sir Allemedo. Although he had asked him to call him simply by his name, the boy was much too endeared to him to forget he was his elder.

Brogan heard the man’s voice just outside, “Excuse me my good sirs, I am the scribe sent for by the King’s advisor. Would either of you gentlemen know his whereabouts?” He pushed past the guards, knowing he was pushing his luck and their patience, but he dawned a beaming smile as he looked at the man before him. He was young!

Brogan took an immediate liking to him, and said excitedly, ”Welcome to Remusiat!”  Clearing his throat and looking uneasily at the two guards, Brogan knew he should make haste. ”Sir Allemedo, advisor to the King, is inside, towards the back of the entrance hall. I will guide you to him.” Bowing, Brogan turned on his heel and entered the Tower, glancing back to be sure the newcomer followed.
« Last Edit: October 09, 2007, 11:39:40 AM by Khel » Logged

..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
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« Reply #4 on: October 09, 2007, 12:14:27 PM »

Jon nodded to the boy, relieved to have someone to interact with other than the two guards. The authority and power of the guards intimidated him whereas a boy never could. If anything, the child reminded of him as he once was, young and energetic. A smile came to his lips at that thought, if only he could be as carefree as he was in his youth.

His gaze took in the entrance chamber of the tower as he walked a step behind the boy, awed by it despite himself. It was one thing to be born in the most beautiful city in the world; it was quite another to actually walk in the palace of a king, a luxury never before bestowed upon him. The stonework, hues of white marble and red granite resplendent in the noon sunlight, was beautiful in and of itself; these Remusians really were quite the engineers.

He paused as they neared an older gentleman garbed in majestic xazure robes. Folding one arm over his stomach, Jon bowered to the older man before standing straight once more, having been taught at a young age to respect his elders. The man stood quite a bit shorter than him, maybe even as much as a fore, but the young man had long since learned that height meant little. He took it then that this was the King’s advisor, this Allemeddo he was supposed to meet. Jon could only hope that his skills were satisfactory for the tasks presented to him. “Greetings Sir Allemeddo, I am Jon Smith, the scribe.”
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« Reply #5 on: October 09, 2007, 12:47:50 PM »

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Watching the two cross the magnificent hall, Allemedo did not move. He liked to give the impression that he was regal and composed; all for business. At least at first impressions. The young scribe was plain, but very personable. Allemedo inclined his head as the boy approached, and grinned broadly at Brogan. The sparkle in his eyes when he looked at the youngster was the sparkle of youth in itself. Brogan looked pleased, and half walked, half jogged past him and down the hall towards the kitchens.  Staring after him for a moment, Allemedo ran a hand over his stubbly beard in thought. Such a delightful boy.  “Greetings Sir Allemedo, I am Jon Smith, the scribe.”

Shaking from his reverie, Allemedo laid a gnarled hand on the young man’s shoulder when he stood upright from his bow, and gave a reassuring squeeze. A scribe, and so young, he mused. Before writing the biography of course, he’d have to judge that his writing skills were excellent. Not only because he would be paid copious amounts, but because Allamedo hardly wanted inaccurate or less than descriptive words to be all there was to remember his beloved King with. ”Walk with me.” His voice said softly, a kind smile lighting up his cinnabrown eyes. It was probably not the sort of introduction the young man was used to, but neither was Allemedo the sort of old man anyone was used to.

Turning Jon with him, he pressed between his shoulder blades, guiding him down the hall. Their boots echoed on the floor and up towards the high ceilings. As they passed the kitchens, Allemedo signaled a halt. Indicating the open doorway, servants, cooks and runners bustling inside, Alledmedo looked at Jon. ”The belly of our home. Remember, without warm, hearty food in our stomachs we wouldn’t be nearly as pleased and content as we are half the time.” Standing still a few moments longer, Allemedo looked fondly in on the workers in the kitchen. With a wink, he guided Jon along again. They passed various other chambers and public rooms, near the end Allemedo pointed into an open room. The commotion inside caused by the armorers and smiths hard at work.

”In the same way, these craftsman keep us safe. Protect our noble cause, whatever it may be..” Studying the youth, Allemedo wondered if he was confusing the boy. What he considered wisdom wasn’t always the same definition to others. Regardless, he gazed into the large chamber. Various weapons and pieces of armor covered one long wall. Allemedo took a moment to look fondly at each. The craftsmanship of the men at the Tower was extraordinary. His eyes came to rest on a large tapestry containing the Remusian crest. The nor’sidion blade jumped off the wall towards him and Allemedo closed his eyes briefly, turning away from the entrance.

Looking now at Jon, he smiled again. ”Here in the base of the Tower you’ll find many amazing and extraordinary sights. Even the servants’ bunks hold a special place in my heart. I love my home and I love my King… forgive me for this, but I must know your skill before I charge you with your task.” Looking about Allemedo searched for Brogan. Perhaps he would guide Jon about the Tower. The boy usually noticed when he searched for him with his calm eyes, but he was nowhere in sight. No matter.

”Mr. Smith, take your time. Examine a single room or each chamber in turn, whatever it is you deem sufficient to show your talent. I do not doubt you, I am sure you are remarkable, but please understand I must be sure. I'll be in the kitchen.” Inclining his head toward the young man, Allemedo turned back down the hall, intent upon a light snack from the kitchen while awaiting the man’s completed ‘assignment’. Smiling to himself once his back was turned, Allemedo wondered how the youth would handle the situation.
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..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
Your pal, Khel
Khel
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« Reply #6 on: October 09, 2007, 03:40:52 PM »

Timeras

The Crown Prince of Remusiat lounged idly in a large, cushioned chair. On the floor below lay a book and a stack of parchment; documents he had to read through as soon as he made up his mind to do so. His feet were up over the side of the chair and his bare, muscled torso sprawled out over it. In one hand he held a piece of parchment, sifting through the intricate lettering on it once more, and grinning as he reached the bottom.

Signed,
   The Brothers Mallister


Reading it a couple more times, the young man tossed the parchment to the floor and stretched out his arms; yawning a lion’s yawn. Timeras was bored. He needed excitement, and his friends would do just the trick. The comfort of his father’s Tower was getting old, and Timeras found himself spending increasingly more time outdoors and around the city than was recommended. He was fond of his home and people; he preferred to be among them rather than consistently cooped up in meetings at the top of a lonely Tower.

Standing and arching his back to stretch, Timeras approached his huge bed, noting the clothes laid out on it. The duties and lifestyle of a Crown Prince pained him. The tedious duties involving the governing of the city came as second nature to him. Even Allemedo, a hard man when it came to overlooking the city he loves, agreed with nearly all of Timeras’ judgment calls. Although he was less a soldier than his father, Timeras hoped one day he could look past that, or perhaps he would never have reason to prove his worth as a Remusian warrior.

Sighing audibly, rough hands pulled the mahogany tunic over his head, not bothering to do the laces in the front. Slipping on his calf-high boots, the young man stood for a moment, looking solemnly out his window over the ocean. As a hand flattened his auburn hair against his head, Timeras’ chiseled, stubble-covered face scrunched in a frown. What in the name of the gods was he getting ready for? Frustrated, Timeras gazed around the room. There was nothing to tidy up, he had no desire to read through the boring literature of the city; he’d read the letter from his friends a dozen times. For a Crown Prince you’d think I’d have more to do.. he thought, snorting aloud and kicking the side of the bed with a resounding thud.

A throat cleared behind him, and he spun about, karikrimson flared on his ears as Timeras’ eyes fell upon Brogan. ”Don’t startle me like that, child!” he snapped at the young boy, whom he knew to be a favorite of Allemedo’s. The boy’s eyes grew wide, but he did not look frightened or upset, merely surprised. Timeras thought it odd the boy could read people so easily. Perhaps the old Advisor was rubbing off on him. Quickly chastising himself, Timeras hastily continued, ”I am sorry, what is it Brogan?”

The wide eyed boy immediately answered, hardly phased from Timeras’ tone a moment before, ”Your friends, the ones you’ve been waiting for? They have arrived in the city, m’Lord.” The boys voice was soft, but rang clear and true. To Timeras’ surprise, Brogan took a step forward and said, ”They are the friends you’ve been anticipating? Will they be in the city for long? Will... can… may I meet them?” the words tumbled from the excited youngster’s mouth unceremoniously. Timeras chuckled, he was such a sweet lad.

”I believe their intent is on passing through, but I’ll see what I can arrange.” Timeras winked at Brogan and reached for a soft leather jacket. He understood his excitement. He himself was bubbling with joy over the meeting of acquaintances, of friends not forgotten, and dearly missed. He was sure the boy had heard his mentioning of visiting friends enough times he could no longer count them on his fingers and toes. Sliding the jacked over him, Timeras looked at Brogan. He knew nothing about this youth, but he did know he seemed to look up to Timeras, and flocked towards any part of the Prince’s life he could be involved in. Being a mentor and friend to the boy was hardly a hassle. Placing a hand on Brogan’s petite shoulder, Timeras ushered him from his room and together they descended the Tower of Drapt’na’at.
« Last Edit: October 09, 2007, 03:53:16 PM by Khel » Logged

..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
Your pal, Khel
Jon Smith
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« Reply #7 on: October 10, 2007, 09:40:45 AM »

Jon nodded to the older gentleman as he fell in step behind him. Much as he tried to control them, his eyes roamed about the walls and chambers that surrounded him, seemingly unable to keep still. He was yet awed by the grandeur that surrounded him, the majestic residence of none other than the king himself. And he had enough sense to realize that he would meet that very king, would indeed spend more time with him than most as his biographer. If his accounts of the king were to be anywhere near the truth, then he had to meet with the great man himself, but he had no doubt that his advisor knew this.

For the most part, he simply remained silent as he walked with the advisor, only nodding occasionally to acknowledge that he’d heard. It was just his way to prefer listening over speaking, for he found that the fewer words one spoke, often enough the more weight those words carried. As a writer, his words bore considerable weight and charm on their own, as carefully crafted as any smith would forge a sword or armor. Fitting that he would think of it so, as words were very much his sword and shield, both his defense and offense against any that sought to do him harm. It would be a gruesome day indeed when he failed to talk his way out of an unsavory situation.

He could not help the quizzical expression that came over his face as Sir Allemedo showed him the kitchen. Without a doubt, he appreciated a tour of the tower, and the kitchen was certainly an important place to know the whereabouts of. Or so claimed his stomach as it rumbled its displeasure of not receiving nourishment since he stepped off that infernal ship. Still, the tour continued as they made their way to the workroom. Now here was a sight that brought back memories and not fond ones at that. He could very easily recall the years spent working in his father’s smithery; his hands remembered most of all, more calloused than the hands of a writer should be. If a belief in the gods existed within him, then he would have thanked them for an assignment that required not the fell trade he had been taught but rather what he felt was his calling in this world.

His gaze followed that of the older man as he looked upon a tapestry hanging on the wall, one that reminded him of his people’s coat of arms. It was not the flaming sword of his people, yet the way the sword was positioned reminded him of it nonetheless. Should it be a surprise that the King’s advisor felt pride in his people and his country? Perhaps not, but Jon had lost faith in his own people years ago, seemingly unable to do little more than squabble amongst themselves. He could not help the confident smile that spread across his lips as the man spoke, his eyes gleaming with excitement. A chance to show his skills was more than fair, one he looked forward to as he would cherish every opportunity to impress his new employers.

As the man walked out of the room, Jon set about the task at hand. First and foremost, he walked away from the workroom where the smiths toiled, having no desire to describe them. Without a doubt he could skillfully, having his own experience to build upon, he would just rather not. But with free reign of the tower, where should he go first? Should he try to describe a single room or the entire tower? Just what would it take to prove his skills? The smile broadened into a grin as an idea occurred to him, and he set off down the hallway at a brisk pace, head turning left and right, seeking the chamber that would suit his purposes.

And then he found it. The room was simply perfect, or so it seemed to his eyes. Dust covered the room from wall to wall, illuminated by a single shaft of sunlight shining through a window set high in one wall. He smiled to see what appeared to be the dust dancing in its single ray of light, sunlight reflecting off each little piece. The room boasted of only two pieces of furniture, if furniture you could call them. Little more than a worn stone slab protruding from the wall, the desk was accompanied by a chair crafted of bone, rawhide stretched over the seat and back to provide some comfort. He could not ask for a more fitting setting.

With a smile he turned the chair away from the makeshift desk, sinking down into it as he set his pack to one side on the floor, careful of the sleeping Luna as he did his best to not disturb her. Nimble fingers fished into another compartment of the pack as he sought his quill, a sheet of parchment, and his journal. Crossing one leg over the other, he held the journal in his lap as he placed the parchment on top of it, his quill dipping into the ink as he began to write. Were someone to watch over his shoulder to see the words appear on the parchment before him, these words would greet their eyes.

Carousing, carefree in the noon sun, dust light and joyous, never again bound to the ground below. Dancing in radiant sunlight, piercing the gloom of darkened room, a soothsayer in times of doubt, eternal light of hope. If only men possessed such spirit, if only they could dance so and forget woes past and troubles future, living for only the warm glow of sunlight upon their enlightened faces. But men are bound to ever be light and dark, never so pure as a shaft of light shining through a window high.

The smile remained upon Jon’s lips as he rose, tucking the quill and journal back into his pack before shouldering it once more, again careful of the sleeping Luna. The piece of parchment he carried in one hand as he made his way back to the kitchen. A sly smile curled the corners of his lips as he walked in on the advisor eating something he no doubt managed to pilfer from one of the cooks. With a bow of his head, he presented the parchment to Sir Allemedo. Doubt took him then as he stood, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. “I pray that my writing proves satisfactory. I apologize if it is not what you intended; I gazed upon the light and inspiration took me.”
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Khel
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« Reply #8 on: October 10, 2007, 04:46:01 PM »

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Bread and water, those were all the old man required. Those within the kitchen offered him much more, but Allemedo was a simple man beneath all the regal attire and fancy language. Bread and water would keep him alive. It was only a short time before Jon strode through the doorway, a smile upon his face. Almost immediately Allemedo knew the youth had created a great work, for no craftsman had that look of satisfaction upon his face without reason. Approaching him, Jon presented a parchment and said, “I pray that my writing proves satisfactory. I apologize if it is not what you intended; I gazed upon the light and inspiration took me.” Endeared by the young man’s words, Allemedo’s eyes looked kindly upon him for a moment, then shifted down onto the parchment.

Looking at it, Allemedo noticed its length first and foremost. Brief, but brevity meant nothing accompanied with heavy hearted words. Reading through the neatly written script, Allemedo pitied one who could not read even this small paragraph. Reading through it another time, the old man read aloud the last words, ”…men are bound to ever be light and dark, never so pure as a shaft of light shining through a window high.” Looking up at the man, Allemedo looked straight into his eyes. The youth was beyond his years, not only did his writing surpass any expectations the old man held, but he touched on the task of purity some men worked hard to accomplish, only to learn the truth just as their lives ended.

Finally finding a voice, Allemedo stood and bent at the waist, bowing with respect for the young man, ”Your writing is beyond satisfaction. It will give me great joy to introduce a man of such talent to my King.” Straightening, Allemedo glanced about to realize the stares he received from the hands in the kitchen. It was not often they witnessed a switch in roles such as the one he had just displayed. The twinkle back in his eye, he asked the young man, ”You’ll deserve every coin you earn during your stay here… would you like to see the remainder of the Tower? And your room, of course..” Finishing the water, Allemedo broke the remnants of his bread in two, offering half to the boy, and holding fast to the other half. The loaf was soft; Allemedo was convinced the Tower held some of the best, fresh baked bread anywhere in the world.

Taking up Jon’s parchment again, Allemedo tucked it inside his robes. He hoped the lad wouldn’t mind him keeping it, but it was an awfully good piece of writing. Exiting the kitchen, Allemedo turned to continue down the hall, past the armory and smithy, past the courts and meeting rooms, past various other chambers. Slowing his long strides to match Jon’s, Allemedo hoped the young man would come to love the Tower and Araman nearly as much as he did.  ”Please, tell me about yourself, Jon.” Allemedo did not ask anything specific. The man would tell him what he offered and nothing more. Searching for anything deeper might cause the man to produce a lie, something Allemedo did not seek.
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..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
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« Reply #9 on: October 11, 2007, 04:35:32 AM »

He shifted all the more as the advisor’s gaze remained upon him, his body overcome with nervousness. A sigh of relief, relief to be free of his gaze, escaped Jon’s lips as the advisor’s eyes flickered down to the parchment before him. The way he looked at Jon upon reading the gracefully flowing script disconcerted the youth, as if the older gentlemen peered into the very depths of his soul. He could not help but feel bare, stark naked, under such a gaze. His collar seemed to tighten, his clothes seeking to strangle him as his skin crawled, feeling heated despite the icy clime he stood in.

It was even more of a shock to witness Sir Allemedo bow before him, showing him respect as none had ever before. There was no doubt in his mind that his writing was superb, not at this present moment at least, but it was still surprising to see one so highly ranked bow to him on account of his talent. He did not know if his talent was worth such respect, but he appreciated it nonetheless. His smile broadened at the mention of gold. He did not think of himself as a materialistic man, far from it, but any gold he was paid would go far in keeping food in his belly and clothes on his back. His stomach rumbling again at the mention of food, he graciously accepted the bread offered to him, doing his best to remember his manners while scarfing it down, a losing battle if there ever was one.

He fell into step alongside the advisor as they left the kitchen once more, his gaze yet again roaming the grandeur that surrounded him. In time, he might become accustomed to living within such fine quarters, but for now their exquisite beauty overwhelmed him. As they walked, he pondered whether he’d prefer a tour or if he’d like to be shown to his room straight away. His curiosity got the better of him when it came to exploring this tower, but then again his feet and the rest of him were weary after a long voyage. “Thank you Sir for the compliments. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be shown to my room first so that I might rest and unpack my things. Perhaps I could be shown the rest of the tower later today?” A nap just might be the thing he most desired at this present moment. His thoughts of collapsing onto a soft bed were interrupted by a question he knew would be asked eventually.

How would he describe himself? The possibilities were nearly endless. He was not one to prattle on about his life story; it was not his place to waste the time of another nor was he so open about his life. He also had no desire to lie to Sir Allemedo, so he could only hope that the man would accept what Jon told him and not pry any further. In the end, it came down to that which he was most skilled with, words. “You ask the one question I do not have an answer to. Who am I? If only I knew. I suppose I could tell you of my past, my people, and my homeland, but such things fail to define me, as do words in general. Ask me about any of those, and I will answer to the best of my ability. But as to your question, I can only answer with four words, the only ones that even come close to describing me: I am a writer.”
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Khel
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« Reply #10 on: October 11, 2007, 02:45:52 PM »

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

A sparkle entered his eye as Allemedo watched the youth eat the bread so quickly. Ah, where were his manners? Allemedo listened as the boy spoke. To his room first, yes, he was an old fool for expecting the child to start his work immediately. When he paused, Allemedo interjected, ”Certainly. And I’ll introduce you to Feyla, she’ll be more than happy to get you what you require while you stay here.” Allemedo was sure Brogan would happily accept this task, but the boy was too busy running about the Tower, and too fond of following Timeras throughout the city to expect him to dawdle around the Tower all day.

Jon was wise beyond his years. ”I am a writer.” he finished with, and Allemedo glanced at him with a soft smile. Making their way to the end of the hall, Allemedo opened the door to his left, revealing a staircase. Beginning to climb, Allemedo’s old legs wearied him. Ah, the Tower would soon be too much for this old man to handle. He didn’t understand Jon’s reasoning. Allemedo’s people and this home he had known all his life defined him through and through. He is a Remusian, no doubt in his mind. Nevertheless, Jon seemed to be content with the way he was; the person he had become. If writing the way he did defined him, then Allemedo admired him all the more for his age. Many that young still spent their time as foolhardy drunkards, ending up warriors like the rest, but without much lot in life.

Reaching the second level, which included the throne room, Allemedo said quietly, ”And writing you must do, my boy.” patting his robes where the parchment was tucked away, ”A better and more sure writer I could not have found in all the lands as far as I can tell. I am glad you are here with us.” Kind eyes gazed at the young man before him for a moment, then he turned and began down a short hallway with various doors throughout. Walking to the first door on the right, only a short distance down the hall from the throne room, a withered had reached out and pushed the door ajar.

A small room within lay empty, but free of dust in preparation for its occupant. It contained three simple pieces of furniture: a large bed, a little desk, and a wardrobe. The fireplace was small, but would provide proficient heat for the room. Looking at it with love, for it resembled Allemedo’s own quarters, he stepped through the doorway. ”I should hope this is sufficient for you, Mr. Smith. I believe we should get a fire started… now where is that... ah! Feyla, I knew you’d be about.” A small face poked through the door frame, long brown hair framed a round face with full ginger lips and large brown eyes. At eighteen, the young maiden caught sight of Jon and blushed furiously, sending her eyes downcast.

Chuckling knowingly, Allemedo looked pointedly at Jon. ”Feyla will be here for anything you need. Our cooks, smiths and others live in this hall, and she serves them all, for which I am eternally grateful.” Allemedo gently lifted the chin of the girl, smiling at her and patting her cheek fondly. Each in this Tower was a family member to him, and he cared greatly for this young woman and the future Kor’och held for her. ”Feyla, provide Mr. Smith with whatever he may need, please. If that is all…” Allemedo glanced about the room briefly, then from young man to young woman with a questioning expression. Assuming nothing else would be required from him, the old man took his leave, exiting quietly down the carpeted hallway and climbing the stairs to the top of the Tower.
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..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
Your pal, Khel
Jon Smith
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« Reply #11 on: October 12, 2007, 03:20:08 AM »

His boots struck the stone each time with only the slightest of thuds as he followed Sir Allemedo up the stairway the door had opened to reveal. Despite being tall, at least among his own people, Jon was light on his feet and not one to stomp around as a clumsy oaf might. The stairs proved to be of little difficulty to scale for someone of his age and vigor, but he tried nonetheless to climb alongside the advisor, not wishing to appear rude by going on ahead. Anyway, he had no idea just to how many levels they would have to ascend. It was with a sigh of relief that he noticed Sir Allemedo stopping to open a door on the second level. Any other time he might be able to climb to even the highest level of the tower, but his legs were yet unused to having solid ground beneath them once more. Jon doubted he would ever become accustomed to travel by sea.

His cheeks flushed at the older man’s compliments as Jon cast his gaze downward, anything to avoid the look in Sir Allemedo’s eyes as he looked upon him. It was one thing to compliment his talent, but to say that his talent was the greatest in all the lands, well it was a great compliment the youth could scarcely handle without his cheeks flushing and his gaze desiring to be elsewhere. His gaze remained on the floor as he followed the advisor down the hallway, only looking up when the man turned to open a door on the right, his gaze immediately seeking to look upon the room that would be his own.

Lighting up at the sight of the room, his eyes sparkled as he gazed upon it, delighted with what he saw. It was just what he needed, nothing more and nothing less. The most crucial piece of furniture was undoubtedly the desk where he would work, but the other two served their purposes as well as he would have to sleep and dress himself of course. He stepped into the room as Sir Allemedo mentioned a fire, walking to stand near the fireplace, his back turned to the door. A fireplace was something that was needed only in winter in his homeland, yet he could easily see how one would be needed year round in the icy north.

Jon turned as the advisor mentioned the girl again, expecting to see before him a young girl of no more than twelve. What greeted his gaze instead was no child but rather a gorgeous young woman who’s beauty left him lost for thought. His gaze flickered over her flowing brown tresses before settling on eyes of a similar hue. A small smile teased at the corner of his lips as he gazed within such eyes, his mind lost as the moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The older man’s voice stirred him from his reverie as Jon realized he had been staring and cast his gaze downward as his cheeks flushed, nearly mirroring the expression of the maiden herself as he bashfully stared at the toes of his boots.

He looked up again as Sir Allemedo took his leave, his eyes following the back of the other man for only a moment before turning back to the maiden, to Feyla. His gaze seemed to possess a mind of its own as it wavered, seemingly unable to look her directly in the face again and unwilling to appear lecherous by staring at the other parts of her body. Here he was standing before his greatest weakness when it came to women, a brunette, her soft brown eyes looking at him as a woman looks at a man, and he found himself frozen, as immobile as he would have been had he been a statue.

Finally some inkling of courage managed to worm its way up from his gut as he spoke, mumbling at first before his voice gained a bit of confidence, returning to its usual clear baritone. “Hello Freyla, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He bowed his head to her then, trying to be polite and show her respect, before continuing. “Would you know how to light the fire? I admit that my homeland does not have temperatures such as the icy climes of the north.”

His eyes remained on her as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, finally daring to once again look into her gorgeous eyes. The pack he slipped off and set on the floor to lean against the bed, the slumbering Luna secure within her compartment, seemingly a sound sleeper. As he looked up at Feyla again, Jon blushed and cast his gaze downward yet again. “And then, could you sit with me and talk?” He looked up at her and continued. “I’ve missed the company of someone my own age, long has it been since I’ve had anyone but crude sailors to speak to.”
« Last Edit: October 12, 2007, 03:21:52 AM by Jon Smith » Logged

Khel
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« Reply #12 on: October 12, 2007, 05:19:19 AM »

Feyla

The girl wanted desperately to call Sir Allemedo back. Serving the inhabitants of the Tower was easy enough, but this handsome visitor? Surely he could not be serious. Feyla mustered up the nerve to look at Mr. Smith as he spoke to her and bowed. Why would he bow to the girl sent to serve him? She inclined her head politely with a deep blush. She let out an inadvertent giggle as he asked if she could make a fire, and immediately bustled over to the hearth. She knew well to build a fire, almost as well as following orders. Bending to tend to the kindling, Mr. Smith sat on the end of the bed and set down his pack.

He seemed not to be able to hold her gaze either, and this gave the young woman confidence. Pushing her hair behind her ears and turning to look at him again, her brown eyes widened as he asked if she would stay and speak with him. Opening her mouth briefly, she snapped her jaw shut again. Would that be appropriate? Sir Allemedo requested she provide Mr. Smith with whatever he may need, but…

Turning back to the fire, Feyla swiftly set to work, and within moments heard the crackling of the wood and saw the spark of flame. Standing and brushing off her skirts, Feyla stumbled over her words as she pulled out the chair of the desk uncertainly. ”Um, certainly J- oh, Mr. Smith. I’ll stay as long as.. as I can.” Sitting lightly in the chair, Feyla respectfully crossed her ankles and laughed her ringing laugh nervously. ”Surely I will provide better conversation than our sailors, depending on the desired topic of conversation.” A light returned to her eyes as Feyla’s fire flared behind her, and she looked directly into Mr. Smith’s hazel eyes daringly.

Quickly standing again, however, Feyla wondered where her manners were. It was her duty to provide this man with comfort, and her own selfish desire to look upon his attractive face clouded that notion briefly. Her brown locks bounced about her shoulders as she made her way to the door again, saying, ”Dearly sorry, Mr. Smith, will there be anything you require? Food? Drink? Need you extra blankets? I’ve completely forgotten my place.” Feyla bowed slightly, the questions pouring from her mouth in utter embarrassment.
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..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
Your pal, Khel
Jon Smith
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« Reply #13 on: October 12, 2007, 11:11:56 AM »

The soft smile never faded from his lips as he watched her. It seemed eternal, destined to forever illuminate his face. The smile represented his confidence in himself and his excitement at finally meeting a maiden his own age, as he had dearly missed the company of the fairer sex. Yet the smile did fade as it was replaced by a scowl, the corners of his mouth curling downward as she referred to him as Mr. Smith. He could accept such a title from someone as distinguished and high ranking as Sir Allemedo, it was not Jon's place to correct him, but coming from a maiden his own age, it just seemed wrong. His gaze remained upon her own as he spoke. "Please, call me Jon. Mr. Smith makes me sound old."

The smile returned, brighter than ever, as she laughed, her laughter as music to his ears. The feminine peals of laughter that arose from her lips were melodious to hear, reminding him of the peals of silver bells. But he blushed furiously as she gazed into his eyes, surprised by so bold a move and embarrassed to have been caught finding such pleasure in something as simple as the sound of her laughter. Still, he found his gaze captured by her own, unable to look away, his hazel orbs locked onto hers of softest brown hues.

He sighed in both relief and disappointment as she moved to stand, walking to the door as if to flee his presence. Did he truly make her that nervous? It seemed to him that it was the other way around, and that he was not a sight worthy of quickening so beautiful a maiden's heart. But all this talk of serving him utterly confused him, leaving him feeling awkward toward her. He did not want to dishonor the customs of Remusiat, yet he also was not accustomed to being waited on. Never before had he been so important that he was worthy of being served.

Moving to stand as well, Jon stood by the edge of the bed as he spoke, trying to control both his and Feyla's nervousness by not moving any closer just yet. "I'm sorry Feyla, but I am not accustomed to being served. It would not feel right for me to allow you to serve me while I lazed around. Perhaps you could show me to the dining hall, and we can get a meal together? I do not know if you've eaten yet, but I would be honored to dine with you." The soft smile returned to his lips as he awaited her reply, daring to look into her eyes as she had his only moments before.
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Khel
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« Reply #14 on: October 12, 2007, 03:04:30 PM »

Feyla

Mr. Smith… no, Jon corrected her, and Feyla’s eyes grew even wider and her flush an even deeper karikrimson hue. Full lips formed an ‘oh’ and she started to shake her head obstinately. There was no point, however, as the man stood too, and began to speak again. His voice rang gently in Feyla’s ears as he asked to be shown to the dining hall to eat. He smiled and looked directly at her and Feyla felt weak in the knees. She did not know if it was from anxiety, embarrassment, or the way his soft eyes surveyed her, but she averted her gaze quickly to the floor.

”A… a meal together?” Feyla shifted her feet awkwardly, involuntarily reaching down to pat her skirt smooth. It was a simple eophran dress, and the cotton sweater she wore over it a soft hue of grey. The earthen tones matched the tone of her skin and the color of her eyes. Feyla considered it one of the nicest dresses she owned. Nicest of the three, anyway. Feyla tried to gauge how appropriate such a thing would be. The dining all would be nearly empty by this time… and she had nothing to attend to until supper now. An internal battle raged within the young maiden. Never before had a guest been this way, but then again never before had a guest been so young. Her temper flared momentarily at Sir Allemedo for putting her in this situation, but she knew regardless she would have attended to this floor and met Jon eventually during his stay.

His stay… how long would he live in Remusiat? And why was he in the King’s Tower anyway? Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Feyla chastised herself. Whatever his purpose in Remusiat, none of it was her business, and he would not be here long. This the young woman used as leverage to accept Jon’s offer. It was only fitting to allow a short term guest to have the same degree of care as a long term one, she told herself. Looking up at him again, Feyla returned his smile. ”If you’ll not allow me to bring a meal to you, I suppose…” Uneasily, Feyla stepped out into the hall, ready to show him the way.
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..tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. -asw
Your pal, Khel
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