The Gates [post here first]

[Bunny]

The road is still damp from the morning dew, its earthy aroma refreshing in the stiff breeze out of the east. To the west, the rocky, untamed hills of the Kriskin peninsula roll out toward the horizon. The monotony of green is broken occasionally by herds of sheep, often looking like growths of off-white mold slowly creeping over the land. To the east lies the craggy spine of the Windbreak Mountains, the high point of the peninsula.

The travels, and reasons, that bring people here, to this place, are each their own. The chill caress of the city's namesake slides over their bodies, embracing them as a long-lost friend. The road before the city gates is hard packed earth, the low stone wall a patchwork of styles and craftsmanship. The gate to the city is wide, allowing two wagons to enter side by side under the watchful eye of the guards stationed there. Behind the city walls, one can see the stout Ivory Citadel, pale marble glowing softly in the sparse sunlight. The north end of the mountains is capped by a large bluff, upon which sits a gigantic oak, limbs swaying gently in the everpresent wind. South of this is a seemingly perfect wall of basalt, a hundred feet high and nearly two thousand long. This ends in the Windbreak Mountains, a perfect continuation of the eastern defenses. At an appropriately treacherous place, the outer wall meets the mountains, completing the circuit both there and below the lone sentinel of an oak.

Approaching the gate, the short line of people waiting to gain entrance to the city becomes clear, their varied appearance indicative of the small variety of trades practiced here. When their turn at last comes, the guard raises a hand gently to bring them to a halt. The guard wears a white tabard with dark green trim over chain mail, and a spear occupies his other hand with easy familiarity. "Serale, citizen. I need to see your visa, and any weapons you have with you, please." he states, his mood at once routine and alert.

[Sundown Griffon]

2nd Brightening of the Month of Cryxatum,in the Season of Summer,Era XIV.

Sundown had not traveled far it had taken him about a month to reach this place, it seemed to be in order a nice quiet place not meny people so far but never the less sundown was here to meet some new people and to get in on some adventures. he would not normaly be like this, wanting to meet new people but his resent adventures had changed all that he came to the gate to find someone asking him to show his visa and weapons when it was his turn to show the guard his stuff he said Serale and then passed him his visa, longsword, bow and quiver.

After a quiet few seconds sundown could help but ask"Is there anything going on in this place??"

[Bunny]

A youngish human, blue eyes and curly blond hair equally pale, examined the weapons while his compatriot, straight and dark of hair and temperament, compared visa to man. Finding nothing amiss, or at least not scandalously so, all of Sundown's items were returned to him. "Depends on your definition of 'anything', dunnit, lowlander?" the darker Watchman asked the half-elf somewhat testily.

"I think there's a minstrel down at the Ram, Theodore. Tha's what Seamus was doin' fer the darkenin'." his partner chimed in helpfully.

"Seamus is stone deaf, ye silly git. He's down there gettin' pissed s'what he's doin'."

"I know that, you wool-headed bint. I was just connectin' two pieces of information, like Constable Vaylent keeps sayin', puttin' two an' two together."

"And just what does that add up to, William?" Thedore asked pointedly.

The blond lad pondered a moment, before counting several fingers, pausing, and counting some more. "Twelve?" he asked tentatively, a confused look on his face.

"My point exactly. Move along, Mister Griffon. Ain't got all brightenin' to talk to you." Theodore concluded brusquely, waving Sundown inward before brushing an errant strand of hair from his face, the everpresent wind playing merry hob with the lad's bangs.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

Passing through Cyraxtum, Summer, Era XIV

Paxia or Kriskinstat.

Kriskinstat or Paxia.

The Elf had been debating which of the two cities closest to Chelseanna upon the mainland might have the avenues of interest he was… well, interested in. The final kicker of the dilemma spun around when Paxia got invaded by Orcs, mind you, and basically reduced to a bunch of rubble. Genuine interest from his roles in Narim’s own defenses had brought him to inspect and survey just how bad the damage was done, and when a Master Elementalist grows appalled at having seen one of the city’s he’d lived in for countless eras reduced to nothing more than broken walls and ash, then that says something. It was a pretty clear statement.

And thus it was he’d travelled via sky to Kriskinstat, landing some miles away and walking the rest of the trek from the bayside. Naturally, he’d seen the defenses flying in, and was rather impressed with the large walls erected around the city stretching across the peninsula.

Approaching the gate, he fiddled with the silver brooch clasping the dark emerald green cloak concealing his body. Almond-shaped eyes roved from guard to guard, inspecting the low patchwork stone wall and high-rising gate accompanying it, speculation twinkling in his eyes. As he fell in line, he shuffled his hands into his pockets and felt the cool summer zephyr tickle his cheeks and brush through his hair. As he finally stepped up in line, he forked over his Imperial Visa and unlatched his elven-steel longsword for inspection. “Serale,” he grinned cheerfully enough, “I’m actually looking to pay a visit to the Smithy and see about getting this replaced.”

True enough.

[Bunny]

Elves certainly weren't unheard of in Kriskinstat, as evidenced by the Prefect, for starters, just a bit on the rare side. As such, Eren merited a bit cloer inspection by the two men manning the gates this brightening. Certainly not a local, and wool season being done and all... well, it was curious. More specifically, William was curious, blue eyes more interested in the blade then the elementalist, by all appearances. Thankfully for the city, his companion had the attention span of something other than a gnat and gave the outsider a careful examination, comparing elf to visa and back to elf again. "Any other business in..." Theodore began, before William interrupted and drew an irked glance from his fellow watchman.

"Wha's wrong wiffit?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Will, now there's no need to..."

"'Cause me mum always used to say..."

"Will..."

"That you shouldn't try to fix..."

"Will!"

"Sumfin ain't broken! What?!" he concluded happily, before getting irritated a mite with his somewhat overbearing friend.

"That's not our business, William."

"And why not? Allow me to set the scene for ye, Theodore. What we 'ave 'ere is a stranger to town, in a season we don't get too many, telling us 'e's come to replace a perfectly good sword at Pickford's. Don't that strike you a jus' a bit... off?"

A brief epiphany overtook the man, his gaze swivelling back to Eren again. "Yeah, it does. As I was saying, before young William here brought up his most excellent point, do you have any other business in town?"

[Straylor Leonard]

Timestamp: Mid brightening of the First Cycle of the Month of Optia. It was the Season of Summer of Era XIV Post Fractum. Paradigm Shift: Olympia Reopens! Kriskinstat Opens at Last!

It was a cheery brightening so far. The trek on horseback was neither unpleasant nor time consuming, much to Straylor Leonard's taste. He was not one who wasted time, nor did he like the rubbing sensation of his heels against hard leather. Those were brightenings passed, brightenings when he couldn't afford an expensive warsteed. Thankfully, his business endeavors were looking up. Naturally, his expenses were shooting likewise upwards.

But he always ha a way of justifying such unneeded vacations. He was 'tired', he needed 'a break' from the droning of farm life. There had to be something more than work each brightening, right? Or not. Either way, he had the crowns. He would spend it as he wished. Lavishly, wastefully, wisely, any way he wished. He owed that much to himself.

Dressed in fine clothes fit for a man his standing, the young man approached the gate guards with keen interest. To think that he once manned gates and wore that gods awful uniform. For this trip, he chose a light, long-sleeve poet shirt beneath a long jacket to shield him from the winds that supposedly plagued this side of the Carmelyn Province. And, just for effect, he wore a long, loose cape that covered part of his steed's back as he trotted along.

"My visa", Straylor said as he handed the document to the proper guard, "as for my weapons, they are clearly visible I think." Placing his free hand on his belt, Stray revealed two sheaths: one for his damascus steel, the other one housed his dwarven steel shortsword. "I also have a buckler, if you'd like to see it. It's in one of my packs." True enough, the warsteed's saddle had a pack on either side. And on the left side was a buckler strapped neatly to avoid hurting the animal during a moderate run.

[Masamune]

Straylor

As Straylor approached the gates, the two gate guards--one of which who's stance had been rigid and unyielding, the other leaning against the gate with a finger up his nose--both became keenly interested and aware at the new arrival. Theodore stood even more rigid, if it were possible, and William removed his finger from his nose and gave it a slight flick away from any people before standing fully upright, though obviously nowhere near as rigid as his companion.

Theodore accepted the visa handed him and began to survay it in a very no-nonsese manner, as William gazed at the weapons that the young farmer was bearing.

"Why ye need all them weapons?"he asked, genuinely curious.

"Will, the last lowlander who passed through here had a sword too."

"'Well, yeah, but he didn't have two. This guy's got two."

"And a buckler."

"An' a buckler!"

"So he likes to be well defended. That's not a crime. He's declared his weapons and shown us his visa, They seem to be in order, I don't think there's need to prattle on about it."

"But it stands t' reason that if he's got two swords, he's got reason t' use it. Usually if a guy wants t' be defended, he carries a sword, maybe, but two? That's a bit much, ainnit?" He seemed rather proud of his logic, but it was clear that Theodore was not overly impressed.

"Some people simply prefer to fight that way."

"And how'd he know he prefers to fight that way 'less he's been a few?" He beamed at his logic, figuring he finally has his partner stumped.

"You were in that toss at the Ram the other brightening, and I know damn well you've been in others. Does that mean, since you've been in a few fights, I should investigate you too?"

"Maybe!" The arguement was clearly not going the way William would have liked.

"You're a sheep-brained looney, you know that, right?" He sighed and turned his attention back to the arrival, William's face showing he was slightly hurt, but that he would get over the chastening.

"So, Mister...Leonard," he began, glancing at the visa before handing it back, "everything looks in order, so you're free to be on your way then. Enjoy your stay, so long as you don't cause trouble." He waved Straylor past the gates, and as he moved on, he could hear the voice of William, already past their previous conversation, making yet another innane comment to his partner, even as their voices faded in the distance.

"So I hear that Ellen at th' Ram's still lookin' fer a husband. Scared off 'nother lowlander wiffin a candlemark. Saw him runnin' fer the gates, Aslan's honest truth..."

[Tanri Sol'kebah]

Timestamp:
Late Brightening/Early Darkening
Eighth Brightening of the Third Cycle
Month of Optia.
Summer of Era XIV Post Fractum.
Paradigm Shift: Olympia Reopens! Kriskinstat Opens at Last!

The cloaked stranger approached the gates slowly. As he gazed at them, he snuffed his nose. His hood wasn't pulled all the way forward, so a long, rust-colored snout emerged from the end, the small black nose on the end flailing as it inhaled the scents of the new city. His whiskers twitched as allergies threatened to spike, but luckily for the stranger, allergies were not the current problem.

The well worn--and, on multiple occasions, patched--cloak of rust coloration hung off the large stranger's broad frame, clearly denoting power. The baldric beneath wasn't visible, though the handle of his large weapon jutted out from behind the cloak as he rolled his shoulders back, pushing the cloak back to expose his full form as he approached. Long, thick, muscled arms slowly reached up to pull the hood back, the clawed hands surprisingly delicate on the thick fabric. As it fell away, the face it exposed was clearly not human. Not human, nor elven, nor dwarven, but one of the anthropomorphic races.

Dorin, to be precise.

He was clad in red trousers that were light and loose, and his top was an open white vest. His rust-colored fur bristled slightly and his ears flicked; it had been ages since he'd had a bath, and it felt as though dirt was lodged in every pore and between every hair. As he approached the gate, coal-black eyes glistened intelligently as he unsnapped his baldric, letting it slide off his shoulder slowly so he could expose his weapon without them growing suspicious. Those of soft and pink nature often were weary of such things when something as unfamiliar as someone who did not share many qualities with that of apes did much of anything at all, really, much less draw their weapon. So he found it easier to avoid misunderstanding by simply unhooking it and exposing it still-sheathed.

Along with it he reached inside one of his notably few pouches on his belt and pulled free his visa as well. When he spoke, it was surprisingly soft, though his voice was a deep and throaty rumble that rattled quite low even within the bass register, and sounded more akin to a grizzled war veteran--though the idea of it belonging to a canine was not at all far-fetched.

"Serale. I come here seeking an audiance with the Hand." He offered his visa and Great Scimitar for inspection, though he'd make sure to let neither out of his sight.

His words were quite true. He had once been in service to Arakmatan nobility as a guard...but the house had vanished, and with it, both his home and pay. Lacking any substantial way of making money, he started work as a mercenary, but quickly had heard about an order of Paladins that served Aslan. Intrigued, he had decided to investigate. A lover of Aslan, if there was a service to him where his muscles and fighting capability could go to use--and get room and board for it, either directly or indirectly--he was perfectly willing to investigate.

The large canine's nose snuffled once again, but he resisted the urge to sneeze...and a great urge it was. Instead, he merely waited patiently for the two guards to finish their inspection, hoping for a clean entry, but willing to answer questions if they truly wished to stall him thusly.

[Bunny]

The snippets of conversation overheard by the Son of Arkamat were amusing, if, perhaps a bit insulting, himself being the clear subject of conversation despite his distance from the two men manning the gate.

"Well, what about him, then? Why's he got his hood down over his face? the darker haired Watchman asked, his voice taking on the authoratative voice of an instructor.

"E's feth ugly." came the almost dismissive reply.

"Or he doesn't want us to see what he looks like." dark-hair reinforced, trying to make a point.

"Cause e's feth ugly!" again came the response, clearly not seeing what the big deal was.

The drop of cloak and erstwhile disguise shut the both of them up promptly, a dorin most assuredly not a common sight in the Kriskin Highlands. The pro forma question was asked, and answered by Tanri, William clearly more fascinated with the massiveblade proffered by the newest Prospect rather than his ostensible job.

"Oooo, that's a big bloody sword. You ever cut anyone in half wiffit?"

"Will."

"You ever cut anyone in half wiffit while on 'orseback?"

"Will."

"You ever throw it at some villian runnin' away and lop 'is 'ead off?"

"Will!" the blond-haired youth's companion bellowed, cutting off another doubtlessly inane question.

"Sorry." William said sheepishly.

"Excuse my companion, Mister Sol'kebah. He's a bit excitable at times. As for the Hand, the Ivory Citadel is impossible to miss, just keep going down the main road here, you'll see the white walls soon enough, follow them around to the left, the Silver Gates are in the southwest wall." Theodore added helpfully, reminding himself to alert his Sergeant of what had transpired.

Dorins seeking the Hand rarely came away happy.

[Tanri Sol'kebah]

As the pinkies talked about him and his hood, neither appearently noticing the snout that protruded from the guise, he did his best--which still failed slightly--to contain a big sigh. The one appearently called Will clearly wasn't the brightest of humans he'd met, and his constant questions about the great blade made it clear that he likely didn't have much combat experience either. As he reclaimed the visa and sword, putting both back in their rightful place, he bowed to the pair, speaking first to the one who'd given him directions.

"Thank you, I will be sure to look for what you've advised," then he turned to gaze at Will for a long moment before speaking.

"Yes, no, no, in that order." He said nothing further on the matter giving the pair what for him was a polite smile, but for other non-Dorin was likely a very wolfish and dangerous grin.

"Thank you gentlemen. Good brightening to you, and may Aslan guide and protect you." He bowed once more, then departed, entering the city. He worried, however. He'd seen the look on the face of the other one, the one who was not that innane 'Will'. When he'd spoken of the Hand, his face turned a bit concerned. Was there something that the large Dorin didn't know that might be a problem? He hoped not. Either way, he was likely to find out soon enough. He went on his way, searching for the Ivory Citidel he'd spoken of.