Original Submissions

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  Memoir #7 - The Student (Peloquin) by Rairen
  Added on Oct 27, 2009

  The escape from Allanak buying her status and a Jihaen patron, Aja uses a mix-up over cloaks to test her most favorite student.

  ---

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap = Peloquin
  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man = Corporal Valin of His Legions

  It is dawn on Nekrete, the 181st day of the Low Sun,

  In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age.

  North Salt Road [NSW]

  Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled into the ground with graceful fervor.  Decorating the edge of the street, the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals.  The road is filled with a continual throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of daily life. 

     The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the building to the west.  A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them.  An odd-looking sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road. 

  It is a warm day.

  Gritty sand blows in from the west, piling in small dunes.

   

  You raise the hood of a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak.

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "The barracks are slow of late. Thought I could offer you a drink or something? Unless that sounds boring -"

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the west.

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "Slow?  In truth... Oh, were... you resting recently?"

  Steps a touch slower as she lingers in the intersection, you look at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.

  Here is a short lissome young man still in the teenage years of development. His soft skin holds a deeply-bronzed tone, making it apparent the young man isno stranger to the savage rays of Suk-Krath.  A mass of thick chocolate hairhangs loosely from his head in a slight shag with the occasional clump coveringhis curious deep green eyes which are covered with barely noticeable goldspeckles.  Beneath his fine nose lies a soft, gentle-lipped mouth.  His chin isslender, with a vaguely squared jawline and completely lacking in any noticeablefacial hair.  The young man's slim build shows off what limited muscle he has. His legs are slightly toned and limber however, most likely due to a life ofrunning errands.  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is in excellent condition.

   

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak casts the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap a shadowed smile.

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "I've been busy in the warrens, why?"

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "A giant roc was seen flying over the city."

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap inclines his head politely to you.

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "...Roc?"

   

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "Yes, a roc.  It's a giant... hawk, for lack of better description, if you are unfamiliar with the creature.  His Faithful believe it to have been a one-time sighting, but are, I understand, reviewing it."

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances skyward, for a moment, with a rueful shake of her head.

  You think:

       "Valin, decide where you need me."

  With a hidden smile, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "It was a wild roc."

  Glancing down to him a moment before she smiles, again, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "... It was.  It was."

  You think:

       "And that was not what I was thinking."

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "When, might I ask?"

  With a bemused shake of her head, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "... And I should learn to confine my use of the Way to when I am sitting."

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "Yesterday.  Just after high sun."

  With an apologetic tone, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "I am sorry...I've met you before but your name eludes me."

  (hemote) The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak fights a smile.  Oh, does she fight a smile.

  With a soft click of her tongue, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "... Oh, it's no problem at all.  The name's Ameli."

  You feel oh, so amused.

  You think:

       "Let this be a test."

  Reaching for his facewrap, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "I am Peloquin."

  The short, lithe young man stops using his dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "It is dangerous then...?"

  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  Looking down at the short, lithe young man, face shadowed by her hood, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "Oh, that's right.  Aren't you an Aide to a Chosen or some such?"

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "That is what His Faithful are endeavoring to discover, but I do not believe they think so."

  With a slight smile, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:

       "Faithful Lord Elithan, Miss Ameli."

  With a long, drawn out 'oh' sound, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "I see, I see.  That's an honor, now.  Aren't you a little young to be serving one like him?"

  You think:

       "This is oddly amusing.  I should feign voices more often."

  With a sheepish chuckle, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:

       "Probably...but he took me in when my mother died, otherwise I would be homeless. I suppose it is the only thing he could think to do with me until I am old enough to serve the Legion."

  With a quiet, rough laugh, you say to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "Is that the way of it?  Stuck in the city?  Better you'n me, boy."

  The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard has arrived from the south.

  Sidelong, the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard looks down at the short, lithe young man.

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "Do not recognize me."

  The short, lithe young man looks up at the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "Pass by me without a glance.  I'm... giving a test to the Aide."

  Along with the short, lithe young man, you look up at the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.

  With a firm nod, the short, lithe young man says to the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard, in sirihish:

       "Good day Recruit."

  The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard tips his head amiably to the short, lithe young man after a moment.

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak dips her chin down as she nods to the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.

  Calmly, after a moment, the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard says to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "Find my mind later, if you wish to get some training in."

  The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard walks west.

  You feel highly amused.

  The short, lithe young man forms his mouth into a slightly crooked grin in the direction of the departing figure.

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances down the road with a snort of laughter.

  Turning to look down at him again, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "Is that the sort you want to be like?"

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak straightens her shoulders, puffing out her chest for 'militaristic' posture.

  You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:

       "You have my deepest thanks, my friend.  I believe I owe you a drink when this is done."

  Tilting his head halfway, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:

       "No, I don't think I could be as grouchy as Valin."

  Making a soft 'Ah...', you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "So grouchy, is he?  He seems the sort.  What are you going to be, then?  Have a stick up your arse?"

  You think:

       "I... don't know how long I can keep this up.  Oh, my."

  Brightening his deep green eyes, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:

       "I am going to be a good honest man who works for the good of the Ivory and its people."

  You think:

       "A good answer, a good answer."

  A foreign presence contacts your mind.

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "Just doing my job, miss Aja."

  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:

       "Good luck with him."

  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

  Starting to walk again and beckoning to him, you say to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:

       "Right, of course.  A real noble sort.  Like I said, better you'n me, that's to be sure.  Me, give me the grasslands and I'm happy."

  The short, lithe young man falls in behind you.

  n (with long, quick strides)

   

  North Salt Road [NS]

     Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled into the ground with graceful fervor.  Decorating the edge of the street, the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals.  The road is filled with a continual throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of daily life.  

     The murals here are especially well-colored, the bright dye calling attention to a row of exaggerated daily scenes.  An enormous sandstone sculpture of a mantis looms over the road from before one of the eastern buildings. 

   

  The short, lithe young man places his dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap onto his face.

  Cloak wrapped tight about her body, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "It's the world out there, boy.  The world out there that you're missing. And -"

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak takes a few more, long paces and then comes to a quick halt, whirling to look down at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.

  You ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Wait, wait.  So you ain't a soldier yet?"

  Shaking his head, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "I can't be until I am sixteen."

  After a stunned silence, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "... And so, you're wasting your life in here?"

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak shakes her head, moving forward again with long strides.

  (Walking onward and "Ameli" always half a step in front of him...)

  The Road of Merchants [NS]

    Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals.  Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps.  The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground. 

     A thick wall composed of agafari beams rises up to the east, preventing travel in that direction. 

   

  With a slight shrug, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "No. I am allowed to leave as long as I have someone with me. I can usually get a guard, the Faithful Lord or a recruit to take me out to hunt and such."

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak slows down near a group of people gathered near one wall, one of them gesturing wildly to the sky.

  Still walking forward, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Oh, right.  A guard.  So I suppose you're too kank-shit scared to come out with a real hunter?"

   

  The Road of Merchants [NS]

     Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals.  Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps.  The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground. 

     A thick wall composed of agafari beams rises up to the east, preventing travel in that direction. 

   

   

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances over her shoulder and then steps close to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, shadows falling over her face.

   

  You whisper to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap in sirihish:

       "I'm going to go kill that fucking bird."

  The Road of Merchants [NES]

     Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals.  Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps.  The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground. 

     A path of cobbled, blue-hued stones runs east. 

   

  With a distinct frown, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "I can go...but I don't want to kill the roc. It's too beautiful and there are so many other purposes for such a creature."

  Stopping again with stunned silence, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Better purposes?  Name one."

  Ruffling his thick chocolate hair briefly, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "It could be trained and watch over the passage to the Ivory from atop the fortress to the west."

  Silent, again, as she clicks her tongue a few times, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Trained, huh?  Bet His Faithful would pay a pretty 'sid for something like, wouldn't they..."

  With a meek shrug, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in sirihish:

       "Probably."

  Shoulder almost touching his own, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Well, here's a deal.  I take you with, Faithful Aide, we find a roc.  I give it a clip to its wing and you help me get a commission with the Faithful."

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:

       "Is it safe for me out there Miss Ameli?"

  Stopping to spit off to one side, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Sure'n its safe, if you stay with me and don't do nothin' stupid."

  You say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "I've been hawk trainin' since you were on all fours.  You stay back and down, and ain't nothin'll harm you."

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:

       "Well I've got some things to do before I can go on such a big trip...maybe you could wait and I could find your minds in a few days?"

  With a slight nod, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "I think I can wait that long.  We agreed?  You'll speak for me?"

  You feel suddenly overwhelmed and ill from the heat.

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:

       "Yes, but you understand the roc is bigger than you and it's not at all going to be easy to clip?"

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak nods, throwing back her cloak to offer the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap a white linen-gloved, four-fingered hand.

  The harshness in her voice giving way to something softer... and more crystalline, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Yes, I think I know exactly that, Aide."

  With a surprised widening of his eyes, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:

       "...Aja?"

  The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak lifts her hands, pulling back the long hood of her cloak.

  You lower the hood of a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak.

  You feel a sudden wave of nausea.

  Pale eyes studying his face, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "... Yes?"

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips form a thin line.

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap looks at you.

  You think:

       "Keep... it together..."

  You get your leather waterskin from your leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.

  Slowly, you drink the water.

  Still looking at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, you put your leather waterskin into your leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.

  Slouching his shoulders subtly, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:

       "Was that a test?"

  With a slight nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Mm-hmm."

  You think:

       "I'm going to be sick, but... this lesson is too sweet..."

  Rubbing a partially healed wounded on his cheek, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in sirihish:

       "Busted..."

  With another, slight nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "Mm-hmm."

  Her voice softening as she looks to the sky, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "I know you must... have things to attend to.  We can speak on this later."

  You think:

       "Please, don't let me faint..."

  (hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman’s skin pales, sweat glistening on her skin.

  With a gentle sigh, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:

       "Yes Aja...Light Guide you..."

  With a polite nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:

       "And you... Peloquin."

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks east.

  The ethereal, fair-haired woman waits until the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is out of sight before she slumps against the wall.

  The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap = Peloquin
  The bronzed, stubble-bearded man = Corporal Valin of His Legions

  It is dawn on Nekrete, the 181st day of the Low Sun,

  In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age.

  North Salt Road [NSW]

  
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