Ravak Darrow
He listened to Mistress Bryne intently. She was well practiced at this introduction, he reckoned, but she was charismatic and insightful all the same. She answered the question about the oath, without me saying a word. He wondered if she was good at reading faces, and wondered more what his own face displayed. Brushing his shoulders again, he tried to settle his mood and smooth his face, but a smile broke out at the comparison between the non-channellers and the channellers.
"Good to know I'll not starve," he said mirthfully. "I'll try to justify my appetite in the yard." He was eager to get started, even if he wasn't eager to learn how good the Grey Tower's medical facilities were. Having to learn unarmed combat would undoubtably leave him with many bruises; children grew up with training swords in Sheinar, and played with those until they were of age and trained to be trusted with a real weapon. The only person he had ever struck with his hands was his sister, and that had been deserved.
The code of conduct for Drin'far'ji ranged from the incredulous to the mundane. Keeping his room clean was a skill already drilled into him; Rav wouldn't require a visit from the Tower's shatayan or shambayan, or the equivalent thereof. Keeping indoors after dark was also a habit adopted from living so close to the Blight. His cheeks reddened from the foolish notion of getting entangled in a relationship. Distracting relationships. Are there any other type? Light, there are easier ways and places to pick up a girl. And yet Mistress Bryne was involved in a relationship, although that didn't seem to trouble her beyond a slight stiffness in her gait. But she is not Drin'far'ji. He frowned, wondering.
They stopped at an open door, and Rav glared through the doorway. The walls, floor and roof were of the same colour as the surroundings of the hearth in the foyer of the Warder Hall. A single bed, with arched head- and footboards, was made of the same wood. Had he been paying more attention on the approach to the Grey Tower, he may have taken in what the local trees were in the area. There were bundles of linens and clothing and towels laid out on the grey sheets. The men and women in the training yards had worn the same clothing, although some in darker hues.
He was not to be barracked with any other people. That was a surprising development, unless it was simply that they were waiting for the next recruit to come along to partner him with. He frowned, not sure how he would cope in his own company. The journey to Hama Valon had been a solemn one, with only a couple of books for company. He appreciated quiet moments like everyone, but he had always had a sister to contend with, or confide in. He didn't expect to find someone like her here, but he could certainly do with another boarder to converse with.
He stepped into the room, his room, and looked at a large chest sat at the foot of the bed. He unburdened himself of all of his belongings, excluding the swords, and set them beside the chest. He turned back to face the Mistress of Training as he offered him two keys. "Two keys?" he asked.
He listened to the answer with a nod, then moved on with other questions. "Mistress Bryne, what does Drin'far'ji mean? That's the Old Tongue, I'm presuming." He rubbed his nose cautiously. "So I shall undertake classes and practicing with the sword, and with the sword-breaker." The quarterstaff would come later, he resolved. "And in unarmed combat," he added, reluctantly. "If I wished to pursue scholarly activities, is there anyone you would recommend I speak with? And, you said I would need your permission to go from the grounds. How far am I allowed to roam?"
"Good to know I'll not starve," he said mirthfully. "I'll try to justify my appetite in the yard." He was eager to get started, even if he wasn't eager to learn how good the Grey Tower's medical facilities were. Having to learn unarmed combat would undoubtably leave him with many bruises; children grew up with training swords in Sheinar, and played with those until they were of age and trained to be trusted with a real weapon. The only person he had ever struck with his hands was his sister, and that had been deserved.
The code of conduct for Drin'far'ji ranged from the incredulous to the mundane. Keeping his room clean was a skill already drilled into him; Rav wouldn't require a visit from the Tower's shatayan or shambayan, or the equivalent thereof. Keeping indoors after dark was also a habit adopted from living so close to the Blight. His cheeks reddened from the foolish notion of getting entangled in a relationship. Distracting relationships. Are there any other type? Light, there are easier ways and places to pick up a girl. And yet Mistress Bryne was involved in a relationship, although that didn't seem to trouble her beyond a slight stiffness in her gait. But she is not Drin'far'ji. He frowned, wondering.
They stopped at an open door, and Rav glared through the doorway. The walls, floor and roof were of the same colour as the surroundings of the hearth in the foyer of the Warder Hall. A single bed, with arched head- and footboards, was made of the same wood. Had he been paying more attention on the approach to the Grey Tower, he may have taken in what the local trees were in the area. There were bundles of linens and clothing and towels laid out on the grey sheets. The men and women in the training yards had worn the same clothing, although some in darker hues.
He was not to be barracked with any other people. That was a surprising development, unless it was simply that they were waiting for the next recruit to come along to partner him with. He frowned, not sure how he would cope in his own company. The journey to Hama Valon had been a solemn one, with only a couple of books for company. He appreciated quiet moments like everyone, but he had always had a sister to contend with, or confide in. He didn't expect to find someone like her here, but he could certainly do with another boarder to converse with.
He stepped into the room, his room, and looked at a large chest sat at the foot of the bed. He unburdened himself of all of his belongings, excluding the swords, and set them beside the chest. He turned back to face the Mistress of Training as he offered him two keys. "Two keys?" he asked.
He listened to the answer with a nod, then moved on with other questions. "Mistress Bryne, what does Drin'far'ji mean? That's the Old Tongue, I'm presuming." He rubbed his nose cautiously. "So I shall undertake classes and practicing with the sword, and with the sword-breaker." The quarterstaff would come later, he resolved. "And in unarmed combat," he added, reluctantly. "If I wished to pursue scholarly activities, is there anyone you would recommend I speak with? And, you said I would need your permission to go from the grounds. How far am I allowed to roam?"
| OOC: And then there was a flurry of questions. Out-of-character, I'm assuming the way to continue will be to roleplay with a Ji'alantin/dar+, and the Beginning Unarmed Combat class. Is there a best practice of how to acquire Rav's other Weapon Skills? |
