3rd Day of Summer, 516 AV
Tvarrick leaned idly against the trunk of a tree situated just at the edge of the Bronze Wood. Across the way lay the Eastern wall of Sylaris, and in which was located the gate through which a steady stream of persons entering the great city. Watching the gate, Tvarrick absentmindedly flipped a knife in one, long fingered hand. The small blade would drift lazily upward, rotate once, and descend to slap into Tvarrick’s waiting palm. A habit picked up from his childhood, Tvarrick tended to unconsciously fiddle with his restless hands whenever deep in thought. The thought so occupying his attention his mind was the impressive city castle before him. Though it was not his first time coming to Sylaris, he had not visited the city since his mother was killed seven years ago, and even then only with his mother to guide him. On his own, with no friends or family awaiting him, Tvarrick found the gate and the city it led to far more daunting than he had remembered.
A sharp pain in his palm elicited a gasp from Tvarrick. Glancing away from the gates and down at his hand Tvarrick found a thin stream of blood seeping from a small gash in his palm, where the knife had over-rotated and sliced him before tumbling to the grass. From where he was idly grazing a few feet away Drixts, Tvarrick’s dun Gildling gelding, snorted in amusement at his master. Tvarrick sighed, “I know, I know,” he muttered, “standing here won’t change anything.”
Squatting, Tvarrick wiped his bloody hand on the grass before reclaiming his fallen blade, his nimble fingers making it disappear up his sleeve to the scabbard sewn there. Hoisting himself into Drixt’s saddle, Tvarrick turned the gelding toward the gate at a slow plod.
“Hold son,” the squat knight guarding the left side of the gate hailed Tvarrick as he made to enter the city. “I’m going to need your name and what you intend to be doing in our city ‘fore you can pass through.” The knight made to grab Drixts’ bridle, and Tvarrick quickly placed a warning hand upon the gelding’s neck to forestall any thought the stubborn horse might have had of nipping at the knight. Assaulting a member of the Sylarian Knights would not be a good start to Tvarrick’s new life.
“Well sir,” Tvarrick answered the knight’s questioning stare, “my name’s Tvarrick, Tvarrick…Snowsong. I’m looking to start my life, do you know where I could inquire as to anyone needing work? I’m awfully good with my hands.”
“Why would I know something like that?” grunted the guard. “A tavernkeep would know that better than I. But keep in mind son, we don’t tolerate lay-abouts here in Sylaris, if you can’t be finding work than the knights will find something for you to do with those awfully good hands. Be on your way now.”
“Thank you sir,” Tvarrick replied, tipping his hat to the guard and nudging Drixts through the gates and into the city beyond.