4th of Winter, 510 AV
Fenilen lean frame was hunched over the wooden table in the corner of his room, head in one hand, teeth gritting. His eyes were shut tightly, blocking all light from accessing the two portals. Think, Fenilen, think! Think about how to put the words down onto paper! The hand holding Fenilen's head massage his forehead gently, trying to loosen to pulsing veins that undoubtedly were the cause of this headache. A few more deep breaths were drawn through the boy's cracked lips before he set down his arm, using it to brace himself. His other hand clutched a quill pen tightly in its fingers, poised over the blank page of the book, ready to transcribe whatever the artist holding it wished to transcribe. But that was the problem! Try as he may, the words did not come! He could not focus! They were all around him! They were just waiting for him to drop his guard so They could strike! Ink dripped from the tip of the pen, creating small dots of black on the starch white of the paper. Finally, after a few more moment of blankness, the Inarta began writing.
"The Vantha ar-" he was interrupted mid-sentence by the sound of a dagger flying from its scabbard. No! He was done with Them! The boy rose to his feet, slamming the book closed, smearing the still-wet ink on the page opposite of it. He couldn't take this anymore! He knew that these people, these ones that struck out at him in his room, were fake, but how would he be able to defend himself from the real ones, the ones that attacked him outside of his room!? His sword wasn't enough! His bow wasn't enough! He couldn't use either well enough! He needed something more powerful, something that could kill them there and then, something that could stop them in their tracks, something that could save him when his sword and bow could not!
Fenilen needed something he had only seen. Magic. Yes. This was what he would obtain. There was a woman in the Icewatch who was skilled in magic. He would approach her, convince her to teach him! Then he could defend himself! Then he could defend Sairque, and Aidara, and Emory! Yes! The Inarta frantically walked across the room, lifting his Katinu from the ground, slipping it on over his bare chest. Silently, with a hurried pace, he lifted his book from the table, slipping it into it's satchel. A cork found its way into the vial of ink, and that followed. Knee high, leather, fur-lined boots found their way onto his feet, and then he set out into the cold, face down towards the ground like it always was whenever he had to enter the blizzard-like conditions of Avanthal's winter. His eyes only glanced up for brief moments to right his course through the now semi-familiar streets of Avanthal.
Eventually, he came to the Icewatch Barracks. Contrary to what he thought, there were no door guards. One would think a building of this sort would have armed men at the door. Curious. The man spent little time pondering over this, however, instead only deciding to scribble a small note about it in his book. Once finished, he elected to enter, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a certain shove. Upon coming fully inside, he shut the door, and lowered his hood, shaking his head multiple times in a poor attempt to warm his rosy-red cheeks. A poor attempt to smooth out his fiery-red hair was made as he ran his fingers through it once or twice. Finally finished, he scanned the area, and realized just how much attention he was attracting.
Men and women alike had turned to face him, eying him with inquisitive gazes. The Inarta averted his gaze awkwardly, forming the sentence in Common in his head. Finally, when the slippery words linked themselves together, he spoke, slowly and measuredly. "Hello. I look for the magician who shoots fire from her hands. Is she here?" His brow furrowed in worry as he realized none of the people looking at him understood a word of what he was saying. By the Gods, he would have to use Vani. His mind began to piece together the few words he did know, trying to make a sentence that would at least get what he wanted across to the men and women around him. "Hello. Look for girl. Make fire hands. Want talk." he thrust his hands forward and made a sort of whooshing noise, hoping that would help get his meaning across. Thankfully, one of the women understood, and responded. Unfortunately, she responded in Vani so rapid-fire he had no time to dissect it, and could only gather that she was indeed within the building.
Petch. Now he had to wander looking for her! Every fiber of his being screamed out at him. He did not like being here one bit. Something was off about ALL of these people. They didn't seem entirely... human. With a quiet thanks, he set off, watching his back carefully. For all he knew, they were all one of Them! Hell, this was probably They're headquarters! That would explain why They were looking at him so strangely! As he wandered through the halls of the barracks, garnering weird gazes and glares from its inhabitants, he repeated a single set of lines.
"Hello? Is the woman who shoots fire from her hands here? I want to talk to her."