62nd of Fall, 516 AV (Approximately 6 Bells)
How long had it been since he emerged from the mouth of the passage that officially separated him from the cavernous Kalinor? He had nearly travelled the breadth of the world as he knew it now. This moment was surrealistic in a way. So large was the gate that stood in front of him. It was nothing like anything he had ever imagined or seen before. Whatever was waiting behind that wall for him was beyond the realms of comprehension for someone that had spent so long in conditions so unlike his home.
"...How...how many live here? Such a large expanse..." He trailed off, not that there was anyone on the road to listen to him anyway. His mouth was left agape as his eyes trailed up and down the city scape that loomed over him. Of course not for too long, he was not wishing to draw attention to his mouth. With that Dra-Vaerin pushed the hood of his silken cloak further down his face, and adjusted the drapery of his tunic that much higher over his mouth and nose. He couldn't get used to the sheer vastness of his surroundings. It left him uncomfortable, yet tentatively curious. Everything on the surface was alien.
The trip here had not been easy for Dra-Vaerin. No, not in the least. From the dangers of the road, to the inhospitality he had received from those that he crossed paths with. He was not shocked by this.
"After all, are you not used to this, Dra?" But the thing that was the hardest for him to cognitively reconcile himself with was the concept of the weather, and especially the sun. It beat down upon with such fury upon his ghostly pale skin. Like the cruelest lick of the Symenestran lash. It wasn't that he had never heard of the sun, but since he had never once left the relative safety of Kalinor: no words or texts could have prepared him for this. So too had the conditions been so different from the dampness or the cold that forever permeated the cavernous city he belonged to.
"OI!"
Dra-Vaerin was snapped from his reverie. The booming voice that shocked him so belonged to one of three guards that were approaching him. It looked as if this was the gatekeeper.
"I
said are you
deaf, man?"
Taken aback, the young man found himself floundering to respond. He quickly wrapped his hands into the folds of his clothing, then wrapping his cloak closer to his slender frame in a bid to disguise his racial heritage a little longer before he was inevitably asked from where he hailed. There was no avoiding or lying about the answer to that question. He was also not aware of it, but at the present moment he looked more like a Lapis hued cocoon with two bulging eyes peeking through it than a man.
"I...er. Sorry. Sorry... My deepest apologies. I was j-just rather taken aback for a moment there. You wanted to ask me something?"Two of the guards exchanged a look behind their captain. They both had seen their share of backdoorsy yokels and oddities, but the swath of blueish purple fabric staring dumbfounded at a wall for longer than two minutes really was in a realm of its own. They had definitely just found a story to share down at the pub and roar with laughter at when they finished their shift at the gate this evening.
Unfazed, the gatekeeper spoke his instructions to the strange pallid man plainly and evenly. He just wanted to either turn this man away or let him in. Anything to get this moon-eyed idiot out of the way so he could go back to doing something more productive than yell at an unresponsive stranger.
"I am Dra-Vaerin. I hail from Kalinor. I seek to, he had to think of what exactly he wanted to gain in terms that this man would understand,
"make a career for myself, show your kind the traditional dances of my people, and better establish ties between my people and Syliras." He spoke with such an impassioned tone the two accompanying guards were willing to overlook the fact that he was of the Widows in order to better stop themselves from cackling at his words.
The gatekeeper seemed less amused. There was no reason to turn him away that he could see. The man barely had anything on his person other than yards of fabric. But it felt almost cruel to let someone that had made such a strange impression in. It was his job to assess the risks that a person seeking entry could bring to Syliras. This Symestra seemed more a hazard to himself than anyone else. "Ah, right then lad...Well. If that be your prerogative I would recommend you talk to the Symenestran member of the People's Council...they will better equip you with information about the city."
The young man nodded gratefully as the guardsmen led him to the now opening gate, while giving him very prescriptive directions. However, he could not help by internally cringing at the man's use of the word "Symenestran". While it was grammatically correct within the common tongue, it just showed the lack of understanding about his mother-tongue. Dra-Vaerin felt that it reflected poorly on this man's worldly view, and was thus in some ways pitiable. However it was not entirely this man's fault. Perhaps, Dra-Vaerin pondered internally, this man had barely seen or met one of his people before?
As soon as he passed out of earshot and started to meld into the bustling and loud cityscape, the two guards could not retain their laughter any longer. The more serious one of the three turned to look at the silhouette of the cloaked man, "I give him exactly less than a week before he is tossed out, or worse."