Location [Syliras Entrance] The Main Gates

[Gossamer]

On the eastern wall of Mizahar's largest city lies a small fortified gate. The gates themselves are large enough to drive a simple cargo wagon through, and is divided into two sections. The outer section is comprised of a set of massive ironoak doors hinged perfectly so even a child could swing them wide when they are unbarred. There is a small courtyard just large enough to fit a wagon and a team of six within, and then another set of identical ironwood gates lead into the city itself. Between the two ironoak gates lies a metal portcullis that can be drawn down in case of emergencies or invasions.

Outside two Syliran Knights flank the gates, inspecting people who come within. While no one is barred from Syliras itself, they do check for obvious signs of disease or illness, being overly cautious about allowing obviously ill people to pass into the city. They also make sure produce is fresh and animals are showing signs of good health before they pass through the gates. Above them, on the ramparts, are archers and lookouts that have the ability, via a flag and drum system, of signaling the need for assistance in case there is trouble at the gate.

OOC InfoPlease feel free to self mod your way through the gates. The guards will stop you, ask your business in Syliras, and direct you to wherever you need directions too.

This location is moderated by All Syliras Staff

[Fallan Windchaser]

45th Summer, 509

He liked to walk into a new place, even if that new place was one that he knew of old. The arrival be it in a hamlet or a city such as this, powerful capital as it was, was always an ending of a journey and the start of something new. There was no hurry and indeed the passing of the old and the welcoming of the new was something to be savoured.

And of course in a place like this, it was just downright rude to lean down from the saddle of his horse to talk to the guards who manned the gates. Not that he was carrying anything that would be of interest to the guards should they stop him, but it was poor form to ignore the small details such as that. He liked to think that he did it out of courtesy and the lack of interest he caused as a result was merely a side benefit. It was a form of dance, to blend in without drawing attention, not rude and yet not to be obsequious.

He passed a few words with the guard, seeking advice as to what was happening in the city and left him with his thanks.

[Duskshroud]

53rd Summer, 509

A sudden and stifling silence snapped into place over the usual din of crickets, flies and more distant birds around the gates. The sun squatted, half submerged on the western horizon when the shade finally emerged, flickering in the gatehouse, watching the guards. What was a frightening curiosity had become more commonplace now, though certainly not accepted or entirely normal.

The guards were familiar with the routine, though it was still an ill omen to be sure.

A cutlass hung from Duskshroud's side tonight, and he nodded diffidently as he emerged from the Gatehouse snapping to a stop before the guard's, eying them silently. The ghost nodded in approval diffidently to the guards and continued his long, nightly march down the wall-side alley, following the walls to the coastline. A box flew from Duskshroud's path as disappeared around the corner of alley and almost a whisper at this distance, a curse was barely audible.

[Duskshroud]

Seeing the first light of Dawn, Duskshroud 's temper flaring at his failure, he marched, sulking, back to the guard house - scattering boxes and barrels in his path as he approached.

Searching through the night, he had still not found a medium. And moreover, he still had no idea what he would do when he did find one. The truth of this sent waves of anger pouring over him, so much so that his form pulsed violent as he passed the somewhat confounded guards. He paid them no mind as he entered the guardhouse.

The weapons rack leaned on the wall near the doorway, and not paying attention, Duskshroud's foot passed through it, disturbing him further.

Reaching out he began hurling the weapons around the small room, cackling to himself, which became little more then a distorted screech, drowned out by the racket of weapons began cast about the room. He surveyed the destruction he caused and a sudden presence of conscious fell back upon him. Duskshroud was quiet as he dissipated, his rage temporarily sated by his guilt.

[Ialari Pythone]

Season of Summer, Day 4, 509 AV

Summer had finally arrived and with it, Ialari arrived at the first major city since leaving Sultros. Although not nearly as beautiful and awe-inspiring as her mountain home, the city of Syliras was still somewhat respectable from first glance. Humans were always so proud of their achievements; no matter how minor they were. The main gates to the city did slightly impress her with their fortifications and posted guards. At least the humans weren't trusting enough to let anyone and everyone enter their city without some form of inspection and monitoring. Of course no outsiders would ever be allowed past the outer trading posts of Sultros but then of course the Isur were not foolish enough to consider something like that.

Regardless of her overall disappointment with having to spend more time among humans, Ialari was tired. It had been a grueling journey if an eventful and educational one. From what she was able to gather from merchants she passed not long ago on the main road, Syliras was the center of human civilization in the region. Although she silently chuckled at such a concept, she couldn't help but be thankful for a place that may at least have some semblance of true civility; in the Isurian perception that is.

She approached the gates dressed in her black alchemist robe with her backpack slung over one shoulder. When one of the knights approached her; questioning her business in the city, Ialari smiled sweetly and said in the common tongue of the humans with a somewhat thick, Isurian accent, "Well aren't you strong looking fella. I'm hoping for entry into your city in hopes of finding a place to rest my tired body. It's been such a long journey and I just need a warm place to cuddle up. Could you help lead me in the right direction?"

Dropping a few names of some establishments that fit her request as well as some directions, the knight kindly allowed Ialari to pass through the gates and on into the city after assuring himself that she look fit enough as to not carry any illness or disease. With a light curtsy, Ialari thanked the knight and continued on. When she was on her way through the gate, she shook her head and told herself that the whole innocent act would take some getting used to.

[Akuaysun]

54th Day of Summer, 509 AV

Traveling was taking its toll on the man, walking and riding his horse the distance of Ravok to Syliras was a daunting task for someone who had no idea where they were going outside of the main paths, nor did they recognize anything in this new world. Over the vast plains of grace he traveled in peace, the moonlight sustaining his body and along with the fresh harvest allowing the man to stretch his rations and replenish them as needed. There were perks to understanding the wilderness, you knew what thing to look for when searching out food, and thanks to the fishing hooks given to him by Matthis Akuaysun was able to keep his belly full with fruits and meats.

The spires of the gates and walls were the first things to come into view. Their soft steeples broke the blue of Syna’s sky and offered comfort that the man had at last arrived at a place of rest. He wouldn’t stay for more then a few days, having to continue on his journey to Sahova where he might gain knowledge about the events that had taken place over the last 500 years, and possibly learn a thing or two about a skill called magecraft. He knew of it in his last life and perhaps with it he could develop a way back into Leth’s realm.

At the gates two knights greeted the Myrian with edged suspicion. He was growing accustomed to it, and while he did not particularly like the looks and demeanor in which they spoke to him, it was much easier then trying to explain his Ethaefal form. How exactly did one explain to the simple mind of those stuck in the cycle that he was beyond them, a being caught between themselves and the gods. Frankly it wasn’t worth the effort at this point.

So after a brief exchange and a telling that he was only passing through, wishing to rest from his travels and perhaps resupply the two let him and his simple horse and gear pass into what they described as the greatest city in Mizahar.

[Zaira]

Season of Summer Day 47 AV506

The figure that approached the city looked upward with blue eyes wide with curiosity. Zaira walked the path to the city gates, her hand holding the reigns to the desert bred horse that was hers. Travelling again, the Benshira had donned her Abaya, the long veils were often for protection from the sun, wind and sand, but it also provided a bit of anonymity for one whom for so long traveled on her own.

Silver discs jiggled above her eyes with each quiet step the woman took. The curiosity seemed to be returned as the pair neared, while the Symenestra was a common enough sight in and out of the city, the smaller form was not.

A bit of miscommunication was to be had before a slender hand reached up to removed the face covering. A surprised look given; only made the silent woman smile. Motions were made to see her arms, and while the woman arched a brow she complied showing bare arms, toned, with no sign of illness to be seen.

The pair were waved on past, and Zaira gave a backwards glance as they passed as she pulled back up her hood and mask before light steps brought her back to her pale companions shadow.

[Clarion Voss]

Timestamp: 76st of Summer, 509 AV

The creak of a wagon hid the creak of bone as the dawn's light faded into the outline of a human man, his features still warmed before a break in the horizon. Lecherous laughter came from the olive skinned merchant before him, speaking to the Sylilrasian guardians about the cart of manure he was attempting to push through it's gates. Yet for all it's peculiarities, Clarion Voss kept a straight face about the lanky boy that was trying to smuggle himself through buried deep in shit.
Chuckling very quietly, one of the guard who happened to be putting on his gloves called him over. The knight's fingers rattled under the gauntlet which seemed to irritate the somber figure to no end.
"Name. Purpose of Visit."

"Crassius Crabapple. Looking to purchase a new spinning wheel for my wife because the old one doesn't make gold out of hay any more. A word of caution, there is a boy buried in the back of that wagon."

"What, look here.. What?? Stay put."

With that guard moved to inspect the wagon and Crassius Crabapple entered the gates, making Sylilras his playground for the night.

[Kadarus]

45th Day of Summer, 509

Mud caked bootheels moved up the road to the gate, squashing down stray patches of grass, and mashing down small rocks into the dirt in what was, truthfully, an unconscious stomp. Kadarus Lagh'ratham approached the rear of the queue hoping to gain entrance to the city in a foul mood, which was easy to guess; his shoulders were squared in the usual tight manner he set them at when he was incensed. The black scowl twisting his lips was nothing new there, though. It did, however, seem to dip a little lower as he lifted his head just enough to glance at the milling crowd from beneath the fraying brim of his hat. The angry gold eyes flared ever so slightly, and then his head returned to its original, comfortable angle, hiding most of his face but that dour, dark expression.

The hunter halted at the back of the line, doing his best to ignore the others in front of him. Just ten steps ahead, two human boys in what looked like their mid teens were chattering excitedly about something he immediately struggled to ignore. They paused, just once in their rapid rambling, to glance back, perhaps expecting to see an empty road. Instead, they blinked and fell quiet for a moment, gawking at the tall Kelvic behind them. Kadarus could feel their eyes on him, watching with unconcealed idiot awe as he sprinkled shreds of tobacco into the middle of a bent paper. The stuff was beginning to go a little stale, and was losing its moistness. With a quick twist of practiced fingers, he rolled the paper into an oblong cigarette, which he slid between his lips. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he produced a match, pressed his thumbnail against its tip, and lifted his head, having long since learned to do so, lest he get an eye and nosefull of stinging sulphurous smoke.

"Go," he growled at the two boys, who shrank back a step at the single word. Kadarus jabbed one calloused finger at the line before cupping his hand around his mouth; as the two had stood there, idling, the queue had shortened considerably. At least the Knights were quick with their gate duties - or perhaps it was just because all of the hopefuls had been passed along, with nary a spot of sickness, or single illegal trinket? The boys spun around and half ran, half jogged to catch up with the line. Happy to see the pests go, the hunter took a moment to idle himself, igniting the match and setting it against his cigarette.

When he finally began to walk, it was with a notable gait of hesitation. Kadarus hated the cities and the people inside of them, and if it weren 't for the fact that his supplies were dwindling - a week's ration for a canine kelvic was more like three days of dining - he would have doubled back on his path and angled towards the Cobalt Mountains, where perhaps a merchant caravan could have used a guard.

Upon reaching the gate, the boys from earlier were already running through, eager to get into the city. Before he'd even gotten within fifteen paces of them, the guards were eyeing the hilt of claymore rising over his left shoulder suspiciously. He couldn't exactly blame them - it was a weapon of overkill, truthfully, where most people opted for longswords or daggers. Their gaze fell down to its tip, bobbing in its sheath just behind his ankles as he drew close to them.

"Name?"

"Kadarus Lagh'ratham," he replied, and when the guards motioned to reveal flesh for blights, the first thing the hunter did was curl one of his fingers, pluck the smoldering cigarette out of his mouth, then pull his lips back from his teeth to show his gums were a healthy pink color. The guard's rose an interested brow to one another at the site of the long, peaked canines.

"A Kelvic, huh? We get one of you, about one in every seven hundred visitors or so. Where's your master?"

"Dead." Kadarus bristled visibly at the question, his tawny eyes narrowing under the shade of his hat. The guard on the left forwned at that, but the one on the right seemed intrigued.

"Huh, is that so? You didn't do 'em in, did ya?" The man chuckled good naturedly, and the hunter had to restrain himself from reaching for the hatchet on his waist and starting forward. "Kidding with ya, friend. What happened?"

"Zith," he hissed the name, turned his head, and spat on the ground. At the further prompting, Kadarus rolled up both of his sleeves to show not a single lesion or discoloring on his arms. If anything, they were the picture of powerful health; the muscles stood out from the flesh like thick bands of iron as he curled his hands into fists.

"All right, good. And what's your business?"

"The sights. The smells. The people, and the atmosphere, of course." The guard on the left shook his head and sighed, stepping to the side and waving the hunter in.

"Yeah, yeah, smartass. Just mind your manners and your sword in here or you'll be enjoying the atmosphere of a jail cell..."

[Abashai]

Timestamp: 1st Day of Fall, 509 AV


Abasha dismounted as he neared the city walls, leading his desertbred mare toward the main gate. He believed passing the knights guarding the entrance and entering the gate mounted would mistakenly give the impression he thought more highly of himself than was warranted... it forced others to look up at him. His desire was to enter the city humbly and with as little attention as possible. Not because he had something to hide, he simply wanted to avoid attention.

He waited patiently as others paused at the gate and were given a cursory examination by the gatekeepers. When motioned to approach the gate, he greeted the guards with a slight smile. Abashai looked up at the top of the wall above, archers leaning on their longbows returned his glance with indifference. One of knights looked over his horse, noting the saddlebags and bundles. When he saw the desert sword and bow slung from the saddle, he glanced at his comrade. The second guard, having seen Abashai before, gave an assuring nod to his partner and with only a glance at the curved dagger at Abashai's side, waved the Benshiran through the gate without further delay.