A Momento of Other Times (Open)

Welcome to the Warder Yards. This is the place for Warder and Trainee roleplays. Informal non-training interactions take place here, as well as some extended role plays.
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Welcome to the Warder Yards. This is the place for Warder and Trainee roleplays. Informal non-training interactions take place here, as well as some extended role plays. Yet these events may take place at any area of the Tower, and sometimes outside of it, since the images to the left merely serves as inspiration towards the sceneries of your stories. Channelers are always welcome, and might even find his or her bondmate through the threads that are displayed below.
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Craig
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Posts: 2613
Joined: November 20th, 2015, 10:29 am
PC: Ravak t'Sha'hal Darrow
SC: Elia Darrow
TC: Zarayne
QC: Farah Kattan
Location: Scotland

A Momento of Other Times (Open)

Post by Craig » April 1st, 2022, 6:46 am

Ravak t'Sha'hal Darrow
A melodic sound of stone on steel echoed softly of the walls at the back of the Armory. A hand weathered from freezing winters and broiling summers moved rhythmically, running the whetstone along the sword's edge. Below the guard, the sword's leather grip was cracked and dried, well beyond any attempts for maintenance. The weapon was antique, at least by the day's standards, although it wasn't an antique. Just a keepsake; a memento of other times.

Running his index finger along the flat of the blade, Ravak could feel his way through a dozen or more battles from the near invisible notches and scratches along its length. Next to the hilt there were no imperfections, no heron shaped mark. This weapon was a fair weapon, made for a soldier by hammer and tongs. Not that he begrudged having two Power-wrought weapons in his hands whenever a Trolloc or a Fade appeared. The rest of the time, however, he missed the simplicity and normality of a real weapon.

"Old sod," he muttered softly, although even that sound mimicked small pebbles grinding together. Not that he looked old. Wild, perhaps. Even feral on occasion. His hair was longer and shaggier than usual, and his beard was thick enough to obscure any underlying skin, but neither showed any flecks of grey. He could pass elsewhere as someone of thirty-odd years, if he wanted to.

Today though, anyone looking into the Shienaran's eyes would have seen a figure much older staring back. He was in the past, judging himself for the actions taken in haste as well as those never taken. The recollection was seldom boring, although it was also seldom welcoming. The important individuals that marked his progression through life all fit a similar mold. Charming and intoxicating at first; broken and damaged -- if not dead -- at the end. Their names seemed like a litany of unfulfilled promises, although he couldn't always say -- even looking back however many years later -- who it was that had failed to live up to the expectations.

A breeze of cool air followed the sound of the Armory's doors opening. Whether it was another soul looking for a touch of solitude, or just a Drin looking for a training weapon, the reverie was over. After placing the whetstone in a pocket, he carefully returned his old swordbreaker back into its sheath, before looping it onto his belt.
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Elan wrote:Of course, the problems with observing a chain of command arise when the one in command decides to do something unspeakably idiotic, like taking off on his own for no discernible reason in the middle of enemy territory.

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Bella
Female Channeller Representative
Posts: 5615
Joined: April 14th, 2015, 11:28 pm
PC: Miahala Darrow Sedai
SC: Lysira Viathene Gaidin
TC: Gareth Tomosan Asha'man
QC: Natlya Cade Gaidin
QC: Andraste Alhandra Sedai
Location: New England

Re: A Momento of Other Times (Open)

Post by Bella » April 23rd, 2022, 3:45 pm

The figure was not a drin looking for a weapon, nor was it someone looking for solitude. In fact, it was someone looking for Ravak.

In the doorway of the armory stood a boy, perhaps about fifteen hands high--as his mother measured--and about ten years old. He had a head of wild red curls and slanted, blue-green eyes. He knew enough to not pass beyond the threshold of the door to where someone was working with weaponing and forges, so he stood where he was with his arms crossed. Not with emotion, just as a place to keep them.

"Mother is looking for you," Iain said with a faint smile. "She told me I'd find you here."

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