The Oaken Gates to the Citadel

[Blythe da'Yrsa]

The wind picked up suddenly, billowing Blythe's short dark hair into her eyes. Reaching up to brush the loose strands away, and found herself staring.

She patted her horse, Malfalda almost unconciously. "My, now look at that Horsey-dearest. The Oaken Gates. Now isn't that just grand?" she asked, murmuring her words in awe. They towerered above her like something from legend, broad and wide. The bustling crowd almost made them seem a living thing.

sliding out of the saddle with a wince (she rarely rode, being the daughter of a ship's captain) Blythe grasped the riens and strode forward, trying to ease the sore muscles of her buttocks without looking too conspicous and foolish. Hopefully, it just looked like an alluring sway. "That's a rare thing," she muttered to Malfalda, hoisting her satchel up higher on her shoulder.

A nice looking man in uniform was standing by the gates, stopping the people as they entered. Blythe angled her horse and herself over to him, waiting for the elderly woman to finish. chances were they'd save their heads that way. The old woman was wielding the cane like a club, and accentuated her various points to the poor man with a swift smack of her wooden cane.

[Guest]

The woman clubbing the guard seemed somehwat out of control. She was promptly taken away and her walking stick confiscated. Shrill cries of "You'll pay! You'll all pay! I'll have yer heads!" fell upon the otherwise quiet crowd.

The poor guardsman looked a bit flustered. He was young, perhaps younger even than Blythe. His hands were shaking as he took up his record book.

"Good tide, miss. I'll need your name, place of origin and business in Citadel. Please."

(OOC: Welcome to Citadel! Please see the PM I've sent you.)

[Blythe da'Yrsa]

"Of course, of course!" Blythe blustered, at nineteen, she still didn't know a great deal about the 'official' ways of the world. Give her a pub and her dice, and she could pick out the pimp in the back corner, but here, she was a fish out of water. Quite literally.

"Do forgive me! I've been in a bit of a tizzy. My name is Blythe Da'Yrsa. I don't really have an 'origin', persay, you see, I've been living with my father on his ship, he's a merchant, and not one to set down roots. Before that, I lived in Trothgard." She sighed, and tried to think of what her business really was in citadel.

she'd been a minor theif all her life, she grew up around them, but in all accounts, she knew little of proper things. Not that that mattered over-much. Surely, if she dropped her father's name around the right taverns, she'd be taken on as an apprentice theif or spy or what have you. She'd find her way.

"My business..." she paused, and a grin split her face, illuminating her wide aquamarine eyes. "lets say I'm off in search of my fortune."

Batting her eyelashes, she stole a quick glance at his coin purse, which was relatively small and light. She decided against it, thinking nicking the purse of the gaurd who was supposed to let her in to her new home would probably not be for the best.

[Jayzen Du'Quild]

Jayzen strolled up to the front gate from inside of the Citadel. <i>Nothing like starting at the beginning...</i> he mused.

He was dressed in the stylish clothes of a gentleman, elegant and close fitting, finished off with a black cape over one shoulder and a sword sheathed at his hip. "Greetings, friend guard!" he exclaimed.

"I'm Jayzen Du'quild," he gave a practised grin as he stroked a stray blonde hair back into place. "I'm already a citizen of the Citadel, been here all my life, son of Madacio Du'Quild." Jayzen changed his voice and became almost conspiritorial as he made a step closer to the guard. "In fact it's my father I wanted to talk to you about. You see my father is a member of the Scouts Guild and the family hasn't seen him for quite some time."

Jayzen took another step closer and lowered his voice, "I was looking for a member of the Scouts Guild to talk to about his disappearance... Do you think you can help me out?" he questioned.

[Guest]

Blythe
The man still looked a bit shaken. Apparently so much so that Blythe's unusual answers did not cause much of a response. He simply noted her information: Blythe da'Yrsa, Trothgard, merchant.
He muttered a bit, face down in his logbook.
"Hmph. First a rich fellow who didn't know where he was going, then a madwoman, now a lady who doesn't know her business... strange day indeed..."
He forced a business-like smile to his face as looked up to Blythe.
"Very well, miss. May your business be good in our city. I'll tell you the same thing I just told the young lord: if you need to get your bearings, the Burpin' Dragon is as good a place as any."

Jayzen
The guard at the inner gate was a tall, solidly built man wearing heavy armor. He glared down at Jayzen with a no-nonsense expression.
"Young man, I have no idea who your father might be, but there's no such thing as a Scout's Guild. If you'd been here all your life, as you say, you'd know that."

[Blythe da'Yrsa]

Blythe gave a good natured chuckle, grabbing the poor man's hand and shaking it.

"Thank you so much! by the way, you look a touch green, maybe when you go on your break you could get that checked out, yes?"

she threw another brilliant grin over her shoulder at him as she and Malfalda strolled through the gates, onward to the Burpin' Dragon.

[Jayzen Du'Quild]

Jayzen sighed and patted the guard on the shoulder. "It's ok, I understand. I just thought, well I might get lucky first time around. Never mind. Just be sure to mention to your superiors that Jayzen Du'Quild is looking for the Scouts Guild," Jayzen squeezed the guards armoured shoulder for emphasis. "That would be good, thanks."

Jayzen shruged and turned away from the guard. <i>Time to start looking a bit more seriously with people who are more likely to know</i> he thought, sighing inwardly. He hadn't expected much luck from the front gate guard, after all his family had been searching for months for a representative to talk to without success.

Jayzen gave a wave and smile, shifted his black leather backpack, and wandered back into the city.

[Guest]

OOC: Jayzen, please continue here.

[Maeve]

OOC: This thread is now claimed for the Modding Seminar, and for now will be the domain of Aria *drums*

[Guest]

It was hard to miss the gate when approaching the Citadel, one might say even impossible. It was a work of art, that was impossible to argue, taking one's breath away from the moment it was seen, no matter if it was their first visit to the Citadel or if they were traders often walking through the gate. Intricate patterns had been carefully etched to the wood, somehow making it seem even more massive, if that was even possible. A giant portcullis loomed over the gate, ready to fall down to protect, but it truly took leaps of imagination to think of anything capable of crashing that gate apart.

The two doors were not open, it was extremely rare that they were, but in the usual matter, the smaller gate at the base of the giant gate was open, allowing entrance to the city if you were granted passage by it's guards. Two of them stood by it even now. The senior of them, a woman who had seen at least forty summers, was leaning on the wall, an almost invisible smile on her lips as she watched the younger guardian, a man who looked like he had only just begun to shave, argue with a man in dirty clothes and a full wagon and a draft horse standing still behind him. The female guard glanced at the sky from time to time, and while lowering her eyes checked the road to the gate in case someone new was walking down it towards the Oaken Gates.

[Johannes Pengiflott]

"Tirra lirra," recited the Poet with Pathos, quietly and for himself. His ancient Gaze, betraying his True Age, settled upon the gates of the Citadel. This Metropolis. This Nerve Center. This Polestar!

Wearied he looked upon its massive gates, yet with a Glimpse of Forlorn Hope. Could he drown his Sorrows in the Violent Throbs of the City, in the old taverns and the busy streets, in the Orchestra of Sound and Noise? Was there a Nature to the city, had it a Pulse, an Atmosphere the Poet could relate to and let Flow over him? Could it provide him the Inspiration for his only Channel of Peace, namely Poetry. Oh, Rosa! My Love the Lady Rosa. My Life. An Elegy.

An Elegy. An Elegy to Thee.

The Poet sighed in Melancholy.

Where had he come from, the Poet? Where did he go? Where were the Feelings in this World of Cynicism and Coldness? Where was Intuition and Impulse? Nature as one knew it was Devoured, but only in Nature lies the Key for Man in Harmony. For Harmony existed not outside Nature. Oh, Nature! Oh, Love! In You is everything, and everything in You. The Poet was Still.

For in the Poet's Mind is what only a Poet can conceive, his Blessing and his Doom. Oh, how he Suffers! Suffers for a Moment of Absolute Bliss. For he is a Poet. Oh, Fate! Rosa.

Rosa!

Could he be Her Epitaph? Rosa? Love?

[Johannes Pengiflott]

"Tirra lirra," said the Poet as he approached the gates. "Oh, guardsman, you who guards what guards guard. Oh, Weeping Walls. Oh, Growling Gates. Oh, Love!" The Words came from the Deep of the Poet's Trembling Heart.

[Guest]

The younger guard and the man he was arguing with didn't seem to notice Johannes as they kept going on about something in the man's cart. The woman instead had been looking at Johannes as he had neared the gate, and as he spoke, had already taken a few careful steps toward him. After he had finished, she just stared at him for a moment, trying to figure him out.

"Well, welcome to the Citadel." Her voice was raspy and deep, something which most likely had a connection to the shallow scar that could just be seen on her throat. "You-"

"If you want to get in, you will have to leave it with us for the time being." The young guard didn't even seem to notice how hard he was yelling.

"An' why would I be here then?" The older man didn't have trouble raising his voice to follow.

"You two." Despite the low voice, both men looked at the woman when she spoke. "Quiet it down and settle this soon, will you?" She looked back at Johannes faintly smiling. After a moment's pause, the two men were at it again, much more silently now.

"Sorry about that, gotta train the new guys. So, name, where you're from and what are you doing here?"

[Johannes Pengiflott]

"Tirra lirra," mumbled the Poet. His Eyes vaguely passed over the female guard. Oh, she did not Realize the Depth of her Question. Oh, the Ignorance!

The Poet Turned Away. "My Name? Oh, he who Knew his Name. He who Knew his True Nature. Where am I From? What am I Doing?" It Penetrated the Poet deep in his Soul for these were the Questions to which He Had No Answer. "Who am I? Oh, he who Knew. From Where shall the Poet find Truth in this World where Peace is Overridden by Thoughtlessness? Where is the Time for Contemplation? Where is the Silence? Where finds one Nature when Nature is suppressed? Where are the Feelings where Greed Rules? Oh, Passion!"

The Poet trembled. Tirra lirra. Could he find Meaning and Truth in these two Words of Beauty? "Oh, it is my Faith not to be able to Answer. For Why am I Here? Do I belong here?" He paused. "Nature! Oh, Nature, do I belong in this World? Do I? To Suffer, to Die, to find no Peace. It is the Desperate Cry in the Dark."

Oh, Rosa! Once your Name was Gone, so was Mine. "So was mine. Rosa! My Life is the Mirror of Thy Reflection. A Mirror of Sand, and will Vanish." The Poet, where did he belong? Or did he not belong, was that why He Was Who He Was: a Poet. "Oh, desperation. I cannot! I cannot!"

And the Poet was Overwhelmed by Feeling and Passion. His Faith. His Fate.

[Guest]

The female guard looked at the poet for a long time, then glanced at the male guard and the man, who were still deep in their argument. As she looked back at Johannes, she shook her head gently, muttering under her breath. Finally she took a deep breath and begun talking again.

"Well, that was... just great." She bit her lower lip, thinking on what to say next. "So listen, now that you've got that out, let's go back a few steps and try that again. Wen I say who, you say the name you're dear old mamma gave you. When I say where, you say the place you call your dear ol' home. And when I say why, you say why you've come to this corner of this little isle, alright?" She lifted her finger before the poet could speak.

"And I think it might be a good idea to also say that my dear ol' hubby always said that it was a crime I was living in the cultural heart of our proud empire, as I had no appreciation for arts whatsoever. So if you go on another rant like that, you can feel free to spend your time here living in the nature." The guard smiled again. "So, after taht has been said, let's get to more pleasant things. Who, where and why?"

[Johannes Pengiflott]

"Tirra lirra," mumbled the Poet in Desperation. He Saw it. He Saw her Lack of Insight. Her Ignorance. But it was not for all to be a Poet, to Seek Divinity and Touch. And to Suffer. But she was Ignorance. Inspiration came to the Poet.

"Oh, Ignorance,
Could I have trodden where you Walk perhaps I would.
Oh, Conscience,
Could I have Lived Unknowing then perhaps I would.

But Privilege is strictly Dealed
as True Insight is too.
For in the One a trap which kills the other one is Sealed,
the second is a Poison too, striking on the First.

Your Privilege is Ignorance of all that I Presume,
oh, how I Envy thee.
True Insight is my Gift and Doom,
I'll never Walk your Path.

For Ignorance that is a Gift,
yet and a Doom also,
but those who rest in Ignorance,
they will not Ever Know.

For therein lies thy Blessing True,
thou Never will quite Know,
that Ignorance that thy Name,
and that is all thy Soil.

But I will Know and I will Envy,
though my Calling is not there.
Combining Truth and Ignorance,
that is a Gift that to no Man will Ever be the Heir."

[Guest]

The guard sighed loudly, then looked beyond Johannes before starting to curse under her breath. She looked back at him.

"Ignorant, eh. Not so bad considering what else I've been called. Now didn't hear who, where and why, so you can go sit around in nature and sprout your nonsense to the birds flying in the sky. Now, if you look over your shoulder, you'll see that there is a group coming forward, which means that our rare moment of piece and quiet, and poems, is starting to close. So, if you can't come up with the three W's, then I kind of suggest you start moving away."

She looked at the arguing pair.

"Elger, wrap it up. He ain't takin' that thing to the University an' if he don't like it, he can go cry about it at the sea. People startin' to come around again." The female guard scratched her throat when she looked back at Johannes. "If you ain't got the W's, don't see why you're still standing there."

[Johannes Pengiflott]

"Tirra lirra," whispered the Poet in Melancholy. His Eyes briefly passed over the Arguing Pair, and the Ignorant Woman. "Oh, Nature! Will I find Mutual Understanding only in You? Will not my Suffering be Quelled even by the Violent Throbs of the City?"

The Poet Turned. "From the Bank," he intoned slowly. "And from the River, he Flashed into the Crystal Mirror. 'Tirra lirra', by the River, Sang Sir Pengiflott."

Oh, Love. Oh, Rosa. Oh.

[Xenofon garn`Thoch]

Ever since she had first looked on the gates, grand though they were, she had hated them. Just letting her eyes wander up the immensity of oak, and the threat of iron above... it was chilling. The runaway could recognize their beauty, and even appreicate their function; but the restraint of the gates had always been an illogical source of loathing for her. Especially now, when she sat atop an ebony beast, lugging every shred of clothing she posessed and a few other things to make life easier. Tangling her fingers in Vairomir's tresses more than once and loving the protection his mammoth form offered, Xenofon felt the stares and snickering directed at her like an abrasion. It didn't matter, really, she thought as she stroked the splendid gentle creature's neck for a flicker. Not at all. When, in that far of someday that haunted her dreams, she finally came robed in glory and grandeur, they would not laugh; but yes, they would stare.

Vairomir stepped towards the gates, startling his mistress out of her vengeant reverie. He regarded the guards in his same patient manner, flicking his ears only at the pass of another horse. Aware of the approach of her turn, Xenofon examined herself, and groaned. Her dress was littered with horse hairs, and though black like the dress, they spole for an lowly uncleanliness. The snickering stabbed at her, suddenly, and she raised her chin slightly, eyeing only the guards through the wake of murky brown locks. How hard the amber eyes suddenly became! But it was not notable, not really; or so she comforted herself as she prayed to Pan that Zaihur hadn't somehow alerted the guards of her flight. She had been plucking nervously at the fraying lace on the peek of her chemise for a moment, and with a covering renewed resolve, she stopped, gently urged her mount forward, and spoke to the gates' guards.

"I am Xenofon garn`Thoch, of the Outskirts of this place. I am enrolling in the ministry of magic."

[Guest]

The young guard looked at Xenofon fist, then back at the horse, as if he wasn't quite certain about something. He glanced at his side at the older guard, who was at that moment taking up the information from an old man leaning on a walking stick. Finally the guard seemed to make his mind up, wrote something down and looked back at the young woman.

"A fine steed you have there. I don't think there's any problem here, so fe-"

"Elgar." The older guard's voice was unnaturally raspy. The young guard looked at her with a conserned look in his eyes as the old man started to slowly limp to the city. "You know the rules of respect, don't you?" The older guard looked at the line ahead of them. "Next."

"But, Salira-" One glance at the older guard silenced him up. With a sigh, the young guard returned his eyes to Xenofon. "I am afraid you will have to dismount before stating your name, origin and cause." He was silent for a moment before continuing. "Is a custom."

[Xenofon garn`Thoch]

"Ah."

Pan's hooves, she thought, tightening her fingers around an errant strand of Vairomir's hair. The beast himself regarded his rider momentarily, before shifting his weight in a clear communication of apathy. Somehow, the world off the horse's back seemed looming; and this is why she loosed her clutching hand and braced herself for the dismount, landing with less than grace but not on her backside, proper enough. She was Xenofon garn'Thoch, in every fibre; and she would conduct herself with childish fears. Gently, though it would hardly of mattered to the gentle black draft, she drew the reins over his head and held them, a little too tightly. The maiden straightened her back then, and with a hand deceptively steady tucked a wandering strand back behind her ear. Her pride would not allow her to let it wander and rest on the shoulder of the horse, being reassured by the pulse and warmth found there; instead, she regarded the younger guard.

"Namaste," she stated, feeling slightly akward and thus resorting to formality. "I am Xenofon garn`Thoch, I come from the outskirts, and I am here to enroll in the University of Magic."

There was no real call for it, but she smiled slightly, hopefully; and feared the skin had cracked before she realized it was just a streak of mud on her cheek, hidden by the dangling waves of hair. Xenofon exhaled then, and the smile faded.

[Guest]

The younger guard smiled politely back as he checked something from the tablet, then glanced at the sky before looking back at Xenofon.

"No need to be so formal. Anyway, Now I'll just need to see your belongings to see if you're carrying anything you shouldn't, and if everything is alright, you'll be back on your way to the University. You probably even know where it is if you're from around here." He took a small step forward. "Now, if you don't mind, could you please open your bags." The guard smiled the whole time he spoke, managing to glance at the older guard only twice.

[Sabrina Draper]

Sabrina spent a good amount of time gawking at the gates, her thoughts racing. Amazing, all that wood! Did it come from one single oak? Could trees even survive long enough to get that big? How did that make such a thing anyway? There was nothing like this back at home!

She stirred herself from her reverie when she realized that she was holding up the line. The girl grinned innocently at the group of dwarven blacksmiths behind her and continued along the road, determined to find out more about these gigantic gates. Adjusting the strap of her backpack, she stopped at the small knot of travellers around the guards. "'Ello... does anyone around here know how auld the trees that made these here gates are--excuse me, were?" Her accented voice trails off as if she had something else to say, realizing that probably no one was listening anyway.

[Guest]

One of the travelers actually glanced at Sabrina, an older man with grey streakes in his red beard and hair, then said something, in a muddled accent which was beyond understanding to Sabrina. Soon the whole group burst in to laugther, which didn't die out as they started moving through the gate.

"Next." An older female guard who the group had just passed called out, her voice unnaturally raspy, looking up from a tablet. Her eyes stopped on Sabrina and she sighed loudly. "You the one who asked about the gate and the wood in it just there?"

[Sabrina Draper]

Sabrina blushed a little, embarrassed, knowing that she's branded herself some simpleton from the countryside of Dort. "Umm... yes, I am, mistress guard." She looks back up at the gates and back at the guard, and can't think of anything more clever to say than, "It's a very nice gate..."