conversations: human
conversations:  Town of Orlandaar
  Border State of Haarn
  Outside the North Gate
  High Mid-Summer
  Late Afternoon  
  
  Sael sometimes mused that, no matter how complicated the world seemed, and no matter how complicated people tried and make it, a deeper look always revealed an elegant and overriding simplicity that belied the endless surface permutations.
  
  The borderlands, by way of example. A superficial glance would reveal what appeared to be chaos that was very different from the calm hegemony of the Interior. Here in the Outer States matters of strict practicality often took precedence over convention. Dress and manner did not necessarily indicate social station. Nor was social station a clear indication of prestige and authority. Trade often superseded blood. Physical force could often overcome the rule of law.
  
  The lowest Jaad could quickly amass wealth and power and standing through any combination of luck, skill, cunning and military might while high-ranking Nobles and clearly marked Kenjad looked on from the side-lines. Even the all-mighty Jaden-Rah, so far from the courts and the Ducal Councils, were reduced to the status of obstacles. Or assets.
  
  But a more measured and meditative look showed deeper truths: people still needed to eat. And to sleep. And to acquire prestige and assets. And to defend themselves from those who would do them wrong. And, as always, the concept of 'wrong' was as woefully relative here as it was anywhere.
  
  For all their apparent complexity, the Borderlands were still filled with people. And people, most of the time, were very simple. And yet, Sael thought to himself as he approach the North Gate of Orlandaar, sometimes, just sometimes, they could be very complicated creatures indeed. Which is what made them so interesting.
  
  It was moving toward sunset and the line of pilgrims was long. As Sael waited in line he noted that there only a few of those in line seemed to have come from far away and the rest seem to be girt and geared for day-trips. Also, those who were lightly burdened seemed to pass through the gates with little more than a nod and a wave to the waiting guards, while those at the head of caravans or in coaches were often questioned at length.
  
  After a time, the line moved and deposited Sael in front of the gate. There were four heavily armoured and heavily armed guards there. All of them appeared like grim, hard men, veterans of long nights and rough days. One of them, a tall and broad man with thick features and a thick jaw, one hand on the hilt of his sword stepped looked up at Sael approached. Upon seeing his monk's robes his demeanour changed and softened slightly.
  
   "Good morrow, Master,"  He said in a deep and melodic voice that sounded odd coming from such a grizzled face,  "I bid you welcome to Orlandaar. What is the nature of your business here, if I may ask?" 
   
   Spoiler 
  
  Welcome to your prologue! Thank you for your patience during the initial process. I hope to move things along more quickly now that we're starting. As the other PC's are moving along quite quickly, most likely you'll get a quick scene here and then I'll bundle you up into one of the other PC's prologues, wash-rinse-repeat until we're all in the same place together.
  
  Now. Couple of things:
  
  1. Your reasons for being here (in Orlandaar, I mean) aren't etched in stone. There are any number of reasons why you could be here on official business and any number of other reasons why you could be here unofficially. Similarly, you can tell the guard whatever you like. If you want to talk this stuff over with me before we begin, please feel free to PM me.
  
  2. 'Master' is a very formal mode of address for a monks. They can expect a certain level of guarded respect from just about anyone, but 'Sir' or 'Brother' is far more common, even from Jaad and Ranid. You call your teacher or your mentor or a well-respected sage 'Master.'
  
  3. Have fun! I'm starting things vague and undefined on purpose, partly so we can have some freedom to move into the initial narrative organically, and partly so you can have some room to rattle around without me telling you what to do and how to act.
   
conversations: truemane:
conversations: human
conversations:  Sael adjusts the bag on his back. He waits for an uncomfortable two seconds staring at the guard then flashes a thin smile.  "I'm just passing through. Planning on resupplying. You know. Any interesting news? Maybe a recommendation for a nice quite place to eat?" 
conversations: TheStillWind:
conversations: human
conversations:  The guard sets his square jaw to the side and peers at Sael for a moment thoughtfully. He shrugs and smiles.  "Passing through? On your way to the mines then? Good enough. I hear the Riverman lets Monks ride free as far as the foothills." 
  
  To Sael's question he offers another moment's thought.  "You'll find eateries a-plenty here, Master. More than you'll need, I'd think. Most of them with nothing but swill I wouldn't touch were I on my last legs. But you'll find Skelaar's on the edge of the Western Quarter. Not great but safe enough. The Ir'n Boat's a but further in, like. Quiet. Aldre the proprietor doesn't put up with much."  He shrugs again and spreads one hand in a what-can-you-do gesture. The other hand never leaves the hilt of his sword.  "But Orlandaar's a rough-as-you-like-it place these days. And you take your chances wherever you sit." 
conversations: truemane:
conversations: human
conversations:  "I thank you for your advice. And if you are finished with me I won't take up any more of your time. But I wonder, Why do you guess that I am heading toward the mines?" 
  
  After the guards answer, no matter what it is, Sael will say,  Ahh, Thank you  and be on his way. He will head through the town, towards the eatery owned by Aldre. Sael will try to relax and observe the people as he wander through.
conversations: TheStillWind:
conversations: human
conversations:  The guard seems mildly confused by Sael's question.  "I beg yer pardon, Master. I meant no offense. There've been more than a few Orders of Monks moving that way these last weeks. I assumed you were of their number. But as for that, I've no fear of your errand, whatever it may me. Welcome to Orlandaar, Master. Be certain to watch your purse and your step." 
  
  And with that, he was in.
  
  The Taiko road bent into the city through the north gate and formed the main thoroughfare into the northern districts. The ground rose in a slight but perceptible slope from the gate and from the lakeside to a large hill at the centre of the town. Sael could see the large fortress-keep nestled against the sides of the hill. The town was thickly populated and busy closer to the shores of Lake Orlan and less so as the urban area gave way to the farmlands at the outlying districts.
  
  Aldre's inn, The Ir'n Boat, was easy enough to find. The Western Quarter is sandwiched between the Lakeside district and the Open Market District and is a small, narrow string of small and winding roads that ends up against the wall itself. After only a few inquiries Sael finds himself inside a large one-storey building with the picture of a grey sinking boat on the placard out front.
  
  The inside is dark and quiet. Almost full, with people lined up on long benches pulled up against long tables. Everything looks old and well-used, but also well-cared for. The woodwork is pitted and scratched with years of use, but cleaned and polished to a deep burnished shine. The conversation was both lively and muted. There was lots of drink, but no drunks. Many debates but no arguments. Lots of movement but no fighting.
  
  Within minutes Sael finds himself lead to an empty space on one of the benches near the rear of the room, close enough to the kitchen to smell the roasting meat and baking bread coming from it. And within a few minutes a handsome lady of middling years, clearly busy and harried, appears. She takes in his robes and his bearing and nods to him in respect.
  
   "What'll be your pleasure, Brother?"  she says, her voice as rough as her surroundings.
conversations: truemane:
conversations: human
conversations:  Seal places a silver on the table.  "Tea and rice thank you"  He said without making eye contact with the woman. When she leaves he stands up an makes a small jerk at his hips to strech them out. He looks down at his clothes. He wore his robes tighter than most of his order. Sael disliked the sound loose cloth made when it is caught by the wind. His dark brown robes had white wrappings around his waist, ankles and wrists. But now the white was stained black with the dust of travel.
  
   As his hand moved to brush some of the dust off he saw his callused hands and was reminded of the monastery. He thought of the hours he would spend doing push ups punching the sand  with each lift of the ground. He thought of the time hitting hanging logs with his heel and the pain he felt before he realized the logs swing back. Finally his thought turned to the frustration of feeling trapped in his own mind before he broke through the mental barriers under the guidance of master. Master, though stoic he was truly a kind and encouraging man.   I would be no where without the people that lead me to him, just another starving runaway  . Sael sat back down without cleaning his robes; the dust seemed appropriate now.
  
  When his food and drink came he ate quietly and purposefully. Then he moved his chair back against the wall, curled his legs underneath him, closed his eyes, and emptied his thoughts. Tomorrow he will start his new life and hopefully eventfully find what is left of his past.
conversations: TheStillWind:
conversations: human
conversations:  Lost in the ever-echoing reverie of his thoughts, Sael feels the person approaching long before he sees him. A shadow falls on the surface of his mind and he knows, suddenly, immediately, instinctually, that he is no longer alone. And then he hears a voice, close enough for a low speaking voice but not close enough to present any form of physical threat. Someone, perhaps, used to dealing with Monks.
  
   "I've not seen robes the like of yours for many years, Brother. May I sit with you a spell? Perhaps two such as we can have a drink in peace without fear of the riffraff bothering us?" 
conversations: truemane:
conversations: human
conversations:  Sael cracks one eye open and takes a look at the man speaking to him. Nods and moves his chair closer to the table.  "Good evening, I suppose I'm in the mood to share some tales. But first introductions. Call me Sael." 
conversations: TheStillWind:
conversations: human
conversations:  The man is difficult to read at first glance. His clothing is neither rich nor poor: being rustic but very well-tailored, travel-stained but not ragged or worn. His face is both open and guarded: the eyes and features of a man who hasn't seen enough to be worn down by it or who's seen so much that he's passed into a constant state of wry amusement.
  
  He carries no weapon. No obvious weapon. But that isn't all that unusual here in the deeps of the city. But all the same there is something in the way he stands, relaxed and taut all at the same time, that says to Sael that he's not all the way unarmed either.
  
  Being invited, he sits. Leans forward onto the table. Whistles for one of the serving girls and orders some bread and some meat and some dry wine to drink.
  
   "My name is Jaerlyn, Brother Sael. And I must say it's passing strange to see a Monk sitting here in such a fashion. The few of your kind that come by Orlandaar are mostly passing on toward the mines. There's most likely a story behind it all. And I have to admit myself a lover of stories." 
conversations: truemane: