Post by Metzgermeister on Dec 7, 2005 20:36:59 GMT -5
Uriel had finally arrived at Tar Valon after days of hard running, taking barely enough time to feed. If he could have felt fatigue, Uriel would have collapsed. Looking upon the city from a rise, he pondered on what to do. He had had not much time to ponder this, as he had been focused on the road. But now he was here. After a few more moments of thought, Uriel decided to go down and feed in the city for a few days before attempting an assault on the White Tower. Abruptly, he realized that his armor might cause a bit of a stir in a peaceful town. Shucking his cloak, he unbuckled his sword and laid it on the grass, removing the gauntlets he moved up the arms and unstrapped the breastplate. Lastly, he removed the greaves and legplates, wrapping the set in the cloak. The task complete, he stood in his black silk coat and leggings, with his tough leather boots. Just the way he liked it. One perk of being dead, was he didn't sweat, and the armor was so light the fine silks remained unruffled. He buckled the sword to his waist, adjusting it so the tip would not drag, and slipped the knife through the belt on his right side. Picking up the bundle, he hefted it over his shoulder and adapted a swaggering walk. Somewhat fortuitously, Uriel had arrived within a short distance of the South-Western bridge into Tar Valon. There seemed to be only one problem: the bridge guards. Uriel could probably kill them before they knew what was happening, but he wanted to get into the city without creating a ruckus. He could perhaps claim to be a merchant's guard from a merchant train that had fallen afoul of bandits or somesuch. He had been able to slay all the bandits with his comrades, but all the Merchants had been killed and his compatriots had gone their separate ways. The silks had been salvaged from one of the wagons, his share of the Merchant's wares; he wore them now because his old clothes had been in tatters. Yes, that was it. It explained the armor, the silk, and his unusual size. His long hair would cover his eyes, and he could avoid looking at anyone too directly. Drawing closer to the guards now, they had not noticed him as of yet, he rubbed dirt on his face, hair and clothes and rumpled them a little. The guards had noticed him now, and the officer in charged hailed him. "Hail stranger, I am the Officer in charge, the Flame Lieutenant. What brings you to Tar Valon?" queried the Flame Lieutenant, eyeing Uriel up and down. Uriel replied: "Greetings Flame Lieutenant, I have been traveling for days from the Borderlands. I was a guard in a merchant train that was attacked by bandits." Uriel proceeded to lay out his story, hoping that the Officer would buy it. And so he did. "I commend you on being able to fight off a large raid of bandits, and I suppose that there was naught much to do but divide up the merchant's goods. Go on, all seems right with you." Uriel almost thanked the Light. "You have my thanks Flame Lieutenant, I have been looking forward to a real bed, instead of the ground." Uriel smiled and proceeded over the bridge and into the city. They hadn't even asked about the armor. He had done it. He was finaly within sight of his goal: The White Tower. Weaving his way through the crowd, he found himself an inn as close as he could get to the Tower Grounds; the Tubby Tabby. When Uriel saw this he laughed: the same inn had been present in Aridhol. If he remembered correctly, there should be a lazy and large tabby reclining on a barrel nearby. Driving such nonsense from his mind, Uriel glided to the innkeeper, asking if he could lease a room. At first the man was hesitant, taking in Uriel's greased look, but the lubrication of a gold allowed Uriel to keep a room for a week. That being done, Uriel turned and ascended the stairs quickly to his room. Once inside, he propped the armor against a wall and unbluckled his sword. It was time to meditate. Falling into a crouch on the floor, Uriel lost all sense of time and space. The blackness was everything.