Private Tales Lost in the City

[Alistair Wren]

On a cool afternoon in Elbion, Alistair Wren walked down the main street with a basket in hand. All his classes were finished for the day, so he had decided to go into town to get things for his dormitory, as well as a few tool and herbs for the supplementary course he was taking on healing. The city bustled with people, gulls squawking from the harbor just a stone's throw away. A bard played a merry tune and children ran in all directions, their cries drowning out the voices of the salesmen as they drew people to their stalls. An overcast cloud bathed the city in shadow, hiding the sun from view. Basket around his arm, Alistair placed a handful of herbs he had just bought in it, then strode away from the marketplace towards the main street.

The hem of his robes in his hand, he wove his way around the townspeople, his eye on the spires of the college as they peeked over the skyline. He wore a thick cloak over his robes, his blue sash and belt neatly cinching his waist. Features shrouded by his hood, he pardoned himself as he brushed past shoulders, occasionally tripping over his feet as he bumped into somebody.

He decided to avoid the crowd. Sliding to the side, he darted in between a man and a group of women, then slipped over to an alleyway at the side of the street. A group of children were running and playing, hiding in the narrow passageways between the buildings. His eye still on the crowd, Alistair failed to pay attention to where he was going, when a young boy ran straight into him. His basket nearly went tumbling, but it was hanging securely around his arm and remained in it's place. Stumbling backwards, he scrambled to his feet and adjusted his robes frantically, sputtering as he brushed dust off his backside. Eyes trailing upwards, he spotted the dark features of the young boy who had run into him.

Angrily, Alistair furrowed his brow and shouted, "hey, watch where you're going, kid, people are trying to get to where they need to be." Annoyed, he pointed at the boy and beckoned him over.

As their eyes locked, Alistair's features softened, and he could tell that the child didn't know any better.

A pause held the air between them, filled by the shuffle of feet and the cry of salesmen. Slumping his shoulders, Alistair sighed, "are you hurt?" He asked, squinting to look for any cuts or gashes on the child.

Striding forward, Alistair placed a hand on the boy''s shoulder.

"You know you really shouldn't run around in the middle of the street like that, it's dangerous," he said, his tone stern, yet compassionate, like a mentor far beyond his years.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, brow creased in concern.

 

[Velle]

Nicodemus has since vanished from his sight. No matter how far Arcadia would drag him, he would be on their trail.
This time he's been running from him yet again, and now, hopefully long lost in the busy streets of Elbion.
He would have run a few extra measures as well if he were not suddenly faced with the inevitable, a collision.

One moment running and then another skidding across the floor.
The hands were scraped lightly. But pain was just a mere distraction. The silent youth briefly frowned and gazed at the much taller person. He picked himself up, first checking out his open palms.
Lightly scraped, tinting bright red just now.
Nothing concerning, just the daily rumbles of children lives.
»mmm, « he murmured. »Not sure, does not matter.«

 

[Alistair Wren]

The boy skidded across the ground as soon as he bumped into Alistair. Quickly, he grabbed his basket and made sure nothing had fallen out. At first, he was angry that the child hadn't been looking where he was going, until he saw that his hand was grazed. Alistair's features softened and he withdrew a breath, then sighed. He shoved his basket further up his arm and took a step forward, approaching the boy.

When he asked where his parents were, the boy simply shrugged and responded with nothing more than a grumble.

Alistair creased his brow in concern. Was he an orphan? Had his parents abandoned him? Had he run away from home? He had no idea about the boy's plight, and unless he spoke more, he would never find out.

Alistair reached out and said, "you scraped your hand a bit, let me take a look at that." Bending at his knees, he leaned down to the level of the boy's head.

"Do you have anywhere to live at the moment?" He asked, reaching into his robe for a potion.

 

[Velle]

The kid petted off his clothes before raising his head back up at the grown one. He tilted it slightly, squinting with one eye as he pouted his lips lightly, observing him quite curiously.

He offered his hands after some hesitation, outstretching his palms, showing the usual stringy scraps one got after falling on cobbled or roughly tiled floor.
They were just scraps, sting a bit and stay sore for a few hours. Got em always while climbing and falling.

»Not here. sometimes we stay at inns. Sometimes we sleep outside.«
»What's your name?« He soon after blurted out. His voice seemed to have some elven accent to his tone, but he spoke the language well enough, aside from that tonal slight.

 

[Alistair Wren]

The boy hesitated, before offering Alistair his hands. Muttering to himself, Alistair wrapped his fingers around his wrist and looked down at his palm. They were scraped, nothing more, but could be painful if infected. Reaching into his robe, he grabbed a blue potion in a vial and unscrewed the lid, then dabbed some of the liquid on both the boy's palms. He put the vial back in his robes, then waited a few minutes for the boy's to absorb the serum.

Alistair waved a hand, and the properties of the potion took effect. It would be soaked into the boy's skin, and with the effect of the spell, the scrapes on his palms healed up, leaving his skin pristine. Alistair let go of his wrists and brushed his hands, satisfied that the boy would not end up coming down with a fever.

When the boy said that he didn't have a permanent home, Alistair creased his brow in concern. He certainly hoped he wasn't sleeping on the streets.

"You shouldn't be sleeping outside, it's dangerous in the city at night," he shook his head.

The boy asked his name, and Alistair smiled, "my name's Alistair Wren, what's yours?" He asked

A pause held the air between them, filled by the cry of merchants as they advertised their wares and scraping of cart wheels. Raising a hand, Alistair scratched the back of his head and turned around to face the boy.

"I live in the college, would you like to come and stay with me?" An eyebrow raised, he left the offer open. He didn't think much harm would come of it, after all, he was only a young boy.

 

[Velle]

The kid checked out his hands. The scraps were gone. He turned his palms round and round a few times.
Truly, they were gone.
And well... lame, now he had nothing to show off for.

The little elf gazed upwards at Alistar once more. Hmmm.
what did they tell about strangers again?
»Mmmmmm-mm, my name is Bellerophon- and- And, no I am very fine out here.«
The kid swayed a little on his place, twirling his body a little with his arms aimlessly flapping and wrapping around his own body.