- Messages
- 182
- Character Biography
- Link
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.
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.