Birds chirped outside the window and a few students walked slowly and sleepily into the courtyard below for early classes. For a brief moment, Purah envied them, learning great magics and other secrets of the Arcane, but he shook his head and returned to his task. He wasn't meant for such things, and he knew it. His talents were better served here, in the scribe's tower, doing simple, mundane paperwork. Mundane, yes, but peaceful and satisfying.
He deftly tied his long, golden hair back with a leather cord, ensuring it wouldn't get in the way of his work. His face was angular and thin, but well proportioned and glowing, with an easy smile. His shirt was spattered in ink stains of various colors, some bright, others faded. His hands were calloused and clean, though by the end of they day they'd be as ink-stained as his shirt, he knew.
As he prepared for the day, he noticed some of his inks were quite low. He reached into the cupboard again, this time removing several plants and flowers carefully dried and preserved. Brow furrowed a bit in concentration, he used pestle and mortar to create raw pigments, mixing them with water to create new inks. Purah poured the new ink into a vial, his blue eyes reflecting in the glass as he measured by sight. Satisfied, he labeled the new ink and set it aside, ready for it's use. Finally sitting down at his workstation, he bent over an already-started project: copy work for one of the professors of the school. It required a steady hand and a clear eye, as every minute detail had to match perfectly.
A light knock on the door sounded and he said, loudly enough to be heard through the heavy wood, "Come in!" He did not look up from his work, but knew who is was regardless. "Good morning, Student Silea."
The young elf giggled and walked over to the desk, careful not to bump into it and interrupt the scribe's work. She had done that the first time they had met, ruining hours of his handiwork in a single moment, and hadn't gotten on his good side until weeks later. "Morning, 'Rah. What are you working on this fine day?"
Her red hair was fine and soft, framing her round, happy face. She, like all of the Quel'dorei, had blue eyes and they eagerly glanced over the various scribblings in the office, curious.
Purah didn't answer right away, as he was studying the passage he was copying ensuring all the words were exact. His specialty was translations and exact replicas of ancient texts, but it required far more concentration than most people realized, especially the younger, newer students. Luckily, Silea understood, especially after her first time in the office. "Nothing exciting, I'm afraid, Silea. Just a minor translation of an older text for Master Hath'ar." He blew lightly on the ink to dry it. "What can I do for you?"
Silea reached into a pocket from her dress and produced a crumpled parchment. "Oh, uh... sorry," she sheepishly said, handing it over to the disapproving scribe. "Don't get so bent out of shape over such a little piece of paper, 'Rah. It's just scrap." Silea said with a smile.
"Still, really, Silea, is it hard to keep it at least somewhat flat? I have to file all these requests, you know, and they don't keep well, all crumpled up..." His lighthearted chiding just made the young student giggle again. Purah quickly read over the short note. "Ah, from Master Far'lain? I have a few items finished for him already. Wait a moment, will you? You can take them along. That should please him."
Purah stood carefully from his desk and glanced quickly through a few of the stacks until he found what he had been looking for. He rolled several pieces of parchment up and placed them in a round tube of heavy paper to keep them safe.
"Here." Silea took the rolled papers carefully.
"Thank you, Scribe Lightsword. I'll ensure the Master gets these right away." Silea picked up her pack again and made for the door. "Oh! One more thing... A few of us are going to the Sweeping Broom tavern tonight to celebrate the end of term. You'll join us, won't you?"
Purah frowned again, a little sadly. "Silea, you know I don't mix well with the students, especially some of the ones who seem to have taken to you."
"Oh, please, 'Rah? Kinedra will be there," she pleaded, knowing he secretly fancied the lady.
"Oh, please, 'Rah? Kinedra will be there," she pleaded, knowing he secretly fancied the lady.
Still frowning, he turned back to his work. "Fine. But... Just for a bit. I have to work tomorrow, you know, unlike you students who get the days off."
Giggling again, Silea thanked him and rushed out the door. Purah concentrated on his work again, the quiet of the office broken only by the scratching of quill on parchment.
_-.: * :.-_
The sun was setting as the Scribe packed up his inks and quills and stowed them away again. He was in good spirits, thanks to getting plenty of work done today. Master Far'lain had been very pleased with his work from earlier that morning and had sent a glowing letter of appreciation. His former teacher, now boss, the Lady Oalina, a master scribe and mage, had noticed the letter and even gave him a compliment, which had made his day. He remembered all too well her harsher words when he had been her student. Always pushing him to be the best, he silently thought she was a far harder taskmaster than any swordmaster he had ever had.
Thinking such thoughts only made him remember his past and he pushed old memories away, try as they might to rise to the surface of his mind. That part of my life is over. He told himself.Has been for ages. You'd think the rest of me would remember.
The walk down the tower and out of the school grounds was uneventful as he made his way to the tavern. It was nearby, catering specifically to the students of the Arcanum. Known for good prices that fit a student's budget and named after one of the first spells any student of the Arcane learned, the Sweeping Broom was busy. Silea and her friends weren't the only ones celebrating, it seemed, as several young guardsmen were also drinking and dining in the corner.
Silea spotted the Scribe standing near the doorway long before he found her and she called him over to the students table. He recognized them all by sight if not by name, and made his way over, a bit shyly. Some of the students were nearly apprentices and much closer to his age, like Kinedra. They were also known as some of the wealthier students at the Arcanum, most coming from influential families within Quel'thalas, and were occasionally haughty and rude to those who were less fortunate, such as Purah, who came from the countryside originally.
"Purah, welcome. Take a seat!" Silea laughed, and pulled out a chair for him. The barkeep came to take his order of a light meal and wine, and he listened quietly as the various students spoke about their classes and recent tests. Kinedra eyed him with a smile, flanked on each side by rather handsome and attentive men and finally asked, "Tell me, scribe, why do you not also take classes? I've heard you've quite the mind for history and mathematics."
Purah, surprised by the sudden question, nearly choked on his meal. After he took a few quiet drinks of wine and calmed down, he explained, a little red-faced from embarrassment, that he had little talent for magics, which, in the end, was what the Arcanum truly taught. "Truely, Lady Kinedra, magic and I get along rather badly, I'm afraid. Little things are no problem, but anything much more complicated than lighting candles and such tends to blow up in my face."
One of the youths at her side, scowling a little at him, obviously a bit drunk and jealous, piped up. "Well, obviously. I mean, look at you." Purah involuntarily glanced down. "What about me, sir?"
"You're just some bookworm, all caught up in texts and scrolls. You've no ability to do practical things." He quickly conjured a rose from the air, red as the wine they all drank, and handed it to the Lady Kinedra, who giggled, "Thank you, Reth'al."
"Ah," said Purah, a little angry, "and I suppose conjuring roses is 'practical.'"
"Yeah, obviously." The second student then sniffed distainfully. "Plus, you're covered in ink."
Purah, at this point uncomfortable and embarrassed, stood to leave. "If you'll excuse me." He said a quiet goodbye to Silea, who apologized, saying they were just drunk and being stupid. "Yes, they are," Purah whispered. "I'll see you soon, Silea," he said, and made for the doorway.
Unknown to him, Reth'al and the second student had stood and followed him out to the street. The guardsmen who had been celebrating inside stood in a loud group nearby, saying their goodbyes for the night. Purah noticed his two shadows rather quickly, though, when a rough shove from behind sent him sprawling into the street. "Stay away from Kinedra, scribe." Reth'al sneered, drunk and totally indifferent to the guardsmen, who now turned to see what the commotion was.
Purah, wincing and angry, bit back a quick retort and pushed himself onto his knees. Dirt now coated his shirt along with the ink stains and his hands were a bit scraped up. As he stood, another shove sent him back to the ground, followed by a kick to the ribs, knocking the wind from him. He recovered quickly, ignoring the pain in his side, and reached out to pull his attacker down to the ground.
The old training from his past came right back, and he rolled and leapt up, ready for a fight. His attacker the second time had been Reth'al's companion, who now coughed from the dust kicked up in the street and was slow to get back up, being even more drunk than his companion. Reth'al, not thinking clearly, dove at the scribe, only to be surprised when Purah wasn't there, as he had easily dodged out of the path of the lunge. Other students from inside, including Silea and Kinedra, were standing in the street now, watching the whole thing unfold. From the looks on the lady Kinedra's face, she though it a good laugh, though Silea looked far more concerned.
The city guards waded into the fray, now, doing their best to keep it from escalating. The leader of the group did a double take as Reth'al got up, shouting about his father and something about how the scribe would be sorry. The guardsman must have recognized him for a noble's son, as he looked rather angry as he moved toward Purah, but his face changed abruptly as he neared the scribe. This guardsman knew exactly who Purah was, and the scribe winced a bit.
"Purah? Purah Lightsword?" Brushing off the front of his shirt, trying to make himself as small as possible, Purah didn't look up. It was Guardsman Thael'ar, a well known trainer of the Initiates to the Sentinals, and an old acquaintance of the. Reth'al, a bloody nose from stumbling past the much faster Purah, stamped over, huffing and angry.
Guardsman Thael'ar just turned to him, saying, "You're an idiot, boy, picking a fight with Purah Lightsword. Had he a blade, you'd no doubt be dead, or at least gravely wounded for the insults." Turning back to Purah he continued, "Didn't know it was you, lad. You should have said they were giving you trouble inside. I would have done something then before it moved to the streets."
Reth'al, shocked, sputtered something unintelligable. Purah would have found the whole thing funny, but several of the students had overheard and were muttering amongst themselves. Purah leaned closer to the guard. "My thanks, Reth'al, but I had rather you not mention such things here. I'm just a scribe, now, not a swordsman." His voice was quiet, but he worried it still carried.
"Right, right... about that. You should rethink your decision. You were far better with the blade than any student I've had since then. One accident shouldn't keep you from your destiny or-"
"No." Purah brushed himself off again and turned away. "Thank you for the help, Reth'al, but no. I'll never touch a blade again." He nodded to the other guards, who gladly gave way to him and he started walking home. He heard her come up behind, but didn't turn.
"Purah? Are you okay?" It was Silea. She sounded genuinely concerned and Purah was almost sorry. "I had no idea they would act like that towards you, you know that, don't you?" He sighed and stopped.
"I did try to warn you, you know. I don't get along with the students very well." He turned around to see Silea on the verge of tears.
"Oh, I was so worried about you!" She ran and plowed into him, hugging him tight and making him wince from the bruised ribs. "When I saw them get up to follow you, and then they pushed you, and you got hurt-"
"Silea! I'm alright." He gently pried her off and looked into her eyes. "I'm fine, see?"
She sniffed again, an occasional tear still rolling down her cheek. Purah sighed, then winced as his ribs began to hurt, which only got another gasp and apology from Silea. "Please let me help you get home! I feel awful about this, really I do." He was going to say no, but decided that it wouldn't be so bad, as he started feeling every wound anew.
He nodded and they walked back to his small apartment on the west side of the city. Opening the door, Silea quickly lit the lanterns inside with magical fire and he hobbled over to a small chest with ointments and bandages. Pulling a small pot of salve out with the bandage he sat on the low couch, and lifted his shirt. A large bruise was already forming and he hissed.
Silea, who had been quietly looking around his home at the simple decorations, especially a large, finely-crafted sword hanging on the wall, frowned and came over. "Oh, Purah, I'm sorry." She took the salve from him and with gentle fingers smoothed it over the growing bruise. "You shouldn't have fought them. You could have gotten hurt."
Purah laughed, but instantly regretted it as his ribs ached in protest. "My thanks for the concern Silea, but I would have been fine."
She looked up at the sword again, then, and quietly asked, "Is that what the guardsman was talking about?"
Purah frowned. "Silea... that's nothing but a fading memory."
She was quiet then, but he knew that once Silea became fixated on something she rarely let it go. Still, it seemed she was content enough right now to leave it be, concentrating on wrapping his ribs. She finished, tucking the end of the bandage in with gentle hands.
"Thank you," Purah said, after checking the first-aid job, satisfied.
"Good night, Scribe Purah," Silea whispered, glancing once more at the large sword on the wall, then walked out the door, closing it behind her. Purah just sighed and washed his hands, the blood coloring the water in the washbasin a light pink. Carefully putting ointment on the scrapes, he went back to the couch, leaning back and staring at the gleaming weapon that hung there.
Within a few minutes, his eyes closed, and he was lost in dreams.
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