Post by The Smith on Apr 24, 2008 23:02:30 GMT -5
The night was unkind to Evander Storm as he tossed in his bed, and he began to hallucinate from lack of sleep. Ever since Dorne Evander had contracted a mild form of insomnia that would ruin his sleep. He had tried to remedy this by sleeping during the day but that worked very little.
During the dark of night in Duskendale Evander strode from the inn he was staying at, and ventured into the streets of the port. He passed all sorts of street ruffians and other men who were no stranger to the night.
After about Evander had walked a third the length of the port he spotted a small pavilion with a score of men crowded in it. The pavilion was behind a tannery and Evander had hold noticed it because he heard noises at first, and approached it later because of the curious sounds.
The sights that he saw would forever impact him, and he stood in awe as he watched two men fighting with burning blades. Evander was young, and despite maturity he gained by being raised by septons and the cruel reality of death he had gained from war, he was easily impressed by this show.
The two men fought with their swords in a dance of fire, and each wore blood red tunics.
As the fight ended, the older of the two swordsmen exited the ring and the tent and sat on a crate nearby. Evander moved towards the man and called out from the darkness, "Greetings, fighter. That was a mighty show."
The man in red smiled modestly, "Thank you, friend", and held out his hand for Evander to shake. "What is your name?"
"Evander Storm", he said as he took the man's hand and shook firmly. "Are you a native to this city or did you come for the tourney?"
"I came here several years ago, before R'hllor had spread. We prospered under Pylos but we're all but the last of the red priests here now."
Evander was confused, and understandably so. He had been raised as a man of the Seven, and the septons had sheltered him. "R'hllor?", he asked as he put a hand to his chin pensively.
The red priest laughed, "R'hllor is our god. God of light and fire...but unlike the Seven he tends after his own flock. I'm Jaran and despite the fact that we're entertainers, my friend Borros and I are red priests. It's hard to make a living as such anymore."
Evander eyed the man more curiously.
"It is true. No man has ever returned from his end at the hands of the Seven. The Seven are fake, and even the Drowned God has done more wonders." Jarran said this all and then laughed, "I've seen men brought back to life from certain death. Only the devout are given the privilege of learning such a technique though."
Evander was even more interested now, "Is that so...? I've heard the name of R'hllor in passing before, but no explanation was ever given. I don't imagine such a religion is prominent here anymore. Or at least I've heard nothing more than a mention of it."
Jarran nodded in agreement, "Correct. You see, most of the devout live across the Narrow Sea to the east. In Lys there is a great temple to R'hllor, and they worship him as they should."
"If you can teach me more, Jarran, I would be greatly interested. Teach me languages and whatever you can of this 'true' religion. I was raised by septons, and I watched that religion fall to pieces in Dorne. I watched thousands die and never rise again, I watched their prayers fall to nothingness. I want things to change and...and I think I am ready to make that change."
Jarran smiled widely now, happy that perhaps he had a new prospect for conversion. "I'll teach you what I know, friend, but if you want to learn more you'll have to be heading to Lys. That's where you'll find the greatest wisdom of R'hllor."
Evander nodded and accepted Jarran's wisdom. They continued conversing and over the next week and a half Jarran taught Evander of R'hllor and his mysteries. Or at least the basics. He was also given a tome on loan, a book with phrases of bastard Valyrian and Jarran tutored the young bastard whenever he was able.
Jarran had been right, he had found himself a new convert.
Results:
Evander improves to novice Valyrian languages
Evander improves to beginner Mysteries of R'hllor
During the dark of night in Duskendale Evander strode from the inn he was staying at, and ventured into the streets of the port. He passed all sorts of street ruffians and other men who were no stranger to the night.
After about Evander had walked a third the length of the port he spotted a small pavilion with a score of men crowded in it. The pavilion was behind a tannery and Evander had hold noticed it because he heard noises at first, and approached it later because of the curious sounds.
The sights that he saw would forever impact him, and he stood in awe as he watched two men fighting with burning blades. Evander was young, and despite maturity he gained by being raised by septons and the cruel reality of death he had gained from war, he was easily impressed by this show.
The two men fought with their swords in a dance of fire, and each wore blood red tunics.
As the fight ended, the older of the two swordsmen exited the ring and the tent and sat on a crate nearby. Evander moved towards the man and called out from the darkness, "Greetings, fighter. That was a mighty show."
The man in red smiled modestly, "Thank you, friend", and held out his hand for Evander to shake. "What is your name?"
"Evander Storm", he said as he took the man's hand and shook firmly. "Are you a native to this city or did you come for the tourney?"
"I came here several years ago, before R'hllor had spread. We prospered under Pylos but we're all but the last of the red priests here now."
Evander was confused, and understandably so. He had been raised as a man of the Seven, and the septons had sheltered him. "R'hllor?", he asked as he put a hand to his chin pensively.
The red priest laughed, "R'hllor is our god. God of light and fire...but unlike the Seven he tends after his own flock. I'm Jaran and despite the fact that we're entertainers, my friend Borros and I are red priests. It's hard to make a living as such anymore."
Evander eyed the man more curiously.
"It is true. No man has ever returned from his end at the hands of the Seven. The Seven are fake, and even the Drowned God has done more wonders." Jarran said this all and then laughed, "I've seen men brought back to life from certain death. Only the devout are given the privilege of learning such a technique though."
Evander was even more interested now, "Is that so...? I've heard the name of R'hllor in passing before, but no explanation was ever given. I don't imagine such a religion is prominent here anymore. Or at least I've heard nothing more than a mention of it."
Jarran nodded in agreement, "Correct. You see, most of the devout live across the Narrow Sea to the east. In Lys there is a great temple to R'hllor, and they worship him as they should."
"If you can teach me more, Jarran, I would be greatly interested. Teach me languages and whatever you can of this 'true' religion. I was raised by septons, and I watched that religion fall to pieces in Dorne. I watched thousands die and never rise again, I watched their prayers fall to nothingness. I want things to change and...and I think I am ready to make that change."
Jarran smiled widely now, happy that perhaps he had a new prospect for conversion. "I'll teach you what I know, friend, but if you want to learn more you'll have to be heading to Lys. That's where you'll find the greatest wisdom of R'hllor."
Evander nodded and accepted Jarran's wisdom. They continued conversing and over the next week and a half Jarran taught Evander of R'hllor and his mysteries. Or at least the basics. He was also given a tome on loan, a book with phrases of bastard Valyrian and Jarran tutored the young bastard whenever he was able.
Jarran had been right, he had found himself a new convert.
Results:
Evander improves to novice Valyrian languages
Evander improves to beginner Mysteries of R'hllor