Chores

Novice Corvin, Written by AshleyVice
Posted on Sun, Sep 5, 2010 21:03 pm

Corvin bent to pick up another book, a copy of The Travels of Jain Farstrider from under a bench off the main garden path.  She slipped it into her satchel, just an improvised piece of linen slung over her shoulder and across her chest, resting heavily at her hip, full of books at this point.  One of the tasks the Browns tasked her with was to gather books left in the garden and other parts of the tower accessible to novices.

She liked working with the sisters of the Brown Ajah, and loved her time in the Tower libraries.  If there was anywhere in the world that she could find out something about the song, then surely it was in one of those books, ranging back to dates impossibly far in the past.  There were a surprising number on music, and songs.  If she could just have her harp and flute back she could learn those songs.  Corvin was sure she would recognize the song if she heard it.

It was startling how little care people took of the Tower’s treasure trove of books.  In her whole life they had only had a few books to share among the caravan. They traded them now and again for different titles when they met a peddler.  To leave a book lying around in the grass where it could get rained on or torn was just shameful.

The Brown sisters seemed to appreciate that she didn’t shirk from work that was hard or physical.  She climbed stacks and carried loads of books around the Tower grounds. They even let her re-shelve some of them now and again.  On a lucky day she might even help a Sister organize notes or specimens.

They just saw her tasks as simple chores, menial tasks befitting a novice, but to Corvin each instruction was a meaningful contribution to her training and a worthy use of her time.

Her regular round of the gardens was the most peaceful part of her week.  Sometimes she even walked barefoot, feeling the slick tickling fingers of grass on the bottom of her feet.

For now her slippers were snugly on her feet, since there seemed to be an abundance of novices, trainees and accepted populating the gardens today.
She came to a small nook, hidden from the normal path, but popular among novice and trainees who wished to hide from authority, or those who wished to read in relative silence.  In the past month she had rescued 15 tomes from this part of the gardens.  Shameful.

She liked doing real work; it reminded her of home.  Since they were kids Corvin had challenged Alrick that she could do the same chores as he, carry as much firewood or mend a cartwheel the same.  And as they grew the challenges remained, but their relationship changed.  Alrick always seemed to carry more of the firewood, not because she couldn’t of course, but just because.  They were the best of friends and never more, but confronted daily with girls her age who seemed concerned with nothing more than what the trainees thought of them, Corvin began to wonder if she could have swooned over Alrick the way they did over the young warders-to-be.
Still, that life, her vibrant, simple life in the caravans was as impossibly far in the past as many of the stories and accounts she read in the Tower library.

In the concealed garden there were a few novices and trainees, none occupied with reading, but almost immediately she spied a book lying open on a small ledge, almost hidden by a lonely trainee.  He was somewhat disheveled, with brown eyes set deeply into his gaunt face.  If his body wasn’t so muscular and clearly healthy, Corvin would have assumed he was ill.

“Excuse me,” she began, adjusting the heavy satchel at her hip.  “May I?” Corvin gestured to the book sitting on the ledge just above his shoulder.

In reply to A Usual Day (Attn: Anyone)[show]/[hide]

The afternoon was possessed of a biting chill, the first talons of autumn beginning to snake their thin tendrils into the environment of the White Tower. It was far from as cold as it would be in a few months, but the temperature difference in comparison to a mere few weeks ago was noticeable to all who sought to notice it. Perhaps most would not, not yet, however Drystan was not most people. He was of a different ilk altogether, the kind of man to notice such details. He had precious little else to concern himself with other than his current environment and the hanging knowledge that at some point further training would resume itself. For now, however, he was free. For a certain given value of freedom that was. He was spending it how he usually spent such moments, propped up against the wall of a courtyard. It was small in size, not something you would expect in such an outwardly grand location as the Tower. A mere cubby hole compared to some of the larger ones he had witnessed since his arrival. It was not empty, though, it being a popular congregation place for others of his own rank - Novice and Warder-in-Training alike. Interaction was not encouraged, but it happened on occasion, over short periods. He presumed it was a form of slow integration, controlled but existent so that some form of relationships could lead to the next generation of warded channellers. Not that such matters were of import to himself, he was not well known. he had endevoured to become somewhat invisible, aloof from the rest. You couldn't be betrayed or let down if no one was there to do it after all. Solitude is best, better than having many dependants or friends. Self-reliance is the only path to take in my position he thought to himself. It was a semi-drunken thought at that. Just because he was not supposed to drink did not mean he would obey such a maxim. It was too much of a crutch to give up. He knew he was dependant, but he didn't care. It allowed him to function - more or less.  His eyes scanned the few still around, noted the glances thrown his way with impartiality, tried not to give a disdainful cough at their carefree laughter. He assumed that the majority of them had neither seen a love cut down, nor even seen a minion of the Shadow up close. Only those free of troubles could care as little as they could. Their laughter seemed a mockery of his past, an attack directed his way with malicious intent. He tried to ignore it as he tried to ignore the ghosts of the past. It was not the ghosts he was worried about, however, it was the voices and apparitions. They had begun once more, though sporadically at best. It was a sign, he knew. They'll be coming again. He'll be coming. But this time I will be ready he thought, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth momentarily. So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not notice the approach of another. OOC: Well, a tad rubbish but serviceable as a beginning. Feel free to jump in anyone! He's not that bad :)

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Replies to Chores

  • No Fun — Novice Bennon Ikareos, Mon, Sep 6, 2010 01:05 am