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Old June 22nd, 2012 (10:15 PM).
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Colin Arcamenel- Port of Ekilore

The breeze rolled through the cool air, wafting as if waves themselves. The boat, as all boats do, rocked back and forth as the current pushed it along to its destination (with help of mast and sail). The sight of the Tower, which expanded as the boat neared, was breath taking. A pillar which rose to the heavens, straight into the air without an end in sight. Even when looking at it it seemed impossible, that such a monument could be crafted by such, then, ignorant hands. Since the erection of this spectacle, the world had changed, morphing with discoveries and new ideas. Yet, this place went untouched, as noted by the lack of life that surrounded it, and yet... As the society in which they were all born to (whether poor or rich, dignified or hellish) learned, it somehow could not grasp, could not find out how such a... Wonder could be constructed here. How such a beauty, so impractical in idea, would be sought for and accomplished to such a degree. The craftsmanship of the old, somehow, managed to often outclass the new. This trend, it seemed, would not be one short lived.

However, grand as this sight was, it went without blessed view by the elven knight Colin. Instead of standing out in the air, soaking up the masterpiece which this was, he sat in the stomach of the ship, keeping himself as stationary as possible. Surrounded by what he considered boring, wooden structure, it was easy to hear the creeks and moans of the ship. His ears picked up every little movement, but he ignored them, as annoying as they were. His main focus was getting through this... Miserable ride. The movement of his current transport made it feel as if his organs were moving with him. When the boat went back, his stomach depressed itself, and when it came forward, it was crushed by the weight of the things around it. This lunchtime mashing that his body was going through made nausea Colin's companion throughout. The sickness made him hot, made him dizzy, made him feel as if he were being punished by the gods for doing... Well, he could not say! His ignorance could likely be the root cause.

Standing was an ordeal and walking... A terror to him. His only option was to sit, sit and be still. He feared what would happen in an even that he let his guard down, feared what demons would shoot from him if he allowed himself rest. So he sat, waiting for the boat to stop, finally, and staring at his horse, which stared back at him. The two of them watched each other as if having their own conversation. Horse, indifferent, stoic, stupid, as all animals were, and Colin frustrated, nauseated, and outdone as he had been for days now. His horse, with cream colored fur (almost as if it had a yellow hue) and brown mane and tail, had the dead-eyed, bored look that riding animals seemed to possess. As if getting on their backs and parading around from one place to another was their own personal Hell despite the shouts and whinnies that escaped them on occasion. The words she communicated silently were not quite so, however. Her eyes simply said, "Are you alright?" and Colin's would reply, "I wish to die."

What seemed like ages ago was a shout from above that signaled the sight of land. Their land, not those little ports where they stopped a "break" or "rest" or "travel". They were there, almost, and would be there today. He would be overjoyed when reached their destination finally. The crew had seen very little of him happy after the second day of their little journey and the more he was forced on the boat, the lest they saw him up enjoying the breeze. Up top, the shaking, the waves, the everything was much more pronounced. It was like a curse and, Colin, being a proud man, refused to let any eyes witness him become sick to the point of... of tossing his lunch to the fish. He chose, instead, to wait well into the night before he decided to award the sea creatures with his home made munchies. He also ate as little as possible, sometimes refusing absolutely when it was time to eat and a few times having been forced to swallow something down. When he did eat, he ate child's portions and always after he would be gifted with his worst nights.

Colin groaned when the ship began to drag, the resistance of wet sand beneath the water felt even though the wood and shoes. Shouts from above signaled the start of the sailor's work in bringing them fully to port. Colin groaned once more, forcing himself on his legs. As he rose, it felt as if his stomach were sinking down through his body and then fusing into his bladder.

"God's help me..." He whispered, though not from his will. Each step he took towards the door felt as though his gut was in shudder and his stomach were digesting itself. The steps... Oh, much worse. Pushing open the hatch, he pulled himself to the deck's floor. Immediately he was brushed by the breeze that came from the ocean. His hair, which had grown during this journey (though, of course, still kept tame and presentable), moved with the breeze, hitting him in the face as if they were trying to use his skin to clap for the sight before him. Colin would not lie, for a moment the image of this ancient tower washed away the pains in which he experienced. As did most viewers, surely, he automatically began to follow its height with his head and eyes, trying to see the tip, as many have tried and, as all, failed. His moment of relief and astoundment was interrupted by a firm pat on the back by a crew member. It was Aoibheann Corwin, one of the less annoying members. He was an elf, like all the crew members. Corwin was short, dark-skinned, and very, very stocky.

"Was I right to guess under two months?" It was true, they had gotten here in a relatively quick time, and could have been here earlier had they not chosen to make stops along the way. The reminder of how long they'd been traveling, though, made Colin feel exhausted, like he'd been stuck on the sea for thousands of years.

"Right indeed. I must remind myself to praise the captain for his very skillful sailing after I ready myself to meet the monks." Colin spoke with some effort, trying to focus his mind on his words and off of the plague going on within his body. His voice masked his strain, trained as it was to keep power, hide weakness, but his skin had gone a slight pale from the ordeal of this... Water sickness. It was for this reason and his clothing that he had to return to his quarters and further ready. Crewmen moved here and there all around the two, preparing the ship for a complete stop at the port. "Aoibheann, when the boat is fully docked, could you please have some men take Eetris out to stretch her legs? She's been standing for quite awhile. I can imagine she'd like to stretch her legs."

Aoibheann nodded. "Certainly, sir. Anything else?" Colin shook his head and confirmed the negative. Allowing Aoibheann to his duties, Colin mustered his might to take himself to his quarters. Now that the boat no longer moved, his stomach began to settle (though occasionally it would shift, forcing him to endure of short, but nauseating feeling). Typical of all elven boats, the rooms were of a comfortable size, giving just enough space for the guest to enjoy and then some. Colin's room in particular was able to hold a bed large enough for two. On the walls were small tapestry displaying designs that gave the viewer a comfortable or at home feeling. On the floor was a rug that had a very similar function. Unlike the horse rooms and like areas, the craftsmanship of the wooden walls were not boring. The fine oak used was very warm, contrasting from its fellows that made up the rest of the boat in an unknown, but very apparent way. The bed's post, the chair, the desk, and even the frame for the mirror were all carved and created beautifully. It weren't doubtful that fine hands were the mother of these things.

In the mirror, Colin readied himself for the eyes of others. As always, it was of great importance to look his best as well as appropriate for any given situation, and as such, he had brought with him many a variety of outfits. The exact reason of this coming meeting with the monks was mysterious, to put in little words. The message, which had resulted in Colin's coming here, alluded to very little. It was the enthusiasm of his then current town of living that had ultimately convinced him. While the letter did bring about his own degree of enthusiasm, the uncertainty of the mission it provided made him unsure if he should choose to go. At the time, he had also been given another request and its situation made the decision all the more harder. However, the citizens were very convinced that some other knight could take over the duty of the request and may already have. The townspeople were were sure, most highly, that this journey would become historical, create some sort of greatness. They had pushed him into agreeing with their overwhelming enthusiasm and odd ability to inspire. Wanting him to waste no time it was suggested he go by boat rather than riding to Ekilore. Boats birthed by elves were no doubt the fastest. Had Colin known the difficulties that would follow, he would have never agreed.

Clothes decided, Colin fixed his hair and face, delicately separating his golden hairs from his darker ones and fixing his complexion into one of high quality. With a comb he collected, aligned, and divided his golden locks. The arrangement gave his hair, when he'd pulled it back, a single golden stripe that displayed itself very neatly in the center. The other golden strands, which cannot be collected, were assembled in a way that made the black of his hair look darker and all the more vibrant. Satisfied with his appearance, Colin returned to the deck where all hands were now finished with securing the boat and were either relaxing in some way, carrying out simple duties, or were completely out of sight. He looked off his boat and to the island of the tower, immediately first noticing Aoibheann and two others walking Eetris and allowing her freedom off the seas.

Near their boat was another. It was of a large size and of the highest degree. Only an ignorant man could look at its bow and say it were anything short of magnificent. Also on the docks was another boat which was not so much amazing. Impressed by the sight of the first one, Colin looked into the island for the possible owner. Whoever possessed it must have been an important man. Colin looked to the island once more, interest heightened to a point. It didn't take him long to spot the figures of two men, one on the back of a horse, and the other on his feet, by the tower. He took a guess that the rider of the horse (also dressed elegantly) was the owner of the fine boat here. By their being here, Colin assumed they had arrived for the same reason he had.

Seeing he had stayed on enough, Colin came off of his boat, very ready to see what the townspeople had convinced him of doing. Stepping on the ground, however, felt as if he were on the seas. Accustomed now to the sway of the boat, the Earth now moved. He felt the side to side dips of the ground and, again, it triggered a nauseated sensation. Colin swallowed the groan, planning to depress these feelings with sheer will.

The island itself was not all that impressive. Grass was only abundant and some places and most of the scene was taken up by large areas of dark dirt; the Tower had to make up for its unfortunate setting. The two of them quarreled, it seemed, among themselves. Colin, of course, had not a single idea of what they were talking about, however, his ears were becoming deaf to their words as he noticed the features of whom he was coming before.

From atop his horse, it may have been the best angle to view him. He had fair, blonde hair, locks shining from the sun's light (even at such a subdued time as this) and resting upon his head in a manner that seemed to, somehow, ask for respect in itself. His skin, which only bore a slight tan, was flawless, traveling over his body smoothly as if silk. The sight of it made it seem as if it would feel just that way (something Colin now wanted to test). He wore clothing and armor of yellow, red, and brown, his steed decorated with the same colors. The white colored horse, on its front, had the image of a golden Spartan, the sigil of Reigncliff.

"Good day, my lords," Colin greeted when he came to full approach. Though moderate, his close proximity to the handsome knight gave him an uncomfortable, yet appropriate sensation. The heat that was produced from an unknown function on his skin made it even the more worse. He wished for it to end, and quickly. The more these feeling occurred, the more his stomach would tighten, worsening his disposition all the more.
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