42nd of Ash, Year 118
Like all convenient things, Taelian's train foray came to an end. It had been forced to stop in a small city somewhat adjacent to Arlain, due to the strain of what was apparently Sundered dust particles corroding away at its lower material. In need of repair, the passengers had been let off... two days ago. No other train came; no other train would for some time, and as much as Taelian would have savored the tranquility of resting quietly in some dirty tavern, he had a relative deadline for arriving in Kalzasi.
Again, though; nothing seemed to work, or stay working for long. Trains, the good nature of others, the weather... the Adh Nuaihm. Aldrin would not have scrutinized him if he knew the pure ardor of his journey thus far.
It had been rough. Nearly every moment of it.
Taelian had begun to walk across the savannah plains, colored gold and velvet from a mixture of sun-touched wheat and lilac flowers that ran across the span of the horizon. He walked for a day, and now almost two -- somehow even in the midst of Ash it was hot, but he was no stranger to scorching heat. Sil-Elaine was moist and muggy; at least Daravin was dry. It was nice, too. Always feeling the sun on your back -- the trees weren't plentiful enough to obscure it, and the clouds scarcely came in comparison to where he was from. Daravin was truly a beautiful land.
It had become clear to Taelian that it was everything his people thought it was. Their homeland... perfect and summery, and taken from them unjustly.
"Stop."
A voice called from behind him. Taelian, stepping across the sand-colored road that ran through the wheat and lavender-shaded fields, quickly turned his back to the presence behind him. The first thing he saw was a gloved hand, clad in black, gripping a sword and beginning to pull it from its sheath. Instinctively, he quickly did the same, throwing his hand onto the hilt of his claymore as it rose from his back and gripping his weapon, drawing it and getting into a readied stance.
"Whoa, whoa, Elf. You don't want to do that," the man advised. He wore black leather armor from head-to-toe, though his face and hair were not obscured. He had unkempt brown hair that ran nearly to his shoulder, with hazel colored eyes and a young and handsome complexion. He appeared to be... half-grinning, as he raised a palm flatly towards Taelian and glanced partway to his left and right. "I have friends. Raise your weapon against me, you raise it against all of them."
Taelian's eyes narrowed. He frowned. "That's okay," he began. "I've raised my blade against far worse."
