[u][h3]Onarr[/h3][/u] Interaction with: [@Noxious], [@Force and Fury] and [@SilverPaw] [hr] Onarr wished he could go back to his dorm, boil a nice cup of fermented Daggen, revise his manuscripts and take a nice, long rest after today’s events. Instead, he has to ignore the stares from other fashion-blind students towards his glorious helmet, continuing to watch through his home-fashioned periscope. Every now and then, he has to pipe up to make little “Excuse me’s” and “Please don’t step on me” to ensure he isn’t crushed by the crowd of students in the plaza as they scurry like rabid mice to grab empty seats . Eventually, all of them were packed in there like pickled muskfish. It would be almost stifling in his helmet if he hadn’t forced open a small porthole on the upper metallic cone to allow some air through. Onarr then made a promise to himself that if he ever became the Arch-Zeno of Ersand’Enise in the future, the next thing he would institute was the installation of raised platforms made of oak and castle-forged steel works everywhere to assist the physically diminutive like himself. This wasn’t out of compassion. It was simply because he was tired of seeing the asses of nobles and commoners all the time. Literally and figuratively. It was an odd medley of mages around him and to Onarr’s relief, for once, not overly crowded by the sick stench of royals and nobles. His mind quickly picked out the few in the bustling crowd that he had spotted in the parade earlier. He turned the periscope behind him and honed in on a waifish looking Revidian with a splotchy bruise on his eye. Ah, that one. He must have been the one to cause all of that ruckus behind him. Onarr silently bid him a half-hearted Shunic prayer and hoped that a binding healer would see to his injuries. It wasn’t that often where you witnessed worse luck than yours in Constantia but Onarr wasn’t the type to take solace in it. He’d had a taste of that once. It was satisfying at first but it slowly curdled you on the inside. He then swung the periscope forward to the front of the plaza where all the nobles, royals and merchants congregated, resplendent in their most luxurious clothes that would be worth hundreds of Kizan. Solaire was the one he immediately picked out with his eyes. His initial performance at the parade had seared himself within everyone’s mind. Onarr snorted. What a showboat. He turned slightly to the left and spotted the Eskandish noble……Bjelke, was it? She was the only other remarkable one but all Eskandish were notable, given their political standings in Constantia. There was an ethereal nature about her that made his stomach lurch slightly, her complexion reminding him of the marble statues that stood tall in the Stresian temples his mother brought him to when he first learned to walk. Her countenance was collected and mostly disguised under that silken hood of hers. Onarr remembered a fervent argument between two Stresian historians which he observed whilst eating flatbread in the privacy of a library. One was arguing fervently that one could learn from the Empire of Eskand in Joruban’s future whilst the other argued that extenuating factors for both of the nation’s circumstances would soon lead to divergent futures. He wondered if perhaps, one could gleam the future of Joru in - He blinked and shook his head, smiling to himself in nostalgia and heartache for those simple times. When the five kings eventually arrived one by one, the clamor of the crowd around him grew, erratic whoops and hollers added to the melody. Onarr felt contempt rising in his throat as he watched each and every one of them pompously stride by, adulation and adoration in their wake. Next were the various representatives whom Onarr ignored as well. Only the presence of President Yibozo is enough to make him conduct a half-hearted Joru salute out of a habit his father had drilled into him. The lens of the periscope suddenly flared and wobbled just as he looked at the stage. Odd. He was sure he had calibrated it precisely this morning. He yawned, blinking a little, as he kneaded his tired eye with his closed right hand. Perhaps he drank too much Daggen this morning. By the time the parade had stopped, the sun bled indigo into the blue skies above. The next phase of the ceremony took place. It was the part that made his hands wring together and the inside of his helmet feel like a Belzagg savannah. His heart beat rapidly as he listened carefully to the syllables every Zeno that walked upstage announced. Everything seemed to pale in comparison to the importance of this small yet profound proceeding that would determine the next several years of his life. As if some joke were being played to him, it came down to him and 15 other Biros out of the hundred or so that were in the parade. With bated breath, he watched pointedly as a Torragonese Zeno walked up on stage, a smile tilting her cheeks, and read out the four names. "Anesin of House Bjelke, Penny Pellegrin, Onarr Yidlob, and my countrywoman: Linnah Aranda. It will be my pleasure to serve as your master and mentor." “ PRESENT!” Onarr breathed out, remaining still for several moments, before collecting himself and waddling off the benched seat. He walked as resolute as he could, the stares of disbelief at his vertically challenged status bouncing off the shimmering steel of his bascinet. A bead of steel awkwardly rolled down on the inside of his bascinet as he realized three important things about the group he was in. One, that he was the shortest one in the group by far. Two, that everyone in his group except him lacked basic common sense in terms of safety apparel. Finally, the last being that he recognized no names that were distinctly Joru in origin. There might have been other differences that he might have missed but these were by far the most obvious, worrying ones. Not bad, not perfect either. Rarely all things were. The Eskandish noble he observed earlier in the parade was somewhat troubling for him and the Torragonese was not of any royal stature or of mercantile background given her state of similar dress to his. His mood darkened over seeing the Perrenchwoman’s crutches, unpleasant memories arising in his mind. Mechanical diagrams and postulates about disability soon appeared in his mind and he tossed them away. He wasn’t here to change the life of one person and give them hope. Still, his heart skipped a beat as he watched her walk with her crutches on stage. He wouldn’t be much of a good Streisan if he didn’t make an attempt to talk with her first. Onarr stopped first in front of his Zeno before crosses his arm, fist clenched, over his chest in the Joru salute, and bowing. “ I am glad to be your student, Zeno Afraval.” He paused for a moment before speaking what he thought was a Torragon greeting to his teacher. “ May your cattle be well-bred.” He then turned to Anesin next, deciding whether or not to give a Joru salute. He wasn’t sure if it was an offensive remark in Eskandish culture. A few seconds past before Onarr decided to give a little bow, speaking in both Avinician and adding a little Eskandish at the end for formality. At least, what his father told him was Eskandish. “ It is an honour to be in your presence, Lady Anesin of House Bjelke. May your ancestors shear sheep for all eternity.” He turned to Penny next, bowing so low that his helmet nearly collided with her chin. As the Eskandish had worked out well, maybe, Perrench was in order too. “ I look forward to being your fellow Biro, Miss Pellegrin. May you find safe harbour at a campfire.” He then swiveled around to Linah, giving a nod to her reply, before bowing the same and replying in Avinician. “ It is good to see a neighbour of Joru. Pleasure to be with you as well, Miss Aranda.” He shuffled in line with the ready of the apprentice group and waited for the next batch of Biros to be called. Well, that hadn’t been as bad as he expected. It looked as though his language skills hadn’t rusted over the years, no matter how many times his father tried to tell him. As the fireworks turned the evening briefly into day, Onarr wondered briefly about the future and it’s possibilities with his fellow Biros before halting it. He’d been worrying constantly from his journey to Joru to Ersand’Enise. Now, it was time to relax. A brilliant crimson bloom flushed the night sky pink, catching the attention of Onarr’s analytical mind. [i] Red colouration….Combination of magnesium? No. Must be tin and a hot oxidising - Ah, can’t think now.[/i] He would figure it out and everything else in due time. Interesting times were ahead.