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 Posted: Sat May 16, 2015 1:59 pm
 ^ Click Above for Full Illustration ^ Welcome to Erahn's profile. No one is allowed to post here without permission from DraconicFeline.
~~~
STATISTICS:
STAGE: Apprentice
PATH: Civilian
~~~
INVENTORY:
Nothing Yet
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 5:06 pm
  Character Name: Erahn Ryko
Race: Dovaa
Gender: Male
Clan: Unchosen
Path: Civilian – Musician
Personality:
Erahn is a boy with a tempestuous soul that longs to sing. Unfortunately, due to a nasty trick of birth and fate, he cannot sing or speak, and his artistic soul refuses to present itself to other avenues aside from music.
Erahn is a musician, with all the virtues and vices that come along with that. He is passionate and firey, though blessed with a keen ear and good head for notes. His frustration at having to use an instrument instead of his own voice and body has fed an equally hot temper, and he is quick to anger and slow to forgive. Since words are not always available to him – IE, there is not always a writing utensil around – he uses gestures and movements to communicate, and has been known to lash out physically to make his displeasure known.
He has a very high opinion of himself, and his grandmother has not helped this by doting on him. Though not exactly spoiled, he is highly condescending and judgmental of other people, usually finding them barely, but tolerably, less than he. This sense of superiority makes up for, in his mind, his lack of a voice.
He considers himself better than other people to such an extent that he is willing to be generous on those he favors. Though he sees it as sharing his goodness and good fortune so that they can better themselves, in truth he just likes to give people things. In particular, how he feels afterward, when someone has enjoyed his present, and the power he has by giving the present. It is a form of communication he can do as well as anybody else. Friends will, thus, find that he will frequently give them gifts, even outside of typical holidays and are advised to accept them with a smile. He does not like to have his gifts rejected, even with a customary 'oh, you shouldn't have', and such a 'slight' can throw him into a tantrum easily.
With all his pomp and pride and sense of self importance, Erahn is still very much a little boy. The events of his life have led him to be very insecure about his situation or, at best, shakily secure. His mother's affair, parent's separation, and his Grandmother's pitifully unique condition have made him somewhat mistrustful of the world. He is wary both of change – because it keeps happening and causing him trouble – and stability – because it won't last . And, he is very careful with his own actions.
On the surface, he may seem to trust a friend. However, much like his own beliefs about the nature of the world, he truly trusts nobody and nothing, not even himself, to be the same day to day.
This may, perhaps, be why sometimes he holds onto his convictions so incredibly tightly. When he is sure, absolutely sure of something, he refuses to give an inch. He can be mulish when he has something he believes in, and will keep at something until the bitter end. But these things are all too infrequent.
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 5:19 pm
Erahn's family used to be a fairly typical Dovaa family; He was born in the Celestial Plane to a beautiful and peppery Firani mother and an artistic Peisio father. He lived with them and his grandmother, his mother's very sensible Gaili mother. Things were happy for little Erahn: His father filled their home with wonderful artwork, and his mother had enough energy to do what she wanted to do and play with her equally energetic child, and his grandmother patiently taught him the things that he, as a young dovaa, needed to know. There was no pressure on him to choose a clan, and no reason for him to leave the safety of the fortress, and no stigma on his lack of a voice. He was happy.
His mother, Myralade, was a warrior and not built for a life of staying in the Plane. She would, occasionally, foray into Magesc to help some trader friends of hers acquire goods, bringing back a few dragon orbs for the Dovaa cause and interesting materials to intrigue her child. On one such journey, she happened to meet a handsome Oblivionite man by the name of Jujai Veyos.
At first, they were simply friends, adventuring together for long periods of time, providing safety and companionship in the dangerous world of Magesc. It soon grew into something more - Myralade had grown bored with her husband, though it was no fault of his own: a placidly pleasant artist simply could not keep her blazing nature satisfied for long. She found herself gravitating to the raw, reckless, soulless passion of Jujai. They became lovers, in secret at first. But soon, it was a secret that could no longer be kept.
When Erahn was five summers old, Myralade became emboldened by her still-waxing passion for her lover. She ran away with the Oblivionite, leaving her family in the Plane for torrid romance in the dark land of Soldul.
Erahn was very young at the time, and did not entirely understand what was happening, but his father, Tarhal, was devastated by the betrayal. His grandmother had to spend a great deal of time talking the artist off of the verge of foolish and reckless acts. His father was saved by an unexpected turn of its own – he too had been having an affair, his needs for male companionship not being met in the marriage his parents had approved of. He had loved Myralade - she had been his soulmate - but she hadn't been everything he had needed. His lover, a pleasant family friend named Mao Baanji, offered to take in Tahal and take care of him until he could take care of his own son. He understood the situation, and made himself available to help however he could.
Mao soon found that this would be more difficult than he had thought. With Tarhal outed, blame turned from Myralade to him – of course she had run away – he hadn't been able to please her. Friends and family turned on the poor man, claiming that he should have tried harder, or that he was somehow sick, or unworthy. This did not help his health, and Mao found taking care of him to be a full time job. He attempted to find money wherever he could, once even – shamefully – trying to coerce Erahn to steal from his teachers.
This meant that Gia, Erahn's grandmother, had to raise him full time. Gia had a comfortable sum of money and made a decent living as a masseuse, and also had many kindly well-off connections. Erahn was well provided for. Her mind was beginning to go, but only beginning, and she saw enough time ahead of her to make sure her grandson would be settled.
And then the Mara came and Gia saw no other option than to be called into action to defend the plane. She returned mostly unscathed physically, but the stress and trauma of the battle began to hasten her deterioration. To take the stress off of her and allow her to stay functional, Erahn was removed from her care and boarded full-time at his music school. He pretended not to worry about Gia's absence, but he did.
Erahn's attitude and rampant emotions gained him few friends – if any – among other children. His teachers found him a prodigious, if petulant, student, and it was around this point that his genius with music began to be noticed. One of his teachers, a gentle Dovaa man who owned a music shop, decided to take Erahn under his wing and try to mellow the boy as he encouraged his genius. It was a hard task, but it was rewarded – Erahn respected the man and listened to him and began to behave a little better.
When Gia returned, victorious, from the Mara campaign he remained aloof to her but was relieved. The stress of the war, however, had excellerated her aging somewhat, and she began forgetting things. At first, it was small things, like where she had placed a small object. And then, vaguely, she began to become confused at times. Worried at this progression, the old warrior put more and more of Erahn's education and care in the arms of the conservatory, until she had very little personal involvement in his life. She began to seek help, knowing that her grandson needed her.
Erahn didn't think he needed anybody. As he continued to learn his chosen craft and to explore his talents, he decided that music was all he needed in the world. After all, it was the only thing that made sense.
Currently:
Life just doesn't stay still for Erahn, much as he would like it to. Stuck in his music school, with few people he can trust, he is understandably frustrated, withdrawn, and wary. How he will deal with this... has yet to be seen.
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 5:24 pm
Thoughts on the Great Engagement:
Erahn doesn't care about the great war and would be perfectly content to remain in the Celestial plane his whole life.
Thoughts on Magescans:
Orderites
Aside from their interesting colors, Erahn knows little about Orderites. He is sure that they are quite boring.
Oblivionites
Erahn has a mild grudge against Oblivionites, though he has never met one. By his thinking, if his mother hadn't met one, she would still be there and his life would still be happy. He is aware that not every one is the same, but he doesn't like them in general.
Dovaa
He is one, so obviously they are the best. In fact, he wouldn't mind if he never met a member of one of the other races ever. Or even if he never left the plane.
Hybrids
Erahn doesn't have any thoughts on hybrids, and – though he is aware they exist – they are almost mythological to him...
Thoughts on the Dragons:
Erahn is staying far away from dragons. No dragons for him.
Thoughts on Khehora:
Khehora are interesting, and Erahn thinks that they are beautiful. Erahn knows of a few bonded, and might like a bonded of his own someday, when things are a bit easier for him...
Home
Erahn's dormatory room at the Conservatory is a small, bland room with a bed, a desk, and a window looking out onto the city. It is cluttered with his instruments, intrument care kits, a music stand, and various sheets of music. On his desk is an ink pen, a blotter, and blank or partially blank sheets – music in progress.
But that is not home to him.
Home is his Master's music shop, full of the warm smells of wood and metal and oil and bindings. Home is when he is alone in the shop, and can hop down from his perch at the register to explore the instruments. Home is listening to an instrument that has been tuned and played for the first time as it obeys the commands of his hands and breath.
Home, for Erahn, is music.
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 5:52 pm
Dislikes:
Saediasti: An annoying country girl who keeps getting in Erahns way and annoying him to no end. And, she doesn't like his music. Erahn considers her a stupid hag.
Undecided:
Yrre Gladwyn: A baker (?) That Erahn met when he was very, very young. Of course, Era misbehaved thoroughly. He doesn't remember them, though...
Jessamine: A girl that Erahn met when he was out playing in the square after class. Having few friends, when it became clear that she was unable to speak, he had been excited, thinking he had finally found a friend who understood. Two words had been all it took to shatter his dreams – she was selectively mute. Interpreting this as her 'lying' to him, he stormed off in a huff. But sometimes, he wondered if he shouldn't talk to her again. Unfortunately, he never really saw her around again and he has since mostly forgotten about the incident...
Family:
Gia Kessim: Erahn's grandmother, she is the only solid thing in his life. He adores her and clings to her, but, as she too begins to crumble, he does not respect her.
Myralade Kessim: Erahn's mother – she left him when he was very young and, though he has forgotten much about her, he has not forgiven her for that.
Tarhal Rhyko: Erahn's father had a breakdown when Myralade left him, and it's been downhill for him ever since. He struggles, now, even to express his feelings in his art, though in recent years he has produced some small paintings with his lovers help. Erahn feels nothing for him.
Mao Baanji: Erahn's “uncle” is really his father's lover. He has been considered a part of the family – or at least a close friend – for as long as Erahn can remember. Erahn used to like Mao, as he was a nice man, but then Mao tried to take money from Erahn's master, and Erahn lost any and all respect for this man. He hasn't forgiven him.
Jujai Veyos: An Oblivionite archer that stole Erahn's mother from him. Erahn doesn't know more than that and the man's name.
Delenael Veyos: Erahn's hybrid half brother, born of Myralade and Jujai. Gia got a letter once about his birth, and Erahn caught wind of the rumor, but otherwise knows nothing about him.
Other:
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:03 pm
Music is always on his mind. It is, in a very literal way, his life. This is where most of his talents lie, and this is where most of his time will be spent.
Erahn is a musical genius. Give him an instrument, and once he figures out how to play it, he can make beautiful music with it. He can write music too – the moment he was taught how to do musical notation, he started to write it. It is a little hard for him to get the music in his head onto paper, but he's figuring it out and getting more and more adept at it. He usually plays his music alone, but he is beginning to become integrated into class groups.
His Master has also taught him how to recognize specific instruments and, to an extent, how to craft and tune them. Although initially considering the task needlessly pedantic and boring, Erahn has since gained an appreciation for well made instruments, how they work, and how to care for and improve them.
Other skills include writing - since it is his main method of communication, Erahn also has very clear handwriting, and can execute it very quickly. He has a vocabulary slightly above other children his age, but he is not particularly erudite.
He also can make sounds – just because he is voiceless doesn't mean that he can't make other sounds and break the silence in other ways. If he can make it with his teeth, lips, lungs, and tongue alone – or with his body – he will do it. Huffs, raspberries, clicks, and other noises are used to punctuate his very active body language.
Of course, he can be very quiet when he wants to – especially when he is listening to music. He has very keen ears and perfect pitch and has the ability – if it can be called that – to get so into the music that he loses himself...
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:06 pm
In his room
Blank music sheets
Pen and ink
Instruments
Practice sheets
Study books
On his person
At least one instrument to play at his leisure
Paper to write or play from
A slate and chalk for communication
Small pieces of jewelery, which he does like
Nice clothes – always nice clothing!
A snack, because he gets hungry.
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:13 pm
* = RP
* = Other
* = Does not count
** = already counted
In Progress
Abandoned
Complete
X _ Not so Sweet Sales / Yrre and Erahn /
X _ To your health / Saediasti and Erahn /
X _ Voices Unheard / Erahn and Jessamine /
X _Off to War /Solo /
X _Gia's Return/Solo - Civilian Path / *
X _Song of Rain/Solo / *
X _They Were Just Laying There /Solo - Profession Choice / *
X _Music and Magic /Solo / *
X _Music as a Craft /Solo with Master / *
X _ Shattered Faith /Erahn and Vazaera and Ahita/
X /Inspiration / Profession Solo *
XX _ Testing Times /Saediasti and Era/ *
X _Fierce and Frustrated / Solo /*
XX _ Pitch and Roll /Erahn and Ziquah / *
X _The Roar of Thunder / Class Choosing /*
X _ name / Characters /
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:19 pm
Apprentice - Adept
July: O
Completed Journal Setup: O
Clan Choosing Solo: O
Profession Choosing Solo: O
1 Solo RP on why your character has decided to forgo training as a warrior: O
5 RPs: OOOOO
Journal Reflections: O
2 Solo RPs Learning/Practicing the Profession: OO
1Solo RP with Profession Master O
Socialization
Meet and complete RPs with at least Four other characters: OOOO
'Infant' stage Arc
Rps: OOO
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:20 pm
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:24 pm
Meet People:
At this point, I just want him to meet people and be his horrible little child priodigy self.
Eventual travel:
Eventually something will get him out of the plane and into travel. Once this happens, and depending on how it happens, other things might happen.
Musical Magic:
If he meets Ataya, they might temporarily ally and figure out how to cast complicated magical spells with music. Or something. Making the dead dance to his music is appealing to Erahn in a disturbing way. We shall see ~~~
Outfit Inspirations:
X
X
X
X
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 6:27 pm
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Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2015 12:34 pm
Off to War
Solo
1188 Words
Erahn stood next to his grandmother as she leaned over her bed. He held out his chalkboard, showing her the neat, tidy writing on it. He was a very good writer for his age - his writing was always clear, precise, and very readable. But then again, he had to be.
"Do I have to go?" read Gia outloud. Reading his writing out loud was a habit she had developed early on, a way – in her head - to give the silent boy a voice she could hear instead of merely see.
They were in her room, a spartan yet pleasant space that, in it's very basic, unadorned white walls and warm-colored hardwood floors, was almost a mirror of her personality. She set out her cloak, her daggers, her gauntlets, her armor and her boots, relics from her old fighting days when she and her daughter had had more in common. She had brought them out now to oil their dry expanses and repair their cracks and make them usable again; It had been a long time, after all, since she'd worn them in battle. "Yes, Erahn. I do."
Erahn wrote again on his board, showing it to her and pointing to the new line. He didn't erase unless he had to, a trick of economy that his grandmother could appreciate.
"Why?" she read, looking back at him with her stern, coppery eyes, "Because I have to, Era. The Plane is under attack and, retired or not, I need to do my part.”
Erahn wrote, rapidly, turning it to her and tapping for emphasis. "No I don't?" she read, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at the board, then back at her grandson, "Yes I do. I have a duty as a warrior to protect my homeland. And to protect you."
He wrote again, frowning briefly before finishing his statement and showing it to her. "But I'm a masseuse? And its spelled M-A-S-S-E-U-S-E, not O-O-S-E, dear." She smiled lightly at his indignant expression, "Yes I am. That has nothing to do with anything. I'm retired, Era, but I can go back if I choose, and I so choose." she reached out to touch his hair, twining it's long platinum-blonde strands around her fingers. He got that from his father, the poor man. She wondered what he would look like with his mother's chestnut red locks, or her own frosted brown. Likely, he would still look beautiful. He would grow up handsome, that she knew, even if she did not live long enough to see it. “I am going to war, Era.”
He brought back his board and erased it carefully, wiping it – and the remains of the rest of their conversation – away. He was starting fresh, Gia noted, and she waited with concern. He rarely bothered to take that much effort to clear a board when he still had plenty of space to write, not unless he really felt what he said.
He bit his lip as he wrote on it in broad chalk strokes. He turned the slate to his grandmother, his violet eyes moist and imploring. Gia read the message, and felt her own eyes begin to fog with emotion. For once, her grandson was not the spoiled brat that everybody knew him as, but a lonely child who had been through troubled times, and who was being asked to deal with more trouble still.
"No, Era. No.” she said queietly, “I'm going." She reached out to touch his face gently, smiling sadly but invitingly at him. "Come. Help your old grandmother with this..."
Erahn huffed angrily, quickly slapping away his grandmother's hand before running from the room. She looked after him and sighed as she heard the door to his room slam shut like a thunderclap, reverberating through their decent, if modest, home.
"Well," she murmured, "That was not unexpected."
~
Erahn didn't come out all that day. He didn't even emerge the next morning to see Gia off as she went to the edge of the portal to engage the Mara in seige warfare. He didn't even go to his window to meet her gaze as she searched for one last memory of her grandson's face to sustain her on the road. Instead, he lay on his bed staring at his writing board, the chalk unrecovered from where it had rolled onto the floor.
Stay.
Don't go.
He read his own words over and over, staring at it until his 'uncle' - his father's lover and caretaker - came to take him to his dorm at the music conservatory. He hadn't packed, of course, so the man had to do it for him. Erahn moved to the window as he did so, staring out at the city view outside.
He did not resist as the man took him and his luggage to the rooms at the conservatory, and sat quietly on a chair, watching, as the man unpacked his things. Finally, with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, 'uncle' left him alone. And so Erahn sat alone, staring blankly at the unadorned walls.
His grandmother had gone off to war. She had gone, like his mother and father. Erahn didn't know where his mother had run away to with her other man, or if his father would ever get better from the sickness that clouded his mind. He didn't know what would happen to Gia out there in the fighting.
Who knew if any of them would come back? They'd left him all alone.
He hugged his knees to his chest, balancing on his tailbone on the chair.
He was all alone and voiceless. He felt tears wet his eyes and stream down his face, but his sobs were silent. He could not scream. He could not wail. He could not cry: He could not even sob. All he could do was sniffle and cough as mucous welled up in his nose and threatened to drip out. He let it drip. Erahn didn't care about it at all as he wiped his sleeves against his nose.
He just didn't care.
Stay.
Don't go.
Being a demanding brat of a child, Erahn asked for lots of things, and had a tantrum whenever he didn't get them. He cared about those things right now almost as much as he cared about his snot. His things didn't matter. All that mattered were those three words, still scrawled – though now smudged from transit – on his board.
Stay.
Don't go.
Right now, he would trade all of his toys and goodies and sweets and, even, his music to have been given what he'd asked for in that moment.
Stay.
Don't go.
But his grandmother hadn't stayed. She'd gone.
He crawled from the chair and picked up his board and chalk, scrawling in another two words and, after a long pause, a third word – one he rarely ever used.
Come back.
Please.
He lay down on his bed until he was called to the communal dinner, and that night, alone and away from anybody who could see him, he silently cried himself to sleep.
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Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2015 12:37 pm
Gias Return
Solo - Civilian Path
902 Words
“Hey!” The cry was indignant, almost a squeal of insult. “Watch it, brat!”
“You shoved me, you little...”
“Hey! Spike-head! Stop it!”
Erahn ignored them as he continued to shove his way through the legs of the gathering, jostling, hopeful and eager crowd. Being unable to say 'excuse me', Erahn felt entitled to shove and jostle to get what he wanted. He was small, young, a mere scrap of a child, and it was his ego alone that propelled him, wiggling, kicking and punching, through the crowd. Era resented all these other people, though he was here for the same reason they were – the Mara were defeated, and the soldiers that had gone to fight them were finally home. Gia was coming home.
He'd regretted not saying goodbye to her when she left, and he'd realized – a few days into the siege – that he might never see her again. Erahn was not usually guilt-stricken, but as he had gone about his routine in the conservatory, he had definitely felt guilt's painful touch on his heart. Gia was all he had left of his tattered family. She held some measure of security in place.
But she was coming home today, with the irrelevant others. He managed to emerge from the front of the crowd, just for a moment, barely long enough to see the long line of straggling, tired soldiers begin to come down their block, beneath bright banners welcoming them home. He was pulled back into the surging crowd before he could glimpse any face, let alone Gia's. He huffed and stomped, frustrated, before renewing his shoving and leaping, trying to get beyond the horned heads around him. All he could manage was a forest of legs, and a thousand aches and pains. Erahn was an energetic, fit child, but he was a budding musician, not an athelete, and he was nearing his limit of tolerance for such activities. He was tiring, but he had to see her. He had to see her. He needed proof that she was safe and home. He needed to see her here, no matter how long it took or how bruised he got trying to reach the front. The alternative, that his grandmother hadn't come home at all, was unthinkable.
Erahn panicked in the press of the crowd, terrified he would miss her because of the people around him. What if she passed by and didn't see him? He couldn't call her name – he could be missed so easily. Idiots! he thought, striking at the people around him, desperate for space to move. He wished he had brought an instrument from his dorm – a good trumpet blast would clear the way with its ear-splitting cry, and it would also tell her that he was here and waiting. But he had rushed over with the rest when he had heard the news of the soldier's return, bringing nothing with him: not even his chalk and board.
His struggles and desperation paid off again as he thrashed his way through the crowd to the front, just in time to see his grandmother's distinctive horns, her mane of frosted brown hair, her angled profile.
It was her!
Erahn kicked viciously again, freeing himself from the press of the crowd. And then, with all the strength that his relief could muster, he launched himself at her, racing through the streets as a little green-and-silver clad blur and colliding into her abdomen, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He hugging her as he buried his face in her stomach, his eyes burning with tears.
“Erahn...” she said, stroking his hair softly as she recovered from the impact, “My little Era...” She detangled him from her gear and picked him up, letting him curl into her shoulder and snuggle into her neck. He ignored the sharp, dirty, oily smell of her skin: it was her. Gia was alive. Gia was safe. Gia was here.
Relieved and exhausted, he rested in her arms. By the time she could break away from the throng of returning soldiers and return to her home, he was nearly asleep. She kicked off her shoes and as much of her leather armor she could manage with her grandson in her hands, before holding Erahn out from her and looking at him, appraising. “Oh Erahn...” she whispered, “My little note-child...” she kissed his face, and kissed it again and again, as if she couldn't believe that it was possible. “Promise me, Era...” she whispered, hugging him tight to her again. Erahn stirred from his relaxed comfort, surprised at the heaviness in her voice. “Promise me, baby, that you will never be a warrior. That you will never be out on the battlefield. I never want you to see what I saw. To feel what I felt... what I feel now...” she loosened her hold, staring into his violet eyes, her own amber ones haunted and searching. “So please. Erahn... promise you will never be a fighter.”
Erahn blinked and nodded. He promised – he'd never intended to be a fighter anyway. He was rewarded with another tight, warm hug. “I love you.” she said, shivering, “I love you, my baby boy. I love you so, so much.”
Erahn didn't understand, but he was glad he could make her happy with just a nod. Maybe, now, she wouldn't leave. Not again.
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Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2015 12:39 pm
They Were Just Laying There
Solo - Profession
829 Words
Erahn hated minding the store. That, and making the instruments that his master sold, seemed like a waste of his time which. At less than ten Summers of age, Erahn considered his time valuable, and adults who wasted it reprehensible – with the notable exception of his grandmother.
Erahn wanted to learn music: that was the whole reason he was at this conservatory, with this teacher, doing endless exercises and practicing to perfect his chosen art. Music was what he had always wanted to do, ever since he had been old enough to bang two pots together, he had loved music. Erahn had been enrolled in the conservatory at the earliest age they would accept him, and unlike the other children whose relatives had pushed them into learning music, Erahn loved it. It was more than just a school subject to him. He loved the sounds that music made him capable of making – the tinkling sounds of the piano, the deep voice of the bassoon, the echoing yelp of the guitar... He could say so much with their sound. He could play with it, the sound and instruments more satisfying toys than tin soldiers and stuffed dragons.
The goal was always the sound for Erahn. The instrument made the sound, to be sure, but Erahn saw no joy in the crafting of the instruments, or in the instruments for sale. Soundless, they were dull, of no interest to Erahn.
He glowered at the glass front of the store, hating every second of his vigil. Why his teacher had decided to set a small boy to mind the store, Erahn didn't know. He obeyed his teacher's wishes and he was capable of making a sale, here and there. But he hated it.
He was so bored.
Erahn's attention drifted to the clock, watching as it ticked away the seconds, then the minutes. He never got as far as the hours, fidgeting as his attention fell back to the storefront. It was slow, slower than the growth of grass, and Erahn was sure that no one would come in at all today to break his monotony. It would be just his luck.
He turned to the till, counting and re-counting the change until that became boring too. If Erahn could groan, he would have. Instead, he gazed imploringly at the tiled ceiling. It felt as though the boredom would stretch into eternity and, if it did, Erahn was sure he would die from it. Unhappily, his gaze returned to the uninteresting storefront, and immediately lit upon a clarinet on display in the window, one of many quality pieces crafted by his teacher and sold in the store.
Playing it, Erahn realized, would be the perfect cure to his boredom. It was exactly what he had wanted to do all along... but it belonged to his master, made for sale and thus off-limits to a young student like himself. He was constantly reminded, by his fellow students at the conservatory and by experience, that he should not dare to reach for the beautiful things his teacher's possessed - Not if he didn't want to be branded a thief and kicked out of the school. Erahn was many things, but he was not a thief. Never a thief. He didn't think it was stealing to want to test the sound of an instrument, or to investigate a few pages of handwritten music, but he didn't want to risk being kicked out of school. Not this school. The teachers had enough reason to dislike him, mostly – he knew, with the certainty of his youthful arrogance- because he was better than them and they knew it. He had to watch himself.
However...
Erahn glanced around furtively, his lilac purple eyes darting around the store as if his teacher might suddenly appear before him. There was no one around but Erahn, and the store almost painfully silent.
If he picked up the instrument and played with it, who would know? Who would care? He could, he realized, get away with this.
He decided to pick up the clarinet, running his hands boldly along it's beautiful black sides and touching the shining tabs that ran along its length. He checked the reed and, satisfied with it, pressed his lips to the mouthpiece and began to blow into it. He closed his eyes in concentration as he figured out how to play it.
Though he had not learned much about the clarinet, he managed to produce something resembling music after some initial discordance. He lost himself in the music, well equipped to entertain himself for hours.
In the back of the store, hidden by shadow and spell, his master – temporarily back from his chores – watched his student, smiling fondly as the boy fumbled his way along the sounds. He listened for a few minutes, pleased, before the older dovaa slipped out through the back door to further chores, leaving his student to his peace.
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