Quentin Boone
02-05-09, 02:59 PM
Please note that this solo is to act as back story for Quentin, and as such, abilities etc will be different to what is currently in his profile. This quest, however, will play no effect on his current timeline.
The Council had ordered the young Quentin to attend the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel that morning. Perhaps, finally, the call had come for full acceptance into the Witch Hunters; those of the Church of the Sway who enforced certain laws, ensured magic was regulated to their own stipulations and were feared by any who had inklings of magical ability. Quentin Boone, a thirteen year old who had been training for acceptance into the Order for the past four years, was sure that the day had come where he would finally earn his cloak and license for magic use. Having woken especially early in anticipation of the ceremony, Quentin went about his usual morning routine of prayers and general preparations for the day.
Quentin had always wanted to be like his older brother, Jeil, since he was only a toddler, and this desire continued as the young man got older, motivating him to study the religion of the Sway and train to become a Priest of the Hunters. Now Jeil was a High Priest, Quentin so rarely saw his hero and senior sibling, but he had a feeling that the man would be there at the ceremony sure to take place today. He didn't breakfast, favouring instead a short session of meditation to not only settle his nerves, but to assist in remembrance of the words that would need to be spoken - he had witnessed his brothers inauguration into the Witch Hunters, and many subsequent others; taking the time and effort to memorise, from that first witnessing, each word, action and necessary inflection involved within the ritual.
He had dressed in the robes assigned to those who were apprentices, sure this would be the last day to wear them. Of a single piece, the grey wool of the robe was itchy, and irritated Quentin's skin to the point where, at times, he would need to request healing because of the rashes that covered his flesh. He would be glad to be rid of such an awful garment. Straw sandals protected his feet from the occasional rough stone in the city of Knife's Edge as he walked through the streets towards the Cathedral. It wasn't a long walk, and Quentin travelled it with a slight skip in his step and whistle on the tongue, allowing the hymns of the Sway to fill the air for all who were about their daily business just as the sun was to rise. A few looked upon him and smiled, seeing simply a boy whistling the hymns of the Church, others smiled as yet another young lad had decided to find happiness within the clergy. Of course, one would have to ask if they would be so welcoming of Quentin's boyish whistling by the end of the day.
The Council had ordered the young Quentin to attend the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel that morning. Perhaps, finally, the call had come for full acceptance into the Witch Hunters; those of the Church of the Sway who enforced certain laws, ensured magic was regulated to their own stipulations and were feared by any who had inklings of magical ability. Quentin Boone, a thirteen year old who had been training for acceptance into the Order for the past four years, was sure that the day had come where he would finally earn his cloak and license for magic use. Having woken especially early in anticipation of the ceremony, Quentin went about his usual morning routine of prayers and general preparations for the day.
Quentin had always wanted to be like his older brother, Jeil, since he was only a toddler, and this desire continued as the young man got older, motivating him to study the religion of the Sway and train to become a Priest of the Hunters. Now Jeil was a High Priest, Quentin so rarely saw his hero and senior sibling, but he had a feeling that the man would be there at the ceremony sure to take place today. He didn't breakfast, favouring instead a short session of meditation to not only settle his nerves, but to assist in remembrance of the words that would need to be spoken - he had witnessed his brothers inauguration into the Witch Hunters, and many subsequent others; taking the time and effort to memorise, from that first witnessing, each word, action and necessary inflection involved within the ritual.
He had dressed in the robes assigned to those who were apprentices, sure this would be the last day to wear them. Of a single piece, the grey wool of the robe was itchy, and irritated Quentin's skin to the point where, at times, he would need to request healing because of the rashes that covered his flesh. He would be glad to be rid of such an awful garment. Straw sandals protected his feet from the occasional rough stone in the city of Knife's Edge as he walked through the streets towards the Cathedral. It wasn't a long walk, and Quentin travelled it with a slight skip in his step and whistle on the tongue, allowing the hymns of the Sway to fill the air for all who were about their daily business just as the sun was to rise. A few looked upon him and smiled, seeing simply a boy whistling the hymns of the Church, others smiled as yet another young lad had decided to find happiness within the clergy. Of course, one would have to ask if they would be so welcoming of Quentin's boyish whistling by the end of the day.