W O R T H • A • S H O T
Ash 14, 121 Age of Steel
The notion was perfectly logical in Avamande's mind, the young Hytori seeing little reason not to at least make the attempt. Ale'Ephirum was the foremost scrivening workshop in all of Kalzasi, and therefore all of Karnor. For their part, they were... not the greatest of scriveners in the city, nor even a particularly exceptional one, but they had every intent of becoming such an august figure. Surely that would count for something, even if the body of their work thus far had been lackluster - at least by their own standards. They had muddled along on a variety of freelance work, correcting shortfalls in inventory here and there, providing their services to those who could not afford the work of the masters. The time had come for a change.
Avamande had grown both frustrated with themself and the lack of direction that they had received from their parents, feeling as if life had begun to pass them by with little to show for it beyond another day of tedious existence. A part of them knew that better could be had, though what that meant was still an unknown in their mind. They did not expect employment and tutelage under the luminaries of Ale'Ephirum to solve all of their problems, but it would at least give them a measure of purpose, something to achieve and work for beyond the vague and absurd task that they had been left with when their sires had departed from the city to continue their own research. The rest they could figure out along the way.
But they had begun to dawdle. Standing in the Plaza of Jeweled Arches, they made their way down the side street that they knew the workshop laid upon, and came to a stop at the shop immediately before it. Straightening out their outfit in the reflection of the building's window, they drew in a single breath to steady themselves before continuing on. The door was a simple dark wood, no different from its neighbors, a decision against ostentation that made them briefly wonder if they were overdressed. Entering inside, they made their way through the surprisingly narrow hallway, coming directly to a desk, the shop continuing onward to its right.
Avamande was not a particularly social person. When forced to speak in such matters, they did so directly without flourish or self flattery. "My name is Avamande, I am a Scrivener of no particular merit but with a desire to change that. If Ale'Ephirum is accepting apprentices, I am willing to perform any work required of such a position," they said without any preamble to the person sitting behind the desk.
