[sup][h1][b][center][color=black] K A Z R A N[/color]
[color=00aeef]K A Z R A N[/color][/center]
[/b][/h1][/sup][hr]
Everything Kazran had ever owned jostled around in a single burlap strap slung over his shoulder. He had spun it around to cover his chest upon hopping down from the wagon. He had managed to hitch rides among friendly merchants and farmers for weeks, offering up the meager sum he had saved little by little until a single coin remained.

He was not a particularly appealing sight: he was large, covered in grime, and his hair was slick with grease.  The sack was barely large enough to store his more treasured items, a simple wrapped handle clearly peaking through. The only thing on his person that clearly denoted his intentions in Atutania was a polished kite shield strapped to his back. He had cleaned it three times a day since he had gotten it, and it shone so bright you could practically see your reflection in it. Murmurs had followed him since he left Itenaire, but no one dared to accuse the teen of theft.

Especially not when they saw what tool he carried in his bag.

Atutania's festivities meant little to Kazran. He had not the coin nor the time for pleasant festivities. The smells did send his stomach twisting into knots of hunger, but he simply ignored his body's cries for sustenance. His soul needed to be quenched first.

If he failed here, nothing else mattered.

So, Kazran ignored the opulence on display. He ignored the aristocrats and nobles who seemed to watch the common rabble for entertainment. He ignored the greedy stares leveled at the shirld on his back. He ignored all but the target of his journey: the trial grounds.

It was easy to recognize, by the high concentration of armed young adults. Most looked rather well put-together, with a not-insignificant assortment of those with noble blood. Kazran's heart sank at the sight of the others gathered. He knew that only some of those here gathered would even make it past the first steps: what chance did he have of being one of them?

Kazran wandered into the dwindling line in front of the sign-in desks, drawing a few odd looks from hopefuls and attendants alike. He shuffled along, until he was finally ushered before one of the attendants.

[color=gray]"Can I get your name?"[/color]

[color=00aeef]"Kazran... Kaz for short"[/color]

[color=gray]"Family name?"[/color]

Kazran simply shook his head. [color=00aeef]"I'm from Itenaire."[/color]

The simple statement seemed to be enough of an explanation, as the appropriate information was catalogued and noted. She half-turned towards the proving grounds, motioning towards the various facets. [color=gray]"You are encouraged to demonstrate your skills as you see fit. If you did not bring equipment, some may be provided for you."[/color]

Kazran shook his head , untying the knotted rope that drew his sack closed. He loosed the opening, before pulling out the large warhammer. He let the momentum and gravity swing the weapon's head towards the ground, forming a small spiderweb crack in the cobbled stone. The attendant's eyes grew wide for a moment, before clearing her throat. [color=gray]"Ah... well, um, we have some practice dummies set up over there for you. Feel free to find a free space first and set up as you wish."[/color]

Kazran nodded, smiling softly as he hoisted the hammer up onto his shoulder with ease. He lumbered through the crowd towards the training area. He searched for a sizable enough rock to take a seat, setting his belongings down in front of him as he did. He looked up to watch the other aspiring applicants go through their routines. His hands absentmindedly fiddled with the buckles and straps of the breastplate he had been gifted. He lifted it up over his head, easily shimmying his arms into their respective holes before sliding it over his chest. The arm guards were much easier, as were the greaves.

As he reached the bottom of his sack, he felt a small metal chain. His heart seemed to speed up as he removed the small locket from the sack, running his thumb over the small crest of the Bonderal family. He couldn't bring himself to open it, instead sliding the chain around his neck. He tucked the pendant under the breastplate, and rose to his feet. He readjusted his old smithing gloves, plucked his hammer and shield from the ground, and strode off towards the melee practice dummies.

[i]He had everything to prove.[/i]