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Sergeant Adrien-Baptiste Chandonne
Unusually Usual
Thu Feb 1, 2007 16:11 (XFF:,

It was not an early morning for Adrien-Baptiste Chandonne. Rather it was simply an extremely late night. He had returned to his solitary room the evening before intending see to the upkeep of his weapons and uniforms and had been at it since then. He didn’t particularly notice the deficiency of sleep, he was too caught up in maintaining appearances and upholding decorum for anything other than the first rays of morning sunlight to alert him that he had missed the entire nights rest. He rose from polishing the tiny silver sword which adorned his collar, declaring to those who could differentiate his navy uniform from the basic black, that he was a Sergeant, the only on currently in residence in the Black Tower.

Crossing his room to his wash basin, Adrien splashed icy water on his face and exhaled a sharp “Whoo!” at the shock. Privation marked the lives of the Black Tower’s trainee corps. For what the Soldiers and Dedicated could do with the One Power, Trainees had to do with their own two hands. Sergeant Chandonne wasn’t a lazy man, but he considered those privations to be just another facet of his training. Hot wash water was a frivolous expenditure of energy. Besides, there were few better ways to rouse one’s self from sleep than with the arctic slap of unheated water. He noted with disdain that this basinful was getting cloudy, and decided to toss it after shaving. Once that ritual was completed, and performed with the blade of one of his hand axes, the Caemlyner dressed. He had lain his uniform for today out last night, from underclothes to boots. He donned each article without pretense of hurry, neither did he dawdle. Crisp efficiency was now the hallmark of the man who had once yearned to lift himself above his meager beginnings. He had done that, and now sought to become the finest example of soldierly there could be. Pinning the distinguisher of his rank, the sword pin, to his collar was the last thing he did before exiting his apartment and locking them. Dropping the key into his breaches pocket, he paused a moment to adjust the lay of his axes on his body, and strode calmly, confidently out into the burgeoning day.

The classroom was not difficult to find, though it was only one of a multitude. After the year he had spent within the Tower’s walls, Adrien could find anything he desired almost with his eyes closed, though the infirmary he could find without fail. He tossed that thought into the conflagration he kept constantly smoldering in his mind and felt serenity settle about his shoulders like a cloak. He was by no means the biggest man in the Tower, or even the Trainee Corps as it came to it, in fact he was very nearly the smallest, only the mousiest Cairhienan were smaller, but his physique had filled out since his arrival. Where once he had been thin, he was now if not exactly stout, at least dense was perhaps the right word for it. Muscle stretched his skin to tautness and tested the resolve of his uniforms stitching anytime he exerted himself. He needed to draw new uniforms, but had yet to do so, seeing the concern as superfluous. He had not grown up, so he was still four inches shy of six feet, but he had grown out, and thirty pounds of muscle brought him to a much more respectable one hundred and seventy five. His hear was still a tight mass of sable curls, and his eyes remained twin gems of jade in his sun tanned and dimpled face. He had schooled that face to smooth stillness as he pushed the door to the classroom open and stepped inside, casting his gaze over those assembled, he especially took note of the sleeping Asha’man in the back of the room. He also noted the lack of any of his trainees in the room, he hoped a few would show, he simply detested being the Corps sole representative, but there were, he supposed, worse examples to display. He took a casual seat on the edge of a table, noting the odd assortment of flotsam which littered the room. Improvised Weaponry indeed. he mused disconnectedly but with no hint of discontent. This could, and he surmised, should be fun. He held no expectations, but neither had he reservations. Almost, almost was he eager.

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      • Speaking of bad newsJohan speaking for Jonas, Fri Feb 16 02:48
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    • Unusually Usual — Sergeant Adrien-Baptiste Chandonne, Thu Feb 1 16:11
    • Sleeping on the job?Soldier Afailla Dafrin, Thu Feb 1 07:51
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