A small sliver of light shone against the hard wood floor. It was just after sunrise, and Varthorin Riddick was wiping sleep from his eyes groggily. Dressed only in his smallclothes, the young man slowly walked over to his washbasin, which was filled with crisp, cool water. Taking a handful, he splashed his face. The water had the desired effect, and Var felt himself awaken much more.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the cracked mirror and crossed the room, back to the nightstand, in a few steps, old floorboards creaking ever so slightly. In a small, wholey cushioned chair sat his clothes. Sitting on the lumpy old mattress, he started to don his baggy breeches. Stifling a yawn, the youth grabbed his soiled cotton shirt and forced it over his head. His brown traveling boots came next, and a dark blue unembroidered woolen coat. A dark black wide-brimmed hat completed the outfit.

Propped against the windowsill was his black quarterstaff. Leaning forward, he grabbed the thing and stood up. Stretching for a moment, he grabbed his pack and opened the creaky door letting in close gently behind him. Using the staff to walk, he made his way down the wooden stairway into the common room. The place permanently smelled of tabac smoke and alcohol, but Var barely noticed as he took a seat in the far left corner.

Only of few of the inn's patrons were up this early, some had already left, and others like himself would be gone after they had their fill of the inn's complimentary breakfast. A chubby waitress dressed in a long white apron approached him. His stomach began to growl slightly, but she didn't seem to notice. Var told the woman what he would like (eggs with a side of bacon and toast) and she turned and proceeded back to the kitchens to place his order with the cook.

There would be no dice games this early in the day, so Var patiently waited while his meal was prepared, occasionally fingering the dark black dragon-tooth ter-angreal that hung from a leather thong around his neck. He was lost in thought as the waitress arrived carrying his plate of breakfast. Her voice shook him out of his reverie as she laid the food out on the table, along with a small mug of ale. Muttering his thanks, he tipped her with a small silver coin.

She gave him a warm smile as she left, making her way to the other tables. Taking up his silverware, Var began to eat the steaming pile of food that lay before him. Suprisingly, it wasn't half bad considering that he was staying in a very low quality inn. Wolfing down his food as if someone were going to steal it from under his nose, he checked out of the inn about a half hour later.

Shopkeepers had just begun to open for the day as Var entered the not so crowded streets of Tar Valon. Already, smells of goods reached him from every direction, and although he had just eaten, his stomach growled indignantly as he passed by sweet after sweet. Coin was hard to come by when you were Varthorin Riddick. Other things caught his eye, as blacksmiths showed off "the finest swords in the world", talking parrots squawked out greetings, and old ladies beckoned the crowds to come and see their fine woven rugs.

Var was not here to lose all of his coin in a day, but rather to enroll himself in the Black Tower, which was an obsidian mammoth of a monument, stretching above the other great buildings in the island city of Tar Valon. The sun struck the Tower in such a way that it seemed to glimmer in the distance. Var continued his pace, walking many blocks before finally reaching his destination. Sweat had formed on his brow, and he wiped it with a small kerchief.

Finally, I'm here...

To be continued somewhere in the Black Tower.