Selben: A Clean Slate

While Zeb spends his time arguing with Bonie, making up with Bonie, arguing with Audric, or plotting with Zargon and Audric on how to gain entry into Mirabar despite Rale Cotchen's ban, Selben spends his days in isolation, deep in study.

Now that interest in the river keep has dulled, he appropriates the musty cellar of the keep as a makeshift study, scavenging bits of discarded wax from about Dagger's Deep and stuffing it into the recesses of various bits of bone he has collected.  His trophy is a bit of skull from the assault on Dagger's Deep--though unsure, he thinks it may have actually belonged to one of the masons who was working on the keep before he was slaughtered.  "It fits," he whispers to himself, smiling slightly.

Concluding his studies, Selben closes his tome of spells, into which he has been making nearly an entire page of neatly-organized notes, the recipe for a new enchantment.  He leaves his materials, however--the working men of Dagger's Deep have given Selben a wide berth, always feeling a little uncomfortable around the black-robed apprentice, and Selben has little fear that his study will be disturbed.

When he emerges, the sun has nearly set, and Selben looks towards the tents.  He smiles to himself as he sees Seirsha outside her tent, and as if having settled on some decision, walks that way with purpose.  She has avoided him, for the most part, since their encounter at the beach, but something about being around Seirsha makes his chest hurt in a good way.

Though he approaches with confidence, that confidence quickly fades as she turns to regard him and he sees her look around, as if making sure others are nearby, before smiling at Selben weakly.  He senses her discomfort, and he nearly turns around and runs away before she breaks the silence.  "Good evening Selben," she says.  "Can I help you with something?"  She cranes her neck as if trying to see beyond the hood of his robe to look upon the face that resides within.

Selben pushes a few rocks on the ground with his toe before responding.  "Yes," he says nervously, then pulls back his hood, realizing how weird it is to have it up during a conversation.  Selben looks a mess--his skin is pale from too much time spent in the cellar or underneath the heavy hood of his black robe.  His facial hair grows in thin and patchy, and looks as if it has not been groomed in several days.  His hair, likewise, is an unkempt mess, hanging unevenly to the base of his neck, with bits of bone braided into it as fetishes.

"I need," he begins before correcting, "I mean I want...can you make me look handsome?"  The question, blurted out, is an odd one, and despite many of the strange requests that may have been presented to Seirsha during the more questionable parts of her past, this one is entirely new.  There's a desperation in his voice, however, that catches her off guard.

What follows is a rapid and scattered explanation of Selben's request, an apology for being so awkward about it, and information about why the request is so important to him.  Seirsha listens on, compelled by the young man's vulnerability and honesty, and once finished, she gives Selben a warm smile, inviting him into her tent.

When he finally emerges, he has discarded the worn, heavy black robes.  She has untangled his hair, cut it neatly, and removed his ghastly adornments.  His face is clean-shaven, his nails trimmed--the finished result is almost unrecognizable.  Seirsha hands him his robe, tied into a bundle.  "Thank you, Seirsha," Selben says warmly.

"Any time," she teases, as Selben leaves her tent with a bounce in his step.