Ascher stumbled and hit his knees. A sudden, blinding pain in his mind exploded, blotting out all other sensations. The world, and reality itself seemed to melt away. All that was left was pain.
Ascher reached out a hand and steadied himself on a rough wooden wall. His mind lurched suddenly as his perceptions all flooded back into his mind.
a wall??.....what wall?....
Ascher opened his eyes slowly, and saw a rough-hewn plank wall before his face. It was dim, as if maybe it were night. Ascher blinked a few times and the tears and blurriness cleared from his eyes finally. He looked up and saw a sign with an anchor and rope on it swinging from a metal arm overhead.
He was at a shipwright's shop. Ascher shook his head slightly, and instantly wished he hadn't. He hit his knees as a wave of blinding pain washed over him. Both hands went instantly to his temples, and his mouth stretched in a silent scream that refused to leave his lungs.
After several long moments, Ascher was able to stand once more, and he lurched through the doorway into the shop. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright lanterns inside. A shocked cartographer, ink stains thick on his hands and his face, looked up from a writing desk in the back of the shop. Two carpenters grunted at Ascher as they walked through the shop to the warehouse in back. Both men had sawdust thick on their boots.
A handsome middle-aged woman with short cut hair and a deeply tanned face came from around the counter, a broad smile on her face. Her hips moved with the subtle sway of a woman used to having rocking deck planks beneath her barefeet more often than solid land.
"Welcome, stranger," The woman said, motioning toward a table holding several small model ships, "Can I interest ye in some o'tha finest ships in Jhelom? They're sleek, they're fast, and they're more than sea worthy, I can promise ye."
Ascher blinked a few more times, trying to piece the woman's words together through her slanting broguish accent. Once he understood her, Ascher started to shake his head but thought better of it. Instead, he raised his hand, and cleared his throat enough to speak.
"Where am I?" Ascher asked, his throat dry and cracked.
The woman frowned a bit, "Why, yer in Jhelom, sir. Are ye well?"
Ascher frowned, and tried to think. He definitely didn't remember being in Jhelom. The last memory he trusted was standing outside the dungeon Shame. He'd gone to check a rumor he'd heard... but what the rumor was, he couldn't remember. All he knew for certain was that it had been urgent.
Ascher brought his hand up to his temple again, and stopped cold. He stared at his hand and the blood stains on it. There were more up both of his sleeves, and several spots on his boots. The blood was old, dried and crusted. But there was no mistaking that deep, rusted brown color for wine. Ascher inspected himself quickly, but found no marks... no wounds of any kind, and no new scars...
Whoever's blood it was, it wasn't his....
Another's Eyes ~The Reckoning~
Forum rules
This forum is strictly for in-game RP and storyline related info. For more general discussion, please post in General Discussion or Other, as appropriate.
This forum is strictly for in-game RP and storyline related info. For more general discussion, please post in General Discussion or Other, as appropriate.
Re: Another's Eyes ~The Reckoning~
*cracks open a jug of cider*
Vish lyk dis humie awlreddi. *burps* Den wad habbun?
Vish lyk dis humie awlreddi. *burps* Den wad habbun?
-
DwMcAliley
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am
Re: Another's Eyes ~The Reckoning~
Ascher sat in the common room of the Inn, staring into his ale without touching it. He had rented a room in the middle of the night, and the innkeeper had asked no questions. The portly man had charged triple his going rate, but he had asked no questions. His discretion was, at times, more expensive than indiscretion it seemed.
The new clothes he was wearing were stiff, and itched in a few places, but they would do until better could be had. At least he knew that a witch wouldn't be able to track him by some thread or fragment of a garment he'd left behind. Ascher pulled at the open collar of his shirt absently, his ale still untouched. It was dark outside again, and the lamps along both walls were lit. His table, though, back in the far corner away from the door, was always in the shadows.
This was the third day he'd been here, waiting. He was beginning to think he'd hit a brick wall. With a half-shrug, and a sigh, he picked up his warm ale and drained it in a single gulp. A dark-haired, tanned woman with an inviting smile and pretty ankles brought him another. She bent low over the table, even though it wasn't neccessary.
Ascher winked at her and flipped another gold coin onto the tray. His drinks were always free here, but he never forgot to tip the staff. Their discretion was, after all, much cheaper and more valuable than their employer's.
As the waitress swayed her way back to the kitchen, Ascher noticed a new comer sitting at a table in front of the fire place. He hadn't been there a moment before, and despite never losing sight of the front door or the stairway, Ascher hadn't seen him come in. He reached under the table and eased the stilletto strapped to his right calf in its sheath. He could pull the dagger in an instant and either throw it or use it in a close fight, and the tops of his boots kept it well hidden. If the stranger were hostile, it would be his best bet.
As if reading his mind, the stranger turned and tipped his wide-brimmed hat at Ascher. Then, he rose, and started towards Ascher's table. Ascher slowly pulled his dagger, but kept it hidden under the table. So far, the man had done nothing overtly hostile, but better to be safe, just in case. Ascher's memory of the last few days was full of holes, and he couldn't be quite certain who he might have offended, or how seriously.
When the stranger was about three paces away, he paused, and bowed slightly, "May I join you, Lord Kraw?"
Ascher's eyes narrowed, and he snorted loudly, "Ain't a lord. Haven't been for a long time. They stripped me of that title."
The man chuckled softly, "My father once told me," He replied, "That it isn't the title that makes a man a Lord, but rather the man that makes the title worth having."
"A wise man," Ascher replied. He couldn't place it, but there was something about the man that seemed familiar. Even though he kept his head down so his face was hidden by his hat, there was something that nudged at Ascher's memory."
The man cleared his throat softly, and Ascher jumped, "Please, sit," He said, motioning to the chair across from him.
The man sat and removed his hat. His face wasn't known to Ascher, but there was somthing about his eyes that still made Ascher's mind roll over and over again, spinning in place. He was certain he'd never met the man before in his life, but he was just as sure that he knew the stranger well.
"Thank you," The man said, "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here or not."
"You seem to know me," Ascher said, keeping his right hand carefully out of sight, "But I have no idea who you are."
The man smiled, "Of course," He said, "How rude of me."
The man reached in a pouch, and Ascher's hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger. The man drew out a large silver coin, and slid it across the table. Ascher glanced down at it, and froze. One the side facing up was a tongue of flame. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet the other man's.
"What is on the reverse?" Ascher asked.
"SxC," The man replied.
Ascher flipped the coin over, and saw that the man was correct. It was a Mark of the Keepers, and Ascher hadn't seen one since the fall of Silvervale. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.
"How did you get," Ascher began, but the stranger held up his hand.
"He told me that he wished to remain anonymous for the moment," The stranger answered, "He also told me that this mark would vouch for my sincerity and that you would listen to what I have to say. You may keep the Mark, though the one who gave it to me said he may ask for it again at some time."
Ascher nodded, lifting the heavy silver coin, and slipping it into an inside pocket in his doublet. He brought the stilletto out, and laid it casually on the table. The stranger's eyes widened a little.
"I wasn't sure if I could trust you," Ascher said, then shrugged, "To be honest, I'm not sure I can trust myself. You still haven't told me your name."
The man blinked, startled, "I'm sorry," He replied, "I thought the Mark was more important, since we have never met, but I suppose a name is still in order. I am Veyttin of Brae. I know who you are, Lord Kraw. And I know something of what has been happening to you."
Ascher's eyes narrowed again, "What are you talking about?"
"You have been cursed, m'Lord," Veyttin said, "And not some average, run or the mill gypsy incantation. This is a heavy curse, and one laid by a Master of the Dark Arts the likes of which this land has rarely known. When you sleep, he commands your body. You cannot stop it, and you cannot control it until you learn two things... The first is the nature of the curse. You must find a Wizard that can read its energy and translate that energy."
"You said I need two things," Ascher said, when Veyttin didn't continue, "What's the second?"
"Well, M'Lord," Veyttin said, fidgeting with his hands, "I don't know. The one who sent me is currently searching for that answer himself. I do know one thing.... You have a hound trailing you. The one you are waiting for tonight, the one you have seen following you since Minoc. His hand is not at the tiller, as it were, but he serves the one who is. And he is coming to this inn tonight."
Ascher's hand went immediately to the stilletto, but Veyttin's reactions were swifter. He suddenly had the thin dagger in his hand, inspecting the blade and the point. Veyttin's expression never changed, but suddenly Ascher was certain that it was a deadly man sitting across from him. He wondered briefly how things might have turned out if one or the other of them had harbored ill intentions...
"You have a choice to make M'Lord," Veyttin said, setting the dagger calmly down between them, "The man coming here, his name is Fiorn the Wanderer. He is the man you saved on the road to Trinsic. The one you lost at the Village of Paws. And he is the only connection we know of that leads directly back to the source of this curse. If anyone knows what the second element you need to cure you is, it will be this man. But he is also deep in the plots of the enemy and is sure to be a part of some worse evil that we haven't yet fathomed."
Veyttin stood, leaving the dagger where it was. Without another word, he turned and walked away. Ascher glanced down at the stilletto, and when he looked back up the man was gone.
"I'm not a Lord," Ascher muttered, sipping his ale, "I'm just a simple Watchman...."
The new clothes he was wearing were stiff, and itched in a few places, but they would do until better could be had. At least he knew that a witch wouldn't be able to track him by some thread or fragment of a garment he'd left behind. Ascher pulled at the open collar of his shirt absently, his ale still untouched. It was dark outside again, and the lamps along both walls were lit. His table, though, back in the far corner away from the door, was always in the shadows.
This was the third day he'd been here, waiting. He was beginning to think he'd hit a brick wall. With a half-shrug, and a sigh, he picked up his warm ale and drained it in a single gulp. A dark-haired, tanned woman with an inviting smile and pretty ankles brought him another. She bent low over the table, even though it wasn't neccessary.
Ascher winked at her and flipped another gold coin onto the tray. His drinks were always free here, but he never forgot to tip the staff. Their discretion was, after all, much cheaper and more valuable than their employer's.
As the waitress swayed her way back to the kitchen, Ascher noticed a new comer sitting at a table in front of the fire place. He hadn't been there a moment before, and despite never losing sight of the front door or the stairway, Ascher hadn't seen him come in. He reached under the table and eased the stilletto strapped to his right calf in its sheath. He could pull the dagger in an instant and either throw it or use it in a close fight, and the tops of his boots kept it well hidden. If the stranger were hostile, it would be his best bet.
As if reading his mind, the stranger turned and tipped his wide-brimmed hat at Ascher. Then, he rose, and started towards Ascher's table. Ascher slowly pulled his dagger, but kept it hidden under the table. So far, the man had done nothing overtly hostile, but better to be safe, just in case. Ascher's memory of the last few days was full of holes, and he couldn't be quite certain who he might have offended, or how seriously.
When the stranger was about three paces away, he paused, and bowed slightly, "May I join you, Lord Kraw?"
Ascher's eyes narrowed, and he snorted loudly, "Ain't a lord. Haven't been for a long time. They stripped me of that title."
The man chuckled softly, "My father once told me," He replied, "That it isn't the title that makes a man a Lord, but rather the man that makes the title worth having."
"A wise man," Ascher replied. He couldn't place it, but there was something about the man that seemed familiar. Even though he kept his head down so his face was hidden by his hat, there was something that nudged at Ascher's memory."
The man cleared his throat softly, and Ascher jumped, "Please, sit," He said, motioning to the chair across from him.
The man sat and removed his hat. His face wasn't known to Ascher, but there was somthing about his eyes that still made Ascher's mind roll over and over again, spinning in place. He was certain he'd never met the man before in his life, but he was just as sure that he knew the stranger well.
"Thank you," The man said, "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here or not."
"You seem to know me," Ascher said, keeping his right hand carefully out of sight, "But I have no idea who you are."
The man smiled, "Of course," He said, "How rude of me."
The man reached in a pouch, and Ascher's hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger. The man drew out a large silver coin, and slid it across the table. Ascher glanced down at it, and froze. One the side facing up was a tongue of flame. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet the other man's.
"What is on the reverse?" Ascher asked.
"SxC," The man replied.
Ascher flipped the coin over, and saw that the man was correct. It was a Mark of the Keepers, and Ascher hadn't seen one since the fall of Silvervale. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.
"How did you get," Ascher began, but the stranger held up his hand.
"He told me that he wished to remain anonymous for the moment," The stranger answered, "He also told me that this mark would vouch for my sincerity and that you would listen to what I have to say. You may keep the Mark, though the one who gave it to me said he may ask for it again at some time."
Ascher nodded, lifting the heavy silver coin, and slipping it into an inside pocket in his doublet. He brought the stilletto out, and laid it casually on the table. The stranger's eyes widened a little.
"I wasn't sure if I could trust you," Ascher said, then shrugged, "To be honest, I'm not sure I can trust myself. You still haven't told me your name."
The man blinked, startled, "I'm sorry," He replied, "I thought the Mark was more important, since we have never met, but I suppose a name is still in order. I am Veyttin of Brae. I know who you are, Lord Kraw. And I know something of what has been happening to you."
Ascher's eyes narrowed again, "What are you talking about?"
"You have been cursed, m'Lord," Veyttin said, "And not some average, run or the mill gypsy incantation. This is a heavy curse, and one laid by a Master of the Dark Arts the likes of which this land has rarely known. When you sleep, he commands your body. You cannot stop it, and you cannot control it until you learn two things... The first is the nature of the curse. You must find a Wizard that can read its energy and translate that energy."
"You said I need two things," Ascher said, when Veyttin didn't continue, "What's the second?"
"Well, M'Lord," Veyttin said, fidgeting with his hands, "I don't know. The one who sent me is currently searching for that answer himself. I do know one thing.... You have a hound trailing you. The one you are waiting for tonight, the one you have seen following you since Minoc. His hand is not at the tiller, as it were, but he serves the one who is. And he is coming to this inn tonight."
Ascher's hand went immediately to the stilletto, but Veyttin's reactions were swifter. He suddenly had the thin dagger in his hand, inspecting the blade and the point. Veyttin's expression never changed, but suddenly Ascher was certain that it was a deadly man sitting across from him. He wondered briefly how things might have turned out if one or the other of them had harbored ill intentions...
"You have a choice to make M'Lord," Veyttin said, setting the dagger calmly down between them, "The man coming here, his name is Fiorn the Wanderer. He is the man you saved on the road to Trinsic. The one you lost at the Village of Paws. And he is the only connection we know of that leads directly back to the source of this curse. If anyone knows what the second element you need to cure you is, it will be this man. But he is also deep in the plots of the enemy and is sure to be a part of some worse evil that we haven't yet fathomed."
Veyttin stood, leaving the dagger where it was. Without another word, he turned and walked away. Ascher glanced down at the stilletto, and when he looked back up the man was gone.
"I'm not a Lord," Ascher muttered, sipping his ale, "I'm just a simple Watchman...."
-
DwMcAliley
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am
Unmasked ~The Reckoning~
Fiorn stepped into the common room of the inn, and everything seemed to suddenly go still. The noises that one always finds when men gather with drinks in hand faded to a dim murmur. The fires seemed to dim, and the colors greyed out. All except for one table, pushed back into a corner, half-hidden by shadows.
That corner seemed to glow with the light of a thousand suns. When Fiorn turned toward it, for a moment, it threatened to overwhelm him, and he raised his hand instinctively to shield his eyes. His quarry was there, and the exhileration of finally tracking Kraw down threatened to overwhelm him.
Fiorn stood transfixed for a moment, and then the enchantment broke, and the world flooded back in on him. Fiorn scurried out of the inn, knocking over a waitress in the process. As he did, he cast a glance back over his shoulder.
The overwhelming glow was gone. In its place was a pair of cold, hard eyes, following his every movement. Kraw gripped a bare dagger in his hand so hard, his fingers were white.
Fiorn's blood ran cold at that glare. It was one he had seen in the face of countless men and women before....the look of pure, incandescent hatred. He knew that if he'd been standing within arm's reach, Kraw would have burried that dagger in his heart without hesitating.
Then, the closing door broke Kraw's glare, and left Fiorn out in the night, panting and trembling. Kraw had known he was coming, and had recognized who he was on sight. That look of open hatred and rage was all the proof Fiorn needed.
Somehow, he'd been unmasked..... That meant the time to strike was growing near.
That corner seemed to glow with the light of a thousand suns. When Fiorn turned toward it, for a moment, it threatened to overwhelm him, and he raised his hand instinctively to shield his eyes. His quarry was there, and the exhileration of finally tracking Kraw down threatened to overwhelm him.
Fiorn stood transfixed for a moment, and then the enchantment broke, and the world flooded back in on him. Fiorn scurried out of the inn, knocking over a waitress in the process. As he did, he cast a glance back over his shoulder.
The overwhelming glow was gone. In its place was a pair of cold, hard eyes, following his every movement. Kraw gripped a bare dagger in his hand so hard, his fingers were white.
Fiorn's blood ran cold at that glare. It was one he had seen in the face of countless men and women before....the look of pure, incandescent hatred. He knew that if he'd been standing within arm's reach, Kraw would have burried that dagger in his heart without hesitating.
Then, the closing door broke Kraw's glare, and left Fiorn out in the night, panting and trembling. Kraw had known he was coming, and had recognized who he was on sight. That look of open hatred and rage was all the proof Fiorn needed.
Somehow, he'd been unmasked..... That meant the time to strike was growing near.