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Author Topic: Clarion Quietus (IC) Part 1  (Read 300879 times)
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Ilona Ebonblade
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« Reply #25 on: June 09, 2010, 05:56:02 PM »


Whirling around the sad girl vanished, replaced by a woman of deadly grace. Siobhan steped forward, putting herself between Grandfather and the newcomer, her lithe form shifting into a fighting crouch, her own flattened ceduku held in a reverse grip.

Covered in ash and soot, her face streaked, flame red hair falling around her like a mane she was instantly the image of ferocity, a young plains leopard, ready to fight to the death to protect what little she has not yet lost.

"Who are you? Come any closer and I'll kill you"

She could feel it building again. A crackling in her ears, a flush passing across her skin.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:11:32 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #26 on: June 09, 2010, 06:17:56 PM »


Looking momentarily put out, the new arrival shook her head, and lowered the point of her own blade.

"There's really no need for that, I assure you.  I'm really quite harmless."

Turning her gaze to Grandfather (as best she can past his hot-tempered guardian), the young woman ventured a rueful smile.

"Grandmother sent me.  From the description, I'd say that you were Grandfather, sir - though I apologise if I'm leaping to false conclusions.  And it certainly seems that I owe you an apology in any case."  A flick of the eyes back to the  fire-haired young woman included her in the sentiment.

""I was meant to arrive with a warning that trouble would be coming this way, but seem to be rather late..."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:12:17 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged

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« Reply #27 on: June 09, 2010, 06:26:07 PM »

The blood-splattered old man narrowed his eyes as he walked forward on pierced and broken ankles, pushing past Siobhan's blade, calmly grabbing the newcomer's hand. Turning it over, he smiled.

Siobhan followed him, confused and worried, ready to protect him, and saw a simple ring revealed on her finger. An unpolished and fairly plain piece of jewelry, silver, flat across the top, inlayed with the image of a golden key.

On impulse she opened her own hand and quickly sorted through the pile of trinkets Grandfather had given her. Sure enough, the tarnished and worn ring that had once been part of her door knocker bore the same emblem.

"Late is a matter of perspective," Grandfather said releasing her hand. "what exactly did that crazy woman wish me to know?"
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:14:58 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged

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« Reply #28 on: June 09, 2010, 06:38:04 PM »


Doing her best not to shudder at the mangling Grandfather had received, the new arrival nonethless winced sharply a couple of times.  As the old man approached her, she hastily tucked the cedeku blade out of sight under the back of her coat, and let him take the now-free hand.

"Well", she said somewhat guiltily, trying to haul her gaze up to the man's face and away from his more hideous injuries. Her eyes seemed to have other ideas though and could not help wandering over the array of blood stains and wounds as she spoke.

"She thought that you should know that the Keepers have been betrayed.  Zane - thin chap.  Carries a thick black scimitar and dresses like a duellist of the old courts, from the description I have.  He's turned.  He's working with a Legate by the name of Donovan.  Shaven-headed, tough chap who dresses like a Witch-Taker, though he doesn't seem to be in the child-stealing business.  I'd guess a Mage Hunter, given his ability to recruit and - apparently - pardon people to help him.  Certainly hope he's not a full-blown Witch Bane...."

Swallowing, she offered Grandfather another apologetic smile, gently squeezing the fingers of the hand he held.

"I could offer you something for the pain, if you like...?  I have a few preparations.  Not that I'm exactly used to dealing with this sort of... grade of... ahh, problem, I admit."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:19:38 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #29 on: June 09, 2010, 06:47:40 PM »

The old man looked down at himslef and smiles sadly. "Hmph. Yes. Yes, I think that would be...good. As much as I hate to admit it." He leaned on Siobhan for a moment.

"Zane..." he said shaking his head. "It was always a danger, I suppose. Youth is wasted on the young. He would not enter the town. I always got along with him better than the others. I am not surprised he would not want to face me now. He let that Witcher, Donovan was it? Let him have all the fun. The fact that I am still alive tells me he has not told them everything. That, at least, is a blessing."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:20:10 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #30 on: June 09, 2010, 07:01:23 PM »


Frowning, the new arrival pursed her lips, then swung her pack off her shoulders, letting it thump to the ground with a faint sigh of relief. The staff tucked through its strapping clattered as it landed.

"So... either he's compelled, and is deliberately holding things back when he feels that he can, or else he's intending to trade more information later.  But revealing that he failed to provide information in a manner that directly led to your survival would be a risky strategy, to say the least.  "I betrayed you and thereby let the enemy live when you thought you'd killed him", isn't generally a good line to put to a Legate, let alone one who can rescind your pardon at will.  Hrmmm."

As she talked, she busied herself with various pouches and pockets, crouching down and laying out a patch of leather on the ground and mixing various colours of powder and fragments of plant upon it.

"I suppose that another option could be that he really has turned, and is earnestly working to destroy the Keepers - but is also in the employ of another party in service to the Shadow.  Hence, directing potentially crippling blows against us, while setting up a future revelation of apparent ineptitude on the part of Donovan.  But in that case, he would probably want Donovan to trust him, and would presumably have participated more directly if he could bear to do so...."

The unpleasant-looking mess was carefully funnelled into a small pottery jar, which was then stoppered and shaken vigorously.

"I hate trying to get into the mind of the Shadowed.  It's so dreadfully murky."

Holding out the jar, she mustered a smile.

"I'm afraid that this will taste dreadful, but it should do something to dull the pain a little.  And fight off infection, though I suspect that might not be a problem for you."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:23:03 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #31 on: June 10, 2010, 02:54:33 AM »


Siobahn nodded at the newcomer's comments, disarmed despite her apprehension, there was something about the woman that was strangely...calming.

"If that's the case, then we need to be gone from here before he does turn completely. They will come back."

She slipped the re-wrapped book and the other items in her pack, sliding the blackened ceduku behind her back beneath her belt.

"I'm sorry for the reception before, I am Siobahn.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:23:54 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #32 on: June 10, 2010, 03:54:23 AM »

Still crouched down to pack away her array of miniature pots and packets, the new arrival flashed a gring to the woman who had introduced herself..

"Oh, don't worry about it.  It's just a relief to find anyone alive, and a pleasure to meet you both.  I... wasn't terribly hopeful when I first saw what had happened."

The young woman shook her head ruefully before straightening up and looking somewhat sheepish.

"Oh!  I'm sorry - dreadful manners!  Words do sometimes run away with me..."   She thrusts out a hand.  "Amethyst.  Grandmother calls me her factotum, but to the Legates I'm a wandering purifier of water and small-time merchant.  I come in useful for the petty problems below the attention of even the Umbral Catholicon.  And in the process I get to gather lore, tell stories, and keep an eye on things for the Keepers."

Shooting a glance to Grandfather, she narrowed her eyes a little.

"If we are to move, then I fear that you might be even slower than I normally am," she says ruefully.  "I suspect we've got time before anyone comes back here... but then again, we might already have had that, given how... old the fires here look.  Hmmmm."

Looking to Siobhan, she cocked her head.  "Do you need anything?  If we're to set out, I should probably handle treatments now, if I can.  Any illness or injury?  I'm afraid that we might be looking to you as our physically adept protector.  I'm a little more dangerous than I look, but not by much, so it would be nice to have you at full strength if we can manage it."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:25:21 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #33 on: June 10, 2010, 07:13:11 AM »

Grandfather took the wreched tasting concoction and choked it down with a grimace while the two young women spoke. When finished he wiped his mouth with a bloody wrist, coughed and handed the jar back.

"Thank you." He said with a wan smile.

"I'm afraid I will not be joining you. I am drawn elsewhere." He said. "I had intended to send Siobhan to Grandmother anyway. Now that you are here, you can lead her back.

"They will track you, so I'd like you to still take the route and meet with the people I told you about." He said to Siobhan, "They can smuggle you in ways that will make it very difficult to trace you."

As he spoke he began walking down the path leading out of the village.

"The stones I gave you will provide you food. Simply put one in a container of water and boil it. The ring was to identify you to Grandmother, though it still marks you as an Agent of the Keepers. It seems our secrecy may be lost, so I'd advise both of you not to wear them openly. The blade is for protection, the sheathe is sewn into the inside of the coat, across the back. You know the laws on blades. Do not get caught with it. The jacket is a treasure. It is dragon skin. It will not burn. More than once I escaped the shadow by lighting something on fire and hiding inside."

"This is where we part ways." He said, standing at the crossroads outside the ruined village. "Take through the cornfields as long as you can. That will make it harder to track you." He looked down at his bloody footsteps left behind him. "Me, I will be easy to follow." He suddenly grinned like a sly teenager, "Though I can sometimes be remarkably difficult to find."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:29:22 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #34 on: June 11, 2010, 02:20:01 AM »

Siobahn hesitated for a moment the grasped the old man in a delicate hug, letting actions speak the words caught in her throat.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:29:42 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #35 on: June 11, 2010, 03:47:27 AM »

Amethyst frowned worriedly at Grandfather, clearly considering his plan without a great deal of approval - and found herself scrambling to gather up her possessions and catch up with the other two.

"I certainly hope that you're right.  I can give you something simple to chew upon, to help with the pain once that concoction wears off", she said, struggling to properly arrange her pack and staff.

"I'd argue about sticking together so that we can help you - but if you're anything like Grandmother, it'd just be wasted breath.  So...."

Delving into one of her pockets, she drew  out a little bundle of pale, woody strips, twisted around and tied into a knot.

"It's a preparation of the inner bark of a very helpful tree.  Just chew on a strip for a while, and it should do a little to alleviate discomfort.  Might help to keep you going a bit longer before you have to rest.  And please do your best not to get caught, or we'll have the most dreadful feelings of guilt about leaving you."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:30:28 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #36 on: June 11, 2010, 10:41:10 AM »

Grandfather simply smiled, returning the hug. When it broke he looked into his surrogate granddaughter's eyes. "I have one last thing to give you."

reaching out and taking Amethyst's walking stick from her, he began to trace lines into the dirt path.

"There is power in symbols. They do more than convey words. They create Meaning. Language itself is but a collection of auditory symbols we use to communicate our ideas, and there is nothing in the world so powerful as an idea. They are the keys to the universe."

His hands moved the stick in long, practiced, elegant curves bringing the sigil in the dirt back in on itself.

"Some ideas transcend Meaning and go straight to Truth. Language struggles with them because of their inherant breadth, but sometimes, a symbol will suffice. Such is their power."

With a few more sweeping lines, he finished his work and stepped back revealing what he has drawn. The two young women looked, brows furrowed. In the dirt was a strange but flawless spiral, that instead of being made from one solid line, was made up of many short curved ones. The first started from a central point, the second arced and lead not only to the third, but also touched one of the later marks in the next "row" up. The whole thing brought to mind the idea of a flower blooming, or of a powerful, outward spinning wheel. Something in the way he has drawn it left no doubt that the path of the lines leads only outward. Never in.

Siobhan shook her head, not quite grasping what it meant, but feeling that it must be important somehow.

In contrast, Amethyst's brows rose. Grandmother's relentless demands that she learn to read, not just to understand the words on a page, but to be able to dissect and recognize the author's intentions, made much more sense all of a sudden. Something inside her was singing upon seeing it, though it was no language she had ever seen before. It's meaning filled her and she could not help but smile.

The symbol represented something terribly and wonderfully powerful.

"The dark one seeks this. He seeks to stamp it out. He understands that stopping the spread of ideas is the fastest way to sew despair and destruction. If I fall, I need to know that someone still carries this. Careful now. It is not something to be revealed lightly. It's presence in someone's mind can be noticeable to people who know how to observe such things. Passing this along endangers both the giver and the receiver, and the more people that know it who gather in one place, the greater it's power, and the easier it is to notice. Such is the nature of ideas."

He handed back the staff. "Sorry about the blood." He said, scraping out the sigil with his foot. Both women inhaled reflexively as it was destroyed.

"You see? It wants to be seen. It wants to spread. I'm afraid I have endangered you both greatly by burdening you with this, but these times are not for the faint of heart. Go now. You have a long journey ahead of you."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:38:19 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #37 on: June 11, 2010, 10:51:17 AM »

"Oh, don't be silly," Amethyst chided Grandfather about the blood - moving to give him a hug of her own.

"And... thank you.  I was... I knew intellectually that symbols could hold real power, but... seeing that.  Thank you.  Suddenly a good deal makes more sense.  And thank you for sharing that one in particular with us.  I'm sure we'll do our best to defend it."

Sighing, she offered the old man a worriedly fond look.

"I truly do hope that we can meet again.  I'm sure that I could learn a great deal from you. Stoic bravery not the least of it."

She paused momentarily then looked to Siobhan.

"Ah... do you know where we're meant to be going?  I can certainly take you to Grandmother, but I have the impression that's not quite what's intended...."
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:39:27 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #38 on: June 11, 2010, 03:12:02 PM »


"No, we are going there but by a route that will be difficult to follow. For now we cut through the cornfield until we find the halflings."

She looked to Grandfather as he prepared to head off in the other direction, for a moment looking every bit the lost child she felt like. As she breathed in resolve seemed to wrap around her like her new coat, filling her with strength and purpose.

With a glance at her new traveling companion she ducked into the cornfield.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:40:48 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #39 on: June 11, 2010, 03:42:12 PM »

Only the rustling of the tall corn marked their passage. The dry packed earth barely showed the tracks of their boots as they made their way north and east away from the shattered, burned-out ruins that once held the lives of more than fifty people. Crows circled through the thin trails of smoke, and an old man walked on broken ankles down an ancient road, back to wherever he came from, leaving only bloody footprints in his wake.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 09:42:00 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #40 on: June 11, 2010, 04:37:16 PM »

Baden's Bluff, Arc of Zimra, Fall

Ironically, the prophet had become lost.

They did work fast. He'd heard stories, but really had no idea. He'd barely ever been outside of the decrepid, salt-bleached masonry of the Stone Docks where they'd had him cloistered for most of his life. Only occasionally did they usher him into a boat and take him out into the stormy seas or some desolate patch of grass and trees somewhere to teach him how not to die. He'd always been able to look up at the city as it climbed, step-like, up the side of the sea wall, but he had no idea how big it really was. As it turned out, it was enormous. He'd only been lost in the East Steps for ten minutes, dodging Hobgoblin Judicators and nearly cowering at the Beast of the Spire's unearthly cry, when a vice-like hand had gripped his arm and pulled him into an alley at knife-point.

The monster wrapped in a man's flesh had grabbed his arm.  Bones cracked. A knife came to his chin, pushing his head up as he cried out in pain. "Thank you, boy." Gorse rasped. "I couldn't have done it without you. Now. Scream." he grinned. "Bring the court to your rescue."

The conversation in the alley had been short. It was plain this man worked for the prophet's uncle, and had somehow discovered not only that he had left, but also where he was. He knew his uncle's agents were good, but he never suspected they were that good.

He knew he couldn't lie. This man, whoever he was, would know. So he told him the truth.

He had told him the truth. He had no choice. Gorse somehow knew when he was even thinking about lying. The monster's stone-hard fingers had broken through the prophet's skin and torn the muscle aside and played the ligaments and tendons in his shoulders like a harp as the two of them stood amid the gore that had once been Thomas Baden's most dangerous guards. So he told him. Everything, between gasps and screams. Where to find the hidden court. The names of those he knew. Where the visions said they would be. Everything. When he could no longer think of anything to repeat, the monster Gorse said "Thank you" before ripping his arms free of his body like wet paper and kicking him off the cliff, down to the shallow, rocky surf where the hands of the ravening dead clutched and grasped above the water.

The Agent hadn't missed a beat. The knife disappeared and the cloak had come off and wrapped around the prophet's shoulders.

"The ordinance says that you must keep your hood down and face open unless it is raining. Let your hair down to hide your features better. Pull the cloak around you like you are cold to hide what you are wearing. Walk quickly, don't stop to look at anything, act like you know where you are going, and above all, keep in the crowds." The Agent said quickly. "Walk straight down this road until it  tees off. Then turn left. Someone will find you. Go."

The man had disappeared out the other end of the alley, leaving him there, standing alone in an alley.
« Last Edit: November 22, 2012, 12:29:06 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #41 on: June 12, 2010, 09:22:23 AM »


Eirick shook off the phantom-pain, shivering.

Always so very real.

He reached up, tugging his hair loose from the leather tie as he had been instructed. A veil of blonde hair descended over his face, covering his features.

He wrapped the cloak tighter about his shoulders as another piercing cry rung out from the Spire.

No more time to waste.

He ducked his head, stepping with a false-surety out onto the street. Keeping a clipped pace, he let himself be absorbed by the throng of bodies, eyes to himself but keenly aware of those people surrounding him. When he reached the place where the road split he didnít even raise his head before bustling down the left path.
« Last Edit: June 12, 2010, 09:54:06 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged

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« Reply #42 on: June 12, 2010, 10:21:59 AM »

He walked, not really certain where he was going, weaving through the crowded streets, bumping and jostling people and trying to stick with the crowds.

A trio of Hobgoblin Judicators came down the road, their immaculately cared for armor glinting with polished metal and oiled leather. The Leather-wrapped truncheons and short thick swords hung at their hips. They stared hard at everyone, eyes flicking about.

"Yes, I saw him" the Judicator said to Gorse. After a moment of thought he continued, "In the East Steps, this morning. Directly across from the Early Rise Bakery. Three hours and 14 minutes before midday. He was southbound. Grey cloak. Worn brown boots. Undyed leather trousers."

Gorse smiled and looked down to a pair of collared Sniffers. They grinned up at him, ready, laughing.

The prophet jostled the man next to him into another person, diverting the Judicator's attention for a moment, and slipping past them.

Hope that worked

A throng of people converged at the intersection. A hand met his, tugging him to the right and pressing something into his palm. He never saw them, but he turned and slipped the small object into his pocket. Ahead of him was the gate to the Hearthhome District. More Hobgoblins, with their keen eyes and inhuman memories, manned the checkpoint.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:15:43 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #43 on: June 14, 2010, 04:26:41 PM »

He fingered the foreign object in his pocket, curiosity biting at his stomach like hunger. His eyes turned towards the Hearthhome Gate.

Curiosity will have to wait.

He let the road and the press of bodies carry him towards the checkpoint, watching out for sharp Hobgoblin senses, keeping his head down.

Images swirled through his head like smoke - ephemeral. Eirick sucked up a breath of air, gathering courage around him like the cloak he wore and trudged through the gate, attempting to slip through the press of bodies unnoticed. The Hearthhome District would hopefully bring relative anonymity, if only he could escape the notice of those sharp eyes.

Just a little bit further.
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« Reply #44 on: June 14, 2010, 06:32:46 PM »

A gnome in a low floppy hat with a bright red vest and a blue waist sash coming through the gate in the opposite direction came nearly to him before double-taking, clapping him jovially on the arm, turning him about and saying "Hey, John. I was just coming to look for you! Fancy catching you so soon!"

He quickly turned him towards the small tavern on the side of the road before the Hobgoblin gate guards had a chance to look his way. "You got time for a drink? Course you do. I wanted to talk to you about next week's shipment. Glad I didn't go all the way down to your place before finding out you weren't there. My schedules a real pile of Grak Scat right now. How's things with that bar wench who swears you're her one and only?"

He trails off as he drags the prophet into the tavern.

"Never go through the gates. Those Hobbos never forget a thing. Not a thing. Ever. They see you once, they'll remember you until the Shadow rises, and the Gate Wardens do nothing, all day, but watch faces and keep track of time. C'mon." He makes his way through the tavern to the bar and slips past waving to the bartender and shifting the knot on his sash from one hip to another. The bartender nods. "It's all ready to go for you, Wendle. Loading door's open, too."

"Hey, thanks, Bo. Just remember to take this off my tab."

And then they are in the back. A few twists and turns through a maze of hallways and doors and back of the tavern becomes the back end of a busy warehouse. A yelling match between a red-faced erenlander and a hobgoblin Vizier seems to be drawing most of the attention of the workers.

"Good old Drace." The gnome chuckes. "No one makes a scene like him."

The gnome waves to a man on a catwalk, who nods and tips his head to his left. The gnome smiles. "We're all clear."

He walks behind a pile of crates, uses a pry bar to pop the lid off one of them, pulls down the side, reaches up and pushes the prophet's head down with surprising strength and shoves him into the box.

"I'll meet up with you later. Follow the wall with your right hand until it turns right, and then with your left, until it turns left. Then just go straight. When you get to the other side, knock softly once. Do not knock again."

Without waiting for a response, the gnome closes up the crate, leaving the prophet in darkness.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:18:28 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #45 on: June 15, 2010, 08:55:54 AM »

The Prophet immediately hid his shock and slight irritation, falling into line along side the gnome. The first wave of panic died down quickly, the gnome's words filtering through his head

"Old friend, I'm also glad you caught me. Would hate to cause undue trouble," he chimed in, nodding in the right spots, smiling warmly. He did his best not to double-check behind them, nervousness almost overtaking common sense.

"Thank you," he whispers, glancing down at his eclectically dressed savior once they were inside the relative safety of the tavern hall. Embarrassment took up residence, inflaming his cheeks momentarily. After all that, he'd almost walked right to his doom.

He didn't ask if the gnome was an agent of his uncle's, despite the itchy instinct to confirm his allegiance.

He attempts to keep track of the labyrinthine pathway they follow. Who knew when he would need to take this path again. Sharp eyes follow to the commotion a little ways away, glad for the distraction.

He almost yelps at the surprising force the strange gnome demonstrates, but manages to keep the indignant sound from escaping as he climbs inside the crate. Listening closely to the gnome - Wendle's? - words, he chants the pattern over and over again in his head. Right... he places his hand on the right wall, not panicked by the lack of sight. His fingers trace along the right wall as he shuffles along silently, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. When the wall turns, he takes a step in that direction, then shuffles across to the other side, mind chiming in. Left... . Again, he shuffles quietly, expecting the wall to fall away at any point. When it does, he turns to it. His left hand to the wall, he follows it as deep as it will go.

There's something comforting about the utter lack of sight. He contemplates this as his knuckles rap twice against the door before him - two sharp, short sounds, and then his hand slides away.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:19:38 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #46 on: June 15, 2010, 12:12:16 PM »

The crate opens easily and a man with a dark brown neckerchief stands on the other side, helping him as his eyes adjust to the light.

As he stands, the man ushers him into a back room of some building, and out a door, no words are said and the journey is short. They travel into another building and as soon as the door shuts behind, his back explodes in pain. Then again, and again. The arm locked around his throat keeps him from crying out, and the first blow, deep into the spine, dropped his legs bonelessly out from under him. his arms scrabbled ineffectively, trying to dislodge the attacker, but his efforts only lifted his chin with strain. The knife went under his atttacker's arm, and drew across, opening his throat. As the light dies, the man with the neckercheif spits on him. A voice in the shadows says, "Shadow agent?" The man nods, slightly out of breath. The voice replies "Wrong signal?" The man nods again and finally speaks. "Third one this week. We're approaching a record." the voice in teh darkness laughs. "Hope they never catch on to the "one-rap-rule". Go get cleaned up. I'll feed 'im to the Maw."...

His breath catches inside the crate, his knuckles freezing just before falling on the wood. His heart hammers in his chest. He trembles.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:21:10 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
wolfen_child
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« Reply #47 on: June 16, 2010, 07:25:01 AM »

Eirick could feel his heart beating against his chest as the last the of vision slips from his mental eye.  Only once...He knocked once, a swift and hard tap with the back of his hand, like he had been told.  He knew the consequences if he did not follow the instructions exactly.

He waited, eyes glued to his feet, for the door to open into the room he had witnessed mere moments before in the real-like vision.  He prepared himself to see the man he had witnessed murdering himself to open the door.  He willed his hands not to tremble and his breath to come in an even, deep rhythm.
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Doomed Hero
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« Reply #48 on: June 16, 2010, 11:30:27 AM »

A moment later the crate opens. The man with the neckerchief hauls the Prophet out gently and closes the lid. He says nothing for a moment, clearly obeying protocal, and begins moving, then stops and turns.

"Are you him? Are you really him? No, don't tell me. Never mind."

He begins to move again, then stops. "Look, if you're him, thanks. For everything. We all owe you. We're going to get you out of here, don't worry. Ain't no one going to follow you." he says fiercely. "You ok? You look like yer mamma just raised Fell."
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wolfen_child
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« Reply #49 on: June 19, 2010, 11:43:45 AM »

He keeps his head down, wiping the sweat from his brow, still shaking off the tremors of an all too real vision. He's almost hesitant in his steps, body aware of the potential threat presented by the unassuming man. Despite what he knows, he still can't convince his shoulders to relax.

It was the right signal. The right signal...


Eirick's brow furrows at the strange questions. Am I who? he wants to ask, but the question sticks in his throat. As far as he knew, that would only lead to a future only slightly variant from the one he'd seen. He wonders what he could have done to so earn the gratitude of the stranger.

"I'm fine," he croaks, nodding even though his body screams to shake his head, and the last foggy remnants of a vision with it. "Thank you. For your help." He looks around, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings, slightly disoriented by the turn of events.
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