Dirge
03-06-08, 11:29 AM
((Restarting the second part, first part found here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=4712). Closed to TWW))
Vigo watched the rising sun through the thin vein of fog. After the winds and rain had passed over the Coronian island a cold, sharp front had moved in. Cold winds shifted quietly. Thin clouds danced across the clear sky. If it wasn't for the odd company that the sorcerer was keeping it would be the perfect morning. He clutched his coat tightly against himself and turned to Jacob.
The two had traveled for only a few days now, after meeting at the famous Peaceful Promenade of Underwood. They had ‘hit it off’ well enough, keeping at the very least a civil attitude towards one another. The sorcerer was not often afraid of a person, much less a human, but the young poet was a conundrum. He was something the sorcerer could not figure out, but wanted to so desperately.
His voice would rise in rhythmic patterns, a haunting voice that croaked out its words with a bitter rasp. The voice was pure malice, a twisted manifestation of insanity. It talked in riddles, spoke with a lyrical twist that bordered on maddening. Vigo had been taunted and threatened by the voice. It wished him harm, a fact that scared the halfling. Despite that, he took the boy with him, interested in studying the child for his own selfish greed.
The two had crossed the Akashima border over night, sneaking past any patrols that may have stopped them. The business that the sorcerer conducted was his own. Even if it was not of an evil alignment, he was not apt to share it with others he did not know. By mid-day the two would come to the main city. It would be there that Vigo planned on starting the boy's "training", or at least helping him control his thoughts through meditation and attempts at spells. What would come of it was still unknown, but in practice he could watch and wait for the insanity to bud. With its rise and fall he could slowly understand it, harness it, and use it for himself in times to come.
"A nice morning, if I do say so myself," the half-elf said with a smirk. He took a quick swig of his small pouch, grimacing as the harsh alcohol hit his throat. What a way to wake up. As soon as he placed the cork back in the skin he pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit up the tip. The steel lighter dancing in his hands as the ember ended shaft flickered to life. "How are you feeling this morning?"
After the first long drag the man let the thin smoke slip through his pursed lips. He watched it, lingering just before him, till the soft winds of the countryside took hold and carried it away. The walk would warm the two, until then the alcohol and smoke would do the job better than any coat or layers of clothing.
Vigo watched the rising sun through the thin vein of fog. After the winds and rain had passed over the Coronian island a cold, sharp front had moved in. Cold winds shifted quietly. Thin clouds danced across the clear sky. If it wasn't for the odd company that the sorcerer was keeping it would be the perfect morning. He clutched his coat tightly against himself and turned to Jacob.
The two had traveled for only a few days now, after meeting at the famous Peaceful Promenade of Underwood. They had ‘hit it off’ well enough, keeping at the very least a civil attitude towards one another. The sorcerer was not often afraid of a person, much less a human, but the young poet was a conundrum. He was something the sorcerer could not figure out, but wanted to so desperately.
His voice would rise in rhythmic patterns, a haunting voice that croaked out its words with a bitter rasp. The voice was pure malice, a twisted manifestation of insanity. It talked in riddles, spoke with a lyrical twist that bordered on maddening. Vigo had been taunted and threatened by the voice. It wished him harm, a fact that scared the halfling. Despite that, he took the boy with him, interested in studying the child for his own selfish greed.
The two had crossed the Akashima border over night, sneaking past any patrols that may have stopped them. The business that the sorcerer conducted was his own. Even if it was not of an evil alignment, he was not apt to share it with others he did not know. By mid-day the two would come to the main city. It would be there that Vigo planned on starting the boy's "training", or at least helping him control his thoughts through meditation and attempts at spells. What would come of it was still unknown, but in practice he could watch and wait for the insanity to bud. With its rise and fall he could slowly understand it, harness it, and use it for himself in times to come.
"A nice morning, if I do say so myself," the half-elf said with a smirk. He took a quick swig of his small pouch, grimacing as the harsh alcohol hit his throat. What a way to wake up. As soon as he placed the cork back in the skin he pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit up the tip. The steel lighter dancing in his hands as the ember ended shaft flickered to life. "How are you feeling this morning?"
After the first long drag the man let the thin smoke slip through his pursed lips. He watched it, lingering just before him, till the soft winds of the countryside took hold and carried it away. The walk would warm the two, until then the alcohol and smoke would do the job better than any coat or layers of clothing.