View Full Version : Book of Moon, Stars, and ....(Seas) ((open rp'ing))
A slight panic shot through his solid and slender frame.
He was fortunate that the oversized and outdated antique atlas didn't land as hard as it appeared that it would during its descent to the floor. This prevented it from making any overly loud noise, which would have drawn Ferger's unwanted attention. Mykael was still careful to quickly pick it up, as his hands were right behind it on its descent. He made a quick scan for the spot on the library's bookshelf where it needed to be. It's not that he disliked Ferger. He just didn't want to be reminded again to be careful or to get back to work.
Ferger had been the only person nice enough in Underwood to give him a second chance. Ostracized from his home village in his later teens, Mykael had found a sort of refuge in the city where he hoped he was least likely to be found. That is, if one called becoming a pickpocket on the streets a refuge. Pick pocketing Ferger had been his best mistake, as Ferger was deceptively weak and slow looking and had not only accosted Mykael in the chance encounter, but had completely subdued him with lightning quick skills in a painful hold on the ground. Mykael would never forget Ferger next words that started the relationship. "That choice of yours, young man, sounds like a cry for help to me". Then he had waited for Mykael's response. Mykael often wondered how Ferger would have reacted if he hadn't chosen that moment to be humble, vulnerable, and contrite to a complete stranger that had overpowered him.
After this meeting, Ferger had allowed him to live at his little place that was part library and part book store called "Well Worn Pages". It was filled with old, old books, and strangely, enough people wanted these books to keep Ferger and Mykael fed and clothed. No stranger ever questioned his past, and Ferger knew just enough of it to understand that Mykael had no intention of going back home anytime soon.
Stalkingly, as was his habit, at that moment Ferger passed by, and seeing Mykael asked "How many of our tomes discussing lore have you finished? I think perhaps a client will bring a new one in needing deciphered." Mykael replied that it had been five or six, mostly dealing with Althanas' histories. Ferger thanked him, and walked on to another section of bookshelves.
Mykael spotted and picked up a book he hadn't seen before, titled "Book of Moon, Stars, and ..."; it was so old the last word was faded and not legible, but it appeared that it could have been "Seas". Gingerly opening it, he began to leaf through it, hoping he could decipher the writing.
He heard Ferger state with apparent bewilderment out of view, "Oh, I didn't hear or see you there. What are you looking for here in our vast selection?", but no audible response could Mykael detect. Silence. He paid this no heed.
Turning another page over, something fell out of the book. Mykael looked down at his feet and saw it to be an odd page that was not colored like the rest, not the same size as the rest, and even though the book was definitely, old, this page still appeared new. The language it was written in was old, and looked the same as the rest of the book. Upon picking up the strange sheet he absentmindedly placed it in his pouch with the intent of looking at it much more closely later, memorizing where it had fallen out at. He turned his attention back to leafing through the pages of the archaic book with interesting script. The next moment there was a sudden movement off to the side where Ferger had walked by, .......
Mykael stammered at the sight of the heavily green and purple robed figure standing where Ferger had been only moments before. There was no sign of Ferger nearby nor approaching from anywhere in the store. Something felt very disquieting.
"Stillness." One word from the figure was all that was said, and Mykael felt himself unable to move, except for his breathing and his eyes. The voice iteself was like a wind at the distant edge of hearing, but yet perceptible as if one could hear that wind's echo in a cave.
Mykael was caught standing with the book gripped in his left hand, and his other a breadth above it to turn another page. Fear was commonly a motivator for Mykael, often disposing him to desperate recklessness. At this time, the paralyzation kept him from reacting in such manner to this being that stretched this fear from him that he knew all too well. He decided he would call this person “Robes.”
"The book in your hand is what I am seeking. It is mine. I am the rightful owner." Making this statement, Robes simply walked; rather glided or floated, over to where Mykael was at and plucked the book from his hand. Mykael noticed the gold and silver threads woven in detail throughout the green and purple on the figures’ heavy robes. Still, the face remained obfuscated the entire time Mykael was staring at what he assumed to be a human male. While Mykael was lost in his irrational thoughts concerning his survival, the figure disappeared.
Sometime later, he finally awoke out of his trance-like state. He wondered what had happened to Ferger. Further shaking out what felt like cobwebs in his head and stiffness throughout his muscles, Mykael began to partly walk and partly creep along the short book aisle he was in, fearful for whatever he might find. He noticed that it was getting to be late afternoon by the faint colors of sunset radiating through the shop from the open windows near the front of the store. Arriving at the edge of the bookshelf, he peered through the books again and looked to where he thought Ferger might be.
Ferger was not visible.
Taking a cautious step around the bookshelf, his hand on his staff, he glanced fully around. The shop appeared as it should appear, with nothing in disarray or damaged. Whatever the figure Robes had wanted, he must have only taken out of Mykael's hand. This did not answer the questions that were a rising panic like a wellspring going through Mykael's head.
Where was Ferger? Why did the figure claim that the book taken was theirs? Did the piece of paper Mykael had safely pocketed from it hold a strong enough importance that the figure would be back? What should he do with this paper? If so, how soon? Should Mykael run? Where was Ferger? Was he perhaps following this person?
Mykael steeled his racing mind and spirit to lose the panic, using breathing techniques he had learned in his time reading the many books here in the store. Ferger had often talked about preparing Mykael for a time when he might be alone again. Ferger must have had confidence in Mykael to prepare for something like this. Mykael decided to keep the strange paper rolled up and in his pouch.
The shop was still empty and this became glaringly obvious to Mykael as he continued to look for clues of the strangers abrupt theft and Ferger's whereabouts. It was also getting darker. Mykael decided his safest course of action would be to leave, lock up the store, take only what was necessary, and not come back until after sunset the following day. He would have to find a place to stay for the night, and the nearest inn was reputable enough for such a place, called The Peaceful Promenade. Making sure his pouch had the necessary items for survival, his throwing dagger safely secured and partially hidden, he unlatched his staff from the strap around his torso and walked out the door, being wary enough to lock the door. He walked down the street with his staff in perfect rhythm to his gait, his robe and hood drawn over him just enough that people would hopefully leave him alone. He headed for The Peaceful Promenade. Perhaps he could earn a few coins to cover his evening's costs by playing on his flute for a patron or two...
At the entrance to the door of The Peaceful Promenade, Mykael was hesitant to enter. There was a paranoia beginning to truly settle over him after the experience he had earlier today.
What if Robes was staying here, or here even for just a warm cup of ale? Should Mykael demand back the goods taken out his hand earlier? Should he just pretend he didn't see Robes if he was in there? Should he even enter the place at all? What if it wasn’t safe out here if he saw Robes?
At this moment of debating his course of action, Mykael spotted Rasten near the entrance, a young lad whom owed Mykael a favor or two. Rasten was a black haired young lad with beady eyes and shorter than most his age, often the target of bullies. Mykael had helped him out with these bullies a time or two.
"Rasten", he called out, "I have to ask you a favor." Rasten looked in Mykael's direction, hoping that this current favor involved coins as he strode over eagerly.
"Rasten, has a man wearing a heavy green and purple robe with detailed silver and gold thread come by since you've been here?" Mykael's voice was only as loud as he needed for Rasten to hear him, hoping passersby would not eavesdrop. Still, his nervousness caused his voice to be louder than he wanted, and the edginess in it was apparent.
Rasten replied that no, indeed there had not been. A slightly disappointed look came over his face when he realized that this called on favor would not involve coins, but a reluctant resignation to help Mykael settled on his very young features.
Mykael asked, "Would you take a quick look in The Peaceful Promenade and let me know if a character like that is in there right now? If so, they are likely not showing their face."
Rasten's wonder at the world allowed his curiosity to take over as he then asked, "Why, Mykael? Did he steal something from you, like a bully?" His query was loud enough to be heard as a few nearby turned their heads.
Mykael tried in vain to subtly shush him, and avoided answering the question. "Please check for me." This time, his voice was even and calm. Rasten gazed at him for a moment, then turned and quickly headed to The Peaceful Promenade and went inside.
While Rasten was checking, Mykael placed his free hand first on his dagger, making sure it was still there. Then he placed it on his pouch, feeling for where the rolled up paper would be that had providentially fallen out of the antique book. He pondered what the book truly contained that a mysterious person would use magic while keeping their identity unknown, claim it as their own, and simply take it without further explanation. After all, if they could have talked to Ferger and proven it was indeed their rightful property, Ferger would have let them take it. As it was, Ferger was missing, Mykael was deeply paranoid, and Robes and the book remained enigmatic. A part of Mykael was infuriated at the violation of safety in his life, and another part of him hoped that it would all remain an unsolved puzzle, so long as Ferger was truly safe. As it was, Mykael's priorities were simple; keep himself safe and try to find out what happened to Ferger.
Rasten came dashing back out, drawing more unwanted attention. "Mykael," he cried out, "there is nobody wearing heavy green and purple robes in there that I saw. Does this mean that you're safe?" Rasten got another stern shush from Mykael. "Thanks," he then replied. "You've done me a good favor. It is likely time for you to go home now, though. Good night, Rasten." With that farewell, Mykael walked toward The Peaceful Promenade, meaning to enter, and couldn't help but notice that he had indeed been noticed by individuals that took note of what had transpired.
He hoped this was not an ominous sign.
Inside, it was apparent that this place was always home to patrons aplenty. As of the moment of Mykael walking in, it did not seem that the more bawdy crowd had yet arrived. A young, long haired blonde serving girl with chocolate colored, deep set eyes on a slender nose and pointed chin quickly approached with a coyish smile and as she greeted him, she positioned her slender yet curvy frame to give him an ample view of her well shaped bosom, casting her eyes slightly down after meeting his and asking what services he would like.
Mykael was aware that she said something, but did not pay strict attention to her words. His attention was elsewhere as he was thinking what any red-blooded young man would be thinking when she approached. He was very slow to respond a short, yet courteous, "I'll be playing my flute tonight." With that he looked up, hoping she did not connotate this remark to mean something else. "Somebody needs to.“, she gaily replied, “If you awaken to a desire for more of what can be provided here, come search me out." She paused a moment, making eye contact with a flirtatious gaze long enough to renew the initial impression she had given, then approached other patrons whom wanted more ale.
Mykael glanced around the place. The bartender was busy, and if they had noticed Mykael, they didn't show it. Other serving girls were there, and Mykael noticed that they too were doing their best to earn tips. He continued looking, confirming indeed that there was no one that looked remotely like the strange and thieving person whom Mykael had met earlier.
He approached an acquaintance that he recognized. He greeted Mykael with a slightly dulled speech, and Mykael noticed the ale stains on his shirt. "Have you seen or heard from Ferger this afternoon?", Mykael asked. They simply replied that they had not, but did not ask why, as his attention was on the attractive figure whom had to reach way over to refill a mug.
Spotting another familiar face, Mykael approached and asked the same question. He hated doing this, knowing it brought unwanted attention to his true purpose here, but he needed to do something. She replied that no, she had not seen nor heard from Ferger for a few weeks, but offhandedly made a comment to the effect of wanting to contact Ferger for a friend of hers seeking books on the flora and fauna of Corone. She then absent mindedly asked Mykael to let Ferger know this when he talked to him tomorrow. Mykael did not let her know that he had no idea when he would talk to Ferger again.
Not seeing anyone else of whom he felt comfortable asking, and hoping eavesdroppers were absent at those conversations, Mykael found a place to the side where he could play his flute and hope for enough generosity from the patrons to pay his room and board tonight. He played his first song: http://www.stroudflutes.com/double.wav
After this one, he felt more comfortable, and his mind was less on the crowd. He wasn't focused on who was there and who wasn't. He just kept playing, and a fellow musician soon joined in.
http://www.empire.k12.ca.us/capistrano/Mike/capmusic/renaissance/Greensleeves[1].mid
Mykael became blissfully unaware of very little but his playing his flute. The crowd could have turned into demons, and he might have just been content to do as he was doing.
Then reality hit him again: he didn't know if someone heavily robed in green and purple was looking for him and the strange sheet of paper. This person could walk into The Peaceful Promenade at any time. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. He could deal with that if it happened.
However, he was now open to interacting with those in the room, if they chose to approach. Perhaps a patron here knew something…..
I have tried leave the story open enough to allow other players to join in, as I hoped to do. I am curious to see how this story goes from here. Use your imaginiation as to solving the mystery with Mykael!!!!
Harrier
05-05-09, 09:24 PM
Waking up in Underwood without any memory of how he had arrived there was disconcerting enough, but that wasn’t the only thing Wil had to worry about. His sweat soaked body had passed out in the middle of a dirty abandoned alley with fifteen pieces of gold clenched and melted in his hands. Worried that someone soon would be coming to seek the gold, Wil knew that he needed to spend it soon. It was a selfish decision, but at the very least, it meant that anyone coming after him wouldn’t have the evidence to incriminate him.
Picking himself up briskly, Wil looked around to get a better sense of his bearings. Immediately, he started walking, if only to get away from the noxious odors of the alley. As Wil stepped out into Underwood proper, he hoped that the smells of rotting fruit rinds and stale urine wouldn’t linger with him. Impusively, he looked down at his feet, noticing a stain on near the bottom of his tunic. Shaking his head in frustration, Wil figured at the very least he should be grateful that this unaccounted for adventure had left him with his clothes still on. Still, the smell of rotten melon rinds would stick with Wil, and whether or not it lead enemies to him, the reawaken man wanted to get it out for his own sake.
The hawkers that might have been teeming through Underwood during normal times were a bit scarcer since the city had become the domain of the rebels, so Wil knew that if he wanted any kind of a cleaning, he would have to go to the Peaceful Promenade. Hopefully they would have a room for the night, but at the very least he could use a glass of country liquor to wash the smell out of his shirt.
With haste, Wil made his way into the bar. Most of the patrons were paying attention to a performing flutist, and the beleaguered man had to clear his throat loudly before the tavernkeeper noticed him.
“What’ll have ye?” the tavernkeeper asked, wiping out a glass with a dirty rag.
Thinking that he wouldn’t stay for a drink he would actually consume, Wil asked for the strongest liquor they had. He quickly rubbed it into his shirt, only stopping for the occasional wring until the smell was gone.
“It’s better not smellin’ like the outdoors,” the tavernkeeper observed. “There’s ‘nough trouble out there without bad smells in ‘ere.”
Wil smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said. “Damn people, throwing their trash anywhere…” He began to reconsider leaving. Though the hygiene of the Peaceful Promenade seemed to be considerably lacking, Wil felt comfortable with the friendly bartender. The flute music was a welcome respite, despite everything else, Wil didn’t feel ill at ease.
Just as he had settled into his chair, debating whether he should order a drink out of courtesy, the flute music stopped. Appreciatively, Wil made his way over to the flutist. “That was something,” Wil said appreciatively. “I know you need your rest, but are you gonna play anything more?”
Mykael was not surprised that the newest arrival would be the one patron to approach him. He had noticed a distinct smell, that of the tavern’s strongest liquor. He quickly noticed it came mostly from the bronze skinned, black haired humanoid that had just asked him a casual and somewhat friendly question. Mykael realized that he wasn’t sure if his perceptions had deceived him, or perhaps he had been too focused on re-centering himself through his music, as he tried to recall if this person had just poured the alcohol on himself instead of actually drinking it. Mykael decided that if he was that concerned about his safety, he wasn’t doing a good job of paying attention to his surroundings.
“I would enjoy playing at least one more,” Mykael stated, not entirely looking at the one whom he decided to nickname "Bronze" in the eye. “Afterwards, perhaps you could answer a question for me.”
Mykael began playing something short and hauntingly refreshing, as if to draw a sense of willingness from the listener. http://bssm.prettysenshi.com/multi/flute.mid While he played, he formulated his approach in his mind. He would ask only one question at first, as one information seeker would approach another. He did not want his question to give anything away as to his true intent. If this stranger knew nothing, it would quickly be revealed. If this stranger knew something, it was possible he would lie, but in lying would cause Mykael to have the same reaction as if he were ignorant. If Bronze implied he knew something, then Mykael would pursue this course further.
He stopped playing and set his flute aside. He met the strangers gaze, but did not let it remain. Instead he gazed at the attractive legs of the serving girl nearby, kept an even tone and a straight face as he asked, “Have you heard of a tome titled ‘Book of Moon, Stars, and Seas?”
Mykael waited for the stranger’s response. Perhaps he knew something, and perhaps he would choose ignorance.
Please feel free to allow your character to know about it. I am very open to following that storyline, if that is what you choose. If you would rather not, that is certainly acceptible, as well.
Harrier
05-08-09, 03:03 PM
Had it been many other tomes, Wil would have known nothing. Magic had never been anything that the former produce seller had taken a great interest in. He felt that it was a dangerous pursuit, something sought out by the greedy and that they often paid the price for their avarice in battles between one another. However, his early life in Raiaera had made him acquainted with the names of a few spell books, one of which was the Book of Moon, Stars and Seas. It was a powerful tome, by Wil’s recollection. He knew nothing about what sort of magic it contained, though if his memory served him right it had been the coveted possession at one time of a famous Raiaeran general. Wil doubted that was the kind of trivia that the flutist was interested in.
Wil’s face had worn a surprised expression from the moment that the flutist had answered the question. Still, Wil figured he could lie if he had wanted to. The flutist’s attention had mainly been drawn to the legs of one of the tavern’s serving girls. Tempted to wonder out loud how someone could be so casual about such a powerful book, he thought the better of it. Instead, he answered honestly.
“I’ve heard about it,” Wil said. “Not about the spells themselves, or about what the book might reveal, but that it was a coveted possession in Anebrilith when I was young, and that it got lost shortly after I left for Corone. That’s all I remember of it, the controversy. ..” As he recollected the events of his childhood, more information on the Book of Moon, Stars and Seas filtered into his active memory. “It’s a diverse book,” he said. “The spells employed the energies of the moon, stars and seas to create spells for all circumstances…”
“Even memory,” Wil realized. The surprised expression on his face faded into an appreciative smile. Perhaps, if this man knew anything about the book, Wil could use it to recover the memories he had lost and gain a better sense of the time he had spent (and in particular, how he had even gotten to Underwood in the first place.
Suddenly motivated by self interest, Wil began to wonder if the open bar was the best place for the matter to be discussed. The Peaceful Promenade had rules against fighting inside, but rules in Corone had become more flexible now that there was a civil war. In a lowered voice, Wil leaned in to the flutist, not sure whether or not he trusted the man and said, “There are too many ears around here and a lot of greed. If you know something about the book and you want my help, we’ll need to be somewhere quieter…”
Anebrilith....the man he had nicknamed Bronze had mentioned Anebrilith. Its significance was that it was the ancient capital of Raiaera over five thousand years ago, as also it having been where the original Elven colony was located over fifteen thousand years ago. Mykael could recall very little else about the place at this time, but it triggered something that nagged at his memory, another little fact he felt should remember. Had Ferger mentioned Anebrilith in conversation? Mykael was sure he had, but what exactly?
Mykael felt it was best to use another approach as Bronze may have useful infromation as to solving the enigma of the tome, but he also needed to know if Bronze could help him locate Ferger. However, Mykael felt it was safest to pursue only one road at this time. This current road appeared to only involve information about the book.
"Maybe I'd be willing to be somewhere quieter.", he stated while meeting Bronze's gaze. "However, I've no place else to stay for the night. That is the reason I am playing my flute; I am hoping the patrons are generous enough to cover the cost of my staying here for a night, if they feel enchanted enough by my playing. But what you say about your knowledge of the book highly intrigues me. We must talk more, somewhere."
As he said this, he realized the risk he would be taking if he stayed would likely be just at great as if he left. He would be equally in danger anywhere else, if he was even still in danger in the first place. He knew he needed help, and hoped that Bronze was someone he could trust. If Mykael knew the average adventurer, they usually only had self-interests in mind, but this did not necessarily make them untrustworthy. Also, as he uttered the word 'enchanted', Mykael had something else Bronze had stated leap to the forefront of his attention: the book was powerful magic. He suddenly realized he desperately needed time alone to try and decipher the page he had hidden in his pouch.
He unequivocally made up his mind.
"Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow at sunset at a store called Well Worn Pages? I feel that would be our safest time and place to meet and talk."
StormWolf
05-12-09, 11:23 PM
In one of the dark corners of the inn, there sat a man, surrounded by darkness and pipe smoke. His hair was long and black, reaching down past his shoulders. Facial hair of the same oil black nature made a bristly scruff and stubble on the man's face, the hair being darker on his chin than the rest of his face. The man in the dark corner was large, with one of the widest shoulder spans in the inn and a startling hight and musculature to match. The braided leather cord around his brow did little to keep the hair out of his face, hiding most of it, his gaze cast at the ground. Draped over this large lad's shoulders was the red cloak of a soldier, worn and dirty as it was, the crimson was still prominent.
Rath, was his name, though very few knew it. Rath was a vigilante of sorts, doing the right thing the wrong way and for the wrong reasons. He wore a dark shirt with a "V" collar, a leather blacksmithing vest over it with leather vambraces on his thick forearms. Fingerless workman's gloves were on his hands. Dark breeches and knee high soldier's boots covered his legs. With his axe, Steel Fang, on his hip and his claymore on his back, he looked the part of a soldier, a lethal and angry soldier.
The candle on Rath's table was melted most of the way down with a faint flame flickering on the wick. A pipe, an empty plate, and an empty mug sat on the table as well. Rath let the music of the flute wash over him, soothing the voices in his head, the clawing and gnawing inside his mind serenaded by the music. Rath let out a relieved sigh, the old saying about beasts and music is true, it seems.
The large man stood, walking with a slow purposefulness over to the musician with the flute and the other whom Rath did not recognize, or really care about at the moment. His hand rested on his axe in an instinctive manner, the type of stance that says he is ready for a fight, no matter with who or what.
"That was good music, sir. Thank you" Rath said in a deep, growling voice. Rath pressed a couple copper coins, a silver coin, and a Scare Brae weight gold coin into the musician's hand. Rath's hands were rough and strong, a man worth his salt by look and feel. He kept his eyes relatively hidden, but he allowed a quick glance to the musician and his company, his unnatural wolf eyes glowing faintly in the dim candlelight of the tavern. Rath still hadn't let go of the man's hand, looking him in the eyes now. Rath leaned forward to speak in the musician's ear.
"You may want to choose a place better than the Well Worn Pages to discuss your confidential matters, people's ears can pick up more than you think." Rath smiled wolfishly was he stepped back from the musician, his extraordinary canine teeth glistening.
Dischordant
05-14-09, 12:43 AM
The Peaceful Promenade lived up to its name, which, in Eade’s book meant the whole place was exceedingly dull. The musician looked at the assembled patrons from his table near the fire, his whisky-heavy eyelids drooping as he watched groups of men and women laugh, share stories, or simply gaze drunkenly into half-empty mugs of ale. For a moment his interest was piqued by a lone flautist, but the music played was classical, or this realm’s approximation of classical, and he immediately tuned it out. Classical music was difficult to play, that much was true, but it usually put the entire room to sleep so Eade had no use for it.
“If you’re bored, let’s rough the place up a bit,” echoed a slide-chord voice in his head.
Eade looked down at the guitar lying across his legs and a sickly-sweet smile washed across his face. “This again? Don’t feel like gracing everyone with your pretty voice?”
“Too easy,” the guitar hummed back. “Besides, I miss your hands. You haven’t played with me much since you hard-boiled your brain at the Marmont.”
Eade idly traced his index finger down the guitar’s fret board. “Still not gonna tell me why I had to do it?”
The guitar physically quivered in response. “No.”
“Bitch,” Eade said aloud. In one smooth motion he swung the guitar’s strap over his shoulder and cradled her body in his lap. “Well, this one’s for you Deloris.”
Eade’s fingers danced effortlessly over Deloris’ strings as his foot tapped out a simple bass rhythm. The song he played had no words, just blue, rippling notes like a cool breeze across the bayou. It was a lonely song, slow and aimless like its player’s mood, but with a hint of steel that sounded like a storm waiting to break.
As he played Eade cast his eyes once again to the crowd, his attention drawn to a loud group of four men. Of the four faceless, grizzled veterans, one was clearly drunker than the rest. The man’s eyes rolled and his gestures were both exaggerated and limp. It was clear the man was losing his battle with unconsciousness, but every time the shapely barmaid passed he straightened and tried desperately to act sober. It would have almost been cute if the man’s eyes didn’t take on a near-predatory gleam when the woman was in sight.
Without really thinking Eade stepped up the tempo of his song while switching to a lower key. The melody took on a sweaty, urgent tone and Eade imagined an older man chasing his young, reluctant lover through the halls of a vast estate. The drunk man’s eyes glazed over more, if that was possible, and as the barmaid passed he made a clumsy, desperate grab for her waist.
The girl danced away, surprised but keeping her cool. “Hands to yerself, Jerik.”
“C’mere Serna,” the man said in a low growl. “I’m sicka yer games. Always flirtin’ ‘round an’ never makin’ good.”
Serna looked concerned. She took another step back. “No more fer you tonight. Go sleep it off.”
Eade’s song hit a high note and all hell broke loose. Jerik lurched out of his chair toward the barmaid, his gnarled hands clamping firmly onto her shoulders. Before anyone could react he smashed his face against hers, slobbering like an animal as he kissed her hungrily. Serna screamed and tried to squirm away. The man’s friends erupted from the table to pull the two apart. All around people started yelling. From somewhere near the bar a high-pitched female voice cut through the din.
“It was him – the bard! He’s using magic.”
Eade’s ears filtered the sound and his eyes locked directly on the speaker. It was a young woman dressed in robes; a wooden staff lay propped up against her chair. The accusation spurred Jerik’s companions into action. One remained behind, having managed to put Jerik in an arm-lock, but the other two rushed toward Eade with determination in their eyes.
“Here’s you fun,” Deloris cackled.
Eade only had time for one word. “Shit.”
Like an alley cat Eade sprang from his chair. He flipped Deloris to her customary spot on his back and dashed through the crowd toward the back door of the tavern. His pursuers, while drunk, navigated the mass of patrons easily, closing the distance between themselves and their prey. Eade didn’t look back as he burst out the door into the winding streets of Underwood.
The tavern buzzed with sound and action for a few more minutes but calmed quickly as Jerik shook free from his daze. Jerik’s companion released him from the arm-lock and helped the confused man out of the tavern. Jerik apologized the whole way out.
In the streets Eade continued to run until he could no longer hear the sounds of footsteps behind him. Exhausted, frustrated, and more than a little confused, the man-who-was-apparently-magical collapsed in the nearest dry doorway he could find. Above him the sign read Well Worn Pages.
I tried to leave it open for you to find Eade or not. If the group's full just let me know. Thanks
As Mykael waited for a response from Bronze, another patron from a table in a darkened corner approached. This long oil black haired, crimson cloaked figure was an intimidating presence simply by stature. Mykael immediately decided he would nickname this character Crimson. Crimson was generous enough to use a direct approach for giving plenty of coin with which to cover the cost of a private room tonight.
Mykael was immediately thankful, and as he started to stammer his thanks, Crimson had spoke, flashing his unnatural eyes that glowed faintly in the dim candlelight of the tavern. They were a golden amber yellow. He leaned forward and spoke in his ear,
“You may want to choose a place better than the Well Worn Pages to discuss your confidential matters, people's ears can pick up more than you think." With that, he had stepped back and smiled wolfishly, his extraordinary canine teeth glistening.
This wolfish grin and direct mannerism bespoke many things concerning Crimson. First, he was acting on either mischievousness or a wolf-like predatory sense. This all depended on how playful the man felt like being. Second, with those eyes and canine teeth, Mykael immediately identified him as part of a race he had read about not too long ago: a Wolven Changeling. With his sheer size and being heavily armed, this was one Mykael had no desire to combat with. However, Mykael wasn’t focused entirely on that. Rather, he knew this could be one powerful ally instead of an enemy. Mykael especially thought this as he admired the half moon axe on the man’s belt.
“I must give you my thanks,” Mykael matched the man’s directness in gaze now, as he looked at how the man’s hair covered most of his face. “I do appreciate this favor.”
He had to think fast. Mykael still needed desperately to have time alone enough to decipher this mysterious page in his pouch. He also knew he would have to have friends and allies afterwards, as he might still be in danger. He quickly decided on what to do.
"Please wait one moment." Taking out two smaller scraps of unused parchment from his pouch, he began to scribble the same note on both: “I can be found tomorrow at sunset at an apothecary called Simple Solutions. Tell Worpo that you are there to meet Mykael”. He hoped these two could read. As he wrote this, another musician in the room started playing a lonely song, slow and aimless, with a hint of steel that sounded like a storm waiting to break.
Worpo was a friend of Ferger’s and his store had a small room in the back where clandestine meetings could take place. He handed a scrap each to Bronze and Crimson, bid them good night, and went to get a room from the innkeeper. After bargaining for a private room, and heading upstairs, Mykael noticed the crowd beginning to yell and heard someone shout, “It was him – the bard! He’s using magic.” Mykael noticed this figure pointing at the guitar player, and watched the crowd then chase the man out through the back door. With that, Mykael went to his room. Alone.
In his room Mykael lit the lone candle, double checked to make sure the door was locked, verified that the shutters on the window were secure, and sat down on the bed in the candlelight and brought out the strange piece of paper that seemed to constantly be compelling him to attempt a deciphering.
As he looked at it, it indeed appeared to be an older, archaic Raiaeran script. This script wasn’t too far off from the modern one, however, the language and its usage had changed since this was used, like all languages. This meant that word meanings had changed, and possibly the meaning of some of the characters used were not the exact same as they had once been a long time ago. Without further reference material, Mykael could only discern thus so far concerning the mysterious document:
It was a ritual, and it involved an 'Awakening', or so it seemed titled. This ritual involved full moonlight reflected off of the ocean or within a spot with reflected moonlight, but beyond that he could not make out more ritual components. He was unable to fully comprehend by what was meant to be awakened, but the ritual was focused on a single subject. Maybe it was meant to awaken a sleeping being or creature of the sea, but this did not seem to be for what it was meant . It seemed more likely that it might awaken suppressed memories or latent powers within an individual, such as magical or gifted individuals who were unable to do so on their own, as if these latent gifts were locked and inaccessible to them.
There was a small portion at the last of it that spoke concerning eclipses. This only increased Mykael’s puzzlement over the true power and nature of the document.
With that, Mykael knew it was imperative to head over to “Well Worn Pages” to find out further reference material to help him. He knew of at least one book he needed to get ahold of, titled “Universal Mystery of Symbols and Signs”, that would help him understand a deeper meaning to the ritual components mentioned, if not the exactness of the language itself.
Upon this decision, Mykael snuffed the candle and waited a few minutes before opening the shutter. In that time, he had packed his belongings again and strapped the staff to his back. He then listened for any activity outside the window, and heard none. Using as much stealth as possible, Mykael begain to crawl out the window. He felt around for the ivy, but realized quickly that it might not be as stable as necessary for holding his weight entirely. Feeling around again with more deftness, he noticed the subtle ledges and holds from the brick underneath the ivy that he could use to climb down. He began careful descent, and breathing steadily made his way down entirely to the street.
At this time of night, there were only a few types of people on the streets: vagabonds, sneaks, thieves, and the occasional guard. Wrapping his cloak as tightly as he could and using its charcoal/ash color to blend into the dank shadows of Underwood, he made his way through the streets to the shoppe he called home.
At Well Worn Pages, Mykael noticed a figure in the doorway that was either asleep or appeared to be sleeping. This figure had not noticed Mykael yet due to his noiseless steps and being entirely within shadow. This allowed Mykael to examine them for detecting their purpose there in the doorway. After a moment, Mykael recognized them as the guitar musician whom had been chased out of The Peaceful Promenade not too much earlier in the night, that had been accused of being a magic bard. They must have simply collapsed in the first safe and dry doorway that they could find. This could be an opportunity that Mykael could use, depending on how desperate this person would be.
Standing at least a good three feet away and making themselves visible, Mykael tapped the man on the shoulder with his staff, stating “You need a better place to sleep than that. Wake Up.” It took more than one attempt before there was an arousal of the one whom he decided to nickname Chord.
Dischordant, that's you.
Dischordant
05-14-09, 07:13 PM
Eade felt a light tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Before him stood a robed individual, the cowl of his ashen cloak pulled forward to hide his face. Slow to react, and still a little drunk, Eade angrily pushed the man’s staff away and struggled to his feet.
“What the fuck?” Eade croaked through parched lips. “Can’t you see I’m…”
Dizziness cut the sentence short. Waves of nausea broke in the musician’s head and stomach causing his eyesight to blur his equilibrium to flip head-over-heels. Eade grabbed the side of the building for support and lurched a few steps into the street. The pain and nausea doubled Eade over and he vomited on the cobblestones in front of the bookstore. The smell of stomach acid and old liquor immediately assaulted his nose and he vomited again.
When there was nothing left in his stomach Eade straightened and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he spat, trying to get the fould taste out of his mouth.
"Just like old times," Deloris said into his mind.
"Not right now D," Eade said aloud. "My head feels like a goddamn mosh pit."
Breathing heavily Eade turned to face the cloaked man. "Got any water?"
StormWolf
05-15-09, 12:14 AM
Rath sniffs the air of the tavern as the man walks away. He was hiding something, he could smell it. With a small sneer, the large man made his way to his room. The wicked would get a break tonight. Not before Rath left a message with the innkeeper.
"Innkeeper, tell that librarian that if he needs any kind of physical protection, I will offer it for a price." What the price is, that depends how much the librarian needs me.
The wolf-eyed young entered his room and meditated until he fell asleep, trying to avoid the Wolf Dreams.
"I will see that Librarian tomarrow..." Rath vowed to himself. He wanted to know what the Librarian knew. Any bit of strange knowledge may help Rath is his ultimate goal.
'First impressions are lasting ones' was the immediate quote which Mykael had often heard, and this first impression was smelling like stomach acid and old liquor. The strange drunk also talked to either himself or thin air before turning and abruptly asking for water.
Mykael found alcoholic consumption beyond moderation to be abhorrent, and this person just reinforced that conviction resoundingly. There was nothing pretty, attractive, or desirable about the picture he had just witnessed, and Mykael found himself unable to blame the substance of imbibement, even if it appeared that was what was truly in control of this man's life.
Mykael had a brief thought cross his mind: he could send this wayfaring, hardly-able-to-stand, inebriated character as bait into Well Worn Pages just in case there was danger or a trap waiting in there for his return. He quickly thought of using water as a lure to attract his obviously dehydrated body to go in first, and if there were any painful events to occur, Mykael would hopefully not be the subject for them.
'No', he thought, 'mercilessness like that only begets very bad, bad karma. Right now, I need good karma.'
Instead of luring his potential bait into the store ahead of him, Mykael simply passed his canteen over with a coin. He had another canteen in the store. With the coin, Mykael stated while trying not to breath in the rancid smell "Go two blocks over to the nearest building with a white double-door. Tell them you need a place to stay. They have warm, dry beds there, and can grant you a free meal."
Mykael strongly surmised that sobriety sanguined safety. Lack thereof granted a more chaotic and therefore less safe environment, and Mykael felt that he had no reason to be a part of this drunk man's life beyond that of a simple kindness.
While the teetering man was still registering what he had just been told, Mykael unlocked the door, opened it, shut it, and locked it up behind him.
Inside, it was dark and quiet. It was a normal kind of quiet, the kind that Mykael was used to having in the store at night time. Still, he waited a moment longer, crouching slightly while holding his staff in a combat ready position. He moved forward slowly to the counter, and noticed nothing out of place there in the half-light filtering in through the window from the streets. All appeared normal thus far. Ceasing his crouch-walk, Mykael tiptoed his way through the silent darkness to the book shelf that contained the book he was looking for. He could begin to feel the lack of sleep filtering through his system. Picking up the book which referenced symbolism, Mykael carried it with him towards the back; from there he would exit into the alley through a small window to avoid the inebriated soul if they were still out front. Not forgetting to get his other canteen, Mykael took another quick inventory. Ferger was still missing. This bothered Mykael. He knew he could safely talk to Worpo about it tomorrow. Perhaps he should find Ferger’s journal…..
Not wanting to violate Ferger’s personal space, Mykael skipped the idea on the journal. He made his way through the window into the narrow alley behind the store. He could hear the rats scurrying around as he stepped over refuse and another passed-out drunk. Again fully cloaking himself, he became one with the dreary moonlight shadows of Underwoods’ city streets. He carefully avoided transients on his way back to The Peaceful Promenade. Using the minor ledges and handholds, he ascended once again to the room he had rented for the night, deftly mantling himself up and over the window ledge fully into the room.
Inside, he shut and locked the shutters, relit the small candle, and began reading. He did not get very far before he fell asleep.
Dischordant
05-15-09, 10:19 AM
Eade took the water and the coin, placing the latter in his pocket and the former up to his lips. A long pull from the canteen quenched his thirst and lubricated his dry vocal cords. He was already starting to feel better; the nausea was gone and his head, while still aching, no longer felt like an over-filled water balloon waiting to pop. It usually only took one good purge before the veteran partier was ready to get back into the action. This time was no different.
As Eade blinked away the last bit of sleep in his eyes the hooded man spoke. “Go two blocks over to the nearest building with a white double-door. Tell them you need a place to stay. They have warm, dry beds there, and can grant you a free meal."
The speaker probably meant his words to be kind, but Eade clearly heard the pity and disgust in his tone. The musician gritted his teeth. Men like that were why Eade always refused to give money to charity despite the urgings of his manager and publicist. Charities were run by men and women who looked down on other people, giving because it made them feel good, but never really being able to hide the revulsion in their eyes.
Still, some part of Eade wanted to engage the man. Since arriving in Althanas he’d yet to have a conversation with anyone that wasn’t serving him a drink, and while Deloris was good company, Eade missed the newness of random human interaction. But it was not to be. The man, wrapped tightly in his cloak of superiority, entered the bookstore and locked the door behind him.
Eade took another swig from the canteen before securing it to his belt. “Let’s go,” he said as he walked to the wall where Deloris rested.
“Really?” she said aloud. “Can’t you feel it?”
Eade slung her over his shoulder. “The party? Yeah – that guy’s going to a rager, but it looks like we’re not invited.”
“It never stopped you before.”
“We’re not at home any more D,” Eade whispered as he started his walk down the empty street. “The lights just aren’t as bright here; I’m not as bright here.”
Deloris sang quietly. “Just wait.”
The common noises of the inn and the street outside slowly filtered their way through Mykael’s dreams to rouse him to consciousness. He had been dreaming of screaming guitars, friendly werewolves, and swimming in the ocean. Thankfully, he rarely believed that any of his dreams had to make sense or portended anything.
Glancing again at his book he had acquired from the store late last night, he reiterated within himself what he felt was important to remember.
The moon generally embodied female mystery and creation. It related often to death and rebirth due to its monthly waxing and waning between its full moon and new moon states. Many believed that the full moon caused or acceded towards symptoms of madness within individuals; had it been a full moon last night when that bard played downstairs and the crowd rushed him out?
The oceans of the world were governed by the power of the moon, so it too was associated with mystery and feminine creative principle. The sea acquainted itself with representing unconsciousness and infinity. It was a source of teeming life, and perhaps life itself emerged from the seas and eventually everything would dissolve hitherto.
Little else was bespoke concerning the stars except the general acceptance of it symbolizing sovereignty and divinity. The sun itself was known to be a star and this led Mykael to feel it important to study more concerning it. For many cultures, the sun embodied male energy, light, and warmth. Associated with the sun, fire was seen as purifying, destructive, and a revealing source of light. Fire also had association towards spiritual power.
The last thing Mykael read about was eclipses, and little was given except that an eclipse of the moon or sun was regarded often with fear, being seen as a portent of evil.
Closing the book and getting up to leave, there was a banging on the door. “You gotta go or pay for another day. Now.” It was the innkeeper, wanting more money. Mykael opened the door, thanked him for the room, and left. He headed over to Simple Solutions to talk to Worpo.
Worpo was a man who had enough of an air of arrogance that most people felt that he addressed them in a condescending way when he conversed with them. Mykael had known him long enough to know that he did not intend for this to be the way he communicated.
"Worpo," he asked the older, whitehaired fellow with a short nose and puffy cheeks, "I need the usage of your back room for its privacy in which to meet. I also need to know if you have heard from Ferger since yesterday. He's disappeared."
"What? Disappeared? Tell me what happened. I need to know." Worpo replied and the usual tone of hurry-up-you're-wasting-my-time accompanied this response.
Mykael told Worpo of what had happened yesterday, and how the strange person had stolen the Book of Moon, Stars, and Seas.
Worpo's countenance changed noticeably to that of a man who accepted long awaited for bad news. "I don't know how much to tell you, Mykael." He began with a sigh, "Ferger has likely followed this fellow, and is on his way to Raiaera. I cannot confirm or deny this, however. What he did not inform you of was for your own protection, and I am unsure of what to tell you."
Mykael met this response with slight disbelief. "What part of Raiaera? Anebrilith?"
Worpo's countenance changed again, this time mixed in was surprise. "You know more of this already than what you've told me, do you not? Well, bear patience with me. I have heavy decisions to make." Mykael had neglected to tell Worpo of the mysterious ritual that he still had possession of.
"Ferger and myself are originally from there. It became.....necessary.....for Ferger to protect a certain book, the one you found yesterday at a most unprovidential time. We were both willing to leave family, friends, and home for a common cause to both of us. Thus, I believe Ferger is traveling to that place now. I cannot follow, and you are better off not doing so."
Mykael weighed what Ferger had just told him. He noticed the slight pause before and after his usage of the word 'necessary'. He took note of Worpo making reference to a common cause. "What was this common cause, Worpo? Are you protecting something also?"
Worpo began to be agitated at the young man's persistance. He showed it by a darkening of his eyebrows."Mykael, I can't stop you from chasing off after Ferger. As for what I am protecting, it must remain known only to me, for your own protection."
Mykael studied his face, and let silence envelop the spot in between them. He thought through all the connections so far: a book, a disappearance, a couple of strangers, symbolism, eclipses.....and then Mykael abruptly asked, "Will there be any eclipses soon?"
Amazement grafted across Worpo's features. After a moment, he gave in to the persistance. "Yes, there will be. I am afraid to know why you are asking such a pointed question, so don't tell me. I am sure you know more than I realize, so I will share thus: there is a companion book called Book of Sun, Winds, and Earth. These are both very much wanted. There will soon be an eclipse seen off of the eastern coast of Raiaera. If the wrong person has a control of the wrong power these books can open passage to, it can be .....detrimental.
"You may use the back room as you wish, as it is nearly sunset. I will remain out here. Know that I will be unavailable after tonight. Know that Ferger would rather you remain here. Know that this involves powers you likely do not discern exist. Know that I have offered you my friendship in sharing this."
Mykael thanked him, and headed to the back room. It was highly important to him that he find Ferger, his friend and mentor. Mykael realized he did not fully understand the extent of the burden he was carrying. He hoped that only he knew that he carried the ritual hidden in his pouch.
At the back room, he surmised that he would find allies valuable in this adventure as sunset approached.
Well, I have tried to tie up loose ends so that the story could now move further as Mykael waits. I know there has been patience exercised on waiting for me to do so. Thank you.
StormWolf
05-17-09, 02:04 PM
Rath slept a dreamless sleep, a sleep without disturbing premonitions or revelations, no Wolf Dreams. He awoke and left the inn, having not removed any clothing before sleeping the night before. His heavy boots lead him down the stairs and into the street. The wolf-eyed man kept continued moving past people of all different races, as was customary in large cities, and reached the shop the librarian had told him to meet at. Simple Solutions.
Rath sniffed the air as he walked in. The older shopkeeper eyed him carefully, almost wearily, "I'm here to talk with a contact. He told me to meet him here." Rath spoke in his usual deep voice. His golden eyes scanned the various tools and vials and other instruments of the man's trade as he awaited an answer. His hand rested on the head of his Half Moon axe, SteelFang.
Watching this rather imposing figure with a curious eye that appeared wary and careful to most observers, Worpo heard a deep voice get the point and state why he had entered the shop. This must be one whom Mykael was waiting for. Without further pleasantries, Worpo simply directed him to the back room where Mykael was waiting.
In the backroom, Mykael waited for Stormwolf.
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