Greyback
08-24-09, 08:35 AM
Alberich's Journal:
Today I have come to the citadel. They say that the monks here are the greatest healers in the world, defying even the bounds of death itself. I begin to despair of ever finding a cure, but I continue to search. I read an interesting excerpt the other day. This place brings it very strongly to mind. It was a quote attributed to a mercenary general after the War of the Tap. Peace sells... But who's buying? Indeed. This world buys death with every moment. The tendrils of contagion on my back are sore already, in the heat of the sun. I do not know how much longer I can go on. I have been lucky for so long, but in time, luck runs out...
I closed my journal and raised my head, putting it back in my pack, as I ascended the first stair leading into the citadel. The cool shadows soothed the fire under my shirt, loosening my shoulders and making me stretch to work out the stiffness. "One day, I will not even be able to stand the sun... Then what?"
"Then you will walk in the shadows, as do all men of knowledge." The man was plainly dressed in a simple robe. One of the monks.
"Indeed. Lead on. I have things to attend to. I hope that this works..." My shoulder popped as I stretched one last time and settled the belt about my waist more comfortably.
"You would do well to abandon hope at the door. Hope is a crutch of the weak. The weak do not last long in the citadel." He beckoned for me to follow, and wouldn't speak another word until we arrived at a plain wooden door, much like another dozen we had passed by as we traversed the halls.
"Take yourself inside, and prepare. Your opponent shall be along shortly." The door opened at his touch, sliding upwards smoothly and without sound.
"Strange..." The room within was shrouded in darkness, but I stepped through. If this was what was required to be healed, then so be it.
As soon as I was through the door, everything changed. The darkness dissipated immediately, and in its place, horror. I had stepped onto a battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, pierced with arrows, and hacked literally into pieces. Two men walked methodically through the carnage, both in blood stained white armor. One of the men approached a body in similar gear, placed the point of his sword at the back of the skull, and pushed with incredible force, a flash of light, and the dead body screamed.
"What in all the hells..." I dropped my pack as soon as I saw what was happening. The thud of my pack hitting the ground made them look up, right at me. I hurriedly pulled a pair of gloves from my pocket and onto my hands while these "white knights" seemed to confer about what to do with me. The answer was obvious when they charged, brandishing swords, and waving shields I hadn't noticed earlier.
"Damn it all, this was not what I intended." My hands went to my belt, pulling my hammer free by the head while my off hand undid the buckle and let it fall to the mud. I tossed the hammer into the air, watching it flip end over end, and grabbed the handle with practiced ease, flipping it so the claw would be the striking face. While I prepared one weapon, my free hand reached behind my head and pulled free my pry bar, hooked end in hand.
The first "knight", I assumed they were knights because their mail looked well made, charged in blindly. A single step to the side along with a hammer claw to the knee brought him to the ground, where a thrust of my bar ended his life. The second knight stopped when he saw me dispatch his comrade. On closer inspection I could see just how ragged these men were. They had probably been fighting for hours, and at least some of that blood was likely theirs. They were exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and fury.
That was all I had time to notice. The sword came for my face, and my bar met it with a resounding clash that sent vibrations up and down my arm, while my hammer beat back at his shield, digging divots in the tough wood. Two more blows and I could tell this man was nearly dead on his feet. I swung my hammer at his shield, hooking the rim and pulling it aside. My bar thrust past his feeble parry, misdirected perhaps an inch by the light tap he had been able to muster at this stage. It wasn't enough. The flattened blade punched through his gorget, and into his throat, leaving him bubbling out his life in the mud.
I panted slightly for a moment, more in shock than from exertion. As I caught my breath quickly, I looked around and studied the battlefield. The sun was in the east, rising slowly, drenching the hills around this plain in bloody light. To my right a stand of trees, some sort of evergreen, showed evidence of magical combat. Some were twisted and blasted, while others crackled, flames racing up the trunks and from tree to tree as incendiary sap caught fire.
This had probably been a rural field once, before men and horses had torn up the grass, and churned blood and dirt into muddy clay. I wiped my bar on a less muddy and less bloody scrap of cloth, very intensely not pondering where it had come from. Then I turned to my left, away from the burning pines, and presumably the battle, and started walking. I assumed my opponent would find me eventually. "I must be mad to try this... I just need more time... More time..."
Today I have come to the citadel. They say that the monks here are the greatest healers in the world, defying even the bounds of death itself. I begin to despair of ever finding a cure, but I continue to search. I read an interesting excerpt the other day. This place brings it very strongly to mind. It was a quote attributed to a mercenary general after the War of the Tap. Peace sells... But who's buying? Indeed. This world buys death with every moment. The tendrils of contagion on my back are sore already, in the heat of the sun. I do not know how much longer I can go on. I have been lucky for so long, but in time, luck runs out...
I closed my journal and raised my head, putting it back in my pack, as I ascended the first stair leading into the citadel. The cool shadows soothed the fire under my shirt, loosening my shoulders and making me stretch to work out the stiffness. "One day, I will not even be able to stand the sun... Then what?"
"Then you will walk in the shadows, as do all men of knowledge." The man was plainly dressed in a simple robe. One of the monks.
"Indeed. Lead on. I have things to attend to. I hope that this works..." My shoulder popped as I stretched one last time and settled the belt about my waist more comfortably.
"You would do well to abandon hope at the door. Hope is a crutch of the weak. The weak do not last long in the citadel." He beckoned for me to follow, and wouldn't speak another word until we arrived at a plain wooden door, much like another dozen we had passed by as we traversed the halls.
"Take yourself inside, and prepare. Your opponent shall be along shortly." The door opened at his touch, sliding upwards smoothly and without sound.
"Strange..." The room within was shrouded in darkness, but I stepped through. If this was what was required to be healed, then so be it.
As soon as I was through the door, everything changed. The darkness dissipated immediately, and in its place, horror. I had stepped onto a battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, pierced with arrows, and hacked literally into pieces. Two men walked methodically through the carnage, both in blood stained white armor. One of the men approached a body in similar gear, placed the point of his sword at the back of the skull, and pushed with incredible force, a flash of light, and the dead body screamed.
"What in all the hells..." I dropped my pack as soon as I saw what was happening. The thud of my pack hitting the ground made them look up, right at me. I hurriedly pulled a pair of gloves from my pocket and onto my hands while these "white knights" seemed to confer about what to do with me. The answer was obvious when they charged, brandishing swords, and waving shields I hadn't noticed earlier.
"Damn it all, this was not what I intended." My hands went to my belt, pulling my hammer free by the head while my off hand undid the buckle and let it fall to the mud. I tossed the hammer into the air, watching it flip end over end, and grabbed the handle with practiced ease, flipping it so the claw would be the striking face. While I prepared one weapon, my free hand reached behind my head and pulled free my pry bar, hooked end in hand.
The first "knight", I assumed they were knights because their mail looked well made, charged in blindly. A single step to the side along with a hammer claw to the knee brought him to the ground, where a thrust of my bar ended his life. The second knight stopped when he saw me dispatch his comrade. On closer inspection I could see just how ragged these men were. They had probably been fighting for hours, and at least some of that blood was likely theirs. They were exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and fury.
That was all I had time to notice. The sword came for my face, and my bar met it with a resounding clash that sent vibrations up and down my arm, while my hammer beat back at his shield, digging divots in the tough wood. Two more blows and I could tell this man was nearly dead on his feet. I swung my hammer at his shield, hooking the rim and pulling it aside. My bar thrust past his feeble parry, misdirected perhaps an inch by the light tap he had been able to muster at this stage. It wasn't enough. The flattened blade punched through his gorget, and into his throat, leaving him bubbling out his life in the mud.
I panted slightly for a moment, more in shock than from exertion. As I caught my breath quickly, I looked around and studied the battlefield. The sun was in the east, rising slowly, drenching the hills around this plain in bloody light. To my right a stand of trees, some sort of evergreen, showed evidence of magical combat. Some were twisted and blasted, while others crackled, flames racing up the trunks and from tree to tree as incendiary sap caught fire.
This had probably been a rural field once, before men and horses had torn up the grass, and churned blood and dirt into muddy clay. I wiped my bar on a less muddy and less bloody scrap of cloth, very intensely not pondering where it had come from. Then I turned to my left, away from the burning pines, and presumably the battle, and started walking. I assumed my opponent would find me eventually. "I must be mad to try this... I just need more time... More time..."