Even Flow

[The Prophet of Zane]

<closed to Dirge>

"Mommy, is that man a skellington?" a child asked in an elfin voice behind Zane. Even though her mother hushed her quickly as the man peered over his shoulder at them, he saw knowledge in the girl's eyes. He supposed that he did look grotesque. His face was sunken, his body down to the bare bones and sinew. Dark brown hair had taken to falling out, and he'd began to keep it short to prevent it all from blowing away with every gust and breeze that touched it. When the mother and child walked away, Zane turned once again to the sea before him. Strange large fish jumped and squealed near to the boat as he stared, enthralled.

"Dolphins," a voice said next to his ear, making him jump. "They bring good luck, doncha know?" The voice belonged to an older man in sailor's wear who sat down on the deck beside the amnesiac. He held out a small wooden cup, filled with water. A slice of lemon floated on the top of it. "Let the fruit juice soak in first," the sailor advised. "It keeps ya from gettin' sick out here."

With a nod, Zane thanked him and began to sip the water, noting how the lemon changed the taste away from the mineral tange he'd grown used to in Corone to something far more exotic. As the ship moved on, the dolphins soon dissappeared beneath the waves, and the old man let out a small sigh.

"Don't take care of yerself much, do ya?" the man asked Zane. "Not that it be any of mah business, I know that, but you make the women worry. You, eh, cursed or anything?"

"Been like this as long as I can remember," Zane said with a small shrug, lifting the cup up to his dry lips again for a moment. He let the water lap at them, the small sting as the lemon juice settled into the chapped wounds, and then set it down again. The man at his side was nodding, and clapped a hand gently on his back.

"Well, while you be with us, you'll be cared fer. S'all I can promise right now, anyway. You sure you wanna head down to Istraloth?" There was a tinge of worry that touched the sailor's face, but Zane discarded it.

"The answers are there," he merely said, handing back the half empty cup to the man. He felt sick at having drunk so much at once, but he knew that as long as he didn't move, he'd be fine. The man frowned into the cup, but said nothing about how much water was still left in there.

"Well, if ye be seeking answers, ye'll wanna keep an eye out for an amber amulet. Thar's this group that's beena looking fer it for a while. Say it brings knowledge. They sent out these copies of some funny writin, and some papers that they say are what the writin means. Now, I don't meant to be dismissin' any of it as horseshit just yet, cuz the papers this group sent say that they don't know where in the world it could be. But you know, we're a merchant barge. We trade between Corone and Istraloth alot. One day, them sailin' folk saw the picture and they got real excited, chattering away and pointin. I think they know what it is, and I think they know where it is." He finally stood, spitting over the side of the ship and turning to take the cup and precious lemon slice back to the kitchens. "They might tell you where it is," he added. "Out o' pity fer ya."

Alone with his thoughts, Zane sat back and watched the clouds drift over the sea towards the shore. An amulet that brought great knowledge might just tell him what he needed to know. Everything, really. Where he'd come from, who he was. He knew his own name, yes, but did he really know himself? His deeds so far had been less than honorable, he thought with a wince as he remembered the freshly dug grave next to the small Coronian cottage. Somehow thinking he might have once been a good man was a relief to him. As he lay on the deck, his eyes closed against the sun that peeked through the clouds, one thing was certain.

He'd kill for that amulet, good man or not.

[Dirge]

A week prior; Corone

“Vigo, you are going to Istraloth next. We require a relic of the past, a device rumored to suppress other’s thoughts and give bring the knowledge of the Thayne.” The men surrounding the half-elven sorcerer was an odd collection of mages. None of the mages were outstanding in the society, but they each played their own separate role in the rising cult, the Iunia of Radasanth. Vigo, not necessarily interested in the motives and ideological rhetoric of the cult, followed them because of the numerous rewards and bonuses that he was quickly gaining. “You insolent sloth,” the one of the man spat from behind his mask. “Are you listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I have,” the half-elf responded with a sigh. Despite the rewards they were always so damned arrogant. “Go to Istraloth, some island that you’ll give me voyage to, there’s an artifact that gives the person knowledge, get it and bring it back. Does that sum it up?”

One of the men snickered, the noise slurred and muted by the mask they wore. The half-elf could not tell which one it belonged too, but it mattered little to him. “Correct,” the original said. His tone was one of complete annoyance and anger. “Now, quit being so childish and go. Here is a pouch of gold. It will pay for your voyage and for your room and board while on the island.”

The four nodded slightly as they backed away. The one, who Vigo assumed had snickered, nodded a second time before he turned away from the sorcerer. When they had left, the half-elf was given to his whims. He took a minute to linger in the damp darkness of the alleyway. Radasanth always gave the half-elf of Raiaera a slight tinge of nausea. The human’s petty little city was rubbish compared to the magnificence of the high elven country. Even the most pathetic of the high elven cities was more majestic than Radasanth.

“Pathetic,” Vigo muttered as he turned from the meeting area. His boots splashed in the dingy puddles of the alley, ignoring the muddy splash. “Stupid humans.”

~*~

Vigo was beginning to think he was all alone in the world. It seemed like forever since he had made contact with another human being. The incessant crash of the waves made the half-elf wince; the constant lapping quickly grew on the nerves of the man. The others of the ship watched him from a distance, some were scared of him, and others were just wary. The sorcerer felt alone, but the prize on the small and remote island of Istraloth would be more than worth the price.

“Almost there,” one of the soldiers yelled. The half-elf peered over his crossed arms. It felt like he had been sitting against the small door forever, sulking. His arms were crossed at the forearms over his bent knees. “Any who are getting off at the first dock need to be ready!”

The sorcerer stood, most of the eyes of the passengers and crew alike turning towards him. The eyes were accusing, as if they knew he was there to steal their precious item. Vigo returned their looks, his heavy green eyes piercing their resolute facades. Most turned away, their façade’s crumbling; others simply met his gaze and bowed their heads in failure. It was turning out to be a long trip…