Slayer of the Rot
08-22-07, 03:15 AM
Dan Lagh'ratham, the repentant in silence, stared towards the dull, gray sky, unmoving and unaffected for once as the world moved around him. The crew of the Yedda's Star had begun toiling not ten minutes earlier to get the ship ready for sea once more, having unloaded it's cargo without the help of it's single passenger from Alerar. His expression was one of grim tranquility; he was not pleased to be back here, but the inconvenience rolled off his back like rain drops on a metal plate. Arching his back, he drew his first breath of cooling, Coronian air, the first that is, for over a year, and adjusted his scarf, so most of his face remained hidden.
Summer was fading fast into the crisp cold of Autumn; it could be felt well here on the docks, the chilly air made chillier by the waterfront. Shrugging his tall form down, Dan dipped his bare hands into the pockets of his maroon long coat and set forward, boots thumping soundly on the dock's planks, and padding along quieter on the cobblestones of Radasanth's street.
He moved slowly through the sprawling financial district of the city, pausing often to withdraw the photograph of his daughter from his pocket, wherein it rested against his hand, the sharp corners poking against his palm. Surely Meredith, frightened of the beast that had slain her mother, would have had the good enough sense to stow away on a boat and come to Corone. Though he strongly disliked them, she had family here in the form of the Wilmhearst, and friends of her father, speckled across the countryside that she would have at least a small bit of knowledge of.
At first, the shaking of heads and apologies were met only with a disappointment. However, as the hours passed, it quickly segwayed into annoyance, and as dusk drably approached, he could feel that irritation heating into something worse. Those that he asked were in a hurry to leave to their homes, so that they may sit down for dinner. Some passed him without an answer, some with a glare, some with a curt 'no'.
"Excuse me. Have you seen this girl?" The clusters of people were thinning out, and this was the last of them he was going to ask. It was a woman, with short red hair and quick, green eyes, who stopped with an abrupt stomp, and turned to him swiftly, swinging her whole body with her.
"Listen, if you hadn't lost the little shit, you wouldn't have to bother us good people, eh? At least I can keep an eye on my daughter, you jackass!" At her mention, a little girl with hair the color of a vibrant flame peeked her cream colored little face out from behind the curtain of her mother's dress. Dan looked from the child, to the woman, who recoiled at the sight of his eyes. The creases beneath them were crinkled as his eyes narrowed to mere slits, and then snapped open, the fire in them terribly agitated.
"Go home," he hissed through closed, sharp teeth, "Enjoy your evening, and the rest of your days. You never know how short they may be..." He thrust the hand holding the photograp deep into his pocket and turned from her, grasping his forearm in his grip. The muscles were tightly bunched, solid enough that he could have sworn he was grasping the steel arm of a statue, if he had bee incoherent. His pace was brisk, carrying him on a familiar route, and soon enough, the structure loomed above him, it's shadow taking him in like the enclosing arms of an old friend.
The Citadel.
'The seal is gone, I shouldn't be having these fits anymore!' Squeezing his eyes shut tight, be jogged up the steps to the main doors and nudged one of the great wooden slabs open with his shoulder. The rage trhat had threatened darkness on the borders of his vision, seemed to cool; but instead of vanishing entirely, it coiled tightly in the pit of his stomach like a red eyed viper. Standing in the threshold of the great building, Dan let his head fall back, and drew in a great breath of air full of memories. The scent of blood lay under incense. It was not detectable to the average man, but it was simple enough for him.
Breathing softly, he finally moved forward, and though he heard nothing, a robed monk was suddenly at his side, matching his stride. "Looking to vent some late evening aggressions?"
"Yes." The answer came drawn on a long exhale, and the monk nodded. They passed five sets of doors on either side, before they both stopped at the six. The repentant turned his head to the left. "This one, yes." Opening the door, he found beyond a lazily turning, circular oaken platform in the middle of an uncountable series of intricate mechanism endlessly counting the passing of the seconds of history. Quietly, he stepped down onto the platform, feeling only slightly unbalanced as it moved beneath him, and looked up. Though most of the inside of the fabricated clock tower was gloomy and dark, a window above him allowed light to spill in, illuminating the platform upon which he stood. Dust played slowly in the glow.
"Who shall I guide your way?"
"Somone who...will not waste my time."
((I could use a nice little battle to get myself working again. Anyone can jump in here; don't be shy. This is taking place after my solo.))
Summer was fading fast into the crisp cold of Autumn; it could be felt well here on the docks, the chilly air made chillier by the waterfront. Shrugging his tall form down, Dan dipped his bare hands into the pockets of his maroon long coat and set forward, boots thumping soundly on the dock's planks, and padding along quieter on the cobblestones of Radasanth's street.
He moved slowly through the sprawling financial district of the city, pausing often to withdraw the photograph of his daughter from his pocket, wherein it rested against his hand, the sharp corners poking against his palm. Surely Meredith, frightened of the beast that had slain her mother, would have had the good enough sense to stow away on a boat and come to Corone. Though he strongly disliked them, she had family here in the form of the Wilmhearst, and friends of her father, speckled across the countryside that she would have at least a small bit of knowledge of.
At first, the shaking of heads and apologies were met only with a disappointment. However, as the hours passed, it quickly segwayed into annoyance, and as dusk drably approached, he could feel that irritation heating into something worse. Those that he asked were in a hurry to leave to their homes, so that they may sit down for dinner. Some passed him without an answer, some with a glare, some with a curt 'no'.
"Excuse me. Have you seen this girl?" The clusters of people were thinning out, and this was the last of them he was going to ask. It was a woman, with short red hair and quick, green eyes, who stopped with an abrupt stomp, and turned to him swiftly, swinging her whole body with her.
"Listen, if you hadn't lost the little shit, you wouldn't have to bother us good people, eh? At least I can keep an eye on my daughter, you jackass!" At her mention, a little girl with hair the color of a vibrant flame peeked her cream colored little face out from behind the curtain of her mother's dress. Dan looked from the child, to the woman, who recoiled at the sight of his eyes. The creases beneath them were crinkled as his eyes narrowed to mere slits, and then snapped open, the fire in them terribly agitated.
"Go home," he hissed through closed, sharp teeth, "Enjoy your evening, and the rest of your days. You never know how short they may be..." He thrust the hand holding the photograp deep into his pocket and turned from her, grasping his forearm in his grip. The muscles were tightly bunched, solid enough that he could have sworn he was grasping the steel arm of a statue, if he had bee incoherent. His pace was brisk, carrying him on a familiar route, and soon enough, the structure loomed above him, it's shadow taking him in like the enclosing arms of an old friend.
The Citadel.
'The seal is gone, I shouldn't be having these fits anymore!' Squeezing his eyes shut tight, be jogged up the steps to the main doors and nudged one of the great wooden slabs open with his shoulder. The rage trhat had threatened darkness on the borders of his vision, seemed to cool; but instead of vanishing entirely, it coiled tightly in the pit of his stomach like a red eyed viper. Standing in the threshold of the great building, Dan let his head fall back, and drew in a great breath of air full of memories. The scent of blood lay under incense. It was not detectable to the average man, but it was simple enough for him.
Breathing softly, he finally moved forward, and though he heard nothing, a robed monk was suddenly at his side, matching his stride. "Looking to vent some late evening aggressions?"
"Yes." The answer came drawn on a long exhale, and the monk nodded. They passed five sets of doors on either side, before they both stopped at the six. The repentant turned his head to the left. "This one, yes." Opening the door, he found beyond a lazily turning, circular oaken platform in the middle of an uncountable series of intricate mechanism endlessly counting the passing of the seconds of history. Quietly, he stepped down onto the platform, feeling only slightly unbalanced as it moved beneath him, and looked up. Though most of the inside of the fabricated clock tower was gloomy and dark, a window above him allowed light to spill in, illuminating the platform upon which he stood. Dust played slowly in the glow.
"Who shall I guide your way?"
"Somone who...will not waste my time."
((I could use a nice little battle to get myself working again. Anyone can jump in here; don't be shy. This is taking place after my solo.))