Ramus Thirdfallen barks dire orders to the youths guarding the village, who predictably panic, fumbling with their badly weighted spears and oversized armor.
"...ahabuahubaa...I'm Captain Pelham! Captain of the...uh guard..." One of them says, in a quavery voice. He's about 18, but his shoulder tabard indicates he has a rank higher than those around him. He at least didn't completely drop his spear like the others.
"...uh, there's not uh...many people who can fight here...we're mostly traders and...boatscrafters. Not warriors! We only decided I could be Captain because I could belch the loudest..." He declares mournfully.
"But, uh, you need to speak to the mayor! Mayor Pelham. My father, the mayor. Let me take you to him!"He points to the smallest boy of the 'guard'
"You! You're in charge till I get back! Sound the warning bells!"...
The young Captain leads you through the finely paved cobble street, where people are poking their heads at the commotion. At the end, the largest house in this small town-a humble two story brick building. The mayor is, in fact, eating lunch at this moment and he raises an eyebrow at you-then his panicking son.
"...ah, you were the group we hired, right? To clean up our fish problem...so, what's...all this commotion about, then?" He asks hesitantly.
----
Rankar takes the axe. He can't help but realize-with mixed excitement and dread-that his previous memories have begun to grow hazy of the event. The Old man seems to be pleased by your choice, and Rankar cannot help but think what would have happened if hadn't taken the weapon in hand
He turns to help fight the ever growing horde of bandits...not more than a few will be surprised to see him, as if something, somewhere is vitally wrong in the universe. But, what's wrong and right are up to debate for philosophers.
Rankar had decided to help his village, Wisdom, mantra and reflection be damnned.
....
...and...
time....
.......unravels.......
When he comes too, he is lying on the ground back where he started. He stands up with a grunt, looking around. The vines former locomotion seems to have mostly stilled...as if they are now sated. He looks back upon the stone, but it has now crumbled into a fine silver dust much like the other one.
The remaining two stones now have have places for him put his hand. He has taken his share of magic here, and whatever resides here helps him no longer. The pit in the center remains as quiet and mysterious as ever...questions of fate and time flit into his mind, but already the former life is fading. He will remember it in dreams, but not in waking life.
Rankar feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns-not with fear.
For who else would be able to sneak up behind him but Caellach, his young friend?
That night, they saved many lives...though the village was still lost, timbers could be reset-fields could be replanted. The people of the town would live to do so, in time. And one young man who would also have otherwise died, survived instead. They both had lost their home, their families, their futures-yet wanders, they became (for some things cannot be unwritten)-as much to see the world, as to escape the pain of that night. Their trials had forged bonds of steel and fire. Caellachs easy smile and temper has brought comfort and companionship to Rankar even as the road was long and brutal-Rankars patience and stoic nature helping him to keep his way in the world. He has shared your pain, and faced down the slavers and beasts with you, and everything else fate has put in your path-honing his skills alongside yours, as the years passed.
He smiles now, seemingly amused at your somewhat startled expression. Though you don't know why it is almost as if you are looking upon a stranger.
"Ah, my horned friend, if you're done playing with the magic stones...? You've been standing there about a half hour-like you were sleeping standing up-but, I didn't see anything happen to you...frankly, I'm a bit relieved. Magic, right? More trouble than it's worth. Hope you had good dreams, anyway.
We should probably get a move on. I still want to see that crown of yours, the one you dreamed about, yeah? Fate waits for no man, and all that."His voices echoes as is Rankar has never heard its like before.
Caellach is now a man reaching his prime-his small blade still adorns his side, but he has a larger and heavier blade of your design now hanging on his roughspun leather belt. Upon his well mucled right shoulder, a bright blue runic tattoo of angled horns pointing angrily to the sky-the mark of a non-Kasar that is considered a clanmate, an extraordinarily rare honor. He has earned it, though. You will oftentimes remark his blade skill surpasses your own, a humble decree, and maybe in a few years in may be true. He is still young, and reckless-but possesses an amazing well of fortitude and courage. His eyes are still the same the bright shade of green they always were, but his hair has deepened to a dark blonde, and grown thick and well kempt with years on the trail.
Though Rankar is happy and clasps his friends shoulder in the way a brother might-later he will remark in his journal how odd this feels...he can't help but get the feeling...as it was not meant to happen this way. But, how could that be? He will eventually dismiss these thoughts as dream fancy, but they will never entirely leave him. Nor will a feeling of having narrowly avoided something, lingering just on the edge of his perception. The feeling of being...hunted. Hounded. One day, he will know the truth.
But...for now-he will, in waking life, remember nothing exactly of what happened-but, that he entered the clearing-took the stone in his hand, and saw the vision of his past-of the choices he made. The right choice.
"Master Rankar, are you all right? We can stop for a bit and rest...but let's get out of this blasted place, first. It's making my skin apt to crawl away and hide." Caellach remarks, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. He breathes deeply of the mountain air, momentarily turning to look at the sky.
...
There is one final whisper, from the stone circle and the darkness underneath. Caellach does not seem to hear it.
The past doesn't want to change. It it obdurate like a turtle's shell is obdurate: because the living flesh inside is tender and defenseless.And finally, a stillness falls-the path forward, clear.
Yet in this calmness, Rankar now finds he is not utterly alone, and it is a comfort.
----
Solbryn calls down to the Kasar.
[3]
He reacts quickly, dropping into a guard stance and spreading his legs.
A few seconds pass, as the insects chirp and two individuals of wildly differing circumstance face one another down.
Finally, he seems to relax-though, Solbryn notices the Kasar has never appeared to have been entirely relaxed. Even before she spoke down to him.
A low pitched, rumbling voices issues forth. Solbryn thinks it's not unlike the sleepy mutter of a far off peal of thunder (an oddly poetic thought for her, she reflects), and it has an oddly musical quality to it.
"...Iooaef aeuay ili'g ki'lalj gv foyuay?" The beastmans questions, motioning in Solbryns general direction, and then downward in a swift chop.
OOC: Yay! Also, totally ripped a quote from my favorite SK novel here. It was very appropos
Author
Topic: Dualism - Game Thread [Round I: Spring] (Read 11208 times)