Cael paced the length of the first floor, back and forth, lost in thought. His left arm sat on the kitchen counter, leather straps undone so his stub could breath. His worn purple jacket was thrown across the back of a chair by the door, the wood stove keeping the small space warm enough. He remembered very little of the 'Dream'. A small chamber. The smell of wet dirt and moss. Crumbling stonework in the walls and worn pillars in the corners. Somewhere people once dominated, retaken by nature. The Door felt the same, smelled the same even.
He had spent a long time considering the monsters inside the chamber. Shambling things, mirroring those present, and he presumed loved ones, given his took Raven's face. He flexed his right hand slowly, knuckles cracking quietly. It had unsettled him, put him off key. Pissed him the f*ck off. That feeling swelled back up when he heard the lady's voice again at the hill. While the rest fought the Wolf Beasts, his rage had built. He hadn't been thinking rationally. Now, he had time to consider.
He let his hand relax once more, raising his arm to look at the front of his wrist. The Varran's mark shone there still. A glowing blue lotus flower, right below where the hourglass stood on the band before. The Varran was up to something with this lady. The likelihood of the Lotus flower being coincidental was zero. The head on the Door bore this mark, and responded to it. What did that make the trickster then? What did that make the lady?
He let his arm fall back to his side, letting out a pent-up sigh. Every f*cking time, he always had to get stuck in the middle of this shit. He was always right in the middle of bullshit that wasn't his to be in- fighting petty noble's wars back as a mercenary. Dragged into pirating by Koura. Stuck in the middle of the Sewers Flood and Sewer Collapse orchestrated by lunatics in red both. The one time he wanted to get in the thick of things he was f*cked about by beurocratic shit from a petty noble and never got to prove his worth to the Empire's Marshal Forces. Even in Rie the Elves kept him in their safe little capital, the sense of watching eyes never passing, never allowed to contribute, so he left. And now, he was back in the middle of demon bullshit.
Cael grabbed the wooden arm off the counter, carefully setting it in place at his stub and strapping it across his back and shoulders, tightening the grip strap so it was firmly attached, before grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. He paused by the door, glancing to his spear, resting against the wall. The pale light of the afternoon shone through the window across and gleamed lightly off the steel tip as he considered. He grabbed the spear, using it as a walking staff as he pretending to limp, into the street, towards the Pearl.
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The last few days had been tense, but uneventful for the most part since the guards had chased down that vampire. He noticed gradually an increase in the number of bone constructs within Old Town again, but that wasn't surprising really. As long as a few of their creators remained, more would be forged from the dead left in the gutters. As he hobbled down the street, he heard loud thudding and the clatter of armor coming from a block down, and detoured slightly to investigate. He stepped around the corner, about a hundred paces off from the group of guards and towns people, in the company of Tristan Kade. He slipped further back quietly, to observe. They busted down a door, searching the interior to the annoyance of the homeowner, before moving on.
Cael pursed his lips, confused as he followed behind at a great distance. They continued this process several times over. Whatever got the Kade so invested must have been important, but- he faltered. Several people, within the guard group and spectators alike looked up at the sky at once, concerned, for seemingly no reason. He frowned, glancing about at the sky for a moment, before it suddenly began to darken. The sun's light faded rapidly, until an unnatural night settled over the city. The stars shone, but no moon was visible. It simply went from the evening to pitch black in moments, no light to see by at all.
He swallowed, glancing down at the now very apparent glowing lotus on his wrist, quickly tugging his sleeve down to block the faint blue light, shutting his eyes and opening them again slowly several times to try to hasten his sight to return. By now, a slow panic had settled over the city. Windows light up as lanterns and candles were light, doors and windows opened as people stepped outside to gawk up at the sky. He noted a guard, looking his way. He quickly moved to get away from the group, unsure if he had been recognized but not willing to risk it, disregarding his facade of injury and weakness to stride as quickly as he could.
He roamed the city as the panic grew. People sheltered back indoors, or massed in the streets. Groups kneeled at small candle shrines to the Spirit, some in secluded corners muttered prayers to the Old Gods, or the Pantheon even. All the while, he trudged on, scarf pulled up over his lower face, the glowing lotus covered carefully by his sleeve. Looking, for that damn Varran. Certain he was at fault. Somehow, this had to be related to the Marked, and the Lady, and the Door. Just as the growing threats to Drowdar had to be. Somehow. He was certain, but it was not likely.
The group of guards had gathered as he roamed, massed in front of the Willow with a small gathering of civilians. They still seemed obsessed with their own hunt, and he did not bother following as they marched eastward. He walked the length of the city twice over nearly, checking anywhere he considered possibly important. The Old Gods Temples, the Cathedrals and churches, the Estates and Knight HQ, nothing. Even asking around, he received only confused blank looks. Everyone was too obsessed with the Sun being gone, nobody was looking for what caused it.
Finally he was forced to stop, shuffling into the Falcon with a real limp, legs throbbing from the numbing cold and the horrid amounts of walking he had done. He really was too old for this shit, even if he played it up most days. He pulled down his scarf, standing in front of the fire as a group of drunkards sung at the bar, drinking away concerns for the sky. As feeling slowly returned to his hand and legs, he considered the Door. But it was too far to walk, alone, in this weather. He might make it there, but if it refused to open, he would not make it back.
His train of thought was interrupted as several of the drunks yelled out, stumbling away from the doorway. He turned, squinting against the light, the shine off the snow being nearly blinding after so much darkness. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, clearing away involuntary brightness-induced tears, squinting out at the light, stepping over to a window. As he glanced up quickly, he noticed the sun had returned once more, and glanced back inside quickly to escape the pain with a hiss.
He had spent a long time considering the monsters inside the chamber. Shambling things, mirroring those present, and he presumed loved ones, given his took Raven's face. He flexed his right hand slowly, knuckles cracking quietly. It had unsettled him, put him off key. Pissed him the f*ck off. That feeling swelled back up when he heard the lady's voice again at the hill. While the rest fought the Wolf Beasts, his rage had built. He hadn't been thinking rationally. Now, he had time to consider.
He let his hand relax once more, raising his arm to look at the front of his wrist. The Varran's mark shone there still. A glowing blue lotus flower, right below where the hourglass stood on the band before. The Varran was up to something with this lady. The likelihood of the Lotus flower being coincidental was zero. The head on the Door bore this mark, and responded to it. What did that make the trickster then? What did that make the lady?
He let his arm fall back to his side, letting out a pent-up sigh. Every f*cking time, he always had to get stuck in the middle of this shit. He was always right in the middle of bullshit that wasn't his to be in- fighting petty noble's wars back as a mercenary. Dragged into pirating by Koura. Stuck in the middle of the Sewers Flood and Sewer Collapse orchestrated by lunatics in red both. The one time he wanted to get in the thick of things he was f*cked about by beurocratic shit from a petty noble and never got to prove his worth to the Empire's Marshal Forces. Even in Rie the Elves kept him in their safe little capital, the sense of watching eyes never passing, never allowed to contribute, so he left. And now, he was back in the middle of demon bullshit.
Cael grabbed the wooden arm off the counter, carefully setting it in place at his stub and strapping it across his back and shoulders, tightening the grip strap so it was firmly attached, before grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. He paused by the door, glancing to his spear, resting against the wall. The pale light of the afternoon shone through the window across and gleamed lightly off the steel tip as he considered. He grabbed the spear, using it as a walking staff as he pretending to limp, into the street, towards the Pearl.
The last few days had been tense, but uneventful for the most part since the guards had chased down that vampire. He noticed gradually an increase in the number of bone constructs within Old Town again, but that wasn't surprising really. As long as a few of their creators remained, more would be forged from the dead left in the gutters. As he hobbled down the street, he heard loud thudding and the clatter of armor coming from a block down, and detoured slightly to investigate. He stepped around the corner, about a hundred paces off from the group of guards and towns people, in the company of Tristan Kade. He slipped further back quietly, to observe. They busted down a door, searching the interior to the annoyance of the homeowner, before moving on.
Cael pursed his lips, confused as he followed behind at a great distance. They continued this process several times over. Whatever got the Kade so invested must have been important, but- he faltered. Several people, within the guard group and spectators alike looked up at the sky at once, concerned, for seemingly no reason. He frowned, glancing about at the sky for a moment, before it suddenly began to darken. The sun's light faded rapidly, until an unnatural night settled over the city. The stars shone, but no moon was visible. It simply went from the evening to pitch black in moments, no light to see by at all.
He swallowed, glancing down at the now very apparent glowing lotus on his wrist, quickly tugging his sleeve down to block the faint blue light, shutting his eyes and opening them again slowly several times to try to hasten his sight to return. By now, a slow panic had settled over the city. Windows light up as lanterns and candles were light, doors and windows opened as people stepped outside to gawk up at the sky. He noted a guard, looking his way. He quickly moved to get away from the group, unsure if he had been recognized but not willing to risk it, disregarding his facade of injury and weakness to stride as quickly as he could.
He roamed the city as the panic grew. People sheltered back indoors, or massed in the streets. Groups kneeled at small candle shrines to the Spirit, some in secluded corners muttered prayers to the Old Gods, or the Pantheon even. All the while, he trudged on, scarf pulled up over his lower face, the glowing lotus covered carefully by his sleeve. Looking, for that damn Varran. Certain he was at fault. Somehow, this had to be related to the Marked, and the Lady, and the Door. Just as the growing threats to Drowdar had to be. Somehow. He was certain, but it was not likely.
The group of guards had gathered as he roamed, massed in front of the Willow with a small gathering of civilians. They still seemed obsessed with their own hunt, and he did not bother following as they marched eastward. He walked the length of the city twice over nearly, checking anywhere he considered possibly important. The Old Gods Temples, the Cathedrals and churches, the Estates and Knight HQ, nothing. Even asking around, he received only confused blank looks. Everyone was too obsessed with the Sun being gone, nobody was looking for what caused it.
Finally he was forced to stop, shuffling into the Falcon with a real limp, legs throbbing from the numbing cold and the horrid amounts of walking he had done. He really was too old for this shit, even if he played it up most days. He pulled down his scarf, standing in front of the fire as a group of drunkards sung at the bar, drinking away concerns for the sky. As feeling slowly returned to his hand and legs, he considered the Door. But it was too far to walk, alone, in this weather. He might make it there, but if it refused to open, he would not make it back.
His train of thought was interrupted as several of the drunks yelled out, stumbling away from the doorway. He turned, squinting against the light, the shine off the snow being nearly blinding after so much darkness. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, clearing away involuntary brightness-induced tears, squinting out at the light, stepping over to a window. As he glanced up quickly, he noticed the sun had returned once more, and glanced back inside quickly to escape the pain with a hiss.
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