| Subject: Ok, well, here goes......Just toyin' with this idea...let me know what you think |
Author:
Tacroy Bladefire
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 03:23:44 08/08/03 Fri
The moon high in the inky blue black of the night sky shone down almost pitingly on the ramshackle houses and filthy cobblestoned streets of the City of Herigon.Even the beautiful silver glow of the crescent moon and the twinkling stars couldn't reduce the harsh marks of poverty that seemed to be etched into the very foundations of the city itself.
The wooden houses were falling into a state of disrepair, decaying slowly but surely. There wasn't one among the hundred or so houses that had unbroken windows,a sagging roof, and paint chipped entirely away by wind and weather.
The cobblestoned streets were covered in filth and dirty gray snow. Scraps of food, brackish water, and refuse were merged together, staining the once pure white, newly fallen snow, into a gray slush. It was a breeding ground for the plauge and other sickness, just as the city was a breeding ground for hate and blame.
Although it was winter and the temperatures were plummeting, it was common to find ragged bundles of cloth curled up in doorframes of the ruinous houses, their strained and faint breathing, the only sign of life in them. These were the homeless, reduced to sleeping in their own filth, begging for measly scraps of food during the day, and trying to survive the harsh winter temperatures at night. It was almost a fact that each night at least one wouldn't rise to continue begging during the day, and it was also known that for each one who died, two more people would be cast out from their homes to take their place.
And yet, the brooding castle above the town marked this as Herigon, the Capital City of all the land of Isrank and by far, the wealthiest and more habital towns.
The only lights in the late hour of the winter night came from the torches placed around the stained City Square and from the interior of one of the local pubs, the Red Serpent. It was open at any hour, night or day, for the customers who would spend their few coins to seek temporary relief from their troubles with alcohol. The prices were low, the beer bad, and the pub filthy, but it attracted quite a large crowd.
A man sat hunched over at the counter, covered from head to foot in a black cloak complete with a hood, which cast an impetrable shadow over his face. Even though he sat hunched, it was evident that he was tall, lithe, and powerfully built and there was a certain, almost dangerous air that hung around him. He shifted restlessly on the stool and gazed around at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take his order. His piercing gaze roved around the room as he nodded slowly to himself.
The Red Serpent wasn't large. Its walls and floor were stained with filth, but its occupants seemed not to notice.
The man turned back to the counter and gazed down the length it. A group of haggard looking men sat forlornly at the end, occasionaly raising their beakers to their lips. The hooded man shifted restlessly, but listened intently to their conversation.
"S' wasn't always like this," said one, his head in his hands. "Things used to be much better."
"Aye," agreed his compainion, idly tracing patterns in the counter's thick dust. "But that was a long time ago, before Ma'alar deserted...."
"You're right Grig," said the third man. "And then the border war threw the land into ruin again...Curse those Barons!"
"At least I don't live in Lurk," said the first man. At this, the hooded figure became strangely tense. It was just at this moment that the barkeeper lumbered over and asked the stranger, "What'll it be?"
"One beer," said the man quietly. The bar-tender grunted and moved away to fill a tankard, leaving his customer to lean forward and listen to the three men. "It's not as if King Edward and his Embric ain't doin' anythin'...they are, everyone knows that, but the crim rate has doubled! Nay! Tripled!"
The bartender plonked down a glass of beer in front of the hooded man, spilling a great deal onto the tabletop. The black cloaked figure flinched at the sudden thud and turned his piercing gaze back to the drink in front of him. He reached out and took it, , his cloak parting ever so slightly to allow a brief glimpse of a long black scabbard at his side.
"Well, with theives like the Gyrfalcon about, it's hard to keep the peace."
The hooded man lowered his beaker slightly and listened intently, a smile playing about his face. "The Gyrfalcon," said Grid slowly. "He's just a myth."
"No he ain't!" protested the third man. "He ain't a myth! He was born in this very town."
The first man agreed. "Aye that he was Grid, though I heard that after he attended the Mage Accademy, he moved Lurk. He took up a job there. He was a thief,a spy, and a murder, a combination of all that and he worked for the highest payer. He's never failed a job Grid, and he appears only when he wants to, The King's Chief Guard, wotisname, Reggis, is offerin' a reward for this Gyrfalcon. One thousand gold, dead or alive."
Grid snorted. "That's gold the King could ill afford to loose. He should just fergit about this so called Gyrfalcon. Besides, if this thief is a mage, he can avoid bein' seein if he wishes right? That's if he's as powerful as ye say?"
The first man nodded. "He is! He's so powerful, even the mages of the Accademy were afeared of him. They say that he had a quick vicious temper and would blast apart any man that stood in his way, with the deadliest magics."
The hooded man spoke the, in a loud voice. "Really? I always thought that the Gyrfalcon dropped out of the Accademy after just two years there." The three men turned slowly and menacingly around to face him as he continued.
"He did learn some spells, but very basic ones. he tended to overpower them though, that's why they were deadly."
Grid, the largest of the three, the most brutal, and also the most drunk, glared at the hooded man. "And how does a wimp like you know this?"
At once the hooded man's posture changed. He set down his glass with a dull thud and straightened up even more, his hand straying dangerously close to the long scabbard hidden by his side. But, when he spoke, it was in a deceptively calm voice. "I'd watch what you say drunkard, you don't know who ye might be insultin'."
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 
