Growing
up on the wrong side of every discussion the Renegade never understood the
solace people found in blindly following orders. Rebelling against every
decision and courtly decree she had a habit of waking up behind bars on a
weekly basis. The authorities knew her about as well as their own relatives,
except she came to visit far more frequently. Some would say she was a
nuisance, others would say she was a revolutionary ahead of her times, and
those most annoyed would call her a politician. She had many names and many
opinions all dependent upon which was the best way to start an argument.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
The Frailty of Desperation (Part 3)
Had
the Beacon still been alive she would have been proud of the Pestilence for
believing in hope. And she would have been even more delighted to see her faith
be rewarded in the way it was. No, the Poet didn't miraculously recover in
time, but another sort of miracle did indeed occur. The Drifter returned.
The Frailty of Desperation (Part 2)
Having
no intention of opening the door the Poet and the others decided to wait it
out, hoping the Man would just go away. He couldn't take the hint though. His
actions were not his own. Eventually however he did stop knocking, but it was
not for the reasons anyone inside would have liked. There certainly wasn't any
walking away involved. Instead, his body came crashing through the door with
such force that it would have killed him had he not already been dead. In the
void left where the door used to be now stood a shadowy figure towering over
eight feet tall. He would have had to crouch to get through the opening, but
decided to rather just break more of the wall out with his shoulders as he
stepped through into the lobby with minimal effort.
The Frailty of Desperation (Part 1)
Having had their first attempt at
sleep be interrupted, the four remaining guests of Jazmin’s Tavern decided to
have another go at it. Closing their eyes was easy enough but finding sleep
once they were nestled in their beds was a different story. Most of their minds
were still racing from the night’s altercations. Only the Beacon was able to
find a significant amount of shuteye by the time morning arrived. Her body was
too exhausted, both mentally and physically to allow for any other course of
action.
Hearts of Darkness (Part 3)
While
waiting for the Librarian to come down and the Beacon to wake up The Poet
decided to go check on the Man. Not wanting to take any chances he didn't open
the back door but rather just peeked through the slot above its knob. There the
Man lay in the snowbank, lifeless. It looked like he had been dead for some
time, as strange as that sounded after everything he had seen. It didn't
matter. Nothing else lately had been making any sense so why should this.
Luckily he didn't have to dwell on the topic for very long. The Beacon woke up.
Hearts of Darkness (Part 2)
As
night fell the Man circled the inn like an animal trying to get in, but it was
to no avail. Everything had been boarded up. Getting ready to give up he
staggered around to the back door of the tavern hoping to find some sort of
crevice or crack to barrel his shoulder through when lady luck came rushing to
his aid.
Hearts of Darkness (Part 1)
Over
the course of his stay in the Frozen Abyss the Poet had seen many dark and
cryptic things. Glowing crimson eyes were a new one though, even for him. Could
a man really get so enraged that even his pupils turned red? It seemed
unlikely, but the unlikely had a strange way of becoming less so in the Frozen
Abyss. Still, what had happened was a mystery, and a very disturbing one at
that.
The Ghost of the Garrison (Part 3)
The
night after the ruckus over the Man's conundrum began to surface the Drifter
went missing. His throwing axe was found lodged between a member of the
Garrison's eyes, but he was nowhere to be found. Though was it really all that
odd for a drifter to just get up and leave for no reason? No, not at all. And
so there was hardly any discussion on the topic other than why he must have
felt it necessary to take out a miner before he skipped town. Maybe that's just
who he was. It's not like any one knew much about him. They let the matter
slide though as a more pressing one started to unfold in the streets outside
the inn.
The Ghost of the Garrison (Part 2)
The
next morning was dark, so too was the day and the night. In fact, it was always
dark in the Frozen Abyss. But even this lack of daylight was not the
centerpiece behind the Frozen Abyss’ association with being dark. Its ever encompassing
connection to death had claimed that seat long ago. Countless stories, rumors,
and legends linking back to the early days of the four Realms spoke of the
miseries suffered upon the frozen tundra in great detail. If one were to believe
them, no one in their right mind would enter this wasteland for any reason.
Clearly, the Man was not one to give merit to these tales. His beliefs only
went as far to say that even priceless had its price. And that it was his job
to collect. To him, this morning looked no different than any prior, but indeed
darkness was growing.
The Ghost of the Garrison (Part 1)
A man can
dream, it's true. And the Man dreamt far more than most... on a few, limited
topics. His dream for wealth brought him to the Frozen Abyss just over six
months ago and it didn't disappoint. Leaving with heavy pockets he now returned to
finish excavations. Mining. That was the key to everything. Buried beneath the
ice sat a seemingly endless cavern of riches; Priceless gemstones and minerals
deposits just begging to be freed. And who was he to ignore their pleas? After
all, the Man had grown quite the reputation for being a liberator, in at least
some sense of the word. His plan was simple: mine the tundra dry. Who could
argue with such simplicity?
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