Post by KASABIAN TOBIAS CAIRNAN on Jan 29, 2011 4:27:02 GMT -6
Read the backstory so that this makes sense. forbiddenpeacev2.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=freshmeat&action=display&thread=535&page=1
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It was the dead of the night, the moon doing its best to illuminate the sky and the clouds doing their best to stop it. He trudged on, aimlessly, exhaustedly. With his body screaming in agony, his arms on fire and his legs giving way due to exhaustion every twenty steps or so, finally, the man collapsed. Only the soft trudge, trudge, trudge of Legion soldiers marching past on the road broke the night air as the man lay beside them, unseen in the ditch he had fallen. In the blanket of night, the entire patrol wandered on past without so much as seeing the battered and broken man.
He lay in the same spot for hours, too sore to move and wondering what the point of it all was anyway. In his left hand, he grabbed at the silver medallion hanging from around his neck. Powerless, as though it may have been, it gave him the strength to lift his head. It gave him something more powerful than magic, more powerful than the evil master he had escaped. It gave the man hope.
A soft groan escaped his cracked lips, his skin peeling from the burn that had been cast upon his back after days of wandering the Wastelands, dressed only in the attire he had escaped the farm with, a simple pair of trousers and cloth shoes for his leathery feet. Slowly, agonisingly, the man lifted his head. Through blurred vision, he could barely make out the sights of lights in the distance. Blinking in disbalief, he looks again. This time, he waits for his vision to clear a little, ensuring his eyes aren't simply playing tricks on him.
"Well, I'll be..."[/color]
The simple three words seem to take an age erupting from hs mouth. Somewhere deep inside himself, the exhausted man pushes himself up off the ground. He could make out what the lights were coming from, but nevertheless, the stranger made his way toward them in the hopes of a drink, a bed and a long awaited shower.
As he closes in on the source of the lights, the man sees it as being wise to escape the well trodden roadway and follows the path of the road from some distance away in the wilderness. He knows that the place he is in is dangerous, judging by the military presence on the road surrounding the village. Through his weathered eyes, he can barely make out a sign, standing in between two very bored looking guards. Inquizitively, the man reads it out loud to himself, a whisper the only voice his body can find the strength to muster.
"Jewelspar?"[/color]
Shrugging his shoulders and out of other options, the man moves as quietly as he can toward the village, being careful as to stick to the back entrances, the nooks and crannies that he assumes wouldn't be patrolled. The last thing he needs now is a fight on his hands with a set of over-eager Legion soldiers. Master had told him about the Legion, he had told him about the way they treated outsiders. He had been very clear about what the Legion would do if they ever caught a slave escaping. And the man knew from first hand experience also, he knew what they were capable of. A knot forms in his throat as he thinks about his poor ma and da, and his sister, now distant memories in his mind.
The man is very careful in sticking to the shadows as he moves about Jewelspar. He walks on, exploring the village, staying clear of the built up areas. Getting nowhere, and desperate for a place to rest his head, the man's walk leads him naturally to the stench of ale and the sound of laughter. He knew that there would be soldiers inside, he knew that it was risky, but once again, the man was out of options.
The man looked up at the sign, waving softly in the cool breeze:
'The Motley Jug'. The sign came complete with a drawing of an ale jug, spilling out it's contents. The man took a deep breath, before heading straight for the front door of the dingy tavern.
To be continued in the Motley Jug.
Comments appreciated, I'm new, tell me what you think
______________________________________________________
It was the dead of the night, the moon doing its best to illuminate the sky and the clouds doing their best to stop it. He trudged on, aimlessly, exhaustedly. With his body screaming in agony, his arms on fire and his legs giving way due to exhaustion every twenty steps or so, finally, the man collapsed. Only the soft trudge, trudge, trudge of Legion soldiers marching past on the road broke the night air as the man lay beside them, unseen in the ditch he had fallen. In the blanket of night, the entire patrol wandered on past without so much as seeing the battered and broken man.
He lay in the same spot for hours, too sore to move and wondering what the point of it all was anyway. In his left hand, he grabbed at the silver medallion hanging from around his neck. Powerless, as though it may have been, it gave him the strength to lift his head. It gave him something more powerful than magic, more powerful than the evil master he had escaped. It gave the man hope.
A soft groan escaped his cracked lips, his skin peeling from the burn that had been cast upon his back after days of wandering the Wastelands, dressed only in the attire he had escaped the farm with, a simple pair of trousers and cloth shoes for his leathery feet. Slowly, agonisingly, the man lifted his head. Through blurred vision, he could barely make out the sights of lights in the distance. Blinking in disbalief, he looks again. This time, he waits for his vision to clear a little, ensuring his eyes aren't simply playing tricks on him.
"Well, I'll be..."[/color]
The simple three words seem to take an age erupting from hs mouth. Somewhere deep inside himself, the exhausted man pushes himself up off the ground. He could make out what the lights were coming from, but nevertheless, the stranger made his way toward them in the hopes of a drink, a bed and a long awaited shower.
As he closes in on the source of the lights, the man sees it as being wise to escape the well trodden roadway and follows the path of the road from some distance away in the wilderness. He knows that the place he is in is dangerous, judging by the military presence on the road surrounding the village. Through his weathered eyes, he can barely make out a sign, standing in between two very bored looking guards. Inquizitively, the man reads it out loud to himself, a whisper the only voice his body can find the strength to muster.
"Jewelspar?"[/color]
Shrugging his shoulders and out of other options, the man moves as quietly as he can toward the village, being careful as to stick to the back entrances, the nooks and crannies that he assumes wouldn't be patrolled. The last thing he needs now is a fight on his hands with a set of over-eager Legion soldiers. Master had told him about the Legion, he had told him about the way they treated outsiders. He had been very clear about what the Legion would do if they ever caught a slave escaping. And the man knew from first hand experience also, he knew what they were capable of. A knot forms in his throat as he thinks about his poor ma and da, and his sister, now distant memories in his mind.
The man is very careful in sticking to the shadows as he moves about Jewelspar. He walks on, exploring the village, staying clear of the built up areas. Getting nowhere, and desperate for a place to rest his head, the man's walk leads him naturally to the stench of ale and the sound of laughter. He knew that there would be soldiers inside, he knew that it was risky, but once again, the man was out of options.
The man looked up at the sign, waving softly in the cool breeze:
'The Motley Jug'. The sign came complete with a drawing of an ale jug, spilling out it's contents. The man took a deep breath, before heading straight for the front door of the dingy tavern.
To be continued in the Motley Jug.
Comments appreciated, I'm new, tell me what you think