The night was dark and stormy, winds howled making the ships and boats sway and bounce on the water. Bright flashes and loud crashes echo and light up the sky. The rain beats down on the city and stings those who venture out into the streets. People sit nervously or scared in their homes, the inn, and even a few patrons still sit in the Golden Griffin Tavern.The ones steeped in their drink watch the storm cautiously, without movement or sound they watch. They watch the lightening flash, the rain dance in the wind, the trees sway and bend as if to kiss the ground. They watch the few people on the streets scurry and duck under shelters and awnings for cover.
This night in the port city of Tetera was the first storm of the season. Many times storms have blown upon Tetera and left, but this storm seemed different, When this storm blew in, the flashing lightning, the rumble of thunder, the wind howling and pelting the city with stinging drops of rain, sent dark feelings of fear and sadness that none in the city had ever felt from a storm before.
The storm raged on into the night and then moments before daybreak a loud crashing boom is heard, sending vibrations throughout the city and the surrounding areas. Then as quick as it came the storm was gone.
Seven days later:
It had been seven days since the first storm of the season blew through the city. Tetera was finally cleaned up and all the damages were repaired. The dark feelings that fell upon the city on that stormy night was carried only for a few days by the people and it went away also.
With the city back to its normal routine, the ships arriving and leaving visitors from far and near coming to the city, the tavern and inn bustling with patrons, all seemed normal and content, the way it had been for as long as one may remember.
As evening drew nigh and dusk started to settle in, the streets were clear and the Golden Griffin was alive with tales being spun, cards being shuffled, and laughter and spirits all around.
As the spirits and mirth making went on in the midnight hour, the door of the tavern was flung open. The startled patrons got quiet as a small thin hooded figure limps into the the place. The rhythmic thud of his walking stick echoed throughout the building as the figure walked toward a table located in a dark corner. Seating himself at the table, he leaned his stick against the wall and started to survey the room. From the wall with all the notices and posters and such on it to the patrons and all who were gathered here.
After eying the room and all he ordered a bottle of Great Elven wine, so of the finest you could get. The figure removed his hood exposing a face lined with the wrinkles of a long hard life, a ragged scar from where his hairline one started ran down and across his eye stopping just beneath it. His remaining hair was thin and stringy looking and white as freshly fallen snow. He cleared his throat and let out a noise akin to that of a bleating sheep, and then poured some wine in his cup and with a shaky, bony, wrinkled hand pressed the cup to his dry cracked lips and began to sip and as he sipped he was ever watchful of the tavern door.
Four days later:
Everyday at dusk the old man limped his way to the tavern, made his way to the corner table and sipped his wine and waited all the while steady watching the door. Having said nothing more to anyone except," I am here to find someone."
This phrase had had the tavern regulars talking among themselves and wondering who was so so important as to wait and look for with so much unwavering dedication.
With the tavern in its usual state of spirits and mirth making, the crowd is silenced by an earth shaking clap of thunder followed by hail stones pelting the city.
The patrons all appeared a little shaken and nervous all except the mysterious man who kept sipping the elven wine and watching the door.
As the thunder quieted and the hail turned to rain the crowd relaxed enough to go back to their mugs and cards, but the volume of the tavern was now a quiet one. Moments later the silenced is broken by the creak of the tavern door slowly opening and the appearance of a rain soaked figure dressed from head to toe in black with only a set of glassy hazel eyes showing.
With a sword strapped to his side and his thin agile build the patrons felt a little uneasy about this one. As the figure made way to the corner table nobody in the tavern dared to stare for more than a moments glance. Taking a seat with the old man and exchanging looks of acknowledgment, the old man poured some more wine and pushed to the center of the table. The new stranger nodded to the old man, and with a returning nod from the old man the stranger pulled out a small leather pouch. The pouch was a faded brown and black and appeared quite old and worn, handing the small hand sized pouch to the old the stranger received another nod.
The old man put the pouch under his robe and with out saying a word he pulled the cup of wine toward him and began to sip as they both sat there without a single word being said.
As morning arrives the streets are a buzz with crowds looking toward a darkened sky. Horror and shock plagued the city, for this morning the sun did not rise, nor was there a moon or stars shining bright. The blackened sky began to rumble, then from the northwest a loud booming noise was heard and felt as the city began to tremble and the sky lit up with a bright flash. The crowd began to run and scream, back to their homes and whatever shelter they could find. Some yelled out above the crowd," That noise, the trembling, it came from the Black Mountains."
As the city gave way to chaos, the black sky tears open with a bright burst of light. Five figures begin to appear in the sky, each one adorned from top to bottom in heavy black armor, some covered with spikes, blades or even pieces of splintered bone fragments that were deadly sharp, the only thing besides the armor that was visible was their cold white lifeless eyes.
Fire begins to swirl around the massive figures and they lunge toward the Black Mountains. Advancing closer to the Black Mountains a bright crimson light shoots up from out of the mountains. As the Five figures near the mountain peaks, the old wrinkled man appears and opens the little drawstring leather pouch. Pulling 3 small stone out he tosses them into the air and the begin to move in separate directions. Moving rapidly across the sky the closer the stones move to their intended destination the more the crimson light begins to fade. With the light fading and the sky beginning to show a slight bit of light the mountain suddenly rips open and a huge clawed hand clutches one of the stones and pulls it deep within the earth.
Seeing the stone enveloped in the earth the old man drops to his knees and begins to weep. Sobbing he cries out," YOU!! You can not let this happen. Send the chosen on the path to find the stones and return them to their proper place." As the old man stops talking his body begins to smoke and his flesh and bones start to melt like candle wax. Then the trees and surroundings begin to melt an smoke, a loud cry is heard and all goes black.
Raising straight up in bed covered in sweat soaked clothes, looking around frantically the young half-elven male yells," NO! not again" Then realizing where he was he began to calm down and shake the dream that had plague for months now off his mind.
"Thank the God Rast I am in my chamber." Rising from his bed and beginning the morning ritual of prayer followed by getting dressed for the day a knock is hear at the door and a voice shout out," Hey Brother Solomon, your running late morning services the high priest won't be pleased with us." -fin-
View User's Journal
 |
i