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The Annals of Mhoraethian, Part 1
Posted: 18 Feb 2004 02:52 PM |
It was a miserable day. Dark clouds swirled overhead as Pope the Bard looked out and surveyed the landscape outside the Four Winds. Inside the sounds of merrymaking went on, oblivious to the renewed rainfall. "Gods, it has been raining for days" thought Pope. "And why am I standing out here in the rain, when the fire is burning, and the Ale flows freely inside?" Some spark of intuition had prompted him to step outside, and he wondered at it as he scanned the distance, peering through air murky with fog and rain. His roving eye caught the familiar sight of a bird on the wing, and moved on, ever scanning, with the keen eyesight that was his birthright as an Elf. Nothing else moved on the bleak landscape, save for by the force of the winds. His attention returned to the bird. Somthing about it... what was it? He realised now the bird, a large Raven, was sickly and tattered. Likely wounded. "What would drive it to fly in that state, and in this wind?" The bird circled once overhead and then turned back the way it had come. It seemed to peer back at Pope and croaked woefully. It flew a short distance away and circled again, looking expectantly back at Him. "Right, it seems adventure has found me again." With that, he set out following the Raven, which flew slowly in front of him, ever circling and watching his progress. "I'm mad he muttered. Chasing after birds! Well, there better be a tale in this, and not just a feathered one!"
For several hours Pope follwed the Raven, until the dark day gave way to the deepening darkness of night. He began to be concerned that he might lose the bird, but even as he thought this, it dropped down and landed heavily near a dead tree. Pope approached, but suddenly gave pause. There on the ground, leaning against the tree, lay a body. "Have I hiked this distance only to watch a scavenger feed?" thought Pope, but he already sensed that those words were false. In tattered rags that must have once been a black robe, lay a man in his twenties. Dark of hair and with skin pale in death. Clutched in his cold fingers was a heavy tome. Pope approached cautiously, and was suprised when the man suddenly moved. His eyes opened and looked directly at Pope. "Ah, you have come" he said. |
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The Annals of Mhoraethian, Part 2
Posted: 24 Aug 2005 04:08 PM |
First came a faint and murky sound. Slowly though, it became recognisable. Music, and voices raised in mirth. He opened is eyes, sitting up slowly. A room, an Inn... the Four Winds.. he recognised it. A staff leaned against the wall, he strode to it, taking it up reflexively, then looked at it. Questions.
The man closed his eyes, the fog in his mind slowly began to clear. Mhoraethian, that is I. How had he come to be here, and from whence? His memory gave no reply to his question, but instead showed him a cruel man in dark robes. Zharkos. Master. He was my master. I am a Mage. Questions, but no further answers from within.
He opened the door and walked out into the hall. He would find the answers. |
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