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Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Places Unknown
Posted: 13 Dec 2006 02:22 AM
It was yet another day for the gnome running the inn at the Four Winds. He had finally sealed the well, after he heard what the strange young man had told him. The man had recently arrived to the northern part of Vives the past few days, dressed in a dark monastic robe and a handful of coins, and rented one of his rooms.

As most days, he came out of his room in the Four Winds Inn, and after running a few errands around the city of Port Royal, he sat at his usual table, ordering some bread and an empty goblet. This had not pleased the gnome, customers bringing their own wine, but he was paying for his rent after all, so he made little fuss of this.

Seated as he was, he brought out some empty scroll and a quill, and began scribing some lines of text. At first with a calm reservation, but as the hours drew by, goblet after goblet of wine, he began tearing the scroll and starting a new one, with slight frustration settling in.

Several hours later into the day, he put down his quill and raised the scroll to read it over once more. A winced smiled of semi satisfaction crossed his lips as anyone passing by him them would have heard him muttering out loud:

"Away he must go, to places unknown,
Away to a place his soul may atone."

The gnome didn't blink. He had got used to the strange customer over the past few days. Besides he had seen a lot stranger things in his life. Getting up from his chair, he walked over to the gnome and handed him the scroll now rolled up in a black and red striped ribbon.

"This you must give to the one that talks to the fire,
The one that is short and sweet and can fill mans desire"

Together with the scroll he handed him an bottle of wine.

"And this."

With that he turned, and walked out to the man with the horses, and before long they were off, riding down the road towards the south.

The journey was long and arduous, even if uneventful. He sat many hours on the horses back, swinging freely with its gallop. He closed his eyes in meditation for most part of the journey, trusting his guide as little else could be done.

Eventually they had reached a strange little town where people lived in holes in the ground. The rest of the journey would have to be made on foot and by sea. Having focused energy in during his horse trip, he was prepared to push on without spending idle time in this town.

Road after road, following the path finally led him to the seaside across his destination. Good fortune had it a strange lady owner of a boat was heading to the Elven lands. Boarding the ship, he stood at the port of the boat watching the land go by, as they sailed off into the seas.

The wind blew into his face particles of sea water, yet he remained unblinking, his thoughts on what await him. Muttering under his breath, his voice drifts off into the wind almost unheard to the deck hand nearby:

"A place of quiet, a place of calm,
A place unknown to most,
For the place lay not within the palm,
It is rooted deep within the host."

Not long afore the ship docks in the Elven lands. Descending the boat ramp with hands inside the sleeves of the opposite arms, he gazes ahead at the final trail, past the Elven town and through the woods. At long last, the prodigal son returns.

Asashi, the soul forge. Walking up the mound and through the gates he offers a mere nod to his brothers, for no more is required, and heads straight to the inner monastery for rest and meditation. The days ahead will be long and strenuous on his soul and inner self, he knows, for he has much to atone for.

Perhaps his brothers would help him, or the grand master himself, yet that would be too much to expect. All he knew was that until the answer is found he would have to remain here.

Before stepping through the door, he turned and looked at the long path that he had traversed. His mind reminiscing over the bittersweet sad soul he had met and the shadows. Yes, there where way too many shadows in the world, for his were not the only ones. With a sigh of resoluteness he resumed his walk to the inner chambers.
Skitsy101 is not online. Last active: 2/10/2010 8:51:28 AM Skitsy101
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 14 Dec 2006 02:45 PM
After a long, and boring day in Port Royal, the mad elf, Josaphine, enters Four Winds Inn confused and hurt. She spots Uwe and approaches him.

"I have your rent money,lady."

"Thank ye lass. Tell me you are the nut- elf that talks to the fire right?"

Josaphine raises an eyebrow.

"I don't talk to the fire that's silly. The fire talks to me-"

Uwe interupts.

"Right well, a Lad, who also takes room here, told me to give this to you."

Uwe reaches into his man purse producing a bottle of wine and a scroll, wrapped in a black and red ribbon. Josaphine takes the bottle and scroll. She looks at the bottle, sticks it in to her pack, and unrolls the scroll, wrapping the black and red ribbon around her wrist. The scroll reads:

Dear child,

Forgive his tresspass, but know he shall return,
Your meeting of next, shall nay long adjurn.

He's sinned and broken the law, for such he must atone,
to your land he's sailed, in hopes to find his home.

Perhaps to this place uknown, he finds his friends and like,
where mens souls are forged, in spirit and in might.

In ink and blood your letters flow, and words of sadness fill your song,
pray stay alive as promised the day ago, and let what meant not be wrong.

He who dreams of shadows.

After reading the letter for the tenth time, Josaphine makes a mad dash out of the Four Winds Inn and to Jusin, the ox car driver.

"Port Royal!"

"th'as gonna cost ye 10 gold.."

Before he could finish the same story he always tells, she shoves ten gold coins in his hand and hops on the cart. Before long, they arrive in Port Royal. Before Jusin could get a word out, Josaphine was gone and around the corner. There she finds Dr. Greg and the ever so charming half elf, Sylune. With out hesitation, Josaphine speaks.

"Please... Do any of you know where a monk who has sinned would go?

The Dr. Looks to Josa and replies.

"Why, I believe they would go to the monastery in Asashi."

With this. Joe gets a little more excited, and a little more impatient .

She asks.

"How does one get there?"

The Dr. Looks up to the sky and says,

"I believe it is around Midor Mountains or maybe Gladden...I can't really recall... have not been out there in ages"

With a heavy heart Joe frowns, takes the note back out and re reads it.

"No... From the sounds of it, it's near the eleven city..."

The Dr. then thinks.

"I think you are right..."

Sylune, is watching with interest, while a black raven accompanies her on her shoulder. Joe sees the raven and gets a bright idea.

"Raven... do you know where Asashi is?"

The raven gives her a bird like tilt of the head, and gives her his answer,

"CAW!"

Josaphine frowns, and calls upon her dire wolf, Drahs. She rides back to the Northern Highway. From there, Joe takes a horse to South Vives, then the Ox to Ladriel. From there she takes the boat to the eleven city, Ferein. Joe knows she will have to find her way by asking the eleven guards of Ferein, to point her in the right direction. Non of then seem to notice or care about her situation to find her dear friend the monk. Frustrated and defeated, Josa makes her way back to Port Royal n search of a new hope. What she gets instead is a have-to-know-every thing-down-to-a-T Tristian. On that same note, if any one knew his way around Vives, it would be Tristian. With a dull light in her heart and broken skip to her moment, she walks up to Tristian and asks:

"Please, do you know how to get to Asashi?"

Tristian looked at her with wonder and answers.
"I do, but why do you want to go there?"

An already frustrated Joe snapped at him:

"Please just tell me how to get there!"

He grins, knowing the next bit would drive her up the wall (or so it would seem)

"Not till you tell my why you need to go there."

Joe let out a growl, that would probably only scare bugs away, at Tristian. Sylune is standing there excited at the sound of a trip coming to order. She tells Tristian that they should all go together. Josa becomes even more frustrated, but hides it, for she knows she has no other choice in the matter.

What seemed like eternity, They finely reach Asashi. Before any of them can go any further, Josa casts invisible and expeditious retreat, leaving Tristian, and Sylune behind, wanting nothing more then to find the monk on her own. She raced up to the monastery, her heart filling with joy. Kind of like when she eats pie. Couple of wrong turns points Josaphine in the right direction. She finds her self inside the monastery, surrounded by books. Looking to her left by the door, she sees a gold plaque that reads "CHAPTER HOUSE." Still invisible, she makes her way down the halls till she comes to a room filled front to back with book cases. In the center of the room lies a giant tomb, opened and being occupied by non other then the monk him self. Joe Blinks and walks up to him, turning him invisible as well....

All Rincewind could manage to say was, "You know, I never imagined there were he-dryads. Not even in an oak tree."
Durellae Snorted "Stupid! Where do you think acorns come from?" . . .
(Terry Prachett, "The Color of Magic")
Tasra is not online. Last active: 10/5/2008 9:24:47 PM Tasra
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 14 Dec 2006 04:56 PM
((Is that a cliffhanger or a small mistake? If it's a cliffhanger....

Ooooo... the suspense!))
Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 16 Dec 2006 11:55 AM
Barely had several days gone past from his return to the monastery. During those days he had mostly meditated, and sought his brethrens guidance on matters of his immediate concerns, for he had much deeper ones he alone knew of. During his first days of return, much constructive scrutiny was given to him by the one he called Teacher. He was never good with names, barely managing to provide his in his riddling mannerism. Teacher had accepted to take him in when he had come of age.

Up until that time, all that he clearly remembers is Uncle. Uncle was not really a monk, but the gardener of the monastery. Uncle said he had found him, alone and abandoned as a very young child. With the years of working around the monastery, Uncle had provided enough knowledge to interest him in time to join the monastic order. Teacher was responsible for all new monks until they would find their way into one of the schools. He recalled what seemed as an endless discussion between the two, when the time had come for new monks to be admitted in.

The vivid image of Teacher standing with an ashen expression, arms folded, shaking his head at Uncles arguments. The words were beyond his grasp as they were at a distance, something concerning the circumstances of how he had found him, but he never forgot the look Teacher had given him before turning to say his last words to Uncle. He had been admitted, and what Uncle had said to change Teacher's mind, he would never know.

As time went by, months growing into years, eventually Uncle died, of old age. Standing over the burial mound, he had shed not a single tear, gazing impassively at the sole person who had acted in kindness to him, yet deep inside something sank, and it sank deep down to a bottomless void of his soul.

Since, Teacher had grudgingly taken over being his personal mentor, a flaky relationship as that of a father that does not like his son, but does what must be done. He himself sometimes tended to the gardens and flower in the monastery, in memory of Uncle, even if a new gardener was hired.

Lost in his recollections, he now stood before the great tome of learning within the Chapter House, gazing blankly at the words. His keen hearing had failed him, perhaps because of his reverie, but as a brief flash of magical colours illuminated before his eyes, his eyes fell upon what he hoped yet dared not admit. She had come, she had followed him, it was the only time he had ever felt what had dropped to the darkest recess rise once again. His heart skipped a beat, even if his face never betrayed a single muscle, from the years of impassive inner reflection.

Amidst the other feelings she had aroused, she also brought chaos and turbulence within the halls of monastery, but he did not care. She had also brought him. The faceless shadow was now revealed. A coldness covered his heart as dark thoughts fleeted through his mind, but he abated them, for she was here and deserving attention, as well as those she brought with her, for this was the Soul Forge, where all are accepted and welcome, just as he himself was. That he would not violate in any way.

Their meeting had gone smoother than he anticipated. The rowdy looking former shadow and another elf with long silver hair, having proven cooperative to the regulations of the monastery, allowed him to draw the sweet and short existence he called by Child to a more private place. As they exchanged words none others would comprehend, the decision had formed in his mind, but also in his heart. She was to remain here, under the sanctuary of the monastery. This would be her new shelter, but also the place she can run to, for none could harm her here.

He had stood for hours at the edge of the rise atop which the monastery stood, watching as her figure slid out of sight in the horizon as she went to gather her belongings. Eventually he turned to head back in, for there were preparations to make for the guest of the monastery. A comfortable bed might be difficult to accommodate, but at least the place was a sanctuary, a commodity much worthier.
Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 18 Dec 2006 03:01 PM
Relishing the taste of the wine in his mouth, he finally swallowed it. It was good, but not as good as his own, and perhaps it was time to go back to the monastery again to make some more. Slowly placing down his empty glass on the table and slouching in his chair, he stared blankly at the opposite wall of his room in the four winds, as he reminisced the past few days.

His frequent travels back and forth were tiresome, sometimes on an errand for the monastery, sometimes his own curiosity of the world outside the four walls of the soul forge. Then there was the bittersweet child, as he referred to her more out of inner spiritual sense as she was undoubtedly much older than him. She had started becoming more on the sweet side. He could say the same thing for himself.

There were idyllic moments of peace and meditation in the monastery, and others of travelling together here and there, sometimes accompanying her on her errands, sometimes her accompanying him. A little verse raced through his mind, one he had written not long ago:

“A child so bitter, with fate untold,
A child so sweet, as yet to unfold,
The truth, what lies within the mind?
A lurking presence, is it fair, is it kind?”

Yes despite all, his nights were still filled with the same haunting presence that had accompanied him since his childhood. Blurred images, vague recollections, and voices, voices that spoke in a language he could not understand, but only sense. His gaze turned, focusing to his arm laid flat on the table, his eyes tracing the intricate interwoven black signs he had self inflicted from his shoulder all the way to the back of his hand. Droplets of blood where pit patting on the table as he realized he had crushed the glass in his hands.

Ignoring his state as if in trance he turned back to gaze at the wall. None of the recent events in his life had changed what he saw when he gazed deep inside his own soul. And it was not what he saw, but what he could not see that drove him. He needed answers, to many things, and if they were not going to be given to him he would obtain them his own way.

Slowly snapping out of his trance, he grabbed and wrapped a cloth around his bleeding hand, his eyes running over the items laid out on the table. A scroll with a single verse he was remiss in its completion, a book of general lore of the land and a few other specific ones neatly stacked, and yet another scroll, a list of reminders of things to attend to.

His eyes fell on the first item, a dark glare forming as he gritted his teeth.

“The fool, ah yes the fool, he must see to that first…“

Grinning to himself in self satisfaction, he ran another verse in his mind, one he favoured much:

“Fools delight, in what may ask?
For words and deeds of kindness?
Fools loose sight, of what entails,
To grope the veils of blindness."
Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 20 Dec 2006 02:03 AM
He awoke with a start, sweat beads covering his face. Sitting upright in bed he gazed around the room realizing he was in the Four Winds. He stayed for a moment to dispel the drowsiness and remains of his disquieting sleep. Eventually wiping his sweat with the covers he got up and walked to the table where a broken glass and two empty bottles of wine had entertained him last night.

He shuffled through the scrolls on the desk, and finding the one he was looking for smiled to himself. Moments later he was out his room, glancing across to the door opposite his. Slowly walking up he stealthily pressed an ear to the door. She was still asleep or already out attending to her own matters. Good, he thought, this will be easier.

Having walked down to pay the gnome extended rent, and ravishing his breakfast he headed into Port Royal. Surely he would find who he was looking for. They were always somewhere here around.

Truly enough as he was gazing at the newsstand, a group some of which he recognized and some he did not passed through. He paid little attention as something caught his attention in the paper, but he did register her presence. A word in good time would suffice, this was to be the easy part.

Milling around the town in and out of shops and the Broken Mast he bided his time. The opportunity finally came a moment later as he stepped out of the Broken Mast. She stood alone about to depart from Port Royal, and walking in his customary monkish stride, approached her. A few polite words and several moments later they were in the Four Winds talking privately.

Their talk was brief as she was in a hurry to save some friend who had fallen she had said. She did not extend an invitation, which relieved him as he had little care for such undertakings, especially for someone he did not know. Besides he had other matters to attend to.

Watching the Silver Haired Lady as she left, a smile of self satisfaction spread across his face. Not only had it gone well, but he was parted some very interesting information which pleased him much. The situation was far better than he had imagined, and perhaps this would make the next step easier.

With the self satisfied smile having turned into a grin, he walked once more out of the Four Winds. He had a lot of thinking to do, and time to bide for what was to entail. Of course it would not be easy, and it may not turn out as he expected, but there was only one way to find out.
Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 26 Dec 2006 03:08 PM
The figure shuffled across the Great Plains, hands folded inside the sleeves of his dark Asashi robe, his head bent slightly forward looking at the ground just ahead of him, as if he was in thought and not looking where he was going.

He was in fact in thought. A muddled thought, was it him or the other one thinking, the one who referred to him and spoke for him? Confusion and vague shadows danced in his mind, as he brought bits and pieces of recollection of the past few days.

Treading across the plain, he unfolded his arms from his sleeves and unwrapped a scroll that was in one hand, giving a brief glance ran down the list of items he had noted. The first item was crossed out and unreadable. He muttered to himself inaudibly, flicked a look at the second item and placed it back in his robe with a slight grim smile.

The day before, he had convinced the sweet elf to guide him to Midor. He wanted to enter the Great Library in hopes of finding something, something that would help him understand; something that would help him decipher the signs and sounds of the voice that haunted his sleep. Pulling back the sleeves of one arm he gave it a brief look, as if reading it, before pulling it back down and restoring his hands back into the sleeves of his robe.

He had almost not forgiven himself for what he had done. The strain was obviously too much as was the danger of being caught, yet the elf had been selfless and would not deny him his wish to show him the way to the place. He had put her in danger, and he reproached himself for that. Would it be any other person he would have hardly cared what consequences and dangers they would be facing, but not with her.

Alas the Great Library was closed to the public, but now he knew the way, musing to himself that the trip was not so dangerous with little care. He had just delivered a letter to the Midoran official at the gates. If his letter would reach the hands they should and if those hands would indeed grant him his request he did not know, but there was little else to do. He would search the Asashi library again and again, but hope was waning in that direction. The Great Library itself may provide more insight.

The letter itself was well enough written, he told himself as he turned a bend and began walking up a hillside distracted in his thoughts. He had left his name, strangely enough, yet it had taken some effort to write it, and the return address to the Asashi monastery.

“Thunk…”

The searing pain in his left leg drew all his senses out of his reverie. Looking down at his leg an arrow protruded from his thigh, as a thin stream of blood starting running down its side. Glancing up alert he momentarily stunned and numbed from the sensation that would otherwise make an untrained monk shout in agony, he saw a group of human figures rushing towards him from the top of the hill, all dressed in rather ragged clothing and brandishing swords and bows at him.

With too little time to think he let his instincts react, dodging further arrows and striking one of them coming at full force swinging a sword over his head at him, it was not long before he was surrounded by them. Despite his agility as what seemed an eternity of dodging sword blows and striking back with his hands, dropping yet another one, cuts began adding up. Ducking another sword blow he reached for a potion…
Dasathara is not online. Last active: 3/3/2007 4:04:10 AM Dasathara
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Re: Places Unknown
Posted: 26 Dec 2006 03:08 PM
He woke with a start, bolting upright, his head almost knocking off the wall shelf above the bed. His hand flew to his left face to soften the sharp pain. A huge bruise covered the left side of his forehead all the way down and around the eye. He traced this with care as his mind wandered, searching his inner thoughts. A voice interrupted him.

“You’re up are you lad? That’s a nasty bruise you got yourself there. I wasn’t sure when you were going to get up.”

Slowly turning his head to face the direction the voice came in he saw the lady sweeping the floor. He let his gaze stray slowly around the room. It seemed he was in a mill of some sort. The woman continued sweeping the room. He finally opened his mouth, his gaze still distantly gazing around the room, though the room itself did not seem to be the focus of his wistfulness.

“Where am I?”

I … I … I … I … I … I … I …

The sound of the last word echoed in his mind in a repetitively diminishing whisper.

“The wagon rider brought you here. Said he found you battered and bruised. Seems you where jumped by brigands or bandits. You are in the Wyrmtongue Estuary lad.”

He continued to gaze around, eyes unblinking, slowly turning his head around until he face her.

“Who … am I?”

I … I … I … I … I … I … I …

The lady raised her eyebrows at the question before settling into a solemn look of sympathy.

“That bruise on your head must have been as bad as it looks.”

Returning to her sweeping with taking another look at him she continued to talk.

“There was one thing they didn’t steal from you. It’s over there by the table. A newspaper from Port Royal from what I gather. That’s all I can help you with lad.”

Slowly getting up from the bed, wincing at the pain in his head, he headed to the table. The newspaper was somewhat tattered, and he looked at the front page: The Port Royal Tribune. The first page article was something about some poor Port Royal sanitation worker. Taking the paper and folding it into his belt, he set off, thanking the lady.

He had no idea where or what Port Royal was, but it seemed the only place to start from.
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