| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Display using:
|
|
The Looking-Glass of Azad'hur
Posted: 26 Sep 2007 06:58 AM |
Ah, yes. I know of the tale of which you speak. How did you come to hear of it? It happened long ago: two lifetimes by Human reckoning. Before the death of... but I digress.
So you wish to know the truth behind those events? Then I am afraid that I can be of no help to you. I only know the fairy tale, you see; I was not a part of those events. It is true, though, that it began here. So many tales do. That is why I do not venture far from The Four Winds Inn, for it seems that all great adventures have their humble beginnings here. The likes of Fri'el, Elvalia, Xaranthir, Luther, Willom, Iris, Sir Jessup the Younger, Ilyana, Muga, Blanche and Vidus Khain have all passed through here at some point, as travelers in transit like yourself, unaware of how their lives would change to touch upon the entire world.
I have met them all. Does it surprise you? So many know only the legends, but I was there before the legends. Who knows? Perhaps in two hundred years, it shall be your name and your tale I tell to some other traveler beginning their journey.
If you care to hear the tale, come sit by the fire and I will tell it to you. For buried somewhere within the layers of metaphor is the truth, obscured and yet untouched in essence.
My name is Popé. For four hundred years have I watched the crossroads here, and for four hundred more shall I continue to do so, if the gods are willing and if fate permits.
This is the tale of the Looking-Glass of Azad'hur. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
|
  |
|
|
The Looking-Glass of Azad'hur #2
Posted: 29 Sep 2007 09:21 AM |
This is a tale of tales within tales, known by many, told by many.
I was surprised at how much Popé knew. In retrospect, I suppose I should not have been. The obvious solution always eludes us—that which is right under our nose is often that which we fail dismally to see.
He did not know who I was, and I did not care to enlighten him. Nor will I tell you. It would detract, I think, from the actual tale.
Over the years I have spoken to many, trying to tie all the disparate threads together into a single, linear story. It touches tangentially upon so many other tales, though, that this has been nigh impossible. They tell this tale in many forms, but the musical is different to the play; and the play is different to the book; and the book is not the same as the version handed down by word of mouth from inn to inn; and that version is different yet again from the version told in hushed whispers in dark corners where I am loathe to venture.
Therefore I will not be the one telling it to you. I will let those whom I have spoken with over the years tell it to you instead.
* * * * *
"That mirror always gave me the creeps, it did."
She wrings her apron nervously in her hands. They are rough, brown hands that have scrubbed many floors, washed many dishes and laundered many clothes.
"Th' others thought it were so fancy-loike. They wus always lookin' fer a reason ter take a gander at it. But I always hated it, meself."
She shudders and darts a nervous look around. It seems to be a habit that all the household staff have acquired, ever since his arrival.
"The new master gave it to 'er as a weddin' present," she whispers. "She were always sick, but on the day it arrived, she were so bad we 'ad ta call in th' Port Royale 'ealers. That were before Sir Jessup prettied the temple up," she adds. "It used to be a roight dodgy place in a roight dodgy part o' town. I reckon the Night Masks musta run it afore Sir Jessup set things roight down there."
She bites down nervously on her lower lip.
"He were a nasty man, our new master. I think 'e put a spell on 'er. Why else would she 'ave married 'im, 'ey?
"Old Man Gabe says 'e were a demon summoner. Now, I ain't never seen a demon in me loife, an' I don't roightly know if they's fer real, but there musta been one in that mirror.
"An' I got no proof of this, mind, but I reckon... well, I reckon that 'e asked it ta kill 'er."
* * * * *
"No, nobody's got any proof. I suppose that's why the story's still so fascinating to this day.
"Of course he killed the mother. Everyone knew it, but no one could prove it. He wanted her money, of course. He even tried to kill her little daughter too, so he could keep it all to himself. Can you imagine? The gall of some people..."
* * * * *
"Such a nice girl, she was. Pity about what happened. Poor little Céleste."
* * * * *
He has the frail and ageless Elven look which is all the rage amongst the nobility these days—a fad started years ago during the Ferein occupation of Port Royale after the Atalan attack. His suit is black, trimmed with gold: after all, everybody who's anybody dresses in Novus Aristi style, darling, and only uncultured boors wear the Versuci and Aramani styles of yesteryear. (By the by, I heard a rumour from the aunt of a friend of a friend of Thomas—you remember Thomas?—that Versuci is alive. Isn't that a scream? Don't tell Chantelle, though. She would so have kittens over it.) One would hardly guess, from his appearance and bearing, that he was once a petty thief from the mean slums of lower Port Royale.
He strolls through the glasshouse of the Royal Botanical Gardens wearing a contemplative frown, which is obviously as fabricated as his artificial Elven appearance. A former con man turned rich actor, he's obviously good at neither. It's painfully clear that it is not talent that has gotten him where he is, but some under-the-table deal with some rich patron willing to pay him generously to keep a secret.
"Oh, yes. Of course I know about that. I was a part of it." The posh accent is fake as well, and done very badly at that. "But of course, you must have heard about it too. They still speak of it in all the gossip circles, you know: the evil, greedy stepfather; the dying mother; the demon in the mirror; and the darling little daughter who got dragged into it all as a victim. Poor little thing."
His mouth twists into a sarcastic smile, the first genuine emotion he's shown all day. "I don't bother correcting the rumours. I used to, but there's little point. No one believes me, you see, even though I was there—even though I was right in the middle of it all.
"There's more to this story than meets the eye. And if you think she's the victim, friend, then you're wrong. Her stepfather was wicked, but he had nothing on her." |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
|
|
|
|
The Looking-Glass of Azad'hur #3
Posted: 05 Oct 2009 06:18 PM |
It was early in the afternoon when the third adventuring party had left the Watering Hole; an unlikely partnership between a former militia guard, a shady-looking Halfling from Port Royale, and a half-orc warrior of the Artio clan. The man sitting the corner, Malcolm is his name, has watched all three come and go, walking to their probable deaths in search of some fabulous treasure.
It is the same treasure that, by next morning, would be in his hands.
All the arrangements have been made, just as his client demanded. Malcolm considered, once or twice, keeping the treasure for himself, but something in the back of his head made an active effort to perish such thoughts. He dismissed it as common sense. It was also a geas.
Another patron left the inn. Malcolm looked outside; it was getting late, but his partner should arrive sooner or later. They had worked separately this past week, meeting only twice to share information about any recent developments, and only in Buckshire, away from the prying eyes of Port Royale. The name of this partner doesn’t matter; he’ll be dead by the same time tomorrow.
Malcolm looked over the notes which he had jotted down on faded old copies of the Port Royale Tribune. On one was drawn the layout of a manor in upper Port Royale, the name De La Garde written on the top of the page. One of the rooms was marked by a circle and a name written beside it…
The Looking-Glass of Azad’hur |
|
|
|
|
|
The Looking-Glass of Azad'hur - News
Posted: 05 Oct 2009 06:20 PM |
~ News from the land… ~
A surge of adventure rushes throughout Vives.
The inns and taverns are crowded by would-be adventurers and strange characters, whispering rumors of ancient treasures, old secrets and untold wonders, waiting to be found across the land. Untrusting eyes are turned everywhere as people gather in privacy, exchanging words meant for their ears alone. Among such rumors are guarded mentions of a mysterious ‘ultimate prize’.
Travelers take to the open roads and the wilderness, searching for wherever fortune may be found. Promises of wealth, power and knowledge draw wanderers into dangerous and untrodden grounds. The sense of wanderlust fills the air.
… a murder occurs in Port Royale… |
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|