Fable - Ask All the Stones and Kings of Old

A roleplay which may be open to join but you must ask the creator first
Rocks, rocks, where do they begin? Vehicles of inertia and energy? Perhaps a bit more. But how strange it seems that they mirror the energetics of life. Not unlike a child just torn from the womb, a boulder sits atop the mountain with as much potential as it will ever have. A strong breeze, a tremor in the slope, and like any catalyst, the potential is realized. Or it is not. It is a bit depressing when you think about it, I can’t deny.

That a creature never exhibits more promise than from the first moment their fluttering soul is plucked from the ether. And after a string of tumbles and disappointments, a life mired in the crack and clang of that down river tumble, what are we left with? A mountain withered to nothing more than a polished stone. A disappointment, veneered in the illusion that the trip down stream was worth the weathering.

Is that all that we are, you and I? And was it I that felt the misfortune of our collision, stricken down in reverence to gravity? Or was it you that suffered my presence, forever feeling the ripples of my guiding hand?

It’s a thing worth pondering…don’t you think?


It wasn’t any particular sensation that pulled him from the darkness. Rather, it was the rising amalgamation of different senses, converging against the fading tutelage of a would-be mentor, that drew in a sharp and abrupt breath. The semi-metallic pang on a predictable cadence, punctuated outwards from the ripples of a cavern-born water droplet against dimpled stone, stirred memories of a calm heartbeat. The distant crash of water in a tumultuous storm stood in almost perfect rhythm for the rise and fall of a chest. The warmth that flickered nearby, casting long shadows from stalactites against the wall, served as a cold reminder of something that seemed just slightly out of reach.

“Dat the plan, is it? Sleep all day while your old friend…” The sound of wood and coal shifting blotted out the noise of the nearby water droplet, falling to the floor. “...ah, I don’t know why I’m belly aching. It’s not like I can go anywhere anyway.”

Rain finally felt the weight of his eyelids after coming to and with considerable effort, the golden eyes lidded to a cavern, lit warmly by fire. It was a small but presumably protected cavern, having what appeared to be several stretches before extending to the entrance. It was there that the stone seemed to swirl in murky striations of obsidian and basalt as it stabbed outwards from the cavern mouth in jagged peaks. Based on the sound of the crashing waves against a shoreline, Rain assumed that it was a mild jaunt down from there and likely entirely vertical.

Across from him, a dark figure sat on rocks and tended to a humble fire. “You know how hard it is to dig a hole in a cave…hmm?” He pointed the smoldering stick at Rain accusingly, who was largely just a head with the remainder of his body buried under fresh wet sand. “Your kind has no business near water like this and you, more than most, should know better. With your recent...sensitivity.”

“I…” His mind felt addled, as if he were wandering through fog. “I’m not…I can’t remember why I’m here. Or what happened.” He was thirsty and the sound of the waves beating against the foot of the cave didn’t help.

“Oh.” The figure leaned back, free hand pressed against his knee. “Dats an easy one. I invited you.”
 
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We weren’t always this way, were we? I find the seams to be fading like grains of sand, slipping through my fingers. Where I end, where you begin, what parts will be left in the transition. Time, in how it’s measured, is now largely beyond me. But in my assumptions that such things still exist beyond the arterial prison you cast me in, I feel a silhouette take form from the body that once stood here.

I think I used to be a gambler, perhaps for leisure. If I still were, I would wager that when the dust settles on our little playground, it will be you that remains and my presence, all but vacated. But the fears. The fears I hope stay with you for all your nights. So when the strength of my offering rises within your chest, you feel the pang of all those doubts that held such power back. Otherwise, it simply wouldn’t be fair. To have my lineage’s benefit, absent the counterweights that contained it.

After all, life, and un-life, are always fair. Right?


Rain awoke to the sound of someone snapping their fingers repeatedly. As the world came back into focus, he realized it wasn’t snapping of fingers but instead the snap and pop of wet driftwood, warming in a cave fire.

“You back again? Hmm?” A smirk formed on the dark skinned figure, obscured by the undulating trespasses of the stalactite shadows dancing in the fire light. “Ya know…you used to recover from this little ceremony of yours a lot faster. Old age, maybe? Wear and tear, hmm? You never really escaped the lattice. You know dat, right?”

Rain rubbed the back of his neck, feeling raw skin, tender the touch. He had a throbbing headache and his clothes had seen better days. It was as if he had been dragged miles down a gravel road and subsequently thrown into the ocean. “Fairchild...I recall asking you to not do that.”

“Do what?” The man smiled again, wider now. A row of gnarled teeth with a single black canine at the corner of his mouth greeted Rain without solicitation. It was like watching a once well established cemetery, now turned dark through years of dilapidation, frame itself by chapped and sunburned lips. When Rain responded with silence to the question, the smile faded as he leaned forward. “Dat’s not how it works, is it? You don’t undo a binding with wishful thinking and preferences. ‘Sides, it’s helped more than once. Can’t deny that.”

“Fine.” Rain replied sharply. “Just stop reminding me about…”
“You’re late.” Fairchild interrupted. “And it has bungled everything. I was banking on you getting here in a timely fashion. Now…” He shook his head as he pressed the fire again. “We are veering ever closer to proper fucked.”

Rain sighed in frustration and inhaled deeply. Patting his chest, he withdrew parchment that was pulled down from the board posting some moons ago. Carefully unfolding the damp note, Rain read it aloud. “Pensive thoughts towards…” He blinked steadily as he tried to read the note. “Accreditation. We must convene on the place of bygone gulfs, a jaunt from the Crobhear…” Rain stopped and tossed the note at the man’s feet. “I remember now. That…” He pointed a finger at the parchment. “Is nonsense.”

“And yet, here ya are. Right time, wrong place. But nothing more than a rock in the punch bowl. We’ll just have to get creative.” Picking up the note, Fairchild hovered it over the flickers of the fire. As the water receded to the corners of the note, eventually evaporating outright, red symbols formed along the orange tinted borders, pinched between his rough worn fingers. “The instructions were there all along and some part of you, clearly not currently present, understood it. But by the looks of things, we’ll need some help now. The scheme has changed.”
 
“You know I work alone.”

“You work alone? Nah, ya used to work alone. But lots changed since your tumble in the shallows.”

Rain did his best not to wince at the mention of that place. Buildings erected in the muck and mire, raised upon stilts and smelling of methane and lingering death. If he concentrated, he could still taste the black water, erupting out from his lungs as a stranger pulled him from the stagnant pool. He recalled the memory, like moments of light, flickering through the overstory during an afternoon ride.

Tower folk…where ya going? You don’t sound like you’re from the east…you’re not from here, you’re not one of us.

Who’s gonna remember you?!?

Sorry lad, orders from on high is what that is. Tell ya what though, I’ll flip a bit of shine…heads and ya hold ya breath. Tails and well…you’ll thank me for the whetstone.

Ya know what they say…a blunted blade is far more dangerous than a sharp one…


“If I’m not working alone, doesn’t make much sense to go over the details. Unless there’s value in the repetition.” Rain uttered as he moved a burning coal to another side of the fire pit. Fairchild responded with a sage nod. “Right, that sounds fair enough. Many more pieces of parchment paving the way. Though I’ll admit they are a bit less secretive.”

“Good. Where’s the meeting location?”
“I think you know where it is.” Fairchild responded to the sound of Rain sighing.
“That outpost is defunct. Has been for years, largely because of you.”
“Ya well…consider dis my bid to re-open it.”

Several days passed along the trade routes that connected many small towns and villages to the northern coast. At every village there stood a wooden post. Propped against the post was a board, smelling of sour wood and showing the marks of many bygone bounties and requests. The imprints of parchment, residue left by the singe of sunlight, had transformed each board into a partially sheltered collage of the faded woes and ailments often prescribed to unprotected communities that stood just out of reach of more regal protections.

It was at a center point between the last landing of Thiria and and the Kingdom of Garacross, where the coastline road dipped to the high tide lines of an angry and jagged shore, that stood a blackened tavern and inn just beyond the footprint of some nameless town. It was a multi-story structure, clouded in a persistent storm beaten haze and washed in the orange glow of lamps on every other window along the first floor. The moss and ground cedar of the trade path came to bare ground at the shoreline edge of the inn, quickly turning to a basalt stone cliff that plunged into the raging water below.

It was hardly what Fairchild would have conveyed as a quiet place. While the inn stood atop a precarious location, it was evident from the surroundings that it had stood the testament of many times. The clap and smash of stormy waves beat to the rhythm of humble music, resonating out from a partly opened window. Plumes of smoke rose from the many chimneys jutting out from moss speckled slate shingles, filling the air with the smell of cooking meat. And inside, a hunter sat at a round table across from a man with a black tooth and magic to match it.

Gannis
 
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