- Messages
- 41
- Character Biography
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He limped through a hollow carcass of ash and char. The head of a crossbow bolt was still in his thigh, the wet warm numbness having given way to a horrid twinging pain. In his hands he still clutched the neck of his trusty old lute he’d bought in his hometown years ago. The neck felt so familiar and comforting in his hands, but with the rest of the instrument shattered and gone, the weight felt wrong. Felt impossible.
He looked about and realized he was standing in what had been the kitchen. Impossible. Here he’d spent hours tending stew, washing dishes, brewing tea, humming quietly in the still and dusty sunlight of a hundred mornings. Why? Continuing on, he could make out the remains of the big cheery forge buried under 3 floors of burned rubble. I couldn't stop this. All about him lay the bodies of happy townsfolk who hours ago had clapped along with his music. Impossible.
This had been his home. They had given him his own room, a comfy bed, a paying job, encouragement to pursue his passions. And now, nearly 4 hours after the fire had been set, there was still no sign of the Mistfall sisters, dead or alive.
Twisting painfully around, he saw out on the street that the crowd had all but dispersed. The fire, and the onlookers’ interest, had faded with the setting sun. Now a sky of stars blazed overhead, quickly becoming shuttered as a dense cloudbank swept in from the North. In the dark of night it was difficult to see just how many clouds there were. Was this a passing curtain? Or a monstrous storm?
Staring into the darkness, Dez couldn’t be sure just how deep the abyss was.
But that woman might know. Why was she still here? Why hadn't she fled when the authorities had arrived? Or had she hidden, and returned once they'd left? Dez didn't know. And he didn't care. Shuffling through the ashes, he headed straight for her, remembering the last words he'd heard before everything had been aflame. Radis sends his regards. He gripped the neck of his broken lute as if it were a cudgel.
"Hey. Assassin. What was this? And who the hell is Radis?"
Seated before a blazing fire, his hand paused in the very moment before the glass of wine touched his lips. "Enter."
The door swung open silently. A steward took two steps into the room, and spoke softly. "The Dragon's Den suffered an unfortunate accident just as the sun set this evening. Apparently, the only survivors were a drow and a boy."
When the steward left, it was as if he'd never been there. The wine glass remained still for a long moment. When it finally moved the tiny breadth remaining, the deep red wine was delivered to a wide smile. He swallowed. There was a gentle sigh.
"Goodbye, Red Company."
Zilvra
Isak Lavelle
So it begins.
He looked about and realized he was standing in what had been the kitchen. Impossible. Here he’d spent hours tending stew, washing dishes, brewing tea, humming quietly in the still and dusty sunlight of a hundred mornings. Why? Continuing on, he could make out the remains of the big cheery forge buried under 3 floors of burned rubble. I couldn't stop this. All about him lay the bodies of happy townsfolk who hours ago had clapped along with his music. Impossible.
This had been his home. They had given him his own room, a comfy bed, a paying job, encouragement to pursue his passions. And now, nearly 4 hours after the fire had been set, there was still no sign of the Mistfall sisters, dead or alive.
Twisting painfully around, he saw out on the street that the crowd had all but dispersed. The fire, and the onlookers’ interest, had faded with the setting sun. Now a sky of stars blazed overhead, quickly becoming shuttered as a dense cloudbank swept in from the North. In the dark of night it was difficult to see just how many clouds there were. Was this a passing curtain? Or a monstrous storm?
Staring into the darkness, Dez couldn’t be sure just how deep the abyss was.
But that woman might know. Why was she still here? Why hadn't she fled when the authorities had arrived? Or had she hidden, and returned once they'd left? Dez didn't know. And he didn't care. Shuffling through the ashes, he headed straight for her, remembering the last words he'd heard before everything had been aflame. Radis sends his regards. He gripped the neck of his broken lute as if it were a cudgel.
"Hey. Assassin. What was this? And who the hell is Radis?"
Seated before a blazing fire, his hand paused in the very moment before the glass of wine touched his lips. "Enter."
The door swung open silently. A steward took two steps into the room, and spoke softly. "The Dragon's Den suffered an unfortunate accident just as the sun set this evening. Apparently, the only survivors were a drow and a boy."
When the steward left, it was as if he'd never been there. The wine glass remained still for a long moment. When it finally moved the tiny breadth remaining, the deep red wine was delivered to a wide smile. He swallowed. There was a gentle sigh.
"Goodbye, Red Company."
Zilvra
Isak Lavelle
So it begins.
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