50th Fall 522 AV – The Monolith
It had been a long day, comprised mostly of dealing with things that only served to remind him of things he’d rather not remember. The tenday celebrations that he had managed to visit after the meeting at the Protea and the conclusions drawn there had done little to lift his mood, instead merely serving to convey that he stood somewhat apart. Partly by his own doing, yet partly by things beyond his control too. It didn’t matter much really, upon reflection, thing were as they were and there was little to but to forge a way forward, towards some kind of a future. As he smoked his pipe, eventually ending up sat on the benches by the monument, he found himself speculating on how different things would have been had he not been ‘knocked from his path’ - or however one wanted to put it. Or whether opting to refuse the Wind Eagle ride from Shiress that fateful night would have been better, or worse.
It was idle speculation, brought about by a melancholy mood and not much reason to feel otherwise. In a short number of days he had gone from being a man who had been mentally barbed by a god, to a man who was trying to heal from that and get better, and then to one who had had what little good he had left in his life either ruined, or tainted, by an ancient monster who should have come for him instead. He wasn’t sure which one it was – ruined or tainted. Or if the simple hopes of a magically built house had simply been a foolish naivety, or a possibility now crushed. He supposed it didn’t matter – destiny was destiny and Mathias had warned him upon his first arriving in Syka that much of his future was uncertain.
Usually he’d have just drunk himself into slumber without dreams...without nightmares. But he couldn’t even do that now – Cervisi's magical intervention seemed to have left him incapable of getting drunk, amongst other changes even more noticeable, if only to himself.
“What are you?” he mused aloud, talking to the silent monolith before him, the chosen distraction for the waning afternoon light of Syna, the celebrations muted and gathered more upon the beach than where he was sat.
He had tried to search for things about it, and the claw marks specifically, yet had not managed to discover anything pertinent to share with his competition – Kamilla. In truth he wasn’t even sure if the Konti woman would show up as agreed. He supposed it would depend upon her own progress. She struck him as the competitive type and had she figured it out he doubted she’d miss the chance to gloat a little and collect her ‘winnings’. Not that she’d really win anything much, he was fairly sure he was less interesting than she was. She might even walk away in disappointment, or in a huff, which amused him slightly – all that effort just for that.
Still, it was a distraction, and he embraced it all as such. His eyes wandered the monolith once more, scanning here and there as he pushed himself up from the bench, pipe in one hand and a bottle of Stu’s creation in the other, circling it slowly, almost like a predator stalking something – or a thief on the streets following a mark, perhaps. He did miss that about Sunberth, the fact that fun-filled distraction was pretty much around every corner. It might have also been accompanied by the risk of death, but at least it hadn’t been boring...and had helped quite well with allowing him to forget his troubles for a while. He wasn’t built for brooding he was beginning to realise – he wasn’t old and wizened enough yet, not did he have the full beard. He was being forced to admit of late that puzzling out his problems merely gave him more problems.
“A monolith with a watchstone...I’m sure Oralie told me something about those before...or was it Taz? Weren’t they gateways? Doors to...places? So...what are you a door to, if a door you are?” he muttered, suddenly getting an image of the World Gate and frowning, not much liking that sudden remembrance – that dangerous one.
He got no answers beyond the eldritch words that chose to reveal themselves - always at random he now knew after long experimentation between both himself and Kamilla. He downed a good portion of his bottle, the second one of the afternoon, and then the last vestiges he poured over the face of the monolith – an offering given in silence for the gods of wine, women and song. He also watched as the liquid paused, pooled and flowed into new words revealed. He had another bottle or two over by the bench – not that they even seemed to effect him much. A smile slipped across his lips at the foolish idea that that might mean he could beat Artik at a drinking game.
“That’d be the day,” he whispered with the first true amusement of the day, “to the gods...hopefully they are enjoying themselves better than I” he sighed, returning to the bench and writing down the new words that had been revealed by the liquid’s path down the stone.
Words - 882
.
It had been a long day, comprised mostly of dealing with things that only served to remind him of things he’d rather not remember. The tenday celebrations that he had managed to visit after the meeting at the Protea and the conclusions drawn there had done little to lift his mood, instead merely serving to convey that he stood somewhat apart. Partly by his own doing, yet partly by things beyond his control too. It didn’t matter much really, upon reflection, thing were as they were and there was little to but to forge a way forward, towards some kind of a future. As he smoked his pipe, eventually ending up sat on the benches by the monument, he found himself speculating on how different things would have been had he not been ‘knocked from his path’ - or however one wanted to put it. Or whether opting to refuse the Wind Eagle ride from Shiress that fateful night would have been better, or worse.
It was idle speculation, brought about by a melancholy mood and not much reason to feel otherwise. In a short number of days he had gone from being a man who had been mentally barbed by a god, to a man who was trying to heal from that and get better, and then to one who had had what little good he had left in his life either ruined, or tainted, by an ancient monster who should have come for him instead. He wasn’t sure which one it was – ruined or tainted. Or if the simple hopes of a magically built house had simply been a foolish naivety, or a possibility now crushed. He supposed it didn’t matter – destiny was destiny and Mathias had warned him upon his first arriving in Syka that much of his future was uncertain.
Usually he’d have just drunk himself into slumber without dreams...without nightmares. But he couldn’t even do that now – Cervisi's magical intervention seemed to have left him incapable of getting drunk, amongst other changes even more noticeable, if only to himself.
“What are you?” he mused aloud, talking to the silent monolith before him, the chosen distraction for the waning afternoon light of Syna, the celebrations muted and gathered more upon the beach than where he was sat.
He had tried to search for things about it, and the claw marks specifically, yet had not managed to discover anything pertinent to share with his competition – Kamilla. In truth he wasn’t even sure if the Konti woman would show up as agreed. He supposed it would depend upon her own progress. She struck him as the competitive type and had she figured it out he doubted she’d miss the chance to gloat a little and collect her ‘winnings’. Not that she’d really win anything much, he was fairly sure he was less interesting than she was. She might even walk away in disappointment, or in a huff, which amused him slightly – all that effort just for that.
Still, it was a distraction, and he embraced it all as such. His eyes wandered the monolith once more, scanning here and there as he pushed himself up from the bench, pipe in one hand and a bottle of Stu’s creation in the other, circling it slowly, almost like a predator stalking something – or a thief on the streets following a mark, perhaps. He did miss that about Sunberth, the fact that fun-filled distraction was pretty much around every corner. It might have also been accompanied by the risk of death, but at least it hadn’t been boring...and had helped quite well with allowing him to forget his troubles for a while. He wasn’t built for brooding he was beginning to realise – he wasn’t old and wizened enough yet, not did he have the full beard. He was being forced to admit of late that puzzling out his problems merely gave him more problems.
“A monolith with a watchstone...I’m sure Oralie told me something about those before...or was it Taz? Weren’t they gateways? Doors to...places? So...what are you a door to, if a door you are?” he muttered, suddenly getting an image of the World Gate and frowning, not much liking that sudden remembrance – that dangerous one.
He got no answers beyond the eldritch words that chose to reveal themselves - always at random he now knew after long experimentation between both himself and Kamilla. He downed a good portion of his bottle, the second one of the afternoon, and then the last vestiges he poured over the face of the monolith – an offering given in silence for the gods of wine, women and song. He also watched as the liquid paused, pooled and flowed into new words revealed. He had another bottle or two over by the bench – not that they even seemed to effect him much. A smile slipped across his lips at the foolish idea that that might mean he could beat Artik at a drinking game.
“That’d be the day,” he whispered with the first true amusement of the day, “to the gods...hopefully they are enjoying themselves better than I” he sighed, returning to the bench and writing down the new words that had been revealed by the liquid’s path down the stone.
Words - 882
.
