Post by Dr. Rotiart on Dec 16, 2006 6:10:35 GMT -5
Midnight. In a small, bare field neighbouring the city walls of Jericho, the naked moonlight shadows a lone walking figure. The air was a bitter chill, the wind an unwelcome bite of frost; both howled in the haunted night sky. Crispy leaves fluttered against the cold hardened dirt, a soft breeze sending shivering shrills of spurious comfort to the very planets core. Out here, each whispering breath could be heard, every whelp of despair without audience, and all thoughts locked in the mind imprinted unwillingly on a shivering visage. Stars with flickering lights of illuminative flair guide the soothsayers of the eve along futures stairway, but offer dim dirt paths to present wanderers.
Hollow thuds thump the dirt below three times in succession, footstep, thud, footstep, sound the only elucidating force on a silent eve. A long draping cloth from the legs swept broken leaf shards in disorganised masses, small oval-shaped craters impeccably imprinted left the lightest of trails in the messy mud. But then a halt came, the breeze stopping dead, a heavy cough breaking the silence.
“What do you want?” Inquired a throaty voice, hasty and invading.
"Michael, it’s cold out here.. And dangerous! Why are you even here in the first place? These people don’t need you.” Replied a shrill, soft, feminine voice in the darkness. The direction of speech seemed to flicker around to each direction, one word ringing from the east, the next the south, and even from within. The walking man, Michael, was not so hasty to find what was bothering him; its words were what played his tune.
“You didn’t answer my question first..” Impatience rising with vocal inflection “But they do need me here! They do! What the hell would you know? When was the last time you helped anybody!?” The black ebony walking stick Michael wields is lifted up from the small imprint left in the dirt, and pointed into the tense air, ready to swing and strike. In his other hand was a small chain garnished with 3 different symbols, the majority of which were squeezed tight in his grasp, little or no light penetrating the insides. Such a tight grip made his nerves shudder shake, eyes now narrowing to the invasion of his privacy; a guard dog goaded into this reaction could be more tense.
“Oh calm down you easily teased old man!” The voice giggles gently, a hint of affectionate teasing in the lower depths of its meaning. “What name have you got for yourself now? ‘Rotiart’ eh? Well you always were a pedant in your ways..” Another soft chuckle fills the air, a small, wood elf fairy emerging from the northern forest, and settling down upon Michael’s shoulder, knowingly that he wouldn’t react; was this a case of him accepting it, or him not being able to do anything about it? He had often pondered his choice in these matters, eyebrows frowning and knitting at the middle, raised walking stick gently pushed back into the ground, sighs of defeat the breeze breaking more silence.
“It’ll do. Not that I-I’d be staying here long anyway..” His tone stutters, head looks down into the dirt below, and his once fiercely fighting fists placed down at his sides. It was hopeless, he thought. Can’t fight the system, silly old man. The small creature, one of its wings teasing Michael’s locks of hair, while its skeletal visage absently toyed with his short collar, remained silent, almost innocent to his words.
“I need to go anyway, I have a.. uh, meeting with one of the players of these lands” He places his palm into his baggy cloth jacket, removing a small, leather bound book, that was title-less and tattered. Flicking the tip of his finger with his tongue, he perused the pages gently, reaching about half-way before tapping an unreadable name fiercely, and showing it to the creature.
“Oh, never heard of them.” It remained distracted and absent minded, clambering to its feet and launching away from Michael’s shoulder.
“Not that you’re coming anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. See you around..” There was a certain ‘wish otherwise’ in his last words, now turning attention away from the woods, and slipping the small black book back into his jacket pocket. He sighed deeply. Are you going to be able to pull this off? Or are you just aspiring to the heavens once again, dear boy? Melancholy rang in the air when the cold breeze and angry words did not. The creature now had gone in as fast as it had appeared. With fingers clasped around the steel tip of his walking stick, Michael hobbled away, toward the northern forests of Jericho. Whether his intentions lay in the green foliage of a distant land, in the city next to it, or even an entirely different land completely, remained the enigma. But his mark had certainly been founded upon this ground.
Hollow thuds thump the dirt below three times in succession, footstep, thud, footstep, sound the only elucidating force on a silent eve. A long draping cloth from the legs swept broken leaf shards in disorganised masses, small oval-shaped craters impeccably imprinted left the lightest of trails in the messy mud. But then a halt came, the breeze stopping dead, a heavy cough breaking the silence.
“What do you want?” Inquired a throaty voice, hasty and invading.
"Michael, it’s cold out here.. And dangerous! Why are you even here in the first place? These people don’t need you.” Replied a shrill, soft, feminine voice in the darkness. The direction of speech seemed to flicker around to each direction, one word ringing from the east, the next the south, and even from within. The walking man, Michael, was not so hasty to find what was bothering him; its words were what played his tune.
“You didn’t answer my question first..” Impatience rising with vocal inflection “But they do need me here! They do! What the hell would you know? When was the last time you helped anybody!?” The black ebony walking stick Michael wields is lifted up from the small imprint left in the dirt, and pointed into the tense air, ready to swing and strike. In his other hand was a small chain garnished with 3 different symbols, the majority of which were squeezed tight in his grasp, little or no light penetrating the insides. Such a tight grip made his nerves shudder shake, eyes now narrowing to the invasion of his privacy; a guard dog goaded into this reaction could be more tense.
“Oh calm down you easily teased old man!” The voice giggles gently, a hint of affectionate teasing in the lower depths of its meaning. “What name have you got for yourself now? ‘Rotiart’ eh? Well you always were a pedant in your ways..” Another soft chuckle fills the air, a small, wood elf fairy emerging from the northern forest, and settling down upon Michael’s shoulder, knowingly that he wouldn’t react; was this a case of him accepting it, or him not being able to do anything about it? He had often pondered his choice in these matters, eyebrows frowning and knitting at the middle, raised walking stick gently pushed back into the ground, sighs of defeat the breeze breaking more silence.
“It’ll do. Not that I-I’d be staying here long anyway..” His tone stutters, head looks down into the dirt below, and his once fiercely fighting fists placed down at his sides. It was hopeless, he thought. Can’t fight the system, silly old man. The small creature, one of its wings teasing Michael’s locks of hair, while its skeletal visage absently toyed with his short collar, remained silent, almost innocent to his words.
“I need to go anyway, I have a.. uh, meeting with one of the players of these lands” He places his palm into his baggy cloth jacket, removing a small, leather bound book, that was title-less and tattered. Flicking the tip of his finger with his tongue, he perused the pages gently, reaching about half-way before tapping an unreadable name fiercely, and showing it to the creature.
“Oh, never heard of them.” It remained distracted and absent minded, clambering to its feet and launching away from Michael’s shoulder.
“Not that you’re coming anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. See you around..” There was a certain ‘wish otherwise’ in his last words, now turning attention away from the woods, and slipping the small black book back into his jacket pocket. He sighed deeply. Are you going to be able to pull this off? Or are you just aspiring to the heavens once again, dear boy? Melancholy rang in the air when the cold breeze and angry words did not. The creature now had gone in as fast as it had appeared. With fingers clasped around the steel tip of his walking stick, Michael hobbled away, toward the northern forests of Jericho. Whether his intentions lay in the green foliage of a distant land, in the city next to it, or even an entirely different land completely, remained the enigma. But his mark had certainly been founded upon this ground.
