|
Awakening
The beating of a heart is heard within a cold, dark cave. A man, in his late twenties, lays sprawled across the floor, knocked unconscious, with a large sack on his back. It is obvious that he is not dressed for the climate in which he finds himself in. His shivering body lets loose an exhaled breath, creating a temporary fog before his unshaven face. The man tosses and turns, seemingly disturbed by the cold or the unrestrained dreams of a sleeping mind. Suddenly, he wakes up, gasping for breath in the frigid air.
He knows not where he is, nor where he once was from. He remembered a vast land of unending war somewhere far from where he is now, and he remembers a woman that was of some importance to him, but the memories fade, melting away like snow falling on a warm man's palm. The man turns, checking his surroundings, bewildered as to how he came to be in the cave.
He steps towards the mouth of the cave. Looking out, he gazes over the surrounding tundra. Barren of most life, it seems bleak and devoid of anything worthwhile. He turns back to the inside of the cave, taking a drink from a spring that pours out of the rock wall. Slipping the sack off of his back, he rummages through the contents, trying to find something of use. He pulls out a wooden spoon, an old and broken crossbow, a short sword, kettle helm, a small chest, and a bedroll. It is apparent that, whenever he had packed, he had not anticipated to end up exposed to the elements. The small chest is locked, and does not seem to have a matching key to it anywhere in the sack.
The man thinks for a moment, counting his assets, and pondering his foggy memory. He pulls out the kettle helm, which appears to have taken a heavy, blunt blow to the back of the head. Still trying to give himself a name to go by, he looks over the helm, attempting to find a means of identification. No luck. He tries again with the crossbow. Again, he is unsuccessful in finding an initial or name. The sword, chest, and bedroll are devoid of inscription as well. Finally, the spoon, of all things, reveals something: Inscribed on the back, in a fashion common to those of high esteem, reads 'Property of Cerce Tentones'.
Well, if I'm Cerce Tentones, then I suppose I'm one pompous ass. What kind of a man makes a habit of marking his name on his spoons? He thinks for a moment. I suppose those of nobility always want their name on everything... wait... how do I know that? He shakes his head, confused. The spoon, and the name, would have to be pondered on later. For now, he had to survive.
The man who now identifies himself as Cerce began to set up a small camp, laying felled trees in a boxed in location. As night approached, his instincts demanded that he have light. As such, he made a small fire by striking rocks together and applying what coal he had found exposed on the nearby mountainside, which he had gathered by hacking and chipping at the coal with a hardened piece of wood. Then, he hung the torches along the border of his encampment, and lied down to rest.
In the morning, he gathered more wood, and began to plant saplings around the camp, so that in the future he would not need to travel abroad in search of lumber. Using the collected wood, he raised the border of the encampment to about eight or nine feet high (that is, around 3 meters), and layed branches across the top in an attempt to keep out the elements. The area of the small, shabby hut was about 20x25 feet (that is, about 6x7.5 meters).
After reviewing his work, he looked around the lands surrounding his temporary home. Cerce soon found a nearby cave, sheltered from the elements and filled with clean water that flowed from the walls of the cave. He recalled something about boiling water before drinking it to be safe, but he could not remember where or when he had learned it, let alone who told him. Later, he also found a much larger cave, one surely filled with minerals and other resources. He gathered together some large stones from the cave, and retreated to his shack for the night.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Cerce improved the hut until he could safely call it a home. An unfinished home, but a home nonetheless. In order to provide for materials needed to finish the construction, he began to establish a mine in the side of a nearby mountain. Within, he discovered a long-lost and abandoned mineshaft, filled with legions of the undead and horrible poisonous spiders. He spent the next week clearing out the mines of all nefarious creatures that inhabited it. At the end of his minor adventure, he had acquired a sizeable amount of building material and precious metals.
Satisfied, Cerce returned to his unfinished home. There, he smelted the iron in furnaces, making himself a rough set of armor. He completed the lower floor, and a portion of the second floor, when he ran out of stone with which to lay. In order to acquire the stone, and in order to make room for more storage area, Cerce took it upon himself to clear out a basement for his house. Initially, the work had progressed fairly quickly. Yet as he dug deeper, Cerce could hear strange noises from under the ground.
Suddenly, Cerce found the source of the sound: A hoard of zombies and skeletons had taken residence in a very large underground crevice, or canyon. He discovered this in a most unlucky form: he fell through the basement floor.
Fighting with all his might, he pushed through the swarming undead, trying to make his way back to his basement. It felt like hours of exertion to Cerce as he punched and smashed through rotting flesh, yet it all passed by in a matter of minutes. Finally, he reached his basement again, and, knowing he was safe, fainted on the cold, hard floor.
He awoke later that night. He went upstairs to cook a warm meal for himself, and sat on his bed while he waited for the food to reach the proper temperature. Realizing that his armor had been thoroughly damaged, he checked his chest for replacement pieces. Thankfully, his prized kettle helm was unscathed, whereas his chest piece had been beaten badly. He made a mental note to try to make some chain mail armor.
Just then, he heard the sound of a door opening. Probably just the zombies again. With this thought, he pulled out his bow, and knocked an arrow. Then he heard a voice.
"Interesting..."
Wait a moment... Zombies can't talk... thought Cerce. He spun out of his room and into the hallway, where a dark figure stood.
"Who are you, and why are you in my house?!"
A dark hooded man stood in Cerce's doorway, simply smiling, and stated in an otherworldly voice; "This is a nice home you have here. Very cozy."
Cerce tontinued to hold his weapon at the ready. "You didn't answer my question: Who are you, and why are you in my house?!?"
"Oh, I just happened upon it." The strange man walked towards the stairs that led to the upper floor, which still had no roof. "A bit drafty, isn't it?" He barred his teeth, showing wicked fangs, and made a slight hissing sound, as if chuckling darkly to himself.
"Yea... Now, who are you?" Cerce looked wary of the newcomer, expecting anything.
"A traveler of little importance, seeking for what I wish, and wishing for what I seek." An aura of nearly palpable cold, coupled with depressing darkness, seemed to almost pulsate from the stranger that now stood in Cerce's room. "And who, exactly, are you?"
"I am Cerce Tentones... I think..." He lowered his weapons ever so slightly. "I suppose if you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already."
The riddle-speaking traveler nodded with his response. "You assume correctly."
Cerce then lowered his weapon into the chest that occupied his room. "Well... I suppose you are hungry after a long day of travel. Would you like something to eat?"
His guest shook his head. "I need not food. I thrive on something else entirely."
"Oh..." Cerce looked disappointed, like a young child being told that they could do nothing to help a friend in need. "Alright, then."
The being that stood before him seemed to sense his mood, and either took pity on him, or just took the chance for free food. "I suppose it would not hurt. I have not eaten mortal cuisine in some time."
The host of the house perked up, looking eager. "Excellent! I had just found some wild fowl earlier, and some wheat has grown out of the garden..." He continued to ramble on about how he could prepare a decent meal as his onlooker watched with mild humor. As he placed the chicken in the oven, and watched as it cooked, Cerce finally left the topic of food and back to his visitor. "I don't think I cought your name."
"You didn't." The reply was short, bordering on sarcasm.
"Then I suppose I'll have to make one up for you. How about Dorkus? Or Fluffy?" Cerce smiled, and then saw the blank expression on the other's face. "Too soon?"
"The humor of you mortals is lost on me."
"Ah, too soon."
"But I suppose you must call me something. Although my full name cannot be pronounced by your kind, you may call me Varutil. However, before I reveal further information regarding myself, I must know: What is your opinion of beings from alternate planes and realities?"
Cerce thought for a split second, and in almost a reflexive tone of voice, he stated: "I believe that the actions of beings speak louder than their place of origin. If a demon were to appear before me, I woud judge him on what he does, and how he treats others - not on the common misconception that those from an evil place are inherently evil." He appeared confused with what he just said, as if he did not personally say it.
Regardless, Varutil smiled, showing his fangs once more. "That is good to know." He offered his hand, which had now been revealed to have long, demonic talons. Cerce shook it awkwardly.
"I take it you need a place to satay?"
Varutil nodded. "Not needed - but I would welcome the opportunity to stay for a while. There are many books and tomes of which I could research."
"Then it is settled. Where would you like to have your room?"
Varutil thought for a moment. "Although I suppose I would do well underneath the earth - I think I would do best to be housed in the attic." Cerce then agreed, and they set upon their separate tasks.
Weeks passed, and the roof was completed. Varutil proved to be an excelent help to Cerce during that time. The demon proved to be an experienced enchanter, and aided Cerce by creating an enchantment allowing him to easily slip his armor on and off. Varutil also created a small greenhouse garden in the basement, growing reeds, wheat, and melons. He also created a mining network that connected to the basement.
Cerce had taken charge of the more domestic chores. Each day, he chopped trees, burned charcoal, made improvements on the home, and harvested from the oasis farms that he had made inside of some surrounding flooded caves. After receiving permission from Varutil, he laso began to lay a road that headed in the rough direction of a tavern. Cerce read about the tavern by reading a letter that described the location which had been crumpled up and tossed out. No author was cited. It was also during this time that the Sunbeards had left a sign on the front of the house, claiming it as their property. Cerce changed the sign to read that it was not Sunbeard property, and was instead independent of affiliation. No further actions from the Sunbeards were made known to Cerce regarding this.
At about the time that Cerce's gravel path had reached about one hundred meters out (That is, about 320 feet), Varutil approached Cerce with an idea.
"Perhaps it would be beneficial to us if we constructed an inter-planar transporter."
Cerce stared at him blankly, untill Varutil placed it in simpler terms.
"A Nether portal."
"Oh! Yes, that would be a good idea - that way, we can actually go through the nether and get to civilization."
Varutil wore no expression. "I was of the idea that a Nether wart and a number of blaze rods would suffice for reason enough to construct one. But tell me - how do you know so much of the Nether?"
"Well, I..." Cerce stammered. "I don't know. It just... Came to me..."
"Interesting..." Varutil seemed to contemplate this knowledge, storing it for future reference. "Regardless, I think it would be beneficial to contain the portal behind a secured steel door - so that undesireables cannot use it against us."
Cerce nodded his agreement, and construction began.
They traveled through the nether, stopping to investigate the occasional ruins. Cerce tried to keep up with Varutil, but was not accustomed to the terrain. At one point, he even fell off a large bridge, narrowly avoiding landing into a pit of lava, and barely avoiding breaking his legs. However, they were successful in locating some blaze rods, and another portal. They traveled through the portal out of simple curiosity.
On the other side existed a city, barren of inhabitants. Cerce and Varutil traveled the streets looking for signs of life, or at least for the name of the town itself. Neither appeared. The only things discovered were strange names on the signs for building owners, such as Lavaaa - "What parents would ever curse their children with such a name?" was the remark of Varutil - and a reference to being a protectorate of 'S.C.'. It made little sense to either of them, and so they returned to their home, blaze rods in hand. They had found no Nether wart, much to the angst of Varutil.
The days drove on, and Cerce continued on his road, just as Varutil continued with his reclusive studies. As Cerce added more than 100 meters onto the road, yet another visitor came upon them.
"Ah, it seems as if I have stumbled upon someone's humble abode!" A man wearing an extravagant crown bounded up the path towards the house as Cerce was chopping lumber. "You there, kind sir - is this your base?"
Cerce looked up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Indeed, sir. Might I ask who you are?"
"Lord Coras. Perhaps you've heard of me?" The man had a smile upon his face, and a boisterous attitude. "No? Well, I must say, I'm a little surprised. You see, I am the leader of a vast number of people - some from beyond the stars, others... Well, let's just say they are a bit strange."
Cerce furrowed his brow. "Trust me, friend - I've heard much stranger tales. Might I interest you in some food? You look like you have traveled for some time."
"Oh, no - I brought some bread and wheat from my own home." The Lord, however, noticed Cerce's dissapointment. "But if you have something in mind, by all means - I can stand to eat a little more."
They talked of recent events over dinner, such as the recent peace meetings in the Southern Coalition - That must have been the 'S.C.' that was on the sign in the town we found, thought Cerce - until a lound BANG was heard on the roof.
"What was that?" Coras, Cerce, and Varutil all jumped up simultaneously, running outside. "Is that... Saera?!"
On top of the house sat a draconic being of obviously immense power. Varutil seemed to pulse with hatred as he began to speak. "A... Dragonoid?! On... Our house?!? ON OUR HOUSE?!? I'LL FLAY YOU ALIVE, YOU SLIMY SERPENT!"
"What - what's going on?" Cerce stood still, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature, when Varutil insisted that he get inside.
"You know not the powers that are at play here, mortal! Get in here!"
Cerce snapped to attention, Varutil's concern overriding his interest in whatever was on top of his roof. "I'll get my bow - you enchanted it, right? Along with the armor?"
But Varutil was not there - he had gone to the attic already, shouting curses and phrases in his demonic tongue. Cerce could only hope that Varutil had done something to make his bow powerful enough to stop... whatever it is that was out there. After retrieving his equipment, he joined Varutil in the attic.
Coras's voice could be heard throughout the chaos of it all. "Stop, please! I can explain! Surely there is some peaceful solution to this!"
"I CANNOT HAVE PEACE WITH A DRAGONOID ON MY ROOF!" Varutil bellowed. "The only way this ends in peace is if that scaly fiend departs from my presence!"
Cerce, however, took heed of Coras's plea. "Let's at least... try... to settle this." He found it harder to overcome this irrational fear of the dragonoid than he thought it should. "I'll go talk to it." He descended the stairs until he came to the front door. The dragonoid had gotten off of the roof, landing in the front yard. It was a female - and an attractive one, at that.
As a matter of fact, Cerce found himself lost in her for a moment. He murmured to himself, "You know, up close, she doesn't look that bad..."
"Hrmph."
Varutil was standing so close to him that Cerce could smell the sulfuric breath of the demonic prince behind him. How he had arrived so quietly, Cerce didn't know.
"You humans disgust me. You find everything beautiful, and I wouldn't be surprised if you tried to mate with it. No wonder human civilizations fall so easily."
Cerce seemed to shrug off the comment as he walked outside. He adressed the dragonoid as one would a feral animal."Erm.. Hello there. Easy, now, I'm not going to hurt you..."
To which the dragonoid replied, in perfect English, "Oh, it is perfectly fine - I found it quite humorous when you were of the idea that your bow could harm me. Your friend, on the other hand, I truly do worry about."
Cerce looked bewildered. "You... You can talk?"
"Of course. You have never seen a dragonoid before, have you?"
Cerce simply stood in the doorway, confused and amazed. Varutil made a motion towards him. "Let us be rid of that... thing before it causes any more damage."
Turning and regaining his composure, Cerce stated: "No... Sir Coras is our guest, and I get the feeling that - what was her name? Saera? - is his friend. If they wished to be rid of us, they would have done so already."
Varutil twitched with anger. "She is a DRAGONOID - you know not the powers at work here. She is not to enter!"
Coras had blocked the door to ensure that Varutil couldn't get through to harm Saera. Cerce again spoke. "Calm, Varutil. We are being rude. Need I remind you that these are our guests, and this is my house? Need I remind you that you, yourself, are a guest of mine, here because I allow it? That I would do nothing to harm myself, or you?"
Varutil, in a movement of utter rage, threw his sword at the wall next to the door. The pure diamond weapon layed imbedded into the wall mere inches from Cerce's skull. "Fine. But if she enters my room - there will be hell to pay!" At this, the demonic being ascended the stairs, and went into the attic, slamming doors on his way in an obvious display of disgust.
Turning back to the two new guests waiting at the door, Cerce opened the entrance, inviting them in. "Erm... My apologies for my earlier behavior, and that of my friend. He can be a bit... grumpy at times. I myself don't know what came over me... Come, come - inside. Can you fit through the door, Saera?"
The dragonoid examined the door. "I think I can fit. Coras?" She inquired to her companion. "Are you not coming?"
Coras shook his head. "I've seen enough excitement for today. Thank you for the food, Cerce - it was a pleasure to meet you." At this, he gave a respectful nod, and departed.
And so it was that Cerce stood in the entryway with a draconic being of unknown intent, and an angry demonic power residing in his attic. "Well, this is... Awkward."
"That much is obvious."
Cerce shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Erm... Feel free to make yourself at home. What do dragonoids like to eat?" He made his way to the kitchen as he spoke.
Saera thought for a moment. "Beef, pork - raw, if possible - and the Elves have given to me, in the past, some melon. I do quite enjoy munching on melon on occasion." She smiled, showing her fangs, not unlike Varutil's. However, the dragonoid did not look as if she was born of a place inherently evil, as Varutil appeared, but instead looked similar to a cross between a woman and a small dragon.
Cerce found her features relatively attractive, but said nothing of it as he retrieved the food that she had mentioned. He gave her some, and cooked some of the leftover raw meat for himself. They ate in relative silence, breaking it occasionally to talk of Coras, or the Sunbeards, or of other topics that they felt confident that the other knew of. Eventually, Cerce grew tired of discussion, and stated that he would depart to bed. "You are welcome to stay, if you wish. We have plenty of room." He walked towards his own bedroom, and, once inside, took off his armor. In the process of this, his shirt that he had worn under the armor slid up due to the friction of him removing the protective coating, revealing a burn mark that made out 'E.V.A.'
"What's that?" Saera had seen the mark, and now stood in the bedroom doorway.
Cerce looked confused. "What's what?"
"That! On your back!"
He arched his neck, trying to get a good look. "What is it? Is it a bug? Get it off!"
Saera chuckled slightly. "No, it's... a mark. I don't read your language well - let me copy it out for you." She approached the wooden wall next to him, and carved the letters into the wall. Cerce read it, and stood back, deep in thought.
"E.V.A.? What does that mean?" He paused. "A name? Eva? Evangelina...?" Suddenly, he turned to Saera, backing her against a wall, a new look of desperation in his face. "Where am I?"
((WORK IN PROGRESS))
"One can concentrate so closely on the words of a sentence that one thereby misses the meaning. As can happen in any area of life. You must never lose focus on the larger landscape."
|
![[Image: britgif.gif]](http://s21.postimg.org/tjfasifo7/britgif.gif)
still need to some how find you in game... ))
))
![[Image: mca.png]](http://mag.racked.eu/cimage/i261.01/Achievement++get%21/100+block+shot%21/mca.png)
![[Image: 35daxat.png]](http://i45.tinypic.com/35daxat.png)