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The Key to Imprisonment: Part 7


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#1 Guest_WC_Sumpton_*

Posted 24 December 2003 - 08:38 AM

Dawn…

Pa’Tria could feel the rising sun on the side of his face, but his body still shivered from the grip of the cold night air. His journey in the darkness had taken him longer then he had expected. Maybe his injuries slowed him down, or that he had forced himself to travel though out the night. Both the assassin suspected, were the cause of his slowness.

But now he stood at the threshold of his sanctuary. Twice the ground beneath his feet had rumbled with the presents of the creatures that chose to call this piece of Toril their home. They were aware of his presents, Pa’Tria was quite sure, and they were out to stop him. If it were only a single beast, even in his present condition, the assassin felt quite sure that he could defeat it. But here, in their proclaimed territory, there would never be a single attacker, and so he felt the necessity to keep on running.

The light of the new day was bringing with it evidence that maybe his safe haven might not be very safe. Pa’Tria had hoped that the creatures below would not be powerful enough to break through the boards of the farmhouse’s flooring. And that might still have been true, except for the appearance of the openings that now appeared before him. Large opening, that gave the appearance of being purposely created. There was no evidence that the ankhegs’ created these holes by crashing through. The edges were to manicure, with no cracks of splinters. Someone, or something, created these to allow entry into the house from below.

As the assassin’s eyes surveyed the interior, they fell upon a bed of straw that was placed against the far wall. Something slept here. Even with the gaping openings, something still felt quite safe sleeping with these walls.

Pa’Tria had had it. Mentally, physically he could go no farther. His body moved of it own accord, the legs following the will of the soul, for the mind had long stopped it function. One foot was placed within the soft soil that was before the door, and two more steps on wooden flooring brought him to the bed of straw.

The assassin’s eyes were closed while the body lowered itself, curling into the provided bedding, never seeing the pair of antenna that appeared within the opening that he had stepped in.
 
Dawn.

The stout dwarf looked at the two that lay before him. They had not started out so close together, but as the night had progressed, and the chilled might air moved in over the dieing fire. Soon the day’s sun would be making its appearance, and they would need to be moving very quickly. Gilliam did not think that those that attacked Anomen Delryn, last night, would return. Still, he felt that he did not want to remain so close to the ambush sight then necessary.

He had taken the liberty to retrieve water from the nearby River Chionthar, which he placed next to the fire he rebuilt, to warm. As well, the remains of two freshly caught rabbits would serve as their morning meal.

Most of his morning was spent packing and securing Anomen Delryn’s and the mysterious archer’s equipment. He was quite sure that most of it was unusable by the three of them, but the impressive items would bring in a good amount of gold, to aid Moira, when they found a place to sell them.

Looking down the road to the east, which they had traveled the night before, he was able to see the outline of Wyrm’s Crossing in the weak morning light. Baldur’s Gate was not that far away. But the thief was quite certain there would be more trouble for the young Delryn if the returned back to that city.

So that left north to Ulgoth’s Beard, east or south.

With the toes of one foot, the dwarf gently rocked the sleeping bard, and was quickly answered with the fluttering of eyes. A look of bemused bewilderment lingered on the half-elf’s face until the realization of his present surroundings crept back into the waking storyteller’s mind.

“Trouble..?” Mouran, bringing himself up to a seated position, mumbled at the bearded face that was staring down at him.

“’leep well elfling?” Was the only grunted reply.

Slowly the bard turned and looked at the still sleeping figure that was lying besides him, and a small sheepish grin slowly materialized across his handsome features.

“’et her ‘leep awhile, half-hide.” It was the tone Gilliam was using that brought Mouran’s attention back towards the dwarf that was standing over him. “e still hav’ unfinished business ta’ take care of.”

Standing, the half-elf grabbed one of the water-skins that were warming be the fire and pulled out the stopper, allowing the warm liquid inside to spill out upon his face and hair. After recorking the skin, Mouran retrieved some of the cooked meat, all the while the dwarf’s eyes never wandered from him.

After a watching the storyteller chew a few mouthfuls of the meat and washing them down with cool water from a different skin, the thief finally interrupted the half-elf’s morning meal.

“Now, half-hide, ye be tellin’ ‘e what ye be knowin’.”

“About as much as you, I suspect.” Mouran answered half-heartedly

“Ye be knowin’ about ‘hem four and Pa’Tria were soon to be causin’ trouble!” The dwarf cautioned sternly.

“They are… or were, a part of that ‘Destroyer’ cult.” Mouran answered, still not looking directly towards his questioner. Once again he up-turned the skin with cool water, taking a long pull to let the cold liquid settle his into full stomach.

“Cult?”

“’Destroyers of the Essence’, I believe, is what they call themselves.” The bard answered, after he resealed and discarded the now empty skin. Carefully, his keen eyes surveyed, their present surroundings for anything, which he might now use to wipe his face with.

“’e be knowin’ about ‘hem Destroyers half-hide!” The gruff note was back in the dwarf’s voice. “Buncha’ braggereds, cutthroats and bums! How’d ye’ be knowin’ they were part of that group?!”

“They are not a guild.” Mouran replied. “But more like a religion, with their own priest, as such, and a temple somewhere in Amn, in the city Athkatla I believe.” Unable to find something suitable lying around, the half-elf stepped closer towards the dwarf, reached down and withdrew the cloak his much shorter companion was wearing and inspected it closely. Upon finding a patch that was not to dirty, Mouran preceded to wipe his hand and face.

“Enough Of This!!” Gilliam exclaimed as he yanked his now soiled robe from the hands of the bard. “Will ye’ please be answerin’ ‘e Questions!?!”

Mouran gave the dwarf his best-pained expression, before he once again sat down beside the fire and extended his hands to its drying warmth. When he felt that his teasing of his stout partner had gone on long enough he looked at him squarely. “I had seen all five, at one time or another, when I made my deliveries.”

When Gilliam did not move or reply back, but kept a steady gaze on him, the storyteller elaborated. “I sell drawing, sketches of faces, as you well know, for your guild has purchased quite a few. I have also been sell these drawing, ones of Anomen Delryn included, to the Destroyers. When I realized that Pa’Tria had recognized Mister Delryn within your guild house, I knew there was going to be trouble.”

Slowly the dwarf nodded, accepting his unwilling traveling companion’s explanation. “Are ye a member of these ‘Destroyers’?” He asked.

“Because I sell them my drawings?” Mouran exclaimed. “Am I a thief because I sell to your guild? Or I could even be an officer of the Flaming Fist. No, Gilliam,” the storyteller shook his head to add emphases to his words, “I am a member of only one cult. And the is the ‘Cult of Mouran Covriv Pockets’ Need More Gold’. And I sell to whomever donates to my cause, my dear dwarf.”

Now it was Gilliam’s turn to shake his head. “Tell me, elfling,” he began after a slight pause, “what is it ye be knowin’ about these ‘Destroyers’?”

Mouran shrugged his shoulder as he replied. “Again, my good Master Thief, probably about as much as you do.”

“If ‘hem ‘Destroyers’ be so interested in Master Delryn, ‘hen why ‘hey be killin’ him?” Gilliam puzzled aloud.

“I do not think that the ‘Destroyers’ were the one responsible for…” Mouran let his word trail off as he indicated the pack equipment that lay beside the dwarf.

Both remained quiet while each contemplated the storyteller’s last remark, before Gilliam broke the silence. “’ell, I suspect I be needn’ ta return back ta me guild quickly ‘hen, and removin’ the heads of any more members ‘hat might still remain ‘here.” The temporary guild master mused aloud.

“So the task of taking our lovely young companion to the Friendly Arms Inn falls into my trusted hand now, does it not?” The bard glanced questionably back at the dwarf.

“Now why the Inn, elfling?” Gilliam asked back.

“That, my dear Mister Bloodtoes, “ Mouran stated, “is where I first laid eyes on Anomen Delryn, and he was not alone when he entered. So, I believe, his friends might still be waiting for his eventual return.”

“’hen ‘hat is where ‘e be goin’.” The thief remarked back. “Now ye must wake her, if ‘e leave now, ‘e could still make it ‘here with a little day light left.”

“We?” The bard asked slightly startled. “I thought you said you were returning to Baldur’s Gate?”

“e’ still not be trustin’ ya’, elfling.” Even in the weak morning light, against that given off by their small fire, Mouran could see a smile appear beneath Gilliam’s beard.
 
‘Anomen Delryn was dead….’

The thought lingered within his young mind. Along with the praise that the conveyer of the message gave, for the Young One had not shown any emotion.

But now she was gone, as she had arrived. And the young man found himself once again alone within his self-made sanctuary.

Alone, with a single candle that broke the darkness, that sat upon a small wooden table, where a small spot of moisture could be seen on the wood.

#2 Guest_Theodur_*

Posted 25 December 2003 - 11:51 AM

Pa’Tria had had it. Mentally, physically he could go no farther. His body moved of it own accord, the legs following the will of the soul, for the mind had long stopped it function. One foot was placed within the soft soil that was before the door, and two more steps on wooden flooring brought him to the bed of straw.


The assassin’s eyes were closed while the body lowered itself, curling into the provided bedding, never seeing the pair of antenna that appeared within the opening that he had stepped in.


Hehe... did the greatest of all assassins just got himself into a whole lot of trouble? :shock:

Most of his morning was spent packing and securing Anomen Delryn’s and the mysterious archer’s equipment. He was quite sure that most of it was unusable by the three of them, but the impressive items would bring in a good amount of gold, to aid Moira, when they found a place to sell them.


Crom alone is worth a large fortune, I would wager.

“They are not a guild.” Mouran replied. “But more like a religion, with their own priest, as such, and a temple somewhere in Amn, in the city Athkatla I believe.” Unable to find something suitable lying around, the half-elf stepped closer towards the dwarf, reached down and withdrew the cloak his much shorter companion was wearing and inspected it closely. Upon finding a patch that was not to dirty, Mouran preceded to wipe his hand and face.


Wonder who exactly is this leader of those 'Destryoers'

When Gilliam did not move or reply back, but kept a steady gaze on him, the storyteller elaborated. “I sell drawing, sketches of faces, as you well know, for your guild has purchased quite a few. I have also been sell these drawing, ones of Anomen Delryn included, to the Destroyers. When I realized that Pa’Tria had recognized Mister Delryn within your guild house, I knew there was going to be trouble.”


A man who does not care much about the results his transactions can cause. :oops:

“If ‘hem ‘Destroyers’ be so interested in Master Delryn, ‘hen why ‘hey be killin’ him?” Gilliam puzzled aloud.


“I do not think that the ‘Destroyers’ were the one responsible for…” Mouran let his word trail off as he indicated the pack equipment that lay beside the dwarf.


Hmmm.... :shock:

“That, my dear Mister Bloodtoes, “ Mouran stated, “is where I first laid eyes on Anomen Delryn, and he was not alone when he entered. So, I believe, his friends might still be waiting for his eventual return.”


Ah, his mysterious unnamed companions... (in a whiny voice) I want to know who they are...

‘Anomen Delryn was dead….’


The thought lingered within his young mind. Along with the praise that the conveyer of the message gave, for the Young One had not shown any emotion.


But now she was gone, as she had arrived. And the young man found himself once again alone within his self-made sanctuary.


Alone, with a single candle that broke the darkness, that sat upon a small wooden table, where a small spot of moisture could be seen on the wood.


And who's that.... I wanna know... (whiny voice continues...)

#3 Laufey

Posted 28 December 2003 - 10:22 AM

But now he stood at the threshold of his sanctuary. Twice the ground beneath his feet had rumbled with the presents of the creatures that chose to call this piece of Toril their home. They were aware of his presents, Pa’Tria was quite sure, and they were out to stop him. If it were only a single beast, even in his present condition, the assassin felt quite sure that he could defeat it. But here, in their proclaimed territory, there would never be a single attacker, and so he felt the necessity to keep on running.


'Aware of his presence' I think you mean. :twisted: Unless Pa'Tria was playing Santa. :cry: And also 'rumbled with the presence'.

The light of the new day was bringing with it evidence that maybe his safe haven might not be very safe. Pa’Tria had hoped that the creatures below would not be powerful enough to break through the boards of the farmhouse’s flooring. And that might still have been true, except for the appearance of the openings that now appeared before him. Large opening, that gave the appearance of being purposely created. There was no evidence that the ankhegs’ created these holes by crashing through. The edges were to manicure, with no cracks of splinters. Someone, or something, created these to allow entry into the house from below.


Well, he has some sense after all! :twisted:


The assassin’s eyes were closed while the body lowered itself, curling into the provided bedding, never seeing the pair of antenna that appeared within the opening that he had stepped in.
 
Dawn.


Or then again, maybe not. :twisted:


“Cult?”


“’Destroyers of the Essence’, I believe, is what they call themselves.” The bard answered, after he resealed and discarded the now empty skin. Carefully, his keen eyes surveyed, their present surroundings for anything, which he might now use to wipe his face with.


Bad news for Moira, I would wager...


“Because I sell them my drawings?” Mouran exclaimed. “Am I a thief because I sell to your guild? Or I could even be an officer of the Flaming Fist. No, Gilliam,” the storyteller shook his head to add emphases to his words, “I am a member of only one cult. And the is the ‘Cult of Mouran Covriv Pockets’ Need More Gold’. And I sell to whomever donates to my cause, my dear dwarf.”


:twisted:

But now she was gone, as she had arrived. And the young man found himself once again alone within his self-made sanctuary.


Alone, with a single candle that broke the darkness, that sat upon a small wooden table, where a small spot of moisture could be seen on the wood.


Hmmm...somebody mourning for Anomen? One of his sons, perhaps?
Rogues do it from behind.




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