Smoke filled his lungs. A cold breeze touched his face and became a cool opposite to the hot sweat that was running down his forehead. His head rested on his saddle and he gazed straight into the night. The stars and the moon were his only light, which was only intensified by the reflection in the lake before him.
He thought back, why he needed a saddle in the first place... Behind him somewhere was his horse, chewing on grass. He didn't give it a name. For the little time he would need it. There was no point in building up a connection to it anyway. But then again it might be useful to take it to Sigil. After all, walking would be the least likable choice of transport.
The memory was still there as clear and fresh as if it happened yesterday: The intense pain, represented by red. All he could think of was red.. The anger, the pain... The fear. When he swam to the shore of the ditch filled with water, he took the last bit of strength. The only thing he could think of was his own stupidity...
"the Scum Of The Worlds"
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
He had to think back to the little stump, the burned flesh and all the blood. The cool of his sword's metal and the pain it brought as he had to.. Hell...
Fargul sat up, looking at the lake before him. His hunt came to an end. His plans to travel Toril or specifically Faerun and Kata-tur were run over as he had to chase Fenwick all over the place. The bastard.. All this time, Fargul believed it was the bandits whom he left alive, however he found out, they turned to a farmer's life now. Instead that berk Fenwick, his father's rival had planned this attack out and tried to take the monopol in the mercenaries-business along the swordcoast. He had raised in size and power, built himself a fortress and claimed himself to be the new: "Mercenary's king".
Of course Fargul couldn't leave it like that. He came up with a plan and sneaked into the place, taking out more than half of Fenwick's men and then blowing up the place with explosive substances and enough alchemist's fire, that even a Tanar'i would have felt the burns. However he miscalculated the escape-route and the sudden change of heart of Fenwick: He slept in another room than usual and so had time to escape. Fargul went after him but he was too late: The castle came down on him, before he could get a hold on the rat. In an explosion he was thrown out of the castle. Heavily injured but alive, an enraged Fargul left the burning ruins. The fortress he tore down with his own hands. It had been a close call... One day his recklessness would kill him finally.
And so he lost his leg and found a new target. A goal to achieve...
Fargul sat up, looking at the lake before him. His hunt came to an end. His plans to travel Toril or specifically Faerun and Kata-tur were run over as he had to chase Fenwick all over the place. The bastard.. All this time, Fargul believed it was the bandits whom he left alive, however he found out, they turned to a farmer's life now. Instead that berk Fenwick, his father's rival had planned this attack out and tried to take the monopol in the mercenaries-business along the swordcoast. He had raised in size and power, built himself a fortress and claimed himself to be the new: "Mercenary's king".
Of course Fargul couldn't leave it like that. He came up with a plan and sneaked into the place, taking out more than half of Fenwick's men and then blowing up the place with explosive substances and enough alchemist's fire, that even a Tanar'i would have felt the burns. However he miscalculated the escape-route and the sudden change of heart of Fenwick: He slept in another room than usual and so had time to escape. Fargul went after him but he was too late: The castle came down on him, before he could get a hold on the rat. In an explosion he was thrown out of the castle. Heavily injured but alive, an enraged Fargul left the burning ruins. The fortress he tore down with his own hands. It had been a close call... One day his recklessness would kill him finally.
And so he lost his leg and found a new target. A goal to achieve...
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
And then he sat there... Wiping the sweat from his forehead. On the ground before him, a puddle of blood. The deed was done, however it was quite a piece of work. Fargul stood up and looked over his result: Fenwick's face was frozen in the scream of pain, that came out as Fargul had slowly, milimeter for milimeter, stabbed his sword through his chest and attached him to the tree. And even when he tried to defend himself it did not matter, he hit Fargul, he tried to rip his ears off, he tried to poke his other eye out. Too late like it seemed. Was he a monster because of this? Fargul did not care, this was a once in a life-time story. He did not feel like killing so emotional ever again.. Only gets the mood down.
And now he wanted to do something which he really missed since he started to hunt down the murderer of his parents: To get lost somewhere along the way.
And now he wanted to do something which he really missed since he started to hunt down the murderer of his parents: To get lost somewhere along the way.
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back into the sofa. He lived with Lerrick for now and the old man was finally sleeping. Still Fargul could never close his eyes when that happened. They both knew, each time he put him to rest, he might not wake up again. The blanket which was so neatly folded lied on the table next to him. They went through all those uncomfortable things that came along when someone was about to die.
Apart from that, Fargul's life appeared stable to him at the moment. He was trying to get a stable job, which obviously seems to have a future, rather than freelancing mercenary jobs. A chef in his own restaurant. It was smaller than an Inn and he could do what he liked the most anyway. The last thing was only to buy the property. Which shouldn't be all that impossible.... Hopefully.
Then there was the story after he returned from Toril. Being injured made a lot of things worse. He was too vulnerable and fragile. And Zilvai did not like that. Fargul thinking he had to prove it to himself suddenly realized: No one thinks you're harder or tougher just because you put yourself mountains in the way. So She just healed him. Like that, without hesitation. Well now he was slowly recovering his old shape and was rather happy about it. Though it devastated him how weak he was.... And there was another thing:
Since he had killed Fenwick... Something in his head... Well it almost seemed as if it woke up! He did not realize it at first but when he thought back: He did not have to do the things he did to the bastard! He could have just stabbed or something but instead Fargul had let him suffer through his last hours. And now.. He notices it more and more when he goes out to train. Sometimes he just needs to do something exceptionally cruel and he starts laughing... And hours later he finds himself in a mountain of corpses again. So far nobody has noticed it of his friends and all his attempts to hide it so far were successful. On the other hand though, he had no clue why he suddenly has these rushes. As if it pleased him to kill in any violent ways that were possible. It made him nervous, not being able to control himself. . .
He heard a noise upstairs and darted up the corridor. He opened the door and stepped inside: Lerrick's upper body was hanging ouside of the bed and the old man did not move. Quickly Fargul jumped towards him and helped him up. The pulse- no he was still alive- maybe just another collapse. As he looked around he noticed something. A piece of scroll and some coal next to it. Fargul was surprised how good the old man was at drawing but that was probably natural since he dealt with so many paintings anyway.
His eye moved across the painting and Fargul held his breath: That drawing looks exactly like. . . Oh Shite...
Apart from that, Fargul's life appeared stable to him at the moment. He was trying to get a stable job, which obviously seems to have a future, rather than freelancing mercenary jobs. A chef in his own restaurant. It was smaller than an Inn and he could do what he liked the most anyway. The last thing was only to buy the property. Which shouldn't be all that impossible.... Hopefully.
Then there was the story after he returned from Toril. Being injured made a lot of things worse. He was too vulnerable and fragile. And Zilvai did not like that. Fargul thinking he had to prove it to himself suddenly realized: No one thinks you're harder or tougher just because you put yourself mountains in the way. So She just healed him. Like that, without hesitation. Well now he was slowly recovering his old shape and was rather happy about it. Though it devastated him how weak he was.... And there was another thing:
Since he had killed Fenwick... Something in his head... Well it almost seemed as if it woke up! He did not realize it at first but when he thought back: He did not have to do the things he did to the bastard! He could have just stabbed or something but instead Fargul had let him suffer through his last hours. And now.. He notices it more and more when he goes out to train. Sometimes he just needs to do something exceptionally cruel and he starts laughing... And hours later he finds himself in a mountain of corpses again. So far nobody has noticed it of his friends and all his attempts to hide it so far were successful. On the other hand though, he had no clue why he suddenly has these rushes. As if it pleased him to kill in any violent ways that were possible. It made him nervous, not being able to control himself. . .
He heard a noise upstairs and darted up the corridor. He opened the door and stepped inside: Lerrick's upper body was hanging ouside of the bed and the old man did not move. Quickly Fargul jumped towards him and helped him up. The pulse- no he was still alive- maybe just another collapse. As he looked around he noticed something. A piece of scroll and some coal next to it. Fargul was surprised how good the old man was at drawing but that was probably natural since he dealt with so many paintings anyway.
His eye moved across the painting and Fargul held his breath: That drawing looks exactly like. . . Oh Shite...
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul sat alone in his room in the Inn. He got a new one, after Lerrick died. It was just like he expected: One morning he just didn' wake up. Everything was arranged and the body got buried somewhere in Toril. He tilted his chair against the wall... Something moved in the shadows. A huge lion rose his mighty head. The fur was reddish and two black leathery wings would be neatly folded on its back. A blood-red scorpion tail coiled up but seemed somehow lazy. Its poisonous green eyes were focused on Fargul.
"You seem... Worried, Swordsman. It is not often that you are in such a state."
Fargul looked thoughtfully at the Manticore. Kor, his imaginary childhood friend turned out to be a little more. He had spooked around his head since he was born. But unlike Amaku for example, he had adapted to the being and merged with it. They were somehow the same by now.
"Dunno... 's just weird things at the moment.. Things which make me wonder lately..."
"Is it the death of the old Man? It was obvious this would happen, Swordsman.
"Hmm... I s'ppose. But Lerrick's death ain' the only thing... I feel alone, Zil's slowly decayin' it seems an' now poor Amaku's been spooked aswell. An' now there's some kinda conflict goin' on in Sigil an' I might get involved."
"You should be happy about this conflict. As a mercenary it is the opportunity to prove your value as a mercenary.
"Granted, however it ain' dat easy 'ere."
"Also of truth.."
He sipped more of his wine and woke up later on the table, after he finished the coversation with Kor. Slowly he wandered over to his bed and figured that at some point he'd have someone to fill the rest out..
"You seem... Worried, Swordsman. It is not often that you are in such a state."
Fargul looked thoughtfully at the Manticore. Kor, his imaginary childhood friend turned out to be a little more. He had spooked around his head since he was born. But unlike Amaku for example, he had adapted to the being and merged with it. They were somehow the same by now.
"Dunno... 's just weird things at the moment.. Things which make me wonder lately..."
"Is it the death of the old Man? It was obvious this would happen, Swordsman.
"Hmm... I s'ppose. But Lerrick's death ain' the only thing... I feel alone, Zil's slowly decayin' it seems an' now poor Amaku's been spooked aswell. An' now there's some kinda conflict goin' on in Sigil an' I might get involved."
"You should be happy about this conflict. As a mercenary it is the opportunity to prove your value as a mercenary.
"Granted, however it ain' dat easy 'ere."
"Also of truth.."
He sipped more of his wine and woke up later on the table, after he finished the coversation with Kor. Slowly he wandered over to his bed and figured that at some point he'd have someone to fill the rest out..
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
There was nothing left to say for him. He looked around in the room: To the shelf, where all his swords were neatly aligned next to each other, to his armor rack, to his selection of rare wines and to the book filled with all his recipes. He turned towards the window outside: What was there for him to do here? He asked himself this question over and over... And over and over and over again, until he was just sick of asking himself: Nothing. He felt like a wrenched character in a play, where he wasn't even worth mentioning. This orphanage? Was never his plan. It never had been. His second-in-command, actually the orphanage's mother Tina, did a Great job. He was not needed anymore.
He caught a glance in the shadow a little green light and the huge lion-like creature sneaked out of the shadows. It almost filled the room and Fargul simply sat down on a chair. Fargul looked up to Kor and grinned slightly:
"So? Whatcha gonn' say now? That I gotta run back into th' fight? That I've lost me ways n' shite?"
"That is needless to say, Swordsman. However I am in no position to tell you that anymore. All this time you always had your own way. But let me just tell you, that I fear that I am the same as you. I cannot see my purpose anymore. Without me, without my world... Everything is usele-- No, I am useless."
Fargul took a cigarette and picked his little small black Zippo up, to light the smoking stick. " Ye know... I always wondered that if I ever was in a situation like dis, that I coul' make the rite decision, without thinkin' o' meself."
"What did you forecast at that time?"
Fargul blew out some smoke, picked up the bag and left the note on his desk:
"Exactly dis."
With these words, the One-Eyed Mercenary, Swordsmaster, Amateur chef and founder of "Lerrick's Orphanage" left Sigil without another word. To him though, these have never been achievements.
The note read:
To Tina, the new headmaster of the orphanage: I hope you will not hate me too much. I suppose you knew it all along, didn't you? Well, there should be still enough money to run the institution. If not, sell whatever equipment you can find. The collection of swords alone should be pretty valuable. Hire more staff as you please and remember, that this place was meant for the children and for children alone. Of course take restrictive measures however stick to what I told you: No religious teachings, you may tell them if they're interested but don't force anything upon them. Search for opportunities for them to learn new things. Anything is fine. This is what me and also what Lerrick would have wanted. I thank you for your loyalty and hope I am not putting too much upon your shoulders. As for I am the biggest possible coward, but what could you expect from Street-scum like me?
To anybody else who knows me: Well, what can I say? Those who hated me, probably say know: "I knew it all along". Those who actually liked me, I only have to say "Sorry, but I can not go on like this anymore". I need to get back to my old ways, but Sigil is not the place for it anymore. Well if I ever had old ways in the first place. I will simply renew myself somehow. Or only partially I don't know. All I do know is though that I need to get out of here and for as long as possible. I might not even return anymore. IF that might be the case, farewell to whoever you are. We might accidently run into each other. Well then I guess I'll pop up a bottle of wine and we might have a talk somewhere over a campfire. . . "
He caught a glance in the shadow a little green light and the huge lion-like creature sneaked out of the shadows. It almost filled the room and Fargul simply sat down on a chair. Fargul looked up to Kor and grinned slightly:
"So? Whatcha gonn' say now? That I gotta run back into th' fight? That I've lost me ways n' shite?"
"That is needless to say, Swordsman. However I am in no position to tell you that anymore. All this time you always had your own way. But let me just tell you, that I fear that I am the same as you. I cannot see my purpose anymore. Without me, without my world... Everything is usele-- No, I am useless."
Fargul took a cigarette and picked his little small black Zippo up, to light the smoking stick. " Ye know... I always wondered that if I ever was in a situation like dis, that I coul' make the rite decision, without thinkin' o' meself."
"What did you forecast at that time?"
Fargul blew out some smoke, picked up the bag and left the note on his desk:
"Exactly dis."
With these words, the One-Eyed Mercenary, Swordsmaster, Amateur chef and founder of "Lerrick's Orphanage" left Sigil without another word. To him though, these have never been achievements.
The note read:
To Tina, the new headmaster of the orphanage: I hope you will not hate me too much. I suppose you knew it all along, didn't you? Well, there should be still enough money to run the institution. If not, sell whatever equipment you can find. The collection of swords alone should be pretty valuable. Hire more staff as you please and remember, that this place was meant for the children and for children alone. Of course take restrictive measures however stick to what I told you: No religious teachings, you may tell them if they're interested but don't force anything upon them. Search for opportunities for them to learn new things. Anything is fine. This is what me and also what Lerrick would have wanted. I thank you for your loyalty and hope I am not putting too much upon your shoulders. As for I am the biggest possible coward, but what could you expect from Street-scum like me?
To anybody else who knows me: Well, what can I say? Those who hated me, probably say know: "I knew it all along". Those who actually liked me, I only have to say "Sorry, but I can not go on like this anymore". I need to get back to my old ways, but Sigil is not the place for it anymore. Well if I ever had old ways in the first place. I will simply renew myself somehow. Or only partially I don't know. All I do know is though that I need to get out of here and for as long as possible. I might not even return anymore. IF that might be the case, farewell to whoever you are. We might accidently run into each other. Well then I guess I'll pop up a bottle of wine and we might have a talk somewhere over a campfire. . . "
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The grey plane of the Ethereal, did not offer anything, for eyes to hang on to. Fargul closed his eyes but there was still nothing. The ruthlessness of this plane truly started to take its tolls of Fargul's mind. Sometimes he imagined figures or shapes in the distance but there was nothing. His food supplies were still sufficient for yet another month. He walked until he was too tired to walk and sat down on the ground. He took the first edible thing that he found in a pouch and started chewing on it, even though he wasn't hungry. He looked at his two companions. The pile of rags, with a plain grey mask where his face would be presumed and a sword hilt, hanging out somewhere out of these rags. On the other side the three-meter tall black and red armor, that was covered in spikes and decorations, that would even scare a Paladin and shake up the foundation of his believes. The head was a helmet that looked like a horned, yelling lion, where the face would be inside the wide opened mouth. The face was covered by a terrifying beastial-looking mask made out of the same metal as the rest. The giant carried a shield with the symbol of a Manticore and a thorn-covered sword in his belt. Both sat wordlessly there without making any comment. They looked like they were anticipating for something. Fargul swallowed the last bite and stood up again. His hand moved towards his hilt but quickly it retracted.
"I'm not strong enough... I could never beat myself. I simply cannot..."
As he turned around, he saw a plated fist flying at his face. Fargul dropped to his backside holding his face. As he removed his hands he looked up at the armor-clad giant. Fargul made attempts to stand up again. However the spiky boot met his chest and he fell down again. Fargul had a hard time breathing and tried to stand up again. This time he caught the boot and flexed his muscles, pushing the boot backward. He felt the feeling of cloth in his back and as he turned around, an extension in the rags, came to throw a whip-like hit at him. He ducked and smashed his elbow into the pile of rags. It stumbled backwards and Fargul had time to draw his sword. The armored drew his brutal blade as did the creature of rags, which seemed to have arms. They consisted of pure cloth but were able to carry the plain and simple sword. He looked at each in return and smiled as he took his silver box and picked a cigarette, with his lips. There was no time to light it, as he was attacked immediatly. Blade met blade and a violent fight broke out.
Fargul was breathing heavily. He stood up and looked at the figures at his feet. He started laughing and moved over to each of them. By using the pommel of his sword, he cracked the mask of the rag-pile. He blinked at the sight: It was his own face, that his gaze met. Only it did not have any scars and was grey. The eyes had no real color and looked straight back at him, with a cold carelessness that froze him. He quickly stood up again and turned around, with the gaze in his back. He turned to the armored clad figure and cracked his mask aswell. And this time he looked into the face of his father. He looked enraged, but still somehow proud of his son. The eyes were red and seemed mad. Scars filled this face. Fargul stood up again and looked at both of them. He rose his blade to stab each of them. But then he lowered his sword again: He couldn't kill them... They were each a part of him. It would be impossible to get rid of them. All of a sudden a rush of thoughts and emotions ran through his head and he fell into a laughter, that took hours. It was hysterical and he yelled into the nothingness of the Ethereal:
"I am Scum! I am the biggest piece of Scum in this world! In fact, I am the king of Scum in all Worlds!".
And with these words, did the fakely crowned King of Scum leave the plane. He needed some action right now, and he was sure how he could get that.
"I'm not strong enough... I could never beat myself. I simply cannot..."
As he turned around, he saw a plated fist flying at his face. Fargul dropped to his backside holding his face. As he removed his hands he looked up at the armor-clad giant. Fargul made attempts to stand up again. However the spiky boot met his chest and he fell down again. Fargul had a hard time breathing and tried to stand up again. This time he caught the boot and flexed his muscles, pushing the boot backward. He felt the feeling of cloth in his back and as he turned around, an extension in the rags, came to throw a whip-like hit at him. He ducked and smashed his elbow into the pile of rags. It stumbled backwards and Fargul had time to draw his sword. The armored drew his brutal blade as did the creature of rags, which seemed to have arms. They consisted of pure cloth but were able to carry the plain and simple sword. He looked at each in return and smiled as he took his silver box and picked a cigarette, with his lips. There was no time to light it, as he was attacked immediatly. Blade met blade and a violent fight broke out.
Fargul was breathing heavily. He stood up and looked at the figures at his feet. He started laughing and moved over to each of them. By using the pommel of his sword, he cracked the mask of the rag-pile. He blinked at the sight: It was his own face, that his gaze met. Only it did not have any scars and was grey. The eyes had no real color and looked straight back at him, with a cold carelessness that froze him. He quickly stood up again and turned around, with the gaze in his back. He turned to the armored clad figure and cracked his mask aswell. And this time he looked into the face of his father. He looked enraged, but still somehow proud of his son. The eyes were red and seemed mad. Scars filled this face. Fargul stood up again and looked at both of them. He rose his blade to stab each of them. But then he lowered his sword again: He couldn't kill them... They were each a part of him. It would be impossible to get rid of them. All of a sudden a rush of thoughts and emotions ran through his head and he fell into a laughter, that took hours. It was hysterical and he yelled into the nothingness of the Ethereal:
"I am Scum! I am the biggest piece of Scum in this world! In fact, I am the king of Scum in all Worlds!".
And with these words, did the fakely crowned King of Scum leave the plane. He needed some action right now, and he was sure how he could get that.
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
It had been now a month, since that stranger arrived. Fennel didn't like him. He already didn't like him when he arrived. All men of the village had been in the Tavern. Some of the women aswell. All of a sudden, the doors were opened and that man stepped in. He wore a green tabbard, without any symbol on it. His right arm was lightly plated and on his back he wore a Greatsword, made out of a very dark metal. He had short brown hair, was quite pale and thin and he wore an eyepatch over his right eye. Scars marked his face and the overall impression, showed he was a fighter. He had that easy-going grin on his face as he entered and made his way straight to the bar. The musicians had stopped and everybody stared at him. However that did not bother the man at all. He simply walked to the counter and asked for an ale. After a short time, everybody was relaxed again and the musicians started playing again. However everybody took at least one little glance at the stranger. He simply sat there and stayed quiet. And he still smiled to himself. As the evening progressed, he finally yawned at some point and asked for a room. The bartender, an older man and a friend of Fennel responded like anyone in the village would have: "Ye can go sleep on the street, you filthy adventurer-dog!".
The man just shrugged and stood up. And then something happened which turned Fennel's and the entire village's world upside down: Somebody stood up and said quickly intervened "He can sleep in my house!". Everyone turned to the corner where this voice came from. That was Aleira, no wait, she was holding the person that called this out loud... It was Theresa!
Fargul had stayed in this village already far too long. After the woman, so kindly had offered to him, to stay at her house, he wanted to decline, but then he just decided "to hell with it" and thankfully accepted. The young blonde woman, was called Theresa Langs. She lived alone, after her parents had recently died in a storm. She prayed to the gods every night, hoping that they were alright. She let him sleep under the roof in a bit of hay. The next morning he wanted to leave the next morning, in order to leave this village, that obviously despised so much of strangers. So he wanted to pay Theresa for her hospitality, until he noticed that he had left all his gold in Sigil. He had escpaed the cluthches of his old life, with as little baggage as possible. Fargul looked embarrassed down at Theresa (She was the tallest in the village and almost as tall as Fargul) and admitted that he had nothing left he could pay with. She just smiled at him, like at a little kid that would not be able to do the simplest things. She offered him to work his debt off. So he agreed and started chopping wood, repaired the leak in the roof and helped her getting the last cropses in. He did help, however he had never encountered farming before and therefore was quite clumsy at it. Theresa or Resa, how she called herself, would always chuckle about him. It sounded like the bells of a very beautiful church were ringing. It was almost as if he was hypnotized.
He was already for two weeks here. Longer than he actually had to be... And yet.
The man just shrugged and stood up. And then something happened which turned Fennel's and the entire village's world upside down: Somebody stood up and said quickly intervened "He can sleep in my house!". Everyone turned to the corner where this voice came from. That was Aleira, no wait, she was holding the person that called this out loud... It was Theresa!
Fargul had stayed in this village already far too long. After the woman, so kindly had offered to him, to stay at her house, he wanted to decline, but then he just decided "to hell with it" and thankfully accepted. The young blonde woman, was called Theresa Langs. She lived alone, after her parents had recently died in a storm. She prayed to the gods every night, hoping that they were alright. She let him sleep under the roof in a bit of hay. The next morning he wanted to leave the next morning, in order to leave this village, that obviously despised so much of strangers. So he wanted to pay Theresa for her hospitality, until he noticed that he had left all his gold in Sigil. He had escpaed the cluthches of his old life, with as little baggage as possible. Fargul looked embarrassed down at Theresa (She was the tallest in the village and almost as tall as Fargul) and admitted that he had nothing left he could pay with. She just smiled at him, like at a little kid that would not be able to do the simplest things. She offered him to work his debt off. So he agreed and started chopping wood, repaired the leak in the roof and helped her getting the last cropses in. He did help, however he had never encountered farming before and therefore was quite clumsy at it. Theresa or Resa, how she called herself, would always chuckle about him. It sounded like the bells of a very beautiful church were ringing. It was almost as if he was hypnotized.
He was already for two weeks here. Longer than he actually had to be... And yet.
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
He stood ontop of his balcony. It was the highest on top of the mansion. He could look down onto the lower balcony, that he had installed. He could turn around and watch the inner court with the children playing in it. The few refugees that remained were either setting up to leave or would go about their business in the court aswell. It was not to be expected but he could easily shut this place down... However he heard about what they did with Maelfina's place... Maybe he should watch out, with his steps. Of course he had everything prepared for his death... But he knew, that there was still too many flaws in his plan. What were his options? He thought about the Gatehouse, but it was only a matter of time, till those psychopaths would set their eyes on that aswell. Dav had mentioned Elysium. Maybe it was worth a try. Find an island and set a few tents. Until he was finished here in Sigil. That would take quite a lot of logistics and organization, not to forget how vulnerable they could be. Maybe ask the Hardheads? No, not his style. Maybe he could ask Bria? She'd could get help from some of the Indeps. Move them through the sewers? No too dangerous. . . Too many flaws... All his plans had too many flaws! Damnit!
He leaned back into his armchair on top of his roof. From here he could not only see all of the Hive, but the entire Cage opened up to him, like the surreal painting of Torilian artist with delusions. The glass on the small table next to him was half-empty... Or was it half full? For hell's sake.. Stop asking yourself these stupid questions! You're again in harmony with yourself, now get it over with...
A Devil passed by close over him and a breeze met his face... In the wind he heard her humming. That sound made his head drench in images. He squeezed the scarf in his hand and dove back into his memory.
Fargul pulled the carriage with the crops inside. The horse had been hurt by a badger and therefore he had to put it right next to all the cropse, it's mouth tied up so it wouldn't dare to eat any. He had all his muscles flexed, while pulling the wagon all the way back to the village. As he arrived at the house, that Resa inhabited. He heard her talk to another man already from the outside. Regarding his quite bad hearing or his eyesight this must have meant they were yelling at each other. He wiped his forehead off the sweat and quickly walked into the entrance. He looked into the window and saw that that man from the village, who had been stalking around the house lately, holding Resa by her arm and yelling at her. Even though she was taller, she wasn't able to get rid of him. He seemed furious. Fargul darted to the door and ran into the kitchen. He saw that lad turning around in fear and grabbed a dagger from his belt. Fargul did not stop however and the man dashed forward in a desperate attempt to hurt him. Fargul blocked the knife with his arm and got cut... Maybe even deeper than he expected but still he grabbed that man's collar and headbutted him right on the nose. It gave in to Fargul's skull and the "Crack" was quite loud actually. The villager dropped his knife and winced at the pain. However Fargul wasn't down with him just yet. He lifted him up and walked outside, the man trying to wriggle himself free. But all his attempts to free himself of Fargul were impossible. All this man had lifted was the keg of ale every night in the tavern. He wasn't even a farmer. No, this was the major's son he remembered. He tossed the berk into the dirt and let his boot rest on his neck, keeping enough pressure on, to let his face redden like a tomato.
"Please... Lemme.. Go!" he tried to gasp out.
"I dun' really feel like it, ye son o' a cockroach."
"P-please!", the life was slowly draining out of him. Fargul let the pressure go. "Run... An' dun' ever show yer pig-face 'round here again!"
The little man stood up and ran away, stumbling, falling face first into the dirt and stood back up again.
This had been now the most annoying attempts of the villagers trying to meddle with their lives. Fargul had stayed now for more than a month and every time he walked through the village he felt their stares. Like the stings of bees. Nothing more. To him they were nothing but little flies. Of course it was mean to them, because they had never known how gigantic the world really was... What did they know? But Fargul could never really keep up with intolerance. Even though he was not as much a liberalist, as he thought he'd be. They thought he could not hear them, when they whispered. They believed they were right... Oh hell they didn't. They were already shocked from the fact, that Fargul never really prayed. When he came with Resa for the Sunday mass, he just stood there, when everyone was quietly folding their hands. One time, the local cleric had sat next to Fargul, while he was having a drink at the Tavern. Fargul was already quite tipsy and the Cleric proceeded to ask him about his religion, as he never seemed to pray to any god. Was he a follower of Tempus maybe? He seemed like a warrior. Fargul simply replied that he had no interest in worshipping something that is as mortal as himself. And when the cleric upsetly yelled that he is wrong at that the gods were immortal, he downed the rest of his ale, payed and walked outside saying quite clearly in fact: " Well, then I dun' get why their corpses are driftin' on the Astral plane?". No, this villager-life was nothing for him, but he stayed in order to please Resa. He really loved her. She might be only a simple farm-girl but hell, she was more decent and caring than any paladin of Sune could have ever become.
He entered the house again, only to find Resa cleaning up the mess, that bastard... Fennel was his name, caused. She looked up at him smiling weakly. He grimaced a bit and helped her, but she stopped him saying, no more like whisperin:" No, it's alright..." Fargul sighed, picked her up and carried her to the arm chair in the room with the fire-place and sat down with her. She tried to resist, but her attempts were half-hearted, knowing about his exceptional Strength. He kneeled down before her and looked her into the eyes:
"Why do ye gotta keep up wit tis? Everyone in the village's jealous o' yer satisfaction. None o' 'em grant us, or more importantly you to be happy. Let's get outta here! I can show ye all the places in the world an' more!"
"No... I cannot! I could never leave this place behind. Too much is here." Fargul grinned slightly
"Stop lyin' ta yeself. I noticed the glimpse in yer eyes, every time I tell ye the stories o' sum of the places, I been to. Yer eyesight is directed at th' hills, not the village. Ye walk wit th' merchants till far outside the town's borders. Yer steps are directed North, South, East an' West. But never towards yer house."
"You make it sound so easy..."
"Because it is, hun! It literally consists of putting one foot in front of the other. There's nuthin' to it!"
" But you have seen so much of the world already! Doesn't it get ever boring?!"
Fargul grinned calmly: "Not if I had sumone ta share it with. What coul' be possibly holdin' ye back? Yer parents are gone. Yer free o' 'em. The villagers? Ye despise o' 'em. I can see that. I wanna take ye to ma home. I wanna show ye the size o' this existance. Please, Resa. If nah fer ye, do it fer me."
Resa looked at him with tears in her eyes. But it were tears of happiness. She smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him. Then she whispered into his ear: "Yes... Please show it all to me. I wanna learn what you know. I want to see the world. . . But only under one condition." Fargul looked back to her again: "Anythin' m' dear."
She smiled slightly:" I want to leave my name behind with this place... This is usually slightly different but this is an unusual situation: Fargul Bernadotte, will you marry me?"
Fargul looked at her blankly... He was surprised, but as he noticed her unsure gaze he smiled: "Yes, of course I would."
And then the catastrophy was inevitable.
Fargul looked at the passing Spelljammers in the air. The manticore to his feet growled. The pile of rags behind him, was silent as ever. A child started crying in the yard. He stood up and climbed down into the court...
He leaned back into his armchair on top of his roof. From here he could not only see all of the Hive, but the entire Cage opened up to him, like the surreal painting of Torilian artist with delusions. The glass on the small table next to him was half-empty... Or was it half full? For hell's sake.. Stop asking yourself these stupid questions! You're again in harmony with yourself, now get it over with...
A Devil passed by close over him and a breeze met his face... In the wind he heard her humming. That sound made his head drench in images. He squeezed the scarf in his hand and dove back into his memory.
Fargul pulled the carriage with the crops inside. The horse had been hurt by a badger and therefore he had to put it right next to all the cropse, it's mouth tied up so it wouldn't dare to eat any. He had all his muscles flexed, while pulling the wagon all the way back to the village. As he arrived at the house, that Resa inhabited. He heard her talk to another man already from the outside. Regarding his quite bad hearing or his eyesight this must have meant they were yelling at each other. He wiped his forehead off the sweat and quickly walked into the entrance. He looked into the window and saw that that man from the village, who had been stalking around the house lately, holding Resa by her arm and yelling at her. Even though she was taller, she wasn't able to get rid of him. He seemed furious. Fargul darted to the door and ran into the kitchen. He saw that lad turning around in fear and grabbed a dagger from his belt. Fargul did not stop however and the man dashed forward in a desperate attempt to hurt him. Fargul blocked the knife with his arm and got cut... Maybe even deeper than he expected but still he grabbed that man's collar and headbutted him right on the nose. It gave in to Fargul's skull and the "Crack" was quite loud actually. The villager dropped his knife and winced at the pain. However Fargul wasn't down with him just yet. He lifted him up and walked outside, the man trying to wriggle himself free. But all his attempts to free himself of Fargul were impossible. All this man had lifted was the keg of ale every night in the tavern. He wasn't even a farmer. No, this was the major's son he remembered. He tossed the berk into the dirt and let his boot rest on his neck, keeping enough pressure on, to let his face redden like a tomato.
"Please... Lemme.. Go!" he tried to gasp out.
"I dun' really feel like it, ye son o' a cockroach."
"P-please!", the life was slowly draining out of him. Fargul let the pressure go. "Run... An' dun' ever show yer pig-face 'round here again!"
The little man stood up and ran away, stumbling, falling face first into the dirt and stood back up again.
This had been now the most annoying attempts of the villagers trying to meddle with their lives. Fargul had stayed now for more than a month and every time he walked through the village he felt their stares. Like the stings of bees. Nothing more. To him they were nothing but little flies. Of course it was mean to them, because they had never known how gigantic the world really was... What did they know? But Fargul could never really keep up with intolerance. Even though he was not as much a liberalist, as he thought he'd be. They thought he could not hear them, when they whispered. They believed they were right... Oh hell they didn't. They were already shocked from the fact, that Fargul never really prayed. When he came with Resa for the Sunday mass, he just stood there, when everyone was quietly folding their hands. One time, the local cleric had sat next to Fargul, while he was having a drink at the Tavern. Fargul was already quite tipsy and the Cleric proceeded to ask him about his religion, as he never seemed to pray to any god. Was he a follower of Tempus maybe? He seemed like a warrior. Fargul simply replied that he had no interest in worshipping something that is as mortal as himself. And when the cleric upsetly yelled that he is wrong at that the gods were immortal, he downed the rest of his ale, payed and walked outside saying quite clearly in fact: " Well, then I dun' get why their corpses are driftin' on the Astral plane?". No, this villager-life was nothing for him, but he stayed in order to please Resa. He really loved her. She might be only a simple farm-girl but hell, she was more decent and caring than any paladin of Sune could have ever become.
He entered the house again, only to find Resa cleaning up the mess, that bastard... Fennel was his name, caused. She looked up at him smiling weakly. He grimaced a bit and helped her, but she stopped him saying, no more like whisperin:" No, it's alright..." Fargul sighed, picked her up and carried her to the arm chair in the room with the fire-place and sat down with her. She tried to resist, but her attempts were half-hearted, knowing about his exceptional Strength. He kneeled down before her and looked her into the eyes:
"Why do ye gotta keep up wit tis? Everyone in the village's jealous o' yer satisfaction. None o' 'em grant us, or more importantly you to be happy. Let's get outta here! I can show ye all the places in the world an' more!"
"No... I cannot! I could never leave this place behind. Too much is here." Fargul grinned slightly
"Stop lyin' ta yeself. I noticed the glimpse in yer eyes, every time I tell ye the stories o' sum of the places, I been to. Yer eyesight is directed at th' hills, not the village. Ye walk wit th' merchants till far outside the town's borders. Yer steps are directed North, South, East an' West. But never towards yer house."
"You make it sound so easy..."
"Because it is, hun! It literally consists of putting one foot in front of the other. There's nuthin' to it!"
" But you have seen so much of the world already! Doesn't it get ever boring?!"
Fargul grinned calmly: "Not if I had sumone ta share it with. What coul' be possibly holdin' ye back? Yer parents are gone. Yer free o' 'em. The villagers? Ye despise o' 'em. I can see that. I wanna take ye to ma home. I wanna show ye the size o' this existance. Please, Resa. If nah fer ye, do it fer me."
Resa looked at him with tears in her eyes. But it were tears of happiness. She smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him. Then she whispered into his ear: "Yes... Please show it all to me. I wanna learn what you know. I want to see the world. . . But only under one condition." Fargul looked back to her again: "Anythin' m' dear."
She smiled slightly:" I want to leave my name behind with this place... This is usually slightly different but this is an unusual situation: Fargul Bernadotte, will you marry me?"
Fargul looked at her blankly... He was surprised, but as he noticed her unsure gaze he smiled: "Yes, of course I would."
And then the catastrophy was inevitable.
Fargul looked at the passing Spelljammers in the air. The manticore to his feet growled. The pile of rags behind him, was silent as ever. A child started crying in the yard. He stood up and climbed down into the court...
-
*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
This was his world. His kingdom and his refuge: The roof of the orphanage. Nobody was allowed up here unless he invited them. He leaned back into his armchair and took a bit of cheese from the table next to him. The torus of Sigil spread over him and surrounded him. He felt pleasantly small in this birdcage. Just another tiny part to the Great whole that was before him. It made him forget about his worries for a moment. However it barely managed to stay in oblivion. He sipped his wine and looked at his usual companions in such moments: The Manticore and the Rag-man.
" What will be your next step now, Swordsman?"
Fargul turned to the big black cat at his feet.
"Dunno... I dun' really wanna work for somebody else but still, it's gotta be done. Since everything worked out so far, I'll see into the Harmonium matter for now. I really don't want to be involved too much into this "Shaper" story. I mean, I can loose too much an' I cannae take more o' tis loss crap. I barely managed to keep meself together after... Resa died."
The "head" of the rags turned to Fargul:
"You are not going to intervene, even though your friends are in danger?"
Fargul sighed: "Listen, me friends are all more than capable to do their jobs. Most o' 'em been attacked directly. But I got for example the Indeps to think about, nah to forget me own crap."
The manticore yawned, displaying many dagger-like teeth:
"However, you are not even active in that matter? What is wrong with you swordsman? Did the loss of that woman affect you that much? I presumed our battle in the Ethereal plane had settled this nuisance."
Fargul exhaled some smoke and watched some spelljammers pass by:
" All of these so-called "friends"... Well they can't understand me. I ain' helpin' them. I kinda want ma peace until I manage to have everythin' goin' smoothely. If I coul' choose, I'd pick her over them! I am watchin' them havin' successful, fulfilled lives, while I still have ta cope wit the same ol' crap!"
The figures stayed quiet. Fargul frowned and closed his eyes....
But all he saw was her sad, bloody face. Red on his hands and the smell of fire in his nose. He opened them immediatly and grunted. The sadness wanted to roll up again, but he forced it down. Maybe he could still go and fetch... Not by now it should be impossible. Or he could try to transform her into another-- No it still wouldn't change anything.
He would not get her back... No matter what he would try. And the worst of all, his hopes just never died.
" What will be your next step now, Swordsman?"
Fargul turned to the big black cat at his feet.
"Dunno... I dun' really wanna work for somebody else but still, it's gotta be done. Since everything worked out so far, I'll see into the Harmonium matter for now. I really don't want to be involved too much into this "Shaper" story. I mean, I can loose too much an' I cannae take more o' tis loss crap. I barely managed to keep meself together after... Resa died."
The "head" of the rags turned to Fargul:
"You are not going to intervene, even though your friends are in danger?"
Fargul sighed: "Listen, me friends are all more than capable to do their jobs. Most o' 'em been attacked directly. But I got for example the Indeps to think about, nah to forget me own crap."
The manticore yawned, displaying many dagger-like teeth:
"However, you are not even active in that matter? What is wrong with you swordsman? Did the loss of that woman affect you that much? I presumed our battle in the Ethereal plane had settled this nuisance."
Fargul exhaled some smoke and watched some spelljammers pass by:
" All of these so-called "friends"... Well they can't understand me. I ain' helpin' them. I kinda want ma peace until I manage to have everythin' goin' smoothely. If I coul' choose, I'd pick her over them! I am watchin' them havin' successful, fulfilled lives, while I still have ta cope wit the same ol' crap!"
The figures stayed quiet. Fargul frowned and closed his eyes....
But all he saw was her sad, bloody face. Red on his hands and the smell of fire in his nose. He opened them immediatly and grunted. The sadness wanted to roll up again, but he forced it down. Maybe he could still go and fetch... Not by now it should be impossible. Or he could try to transform her into another-- No it still wouldn't change anything.
He would not get her back... No matter what he would try. And the worst of all, his hopes just never died.