4 - 057: The Fourth Piece

[K Man]

Romar -

{Where you sleep is really moot.}

The night passes well, little disturbs your well-deserved sleep...save for your own consciousness. You can't help but toss and turn nearly all night, hardly catching a wink of the rest your body needs. You can't help but think of what is to happen; will the Elves of Astoril show pity? No, clearly they can't when they plan on stealing the source of this town's life from them in the middle of the desert. Is there something you can do to ease this pain the town will suffer? Will Telena show mercy if you're uncovered?...you shudder to think of her sword coming down on you if she's half as strong as Girud.

The call comes, the evacuation is to begin. Though the rumors leaked throughout the night from various sources, the actual call for evacuation hasn't officially come until dawn of today. You rouse yourself from your tired "sleep" and make your way into the town square.

There, the entirety of the town has gathered to hear the creed--the call to leave this desert santuary. The townspeople show a general outrage, but the council issues and ultimatum that cannot be ignored.

"Fall in line, follow us...or you will perish."

And that's about it. Dejectedly, the crowd disperses and goes about packing what little effects the council says they can take. You return to your temporary quarters, already carrying everything you own.

{I'm gonna keep going, if you need to do something, interject in your post.}

The second call announces about six hours later, when the hot sun is high in the sky...the call to gather at the gates and to exit the city. You're startled as Telena comes to meet you, her face twisted in the hectic process she must proceed over.



"Are you ready Romar? It's time to go..."

Nodding, you follow the female half-giant to the gates.

Even more crowded than the square when the annoucement was made, it is hard to move from the bodies packed around the gate. Towering above them is the outline of a strange cart-like behemoth--the device carrying the shard!

It is a huge, hastily crafted thing made out of what little wood and stone the town could gather. Rather than roll on wheels like your typical cart, the cart rolls on pillars laid sideways with axles driven through them...the more surface area they have, the more the wheels will resist sinking into the sand. A team of the massive lizard mounts stands ready to pull the cart.

Without much celebration or even notice, the council--headed by Telena herself--begins to move from the city. One by one, like a trickle of tears for the home they leave behind, the citizens follow. You follow, lost somewhere in the crowd...

The day passes well, no hazards and despite their mass as a mob, the town makes good time. No one speaks during the exodus, an eeriely silent trek across the sand. There are plenty of lizard mounts for the weak, old or children and the strong stride alongside them at an even pace. There is plenty of water as the cart the shard is housed in is built to hold the water the shard produces...and even a small number of fish. It is truly a miracle of engineering.

When night falls, the town spreads out and those with the skill start numerous fires for warmth. You can't help but find a small fire by yourself..trying to avoid looking at anyone. You feel a nudge on your shoulder and notice the smell of a bowl of soup shoved under your nose.

It's Telena.



"Are you alright?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irris and Tineniel - {Their names will make sense eventually}

The second call comes and you've barely finished packing. What little effects you have gathered in your last few years in this town have been half-hazardly shoved into a wicker basket...which you look down upon with a sigh.

You just got here...and already you have to leave.

You're not really sure why the town has to be left, but the council made it clear. You are to leave with the town, or die in its wake. There are of course rumors about why the exodus has occured. 'The Master' is coming, the Life-Giving Lake has dried up, the council has gone mad...you're not really sure which one to buy.

But it matter not, it's time to go.

You make your way, the pair of you, to the main gate. You bump into the occasional face you know in this town, but the majority of them are just like you; milling about, anxiously trying to figure out where you're going. You try talking to what little friends you've made since that fateful day you were rescued in the desert, but your friends are too focused on leaving their city behind.

The announcement is made and you push forward, into the hot desert beyond.

Throughout the day, you take drinks of water from the cart carrying the waters of the 'Life-Giving Lake', the same waters that saved your life the day you were found. You walk next to friends, staying silent in your exodus from home and you keep a close eye to the desert around you. There are scouts, there are warriors...but you can't help the feeling that you should be doing more, that you should be leading and protecting...that you have a purpose.

There they are again...

Those feelings that have eaten away at you for the last three years. You know you're not complete as you miss the first...actually the majority of your life. You can remember a few things like visions of your family and about this 'Master' that everyone fears, but beyond that, you can remember nothing. You cannot remember any friends, any places you've been...even your name, though you call yourself by shattered bits of a name that float about your head.

The memories, like the occasional nightmares of undead and the unexplained ability to use a sword or to move a jar with but some words...these are bits of the shattered whole that you once might have been. Those that took you in the first few weeks questioned you about them, but all you could do was shrug...just like now. You're not sure where these feelings and bits of random memories come from, but they're there and they do haunt you.

You're thankful when the night comes and you can rest easily, taking a spot near a fire that is unoccupied at the moment. You take your share of food and move closer to the warmth, staving off the chill of the desert night. The townspeople spread out over nearly a half mile, dozens if not hundreds of fires being made here and there and you smirk at the sight...you never thought you would see it.

Just as you take your first spoonful of soup, you're startled by a man that takes a seat next to you at the fire, completely uninvited. He is an aged human, appearing to be in his late forties with slightly grey temples and wrinkles at the edge of his cheeks. He sports a light goat-tee that frames his mouth. He wears a light desert robe, dirtied at the base with some black dusty marks. Tied about his waist is a gold silken rope holding a series of pouches close to his belt.

Though relatively non-descript...the man is hauntingly familar...

A flash of memory clouds your vision for a moment...a throne...maelstrom of metal...'chaos'....

The man catches you off guard as he looks dead at the both of you.



"Well, well, if it isn't 'Mr. My-parents-are-icicles' and the little spiral that couldn't..."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Those inside the Fortress -

{No real clear decision here. Feel free to discuss and let me know when you've got an idea}

Krysta - Your attemps at determing the depth of the darkness verify its authenticity. It seems to go on for ever and is impossibly cold....

Map;

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|  _______________#_______________  |
| |...............................| |
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| |...............................| |
| |...............................| |
| |...............................| |
| |...............................| |
| |...............................| |
| |...............................|R|
| |...............................|T|
| |...............................|D|
| |...............................|M|
1#................*...............#3
| |...............................|K|
| |...............................|G|
| |...............................|A|
| |...............................|Y|
| |...............................| |
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| |_______________#_______________| |
|_________________4_________________|

[/pre]
<<<Legend>>>

* = Top of Pillar (3ft wide)
# = Top of Staircases, 1-4
...... = Darkened Pit
A = Galdren
G = Girud
M = Mordrock
D = Adelia
T = Alton
K = Krysta
R = Garor
Y = Yuri

[You're 75+ ft. from the pillar]
__________________________________________________________________________________________

[Wizard]

First, read this.

Nine months later.

Irris dropped the sword, sweating and exhausted. The forms had been hard today; not as instinctive, not as easy. But practice was beginning to replace half-remembered-instinct, and he thought he'd learned a few things that he hadn't known before...before whenever.

It had been hard indeed, admitting to himself that, despite his protests, he could use a sword---and very well, in fact. Tineniel was one of the few that had ever been able to disarm him since he'd begun practicing...and found that he was remembering, more than learning.

But still, something was missing...purpose. He'd found he could teach the young to ride the camels and the grown to swing a sword---but still, he wanted to be where the action was, defending the innocent dying right now.

It was thoughts like that---thoughts that caused him to suspect he was something more in his past life---that made it so frustrating to be here.

For one thing, why had he been so rich? Possessed of more money than most had seen together at any one time, and loaded with wondrous, magical gear? And all of it...war-like. Irris was not a natural-born killer, and he sometimes wondered if he would be proud of everything he'd done before...whenever.

Gods, he just wanted to know!

But then...life here wasn't so bad. He enjoyed his lessons with the little ones, and there could hardly be a more interesting companion than Tineniel.

"Master Irris! Come quickly! The Council is making an announcement!"

It was one of his pupils, Likstene. The little elf was older than he was, but he certainly didn't act like it. He learned slowly, but when he did, he moved his little rapier beautifully, causing the other students to pause just to watch him spar.

Irris wrapped the sword in cloth, and left to hear what the Council had to say.

* * *

Irris's eyes flick to Tineniel's face---but, as it always does when Tineniel wants it to, it tells him nothing.

He wonders where he's seen this man before---because he no longer doubts that he has, in this life or...the other one.

He desperately wants to shove the man down on the ground, and demand that he tell him everything he knows about his former life...but something tells him that this man might not be one to be trusted.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

It's killing him, keeping quiet.

[VemuKhaham]

Indeed Romar found little rest that night, as he pondered long and hard on the day to come. Never faltering, the voice of Veya still took the shape of an echo haunting him inside his skull. Romar tried to banish it, as to him it seemed like she was only trying to demolish his plans and drive him back into despair, but he found himself failing to do so. In the end though, he finally decided that he wouldn't allow doubt to weaken him and he would do anything in his power to succeed in his plan.

And so, when the first rays of sunshine peered into the room he was sleeping in, and dawn had arrived, Romar grew ever more anxious of the day. It took him a while before he found the will to leave his bed, tired as he was, but when he did, he joined the people and prepared himself for the journey to come. Among his preparations was seeking a little peace at the wondrous lake and meditating there on his spells. He would need his magic if he were to be successful on this journey.

Another preparation was of a different nature. Seeking out Telena, the only one he was slightly familiar with in this mob, he tried to ask her whether there was a means with which he could acquire a few sheets of blanc paper and a pencil. If she would ask for a reason, he would, not wishing to reveal why he needed it so desperately, make up that he was intent on keeping a journal on his mission for King Sturmguard, something that all emissaries had to do.

Still stressed and nervous six hours later, he went towards the gates when the people gathered there to exit the city. He looked around, worried, but trying to calm himself. When the people left the city, he joined them, anonymously.

Before he began though, he casted the spell "endure elements", which would give him a bit of comfort from the constant heath for the remainder of the day. He planned on doing that for the remainder of their journey every morning, right after meditation.

And so they went through the desert, and Romar was glad to finally hear they were going to set up camp. Positioning himself on the ground by a welcoming fire he was greeted by Telena with some soup. He looked up to meet her face and smiled. He was wondering about something...

So far, Telena had proved herself a reliable, intelligent and extremely wise member of the council. Romar had grown to appreciate her. However, it was just that which bugged him, for he was seriously regretful that sooner of later she would find out of his treachery. What impression would he leave behind? Maybe he could try to show her that he wasn't totally cold, like nearly every person he had interacted with ever since Sturmguard, Yuri and Veya had left him.

So he invited her to sit by the fire, only to recall something he could say that Telena might appreciate... might, or might not...

"Thank you for the soup, Councilor Telena. I am all right, thanks, though I realize I've been a bit vague towards you. I do not know why I wish to tell you this, but sit down and allow me to do so, if you please.

Do you remember when I asked you about any Girud, while we first met?"

Assuming the answer would be something like "yes, what about it?", Romar continues.

"Well, his last name is Sandstrider. Girud Sandstrider. He is a tall and strong half-giant just like you, and I've last seen him in Ravenshead. He is a good man, righteous and straightforward. We once fought alongside each other in Boon's Freehold."

He looked her in the eyes, trying to assess if she wished to know about this possible family.

[TheUdjat]

Once again, staring at his sunburnt skin, Tineniel was reminded of his utter lack of belonging. Certainly, he had learned the customs readily and with ease, and he fit into his mild, peaceful, and all-around comfortable life willingly - It felt like, truth be told, a much-needed respite. But almost daily, the pale elf was reminded that this simply wasn't his home. It shattered what life he had forged, and made him, as always, suffer a deep bang for his forgotten self.

Which was why he was 'Tineniel' - The Lost One.

Sometimes it would be a familiar image flashing before his eyes. Sometimes it was his skin, or the brightness of the sun, or the coarseness of the sand (Tineniel was fairly certain only he suffered as badly as he did from the elements). But mostly, it was the dreams, and it was the obsessions he found himself enacting. He could not explain them, although he had tried once at length with Irris to recreate the feeling, and had utterly failed to find the appropriate words. The dreams, like all his sleep, were short an furious - tumultuous maelstroms of activity and emotion. He could not remember them, not once, except for the immense sense of urgency and the desperate need to act. It was the antithesis of his life in the desert - peaceful, calm, measured, slow.

But the obsessions, as always, were the worst. Every morning, like clockwork, he would come to consciousness on the floor of his room, sitting cross-legged with a large book opened on his lap. It was the most incomprehensible thing. Tineniel knew he had been found with these books, but he could not read them for the life of him. Even more constartingly odd, he felt he knew what was writ within - like a storybook read to him lightly. He knew what it said, each page, but he could not fathom what the symbols meant. Unreachable, unattainable, like all of his past. But why then did he find himself, every morning, reading jibberish?

There was no doubt, Tineniel was broken inside. So was his dear friend Irris, though in different ways. But what could be done of it? Day by day, he lived on, busied himself with as much work and productive activity as he could manage, and struggled through the 2 hours of rest he received nightly.

So it was with earnest interest that Tineniel set off on this journey. He was going somewhere, and this felt right. He damn well should be going somewhere, it occurred to him.

That night at the campfire, scribbling random symbols he could not fathom the origin of on a spare slip of parchment, Tineniel felt a chill run through his whole being at the sight of the strange man. "He is powerful," his soul whispered to him in confidence. Tineniel unconsciously straightened his poise, heightened his alertness and his interest. The charcoal was set down, and not returned to that night.

"You know about the spiral." Few knew of it. Irris, ofcourse, and select others. Tineniel learned, as a general rule, oddities should be kept to oneself. The spiral mark - or scar, he wasn't sure - fit especially well under the 'oddity' label. Even now, deep beneath the surface, it burned and pulsed, like something alive. "...Who are you, sir?"

[Japic]

{I've offered my suggestions, are there any others with me in the Double-Wide of Doom?}

[Fangor the Fierce]

Krysta agrees, might as well try the boots...