Is There No Balm for Myrken Wood?

Is There No Balm for Myrken Wood?

Postby Malaroth » Tue May 29, 2007 5:56 am

Malaroth's sigh joined the road dust that hovered about him in the wake of the cart's passing. He had met the same cart every second day of the week since he had taken to staying at Stonebrook. A hand raised in greeting, pale and slender, found only a dour countenance from the cart-driver this afternoon. A cart, usually carrying an assortment of food stuffs, seemed somewhat hungry for cargo.

The nobleman settled onto an aged stump beside an empty trough and squinted in the noonday sun that fell upon his wispy blond hair and set it alight with a brilliant, golden fire streaked with silver. It blasted his countenance with the lie of true color that masked his own ashen complexion if only for a while.

While scowling thoughtfully, he recalled his brief audience with the king. It had been a bit of a journey, something he was growing used to lately, but the monarch had spared him a few moment's time. More, Malaroth was convinced, by the king's passing familiarity with Zachea than with the man's own credentials.

His Majesty, for whatever it was worth, had given him permission and nothing else. Malaroth's knighthood would come, he had promised, once the nobleman had arranged for a headquarters, established a group of adherants, and relieved the people of some foul magic.

The iron-shod quarterstaff rolled from one hand to the other. He watched as, wreathed in the dust from the road, the cart rolled quietly along. The creak of the wagon wheels drew the attention of townsfolk who were used to purchsaing produce from the grocer. Malaroth watched one townsman in particular, saw the hard lines on his face, the loose fit of his shirt, and how he longed for what the grocer normally sold at a fair price.

This was not the first time that the grocer, Malaroth considered, had gone by empty. From windows, from alleys, from the side of the road several haunted gazes followed the grocer as he left behind the dust that had, evidently, just begun to settle into the bellys of the citizenry.

They were hungry, the thought struck him, not for freedom from tyrranical sorcery or some madman's fist - but from a simple need that ate at them from the inside. They were hungry. They needed food, plain and simple. A wry smirk crossed chapped lips as he considered that the people of Myrken had an endless supply of problems evidently, not an endless supply of food. And with that thought came a stinging rejoinder fromt he memory of his instructor.

Namely, that a knight does not choose what battles to fight. Rather he chooses to become a knight in order to fight all battles that need be fought. Whether they are fought with sword and spell or toil and sweat.

He climbed to his feet and proceeded towards one of the men who stared with frustration and sorrow warring for control over his weathered countenance. A few words and a pair of coins later, from the purse the king had freely granted, Malaroth was on his way.

To buy a small sheep farm and to found an order. He risked a glance behind him, peering at his own tiny river of disturbed dust that never seemed to quite settle back to the earth. What hope he wore upon his lips trembled at the sight.

The past, he considered, never remained settled.
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying
Malaroth
Member
 
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Apr 10, 2007 4:00 am
Location: Massachusetts, USA

A blue bard in recovery.

Postby jacktim » Tue May 29, 2007 8:25 am

Indeed, Sabrion had spent the last few days in the Remendium, near starvation had taken its toll on the blue bard. Working his fingers to the bone, and trying to leave enough in his larder to feed his beloved... who now lay beside him the next bed. A sigh would escape his lips as he stared at the dull colored ceiling. What had prompted him to make such sacrifice? The iron will of competitive vendors who never ceased to gouge the poor blacksmith bard on their foodstuffs, and when they did decide to sell... how little the portions came. Even Ikari had thought that Sabrion might hold out long enough to gain some bounty out of the small garden he had been starting. Indeed... Now who would water those seedlings until he recovered?

His bagged eyes now peered over to Sammariah, Sabrion's blessing, Sabrion's curse. She had healed him far enough to stop his slow death, and reverse it... But be damned if you thought he didn't hate her for it. "I told you to be careful..." Sabrion said to himself, his mere croaking whisper only audible to those who'd stand nearby. Before losing consciousness to the darkness of the night he whispered again, "Don't die Sam... I love you..."
-Fleshy, bloodfilled, homeless trees... :evil:
User avatar
jacktim
Member
 
Posts: 164
Joined: Thu Nov 02, 2006 8:00 am
Location: Wouldn't you like to know?


Return to Downtown Myrkentown



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 6 guests

cron