Chapter 3
Present day:
Roelon lay in wait. He squatted low, hidden only partially by the shadows of the stone stairway he was crouched upon. The daylight had just broke, and off in the distance, a bell could be heard, no doubt inviting commoners to worship at the cathedral that stood in grandiose form not 30 meters away. The cold, grey stone of the surrounding buildings rose into the dull sky. The highest peak, that of the cathedral, disappeared into the haze of the morning fog that had not yet been lifted by the rising sun.. The cathedral was the tallest building in the land, as it was law that no other building could be taller.
At that moment, the second bell rang. Roelon saw his target. A fat man sporting an obnoxiously-large hair piece entered his line of sight, lumbering toward the cathedral. The man was wearing an absurdly extravagant robe; a not too uncommon type of garment that the well-to-do would often flaunt on the holy day. A ring adorned nearly every finger on both of his hands.
A few beggars sat with outstretched hands on the stairs of the cathedral. Hoping for the kindness of those coming to attend the sermon, they would cast a longing glare to the passers-by. The town guard stood at the entrance to the cathedral, and sporadically throughout the town plaza, closely monitoring everyone around them. Roelon watched as the fat man pulled his purse in tighter, turning his nose up at the commoners on the stairwell.
From the shadow, Roelon leveled a tight stare on the man. He examined him as he walked. The way he shuffled about without swinging his arms... the general stiffness about him... Roelon knew he was hiding something.
Tightly closing his eyes, he focused on the fat man in his mind. In a familiar haze, he caught a glimpse of a shortsword tucked beneath his robes. Opening his eyes, his glance returned to the fat man. Without breaking the stare, Roelon felt for his own left side, confirming that his own blade that he had concealed was still in place. As the bell rang a third time, he sprang forth.
Jumping off the side of the stairway, he fell 5 meters before rolling onto the soft tuft of grass, never making a sound, and never breaking from the shadow that the rising sun had cast. He fluidly crept alongside the red-brick building directly adjacent, and parallel to the nearby cathedral. He came to rest at the corner of the brick building, his back to the wall. As Roelon looked out from the corner of the building, he felt a stinging gust of cold air blow his hair back from his brow. It was at that point that he sensed that autumn was upon the lands.
Roelon thought back to the first autumn of his “awakening’:
---------- ---------- ---------- ----------
Three Years Ago:
Though he was aware of Welkin’s presence, Roelon still stood motionless, both hands placed upon the wood sill of the window to his room. He stared outside, watching nature’s scene play out in front of his eyes. It was apparent that autumn was upon the lands. As he watched the sun set, he could feel the temperature dropping. A constant breeze tossed the leaves that had fallen from the limbs of the perfectly-lined apple trees that continued on into the horizon of the plantation. The cool breeze blew Roelon’s thick hair back. Though his side still ached from his first encounter with his soon-to-be mentor not more than a few days ago, Roelon didn’t care that all of this was new to him. He didn’t bother to inspect his new room, and didn’t care to speak to the aging man still standing in his doorway. At that moment, Roelon heard the creaking of the old, wooden floor. Welkin had walked away.
Roelon closed his eyes tight. He was sure her scent was in the air, but dismissed it as part of his dream, shaking his head. He stared out to the horizon. Through the window, the autumn scene continued on. The rustling of the dried leaves could be heard in the ambience.
A moment passed, and the groan of the worn floorboards had returned. Roelon never turned to look toward the sound. -In an instant, everything seemed to stand still. That moment, the wind seemed to stop, the sound of the rustling leaves was suddenly replaced by a definitive silence. Time seemingly stood still as Roelon instinctively flinched and with no hesitation, forcefully pushed himself away from the wooden sill of the window, just as the blade a throwing dagger imbedded itself in the wall in a direct line of where Roelon’s head just was.
Roelon turned toward the doorway where his attacker stood, arm still extended in perfect form from his expert throw. Roelon stood motionless, unsure what to expect next.
“Ha! Good!†Welkin exclaimed, as he repositioned himself. Now crossing his arms he leaned in the doorway to the room. He examined Roelon’s expression with a satisfied grin on his face. Charged with delight, he spoke again.
“I was right! Do you know what this means?â€Â
Roelon remained frozen. His stance was wide, one of surprise, anticipation. He looked at the knife buried to the hilt in the wall. He raised a brow at the old man and despite the situation, spoke in a low, calm tone.
“Why would youâ€Â¦? How did Iâ€Â¦?â€Â
“Foreknowledge. Evasion.†Welkin nodded. “There is much more I can show you.†Welkin, still grinning turned to walk away.
“Old man!†Roelon motioned to the large split panel of the wooden wall where the knife rested at his eye level, and said forcefully, “If you would have been wrong about me, what then?â€Â
Laughing to himself, Welkin left the room.
---------- ---------- ---------- ----------
Present Day:
Snapping back to the matter at hand, Roelon stood. After a nearby guard passed, he stepped away from the cover of the shadow, and blended into the crowd, sneaking a nonchalant glance at his target.
Near the base of the stairs of the cathedral stood a community board. Roelon grinned as he noticed one of the flyers. Information about a fire requested... advertisements... engagement notices... Amongst the collage was a bulletin with the picture of a hooded figure, a poorly-done, hand-drawn artist’s interpretation of Roelon’s face.
Walking up the stairs to the cathedral, he placed a few coins in the palm of a young girl.
“Blessings be with you, -Priest.-†said the young girl, as she retracted her outstretched arm, palming the coins.
Roelon looked down at the girl, and nodded, “And with you, dear.â€Â
Roelon looked down at his garment. He grinned as he adjusted the collar of his “˜acquired’ Cleric’s robes. He steepled his hands and bowed, strolling past the guards at the cathedral entrance unnoticed.
Present day:
Roelon lay in wait. He squatted low, hidden only partially by the shadows of the stone stairway he was crouched upon. The daylight had just broke, and off in the distance, a bell could be heard, no doubt inviting commoners to worship at the cathedral that stood in grandiose form not 30 meters away. The cold, grey stone of the surrounding buildings rose into the dull sky. The highest peak, that of the cathedral, disappeared into the haze of the morning fog that had not yet been lifted by the rising sun.. The cathedral was the tallest building in the land, as it was law that no other building could be taller.
At that moment, the second bell rang. Roelon saw his target. A fat man sporting an obnoxiously-large hair piece entered his line of sight, lumbering toward the cathedral. The man was wearing an absurdly extravagant robe; a not too uncommon type of garment that the well-to-do would often flaunt on the holy day. A ring adorned nearly every finger on both of his hands.
A few beggars sat with outstretched hands on the stairs of the cathedral. Hoping for the kindness of those coming to attend the sermon, they would cast a longing glare to the passers-by. The town guard stood at the entrance to the cathedral, and sporadically throughout the town plaza, closely monitoring everyone around them. Roelon watched as the fat man pulled his purse in tighter, turning his nose up at the commoners on the stairwell.
From the shadow, Roelon leveled a tight stare on the man. He examined him as he walked. The way he shuffled about without swinging his arms... the general stiffness about him... Roelon knew he was hiding something.
Tightly closing his eyes, he focused on the fat man in his mind. In a familiar haze, he caught a glimpse of a shortsword tucked beneath his robes. Opening his eyes, his glance returned to the fat man. Without breaking the stare, Roelon felt for his own left side, confirming that his own blade that he had concealed was still in place. As the bell rang a third time, he sprang forth.
Jumping off the side of the stairway, he fell 5 meters before rolling onto the soft tuft of grass, never making a sound, and never breaking from the shadow that the rising sun had cast. He fluidly crept alongside the red-brick building directly adjacent, and parallel to the nearby cathedral. He came to rest at the corner of the brick building, his back to the wall. As Roelon looked out from the corner of the building, he felt a stinging gust of cold air blow his hair back from his brow. It was at that point that he sensed that autumn was upon the lands.
Roelon thought back to the first autumn of his “awakening’:
---------- ---------- ---------- ----------
Three Years Ago:
Though he was aware of Welkin’s presence, Roelon still stood motionless, both hands placed upon the wood sill of the window to his room. He stared outside, watching nature’s scene play out in front of his eyes. It was apparent that autumn was upon the lands. As he watched the sun set, he could feel the temperature dropping. A constant breeze tossed the leaves that had fallen from the limbs of the perfectly-lined apple trees that continued on into the horizon of the plantation. The cool breeze blew Roelon’s thick hair back. Though his side still ached from his first encounter with his soon-to-be mentor not more than a few days ago, Roelon didn’t care that all of this was new to him. He didn’t bother to inspect his new room, and didn’t care to speak to the aging man still standing in his doorway. At that moment, Roelon heard the creaking of the old, wooden floor. Welkin had walked away.
Roelon closed his eyes tight. He was sure her scent was in the air, but dismissed it as part of his dream, shaking his head. He stared out to the horizon. Through the window, the autumn scene continued on. The rustling of the dried leaves could be heard in the ambience.
A moment passed, and the groan of the worn floorboards had returned. Roelon never turned to look toward the sound. -In an instant, everything seemed to stand still. That moment, the wind seemed to stop, the sound of the rustling leaves was suddenly replaced by a definitive silence. Time seemingly stood still as Roelon instinctively flinched and with no hesitation, forcefully pushed himself away from the wooden sill of the window, just as the blade a throwing dagger imbedded itself in the wall in a direct line of where Roelon’s head just was.
Roelon turned toward the doorway where his attacker stood, arm still extended in perfect form from his expert throw. Roelon stood motionless, unsure what to expect next.
“Ha! Good!†Welkin exclaimed, as he repositioned himself. Now crossing his arms he leaned in the doorway to the room. He examined Roelon’s expression with a satisfied grin on his face. Charged with delight, he spoke again.
“I was right! Do you know what this means?â€Â
Roelon remained frozen. His stance was wide, one of surprise, anticipation. He looked at the knife buried to the hilt in the wall. He raised a brow at the old man and despite the situation, spoke in a low, calm tone.
“Why would youâ€Â¦? How did Iâ€Â¦?â€Â
“Foreknowledge. Evasion.†Welkin nodded. “There is much more I can show you.†Welkin, still grinning turned to walk away.
“Old man!†Roelon motioned to the large split panel of the wooden wall where the knife rested at his eye level, and said forcefully, “If you would have been wrong about me, what then?â€Â
Laughing to himself, Welkin left the room.
---------- ---------- ---------- ----------
Present Day:
Snapping back to the matter at hand, Roelon stood. After a nearby guard passed, he stepped away from the cover of the shadow, and blended into the crowd, sneaking a nonchalant glance at his target.
Near the base of the stairs of the cathedral stood a community board. Roelon grinned as he noticed one of the flyers. Information about a fire requested... advertisements... engagement notices... Amongst the collage was a bulletin with the picture of a hooded figure, a poorly-done, hand-drawn artist’s interpretation of Roelon’s face.
Walking up the stairs to the cathedral, he placed a few coins in the palm of a young girl.
“Blessings be with you, -Priest.-†said the young girl, as she retracted her outstretched arm, palming the coins.
Roelon looked down at the girl, and nodded, “And with you, dear.â€Â
Roelon looked down at his garment. He grinned as he adjusted the collar of his “˜acquired’ Cleric’s robes. He steepled his hands and bowed, strolling past the guards at the cathedral entrance unnoticed.