Chapter 6
Present Day
Night had fallen. A cool gust of air seemed to rise up from below him. Roelon stood motionless upon a grassy hilltop, his loose clothing flapping playfully with the breeze as he looked up into the sky. Some distance away, through a small thicket of trees, a faint glow from a small settlement could be seen in a valley beneath him. It was a clear evening, but the dull yellow light from the town below had turned his attention from the stars above. The days had grown longer, and the tall grass at his feet swayed as the winds changed. At that moment, Roelon knew summer was approaching.
Atop the foothill, Roelon dropped to a knee. A certain sense of familiarity came over him as he peered down to the village at its base. He was certain he'd never been here before, but knew it to be another step towards his destination.
Still down on his knee, he held out an item in his hand. This token, he had come to both love and hate. From the day he discovered it in the hold of a ferry a few months prior, to this very moment, he hadn't been able to discern it's meaning, only that his purpose was to find it. As Roelon was completely unaware of the significance; this item, simple and otherwise unremarkable, posed more questions than it did answers. Stowing it, he carried on.
Roelon trotted down the side of the hill, following a narrow trail. A short distance later, the trial opened wider to a gravel pathway. The pathway wound it's way through a vast cemetery. The volume of headstones that lined the fields told Roelon that the town had been around for a while. Composing his thoughts, he continued on, venturing through the graveyard.
A single bell tolled in the distance. Eleven... Twelve times.
...It took Roelon longer than he had hoped to reach the town. By the time he made it, the yellow glow that he'd seen from atop the hill was reduced to that of only one building. - The tavern.
Upon entering the establishment, he was met promptly by the aroma of spilt spirits, and the laughter of its inebriated consumers.
Roelon was among his element. In such a setting, he could blend into the darkness of a corner, and disappear. A slight smile crept upon his face.
...It was immediately turned back to a frown, for he knew that from where he took his pleasures, also drew his bane. Such was evident the moment he made eye contact with the patrons. The seedy sort. Dirty, failed souls.
Roelon thought for a moment as to how he could find peace in a place that attracts so much pain. Quite simply put... He knew bad people were in his presence. Roelon ordered his drink, and took his seat.
He leveled a cold stare at one whom the other patrons called, “Dansieg.†He was a tall, loud, shady sort. Dirty, uncalled-for words spilled from his mouth. Amongst his rude gestures, and foul-mouthed profanities, he bellowed to the barkeep, demanding another drink.
Closing his eyes tightly, a familiar haze fell upon Roelon's mind. A wide grin crept upon Roelon's face as he stood. He made his way over to the bar and positioned himself directly behind the boisterous patron. Roelon took one final drink from the pewter mug of ale. He glanced for a moment over his shoulder at the shrewd man. Another patron was courting a woman in conversation when he was rudely interrupted by Dansieg's barbaric gestures. Roelon set the mug in a precise position upon the edge of the countertop, to Dansieg's back.
Roelon snickered to himself as he backed away and retreated to his seat, ready to watch the events unfold.
Dansieg continued to ridicule others as he ambled about. As a barmaid brought his drink out to him, he eyed her up and down. She cordially dropped off his drink, and with remarkable restraint, avoided his scornful, tasteless comments and advances. She cleared a nearby table of it's empty mugs, and made her way toward the back of the bar. The barmaid's attention then turned to the half-full mug that Roelon had abandoned on the countertop. As she reached for the mug, Dansieg promptly smacked her on the backside. The resulting jolt caused the barmaid to fumble with the mug that she was reaching for, spilling the remainder of its contents on the floor. Dansieg, still swaying, took a step forward and slipped on slick floor, causing him to fall backward, hitting his head on the very table of the couple he'd harassed a moment before.
Abrupt laughter filled the room. The bewildered man regained his consciousness, then his footing and stumbled out of the building.
The barkeep then stood upon the countertop. He was short of stature, fat, and had a long brown beard that would “puff†as he spoke. In a well-rehearsed form, the Barkeep spoke in an attempt to direct his patron's attention away from the obnoxious man.
“Welcome to me Tavern! I be Snively Snakebait and I run this 'ere establishment. Like most o' the taverns 'round these parts, I serves up grub and grog to weary travelers. Now I ain't braggin', but this here's one o' the best - for beyond the smokey haze and the smell of spilt spirits, there's plenty of laughter and good conversation to be had. Tired and thirsty from their day's adventures, all types of travellers come to me te' wash away the taste o' battles won and lost. I've seen 'em all in here and I be knowin' most of 'em by name. They gather 'round these old, worn, wooden tables to share a drink and tell a tale. Sometimes they tell o' wonderous victories and some are tales o' woe. I listens to their stories and I remembers them all. Welcome friends! Have a seat and I'll bring ye a bottle of me finest, then bend an ear, whilst I tell ye of a legend of these lands."
A fresh mug of ale at his lips, Roelon paused for a moment. A chill was sent down his spine as his eyes flickered to the an item the barman now proudly displayed as he told his tale. Sound seemed to fade as he fixated on the token; the tale went unheard by Roelon.
Clenching his jaw, Roelon shook away his revery to focus on the moment. He reached down into a small leather satchel on his hip. He produced his token, held it up to his eye level for close examination. He was elated for he knew he had drawn closer to understanding its meaning.
Two silver arrowheads. Identical to those the barkeep now boasted about...
//note: "Dansieg" is the name of an RP griefer in FFXI. F- you, Dansieg.
//edit - ((Snively Snakebait and his paragraph is not my own writing. Credit is due to the original author, though I don't remember his name. It was from a previous RP guild.))
//edit2 - ((Rewrote ending to coincide with an application to the "Midnight Covenant" LS on Besaid server.
Present Day
Night had fallen. A cool gust of air seemed to rise up from below him. Roelon stood motionless upon a grassy hilltop, his loose clothing flapping playfully with the breeze as he looked up into the sky. Some distance away, through a small thicket of trees, a faint glow from a small settlement could be seen in a valley beneath him. It was a clear evening, but the dull yellow light from the town below had turned his attention from the stars above. The days had grown longer, and the tall grass at his feet swayed as the winds changed. At that moment, Roelon knew summer was approaching.
Atop the foothill, Roelon dropped to a knee. A certain sense of familiarity came over him as he peered down to the village at its base. He was certain he'd never been here before, but knew it to be another step towards his destination.
Still down on his knee, he held out an item in his hand. This token, he had come to both love and hate. From the day he discovered it in the hold of a ferry a few months prior, to this very moment, he hadn't been able to discern it's meaning, only that his purpose was to find it. As Roelon was completely unaware of the significance; this item, simple and otherwise unremarkable, posed more questions than it did answers. Stowing it, he carried on.
Roelon trotted down the side of the hill, following a narrow trail. A short distance later, the trial opened wider to a gravel pathway. The pathway wound it's way through a vast cemetery. The volume of headstones that lined the fields told Roelon that the town had been around for a while. Composing his thoughts, he continued on, venturing through the graveyard.
A single bell tolled in the distance. Eleven... Twelve times.
...It took Roelon longer than he had hoped to reach the town. By the time he made it, the yellow glow that he'd seen from atop the hill was reduced to that of only one building. - The tavern.
Upon entering the establishment, he was met promptly by the aroma of spilt spirits, and the laughter of its inebriated consumers.
Roelon was among his element. In such a setting, he could blend into the darkness of a corner, and disappear. A slight smile crept upon his face.
...It was immediately turned back to a frown, for he knew that from where he took his pleasures, also drew his bane. Such was evident the moment he made eye contact with the patrons. The seedy sort. Dirty, failed souls.
Roelon thought for a moment as to how he could find peace in a place that attracts so much pain. Quite simply put... He knew bad people were in his presence. Roelon ordered his drink, and took his seat.
He leveled a cold stare at one whom the other patrons called, “Dansieg.†He was a tall, loud, shady sort. Dirty, uncalled-for words spilled from his mouth. Amongst his rude gestures, and foul-mouthed profanities, he bellowed to the barkeep, demanding another drink.
Closing his eyes tightly, a familiar haze fell upon Roelon's mind. A wide grin crept upon Roelon's face as he stood. He made his way over to the bar and positioned himself directly behind the boisterous patron. Roelon took one final drink from the pewter mug of ale. He glanced for a moment over his shoulder at the shrewd man. Another patron was courting a woman in conversation when he was rudely interrupted by Dansieg's barbaric gestures. Roelon set the mug in a precise position upon the edge of the countertop, to Dansieg's back.
Roelon snickered to himself as he backed away and retreated to his seat, ready to watch the events unfold.
Dansieg continued to ridicule others as he ambled about. As a barmaid brought his drink out to him, he eyed her up and down. She cordially dropped off his drink, and with remarkable restraint, avoided his scornful, tasteless comments and advances. She cleared a nearby table of it's empty mugs, and made her way toward the back of the bar. The barmaid's attention then turned to the half-full mug that Roelon had abandoned on the countertop. As she reached for the mug, Dansieg promptly smacked her on the backside. The resulting jolt caused the barmaid to fumble with the mug that she was reaching for, spilling the remainder of its contents on the floor. Dansieg, still swaying, took a step forward and slipped on slick floor, causing him to fall backward, hitting his head on the very table of the couple he'd harassed a moment before.
Abrupt laughter filled the room. The bewildered man regained his consciousness, then his footing and stumbled out of the building.
The barkeep then stood upon the countertop. He was short of stature, fat, and had a long brown beard that would “puff†as he spoke. In a well-rehearsed form, the Barkeep spoke in an attempt to direct his patron's attention away from the obnoxious man.
“Welcome to me Tavern! I be Snively Snakebait and I run this 'ere establishment. Like most o' the taverns 'round these parts, I serves up grub and grog to weary travelers. Now I ain't braggin', but this here's one o' the best - for beyond the smokey haze and the smell of spilt spirits, there's plenty of laughter and good conversation to be had. Tired and thirsty from their day's adventures, all types of travellers come to me te' wash away the taste o' battles won and lost. I've seen 'em all in here and I be knowin' most of 'em by name. They gather 'round these old, worn, wooden tables to share a drink and tell a tale. Sometimes they tell o' wonderous victories and some are tales o' woe. I listens to their stories and I remembers them all. Welcome friends! Have a seat and I'll bring ye a bottle of me finest, then bend an ear, whilst I tell ye of a legend of these lands."
A fresh mug of ale at his lips, Roelon paused for a moment. A chill was sent down his spine as his eyes flickered to the an item the barman now proudly displayed as he told his tale. Sound seemed to fade as he fixated on the token; the tale went unheard by Roelon.
Clenching his jaw, Roelon shook away his revery to focus on the moment. He reached down into a small leather satchel on his hip. He produced his token, held it up to his eye level for close examination. He was elated for he knew he had drawn closer to understanding its meaning.
Two silver arrowheads. Identical to those the barkeep now boasted about...
//note: "Dansieg" is the name of an RP griefer in FFXI. F- you, Dansieg.
//edit - ((Snively Snakebait and his paragraph is not my own writing. Credit is due to the original author, though I don't remember his name. It was from a previous RP guild.))
//edit2 - ((Rewrote ending to coincide with an application to the "Midnight Covenant" LS on Besaid server.
