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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: The Journey Begins
After the drunken man passes out, Cerric leaves the table quietly, and exits the inn, leaving the farmhand with the tab. He looks up to the sky, watching the clouds roll through the sea of air and light, remembering a time when those very same plumes of cotton-like brilliance transformed into dangerous beasts and massive sailing boats before his naïve eyes. Such reminiscence filled his jumbled mind more often then he appreciated, he could afford little time for such redundancies. The future was far more important to him than these childish memories. Still, they taught him a lot about the roots of knowledge. Before, when he was illiterate and uneducated, he had seen a monster, but now, as he recollected the shapes of the clouds he knew, that rather than some random beast, he was seeing what was known as a lion... and the massive boat would be nothing less than a frigate. These words did not exist in his previous life, and now, he could speak and think in ways no one in his family prior would have comprehended. His father was a farmer, his grandfather was a farmer, and even farther back still. He worshiped far more than a god, he gave credence to a life reincarnate, a souls ability to deviate from the stagnation of the caste system, imposed by poverty and political station.
After a meandering walk through the town he stopped to gain a sense of direction. What good was this town to him he wondered, where did the knowledge lie? As he was questioning his path, Char the raven landed upon his shoulder, looking to his master in what seemed to him a stare of acknowledgment. In draconic he spoke to the bird whose feather looked slick as oil, "Well my good friend, have we been followed? I wonder, if you have bore witness to anything that might be of some import to your master hmmm...?
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The raven watched as his master left the establishment, but remained patiently above, inside the rafters. The reason for this was two-fold. Firstly, the bird wanted to know whether he would be followed or not, he would have to alert Cerric of this, if that were to be the case. Secondly, Cerric had not obviously declared his arcane nature to the denizens of the inn, and it was Char's assumption that this was for a reason. If the bird were to accompany him immediately, it would draw attention to the Mystic Theurge... Attention that would be undesirable. He listened in on various conversations, trying to uncover anything that may have been useful to the master, and after six hundred heartbeats, left the inn to join up with him. In flight he noted the darkness of the sky (please inform me of the time of day) and the skinny figure of a man in a robe - the frail image of his far from weak master; who made up for his outer flaws with inner strength, and the channeling of his god's divinity. (I asked questions of the raven, but I cannot speak on his behalf in these matters; such as what he heard in the tavern after I left, and whether anyone gives chase. Please fill in the blanks.)
Posted on 2007-07-14 at 10:53:07.
Edited on 2007-07-15 at 20:38:19 by Philosopher
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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: Digging For Golden Knowledge
Cerric Khalidran sat at a table with a regular patron of the establishment, talking at first about the farmer’s yearly almanac, as if the superstitions of the peasant’s were interesting to him. It was a means to an end as far as this clergyman was concerned. He still referred to himself as a holy man, although his robes gave him the periodical look of whimsical doubt. Nevertheless, a proud member of the church of knowledge, he wore the symbol of Oghma proudly upon his sleeve, a blank scroll he had embroidered in himself. He had spent many a night over the light of the campfire repairing his stitching, as his sewing skills were in such disrepair as to say that the task was forlorn. He refused however to be recognized as but a mere transient, this man had purpose. Wherever he went, there was cataloguing to do, maps to remember of make due notice of. Knowledge was of the most import to this man, he would stop at nothing to get his hands on every last stitch of it. To think, in another possible turn of fate, he could have been as facile as the man before him today, talking about how the next day would bring sustainable rain. Cerric was sceptical to be sure, but perhaps there was something to be said about these auger written predications. Although he had been a farmer’s son, he had never picked up on the religion of the fields, nor had he felt the urgency of a hard day’s work, no matter how hard the old man had broken him for his failure’s as a son. Pain passes, as Cerric could now recall. He interrupted the man surreptitiously, as though he were not speaking at all, and with a whispered phonic said “This is all very interesting, but in truth, I was hoping we could speak on matters somewhat more intriguing, such as the appearance of the Purple Dragon Knights, or the War Wizards, what is their interest here?”
At that very moment the waitress visited the two, Cerric and the old farmhand wondering if they might require more drinks. Cerric had been leaving a tab open for him and his ‘friend’, and had been discreetly stowing his drinks so that he might dominate the conversation with this man. He found that a sober mind’s inquiries into a drunken man’s knowledge assisted the gathering of information, especially in such a place as the tavern, where the overly thirsty cretins sat with strangers for nary a reason besides their capacity to afford them more booze than they could pay for with a months earnings. As if to silence the man’s response, Cerric grasped the peasant’s wrist and held it tightly while he ordered them another round. “Perhaps, if you would be so kind, I might enjoy some hot broth to ease the numbness of mind,” he added with a smile that made the waitress’ cheeks look warm to the touch. After she had left them to deal with another table, he bid the older man speak on about the eerie presence of the Guards around Tilverton… “Now, if you will good sir, let’s return to the subject at hand…” His thin face tightened in concentration, as he stitched his fingers together, hand in hand, and rested his forearms on the tabletop, awaiting the gluttonous patrons reply.
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Char kept a watchful eye from above his master in the rafters. Places too overly full of people - especially those of the inebriated variety, were a breeding ground for both brawling and thievery, and it was always useful to keep a bird’s eye view on the situation. The bird could not discern whether anyone had noticed him or not, but was not making the crow of his kind, and assumed that without this annoyance, he would be relatively ignored. He kept a close eye on those patrons that moved a little too close for comfort, being most watchful of their hands, and if they had any weaponry askew. Cerric was a moderately genuine character, a priest at that, which would reduce his enemies to a bare minimum in such an established community, but he was also a very wealthy cartographer, and professor of knowledge beyond the reach of these simpletons. The birds little mind often chirped with suspicion, and it was best that he maintain the air of dire circumstances in any case; he was as good as any premonitory spell that his master might conjure, and considerably less tolling on him as well. The raven knew that Cerric would spend two hours a day memorizing his spell book, and praying to the ‘Binder of What is Known”. It was better that Char remain vigilant, and save his master the need of such divinations…
Posted on 2007-07-12 at 11:27:11.
Edited on 2007-07-12 at 11:32:38 by Philosopher
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