Ashes to Ashes - 2022-01-07 - Prologue
Paragraphs (but not the section titles) taken from the following official forum post:
GS4-KENSTROM
Subject: Ashes to Ashes - Prologue on 01/07/2022 06:38 PM EST
Category: Cities, Towns, and Outposts
Topic: Wehnimer's Landing
Post: 15267
The Alchemist
5118...
He gripped the wheels of his chair and rolled towards the desk.
Several vials still stood bubbling in their rack, some releasing such a pungent odor that even he couldn’t resist scrunching his nose. Leaning forward, he scribbled several more notes in a page of a leather tome then flipped it closed, tucking it under the heavy navy blanket that covered his thin legs. He thoughtfully touched the vial of seawater hanging around his neck.
He wheeled to the edge of the room where his eyes fell upon the windowsill. Six more vials were nestled away in a tiny glass rack, each one filled to the brim with a tar-like black salve. He let out a deep sigh. He had lost a lot of people in his life, and he knew selfishly he had been the villain in others’ lives, but he thought perhaps the next battle would make all the pain worth it in the end.
A knock came at his door, and he called for them to enter.
Two guards stepped in: their uniforms as ratty as the haphazard hair crowning their head.
“Lord Fortney, the Titan is ready to sail. The others, they are waiting for you.”
The man nodded his appreciation, and the gold specks in his dark blue eyes seemed to almost glimmer. He knew succeed or fail; this moment was everything he had planned for. If it all went as he hoped, it would only be the beginning. He reached into his coat and pulled out a slender rune-etched brass tube. He quickly tore a page from the book in his lap and tucked it inside the tube. He sealed it shut and touched a rune along its surface and in a quick flash of light, it vanished.
One of the guards blinked and asked, “What was that?”
He smiled, “Making good on a promise I made.”
As he followed the guards out of the room, he did not notice as the thin chain around his neck snapped, and the vial of seawater fell to the floor.
The Wyvern
5122...
The half-elf grumbled as he made his way up the ramp of his ship.
He arrived at the main deck as several of his crew were muttering even louder than him, and some lamenting on about their utter disbelief. A scruffy dwarf near the railing, with breadcrumbs still in his beard, threw his hands up into the air. “The dock handl’r said we’d have us glass skies and hungry winds this day!”
The half-elven captain reached the side of the brigantine and squinted into the distance. He had left his telescope below deck, along with his lover and his favorite scotch, both of which he intended to return to very quickly. It was unusually warm, and the air seemed almost darker, as if the sun itself was burning out. He looked to the sails. Not a single one held the wind. More and more of his crew became restless and wild speculation ran rampant.
The ship rested in the deep blue waters, the world around it refusing to stir.
A shout from the crow’s nest dragged all eyes to the starboard. The captain did not need his spyglass to see what phenomenon approached. The very horizon filled with thick silver mist that rolled across the sea like a nebula of polished slate. Men shouted along the deck as they scrambled for their weapons and began loading the cannons.
The first silhouette of a ship breached the gloom. Then a second, then a third, and they continued on. The captain lost count of their arrival, as he thought back to the warmth of flesh and liquor that awaited below.
It would not be the first time his blood soaked the deck of his ship, but it would be the last.