Whispers on the Wind (saved posts)

Category: Cities, Towns and Outposts
Topic: Wehnimer's Landing
Message #: 6954
Author: GS4-KENSTROM
Date: 05/18/2015 04:38 PM CDT
Subject: Whispers on the Wind

Lord Brieson and Soffeia Cassle were reported to have left Wehnimer's Landing over the weekend to travel to the coast of Tamzzyr, where Brieson will be finishing one last bit of research before he concludes his investigation into the assassination of Earl Kestrel. It is said that he will be visiting the ruins of Kestrel Keep, where the Earl himself was murdered in his castle, along with many of his soldiers and staff before the remainder of the area was devastated by shadowy black mein golems in the employ of Elithain Cross. It is rumored that many among the assassins were those who took blood oaths to Elithain Cross when he launched his war against the Turamzzyrian Empire. Lord Brieson and his sister also said they would be returning at week's end to release the information surrounding his investigation.






Crushed shells grinded under his feet with each step.

He kissed his sister’s cheek and begged her to remain behind. She nodded, but he could sense her uneasiness.

The dirt road was lined on both sides of the trail with a low stone wall, and the sound of the ocean distantly thrummed in the background. The smell of the sea was prominent, its aroma of salt and brine hanging heavily in the air. Save for the crash of the waves, all else around him was eerily silent, still, and dead.

His eyes squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun, and he felt his throat tighten at the sight of the devastation ahead. He swallowed hard, nodded, and stepped forward with purpose. He paused at the edge of the remnants.

The ruins of Kestrel Keep.

The ground was tarnished with a brownish hue, its soil soaked with old, dried blood that left the land with a permanent stain. He could smell it too. The stagnant reek of death, permeating the broken castle like a poisonous cloud, completely suffocating the scent of the ocean and life beyond. He stepped past what appeared to be a giant boulder, but when he got closer he learned it was in fact the broken body of a shadowy black golem, many of its limbs missing. The head of the golem remained, its heavy weight having sunk somewhat into the ground, its eyes staring out black and cold.

He knelt down, locking eyes with the lifeless automation. Even in ruin, its surface was polished and smooth, such an elegant creation twisted into chaotic use. He rose to his feet and pressed on, slowly moving throughout the old stone remains, carefully stepping over broken glass, scattered furniture, scorched stone and the occasional body segment of a golem.

Most of the dead, at least those who could be recovered, were long cleared from the area, their bodies returned home to be properly buried and mourned. Innocent victims from a senseless war, butchered by those blinded by hate and power. He sighed. Even with the threat of the Shadows gone, the world still churned in chaos. Perhaps that was the end goal all along, he wondered.

He stepped through a huge crack in a stone wall, a battered and melted iron portcullis jutting up from the ground nearby. He ran his hands along the charred dust of a wall, his eyes closing as he stopped. He smelled the ocean again, its sweet and soothing winds finally piercing the fog of carnage that choked the area. The breeze stirred across his skin, slowly caressing his neck like the gentle hand of a lover. He became enraptured in the senses, his chest swelling and his lungs filling with fresh air.

His eyes remained closed, but the world grew to life around him. The wind, it whispered to him, its message filled his ears, his sight, and his mind. He felt a course of power charge through his veins and the skin of his face felt flushed with fire. Soon, the surge of the ocean was muffled by the cacophony of battle.

The clang of metal rang out through stone halls, the beat of footfall echoing along each corridor. Soldiers shouted, some with surprise, some with rage. Others gurgled with finality. He heard faint movement in the shadows, the quiet release of a sword from a sheath. He heard arrows zip through the area, wounding the air before piercing the flesh of targets. The click of a crossbow came from behind him, then soon ten more. The ground shook violently as giant black golems fell from the sky, tearing up the ground and walls as they landed. He heard the golems pound across the area and the chorus of screams and horror that accompanied their wake.

With expert skill and execution, the assassins moved through the halls of the keep, leveraging the chaos and the golems to their advantage as they painted the walls with the blood of their enemies. He felt each death with a sharp pang, both to his heart, and his mind. He sensed every last breath as it escaped the throat of each victim, but the wind did not mourn for them. No, why would it, he thought.

Instead, the wind spoke of their names.

Instead, the wind etched their faces into the surface of his mind.

Every detail, every sound, every action.

He opened his eyes and the wind curled back, moving away from the place of death and decay. He soon followed, slowly walking out of the remnants of the keep, never once looking back. He returned the way he had come, moving along the dirt road bordered by low stone walls. He stopped at the coastline of Tamzzyr, inhaling the ocean’s breeze around him. His sister stood there, face to the waters, patiently waiting and relieved by his return.

Just then a deep blue portal sparked to life, starting as the size of a flame before billowing out into a large doorway. Out stepped three blue robed figures, their heavy blue hoods hanging over their faces, each one covered by a smooth white featureless mask.

One spoke to him, “Is your business finished here, Lord Brieson?”

He nodded and took his sister’s arm, both of them walking towards the cerulean portal.

Crushed shells grinded under his feet with each step, evocative of the sound of crumbling skulls.