[1] Leaving The Monastery

Gharkia, The Wandering Sergeant


"Lady Vivian." Gharkia stated patiently but frowning, "In Hell there are Six Circles. Thus there are the Six Kings. Beneath them there are Princes, Dukes, Earls, Counts and the vast Rabble like myself. All ranks may rise and fall like the waves of the Bleak Oceans. My former lord schemed much to develop his might and authority. As a soldier, I understand you seeing only duty in your position. But in Hell, to assert a title means saying you have power and that you can hold it. Even in Pandemonium where citizens have no master, the same principle applies. Even to a mortal like yourself."


He finally took notice of Harrow's restive state. "And I'm sorry, but we should be on our way. Unless you would like to join us - and again, Pandemonium may hold a way home for you - this is where we part ways, Lady Vivian."
 
Harrow Thirdwatch


A model of peace and serenity, Harrow continued with a polite nod to both. His pace was not rushed nor hurried - it was simply the act of departure/arrival which needed to be continued if progress was to be made.  The trio walked down the road and all things behind them - the past, their conversation, the road itself - were obliterated unless they dared to look back.


Two companions with an identical goal could walk in silence. Adding a stranger to the mix, it was no longer recommended. Harrow set himself to a patient and only barely-attended course of detours to make Lady Vivian less of a stranger.


"How long did you spend amongst the Order of the Name which Was, Gharkia? My preaceptors and  abbots spoke highly of their task - but little of their philosophies."


Continuing to educate the cloaked swordswoman on the ways of Hell might encourage questions - in turn dialogue, in turn familiarity, and so her enigma would end.


Harrow walked steadily along the road towards Pandemonium.
 
The road winds across the rust deserts like a snake with a broken spine. Strange beasts watch from the dunes and vast worms breach the distant surface like massive iron whales. One, the shadow of the Rust-Winged Princess passes over you, but you are fortunate to be beneath her notice.


Presently the terrain becomes rugged, cold heath overgrown with delicate thorned bushes and heather that rings softly in the salt breeze. A verdigrised copper port squats on a dark bay ahead, in the shadow of a tall and rickety castle upon a promontory. No doubt the cliffs are honeycombed with caves and those caves host to shrines at which slaves grovel and pray. A layer of bruised purple clouds dulls the light a little and obscures the upper curve of the sphere above.


Meanwhile, In Shoreditch


@ApfelSeine


This is the first port you've managed to wash up in where Captain Zone has no friends. Safety, of a sort, among the fisherdemons and thralls in the shadow of the Darkest Estate. It won't last, though - he is relentless when he wants revenge, and it's all but impossible to convince him you didn't steal the jewel. Sooner or later he'll catch up with you.


For now this little port lives up to its name, nestled in a muddy cleft just beyond the rocky beach and ill-kept pier and hammered together from something much larger which must once have stood here. A fortress, maybe, or a mighty weapon.


A few wary eyes watch you from windows and alleys, but it seems most of the inhabitants are out on the water. A curiously cylindrical inn lies ahead, down what passes for a main street, with two huge windows on an upper floor that remind you of eyes. Appropriately, the sign declares it to be The Titan's Head.
 
Kin-Ming


Walking down the main street, Kin-Ming took in his surroundings. It seemed that the few citizens nearby were on guard, which was not entirely unexpected. Kin-Ming much preferred this type of response to the one which involved pitchforks and shouting. He made his way into what was presumably an inn. At the very least, it had a sign outside, designating the establishment as 'The Titan's Head'. A place which advertised itself as a business would be the most likely place to acquire information in a place that was so suspicious of newcomers.


"Greetings,"  Kin Ming said, waving to the first person who he laid eyes on while hoping that they were an employee.
 
Harrow Thirdwatch


Ever-contrary and ever-calm, Harrow's stride is long and his pace unhurried as he moves through windy goatpaths and slippery rock face. His travelling companions will struggle to keep up in places.  The smell of salt has been magnetic for the monk, and though his expression does not betray it, it pleases him greatly to observe another end: the end of dry land, the end of the world, as they sight the shore and water's edge.  Everything here is defiance and decay, as lives continue amidst all the grit and rust, daring the tide to come sweep them away.


The Monk, they will find, hesitates only once at midday - midday exactly - to drink two gulps of water from a small skin on his belt, and to draw a small piece of bread from a pouch. The bread he eats as he walks, though more slowly, to aid digestion. Within five minutes he is back at full speed again.


Harrow eyes the many caves curiously as they pass, reverant of some and fascinated by others - who have discarded their lives for the steady routine of Belief? Who prays to dead gods?  He would long to speak and pray and wander through them for a month, if not for the weight on his back.


As they pass beneath the shadow of the castle, growing close enough to see rivets and individual patches of rust on the buildings which squat on the town's outskirts, he speaks: "Would it serve you best if we took shelter here for the night? I am willing to pass through if fortune allows, but that will mean a night a'rest on the shore."
 
Harrow's pace was faster than her natural step, but slower than a comfortable running speed, making it difficult to follow. Vivian's steps felt awkward and forced, but she had the advantage of not tiring. As time wore on and the sun beat down, she settled into her natural stride and allowed Harrow to gain distance, jogging to catch up at intervals and never letting her guide travel beyond her sight.


"I prefer to travel at night," Vivian said, "and rest during the day."


Honestly, she didn't expect them to care what she thought. She would continue to endure the sun if she must. Defiance made her.
 
Gharkia, The Wandering Sergeant


Gharkia may not have Harrow's full pace, but he kept up the progress with stolid plodding. "I am no stranger to an extended march, but we would be better off resting in town rather than on those exposed shores, wouldn't we?"
 
Harrow Thirdwatch


Harrow nods to the Sargent. "You speak true. Far different dangers lie under warm beds than behind salt-soaked rocks - so long as we are prepared for them."


His pace does not change, but his eyes cast forward towards the shapes of the buildings rather than the pulsing shore.
 
The Titan's Head


The emaciated thrall cowers at Kin Ming's approach, leaning on his mop, careful to keep bare feet out of the rapidly frosting water on the floor.


"Hail, traveler," he quavers, "how may I serve?"


Other patrons of the establishment watch with varying degrees of interest; many shrug and return to their Liar's Dice or poker or, in one corner, a rusting arcade machine that devours losers. The concept is not wholly alien to Kin Ming, but clearly this town spends more time on the later end of history.


Shoreditch


This town anticipates a point in mortal history when exiles became comfortable in a new land, enough to split into suspicious little enclaves on a cold and unforgiving coast. Iron streetlamps burn with trapped imps or combustible gases. Locals of fish-like aspect peer from shuttered businesses and menacing knots on street corners. Something akin to a monument appears to depict five copper fingers of great size poking from the earth.


A tavern and inn, aptly named The Titan's Head, makes itself apparent.
 
Harrow Thirdwatch


Though intrigued by the locals of Shoreditch, scaled and sallow scavengers, all, Harrow keeps one foot in front of the other. Already he calculates the length of their stay, anticipates the time of their departure - or at least tries to.


"Will this be a sufficient place for our rest?" the monk asks as they approach the building which looks like nothing less than an enormous tin can rusted and ruptured from the brine within. He has a small pouch of coin hidden on his person which will hopefully suffice for lodging - service to the Sixth Circle for any amount of time makes it difficult for even a holy man to escape from the hard necessities of barter and trade.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Harrow Thirdwatch


"So long as it has value. It is not the stamp that matters. More your parting with it." Harrow replies as he ascends the rickety wooden platforms that serve as the village's informal foundation.
 
Gharkia, The Wandering Sergeant


"I'm sure this place will do." Gharkia concurred as he came up with the others. He actually had more coin on him than one might expect - having saved up his admittedly limited pay as a Lancer in anticipation of his travel to Pandemonium before the time when he actually left. And the stay at the Monastery of the Name was a longer period of room and board without having to pay for it, so that held down the drain on his pouch.
 
Kin-Ming


"I'm looking for a place to rest for a time, and perhaps gain my bearings before I set off again,"  Kin-Ming said, glancing about the room before his gaze somewhat manages to focus on the person he is talking to. "By any chance, are there any vacancies here?"
 
Harrow Thirdwatch


"Excellent. Let us take our rest, then, we have made much progress today." Harrow leads the trio to the Titan's Head, his pace slowing for the first time as he takes in the details like a museum-goer or a forward scout. He pushes the door open halfway and steps within the building's confining warmth and bustle.
 
Vivian follows after, seating herself at an out-of-the way table to observe the patrons. They were demons, after all. Each one a potential enemy.
 
The thrall cowers a little more in response to the new arrivals before answering Kin Ming.
"We have two rooms left, but they're shared - two beds apiece and we won't turn away more business."

The patrons are now watching a heavily armoured newcomer with varying degrees of interest. A Sixth Circle Demon of the clade Rusteater licks corroded lips as she stares.
 
Harrow Thirdwatch

The monk feels that perhaps their visit is a blessed one, to serve as catalyst to so much in so little time, the blessed end and inevitability on his back somehow guiding their shape like a Potter's clay to fit so properly. To gain a third Traveller just in time to require two rooms when that is all their inn can afford?

He nods. "We shall take them."

And if there is a difficulty - say for example a ruckus, and their numbers are reduced back down to two? That will also be good and fit snugly against Fate's designs.
 
The thrall is happy - well, not happy; less terrified - to take payment and offer heavy, rusty keys in exchange.
 
Vivian doesn't need a room, but wonders what might happen if she said so. She decides to pay rather than take that chance.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 3 (members: 0, guests: 3)
Back
Top