Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Chapter One: A Mysterious Benefactor?
Nobody comes here of their own volition, especially not myself. It can be a loathsome place. Especially now...
The sky that the six chosen adventurers awoke to was ashen grey, dark, broken only by flashes of heat lightning and the dull light of a blood-red moon that threw an eerie glow across the land.
Sitting up and looking out, the landscape came into focus. The world unfolded before them in a cascade of ashen grey misery. From the hilltop cemetery where they stood, they could see down the dirt road to a small dilapidated building and beyond that to small structures clustered about the tree-strewn avenue. Immediately before them, gravestones popped up out of the ground. The nearest one read: "Edward Case, 1883-1909." Shovels and other grave-digging implements lay scattered about, the whole of the place encompassed in a low stone wall with grotesque gargoyles standing watch upon granite pedestals, some crumbling under the weight of the statues. Far away, lightning crackled and struck the ground somewhere. It began to lightly rain.
Looking down, they could see they were standing within a circle drawn, no, burned into the grass and grimy, dirty corpses littered about, as if the rotten refuse of some arcane ritual. Footsteps ensued from the south. Turning to see the origin of these steps, the form of a man came into view. He was tall, thin, and possessed a sharp, angular face. He wore an old-timey hunting jacket, dark trousers, oxfords, a bowler hat and carried an umbrella under the crook of his arm. As he neared them, he opened the umbrella out and held it above his head, the rain pattering softly against it.
"Greetings," he said with a smile, "and welcome to the Mystlands. Drear place, I know. But I am oh so glad you are here!" In his voice, one could hear geniality and friendliness, but perhaps a twinge of mental instability.
Taking notice of the mysterious figure, the adventurers also took note of the five other people with them. They were as diverse as they come, each bearing the markings of their native dimensions but try as they might they could not remember much beyond their names.
"I lament to inform you that your memories could not be carried over," the figure began again, "and anyways it may have complicated issues. I'm sure you're full of questions. Ask away. Oh... Wait!"
The man removed his bowler hat, muttered something unintelligible, and a snapping sound ensued followed by a wreath of yellow particles which kicked up in the air around them.
"Opening the magical barrier," he explained, "now, questions?"
He put his hat back on, smiled, and waited.
Nobody comes here of their own volition, especially not myself. It can be a loathsome place. Especially now...
The sky that the six chosen adventurers awoke to was ashen grey, dark, broken only by flashes of heat lightning and the dull light of a blood-red moon that threw an eerie glow across the land.
Sitting up and looking out, the landscape came into focus. The world unfolded before them in a cascade of ashen grey misery. From the hilltop cemetery where they stood, they could see down the dirt road to a small dilapidated building and beyond that to small structures clustered about the tree-strewn avenue. Immediately before them, gravestones popped up out of the ground. The nearest one read: "Edward Case, 1883-1909." Shovels and other grave-digging implements lay scattered about, the whole of the place encompassed in a low stone wall with grotesque gargoyles standing watch upon granite pedestals, some crumbling under the weight of the statues. Far away, lightning crackled and struck the ground somewhere. It began to lightly rain.
Looking down, they could see they were standing within a circle drawn, no, burned into the grass and grimy, dirty corpses littered about, as if the rotten refuse of some arcane ritual. Footsteps ensued from the south. Turning to see the origin of these steps, the form of a man came into view. He was tall, thin, and possessed a sharp, angular face. He wore an old-timey hunting jacket, dark trousers, oxfords, a bowler hat and carried an umbrella under the crook of his arm. As he neared them, he opened the umbrella out and held it above his head, the rain pattering softly against it.
"Greetings," he said with a smile, "and welcome to the Mystlands. Drear place, I know. But I am oh so glad you are here!" In his voice, one could hear geniality and friendliness, but perhaps a twinge of mental instability.
Taking notice of the mysterious figure, the adventurers also took note of the five other people with them. They were as diverse as they come, each bearing the markings of their native dimensions but try as they might they could not remember much beyond their names.
"I lament to inform you that your memories could not be carried over," the figure began again, "and anyways it may have complicated issues. I'm sure you're full of questions. Ask away. Oh... Wait!"
The man removed his bowler hat, muttered something unintelligible, and a snapping sound ensued followed by a wreath of yellow particles which kicked up in the air around them.
"Opening the magical barrier," he explained, "now, questions?"
He put his hat back on, smiled, and waited.
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