Moturdrn

[22-Jun-2005]

He knows... He knew... Of the events 2 months ago.
The figure in the darkness, in the corner, sat bolt upright as though just woken from a dream.

The time was nearing, it was now or never. Rising, the figure reached for a darkened shroud and wore it over their already present clothes, the face concealed by a piece of cloth with slits for the eyes.
As quickly as the figure had woken, they set off towards the distant golden walls.

It was half an hour later when the figure reached the city of Trinsic.
The guards payed no attention to the shrouded figure, slight hints of of a blood red visible below the jagged edges of the shroud as they passed. Why should they? A slight twist of the arcane forces would allow one to create the illusion of there being nothing but air. Of course, one would still have to walk softly, and slowly, lest the illusion be shattered through noise of the footsteps or lack of concentration to keep it active.

The figure made their way towards the bank, but continued to walk past it, to the waters edge. There, the figure lowered themself and pulled back a sleeve of the shroud, the shadow leather of the gloves and sleeves below hiding any features of the arm and hand, and reached into the water. A few mere seconds later, and the arm had resurfaced, with a pouch made from a treated walrus' skin, water tight to keep whatever was inside dry.

The figure muttered, the words muffled behind the cloth face covering, and a ball of flame emerged from the other hand. Hovering the damp arm and hand over the flame, the figure waited till the leather had dried and dismissed the flame, placing the pouch inside a pocket within the shroud, before slowly turning to leave the same way as they had entered. Once outside of the cities walls, the figure turned and, walking slowly, made their way towards Strongholt.

The time draws near... Now... or never...

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