In The Beginning - RPLOG
Participants
Date
26/6/478
Log
Fenris has found a cool, quiet corner of the inn in a private booth to hide from the oppressive summer heat. The big, fluffy feline has his old guitar in hand and is picking out a quiet melody while he thinks.
The inn's common room is sparsely populated at this time of day, too late for breakfast and yet too early for lunch. Several patrons lie sleeping at their tables for lack of something to do, sleeping off either last night's drink or this morning's heavy breakfast, but that is the long and short of the inn's current patronage. Without warning, the entrance swings open, and a rather tattered leonine being sweeps his way through the place, large, heavy strides eating up the distance between him and Fenris.
"Fenris," Ethelberd notes, coming to a stop besides the tiger. "It is good that you appear to be unoccupied. We must talk, and there is something I wish to show you."
"Hello, Ethelberd," Fenris says genially, nodding to the empty space across from himself, "I was just thinking about you. You look different out of your armor, you know that? I honestly did not recognize you." The tiger sets his guitar gently aside. "What do you want to talk to me about?"
"What you have been doing." Ethelberd looks down at the empty space, and shakes his head. "I think it is safe to say that it is time to drop our pretenses. As I said, there is something that I must show you, and as such I do request that you come with me. Do not worry, I give you my word that you will be unharmed, and that I shall return you to this spot safely when we are done."
As Ethelberd finishes speaking, the entire room takes on a slightly grey, muted tone, as if someone had drained the colour from everyone and everything within. Patrons remain frozen with mugs and spoons half-raised, the barkeep motionless, the drink he's pouring hanging in mid-air, serving wenches bent over tables. Time itself stops, save for Fenris and Ethelberd, and the latter draws an old, notched sword from a scabbard at his waist, holding its tip low to the ground.
"Do not be alarmed. I had to secure someone else's assistance in making sure our little trip is unnoticed. Then again, I trust that you are not unacquainted with the strange. I intend to take you somewhere, Fenris, in the hopes that you might reach a greater understanding of the situation at hand."
With that, Ethelberd cuts at the air with a single stroke of his sword, and the air itself splits apart, revealing a gap to...somewhere else. It's not easy to make out just where, but there's a distinctly warm and humid air to wherever the other side of this impromptu portal is. With a faint grunt of effort, Ethelberd steps up and grabs the edges of the tear with his bare hands, forcing it wide enough to admit a being. "Shall I go first, to prove I mean you no harm?"
Fenris does his best not to gape, and swallows hard. "I admit," he says quietly, standing from his spot, "I have never seen such an. . . impressive display. But I will take you at your word." The tiger looks incredulously at a fly stopped in mid buzz and looks around at the frozen tap room. "I did not realize you were a Spirit in your own right. I just thought you were a powerful caller." He walks over to the portal, looks at the lion, then steps through.
As Fenris steps through the impromptu portal, there's a brief sensation of pressure, quickly replaced by heat, humidity and a blazing sun. The other end of the portal opens out on what might once have been a dry, dusty road, and Ethelberd steps out besides Fenris, a soft, sucking noise sounding through the air as the portal closes behind them.
"It is not all my own doing. As I said, I had to call in some favours from my fellows to make this entrance. But someone might remember seeing you going off with me. Someone might ask inconvenient questions. Someone might start wondering. Ethelberd is a persona I use to move around amongst you beings, but I have grown fond of him, and it would be a shame if I had to discard such. Masquerading as one of my own callers allowed for far more freedom of action than taking the guise of an everyday being would.
"There are a few others who choose to walk amongst you in disguise, either for study or for sport. But that is not the concern of why we are here today. Behold, Fenris. This is where it all started. The City of Arkadd, also known as the Golden City throughout the civilized world of ages past."
As one's eyes adjust to the light, yes, plainly visible in the valley below, strewn with tall, yellowed grasses - the remains of of what must one have been a glorious city, far bigger than even Firmament itself. Ringed by mountains, it's little wonder that it's lain undiscovered for this long, and besides, it's hard to get a grip on just where exactly on Promise one is. The heat would suggest Shralesta, but the humidity and tropical climes, coupled with the dense jungle of where Fenris is standing - it's not a place marked on most maps, at the very least.
"Please, walk with me a while. We shall see the sights, and I shall explain. Please, feel free to ask questions. I shall entertain as many of them as I can."
"So," Fenris ventures, falling into step with his guide, "You are not Ethelberd." It is not a question. "I wondered when I would meet you," he confesses, "I was not sure how to go about it. I mean, I do not even know your actual name." He looks down at the massive city. "It was. . . is beautiful," he says, "And if anyone understands the desire to walk unrecognized, I suppose it is me." He smiles a little at the thought of his own guises.
"But I am Ethelberd, inasmuch as you are Kawa, Fenris. Or Bernard. Or any of the many guises you've taken in your time. But you have asked for my name, and thus I shall give it to you - not one that has been popularised over time, like Kendrac or Shalia or Zimla, no, not that. The name I was given was Conquest, and it is this that I tell you.
"The city? It was even more beautiful," Ethelberd muses as he sets off on the trail, leading Fenris through tall, golden grasses and stalks of wild wheat to the outskirts of the ancient city, beyond the wall. "And once, it was a glorious light of the people that you call the Ancients. Look at the golden grasses which ring the valley. The golden sun which beats down upon the ruins. The rich yellow bricks and blocks. Its inhabitants adorned themselves with the finest of fripperies brought from all over the planet, most of all gold. Enjoying the patronage of not one, but three spirits, they wanted for nothing, needed to work for nothing, and because of their status as the jewel of civilization, lived off the tribute others brought them."
"That was how the rot started. A lovely golden shell, yielding nothing once cracked apart."
Fenris nods and runs his fingers through the golden grass. "Who were the Spirits of the city?" he asks, though he suspects he can guess the answer. "Why would they make a city with no industry?" he asks, more as a prompt for the mysterious Spirit beside him to continue his story than anything else. The really worrying thing was the Spirit's intimate knowledge of his aliases, especially one of his most secure ones.
