RE: The Search for Santinal
06-23-2012, 07:12 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-23-2012, 07:28 AM by Anomaly.)
Sthiren hated the summer.
The town of Khagash stretched before him as he soared through the sky, bag of supplies clasped in his hand. From an aerial perspective, the town was nothing short of an eyesore - gravel streets running into cobblestone ones at odd angles, buildings tossed onto irregular lots with very little planning or reason - under normal circumstances, Sthiren might have found disappointment in such a mess of engineering.
However, Khagash lay many, many miles to the south of the mountains Sthiren called home, across a series of putrid bogs whose smell couldn't even be avoided from far above. The whole town stank vaguely of festering swamp water, though it didn't seem to bother the denizens much. Much worse was the season - even in the evening, as the sun disappeared over the distant mountains to the west, the region was unbearably hot for one whose natural body temperature is slightly below freezing. Were it not for the extreme level of insulation also possessed by his species, he would have been entirely unable to venture this far south.
As it were, though, he had a lost city to find. And to do that, unfortunately, he would have to travel through the city. Perhaps for good reason, people tended to be especially wary of dragons or dragon-like beings, given their natural tendency to reduce towns such as this one to either burning or frozen wreckage. Perhaps they'd be less so in Khagash - a town which apparently had few quarrels with races that typically received nothing but hostility. Expecting the worse, Sthiren dropped altitude and made a landing in one of the less-occupied streets of the town.
Surprisingly, no one started yelling about a "dragon attack" like they usually did. It was a step in the right direction, at least. The only yelling came from the driver of a carriage whose horses Sthiren had managed to upset, probably by landing right in front of them. The driver also had a crossbow aimed at Sthiren's face, so he decided it would be a very good idea to get out of the way as quickly as possible.
"Sorry, sir. Didn't see you there." Sthiren attempted to sound as sincere as possible, although it's not exactly easy for a large winged ice-lizard to not be threatening in some way.
"Damn right, ya didn't," the balding driver hissed. Sthiren noticed a large clawmark-shape scar running across his face, underneath the eyepatch where his left eye used to be. "Damned dragons, thinkin' they can just land anywhere they please. Take a piss right over a city, they will. Rottin' in the ground's too good for 'em, I say." The man trailed off into inaudible mumbling as his cart pulled away. A brown blob of well-chewed tobacco splattered to the ground inches from Sthiren's feet, accompanied by rather loud cursing.
So it was that kind of town.
Sthiren walked along quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked like they might have been threatened by him. Surprisingly, this wasn't a whole lot of people. Most of them probably figured that Khagash wasn't important enough for a dragon to attack, and even then Sthiren was kind of on the small side. It seemed that people in Khagash tended to keep to themselves - a dwarf selling raw meat at a ramshackle stand, a burly lizardman chuckling as he looked through some sort of coin purse - no one paid any mind to anyone else unless they had reason to.
Sthiren's attention was eventually caught by a colorful piece of paper nailed to the side of the dwarf's stand. Cautiously, he approached, attempting (perhaps in vain) to not appear threatening to market-goers.
"Who's this Quick Cloudmoon?" Sthiren asked.
The dwarf stared at Sthiren in disbelief, perhaps expecting to have been frozen and shattered rather than asked about an advertisement. "I, eh... Don't know exactly. Elf wizard of some kind. Not exactly in his right mind, I'd say. He seemed desperate, so I let him put the sign up."
"I see." Perhaps this Cloudmoon was one of the people he was sent to follow. "Where's the Troll's Head tavern, then?"
The dwarf pointed at a winding dirt road, dipping up and down erratically on a very uneven hill. "Follow that road for a while, and you'll end up there. Can't miss it. Now, can you be on your way? My customers are getting nervous."
"Right away. Thank you."
The dwarf continued to stare for a while as Sthiren made his way up and down the twists and turns of the very unpleasant street. In spite of its shoddy construction, cart drivers seemed perfectly content to use it like any other road. Sthiren was a bit surprised that the carts never managed to topple over. He really didn't like this city.
A run-down stone building greeted Sthiren at the end of the road, chipping paint proclaiming it to be the " ROLL S HE D TA ER ". Close enough. Sthiren pushed the door open and walked into the bar, as several patrons simultaneously wondered what might have been in their drinks.
The town of Khagash stretched before him as he soared through the sky, bag of supplies clasped in his hand. From an aerial perspective, the town was nothing short of an eyesore - gravel streets running into cobblestone ones at odd angles, buildings tossed onto irregular lots with very little planning or reason - under normal circumstances, Sthiren might have found disappointment in such a mess of engineering.
However, Khagash lay many, many miles to the south of the mountains Sthiren called home, across a series of putrid bogs whose smell couldn't even be avoided from far above. The whole town stank vaguely of festering swamp water, though it didn't seem to bother the denizens much. Much worse was the season - even in the evening, as the sun disappeared over the distant mountains to the west, the region was unbearably hot for one whose natural body temperature is slightly below freezing. Were it not for the extreme level of insulation also possessed by his species, he would have been entirely unable to venture this far south.
As it were, though, he had a lost city to find. And to do that, unfortunately, he would have to travel through the city. Perhaps for good reason, people tended to be especially wary of dragons or dragon-like beings, given their natural tendency to reduce towns such as this one to either burning or frozen wreckage. Perhaps they'd be less so in Khagash - a town which apparently had few quarrels with races that typically received nothing but hostility. Expecting the worse, Sthiren dropped altitude and made a landing in one of the less-occupied streets of the town.
Surprisingly, no one started yelling about a "dragon attack" like they usually did. It was a step in the right direction, at least. The only yelling came from the driver of a carriage whose horses Sthiren had managed to upset, probably by landing right in front of them. The driver also had a crossbow aimed at Sthiren's face, so he decided it would be a very good idea to get out of the way as quickly as possible.
"Sorry, sir. Didn't see you there." Sthiren attempted to sound as sincere as possible, although it's not exactly easy for a large winged ice-lizard to not be threatening in some way.
"Damn right, ya didn't," the balding driver hissed. Sthiren noticed a large clawmark-shape scar running across his face, underneath the eyepatch where his left eye used to be. "Damned dragons, thinkin' they can just land anywhere they please. Take a piss right over a city, they will. Rottin' in the ground's too good for 'em, I say." The man trailed off into inaudible mumbling as his cart pulled away. A brown blob of well-chewed tobacco splattered to the ground inches from Sthiren's feet, accompanied by rather loud cursing.
So it was that kind of town.
Sthiren walked along quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked like they might have been threatened by him. Surprisingly, this wasn't a whole lot of people. Most of them probably figured that Khagash wasn't important enough for a dragon to attack, and even then Sthiren was kind of on the small side. It seemed that people in Khagash tended to keep to themselves - a dwarf selling raw meat at a ramshackle stand, a burly lizardman chuckling as he looked through some sort of coin purse - no one paid any mind to anyone else unless they had reason to.
Sthiren's attention was eventually caught by a colorful piece of paper nailed to the side of the dwarf's stand. Cautiously, he approached, attempting (perhaps in vain) to not appear threatening to market-goers.
LOOKING FOR SANTINAL?
SO AM I.
If you want a good wizard on your side - and who doesn't? - come and see me, Quick Cloudmoon. I'll be waiting at the Troll's Head tavern.SO AM I.
"Who's this Quick Cloudmoon?" Sthiren asked.
The dwarf stared at Sthiren in disbelief, perhaps expecting to have been frozen and shattered rather than asked about an advertisement. "I, eh... Don't know exactly. Elf wizard of some kind. Not exactly in his right mind, I'd say. He seemed desperate, so I let him put the sign up."
"I see." Perhaps this Cloudmoon was one of the people he was sent to follow. "Where's the Troll's Head tavern, then?"
The dwarf pointed at a winding dirt road, dipping up and down erratically on a very uneven hill. "Follow that road for a while, and you'll end up there. Can't miss it. Now, can you be on your way? My customers are getting nervous."
"Right away. Thank you."
The dwarf continued to stare for a while as Sthiren made his way up and down the twists and turns of the very unpleasant street. In spite of its shoddy construction, cart drivers seemed perfectly content to use it like any other road. Sthiren was a bit surprised that the carts never managed to topple over. He really didn't like this city.
A run-down stone building greeted Sthiren at the end of the road, chipping paint proclaiming it to be the " ROLL S HE D TA ER ". Close enough. Sthiren pushed the door open and walked into the bar, as several patrons simultaneously wondered what might have been in their drinks.