Post by Allana on Dec 10, 2011 16:49:28 GMT -8
The waterlogged ship limped into Gludin Harbor. The vessel listed badly, her sail hung half in tatters, and on one side the deck and railings had been reduced to splinters. The last of her crew fought to keep the listing ship afloat, a battle they were losing to inevitability. Their buckets could not bail as fast as the waves spilled across her decking, and with each one she took on more water. The half-drowned souls aboard the ship began to scramble on to the dock before it was even in reach. Soaked to the bone and chilled to their core, passengers and crew alike huddled together and stared as the waves finally claimed her. With a groan of waterlogged timbers the ship rolled onto its side, before joining its captain in a watery grave.
It was from that pathetic handful of souls that the sparks of the story spread. They were carried to the taverns where they were kindled and fanned. Einhassad had struck Talking Island from the map with Kain's hammer, just as she had struck down the Giants. No, that wasn't it at all, a star had fallen on the island. No, it wasn't a star it was a city. No, it was a moon. The only thing everyone agreed upon was that the village of Talking Island was gone, and in its place, ruin.
The tales eventually made their way to a report on her desk. The knight sighed as she shifted through the notes that had accumulated. Damage reports from all across the continent. The lords had sealed the catacombs. It was important she supposed, but none of it really was that important or interesting. She was just about done with them for the day as boredom began to sink in when she came across the tale. It was vague, speculative, and unbelievable.
----
A broken shard of pottery crunched beneath the sole of her boot as she crossed the ruins that had been the village on Talking Island. As far as she could see there was devastation. The talking island she knew was gone. Already adventurers were rushing to explore the strange new ruins that now were scattered about the island, but her interest was not in the ruins of the fallen city, if that's what it really was. She sought westward of them, and climbed a mound of rubble. From this rise she should have been able to see the small inn. It should have sat right there, next to a road, but it was all gone. It was wiped away like it never existed, she saw no sign of the road, nor the building, and yet she was sure this was the spot.
She stared at that spot unblinking. She thought she should feel something, but she felt nothing. That surprised her. She knew he had been there when it had happened, but she felt no grief. More surprising, was the fact that she felt no joy. Her father was gone, her childhood home was gone, every tangible item linked to her childhood had been erased in this single act, and she felt nothing. It had been years since they had spoken. How many times had he struck her, cursed at her. How she had hated him. She had dreamed of this day. She had considered killing him herself, but fate had saved her the trouble. He was dead, and yet, it brought her no happiness. Why?
Feeling empty she turned away from the site. Halfway down the mound she was intercepted by a stout little dwarf. She frowned at him, her mind still playing over what she had seen and trying to decide her feelings on the matter. The dwarf bowed and smiled brightly, too brightly. "Would you please donate to the Talking Island reconstruction project? We're going to build it all even better than before!"
She stared at him "Rebuild it?" They were going to rebuilding Talking Island? No! It deserved this. If she had her way every last stone of it would be thrown into the ocean! She hated this island! She had hated that inn! She hated HIM. This island represented misery and pain. The thought of it all returning instigated a thousand memories of suffering, pain, and hatred. The emotion rushed through her in a torrent of wild, uncontrollable, rage.
When it finally subsided, she stalked down the mound and strode away from the place that had been her home. Silently she vowed never to return to the site of the inn. She never even cast a glance back at the crumpled form of the dwarf sprawled amid the rubble.
It was from that pathetic handful of souls that the sparks of the story spread. They were carried to the taverns where they were kindled and fanned. Einhassad had struck Talking Island from the map with Kain's hammer, just as she had struck down the Giants. No, that wasn't it at all, a star had fallen on the island. No, it wasn't a star it was a city. No, it was a moon. The only thing everyone agreed upon was that the village of Talking Island was gone, and in its place, ruin.
The tales eventually made their way to a report on her desk. The knight sighed as she shifted through the notes that had accumulated. Damage reports from all across the continent. The lords had sealed the catacombs. It was important she supposed, but none of it really was that important or interesting. She was just about done with them for the day as boredom began to sink in when she came across the tale. It was vague, speculative, and unbelievable.
----
A broken shard of pottery crunched beneath the sole of her boot as she crossed the ruins that had been the village on Talking Island. As far as she could see there was devastation. The talking island she knew was gone. Already adventurers were rushing to explore the strange new ruins that now were scattered about the island, but her interest was not in the ruins of the fallen city, if that's what it really was. She sought westward of them, and climbed a mound of rubble. From this rise she should have been able to see the small inn. It should have sat right there, next to a road, but it was all gone. It was wiped away like it never existed, she saw no sign of the road, nor the building, and yet she was sure this was the spot.
She stared at that spot unblinking. She thought she should feel something, but she felt nothing. That surprised her. She knew he had been there when it had happened, but she felt no grief. More surprising, was the fact that she felt no joy. Her father was gone, her childhood home was gone, every tangible item linked to her childhood had been erased in this single act, and she felt nothing. It had been years since they had spoken. How many times had he struck her, cursed at her. How she had hated him. She had dreamed of this day. She had considered killing him herself, but fate had saved her the trouble. He was dead, and yet, it brought her no happiness. Why?
Feeling empty she turned away from the site. Halfway down the mound she was intercepted by a stout little dwarf. She frowned at him, her mind still playing over what she had seen and trying to decide her feelings on the matter. The dwarf bowed and smiled brightly, too brightly. "Would you please donate to the Talking Island reconstruction project? We're going to build it all even better than before!"
She stared at him "Rebuild it?" They were going to rebuilding Talking Island? No! It deserved this. If she had her way every last stone of it would be thrown into the ocean! She hated this island! She had hated that inn! She hated HIM. This island represented misery and pain. The thought of it all returning instigated a thousand memories of suffering, pain, and hatred. The emotion rushed through her in a torrent of wild, uncontrollable, rage.
When it finally subsided, she stalked down the mound and strode away from the place that had been her home. Silently she vowed never to return to the site of the inn. She never even cast a glance back at the crumpled form of the dwarf sprawled amid the rubble.
