Post by Vilik on Oct 4, 2006 0:15:16 GMT
Vilik pulled gently at the mare’s reigns, drawing a deep breath of relief as he reached the southern edge of the forest. It seemed the worst of his journey was over now. For a moment the moon shone bright through dark clouds that were blowing over the plains, lighting the vast expanse of grass and hills ahead of him. Even the imminent storm and rumble of thunder in the distance seemed less ominous than the place from which he had come.
___
His journey began nearly a month past in one of Minas Tirith’s more shady pubs. He had been drinking heavily most the night when an odd fellow took a seat next to him at the bar and commenced in reciting a tale of great riches hidden by a band of dwarves deep in the tunnels of Moria, and of some ancient idol they had discovered. The idol, it seemed, was used to call forth some ancient beast or god, which in turn destroyed those who had disturbed it. Vilik had laughed as the man finished recanting his story and patted him on the back as he stood to leave. “Save your fairy tales for the orphans, old man.” He retorted and made his way to the door.
To say the least Vilik was a bit surprised to find the little man waiting for him in the alley as he left the pub. Sure, he was drunk, but how could the man have slipped passed and made his way into the alley first. An eerie steam surrounded the figure as the cold night air mixed with the heat rising off the sewers below. Slowly, as Vilik staggered forward, the man raised boney hand to stop him. All Vilik could see beneath the man’s hood were two beady eyes shinning white in the moonlight. As the beady eyes locked with his own Vilik felt the alley spinning around him. The man reached into the depths of his cloak, fidgeting around a moment before producing a map which he slid into Vilik’s pocket. He then produced a small, but heavy, pouch of gold and placed it in Vilik’s hand. “This is but a drop of what awaits you, my son. Bring me that which I seek and thy reward shall be great.” Before Vilik could respond a sharp pain shot through his temple. He heard the man laughing over him as he fell backward into a heap of garbage and crates and passed out.
He woke abruptly the following morning as a gruff looking man hurled a cart full of garbage on top of him. Whether the shopkeeper had seen him there or not, it was quite clear that he didn’t care as Vilik stood, cursing the man as he brushed off the stinking meat and rotting produce that had been the ‘special’ the previous night. Had it not been for his splitting headache Vilik would have knocked the man flat, but in his condition it was all he could do to keep on his feet. It wasn’t until sometime later in the day after he’d cleaned up and the hangover wore off that he reached into his pocket and found the parchment the man had placed there. He had written the encounter off as a dream but now found himself stare down at a well drawn map, covered in dwarvish runes, which apparently -- or at least as the old man would have him believe -- led to something of great value… or power… or evil… or whatever the hell the old man had gone on about, the events of the previous night were not at all clear to him. The pouch of gold he found in his other pocket was all to clear, however, and that the old man hinted there would be much more where it came from if Vilik could find and deliver some artifact from the mines.
And so with nothing more than an old faded map, a drunken memory and the promise of gold, Vilik set out from Minas Tirith and headed north, through Rohan and Fangorn, until he came to the base of the Misty Mountains. The journey, in fact, had gone quite smoothly and he had no trouble following the map, which led him from the base of the mountains up a ways to a small crevice and a spiraling stone stairway which plunged down endlessly into the darkness. From the time he had found the cave to the time he first laid hands on the idol had been no more than a day’s trek trough the darkness. Things changed after that though, almost as if some unseen force began working against him.
He had found the idol, sitting upon a pedestal in a small room carved from the rock, deep within the caverns. There was nothing at all remarkable about the room. It was small and circular, and the pedestal was nothing more than another rock jutting up from the floor of the cave. For something as all powerful and valuable as the old man had made it out to be Vilik had certainly thought the vault it was kept in would be something more splendid than this dank little hole in the wall. The idol it’s self was a curious little figure. It seemed to be a carving of a wolf or like canine, sitting on its rear haunches. On its back were a pair of bat-like wings which wrapped around it’s body like a cloak of sorts. The head of the beast was wolf like, though the snout was a bit shorter and the ears a bit smaller. The lips were curled back in a snarl, revealing the rows of ivory teeth that had been inlaid carefully by it’s creator. Two small rubies shone bright red from the eye sockets. It was at best, Vilik thought, a carving created by a less than stellar sculptor and even the jewels that adorned it wouldn’t fetch much of a price. Why the old man would be willing to pay good gold for such a mediocre sculpture was beyond Vilik’s comprehension. Nevertheless, he snatched the small figurine from it’s perch, wrapped it in cloth then shoved it into his pack. He didn’t care to linger in these dank caves any longer.
What should have been a day’s climb back to the cave’s entrance took Vilik nearly a week to accomplish. As he left the room the idol had been kept in a strange wind blew through the tunnels, making a howling noise as it rushed passed. The gust had been strong enough to extinguish his torch’s flame, and for all his efforts Vilik could not make the torch light again. It didn’t seem to be a huge setback really, it had, after all been a fairly straight forward path that led to the small room. Upon his return trip though it seem almost as if the passages had been changed. Nothing along the way was as he remembered it and before long he realized he was completely lost. He wandered the tunnels for what seemed like two days before the goblins came upon him. They came quickly and silently, overpowering him before he could even think to reach for his dagger. It should have been his end, but, strangely, as the foul creatures bound him and riffled though his belongings they came upon the idol. It was the loudest shriek he’d ever heard as the leader of the pack unwrapped the carving. The whole lot of them disappeared as quickly as they had come, bickering franticly back and forth with one another as they fled.
He wandered through the tunnels several more days, always from that point on though it seemed as something was stalking him. There were always footsteps when he stooped. Always some creature breathing just out of sight. He felt as if he was being hunted, and pressed nonstop, unwilling to risk sleep. Vilik wandered through the caverns until he no longer had the will to press forward. He had not slept, ate, or drank for days and had given up on the hope that he would ever find his way back through the labyrinth. He leaned back against the cold, wet wall of the cave and slowly slid down. He shook his head and began to laugh almost manically. And then he heard the creature that had hounded him stir again. The creature was approaching with great speed. Vilik slipped the dagger from his belt and turned toward the rumbling,, his body tense and ready to fight to the death with whatever met him in the darkness. And then, just as suddenly as the rumbling had begun, it ceased. Vilik stood still as stone waiting…. Nothing came. Finally his muscles relaxed and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. And then it hit. It was as if a hundred fists hit him at once, knocking him to his back. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the beast standing over him. There was no beast though. What had knocked him to the ground was a swarm of bats, leaving the cave as they did every night in search of food. Vilik breathed in deeply, his nerves calming down as he realized an exit couldn’t be far off.
Indeed, the exit was not far. Within a few minutes of following the bats Vilik felt a fresh breeze on his face and within a few more steps he made his way out of what he thought was his tomb. By all luck his mare had not wandered far from the camp he’d made before descending into the caves. Wearily he climbed atop the horse, determined to make Rohan before stopping to rest.
___
He turned, looking back over his shoulder. He had felt the same presence stalking him though the woods as he’d felt in the caves, but, whatever it was seemed to have vanished as he reached the rolling plains of Rohan. Finally he could rest, and soon enough he would rid himself of the cursed carving he was carrying.
Vilik dismounted and slipped his packs off the mare’s back before sending her off to graze. He had no trouble now making a fire and soon he drifted off in a deep sleep as he stared at the gloomy sky above.
((ooc: anyone that wants to join in and make somthing up, feel free, please.))
___
His journey began nearly a month past in one of Minas Tirith’s more shady pubs. He had been drinking heavily most the night when an odd fellow took a seat next to him at the bar and commenced in reciting a tale of great riches hidden by a band of dwarves deep in the tunnels of Moria, and of some ancient idol they had discovered. The idol, it seemed, was used to call forth some ancient beast or god, which in turn destroyed those who had disturbed it. Vilik had laughed as the man finished recanting his story and patted him on the back as he stood to leave. “Save your fairy tales for the orphans, old man.” He retorted and made his way to the door.
To say the least Vilik was a bit surprised to find the little man waiting for him in the alley as he left the pub. Sure, he was drunk, but how could the man have slipped passed and made his way into the alley first. An eerie steam surrounded the figure as the cold night air mixed with the heat rising off the sewers below. Slowly, as Vilik staggered forward, the man raised boney hand to stop him. All Vilik could see beneath the man’s hood were two beady eyes shinning white in the moonlight. As the beady eyes locked with his own Vilik felt the alley spinning around him. The man reached into the depths of his cloak, fidgeting around a moment before producing a map which he slid into Vilik’s pocket. He then produced a small, but heavy, pouch of gold and placed it in Vilik’s hand. “This is but a drop of what awaits you, my son. Bring me that which I seek and thy reward shall be great.” Before Vilik could respond a sharp pain shot through his temple. He heard the man laughing over him as he fell backward into a heap of garbage and crates and passed out.
He woke abruptly the following morning as a gruff looking man hurled a cart full of garbage on top of him. Whether the shopkeeper had seen him there or not, it was quite clear that he didn’t care as Vilik stood, cursing the man as he brushed off the stinking meat and rotting produce that had been the ‘special’ the previous night. Had it not been for his splitting headache Vilik would have knocked the man flat, but in his condition it was all he could do to keep on his feet. It wasn’t until sometime later in the day after he’d cleaned up and the hangover wore off that he reached into his pocket and found the parchment the man had placed there. He had written the encounter off as a dream but now found himself stare down at a well drawn map, covered in dwarvish runes, which apparently -- or at least as the old man would have him believe -- led to something of great value… or power… or evil… or whatever the hell the old man had gone on about, the events of the previous night were not at all clear to him. The pouch of gold he found in his other pocket was all to clear, however, and that the old man hinted there would be much more where it came from if Vilik could find and deliver some artifact from the mines.
And so with nothing more than an old faded map, a drunken memory and the promise of gold, Vilik set out from Minas Tirith and headed north, through Rohan and Fangorn, until he came to the base of the Misty Mountains. The journey, in fact, had gone quite smoothly and he had no trouble following the map, which led him from the base of the mountains up a ways to a small crevice and a spiraling stone stairway which plunged down endlessly into the darkness. From the time he had found the cave to the time he first laid hands on the idol had been no more than a day’s trek trough the darkness. Things changed after that though, almost as if some unseen force began working against him.
He had found the idol, sitting upon a pedestal in a small room carved from the rock, deep within the caverns. There was nothing at all remarkable about the room. It was small and circular, and the pedestal was nothing more than another rock jutting up from the floor of the cave. For something as all powerful and valuable as the old man had made it out to be Vilik had certainly thought the vault it was kept in would be something more splendid than this dank little hole in the wall. The idol it’s self was a curious little figure. It seemed to be a carving of a wolf or like canine, sitting on its rear haunches. On its back were a pair of bat-like wings which wrapped around it’s body like a cloak of sorts. The head of the beast was wolf like, though the snout was a bit shorter and the ears a bit smaller. The lips were curled back in a snarl, revealing the rows of ivory teeth that had been inlaid carefully by it’s creator. Two small rubies shone bright red from the eye sockets. It was at best, Vilik thought, a carving created by a less than stellar sculptor and even the jewels that adorned it wouldn’t fetch much of a price. Why the old man would be willing to pay good gold for such a mediocre sculpture was beyond Vilik’s comprehension. Nevertheless, he snatched the small figurine from it’s perch, wrapped it in cloth then shoved it into his pack. He didn’t care to linger in these dank caves any longer.
What should have been a day’s climb back to the cave’s entrance took Vilik nearly a week to accomplish. As he left the room the idol had been kept in a strange wind blew through the tunnels, making a howling noise as it rushed passed. The gust had been strong enough to extinguish his torch’s flame, and for all his efforts Vilik could not make the torch light again. It didn’t seem to be a huge setback really, it had, after all been a fairly straight forward path that led to the small room. Upon his return trip though it seem almost as if the passages had been changed. Nothing along the way was as he remembered it and before long he realized he was completely lost. He wandered the tunnels for what seemed like two days before the goblins came upon him. They came quickly and silently, overpowering him before he could even think to reach for his dagger. It should have been his end, but, strangely, as the foul creatures bound him and riffled though his belongings they came upon the idol. It was the loudest shriek he’d ever heard as the leader of the pack unwrapped the carving. The whole lot of them disappeared as quickly as they had come, bickering franticly back and forth with one another as they fled.
He wandered through the tunnels several more days, always from that point on though it seemed as something was stalking him. There were always footsteps when he stooped. Always some creature breathing just out of sight. He felt as if he was being hunted, and pressed nonstop, unwilling to risk sleep. Vilik wandered through the caverns until he no longer had the will to press forward. He had not slept, ate, or drank for days and had given up on the hope that he would ever find his way back through the labyrinth. He leaned back against the cold, wet wall of the cave and slowly slid down. He shook his head and began to laugh almost manically. And then he heard the creature that had hounded him stir again. The creature was approaching with great speed. Vilik slipped the dagger from his belt and turned toward the rumbling,, his body tense and ready to fight to the death with whatever met him in the darkness. And then, just as suddenly as the rumbling had begun, it ceased. Vilik stood still as stone waiting…. Nothing came. Finally his muscles relaxed and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. And then it hit. It was as if a hundred fists hit him at once, knocking him to his back. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the beast standing over him. There was no beast though. What had knocked him to the ground was a swarm of bats, leaving the cave as they did every night in search of food. Vilik breathed in deeply, his nerves calming down as he realized an exit couldn’t be far off.
Indeed, the exit was not far. Within a few minutes of following the bats Vilik felt a fresh breeze on his face and within a few more steps he made his way out of what he thought was his tomb. By all luck his mare had not wandered far from the camp he’d made before descending into the caves. Wearily he climbed atop the horse, determined to make Rohan before stopping to rest.
___
He turned, looking back over his shoulder. He had felt the same presence stalking him though the woods as he’d felt in the caves, but, whatever it was seemed to have vanished as he reached the rolling plains of Rohan. Finally he could rest, and soon enough he would rid himself of the cursed carving he was carrying.
Vilik dismounted and slipped his packs off the mare’s back before sending her off to graze. He had no trouble now making a fire and soon he drifted off in a deep sleep as he stared at the gloomy sky above.
((ooc: anyone that wants to join in and make somthing up, feel free, please.))
