In a certain slant of light the potted plant in Brendan's house looked like it was alive. The way the afternoon light shimmered against the waxy green leaves created the impression of a living creature, composed entirely of leaves. As Brendan finished watering it, he looked through the window of his small, Greenbriar house. He had been on this island for close to two years now and on Troll's Bane for much longer than that.
He was content.
There was nowhere else on all of Troll's Bane, or beyond, that he wanted to be. Yet, there was something amiss in his life. He didn't desire to leave his comfortable life, yet he felt compelled to..by something. He attributed this feeling to the changes brought about in him by Melchirisa, changes that were both welcome and unwelcome.
Brendan tucked into his second lunch of the day, all the while watching the green shimmering plant. It started to move, or at least, Brendan imagined it so. The plant climbed out of the pot and crawled over to Brendan, dragging it's roots behind. It looked up at Brendan, where he sat at the table, paralized with fear. Brendan coughed, unsure of what to do and a small amount of fatty bacon dribbled down his chin. The plant crawled into the chair opposite Brendan and stared an eyeless stare at him.
It began to speak.
"Well?" it enquired.
"W..well?"
"What about it? Why aren't you gone yet? Don't you realise that they're expecting you to be gone by dawn?"
"B..but it's the middle of the day..."
"Then that's all the more reason to hurry up and leave, my dear Halfling."
And with that, Brendan awoke with a start and directed his gaze towards the potted plant that resided in the corner. He quickly got up and examined it. This plant was going nowhere any time soon. Brendan quickly pulled on his fine clothes, threw a cloak around his shoulders and hurried off to Troll's Bane. He had arrangements to make before he departed.
Hurry now.
In a certain slant of light
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Brendan Mason
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Brendan Mason
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Part 2: The Jack Russell
Herbs. He would certainly need herbs for the journey ahead, to heal any scrapes or injuries, and of course to season his meals with. He packed some donf, bulbesponge and sibanac into a small satchel and slung it over his shoulder.
He busied himself about his small Greenbriar house, tying up all loose ends before his departure at dawn the following morning. Dawn arrived quickly and Brendan awoke from an unrestful sleep. He hopped out of his bed, already fully dressed and began to pen a note, something that he had forgotten to do the night before.
To whom it may concern,
I must be off for the time-being. I have some business to attend to elsewhere on Illarion. If anybody needs anything from Silverstar in the time being, just tell my assistant Pendar and he'll take the order.
Yours,
Brendan Mason
He signed his name with a flourish, stuck the note to the window and took a final look around his house, to make sure everything was in order. He crept quietly past the sleeping Ezorock and entered the kitchen. The last thing he saw before leaving was rather odd. The plant, the one from his dreams...winking at him.
The dawn air was still chilly and the hairs on the back of his neck were performing their piloerectile duties. He quickly hurried through the centre of Troll's Bane. The only person to be seen was the orc affectionately known as "Cake," slumbering peacefully beside the well. Brendan opened his satchel and lay a fish by the sleeping orc.
Brendan's once small satchel was now brimming and fit to burst. Within was food, warmer clothes and a small dagger..just in case. Brendan tramped through the swamp, sweated through the desert and ached his way to the plateau city of Varshikar. He ambled his way down the other side, to the city dock and searched for a small boat that he could easily commandeer.
It was then that he saw something astounding. There amid the newer and fancier boats was a small dingy schooner. The name of the boat was painted on the side with a mixture of berries and flour: "The Jack Russell." It was the small fishing boat that he and his father had arrived in years earlier!
He though it ironic: A man who had taken such good care of himself and those around him, was now dead and buried, while this joke of a boat still existed.
He stood there for several moments, thinking about his deceased father, before clambering into the boat. He directed the sail in some unknown direction and slowly began to drift away from the shore. As Brendan sailed away from the jagged cliffs of the Varshikarian state, that a thought, a rather frightening thought, crossed his mind:
"Where the bloody hell am I going!?"
He busied himself about his small Greenbriar house, tying up all loose ends before his departure at dawn the following morning. Dawn arrived quickly and Brendan awoke from an unrestful sleep. He hopped out of his bed, already fully dressed and began to pen a note, something that he had forgotten to do the night before.
To whom it may concern,
I must be off for the time-being. I have some business to attend to elsewhere on Illarion. If anybody needs anything from Silverstar in the time being, just tell my assistant Pendar and he'll take the order.
Yours,
Brendan Mason
He signed his name with a flourish, stuck the note to the window and took a final look around his house, to make sure everything was in order. He crept quietly past the sleeping Ezorock and entered the kitchen. The last thing he saw before leaving was rather odd. The plant, the one from his dreams...winking at him.
The dawn air was still chilly and the hairs on the back of his neck were performing their piloerectile duties. He quickly hurried through the centre of Troll's Bane. The only person to be seen was the orc affectionately known as "Cake," slumbering peacefully beside the well. Brendan opened his satchel and lay a fish by the sleeping orc.
Brendan's once small satchel was now brimming and fit to burst. Within was food, warmer clothes and a small dagger..just in case. Brendan tramped through the swamp, sweated through the desert and ached his way to the plateau city of Varshikar. He ambled his way down the other side, to the city dock and searched for a small boat that he could easily commandeer.
It was then that he saw something astounding. There amid the newer and fancier boats was a small dingy schooner. The name of the boat was painted on the side with a mixture of berries and flour: "The Jack Russell." It was the small fishing boat that he and his father had arrived in years earlier!
He though it ironic: A man who had taken such good care of himself and those around him, was now dead and buried, while this joke of a boat still existed.
He stood there for several moments, thinking about his deceased father, before clambering into the boat. He directed the sail in some unknown direction and slowly began to drift away from the shore. As Brendan sailed away from the jagged cliffs of the Varshikarian state, that a thought, a rather frightening thought, crossed his mind:
"Where the bloody hell am I going!?"
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Brendan Mason
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A week passed, and Brendan remained sailing to a place that he did not know. He lay on the boat, thinking of Silverstar, the shop that Mishrack had left in his care, during his absence. Would the people of the town take care of it? He didn't know and at that moment, wasn't sure whether he cared or not.
The sea was relatively calm, which suited Brendan fine. All the while, he had been stuffing himself silly while on the boat and the last thing he wanted was to get sick on the boat that he and his father had loved for so many years. Ten days passed in total, before Brendan saw any sign of land. It was on the dawn of the eleventh day, that Brendan saw something. There was a small island in the distance and it seemed to be populated. There was a small seaside town in the distance, and possibly more beyond it.
It took several hours before the boat arrived. Brendan noted that there were people gathering at the pier, small people...halflings! What luck he had, to arrive on an island of small people, just like himself. He took control of the boat, for the first time since he set off, and rowed himself to the pier. The children that had gathered swarmed onto the boat and started going through Brendan's belonging, eating chocolate, berries and other sweet things. A small child started tugging on Brendan's trousers and smeared chocolate all over it. The Troll's Banian halfling grumbled and hopped from the boat, onto the pier.
The town seemed familiar to him, downright homely as a matter of fact. A rather rotund halfling emerged from the gathered crowd and grabbed Brendan by the hands. Brendan immediately recognised the man as Matthew Suker, the leader of this small island town..the town of Murreghan, where Brendan had grown up!
"Oh, Brendan, thank goodness you have returned...you must have received my message! Your mother is expecting you--the elves say she doesn't have very long left!
Brendan's face sank. He had neither received a message, or was aware that his mother was ill. He quickly hurried with Matthew, past the crowds and past the eager children.
As he scurried through the town, now occupied by Elves and Humans, as well as Halflings, he saw the plants sitting in window-boxes, turn their heads towards him. Perhaps he was to get an explanation now, as to why he had been seeing such odd things.
The sea was relatively calm, which suited Brendan fine. All the while, he had been stuffing himself silly while on the boat and the last thing he wanted was to get sick on the boat that he and his father had loved for so many years. Ten days passed in total, before Brendan saw any sign of land. It was on the dawn of the eleventh day, that Brendan saw something. There was a small island in the distance and it seemed to be populated. There was a small seaside town in the distance, and possibly more beyond it.
It took several hours before the boat arrived. Brendan noted that there were people gathering at the pier, small people...halflings! What luck he had, to arrive on an island of small people, just like himself. He took control of the boat, for the first time since he set off, and rowed himself to the pier. The children that had gathered swarmed onto the boat and started going through Brendan's belonging, eating chocolate, berries and other sweet things. A small child started tugging on Brendan's trousers and smeared chocolate all over it. The Troll's Banian halfling grumbled and hopped from the boat, onto the pier.
The town seemed familiar to him, downright homely as a matter of fact. A rather rotund halfling emerged from the gathered crowd and grabbed Brendan by the hands. Brendan immediately recognised the man as Matthew Suker, the leader of this small island town..the town of Murreghan, where Brendan had grown up!
"Oh, Brendan, thank goodness you have returned...you must have received my message! Your mother is expecting you--the elves say she doesn't have very long left!
Brendan's face sank. He had neither received a message, or was aware that his mother was ill. He quickly hurried with Matthew, past the crowds and past the eager children.
As he scurried through the town, now occupied by Elves and Humans, as well as Halflings, he saw the plants sitting in window-boxes, turn their heads towards him. Perhaps he was to get an explanation now, as to why he had been seeing such odd things.
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Brendan Mason
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Brendan had not been on Murreghan for quite some time, yet during the intervening years, nothing had particularly changed. The market place was still intact with various grocers touting their freshest produce. The various animals for sale, sauntered peacefully about the bustling town. One of the more peculiar sights to be seen was a Gnoll, tied by a scant amount of rope to a large wooden pole. There was a grinning halfling, stick in hand, tapping a rhythm against the ground, standing beside the gnoll who was dancing, against his will to this the rhythm. He appeared to be horribly underfed too, and so Brendan, feeling sympathy for the creature, opened his bag and tossed a leg of chicken to it. The Gnoll immediately dived upon it and as soon as he had taken his meal, the tamer took the stick to the creature's head. It whimpered softly and resigned itself to it's hunger, then beginning to resume his dance.
Brendan continued on his way, a little saddened by what he had seen. A most familiar building soon came into view: Unkeen Manor- the home of his late, great Uncle Fillibert, an inventor of sorts. The building, the only one made of stone on the whole island, dwarfed the other ramshackle huts and hovels. Brendan, indicating for Matthew to wait outside for a moment, approached the house.
He shoved open the old, oaken doors and was greeted by a startling, bespectacled figure-that of Uncle Fillibert Mason! He was still alive, by all appearances. The man adjusted his glasses and peered at Brendan.
"Well, you certainly smell like him, but there's..."
"Fillibert!" interrupted Brendan, obviously astounded by his Uncle's presence.
"Yes yes, dear boy, don't sound so surprised...what age are you now, eh? 22, 23? 60?"
"34"
"Well curdle my melons and call me Sue-Ellen! Aren't you growing up quicker than your prototype did?!" interjected the quirky man.
"My..what?" Brendan queried of the man.
"Hush now, Brendan the second, I have something to show you inside. Come, come."
With that, the two entered the cavernous dwelling, traipsed through a long, dark hallway and descended a winding stairwell, until they reached an even darked area, lit only by the light of flickering candles.
Brendan surveyed the room. There were several large glass containers and displayed within each, were several odd, malformed shapes. The creatures withing the containers were altered...had limbs removed, organs from other creatures added. The most startling tank of all contained a dead orc, or at least an orc that had the appearance of death. Brendan approached the tank and pressed his hand against the glass.
"Fillibert, who is it?"
"You, my dear boy, you!"
Brendan stumbled backwards, somewhat taken aback. His eyes remained fixed upon the motionless body. He surveyed the etching and various tattoos on the orc's body.
"These markings..what are they?"
"Well, some of them he received before me, they are from a time when he was called Gurnok Trenthump. But, the etchings are my work. Look closer, boy, closer..."
Brendan slowly approached the tank...all the while, watched by the moss growing slowly on the wall..
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Brendan continued on his way, a little saddened by what he had seen. A most familiar building soon came into view: Unkeen Manor- the home of his late, great Uncle Fillibert, an inventor of sorts. The building, the only one made of stone on the whole island, dwarfed the other ramshackle huts and hovels. Brendan, indicating for Matthew to wait outside for a moment, approached the house.
He shoved open the old, oaken doors and was greeted by a startling, bespectacled figure-that of Uncle Fillibert Mason! He was still alive, by all appearances. The man adjusted his glasses and peered at Brendan.
"Well, you certainly smell like him, but there's..."
"Fillibert!" interrupted Brendan, obviously astounded by his Uncle's presence.
"Yes yes, dear boy, don't sound so surprised...what age are you now, eh? 22, 23? 60?"
"34"
"Well curdle my melons and call me Sue-Ellen! Aren't you growing up quicker than your prototype did?!" interjected the quirky man.
"My..what?" Brendan queried of the man.
"Hush now, Brendan the second, I have something to show you inside. Come, come."
With that, the two entered the cavernous dwelling, traipsed through a long, dark hallway and descended a winding stairwell, until they reached an even darked area, lit only by the light of flickering candles.
Brendan surveyed the room. There were several large glass containers and displayed within each, were several odd, malformed shapes. The creatures withing the containers were altered...had limbs removed, organs from other creatures added. The most startling tank of all contained a dead orc, or at least an orc that had the appearance of death. Brendan approached the tank and pressed his hand against the glass.
"Fillibert, who is it?"
"You, my dear boy, you!"
Brendan stumbled backwards, somewhat taken aback. His eyes remained fixed upon the motionless body. He surveyed the etching and various tattoos on the orc's body.
"These markings..what are they?"
"Well, some of them he received before me, they are from a time when he was called Gurnok Trenthump. But, the etchings are my work. Look closer, boy, closer..."
Brendan slowly approached the tank...all the while, watched by the moss growing slowly on the wall..
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Last edited by Brendan Mason on Sat Apr 09, 2005 4:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Brendan Mason
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Once again he placed his small hand on the glass of the tank and squinted at the dead orc interred within.
"Well, what are the markings that you gave it all about?"
Brendan listened intently to his uncle's explanation, all the while examining the intricate designs gifted to the orc by Fillibert. They appeared to be runic designs, magical symbols. Things that no halfling should ever experiment with.
"Those, my dear boy, are Runes. Markings to give the orc special powers...and accesss to other realms. But...alas, they backfired on me. A shame. He had to be..put down.."
Fillibert smiled at Brendan from beneath his spectacles for a few moments. Brendan backed away from his Uncle nervously, but Fillibert followed. They circled each other for a few moments, the silence, deafening. Fillibert lunged for Brendan and grabbed his arm. He rolled up the halfling's sleeve and examined his arm.
"What?! This can't be! It was removed...but how did you remove it?! How did you know about it? It was always regarded as your birth mark! Your ruinic mark, WHERE IS IT!?"
Brendan wriggled free of his Uncle's grip, and in the process of trying to escape he stumbled over a chair and slammed his arm against a tank. There was a loud crack, indicating that his arm must have broke.
"Answer me boy!"
Brendan whimpered softly and looked up at his quite insane uncle.
"On..Troll's Bane. There was a creature, called Rynt..he bit my arm, he..must have taken the etching with it.."
Fillibert stepped into the light of the flickering candles. He looked quite threatening and imposing at that moment and crouched down before Brendan. He grabbed him by the ear and whispered into it.
"We must start again, then, Brendan...I'll fill the tank with.."
CRACK!
Fillibert fell backwards and was unmoving. Standing behind him was a tall, noble looking creature. He stepped over Fillibert's unconscious body and sheathed his weapon. It was an elf! That much was clear. As Brendan looked uneasily upon the elven man, he saw that the clothes he wore were in fact plants, and other living things. They were moving, dancing and swaying...and watching Brendan.
The elf grabbed Brendan's unbroken arm and hoisted him upon his shoulders. He spoke in a soft and calming voice.
"I assume that you do not wish to remain here, young Mister Mason. Let us depart for your mother's."
And with that, the moss growing on the wall approached the duo, wrapped itself around them and immediately vanished.
Fillibert was left alone, in a pool of his own saliva, surrounded by his atrocities.
"Well, what are the markings that you gave it all about?"
Brendan listened intently to his uncle's explanation, all the while examining the intricate designs gifted to the orc by Fillibert. They appeared to be runic designs, magical symbols. Things that no halfling should ever experiment with.
"Those, my dear boy, are Runes. Markings to give the orc special powers...and accesss to other realms. But...alas, they backfired on me. A shame. He had to be..put down.."
Fillibert smiled at Brendan from beneath his spectacles for a few moments. Brendan backed away from his Uncle nervously, but Fillibert followed. They circled each other for a few moments, the silence, deafening. Fillibert lunged for Brendan and grabbed his arm. He rolled up the halfling's sleeve and examined his arm.
"What?! This can't be! It was removed...but how did you remove it?! How did you know about it? It was always regarded as your birth mark! Your ruinic mark, WHERE IS IT!?"
Brendan wriggled free of his Uncle's grip, and in the process of trying to escape he stumbled over a chair and slammed his arm against a tank. There was a loud crack, indicating that his arm must have broke.
"Answer me boy!"
Brendan whimpered softly and looked up at his quite insane uncle.
"On..Troll's Bane. There was a creature, called Rynt..he bit my arm, he..must have taken the etching with it.."
Fillibert stepped into the light of the flickering candles. He looked quite threatening and imposing at that moment and crouched down before Brendan. He grabbed him by the ear and whispered into it.
"We must start again, then, Brendan...I'll fill the tank with.."
CRACK!
Fillibert fell backwards and was unmoving. Standing behind him was a tall, noble looking creature. He stepped over Fillibert's unconscious body and sheathed his weapon. It was an elf! That much was clear. As Brendan looked uneasily upon the elven man, he saw that the clothes he wore were in fact plants, and other living things. They were moving, dancing and swaying...and watching Brendan.
The elf grabbed Brendan's unbroken arm and hoisted him upon his shoulders. He spoke in a soft and calming voice.
"I assume that you do not wish to remain here, young Mister Mason. Let us depart for your mother's."
And with that, the moss growing on the wall approached the duo, wrapped itself around them and immediately vanished.
Fillibert was left alone, in a pool of his own saliva, surrounded by his atrocities.