Runewick's Rightful, Sacred Soil [Closed RP, invites only]
Posted: Sun Dec 24, 2023 2:38 am
Malchus wrapped himself in his dark blue cloak and lit his lantern as he left the guard house after dusk. The recent murders demanded heightened security measures, hence his nightly patrol, or so he explained to the few folks who at such late hour were still out and about. This, however, was but a pretence for Malchus to prowl Runewick's streets at nightfall. His true intention had nothing to do with maintaining law and order, on the contrary, it was decidedly criminal.
As the guard captain leisurely did his rounds through town and watched the locals return home, he pondered on Runewick, its situation, and his place in it. A year ago, he had arrived as a stranger in this foreign land, ignorant of its people and problems. Now he was guard captain of Runewick, a quiet and quaint town nestled between idyllic forests and the sea. Yet, despite its outwardly peaceful appearance, the realm had a troubled past, the consequences of which still burdened it. Some described Runewick to Malchus as a once burgeoning town driven to ruin by the overambitious goals and recklessness of a select few, others called it a den of thieves and haven for all sorts of misfits and criminals. Malchus smirked as he mused that this might've been what first piqued his interest: Much like Runewick itself, he too had a shady past which he tried to keep buried. Ironic, that now he of all people was Runewick's lawman.
Whatever the truth about Runewick's past might be, one thing was certain to Malchus - Runewick was a shadow of its former self. What he first took for rural tranquillity was, at least in his eye, in truth the lethargy of a moribund realm. Sure, there were other Runewickers besides him going about their everyday life; the peasants, merchants, scholars, but they were trapped in the cycle of their daily routine, reliving the same day every day, achieving nothing and being content in doing so. Sometimes Malchus felt as if Caswir Drakull and Aswe were the only two souls who kept Runewick alive. Nothing seemed to move in Runewick without the Councillors first willing it, and would it not be for them, not even a leaf would fall off Runewick's trees.
This changed when suddenly an elfess arrived together with the Archmage to Lysander's trial. A murmur went through the Hall of Elara as the two entered, and Malchus soon learned who she was: Deanna, a name he heard and read many a time. Deanna, ex-councillor and once Runewick's de facto ruler. Deanna, to whom an eponymous "report" was dedicated, or rather a defamatory pamphlet. She was no doubt both an influential and controversial figure. But which politician isn't? Her return held the promise of shaking things up in Runewick, for better or worse. Which of these it would be was the question. Would she become the third Councillor, and if so, what would that mean for him? Malchus was not one to put trust into gossip. If he were to unveil Deanna's intentions, he'd look for them himself, and he had the perfect opportunity to do so. Malchus did not miss that Deanna passed a key to the Archmage during the trial; the key to her office, as he had later learned, for with the loss of her professorship she also forfeited her right to a private office. This was Malchus's chance to get a glimpse at Deanna's past work.
When the street was deserted, Malchus slipped into the Faculty of Alchemy. Keeping his lantern's light dimmed under his cloak, he snuck down the dark hallway and furtively peeked into the adjacent rooms to make sure he was alone. Step by step he crept along the wall towards the twin moons' light, which shone down through the staircase's open hatch. Scaling the stairs, Malchus found himself on the small balcony that he had stepped onto months ago when he first explored his new hometown. In the flickering candlelight of his lantern, he read Deanna's name on the plaque next to the office door. After a quick look over the parapet to make sure no one was watching him from below, Malchus immediately started working on the door with his lock picks.
"Click!" - the lock was open. Malchus carefully pulled the handle and the old wooden door opened, the hinges creaking from years of disuse and neglect. Like a large, dark blue shadow, Malchus, wrapped in his cloak, quickly slid through the door and quietly closed it behind him. Holding the lantern under his cloak, careful not to let too much light reach the windows, he snooped around the office. Everything was orderly, but a thick layer of dust lay over the desk and the numerous books and bottles on the shelves, which mattly reflected the candlelight in many colours. Malchus couldn't resist and slid a few bottles into his satchel; Deanna surely wouldn't even notice them missing. He slowly sat down in the professor's padded chair and browsed through the dusty papers left on the desk. The draft of a historical note with an attached letter caught his attention, for its implication would be most controversial. With the papers in hand, Malchus decided he had seen enough and to make his getaway. In the coming days, he would quietly leave the historical note in the library.
As the guard captain leisurely did his rounds through town and watched the locals return home, he pondered on Runewick, its situation, and his place in it. A year ago, he had arrived as a stranger in this foreign land, ignorant of its people and problems. Now he was guard captain of Runewick, a quiet and quaint town nestled between idyllic forests and the sea. Yet, despite its outwardly peaceful appearance, the realm had a troubled past, the consequences of which still burdened it. Some described Runewick to Malchus as a once burgeoning town driven to ruin by the overambitious goals and recklessness of a select few, others called it a den of thieves and haven for all sorts of misfits and criminals. Malchus smirked as he mused that this might've been what first piqued his interest: Much like Runewick itself, he too had a shady past which he tried to keep buried. Ironic, that now he of all people was Runewick's lawman.
Whatever the truth about Runewick's past might be, one thing was certain to Malchus - Runewick was a shadow of its former self. What he first took for rural tranquillity was, at least in his eye, in truth the lethargy of a moribund realm. Sure, there were other Runewickers besides him going about their everyday life; the peasants, merchants, scholars, but they were trapped in the cycle of their daily routine, reliving the same day every day, achieving nothing and being content in doing so. Sometimes Malchus felt as if Caswir Drakull and Aswe were the only two souls who kept Runewick alive. Nothing seemed to move in Runewick without the Councillors first willing it, and would it not be for them, not even a leaf would fall off Runewick's trees.
This changed when suddenly an elfess arrived together with the Archmage to Lysander's trial. A murmur went through the Hall of Elara as the two entered, and Malchus soon learned who she was: Deanna, a name he heard and read many a time. Deanna, ex-councillor and once Runewick's de facto ruler. Deanna, to whom an eponymous "report" was dedicated, or rather a defamatory pamphlet. She was no doubt both an influential and controversial figure. But which politician isn't? Her return held the promise of shaking things up in Runewick, for better or worse. Which of these it would be was the question. Would she become the third Councillor, and if so, what would that mean for him? Malchus was not one to put trust into gossip. If he were to unveil Deanna's intentions, he'd look for them himself, and he had the perfect opportunity to do so. Malchus did not miss that Deanna passed a key to the Archmage during the trial; the key to her office, as he had later learned, for with the loss of her professorship she also forfeited her right to a private office. This was Malchus's chance to get a glimpse at Deanna's past work.
When the street was deserted, Malchus slipped into the Faculty of Alchemy. Keeping his lantern's light dimmed under his cloak, he snuck down the dark hallway and furtively peeked into the adjacent rooms to make sure he was alone. Step by step he crept along the wall towards the twin moons' light, which shone down through the staircase's open hatch. Scaling the stairs, Malchus found himself on the small balcony that he had stepped onto months ago when he first explored his new hometown. In the flickering candlelight of his lantern, he read Deanna's name on the plaque next to the office door. After a quick look over the parapet to make sure no one was watching him from below, Malchus immediately started working on the door with his lock picks.
"Click!" - the lock was open. Malchus carefully pulled the handle and the old wooden door opened, the hinges creaking from years of disuse and neglect. Like a large, dark blue shadow, Malchus, wrapped in his cloak, quickly slid through the door and quietly closed it behind him. Holding the lantern under his cloak, careful not to let too much light reach the windows, he snooped around the office. Everything was orderly, but a thick layer of dust lay over the desk and the numerous books and bottles on the shelves, which mattly reflected the candlelight in many colours. Malchus couldn't resist and slid a few bottles into his satchel; Deanna surely wouldn't even notice them missing. He slowly sat down in the professor's padded chair and browsed through the dusty papers left on the desk. The draft of a historical note with an attached letter caught his attention, for its implication would be most controversial. With the papers in hand, Malchus decided he had seen enough and to make his getaway. In the coming days, he would quietly leave the historical note in the library.