Malcor Sylverwood
January 2nd, 2006, 16:18
Prelude: The Eyes of Reis
I must be getting old. Shaking himself out of his quiet reverie, Dalford looks at the embers glowing softly in the fireplace. The fire was all but dead—he must have been staring idly for an hour or more. More importantly, my work isn’t getting done.
Looking around the common room of The Glorious Banner, he smiles to himself. He had built this inn many years ago and mostly with his own hands. All the customers had retired to their homes or to the rooms above and all of the work was finished; the staff at The Banner was second to none, at least not in the border town of Sacnoth. A few adventures in his youth had financed the building of The Banner, but it was Dalford’s attention to details that had made it an attraction.
Wringing the faded washcloth in his hands, Dalford smiles slightly and takes stock of the chores. Probably time to get the ovens started, Colswere would be up shortly to bake the breads. He turns towards the kitchen, but a low growling sound stops him. Few people in Sacnoth keep dogs and the jackals rarely make it out from the Narch desert to the south. That was no jackal.
From somewhere from deep inside Dalford fear wells up. Dropping the washcloth, he lunges for the door and drops the locking bar into place. Leaning with his back against the heavy oaken door that he had imported from the Sylverwood far to the north, he tries to listen for any sound over his rapidly beating heart. Gathering his courage, he walks slowly and as quietly as he can for a man of his girth. Cook’s sweets have been too good for me.
Softly he places a hand on the window and peers out. Finest glass from Balenar. The full moon, and its unusual afterimage, shines brightly, clearly illuminating the empty concourse outside. Just Reis’s Eyes, strange things always happen when his gaze is full.
“Could I enquire about a room, good sir?”
Dalford whirls around to see somebody standing in the darkness just inside the locked door. He wasn’t there a second ago.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just a trick of the moonlight, I’m sure. Now…about a room?”
The stranger’s voice was silky smooth, almost feminine. Standing in the shadows, Dalford can only see the stranger’s silhouette—a tall and slender frame, almost elven.
Swallowing hard, Dalford knows he wants nothing more to do with this person, “Sorry, no rooms left.”
“Lies do not become us, my good man.” The stranger steps forward into the moonlight streaming in from the window.
For a moment, Dalford is sure the man’s eyes are glowing. Surely just a trick of the light, like he said. The stranger takes another step, and Dalford realizes that he is trying to back away from the stranger, but his back is pressed against the windowsill, “I don’t want any tr—“
Dalford blinks, but the view makes no sense. He was standing against the window, but now it seems he is lying on the floor. The moonlight sparkles off the floor and he feels a cool breeze caresses his cheek. I’ll send an order to Balenar to replace the window first thing.
I must be getting old. Shaking himself out of his quiet reverie, Dalford looks at the embers glowing softly in the fireplace. The fire was all but dead—he must have been staring idly for an hour or more. More importantly, my work isn’t getting done.
Looking around the common room of The Glorious Banner, he smiles to himself. He had built this inn many years ago and mostly with his own hands. All the customers had retired to their homes or to the rooms above and all of the work was finished; the staff at The Banner was second to none, at least not in the border town of Sacnoth. A few adventures in his youth had financed the building of The Banner, but it was Dalford’s attention to details that had made it an attraction.
Wringing the faded washcloth in his hands, Dalford smiles slightly and takes stock of the chores. Probably time to get the ovens started, Colswere would be up shortly to bake the breads. He turns towards the kitchen, but a low growling sound stops him. Few people in Sacnoth keep dogs and the jackals rarely make it out from the Narch desert to the south. That was no jackal.
From somewhere from deep inside Dalford fear wells up. Dropping the washcloth, he lunges for the door and drops the locking bar into place. Leaning with his back against the heavy oaken door that he had imported from the Sylverwood far to the north, he tries to listen for any sound over his rapidly beating heart. Gathering his courage, he walks slowly and as quietly as he can for a man of his girth. Cook’s sweets have been too good for me.
Softly he places a hand on the window and peers out. Finest glass from Balenar. The full moon, and its unusual afterimage, shines brightly, clearly illuminating the empty concourse outside. Just Reis’s Eyes, strange things always happen when his gaze is full.
“Could I enquire about a room, good sir?”
Dalford whirls around to see somebody standing in the darkness just inside the locked door. He wasn’t there a second ago.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just a trick of the moonlight, I’m sure. Now…about a room?”
The stranger’s voice was silky smooth, almost feminine. Standing in the shadows, Dalford can only see the stranger’s silhouette—a tall and slender frame, almost elven.
Swallowing hard, Dalford knows he wants nothing more to do with this person, “Sorry, no rooms left.”
“Lies do not become us, my good man.” The stranger steps forward into the moonlight streaming in from the window.
For a moment, Dalford is sure the man’s eyes are glowing. Surely just a trick of the light, like he said. The stranger takes another step, and Dalford realizes that he is trying to back away from the stranger, but his back is pressed against the windowsill, “I don’t want any tr—“
Dalford blinks, but the view makes no sense. He was standing against the window, but now it seems he is lying on the floor. The moonlight sparkles off the floor and he feels a cool breeze caresses his cheek. I’ll send an order to Balenar to replace the window first thing.