He awoke covered in sweat, though the night air coming in through the open window was cool, almost cold. He was shaking uncontrollably, his fingers twitching and kicking. He rolled out of bed, his feet touching nimbly upon the ground. He moved to the window and looked out, his toned, naked body shining in the moonlight. Gaunt features and prominent cheekbones, underneath a well-shaven and well-kempt face, gave him the features of a handsome man. He looked out upon the moon-drenched fields, out over the pastures, and to the faraway mountains. He was leaving for town again tomorrow, but the nightmares persisted in keeping him awake. His glance shifted to the stars overhead, the small crystalline objects eternally suspended against that dark backdrop.
He turned and strode from the room, grabbing a bundle of clothes on the dresser out in the hallway. When he was downstairs he quickly stripped into some simple wool leggings and a thin leather overvest. Standing around five and a half feet, he looked even smaller in the house made for the former owner. He grabbed a one-edged longsword off of a large wooden table dominating the room, and grabbed a long black leather cloak off a hook, swinging it across his back. He tied it in place with a small bronze broach that held no decoration. He strode outside, and moved towards a small stable off to one side. His piercing green eyes looked around in the gloom, until he reached the stables. He reached the stable and burst into the stableboy's quarters.
"Ready my horse," he demanded, his tone impetuous and commanding. He saw the stableboy roll off of his straw-filled mattress and give a lazy salute.
"Captain Faete," the boy said nervously, before marching quickly around Faete and into the stables. Faete turned and followed him, before exiting and crossing the yard towards the servants' housing. He walked up to the front door and turned the handle.
Locked... go figure... he thought. He quickly tied his sword to his belt using a thin strap, and lifted his fist. He pounded it against the door, hoping old Udinaas heard him. He heard sounds of shuffling on the other side of the door, and stepped back. Udinaas was there, thin, wispy strands of hair blowing in the wind.
"Udinaas," began Faete, "I will be taking an expenditure into town, and I do not know how long I will be gone. I am leaving you in charge of my manor, and expect to find it in top condition upon my return." The old servant nodded and turned back into the house, moving into the shadows. Faete closed the door and turned, moving back out towards the stables. He arrived there and moved inside.
His horse, tall with jet-black fur, stood over 18 hands tall, with good conformation and long legs. Its mane was long but styled as was the old fashion. He vaulted upwards into the saddle and looked down at the stable boy. He felt his front chest pouch and felt the sack of gold coins there, a small fortune on their own. Were he any less skilled he would feel scared, vulnerable even, with so few. But as it was, he felt safe. He nodded at the stable boy and kicked his horse into a slow canter, pulling out of the stable and onto the dusty road outside. He followed that road north, towards the outline of the small town just a few miles in that direction.
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He arrived in town just as dawn was breaking, his horse sweating and chopping at the bit. He slowed her down to a slow walk as they moved onto the cobbled street. He moved towards the local inn and jumped off of his horse. He hobbled his horse at the post outside the tavern and walked in. A few drunks still remained there from the previous night, mostly passed out or generally incapacitated.
He walked forward and sat at the bar. He banged the counter and the bartender scurried out of a backroom. He ordered a pint of mead and sat back. The inn was a bit run-down, with a hearth at one end of the room, and various tables placed haphazardly around. The bar stunk of urine and vomit, almost to a point where Faete had trouble breathing. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned at them.
There stood a large man there, dressed in all blacks. He wore steel plate armour died black, and a massive axe was strapped to his back. He had sharp features, and a piercing gaze. His hair was cut short, and his eyes were a deep blue.
"Ex-commander Faete, former commander of all the Emperor's armies," he paused then to look around the bar and sniff the air, than continued, "A bit of an auspicious place for you to call a meeting between us. And what might be the purpose of such a meeting, may I ask?" He rose an eyebrow quizzically, then leaned against the wall.
Faete smiled as his drink arrived. He turned and grabbed it, and shot the bartender a look that made him scramble back into the kitchens. He took a large swig of the drink and wiped his mouth. Then he turned back to the man.
"Harothed Manaris, rogue and scoundrel alike," Faete said, "it's been a while since we last met, and I'll admit, those were under... more strained circumstances. I need you to gather me the strongest of your mercenaries. A cloak has fallen upon the world, shrouding it in darkness unseen. There are forces at play darker and more sinister than anything this world has seen.” He smiled and set down his drink, looked back at the man who now wore a pensive, concerned look.
"Well, it just so happens a few of my best agents just got back from their latest mercenary campaign. I think you'll find that they're more than suited to aid you. Saving the world is just the icing on the cake." He grinned then, a large, full-toothed grin, which was surprisingly infectious.
"Well then, I suspect you have them on hand, because we have some planning to do..."
[OOC:] Alright, Harothed’s an NPC who’s only in this part of the story. Everyone can join. If you can’t see in the chat it’s basically us trying to become gods.
"Some things are important. Others are not. Yet all would claim a mortal's attention. It falls to each of us to remain ever mindful, and thus purchase wisdom in the threading of possibilities. It is our common failing that we are guided by our indifference to eventualities. The moment pleases, the future can await consideration." - Steven Erikson's Midnight Tides
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