Snippet #1573345

located in District Beta, a part of Revelation: The Cure, one of the many universes on RPG.

District Beta

Also called the merchant's district, and home to the more affluent commoners.

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The darkness was impenetrable, terrifying, and suffocating, but the astounding thing was how peaceful it all seemed. It was almost as if there was an absence of the proverbial mountain on the Smith’s shoulders, freeing him from the inescapable responsibilities from life that were slowly draining him of vitality, yet for some reason the experience seemed so foreign to the contemplative man, like some other force had manipulated his entire being into this current predicament, almost as if the reaper had come and shown him the future. A burning sensation began to fill the entirety of his lungs, the flames licking at their epicenter with a vengeful fervor as fiery tendrils snaked throughout his thick, barrel chest, but something was wrong, and the realization of where he lay blossomed in the depths of his psyche, forcing powerful limbs to writhe and dig into the loose debris covering the elderly man, slowly forcing the earthen tomb to open for its unwilling captive.

Just as his lungs screamed from the fiery torment that intensified with every thrust of the body, yearning for the precious life source that resided so close, yet so unreachably far away, the barest traces of a cool breeze were felt trickling through the earthen ceiling. No matter the relief felt by exhausted limbs the trickles of air were not sufficient to enliven dying man as the darkness began creeping back in through the darkest recesses of his mind, a flood of unconsciousness sweeping over the elderly blacksmith as a brilliant ray of light burst through a small hole very far away. It almost looked as if a hand were thrusting itself through the shadows, reaching out for some unknown target with a passion almost as bright as the light emanating from behind.
Yet just as the hand grasped its target the reaper came back, sweeping over the unfortunate soul with a black-hearted vengeance, encasing the entirety of his existence with the ever-stifling blackness of the abyss.
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The calamity that had ensued after the collapse of the Garrison was incomprehensible for the nine inhabitants of the former Manor Forgefire, killing the two apprentices, busy fetching coal from the far, inside-corner of the workshop, instantly along with the three members of the house staff and Garbiel’s two resident Blacksmiths after the ensuing collapse of the back-half of the Manor. Large pieces of the City Guard’s Garrison jarred loose the large, timber columns that supported the top-half of the Forgefire Manor; the startling affluence with which the Mage-fire consumed the tinder-dry building was unnoticed by the occupants, stunned by the concussion of the impact.

The immediate damage had been less extensive on the front-end of the Forgefire workshop, where Danterus had been polishing the rapier he had been working on so diligently, and Garbiel labored near the smaller forge, kept in between the storefront and main-forge room, that was reserved for smaller, or especial, orders for Garbiel. The first impact had been rather large sections of the City Garrison that tumbled down into the not-walled-in workshop, sending a large tidal wave of coal and masonry cascading towards the two unsuspecting Forgefires, engulfing them in its deathly embrace before the fire could devour the supporting beams of the roof. For Danterus escape had proven nearly simple had it not been for an empty armor display that had been forced down onto the hapless individual, impeding his direct route upwards, and forcing him to dig sideways away from the large piece of furniture.

Several Guild members that had wandered outside from all the noise had rushed over towards the now crumbling Forgefire Manor, digging furiously for Garbiel Forgefire, entombed within a sea of coal, masonry, and debris. Nethanial Ironarm, the current Blacksmith Guild Leader and longtime friend of Garbiel’s, was one of the first to leap forward into the danger, having seen Garbiel before the avalanche he knew best around where he was located, and was the one man to save the endangered Blacksmith’s life. Just as Nethanial was able to pry Garbiel’s stout frame from the earth and drag him away from the burning building the supporting beams succumbed to the fire’s maniacal hunger, killing everyone who had not been saved.
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By the time that the Forgefires had been taken to safety the conflict outside the Compound had died away, the mage-led mob dispersing into the catacomb of streets that formed Revelation while leaving their dead to rot and wounded to die screaming, hopefully die lest they be tortured and questioned for any information with which they may be aware. Danterus, thunderstruck by the sudden chain of events, wandered outside after seeing to his father’s well-being with Nethanial to catch a glimpse of what lay before him. The extent of the damage was shocking, the entire top-right half of the City’s Garrison had collapsed into the now completely destroyed Forgefire Manor, with most of the insides of the Garrison burned out from the devastating mage-fire that thirsted for every hint of wood that it could. Even now the fire-crews were barely responding to the raging inferno that engulfed both buildings, and was dangerously close to grasping the building surrounding the first two.

The entire scene infuriated the young man, a man who already despised mages for the murder of his parents, with death rattles being sounded every few seconds from other unfortunate individuals unlucky enough not to die immediately. This was only the first atrocity that would be committed by the filthy mages if they were so bold as to attack a City Guard Garrison, in Beta District none-the-less, and if something was not done then this would get out of control, but before he could stop and think of seeking out David Gilgamesh, a man he knew was always promoting harsh regulations on the lowest-class of citizens, if they could be called that, he caught sight of Giacomo Vernazza, a rather pesky scientist who could very rarely find another blacksmith to forge his trinkets. This was probably one of the last people that he had wanted to see at this trying time, the little man was always so particular with his cruddy-little jobs and cheap as well, he didn’t know why Garbiel put up with the impossible scientist, but what more the slight man was standing next to a woman with a worried look on his face.

“Mr. Vernazza! How long have you been here? I see you have had enough time to test some of the parts my father made for you…”

It was not an appropriate greeting, and he knew it, but this was not exactly what a civilized person would consider being an appropriate time and place. Regardless he headed towards the annoying scientist, and the prostrate woman lying nearby that seemed on the verge of death. The sudden realization that he was bleeding dawned on the exhausted Danterus’ mind, looking down to see a cut the length of his hand across the right side of his torso, in between two ribs and covered in coal and masonry. He cupped his left hand over the wound, stemming the flow of blood from the already filthy cut, as he kneeled down next to Giacomo Vernazza, grimacing from the pain.
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The darkness seemed to last an eternity for the aging Garbiel Forgefire, it seemed hours dragged by in the hour between the Garrison collapsing and his waking in the Guild Headquarters, the building located in the epicenter of the Compound and the residence of Nethanial Ironarm. The sudden change of scenery startled the Garbiel, abruptly opening his eyes after last seeing his workshop standing around him, the first thing the struck his mind was to look out the window next to the bed he lay in, conveniently placed on the front-side of the building, and saw the wreckage that was his Manor, the fire-crews still battling the fierce flames. Besides the pain of his heartbreaking from the sight of his Manor in flames a blinding pain burst through his thigh, almost as if a red-hot poker were being dug into it through his bone. Looking down he gazed upon the sight of his left-leg bundled up in bandages, soaking wet with blood oozing from a wound that had only been half-healed by a wand that lay nearby.

The may be able to accomplish many tasks, but the wands can never do as much as a healer, and breaks in bones are even more difficult for the fragile tools.
No one was occupying the room besides the Smith currently, they probably set out to find a doctor to help with his leg, and the thought that they might send for a healer-mage was certainly out of the question at this time. He knew the look of mage-fire very well, and what was currently devouring his Manor was no normal fire, or one created by the coal and coke he used for his workshop. This was definitely the pot boiling over from the last year’s events, yet this was only the first surge before the lid floated off the side and allowed all the scum to ooze out. This was definitely an orchestrated event, but who would do such a thing? Gilgamesh was certainly involved in this; he needed some kind of project to occupy his time since his recent backslide of involvement in matters of Parliament.

It’s doubtful he would be directly involved with a scandal of this proportion, but he is definitely pulling some strings, and this would be a perfect opportunity to push for regulations… He may even go so far and ask for The Imprisonment.

Forgefire pondered quietly on the larger matter at hand, his Manor could be rebuilt after some time, but if something wasn’t done about this problem now then his Workshop would never be back open.