HAY I RITE!

[Val]

So, I've still been toying around with that long untitled short story that I had posted around 13 billion years ago (give or take a few), and as it always does, I got bored with the story, I knew what was going to happen, and I didn't want to drag through the "boring" stuff any longer. So, i got to the crux of things, and I created the character that the entire untitled short story was supposed to create. It was about his birth and whatnot, but, whatever, that's all lame for now. I've always been a fan of pulp and whatnot, short stories have always been one of my favorite methods of writing. and, as I get older, I start to realize that maybe the middle ages are TOO saturated with lore for me, I've learned a lot about them, now it's time to focus my heathen vigor in another direction.

The HIGH and LATE Middle Ages, an exciting change, I know. But as it has it, even that's just too simple for me. So, my thirst for creative perfection as always leads me to create something for myself, my own world.

and, well, this is that world.

It's something of the middle ages, with the exception that imagine if the Greek city states didn't suck, fail and die so easily. Imagine a sort of, Greco-Roman Oligarchical Dictatorship with an immense bent on elements of Theocracy.

"I took the Imperium of Man from Warhammer 40k as inspiration only I smashed the technology and made their god-emperor a "god" emperor"

The people, seem to me, as almost a mash up of all the late middle ages peoples. From the Britons (Northern Colonists), to the early German and Norse (Sothgardte), to the Holy Roman/ Late German-minus funky accents. (Southern Imperial). Varieties of clothing and social structure based largely not on some sort of arbitrary decision of how I want it to look, but the environment, the culture, the melting pot effect in my brain.

There is no magic, in the classical sense, no fireballs and crazy totems or FROSTSHOCK, in this world. I took the idea of looking at magic, even in it's simplest form and making it something so extraordinary that it kinda rocks your socks. As in, if I write in when you see a ghost, a person in this world, as similar to ours, wouldn't pull out holy water and a cross and start doing battle with the ectoplasmic fiend, they would probably scream and run for their lives as the grip on sanity that they once held was now in question.

I've read a lot of Lovecraft, and he really brought to my attention over the years that spooky, in it's classical sense, isn't that spooky anymore. Spooky to me is something completely foreign to my sensibilities. So that's how I try to write my "darker" tales.

Anywayz

I base a lot of this on the life of this young man I established, and how he interacts with this world I've created. I will probably never be able to write in a fully chronological order, unless I establish one first. Because, as it seems, the nature of my writing as of late comes in a sort of muse, floating in and out of my head when I least expect it.

But besides all that, you're wondering why I'm writing all this, get to the point Val.

yeah, here goes.

Basically, I would like some sort of prodding at my idea, or at least someone to pat me on the shoulder and tell me, GG bro.

I'm going to go ahead and throw out the beginning to a story I started earlier this evening, as it is with ALL the things I write, I've not spell checked crap, and I'm sure Celera will PM me with some sort of grammatical error in my ways. But that's what she's here for. Anyways, here goes.




The Dark Above Them.

The moors that afternoon had nothing in the way of beauty about them. But nonetheless, he rode on. It was a traveling wagon. Communal transport out of Yevon. Josiah had received a letter earlier that week, it bore the symbol and seal of a “notable” member of the Esoteric. A “notable” order of so called mystics, psychics and mages. While Josiah had held little interest in WHAT exactly they did, it was the contents of the letter that had piqued his interest. They were not, to his utter surprise trying to sell him anything, nor were they trying to fool him into joining their ranks. No, it was a strange request, apparently, his reputation, which had continued to expand in all horizons of something of a problem solver. Apparently, the Esoteric had a branch located in a small rural town known as Junion, off the Bluffs overlooking the Gregar river. They did not include the minute details in the letter, only that the payment would be “a considerable sum to anyone’s eyes” which was enough for him to spend MOST of his remaining funds bribing the wagon head to take him to Junion. The wagon leader had initially spat at the idea of taking his coach there, but when offered with a handsome amount by Josiah, he agreed, but not without a considerable warning.

“People don’t go to Junion anymore, the town has changed. I used to make regular trips there, but something happened. My horses don’t like it, I don’t like it and I’ll be damned if I know what the hell you like about it. The place is strange, and not in an obvious way.” He said. “the people there are just odd. “

Josiah had dismissed the advice, as per his personality would dictate. But they had left Yevon last night, and after breaking down for camp, sleeping, and riding most of the day without a word. Curiosity finally bit. Josiah turned in his seat, he shifted his shoulders around, they had gotten stiff in his jerkin. He had his back to the old man for most of the day, as he turned, he noticed a small village off in the far distance.

“So, what do you mean the people are odd, old man?” Josiah asked, with a hint of humor in his voice. The old man turned and glared at Josiah, his face was grizzled from the elements, of his true age none could say but the old man himself. But he wore his hair loose, knotted at the back with a strip of dried leather.

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, and you’ll understand my apprehension once you get there.”

Josiah shook his head and snorted, he turned back around. He had been widdling his knife most of the way there this afternoon, so far he had carved what looked like a phallus with feathers. He had meant for it to be an owl, but of all his talents, woodworking wasn’t one. But nonetheless, he trudged on with his menial task, not only because he was bored out of his wits, but he was now determined to make the owl LOOK like an owl. He started to gouge deep into the wood, to carve out a beak, when suddenly the wagon came to a sudden abrupt halt. The blade slipped, and it’s razor sharp point slid from the wood and sliced Josiah’s thumb.

“Ow, dammit? What the hell is going on?” Josiah said as he wrapped his thumb with a handkerchief.

The old man turned back and looked at his bleeding thumb.

“I told you carving with a knife while riding in a wagon was a stupid idea.” He said.

Josiah snapped back .

“Yeah, you also told me that you were a good wagoner, why are we stopped?”

The wagoner turned back around in his seat and took the reins.

“This is all the further I’m going.”

Josiah stood up quickly.

“No, no, I said TO Junion, not 12 miles away from Junion.”

“The horses won’t go any further. And neither will I.”

Josiah looked to Junion, the thoughts raced through his mind at once, was it worth going there? Even if this order did PROMISE him a handsome reward, was it even true. It’s one thing to claim something and another thing to prove it. But then again, if he had really thought they weren’t going to pay him in the end, he wouldn’t have bothered recruiting this superstitious old fool for an extortionate amount of money to ride him here.

“I’ll pay you more.”

The old man laughed.

“You don’t have anything to offer. You gave me all your coin back in Yevon.”

Josiah pulled a tiny coin purse out.

“I lied, here. Here’s 30 silver, that I was planning on using in Junion.”

The old man looked at the pouch and then turned back.

“If you lied back there, how do I know you don’t have any more?”
Josiah sighed.

“I swear to you, this is it. Please.”

The old man stared at the coin purse for a long moment. Then sighed.

“No, even if I take the money, the horses won’t go any further.”

Josiah them pulled a second coin purse out.

“60 silver.”

The old man glowered at Josiah.

“I’ll take you as far as the horses allow me.”

The old man reached for the coin but Josiah pulled them away from him.

“You’ll take me all the way to the center of town.”

The old man stared at him and muttered.

“But... the horses?”

Josiah was glaring now.

“They’ll go if you make them, I’ve ridden before old man, I’m not stupid.”

They stared at each other for a long while then, and then with a deft turn, the old man cracked the reins of the wagon and started into a trot.

“We’re going to go a bit faster, there is no way in the hells that I am going to be anywhere near that damned town after dark.”

As they approached the town, Josiah began to take strange note of the horses erratic actions, they would on more than one occasion they would stop all together, despite the rider’s pleadings, they would not budge. Only after a moment or two of little or no movement, would they begin again in a slow trot. Josiah saw now the strange way that this town had on it’s visitors. The clouds that broke the sky before all seemed to crush together now in a singular blanket adorning the roof of the world above them like a storm cloud with no rain. As much was clear to Josiah that, by the look of the cracking dirt path below him, the village of Junion had not seen much rain, which was a strange thing indeed as per their proximity to the sea. The sun that had shone so brightly before, burning the line of dusk with a passionate fire, had seemed to dim and gray, but not in a way common to the world he knew. When the sun would set and the horizon would still be a flame as it was before, the fires seemed to quench faster as they moved to their destination. The odd thing about it though, is that no matter how dark it got, it seemed as if the lands around them continued to cast leering doom ridden shadows. An unnatural thing as there is no light to cast such specters. Soon, however, the town was well within sight, and a number of abandoned farm houses dotted the landscape, what seemed to once be a beautiful, rustic land seemed as if it had been drained of hope, what could have been golden fields raise high into the sky in a sickly gray pose. The wheat seemed to crack and moan with the changing of the winds. The farmhouses then began to fade in the distance, as the land further up the bluff was not near as fertile. The long gray grasses of the farmlands faded to a sullen combine of soil and stone. As they reached town, the dirt path began to carve itself into a cobbled way. Almost as if construction had just one day stopped and no one bothered to pick up the mortar to finish.
The travel into town revealed the ramshackle houses, adorned with cracking shingles, all aligned in a haphazard fashion. More windows that not were covered in a thick dust, and even with the candles lit inside, there seemed to be a void of life. More shadows than souls. The further into town, things did not improve, Junion seemed to once had been a bustling town, the port below had held trade and market, Josiah could see tavern houses by the dozen, but only a single business still ran open. Above on the bluffs, government buildings, made of tall wooden posts and bright granite that might have adorned the center of town with a somber rustic grace, now looked as mausoleums in a long overgrown cemetery. The buildings that once might have played off one another in a man made beauty now seemed crushed together, attached not by necessity of design but by some warp of a man’s addled mind. The shadows cast off the buildings held awkward design, falling strangely on the ground. The street lanterns were still dead, no fires cast light to bend away the shadows, but even so, Josiah felt that no light would be able to divert the shadows from their course. So thick in their torpor it seemed like they were painted on the ground by some madcap artisan with a macabre bend.

And so they reached the center of town, as Josiah had asked. The town had only one monument, a large well, that had seemed to long ago dry up. It did seem strange to Josiah that a well would be located near the top of a bluff, logic would dictate to him that underwater streams would be located closer to the river bed on the canyon floor below. How deep that well would have to be to even work defied any logic. It would take hours for a single bucket to be drawn up by conventional means. While it is possible that when Junion apparently had seen better days that by some marvel of engineering water had been drawn from the canyon below. But the aqueducts that ran beautifully through the larger cities of the Southern Empire, such as the capitol Terrasque only worked because the water ran downstream from a larger well that siphoned water from the freshwater river that ran underneath the city, but a well that could pull water this far from it’s source would be larger than the one found in Terrasque and that would have been something he’d have heard of by now.

So the question of the strange dry well bounced back and forth in his head, until the wagon came a to a sudden halt. With a frightened gaze, the old wagoner turned and held out his hand.
“Pay me and leave, the Inn is open, I’m not staying and I’m not coming back, if you end up leaving, like I know you will, you’re going to have to walk out of this forsaken town.”
Josiah now saw general fear and panic in the old man’s eyes, for what reason he did not know, but he pulled out the money owed and handed it over. Dropping it into his hands. The wagoner then turned and straightened himself in his seat, Josiah languidly hopped off the wagon and turned back to the old man once more.

“You know more about this town than you’ll let on, old man, what is it?”

The old man stopped and stared at the brave young man before him.

“I don’t owe you anything, you should have listened to me in the first place. There’s nothing right about this town, some say there never was. But whatever happened here has left this place a scarred memory in my heart and I’m not going to relive that memory for you. You’ve drug me out here by your own damned volition, so you’ll learn on your own why people shy from Junion, it’s something you’ll learn for yourself.”

And with that, the wagoner wheeled his wagon around the well and made off to the southwest, out of sight and out of Junion. With that, Josiah hoisted his pack over his shoulder and pulled the folded letter out of his breast pocket.

“24th Appian Way” he muttered.

He looked idly around him, there were no pedestrian wanderers, no shop keepers, no one dallied in the streets it seemed. No one to point him in the right direction. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had seen no one at all anywhere near Junion. Now that the sound of hoof beats faded into the distance, he discovered the unnerving quiet that had seemed to seep in from the alleys and windows of Junion’s decrepit hovels. It was something of horror that echoed in the silence, but Josiah held fast that little faith was to be found in ghost stories, despite the strange things he’d born witness to, skepticism was a saintly trait and something he held dear, unlike so many other things in his life. With a deliberate sigh, he looked around him, the nearest road was a few paces north of him, he could barely make out the lettering on the rusted metal street post. He noticed that the town was spread out much the the spokes of a wheel, 6 streets branching off one another, all leading to the center of town and the strange well. With a deliberately heavy pace, he moved closer to the street sign. Every footstep he made seemed to slice the air around him like a shattering of glass, yet somehow be muffled almost instantly by the constant sound of still air. The sign read “Borel Road” he glanced down the street and saw naught but shadow and dust, and the ever present silence. He realized that he would not find the headquarters of The Esoteric by the time night fully fell on such a dark place, and the idea of blindly wandering the streets of Junion at night sent a chill down even his hardened back. But he remembered the one open Inn a ways back up the road.

So, with a reasonably quicker pace, he turned back and walked down the paved streets to the Inn, a tavern by the name of Legs Rest Inn, he saw through dirty panes of glass firelight from inside. He hurried himself up the staircase and laid his hand on the door handle, a brass ring fixture set with an ornamental hand grasping the ring. It felt bone cold to the touch, as if he hadn’t been felt by human hands in a very long time, but nonetheless he pulled the door open. Inside was a rather modest sized main floor, there was a bar and a dining room, a fire burned in the pit, the room was wide, with a heavy oak staircase running up along the far wall, it lead to a balcony above the bar. A chandelier swayed two and fro as if a strong wind just blew through despite that Josiah had felt none. The candles were melting low. He noted the first sign of life, two men sitting idly at their cups on the bar, and the man he perceived to by the owner wiping a glass down with his apron. The only light there was the low light cast by the fireplace and the even lower light being cast from the hanging fixture near the end of the bar. The seated men barely noted Josiah’s arrival, they barely seemed to notice each other at all for that matter. As he drew closer he saw the strange way the bartender looked at the glasses he dried, he seemed to stare past the glass, into a void beyond any sight. Josiah sat down at the bar quietly, placing his pack at his side. He pulled a few copper out of his purse and sat it on the counter.

“I’ll take something to drink, whatever you've got.”

The bartender then turned and cast his long gaze at Josiah.

“We’ve a cask of Keeping Ale, other than that it’s a little Rye Vodka.”

The barkeep’s voice was reassuringly sound, normal and in no way ghostly as he had expected, but for some reason his voice did not settle right with Josiah’s sensibilities, there was a haste behind his tone that Josiah failed to pinpoint, but nonetheless, he slid the coppers forward casually.

“I’ll take the ale. I’ve not ate anything today, is there anything in the pot?”

The barkeep shook his head idly and turned back, grabbing a mug he left the room. Josiah looked to the two gentlemen sitting at his left flank. He studied their faces, both seemed to have the same distance eyed stare as the bartender, blinking slowly every few moments. They barely paid any attention to each other, and no attention to Josiah at all. Josiah shrugged caustically and bent down and pulled a tiny pack of dried jerky out and began nibbling idly on it. This apparently caught the attention of the farthest man, who now stared at Josiah as he tore at a piece of Jerky. He grabbed a piece and held it out to the quiet patron.

“Would you like a chunk?” he said whilst chewing.

The man slowly shook his head and replied.

“No, thank you.”

He then turned his head back down to his glass and continued his apparent vigil. Both men seemed as if they had not slept in weeks. The slow languid movements told him of the lack of energy, or apparent will to live. Either reasons, of course, didn’t matter, as he wasn’t here to study the populous, he wanted to find out what those “notable” crackpots of the Esoteric had in store for him. He wanted to be rid of this place quickly. Soon the barkeep came back out holding a glass of brown Ale. Josiah took a sip, the taste wasn’t something he would call filling, but it did it’s job. He’d expected something thicker from a Keeping Ale, but he wasn’t about to bother the man any about his tasteless bitter. He took another, much larger swallow and sat his glass back down and took another chunk of Jerky.

“Do any of you know where 24th Appia Way is?” he asked.

The men seemed to barely register his words, the barkeep continued to wipe down his glass slowly.

“It’s two blocks from here, north. Turn left at Bruebaker, and it’s the first building on the right corner.”

Josiah nodded, still trying to understand the strange way his seemingly normal voice turned his stomach cold.

“I’ll be needing a room for the night, maybe for the next few days, how much will it cost me?”

“A silver is fine for tonight, here’s the key to room 1, it’s the first room at the end of the staircase above us.” The barkeep slid a key from his keyring and handed it to Josiah.

That was much less than Josiah had expected, but nonetheless, a welcome surprise to him. He pulled a silver piece out and laid it on the table.

“Thanks, do you mind if I leave my pack in the corner?”

The barkeep shook his head and went back to work drying the dishes. Josiah wrapped his jerky back up and put it back in his pack. He finished the ale with another large gulp and set the glass down. He then stood and turned and placed his pack in the far corner, nearest the door. He turned for the door then, but a thought suddenly hit him as to whether or not it would be a good idea to bring his flintlock pistols with him. He had his belt of pistols with him, they were both packed and loaded, but he decided that the sight of a dangerous weapon might cause a scene, even though he knew they probably wouldn’t even notice if he fired the thing.

[Celera]

More writing! Yay!

I think it's a very interesting beginning, Val. I can't wait to read more. I'm not a huge fan of horror in general, but it will be interesting to see your spin on it and how the character develops.

And actually hardly any grammatical errors! So...I guess my work here is done.

[Gudran]

*pat* GG bro.



A fine read! Can't wait to read more!

[Fechak]

I'll read it when I get home today. Good to see you're still alive.

[Val]

Back out onto the dusk lit streets, to his surprise, the oil lamps that lined the road were lit, which proved to be an immense boon for him. Still, despite the fires that cast a searing light into the perfect darkness of Junion, his unpleasant thought returned. The sound of silence once more greeted him on the wind swept street, the sheer magnitude of the aural vacancy left him, again, with the twisting cold in his stomach. Deciding once more it was better spent time indoors rather than out, he thought back to the strange barkeep’s word.

“...two blocks north...left on Bruebaker..."

He turned north and with another hustled pace, sped along the streets. The once dormant shadows that lie in throngs along the roads and houses now danced wildly with the burning of the oil lamps. Creating a distorted sensation of horizon and balance, and if Josiah had spent any actual time watching the shadows creep about, he was sure he would become ill from the dizziness. This did not leave him with a good feeling, after being through the strange, bizarre and unfortunately dangerous places he had been, the idea of not keeping his surroundings in check left him a bit more than anxious to get out of the open.

Soon, however, Bruebaker was within sight, and he hasted a walk across the street. Down the road there was a single long building, lining the expanse of the block. The red brick building seemed to be out of place in the dereliction of the city, and the more he thought about it, it was odd that he hadn’t noticed it before. As he drew near to the front of the building he noticed that the oil lamps on Appia Way had not been lit yet, and even as the chill of this eerie town continued to press down on him, he led forward, foot by foot, into the darkness that lay curtained before him. He rounded the corner, and could barely make out a door, there were no windows visible from the darkness, but with a glance to the sky all he could make out was the silhouette of the shadowed monolith before him. Reaching out, he grasped onto the door handle, it was a solid brass knob, it felt warm to the touch, as if it had been cradled in a wreath of hot air before. Turning, he expected there to be a lock of some sort, but the door quietly creaked open, and light poured out into the streets, engulfing him in a blinding bright. He walked in slowly and closed the door behind him, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw nothing of a house or home. There were boxes, crates and rolled up rugs sitting against the walls collecting dust, even the candles that burned brightly seemed to be leaning against the wall in a heavy lethargy. There was nothing of a door, other than a large archway covered by a thick red curtain, it was now that he realized that he hadn’t stopped and considered that this might not even be 24th Appia Way before barging in. Realizing that more information would be better than groping about mindlessly in the dark, he took a few peering steps forward, his heavy soled leather boots raping quietly off the floorboards.

“Hello? Is this 24th Appia Way? Is this the Headquarters for The Esoteric?”

A muffled sound echoed from the room beyond a curtain at the end of the room, suddenly a figure emerged from behind, a tall man, with a frame bordering that of a giant’s. His head was shaven bald above a grim, gray visage of stoic demeanor. He wore a studded leather doublet with a heavy black duster, draping to the floor over his massive shoulders. He stared intently on Josiah and then his voiced boomed with immense bass.

“Who are you?” the gray giant rumbled.

Josiah slammed his gawking jaw shut and mustered an answer to the demanding figure.

“I received this letter, it said to come to 24th Appia Way, it said there was work for me here, my name is Josiah Cole.”
The giant stepped forward, and with his thick arm he pulled the curtain back, revealing another long room behind it.

“We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Cole.”

Josiah attempted to walk with confidence across the room toward the leering guard, but more than once stumbled when his eyes met the gaze of the gray man. He stepped through the portal and felt as if he had been transported far from the shrill fear of Junion. He was standing in a lavishly ornate room, a fire bellowed from the beautiful cast iron fireplace in the corner, all around him were furs of different animals, large and small. A tremendous bookcase spanning an entire wall was littered with thousands of texts, scrolls and manuscripts. Many more lay scattered at random all around. Strange furniture, the likes of which he had never seen before sat near the walls and hand crafted wooden tables of some blood red wood stood beautifully. At the far wall before him sat another man, much smaller than his tremendous companion, he sat huddled before a sheet of parchment, scribbling away like a man possessed of a tense madness. He wore a heavy red robe with the cowl pulled over his head. The burgundy robe was lined with a thick gold strip all along the collars and sleeves and upon the top of the burgundy cowl he wore draped over his head was a golden symbol of an outstretched hand with an eye at the tip of all five of the fingers. As Josiah stood idly looking about and taking stock of all the beautiful treasures, the giant stepped forward and addressed the cowled man.

“Josiah Cole has arrived, sir.”

The cowled man suddenly stopped and placed his quill in the ink, blowing then against the parchment as he sat up. Still focused on the document, he grabbed a heavy brown leather bound tome that was lying open next to him and slammed it shut. He picked it up and moved across the room placed it on the bookshelf on the far wall. As he did so, he pulled a parchment off the shelf nearby and opened it. He scanned the document for a long moment. Then turned back around. He pulled his cowl back, revealing a middle aged man, with a thick jawline, set off by a severe 5 o clock shadow, his mouth was lined with an untrimmed beard. He wore his graying, auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. He stood with a straight back and proper posture. He had deep brown eyes that seemed to reflect an immense understanding of all that came before him.

“Josiah Cole, do you have the letter we sent you?”

Josiah pulled the folded letter from his breast pocket and held it forward, the giant of a man took the letter and handed it to the man in the burgundy robe. The man took it calmly and turned, placing the letter next to the parchment that he had drew from the bookshelf on the table. He stood there, peering at the documents, very still for the next few moments. Josiah stood, and with an impatience that now began to override the caution of the large man, he began to speak. Almost as if he had anticipated Josiah’s reaction, the burgundy robed man pulled open a drawer on the desk and pulled out a tiny corked bottle, he opened the bottle and spilled a black, inky liquid onto both parchments. He then stood there for another few moments, staring at the parchments and the strange liquid.

Whatever he saw, Josiah did not, but abruptly, he grabbed both parchments and threw them into the fireplace. He then turned quickly with a smile to Josiah.

“Welcome to the Junion Headquarters of The Esoteric. My name is Vernor Sage, I was the one you composed the letter and requested your help. “ He said as he held out his hand.

Josiah grasped the man’s hand, it was pallid and covered in a thick cold sweat.

“My name is Jo...”

Vernor interrupted him.

“Josiah Cole, you’re a sell sword, vagabond and notable Jack of Trades.”

Josiah smiled and nodded, it never seemed to amaze him how his reputation preceded him so much.

Vernor motioned to the large man, now flanking him.

“This is Brom Van Oberon, he is my assistant and apprentice.”

Josiah nodded to the gray giant, now called Brom. The man replied with the same stoic stare that had been cemented on his face as before.

Vernor then turned and led Josiah by the arm to the strange looking couch near the fireplace, Josiah sat down and felt as if he were going to fall through, incredibly soft was the fabric and material in the furnishing, he hated to think it, but he felt like he was sitting on a cloud. Vernor sat on another chair, adjacent to him, it was of similar make and craft. He too sunk into the chair, almost as if it were consuming him.

“Where in the hell were these made?”

Vernor replied calmly.

“Tasmil’an, to the far west.”

Josiah had heard stories in his travels of Tasmil’an, or Tasmil as it is called here in the eastern lands. Contact had only recently been made by traveling merchants within the past twelve years, and as is such, legends already began to abound about dusk skinned men who rode on the backs of mighty beasts across leagues of sand and mountains, and that the cities were filled with gem encrusted spires and technological marvels that rivaled the great southern imperial cities themselves. One was such that it competed with Terrasque herself with sheer grace and beauty. Such claims were largely dismissed by officials, as Josiah had figured. Not the he was inclined to trust the rumors, but more and more it seemed the independent cities of the Southern Gladius Empire was much more concerned with who’s towers were larger rather than anything else, which led him to think there just might be more to the rumors.

“Have you been to Tasmil’an?”

Vernor cracked a slight smile.

“That’s a much sillier question than you realize.”

Josiah simply cocked his head in confusion.

“I bet you are wondering why we’ve summoned you here in this tomb of a village?”

Brom had brought out a pair of beautifully crafted pink crystal glasses. He poured a glass of red wine into both glasses and sat them down on the table before both men, before returning to the shadows from whence he came.

Vernor bent down and grabbed a glass, Josiah followed suit. With wine in hand he took a sip, what drained down his throat was the sweetest, albeit, smoothest tasting red wine he had ever tasted, it floated with a ruby red color, and smelled almost of fruit and vanilla. Josiah held the glass for a moment and stared at the glass.

“What wine is this?”

Vernor smiled once again as he took a sip from his glass.

“Karasi, it too, is from Tasmil’an.”

Josiah took another sip and pondered asking again about Vernor’s enigmatic journey to Tasmil’an, but figured it was a conversation for another time. He held the glass and stared now at Vernor.

“Fair enough, what is it you want from me then?”

Vernor took another large swig of the wine, draining his glass and sat it down.

“We, of The Esoteric are men of knowledge, we trade in all sorts of things, artifacts from long forgotten cultures, we support the construction of colleges and schools, but our main function, as it is, is in cataloging information. We broker in knowledge, as it were.”

Josiah drained his glass as well, sat it down on the table and leaned back into the remarkably soft couch.

“I assume, unless you’re that brave, that you see that there is something rather odd about Junion?”
Josiah smirked a bit.

“I’ve noticed some strange things, strange people. But nothing to be too alarmed about, it all seemed harmless enough.”
Vernor returned the smirk.

“As much could be expected from a skeptic. Mysteries about all around us, Mr. Cole, a man of my profession knows when there is something amiss, why else would I be here?”

“I didn’t assume WHY you were here matter, nor do I care to hear about your silly ghost stories, I simpl...”

Vernor once more, interrupted Josiah.

“Ghost stories are for peasants and other small minded folk, we do not deal in ghost stories, Mr. Cole. We often deal in something we call “supernatural” or, above nature. Tell me Mr. Cole, have you ever experienced anything that, from your point of view, has no logical understanding?”

Josiah snorted.

“My “logical” understanding is rather limited in the grand scope of things, what you would consider above natural, I would consider something that hasn’t been discovered.”

Vernor smiled.

“Then we, Mr. Cole, are of the same mindset. Only while your drive is to simply make money, sleep around and do, from what we hear, whatever the hell you want. We, on the other hand, seek to discover the “supernatural” and make it natural. But there are cases, such as this one, where our understanding can not logically figure out what is happening. Trust me when I say this as well, Mr. Cole, our understanding is NOT limited, either.”

Josiah leaned forward and poured himself another glass of Karasi, and quickly took another sip. He sat calmly and analyzed the calm, smiling face of Vernor Sage. He was right, Josiah had seen things, had tried to explain them, and had never really thought to put a term forward describing what those things were, more often than not he simply wanted to forget about them all together. Somehow, he felt that these men, The Esoteric, were doing something incredibly wrong in searching for all the answers. But, of course, money is money. Josiah took another sip then and continued.

“Fine then, Mr. Sage. If your knowledge is so great, what is going on here and why exactly do you need me?”

Vernor stood then, walked slowly over to the fireplace, his calm smiling face now seeming to crack under a subtle fatigue and in taking a deep breath he cast his tired gaze into the fireplace and began.

“I came here, Mr. Cole, several years ago, when we first heard of Junion and the strange things happening here, fully expecting it to be nothing more than a villager’s wild exaggerations, I came ill prepared for what I saw. Let me start at the beginning a bit, when I came to Junion, the odd shadow and the strange silence was not as apparent as it is now. But it was enough at the time for me to warrant an investigation. So I spent many days, years, scouring the down, building by building. Poking my nose in wherever it would go. But time, as it was, did not slow for my investigation. There is something wrong in Junion, Mr. Cole. The longer I stayed here, the longer I watched, the more I saw. Whatever is happening here in Junion has been happening for a long time, far longer than I have been here. The shadows grew longer and the day became darker. The people, more estranged, more scarce. I fear the people, I dare not leave my building. I am not like the people of Junion, and I do not know why. It is my fear that is the reason I took on an apprentice, Brom.”

Vernor grabbed the fire poker and began to stir the fire, he sighed deeply.

“But, before I can finish my investigation, as my oath dictates, there was one place that I did not investigate. Even so now, with Brom guarding my life, I dare not to. For a time, I sat in my building, planning, preparing for the day that I would brave the dark and enter the building. But my cowardice did not have an end, and the darkening of Junion would not wait for me to gain to the courage to enter. That is why I need you, Mr. Cole. You’ve the skill of a thief and apparently the luck of the damned. We’ve heard stories about you Mr. Cole, about the things you’ve done, we know much more about you than you realize, and that is why I need you Mr. Cole.”

Vernor sat back down calmly, sinking once more into the embrace of the armchair. He looked intently at Josiah. Josiah replied by processing the information before him for a long moment, taking momentary sips from his glass.

“How much am I going to be compensated for this?”

Vernor replied hastily now, with an impatience that belied his previous demeanor.

“Money is not a problem, you can name your own price, no matter how extortionate it is.”

Joachim took another long sip from his glass and then sat it back down on the table. He realized that the kind of money he wanted could post him up in a castle somewhere, with all the booze and whores in the world. A nice thought, a grand goal, and he wouldn’t have to toil under someone else’s labor anymore.

“Fine, what do you need me to do, Mr. Sage?”

Vernor smiled, a tiny stretch of relief passed over his face.

“I need you to enter the old town hall, Josiah Cole, document everything you see there. Absolutely everything. We’ll go over the plan later. As for now, I need to rest, and you should rest too, I assume you’ve procured a place to stay while you’re in Junion?”

Josiah immediately felt as if he were missing something, an integral piece of the puzzle that was being left out.

“Wait, what? All I need to do is go into the Town Hall in the center of town, look around and bring any information back to you?”
Vernor stood and looked down at Josiah.

“if it were that simple, Mr. Cole, I would have left this town long ago. There are things in this town that keep a man from going out at night, or day for that matter. Things that a rational mind would find disturbing. Things a rational mind would fear. Not even my own desire to leave can allow me to break my oath and not see this investigation through. I only ask you this because you’ve got greed as your ambition, and it is a powerful one.”

Vernor then walked off behind him, Brom, grabbing the glasses and the wine followed behind him, leaving Josiah sitting quietly in front of the fireplace, tossing the words presented around in his mind. Eventually, it all really came down to a single evident truth, and that was that Vernor Sage of The Esoteric did know more about Josiah than he imagined, he would do just about anything if the price was right, and with a price that he could set himself, how could it be wrong?

[Val]

Oh... by the way, Tasmil'an, isn't in the far east, it's far to the west. I made a mistake.