Post by madjack on Dec 15, 2009 17:52:37 GMT -5
Adventures start with the massing of armies....a misread map....alone in the wilds...sometimes they're fun....sometimes they're terrifying.....some start with statesmen and speeches.....declarations by those brave and determined.......
...but this one started with hushed whispers.......
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Sleeping Level-
-At the edges of the hall is a ground level dirt floorm, furs are spread in this area, stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters-
says to All: ..I can't truly remember what started this Deep Tahari Verr Fuck, but it was a search for one of those little mundane and sundry things you need at a precise moment and it turns your life upside down.
I was searching for my lucky coin....a copper tarn with a minute hole drilled in it to accomodate the thin but strong woven kaiila hair lanyard so I could wear the coin around my neck......
..a very long time ago, the coin had flipped for a phenomenal series of 'heads', winning yours truly a night of free liver assailing.....but now, in search of it, I found it and absently hung it around my neck, clacking dully against my tarn whistle as I saw what made my mouth go dry and throat constrict...........
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Sleeping Level-
-At the edges of the hall is a ground level dirt floorm, furs are spread in this area, stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters-
says to All: ...packs, rucksacks, clothes, possessions both old and new....held for practicality or sentiment....everything I owned always neatly organized and well cared for.....
....everything......
.....everything and then some dreaded curious bits of this and that....and my life missing right there on this blustery winter afternoon......
I went cold and clammy in the relatively warm hall as I saw a bit of torn fabric.....just a couple horts in length....and five wrinkled, battered little triangles of parchment.....
...it wasn't the quantity of oddness that struck me cold....but what they were.......
The weave, texture and color of the fabric was unmistakeable.....as was the color of the parchment and the minute bits of writing that was evident......
These little bits were recognized....known.......
The fabric was from robes ardor...then named jamila...had worn when she'd been freed upon the death of her former owner....the parchment were unmistakably from the papers of manumission that I'd THOUGHT long destroyed........
....and now, for the life of me, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen ardor!
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Path to Forkbeard's Hall-
-on a sloping path travelled by all of Forkbeard's-
says to All: .....crashing through the hall like a mad bull bosk, snatching up spear, shield, helm...my red larl pelt cloak over my arm...
....I burst out into the howling winds and torturous temperatures....stumbling to an icy clearing.....
....throwing my head back, spine arched, I bellowed a cry of anguish and anger that rolled over the mountains and the wind driven whitecaps of the Thassa like thunder from a storm.........
My ardor.....my love.....my life......was gone........
...but this one started with hushed whispers.......
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Sleeping Level-
-At the edges of the hall is a ground level dirt floorm, furs are spread in this area, stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters-
says to All: ..I can't truly remember what started this Deep Tahari Verr Fuck, but it was a search for one of those little mundane and sundry things you need at a precise moment and it turns your life upside down.
I was searching for my lucky coin....a copper tarn with a minute hole drilled in it to accomodate the thin but strong woven kaiila hair lanyard so I could wear the coin around my neck......
..a very long time ago, the coin had flipped for a phenomenal series of 'heads', winning yours truly a night of free liver assailing.....but now, in search of it, I found it and absently hung it around my neck, clacking dully against my tarn whistle as I saw what made my mouth go dry and throat constrict...........
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Sleeping Level-
-At the edges of the hall is a ground level dirt floorm, furs are spread in this area, stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters-
says to All: ...packs, rucksacks, clothes, possessions both old and new....held for practicality or sentiment....everything I owned always neatly organized and well cared for.....
....everything......
.....everything and then some dreaded curious bits of this and that....and my life missing right there on this blustery winter afternoon......
I went cold and clammy in the relatively warm hall as I saw a bit of torn fabric.....just a couple horts in length....and five wrinkled, battered little triangles of parchment.....
...it wasn't the quantity of oddness that struck me cold....but what they were.......
The weave, texture and color of the fabric was unmistakeable.....as was the color of the parchment and the minute bits of writing that was evident......
These little bits were recognized....known.......
The fabric was from robes ardor...then named jamila...had worn when she'd been freed upon the death of her former owner....the parchment were unmistakably from the papers of manumission that I'd THOUGHT long destroyed........
....and now, for the life of me, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen ardor!
Mad Jack Creech
Tarnsman
Forkbeard’s Landfall PG
-Path to Forkbeard's Hall-
-on a sloping path travelled by all of Forkbeard's-
says to All: .....crashing through the hall like a mad bull bosk, snatching up spear, shield, helm...my red larl pelt cloak over my arm...
....I burst out into the howling winds and torturous temperatures....stumbling to an icy clearing.....
....throwing my head back, spine arched, I bellowed a cry of anguish and anger that rolled over the mountains and the wind driven whitecaps of the Thassa like thunder from a storm.........
My ardor.....my love.....my life......was gone........