Having decided to not worry about his past until he had made up his mind made the journey through the passageway more comforting then anything else. The flames licked away the darkness and the path was relatively straight even though the cave appeared natural. Long before the torch ran out Asraphel reached the cave mouth. The cave exited from a hillside onto large grassy plains. It was dark again, but since there were no trees and the moon was almost full Asraphel just stood the torch in the ground and set off eastbound.
After about one more hour Asraphel hit a large road running from north to south. He realised that this was the reason he had headed east. The Kings Road was the major access route from the flat southern kingdom where he horses were bred and crop was cultivated to Kratis, the nations capitol. Hedgestone, the royal castle, stood south-west of Kratis. If he were to head south he'd pass hamlets every so often until he would hit the town of Lackster, where the southern tithes were collected and send north.
Apparently there was nothing wrong with his geography. He knew the lay of the land quite well. Estimating by the position of the moon it was still a few hours before midnight. Asraphel calculated his chances. If he were to head to Kratis he could possibly fade into the crowds and he'd have a good source of information to fill in the blanks he still had. However he'd undoubtedly run into members of the Almodarian Order, so he'd need a different cover and for now he had none. They were also possibly inclined to scout for him there. If he were to head south into the lowlands, he's stick out as a stranger, although his monk robes would protect him for some time. However, he couldn't stay anywhere for a lengthy period of time without drawing unwanted attention. He'd have time to come up with a plan though.
Choice made, the prince headed south on Kings Road. He thanked himself for the fact that he had chosen to keep his boots. He marched on through the night until dawn, feeling not the least bit tired after having been unconscious for at least a day. However when a far off rooster alerted him to sunrise, it also alerted him to thirst and hunger. He had passed several small houses so far, but he doubted they would look kindly upon a nightly visitor, even a follower of the pious path. Now that the world started to wake again he started looking around.
As luck would have it, the first thing he happened into was an inn. The prince drew his hood up, just because he wasn't sure how well he was known. He hoped his new beard and the scar made sure that he wasn't a figure to be recognised. With a knot in his stomach but with a smile on his face he entered the inn.
The inn wasn't too big, having only two long tables with benches in the common room. Two pedlars sat at the far end of the table, a third one still sleeping next to them. Littered elsewhere around the tables were six more farmers who had come in for an early breakfast. They clearly kept themselves far away from the people passing through, as a large invisible circle seemed to keep them away from the pedlars. Behind the bar stood a sturdy fellow with a gruff black beard and hair. Asraphel smiled warmly around the room and went straight to the bartender. A few looks passed into his direction, but they didn't linger. Good, no avoidance, no unwanted attention. As he reached the bar he nodded to the bartender and said:
"Blessings of the Divine upon you, noble labourer"
Although not entirely friendly, the bartender still nodded in return. Asraphel almost missed what the bartender replied, since he realised this was the first time he had heard his own voice. It was a lot lighter than he had expected, but it had a certain commanding feature to it. Very unlike a monk, but if the bartender had taken notice of it, he did not show it:
"And upon you, brother. Has rumour of Brans great generosity attracted yet another Almodarian? I swear, your order does more work around here than my staff"
From behind the counter the bartender took out a cleaning rag and a pitcher and started rubbing it clean. The prince was kind of off-put by that reply.
"If you do not require labour, I do carry some coin from a widow that had no food to spare. I cannot keep it, so perhaps you will take that in exchange for some food and drink?"
The barkeep raised an eyebrow:
"I always have labour available, brother. I was about to suggest my stables could require a hand since me stable-boy is ill, but I'll take hard coin over charity work any day".
Internally Asraphel cursed himself. He hadn't really wanted to spend his coin unnecessarily, but he couldn't really explain having it any other way. So he paid the bartender one and a half crown and in return got a plate with some cold cuts and half a pitcher of ale. The prince thanked the man, turned around and walked over to the pedlars. Although this would estrange him to the local population, he wasn't intent on staying long anyway. On top of that, the pedlars would carry news from one town to another, making them ideal conversation partners for his current condition. With another smile he started:
"Blessing of the Divine. May I join you?"
Although neither of the awake pedlars spoke, the one closest to him waved to the empty seat next to him. Asraphel folded his hands together and whispered a quick prayer, just for the show of things:
"Oh, Divine Pantheon, thank you for this bounty given. May the meek and poor flourish from my labours, as my labour flourishes from your gifts upon this earth".
Then he took a swig from the pitcher and a bite from a bit of stale bread. For a few minutes he just enjoyed his food and drink. The third merchant woke up and was brought some food and drink as well, but none of the trio seemed inclined to start up conversation. So Asraphel took it upon himself to start:
"So, fine merchants, whereto will todays journey take you?"
The two men across from the prince remained silent, however the one who had motioned him to sit was apparently enough in the mood for a conversation.
"We travel south from Kratis. We plan to visit every hamlet between here and Lackster, where we will stock up and join the spring market. And you, brother...?"
For the second time today Asraphel cursed himself. He was really lousy at lying. He hadn't even come up with a name and a story for himself yet. He took a swig from his ale to buy a little time and by the time he swallowed he finally had a good enough retort.
"Brother Lato. I myself am on a pilgrimage to the Lady's abbey"
"Ah yes, that's past even Lackster isn't it, somewhere in the Southern Range?"
"Indeed. So, what news from the big city, mister...?"
The pedlar seemed pleased enough with the answer and finally began to warm up a little bit to the newly fabricated brother Lato. After he introduced himself as Issom, he told a little about the new taxes, the rebuilding of the north after the very harsh winter and some royal gossip. There was nothing about an attack on the king. Either news hadn't leaked out yet or these pedlars had left after events had taken place. This still didn't give him a time frame, but at least he knew the hounds weren't about to show up on his trail. When Issom reached his last topic, Asraphel found it time to find out a little more.
"And has the king made any new interesting escapades?"
This question seemed to give Issom pause. He seemed slightly insulted by the question.
"King Razaphel is a just and fair ruler. He does not do 'escapades'!"
The rest of the meal continued in silence, leaving Asraphel to wonder how he knew prayers, geography and customs, but not the name of his own father.
Posts tonen met het label amnesia. Alle posts tonen
Posts tonen met het label amnesia. Alle posts tonen
maandag 7 mei 2012
the Dark Prince 2
For a few times Asraphel felt like he was teetering on the brink of conciousness, but across that border was nothing but pain and he quickly retracted back into the comfortable darkness. Then suddenly the fog seemed to lift and the pain was numbed down enough that he wasn't bothered by it. He sat up and looked into the face of a man. It was a hard face with a prominent jawline and a hooked nose. The hair was dishevelled and black, the eyes green and piercing. A small stubble featured on the fair skin, but a horrible scar from the right eyebrow down the side of the face split into what might become a beard once. Asraphel tried speaking to this man, but when the man opened his lips as well, he realised he was just looking at his own reflection.
Asraphel had sat up just besides a small pool, which lay completely calm in this small cave. He looked around him and saw the rock edges covered with moss. When he looked up, he saw a hole in the ceiling with bits of branch and leaves hanging out of the sides and a deep red light falling through it. A quick survey of his surrounding revealed there was something hidden under what appeared to be a blanket in the corner of the cave, as well as a dark passageway leading out of it. Asraphel tried to stand up and got his hand tangled in a piece of nodded rope.
Finally everything started to make a little bit of sense to him. What he had thought was a big badger hole in the side of a slope was actually a man-made entrance to a small cave. It had been covered with branches and leaves on top to hide it from view and a small knotted rope had serviced as a more subtle way of entrance. Judging by the secrecy, it was probably a smuggler hole or the stash for a band of thieves. He was tempted to find out what was under the blanket, but since he wasn't sure the red light was the sun setting or rising, he wanted to at least first look at what he looked like in case the light ran out. If he was to spend time in a body without memories, he at least wanted to know what the body looked like.
Walking over to the edge of the pool he surveyed his outfit. Asraphel appeared to be muscular and well build. Not too slender, but definitely not fat. His garb was composed out of a sturdy leather pants and armour, both dyed black, as well as brown boots and a dark blue shirt. On his armour was the symbol of a grey wolf howling at the moon. Upon closer inspection he noticed part of the wolf symbol had a cut through it and it wasn't until then he remembered the deep slash across his chest. He felt around the armour and noticed it had lost most of its integrity, but it was held together just because he was adding structure to it by wearing it. He took it off, followed by his equally torn and blood-soaked shirt, to inspect a wound that he was sure should have bled him to death. However, upon revealing the cut, it was nothing but a scar.
Asraphel was confused again. How had this scar healed so quickly? Even if he had been out for days, the blood loss should've done him in. It seemed inflamed, but besides that it was rather clean. He ran his hand across the scar on his face as well, and it was painful and raw. He suspected it had been caused by one of the branches during the night. Remembering the night brought back more confusing theories and useless meanderings. He quickly pushed them away, knowing he would need more information to reach an actual conclusion. He wasn't sure if he deserved to live yet, if he really was the horrible person he had been accused of being, but he determined then and there he would find out and pass judgement on himself later.
Finally Asraphel walked over to the blanket, which smelled of wet cat, and pulled it off whatever lay beneath. The blanket revealed a heavy oak chest with durable hinges. It would've been impossible to open, had it been locked, however if there had been a padlock on it, it had been removed. With a groan Asraphel threw back the heavy lid, finally able to rummage through the contents of the chest.
Inside he found several torches and a flint right away, as well as a dented but sturdy dagger. A small purse rattled as he picked it up and when he quickly poured the copper coins into his hand, he counted seven Crowns, as well as four half Crown pieces. Finally at the bottom of the chest he found some clothes, consisting out of wool socks, a belt, some sandals, flimsy pantaloons and a brown hemp robe. Upon closer inspection the robe contained the icon of a dark green cross. He knew this symbol belonged to the monks of St. Almodar, the patron of the poor and needy. Those monks often wandered the land after swearing vows of poverty. Then they helped everyone who needed something read, an extra pair of hands, an understanding ear or for those who were able to their medical services. In return they always found a bed and a hot meal at the end of the day.
Asraphel didn't even wonder how he knew all this anymore and quickly deduced that this was the survival kit for someone, for if they had to run. As a St. Almodar monk anyone could cross the land, provided they weren't beneath helping those who needed it and avoided those really in the order. He quickly put on the robe and belt, leaving the pants and sandals behind. He knew that would be a dent in his new disguise, but he didn't know how far he had to travel and his pants and boots were durable.
By striking the flint upon the blade he lid one of the torches, which he then wedged between two rocks. He added the flint to his pouch and then hung both it and the dagger to his belt. Finally he lifted up the torch and finally set into the dark passage that would lead away from this place.
Asraphel had sat up just besides a small pool, which lay completely calm in this small cave. He looked around him and saw the rock edges covered with moss. When he looked up, he saw a hole in the ceiling with bits of branch and leaves hanging out of the sides and a deep red light falling through it. A quick survey of his surrounding revealed there was something hidden under what appeared to be a blanket in the corner of the cave, as well as a dark passageway leading out of it. Asraphel tried to stand up and got his hand tangled in a piece of nodded rope.
Finally everything started to make a little bit of sense to him. What he had thought was a big badger hole in the side of a slope was actually a man-made entrance to a small cave. It had been covered with branches and leaves on top to hide it from view and a small knotted rope had serviced as a more subtle way of entrance. Judging by the secrecy, it was probably a smuggler hole or the stash for a band of thieves. He was tempted to find out what was under the blanket, but since he wasn't sure the red light was the sun setting or rising, he wanted to at least first look at what he looked like in case the light ran out. If he was to spend time in a body without memories, he at least wanted to know what the body looked like.
Walking over to the edge of the pool he surveyed his outfit. Asraphel appeared to be muscular and well build. Not too slender, but definitely not fat. His garb was composed out of a sturdy leather pants and armour, both dyed black, as well as brown boots and a dark blue shirt. On his armour was the symbol of a grey wolf howling at the moon. Upon closer inspection he noticed part of the wolf symbol had a cut through it and it wasn't until then he remembered the deep slash across his chest. He felt around the armour and noticed it had lost most of its integrity, but it was held together just because he was adding structure to it by wearing it. He took it off, followed by his equally torn and blood-soaked shirt, to inspect a wound that he was sure should have bled him to death. However, upon revealing the cut, it was nothing but a scar.
Asraphel was confused again. How had this scar healed so quickly? Even if he had been out for days, the blood loss should've done him in. It seemed inflamed, but besides that it was rather clean. He ran his hand across the scar on his face as well, and it was painful and raw. He suspected it had been caused by one of the branches during the night. Remembering the night brought back more confusing theories and useless meanderings. He quickly pushed them away, knowing he would need more information to reach an actual conclusion. He wasn't sure if he deserved to live yet, if he really was the horrible person he had been accused of being, but he determined then and there he would find out and pass judgement on himself later.
Finally Asraphel walked over to the blanket, which smelled of wet cat, and pulled it off whatever lay beneath. The blanket revealed a heavy oak chest with durable hinges. It would've been impossible to open, had it been locked, however if there had been a padlock on it, it had been removed. With a groan Asraphel threw back the heavy lid, finally able to rummage through the contents of the chest.
Inside he found several torches and a flint right away, as well as a dented but sturdy dagger. A small purse rattled as he picked it up and when he quickly poured the copper coins into his hand, he counted seven Crowns, as well as four half Crown pieces. Finally at the bottom of the chest he found some clothes, consisting out of wool socks, a belt, some sandals, flimsy pantaloons and a brown hemp robe. Upon closer inspection the robe contained the icon of a dark green cross. He knew this symbol belonged to the monks of St. Almodar, the patron of the poor and needy. Those monks often wandered the land after swearing vows of poverty. Then they helped everyone who needed something read, an extra pair of hands, an understanding ear or for those who were able to their medical services. In return they always found a bed and a hot meal at the end of the day.
Asraphel didn't even wonder how he knew all this anymore and quickly deduced that this was the survival kit for someone, for if they had to run. As a St. Almodar monk anyone could cross the land, provided they weren't beneath helping those who needed it and avoided those really in the order. He quickly put on the robe and belt, leaving the pants and sandals behind. He knew that would be a dent in his new disguise, but he didn't know how far he had to travel and his pants and boots were durable.
By striking the flint upon the blade he lid one of the torches, which he then wedged between two rocks. He added the flint to his pouch and then hung both it and the dagger to his belt. Finally he lifted up the torch and finally set into the dark passage that would lead away from this place.
zaterdag 5 mei 2012
the Dark Prince
"So, it has come to this. You come to murder me in the night, like a thief. You really think I have wronged you so?"
The sound came to his ears completely deformed as they were ringing and black spots plagued his vision. The pain on the back of his head indicated he had been hit and had hit the floor. A dark figure was looming over him. He tried to remember where he was and what he was doing, but he soon enough figured out he didn't even know who he was. The voice continued:
"That you try to murder your king is already a capital crime, for which only death is the punishment, but that you try to murder your father is a sin even death can't repent, Asraphel".
Finally focus came back and he could discern the figure in front of him. It appeared that they were in a bedroom, which looked quite well furbished. A few candles lid up the room, so the figure still remained half in shadows. However to Asraphel, for that surely was his name, could make him out clear enough after the darkness he just had to overcome. The man that stood in front of him was old, that is to be sure. His face looked like it was chiselled out of rough granite, both very sturdy and ancient in a way. Short stalks of pepper-grey hair sprung from the man his head from under a nightcap and seemed very much dishevelled. The night-robe was of a light blue, with golden stitches. Asraphel didn't even have to guess to say this man was royalty.
"I am so very sorry that I will have to kill you now, my son"
From behind his back, the king revealed a short sword and with a big overhead swing struck at Asraphel. Asraphel crawled backwards and found a sword beneath his hands, which he drew up with the speed and power of adrenaline to deflect the blow. Because he was half prone, the sword got knocked out of his hands again and flew backward over his head. It however just deflected the kings sword enough to prevent a fatal blow to the neck. However the strike still carved deep into flesh of Asraphels chest, just between his left ribs. The howl of terror and pain startled the old king and he drew back a few paces, with a look of sorrow in his eyes. Asraphel, now seeing red spots, just starting running on instinct alone. He turned and sprinted, however behind him was nothing but a wall and a window with behind it utter darkness. With only his survival instinct operating he just jumped out of the window and plummeted down into the night
Asraphel only felt the giant fall and registered little else until he hit the water with an enormous splash. The new source of pain the impact caused, made him ignore the pain in his chest and on the back of his head. He scrambled to the surface and to the side of what appeared to be a lake around a castle. It seemed the castle stood on an island which was in the middle lake about three times its size. While clutching his side, Asraphel swam across the lake to the best of his abilities, while he heard the old king scream obscenities from the window. Guards took over and an alarm bell was rung.
When he finally reached the side, lights appeared behind almost all the castle windows. With one glance back, Asraphel just scrambled into the dark woods, his thoughts a complete mess.
He ran through the forest for a long time and everything in front of him was just shapes, with sometimes a sharp flash of pain as a branch hit him in his face. Besides that nothing existed but those thoughts and a throbbing that seemed to permeate his entire body. He felt like an empty lifeless husk, yet everything reminded him of how alive he was, while his feet pounded away to his ever vigilant heart.
Asraphel tried to recollect his thoughts, to remember things to make the puzzle in front of him less impossible. All he knew was his name and that he tried to murder his father, the king. That had to mean he was a prince of some sort, didn't it? He was amazed at the fact that he knew that much, with how little he knew about himself. He must've had a life before he had woken up on the floor, because how else would've had understood language or what a castle or a forest was? Yet in his head there was nothing but an relentless fog. The earliest recollection remained of a chiselled face, filled with both sadness and fury.
Finally he came back to a sort of reality when the sound of dogs barking echoed through the forest. Asraphel was out of breath and the throbbing had been replaced by just a complete existence of pain. Instinctively trying to get away from the sound he veered right. However, not before long the sound seemed to come from over there instead. After zigzagging a few more times, he realised the sound was actually coming closer from both sides. It seemed impossible to outrun those yapping demons hot on his trail.
Then he saw a small hole, just slightly bigger than a badger burrow. In a final act of desperation he tried to crawl through it. Somewhere he was yelling at himself for not keeping to running, but another part was reasoning that running wasn't working anyway and his body couldn't keep it up much longer. So he crawled onwards, deeper into the hole. Then, suddenly, the ground gave way and he fell for a second time today, even though it was a much shorter fall. However, he didn't fall into water, but was met with the hard ground instead. As the shock resounded to his system, whatever remaining conciousness he had disappeared.
The sound came to his ears completely deformed as they were ringing and black spots plagued his vision. The pain on the back of his head indicated he had been hit and had hit the floor. A dark figure was looming over him. He tried to remember where he was and what he was doing, but he soon enough figured out he didn't even know who he was. The voice continued:
"That you try to murder your king is already a capital crime, for which only death is the punishment, but that you try to murder your father is a sin even death can't repent, Asraphel".
Finally focus came back and he could discern the figure in front of him. It appeared that they were in a bedroom, which looked quite well furbished. A few candles lid up the room, so the figure still remained half in shadows. However to Asraphel, for that surely was his name, could make him out clear enough after the darkness he just had to overcome. The man that stood in front of him was old, that is to be sure. His face looked like it was chiselled out of rough granite, both very sturdy and ancient in a way. Short stalks of pepper-grey hair sprung from the man his head from under a nightcap and seemed very much dishevelled. The night-robe was of a light blue, with golden stitches. Asraphel didn't even have to guess to say this man was royalty.
"I am so very sorry that I will have to kill you now, my son"
From behind his back, the king revealed a short sword and with a big overhead swing struck at Asraphel. Asraphel crawled backwards and found a sword beneath his hands, which he drew up with the speed and power of adrenaline to deflect the blow. Because he was half prone, the sword got knocked out of his hands again and flew backward over his head. It however just deflected the kings sword enough to prevent a fatal blow to the neck. However the strike still carved deep into flesh of Asraphels chest, just between his left ribs. The howl of terror and pain startled the old king and he drew back a few paces, with a look of sorrow in his eyes. Asraphel, now seeing red spots, just starting running on instinct alone. He turned and sprinted, however behind him was nothing but a wall and a window with behind it utter darkness. With only his survival instinct operating he just jumped out of the window and plummeted down into the night
Asraphel only felt the giant fall and registered little else until he hit the water with an enormous splash. The new source of pain the impact caused, made him ignore the pain in his chest and on the back of his head. He scrambled to the surface and to the side of what appeared to be a lake around a castle. It seemed the castle stood on an island which was in the middle lake about three times its size. While clutching his side, Asraphel swam across the lake to the best of his abilities, while he heard the old king scream obscenities from the window. Guards took over and an alarm bell was rung.
When he finally reached the side, lights appeared behind almost all the castle windows. With one glance back, Asraphel just scrambled into the dark woods, his thoughts a complete mess.
He ran through the forest for a long time and everything in front of him was just shapes, with sometimes a sharp flash of pain as a branch hit him in his face. Besides that nothing existed but those thoughts and a throbbing that seemed to permeate his entire body. He felt like an empty lifeless husk, yet everything reminded him of how alive he was, while his feet pounded away to his ever vigilant heart.
Asraphel tried to recollect his thoughts, to remember things to make the puzzle in front of him less impossible. All he knew was his name and that he tried to murder his father, the king. That had to mean he was a prince of some sort, didn't it? He was amazed at the fact that he knew that much, with how little he knew about himself. He must've had a life before he had woken up on the floor, because how else would've had understood language or what a castle or a forest was? Yet in his head there was nothing but an relentless fog. The earliest recollection remained of a chiselled face, filled with both sadness and fury.
Finally he came back to a sort of reality when the sound of dogs barking echoed through the forest. Asraphel was out of breath and the throbbing had been replaced by just a complete existence of pain. Instinctively trying to get away from the sound he veered right. However, not before long the sound seemed to come from over there instead. After zigzagging a few more times, he realised the sound was actually coming closer from both sides. It seemed impossible to outrun those yapping demons hot on his trail.
Then he saw a small hole, just slightly bigger than a badger burrow. In a final act of desperation he tried to crawl through it. Somewhere he was yelling at himself for not keeping to running, but another part was reasoning that running wasn't working anyway and his body couldn't keep it up much longer. So he crawled onwards, deeper into the hole. Then, suddenly, the ground gave way and he fell for a second time today, even though it was a much shorter fall. However, he didn't fall into water, but was met with the hard ground instead. As the shock resounded to his system, whatever remaining conciousness he had disappeared.
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