06-28-2007, 07:34 AM
Location: Farming road leading into Braggarfall's Marketsquare
Through the felt of closed carraige drapes Alistair could shape the walls of Braggarfall. He parted them. It was early morning and the cottages and INNs had their shutters pulled shut, the candles overhanging the doorframes fluttered in an unfelt wind. Some poultry awoke to the spray of mud his carraige kicked up, squawking in dismay, feathers loose and ruffled. Ahead he caught sunlight glinting from the bald pate of a man armed with a straw broom.
Alistair leaned forward and wrapped his knuckle against the wall. 'Stop beside this man driver.'
Wordlessly, the man tugged on his reigns, easing his pair of horses to slow. At first the villager paid not attention, turning heel and swept bits of dust from the plankwood walkway, until feeling Allistair's stare rake at his back. He approached.
The villager's face was smeared with dry dirt, matching his thin linens. "Can I help you sirs?"
Allistair leaned out the carraige window slightly, detecting the man's pugnent odor of manure and stale milk. 'I believe you can. Have you seen this man?' He drew his arm revealing a scrawled, white and black picture. 'Perhaps skulking around the local taverns or INNs?'
The man rocked on his bare heels, deep in thought. "Can't say about the ears, but Priest Mardaheim ran into a fellow like that."
Allistair's eyes peaked with interest. 'Was he wearing anything peculiar, like a sword or a letter?'
"The Priest would know more about that, all I know," He pointed a gnarled finger past the carraige, towards the line of trees yards away. "Was that he came from the wood there, where we cut our lumber."
'Where does Priest Mardahiem live?' Allistair continued, voice growing colder.
The man visibly fidgeted. "He lives in the Cathedral. It's past the market place a ways. He never goes anywhere else really, except for a drink of swill around nigh."
'The inquisition thanks you for your time.'
With that the carraige lurched forward, splattering the bewildered man in mud. Allistair watched him a moment longer before sheathing the curtains closed. Only the boistrous noise of horses' hooves clopping on stone filled his ears. The driver cleared his throat, signalling for an ear, which the inquisitor leaned towards the opposite wall.
'Yes driver?'
"We've reached Braggarfall Inquisitor Lorne."
'Drop me off at the Cathedral and retire at the INN we talked before.' Allistair instructed. 'I have a feeling our query is on his last legs.'
He tacked the picture of the Daemon that escaped his custody. When the carraige slowed, he left, leaving the picture.
It was a scrawled image of Shadow, the Han'yo Allistair was sent to destroy and immolate in the name of the Inquisition.
Through the felt of closed carraige drapes Alistair could shape the walls of Braggarfall. He parted them. It was early morning and the cottages and INNs had their shutters pulled shut, the candles overhanging the doorframes fluttered in an unfelt wind. Some poultry awoke to the spray of mud his carraige kicked up, squawking in dismay, feathers loose and ruffled. Ahead he caught sunlight glinting from the bald pate of a man armed with a straw broom.
Alistair leaned forward and wrapped his knuckle against the wall. 'Stop beside this man driver.'
Wordlessly, the man tugged on his reigns, easing his pair of horses to slow. At first the villager paid not attention, turning heel and swept bits of dust from the plankwood walkway, until feeling Allistair's stare rake at his back. He approached.
The villager's face was smeared with dry dirt, matching his thin linens. "Can I help you sirs?"
Allistair leaned out the carraige window slightly, detecting the man's pugnent odor of manure and stale milk. 'I believe you can. Have you seen this man?' He drew his arm revealing a scrawled, white and black picture. 'Perhaps skulking around the local taverns or INNs?'
The man rocked on his bare heels, deep in thought. "Can't say about the ears, but Priest Mardaheim ran into a fellow like that."
Allistair's eyes peaked with interest. 'Was he wearing anything peculiar, like a sword or a letter?'
"The Priest would know more about that, all I know," He pointed a gnarled finger past the carraige, towards the line of trees yards away. "Was that he came from the wood there, where we cut our lumber."
'Where does Priest Mardahiem live?' Allistair continued, voice growing colder.
The man visibly fidgeted. "He lives in the Cathedral. It's past the market place a ways. He never goes anywhere else really, except for a drink of swill around nigh."
'The inquisition thanks you for your time.'
With that the carraige lurched forward, splattering the bewildered man in mud. Allistair watched him a moment longer before sheathing the curtains closed. Only the boistrous noise of horses' hooves clopping on stone filled his ears. The driver cleared his throat, signalling for an ear, which the inquisitor leaned towards the opposite wall.
'Yes driver?'
"We've reached Braggarfall Inquisitor Lorne."
'Drop me off at the Cathedral and retire at the INN we talked before.' Allistair instructed. 'I have a feeling our query is on his last legs.'
He tacked the picture of the Daemon that escaped his custody. When the carraige slowed, he left, leaving the picture.
It was a scrawled image of Shadow, the Han'yo Allistair was sent to destroy and immolate in the name of the Inquisition.