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Post by exile on Mar 14, 2008 13:59:09 GMT -5
A pale, thin light shone through the rusted iron bars of a window set high in the wall of Hadrian’s cell. Hour by hour it had crept across the cold stone floor, occasionally deflected by tiny motes of dust that drifted lazily through the still air like little stars. The occupant of the cell himself sat stock still on his cot, back to the wall and arms resting languidly at his sides. He had barely stirred from this posture for well on a week now; only the occasional heave of his chest and the slight sigh of his breath suggested he yet lived.
Twenty-six days.
A lot could happen to a man in that time; but outwardly, very little had seemingly transpired during that epoch. Indeed, Hadrian had marked the passing of each day in no way whatsoever. He had sat listless and alone with only his thoughts for company.
And what dismal company they had been.
Twenty-six days had come and gone without any testament to it save the man himself. Twenty-six marks did not grace any walls. Twenty-six meals could not be found in remnant about the barren chamber. Twenty-six piles of unattended paper work had not been slipped beneath his door. Even Kopek had forsaken him by the second week.
Twenty-six days.
To Hadrian, it had been an eternity unto itself. Gone was the semblance of health and vigor, the glint in his azure-orbs and the steel in his grasp. The wretched creature which now sat in the place Hadrian had taken up nearly a month gone was now a mockery of his former youth. Its face was drawn, its eyes were sunken, its limbs were emaciated. One could count each rib in his chest with ease, and the skin that lay taught across them was paper thin.
The Grim Retreat had aged him a lifetime in a few short weeks. It had claimed his sanity, or what remnants he still possessed.
But somehow he had found the strength. Clawing back the shadows that had threatened to drown him, he had made peace with his fate - for a time.
The corpse on the bed smiled. It was a new day, and there was work to be done.
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Post by exile on Mar 14, 2008 14:40:26 GMT -5
It was the same day, several hours later. Lacking the stamina to assist in most other tasks about the Gatehouse, he had spent the morning in the dining hall of the almshouse doling out portions of oatmeal and rice-pudding. At peak he was relieved by another namer, but with nowhere to go, he had merely wandered out to the courtyard.
A meal of his own earlier that morning had already done wonders, but Hadrian still felt unsteady on his feet. Seated on a weather-worn stone bench in the private gardens nestled between the wings, he was content to simply gaze up at the incredible panorama that was Sigil. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, by cage standards. The haze had lifted and bright, warming light blanketed the entire ring. Across the implausible skyline of the city, he could spy the throng of people swarming about the Grand Bazaar like ants about a damaged nest. Nearby, the brilliant pools of the Great Gymnasium twinkled back at him like glittering gems.
And here in the Hive…
Hadrian closed his lapis-colored eyes. The Hive was a living thing; she was a burdened mother, and a fickle mistress. He could hear Her sighs in the sounds that rose up all around him. The laughter of children resounded across the courtyard, drifting up no doubt from the urchins and orphans in their own cloistered gardens a stone’s throw away. Verbose hawkers plied their wares amongst the lines of asylum seekers that clogged the streets. A collector’s cart trundled by on poorly balanced wheels, clearing away the evening’s crop.
The Bleaker breathed it all in deeply, like some exotic perfume too long absent from his world. And suddenly he felt a shadow fall across his face. For a moment he dared not stir, lest he disturb the perfect day he had somehow stumbled on. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.
A familiar figure stood nearby. Although she practically eclipsed him, the woman gave no indication to suggest she was aware of the aasimar’s presence. Indeed, she seemed preoccupied with some unknown sight in the middle distance.
“Ahinabura,” Hadrian said, by way of greeting.
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Post by Stix on Jul 2, 2008 14:06:10 GMT -5
"Ehn?" the fiendling answers, snapping out of her thousand-yard stare.
"Oh, uh... Hadrian." She clears her throat with a decidedly unladylike hocking noise, discharging some grayish mucus into a swelling puddle. "What'cha need wit' me?"
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Post by exile on Jul 6, 2008 14:19:16 GMT -5
“You asked me once to lann you if I ever tumbled to the dark behind the missing hivers,” Hadrian exclaimed, squinting up at Ahinabura. “Well, I think I found something and it seems we’re not the only faction to notice. The Xaositects are up in arms and some basher by name of Mordrigaarz Antill is leading the charge.”
Stretching out each of his legs in turn, Hadrian rose to his feet and braced his knuckles against the small of his back to work out the knots. “Some of the missing it seems wound up in the dead-book, but they didn’t stay there long. Three that the chaosmen know of came back across the pale, claiming to have been given a second lease on life so long as they joined one of the factions.”
“One went to the Harmonium, and another to the Sinkers. Unfortunately both of them are now dead for the second time and don’t seem to be getting any more chances. A third went to the Xaositects, a man by name of Torren Flathoof, but he’s gone missing. He claimed to have woken up in a fiery place, but the ‘powers’ offered to let him live again if he joined the chaosmen. Last anyone heard of him, he was chanting something about a ‘green man’ and wandered off.”
The aasimar cocked his head to the side inquisitively. “Three is a small number, especially given how many have gone missing. I wonder, who else has risen from the dead? Who has come knocking at the doors of the gatehouse because the ‘powers’ told them to?”
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Post by Stix on Jul 13, 2008 11:45:59 GMT -5
The other Bleaker raises her eyebrows in a quizzical expression. "I can tell ya this: any berk who came ta us spoutin' screed about a reason ta join the Cabal didn't make it ta his first day. But I ain't heard nobody talk like that. What'd'ya suppose is the dark of it?"
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Post by exile on Jul 13, 2008 21:55:15 GMT -5
“I don’t know” Hadrian conceded. “But I don’t believe for a moment that the powers are interested in faction neophytes. I was hoping you might be able to make some sense of this puzzle now that I’ve found some more of the pieces. Torren Flathoof will be difficult to locate after so long, if even he is still alive. I had thought to question the collectors, and the Dustmen if they will receive me, but beyond that I can’t say.”
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Post by Stix on Jul 22, 2008 13:55:10 GMT -5
"Sounds like somethin' the Revolutionary League might do," Ahinabura comments, her face puckering as if she'd suddenly bitten into something rotten. "But they're cannier than that. If they want yer secrets, they'll just sneak in and take 'em.
"I never heard o' no Torren Flathoof," she adds, fixing her gaze on a point in space between her and the nearest passerby, her expression becoming a strange half-smile. After a few seconds of silence, she seems to have forgotten about the conversation in which she's absently involved, sinking back into her own addled thoughts.
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Post by exile on Jul 22, 2008 22:48:43 GMT -5
“This isn’t the doing of the Anarchs, I’m sure of it.” Hadrian realized he had lost her. Ahinabura always seemed to be one step away from the Grim Retreat in his mind. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”
He wasn’t even sure she had heard –that-. No matter, Ahinabura would do as she did. –He- would have to see what else he could find in the meantime. Perhaps it was time to flag down a collector’s cart and start asking questions. As for Torren Flathoof? He’d check the monument outside the Mortuary. And if that failed, well everyone paid taxes right?
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