• Solo • License to Thrill

The begining of a long and arduous quest.

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Peake
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716 Arc, 5th trail of Ashan
The Barracks
5th Break

Peake sat in his stool, frowning already at the letter that was delivered into his very hands. It wasn’t often that a letter from the upper ranks was delivered, especially when spoken word was the preferred way of delivering orders, along with a yell or two. At least, that was Peake’s usual delivery, and it was his favorite. This letter, however, was something different. A letter delivered into the hands of an inferior ranked meant burning the letter afterwards, not letting anyone else read it save the name written in the envelope. The Iron Hand’s wax seal was Peake’s focus, having stared at it for the past few trills, lost in thought and wonder as to what he’d find inside. Nothing good, for sure. Looking over towards the squire that was fidgeting with the leather straps of his plate armor, Peake barked at him. “Not like that. Make sure the strap is in a straight line, otherwise the breastplate will move.” Growling, Peake saw the squire’s fear take a hold of him, the young teenager visibly more nervous now that he had brought negative attention towards himself.


Peake looked back down at the letter and finally tore the wax seal, extracting the message inside and sighing before he began reading in silence. “Peake Maxos Andaris, Steward of the Moseke Knights, member of the Iron Hand….” Peake was too busy to read through all the formalities, and jumped a paragraph or two. Not that he’ll miss anything. Scouting through the words to find something relevant, finally he began reading again. “You are hereby dispatched to deal with this threat with utmost importance…” Had he jumped too much forward? Grunting, Peake went back a paragraph. “It has come to the attention of the Iron Hand and the Kingdom of Rynmere that a fellow is currently hidden in our King’s territory. His crimes range from tax evasion, tax fraud and assault to murder, assault to a nobleman, and unlicensed practice of Arcana, specifically Necromancy, as various witnesses have reported. It is because of our King and…” Blah blah blah, though Peake, as he jumped paragraphs once again. Reading through these official letters was a pure waste of time. Most of what they wrote was fat, and very little was actual meat. Someone used Necromancy and killed a couple of people. Can’t they write it like that?


The squire tapped Peake’s right shoulder, Peake moving the letter to his left hand before he raised the targeted shoulder. The squire placed the pauldron and began adjusting the leather straps, stapping it all to Peake’s arm. It brought back memories for Peake, unfortunately. Squires were basically servants until they were taught to be men. They spent the day cleaning and looking after the true soldiers, then wondered all day which end of a sword they should take. Thankfully, those days were far away from Peake’s life, and so now he enjoyed the pleasures of full membership, plus the perks of authority. That also meant he could micromanage squires as much as liked, and he most certainly did. “No.” He barked again, bringing his arm up and down violently, the still not strapped pauldron jumping up and down. “You see what you’ve done wrong? You’re strapping it too hard that you’re cutting my blood flow. Do you know to do something properly, boy?” The boy muttered something, face going red and eyes moving to the ground to avoid confronting Peake, who stared with his usual coldness. He missed alcohol already.


Returning his attention back to the letter, Peake proceeded with his artificially accelerated read. “You are hereby dispatched to deal with this threat with utmost importance…” Skip. “… excused from ordinary duty in the duration of this…” Skip. “… find and capture…” Skip. “…. bring judgement if necessary.” Sighing, Peake made the letter into a ball before placing his eyes on the squire once again. He was completing the strapping of the right pauldron, last item before Peake himself armed his gauntlets and gloves and was ready for action. The kid was visibly nervous, his work slow yet precise. Not good enough for Peake, however. “Faster, come on. I’m not an Immortal, child.” The kid hurried up, and finished its work quickly after. Before a squire dressed armor, he had to know to use it, which is why they helped the actual Knights dress the battle gear. Putting on armor alone was impossible without help, being the reason why Peake had to go all the way to the Barracks every morning for assistance. He always promised himself he’d buy a slave to do it for him, but he had to feed that thing and clean after it, so he kept postponing it.


The squire moved behind him and handed over Peake’s gauntlets, helping him put them on while Peake remained observant, watching every last motion of the boy and waiting to judge him. The boy itself was already nervous enough by Peake’s comments, so feeling the gaze drilling through his undeveloped skull was a pressure he didn’t quite need. After the gauntlets, the kid moved to put the last piece of the armor together – Peake’s black cloak, symbol of his status and his noble origin. Standing from behind and adding it to the armor, he’d keep it folded in his hands until Peake raised to avoid the cape falling onto the ground. “… all done, sir.” Said the boy, Peake standing up immediately after. With his 6’5 height, he towered among regular citizens, his frame standing even higher in the eyes of the scared child. “Bring the cloth.” Said Peake, the boy rushing towards the corner, retrieving a bucket and a cloth and going on its knees before Peake. The boy then began to shine the armor, Peake’s presence requiring to be completely magnificent whenever he went. His blood and his lineage demanded it, after all.


The boy seemed to have encountered a stain, in which he focused most of his scrubbing trying to remove. Peake sighed and looked away, only to look back down and find the boy bringing a finger to his mouth and licking it before trying to clean the plate with it. Of course, that was unacceptable. With a quick and loud interjection, Peake called the attention of half the barracks, especially the one of the kneeled boy that was looking up with doe eyes. His fear was only increased when he found Peake’s frown in full power, staring down from the mountain of plate that he was. Opening his mouth, he watned to say anything, yet no words came out. Instead, Peake spoke for him. “Take this.” He said softly, opening his hand and revealing the ball of paper that had been the letter. The boy obeyed, his crystal blue eyes already shining brightly due to the dampness that was gathering inside them. “Dip it in the water.” Said Peake, to which the boy obeyed, eyes still locked with Peake’s, unable to move due to pure fear. “Good. Now, put it in your mouth.”


Peake’s request was an unusual one, the boy’s tears falling down from his cheeks as he glanced up at his patron. The squires that came and went witnessed the scene, yet they could do nothing but move along and return to their duties, their word being unworthy of mention as they couldn’t compete with the word of a steward. “Put it in your mouth.” Peake repeated, to which the boy whined, sound resulting from his attempts of holding back the wail that wanted to escape him, yet nevertheless he obeyed. The damp paper entered the boy’s mouth, and his jaws began chewing on it. Tears and snots fell greatly from the young teenager, whom was clearly not used to these kinds of abuses. Peake was doing him a favor, really. He was toughening him up until he improved and was worthy of something. Still watching from above with his straight and royal stance, his bearded face was as cold and inexpressive as usual. The boy seemed to suffer with every chew, and only eventually he swallowed the paper completely. The wail was escaping him every trill that passed, not going to be able to hide it for much longer.


It was then when Peake crouched down, eyes still locked with the boy’s, and an armored hand came forward to gently hold the boy’s chin. “Tell me, boy.” He whispered, so close to the boy that he could almost smell the angst within the youngling. Even so, that didn’t mean a thing to him. “Did I tell you to eat it?” The boy seemed to enter some sort of shock, truly shocked by his eagerness to escape his mistake that he had entered another. Now, he truly began wailing, his cries filling the barracks as if they were the bread and butter of every man in there. IT truly wasn’t, and they all looked at Peake but nobody said a word. Peake stood up and turned around to retrieve his helmet. Ignoring the squire’s angst, sadness, wail and frustration, Peake only focused on the day ahead.


“Go and bring my horse.”
Last edited by Peake on Thu Jun 02, 2016 2:38 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1570
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6th Break



It had taken a while, but the squad was finally organized and dispatched to the location in question. The commoner neighborhood was lively already, the lower classes already starting their daily routines as their social classes demanded more effort in their lives. They worked more and earned less, and very few escaped that life. Some joined the Iron Hand in attempts of finding glory, fame, or riches, yet few ever succeeded. Peake had succeeded, however, as his elegant and commanding presence slowly made way through the crowd, mounted in his steed, his shining armor giving him that touch that made Peake feel like the center of the world. His five men behind him, on foot of course, only enhanced the sensation of superiority that he deserved. Most peasant spared a glance towards him, the cloak that fluttered with the light breeze being a sight they immediately recognized, bringing frowns and whispered curses in their lips at the sight of the noble man. Noble blood was rare in Andaris. Out of a hundred thousand living beings between the walls, not even one percent of them were the noblemen that basically ran the government.

Peake tapped the beast’s belly to urge a bit of hurry in the horse, which obeyed and brought him even further in the city’s street. Riding a horse was something Peake enjoyed, yet an activity the crowd didn’t quite allow him to do as extensively as he would’ve liked. At last, Peake approached the duo of Knights that were standing near an old well, whom saw Peake and offered a salute. “Steward Peake, sir?” One of them asked. “The one and only. Where’s the body?” The speaker pointed towards the well with his thumb, smirking. “There’s an entrance to the sewers in that alley. You’ll find my superior there and he’ll tell you all about it, sir.” Looking around, Peake found the alley in question and with a grunt he ordered his horse in that direction. His knights followed along, of course, like sheep followed their shepherd. Most of them were newbies, yet not for that they were useless. Peake, his mount and his followers entered the alley, a putrid example as to why the commoners were such a pest. More than one of them had taking a piss or even a shit in said alley, giving it that characteristic smell of a worthless neighborhood.

Dismounting his horse, he’d take the reins and guide the beast further inside. Two men were waiting by the entrance of the sewers, one of them stepping forward, extending a hand which Peake returned. “Steward Peake Andaris, correct?” Once Peake nodded and their armored hands retired, the steward continued. “Good, we’ve been waiting on you. We haven’t entered yet as we thought you’d be interested in seeing the scene fresh. I’d suggest you leave your cloak behind… down there, things are messy.” Of course they would be messy, thought Peake, as he glanced towards the dark entrance. An entire kingdom molded by shit and piss was waiting to be discovered down there. Handing the reins to Dalaisu, one of the rare fat knights of the Moseke Knights, Peake removed his cloak and tossed it over the horse. “Katao, Maddoshka, with me. Can we get some torches?” The steward nodded, taking some of the torches that stood hanging from the walls and lighted them with the one in his hand. Each with their torch lit, the group of four knights headed into the sewers.

Knee deep in tainted waters, with a gooey feel under their soles and nauseous coughs spreading within the group like a plague, Peake tried his best not to wonder what was he stepping on, what kinds of horrors roamed beneath the surface of the waters. “Why are we in the sewers? I thought it was down a well…” Asked Katao at last, trying not to gag and dishonor his— No. He turned to the wall and puked. “That old well was closed off long ago after the sewers were built. We’re in the old section of the city, so everything is a bit of a mess. Turns out the well, once fresh and drinkable, turned out to be extracting waters from the sewers after they were built. Certainly can’t imagine how it took them a season to realize what they were drinking.” Said the steward. Peake shook his head and kept advancing, trying not to look down or even think about where he was. Just like when drinking, ignoring the sensations was best to avoid puking. Eventually, a glimpse of natural light was spotted after a curve. A small clearing-like opened before them, rather filled with light, yet the waters as dark and shady as expected. “Careful now. This is a pool, and it’s deep.”

The men scattered out on the edge of the pool, all looking at the same thing. Between all the shit and other unidentified and mysterious residue, a body was floating in the water, the features hidden underwater. This job was going to kill him, though Peake. “Alright, here it is. So the victim says this individual tried to barge into her home, and she tossed a knife from the second floor. He fell dead and she went to find a knight. When they returned to the street, the saw the man was walking again, almost as if drunk, until it fell into the well.” Peake’s frown intensified, looking around. “Maybe the woman didn’t kill him but wounded him, so he walked all the way h—“ Peake’s words were cut short the moment the floating body rotated enough to reveal the quite obvious knife sticking out of the wet hair. How could someone walk when a knife was sticking from their brain? Necromancy. It had to be, as that was the reason Peake was called to deal with this. Arcana was a plague that had to be eradicated, something Peake had truly tried to do. Peake tapped Katao’s shoulder, signaling for the javelin he carried, and used it to slowly poke the body and bring it closer.
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This made no sense, thought Peake. Why would a necromancer bother to raise a body just to make it fall down a well? Katao and Maddoshka had already extracted the body, which was obviously more than disgusting due to the residual waters that had bathed it throughout the night. Peake crouched down, inspecting merely with his sight the knife that stuck out of the man’s head. The male itself was no different than any other commoner. Mid-thirties, poor attire, thin. Brown hair, although possibly tainted by all the excrement that floated in the waters, long hair… Just another face that only a few would miss. Andaris was a big city, and although death was not very common, surely someone would replace him. The mourning would pass, and life would go on, after all. “Why is the well still there if it’s connected to sewer water?” At last, Peake had to ask that question. The most logical solution would’ve been to close it off to prevent any fool from trying to cook with said water. “Ah, it’s a well of good fortune. People toss a few coins every now and then. Whenever one needs cash badly, they come here and swim in all this shit to get those coins. A messy deal, I’d say.”

Peake shook his head and tried to steer his thoughts away from the subject. How desperate can people be to literally swim in shit to for a few coins? At last, Peake stood up, coughing slightly due to the smell. “Alright, we’re done here. Is the witness around?” The unknown steward nodded, and the group quickly traversed back the way they came, waving their torches around in attempts to burning the obnoxious smell of this location. They already knew the smell would remain in their boots, and for the rest of the day they’d have to breathe strictly through their mouths. Soon enough, they were back in the street, and even Peake broke a smile once the fresh air entered his nostrils. For once, he felt good to be in the city. Disposing of the torches, Peake snapped his fingers and began commanding his man once again. “Rills and Dalaisu, head down there and retrieve the body. Katao, take the horse and head to the headquarters. Report to the Captain what we’ve got so far – we’re going with the Necromancy theory. Peerio and Maddoshka, you’re with me. In one break, we meet by the well.”

Nods and salutes were exchanged and everyone parted their own way. Peake and his two Knights were pointed out towards the house in which the events transpired. With the smell clinging to their boots, the trio headed there. Four knocks later, a middle aged woman opened the door, eyes red, irritated due to the tears greeted the knights. “Woman. We come because of the guy you murdered.” No tact whatsoever, the lady was about to start crying again, as if crying through the night was not enough. “What happened?” The female wiped her tears and began narrating the events that transpired the night before. “Well…. It was late and I was in bed, when I heard someone banging at my door. I… I got scared, because Ogar likes to get drunk every now and then, then comes around and tries to convince me to sleep with him.” Peake raised a finger to silence her, and asked. “Ogar? That’s his name?” The woman nodded. “Ogar Trevsonny, yes sir.” Peake nodded, and so the female continued with her tale. “This once, it was different. It... It wasn’t him. He didn’t speak at all.”

“Elaborate.” Peerio and Maddoshka exchanged a glance between then, Peake unaware of this as he was making a hole into the female’s skull with his fixed stare. “I… I don’t know how to explain. Usually, he comes around, yelling and laughing, sometimes even holding his you-know-what and rubbing it against the door whilst making vulgar insinuations. It’s always been the same. Yesterday… he didn’t say a word. He merely growled and banged on the door…. It’s like it wasn’t him. I… I got scared. I went on the second floor and threatened him, asking him to leave… But he wouldn’t. I took one of the knives and…” Peake raised his eyebrows. “And you tossed it towards his head, thus killing him. The knife was still deep in his skull when we found him so you can’t possibly deny that. Spare us the excuses. Do you know where this Ogar lived?” The female began weeping, yet she managed to nod. Her face, wretched by the agony, gave Peake nothing but disgust. She explained between sobs the location of said man’s residence, and the trio was on their way again.

Not even half a break had passed before they were all in the well. The team was efficient and eager, as most novice Knights were. Again, the orders flew like arrows. “We’ve got the address of the dead man’s house. Maddoshka and Peerio are coming with me to check it out. Rills, you go to the outpost and find the name of every arcana user with a permit. Focus on necromancy users and see if you can get a copy. Katao and Dalaisu, you two go arrest that crazy whore that tosses knives from a second floor. Send her to the dungeons and make sure she doesn’t have a good time until the trial. Can’t understand how she got away with it so far… Return to the outpost whenever you’re done.” Nods and salutes were exchanged once again and everyone went on their way. Peake’s frown grew on its own, hoping to close the case already and to return to the brothel as soon as possible.
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Turn here and turn there, eventually the trio of heavily armored men found themselves at the end of yet another alley, halted before a simplistic door of yet another residence. This once, they didn’t expect to meet any crying woman that tossed knives towards people’s heads, but hoped to learn more about the dead man, and confirm if this was indeed a case of necromancy as his superiors had believed. In a way, Peake didn’t quite believe this was the case, yet there were some details that simply threw Peake off. This was, obviously, the idea of a man with a knife lodged deep inside his brain standing up and walking towards a well, then falling into the waters below. It was that kept not only the case open, but also Peake’s attitude towards this whole deal. Despite his mind’s doubts, his instinct told him to not discard anything until there was solid proof to dismiss said theory. Why a well, though? Why would a necromancer risk being found out by raising the corpse of a man and driving it towards a well?

The questions would have to be answered later. Right now, the door called for their attention. The building was plain – literally. There was nothing salve the wooden door before the men, an obstacle that wouldn’t take much effort to bring down if someone put its back onto it. Nobody would, though, as a house with no windows didn’t precisely scream of wealth. “Lord Steward, should I try to make my way around and see if there’s a second entrance?” Peerio’s voice snapped Peake out of his thoughts, a grunt escaping him before he answered. “No use. I doubt a drunk that dedicated his nights in grinding his lonely phallus against an old hag’s door had a family. If he did, they would’ve left him ago. In case you are blind, take a look at the neighborhood. These buildings are so old that one door is a luxury.” At last, Peake stood before the door and knocked once, just in case. Stepping back slightly, Peake flapped out his arms to clear the two males that stood behind him, and give him some space. Taking a deep breath, Peake raised his right foot, armored and thus heavy, and with all his force stomped the door behind the lock. His strength did effect, the door jumping open without much resistance.

Kicking below the lock was the only secret towards opening doors. This old door didn’t even need a hand-ram to be torn open, which Peake appreciated as he wished to finish this case as soon as possible. The home itself was full of dust, as expected, and the only windows were small rends in the wall in the opposite wall, which combined with the now open door provided enough light to inspect it all. Stepping inside, Peake and his two dogs began inspecting the environment. The living space was messy, yet not in the fashion a drunk would leave it. A small table was flipped and old, putrid food was splattered all over, worms and flies already feasting on it. One of the chairs had been shattered against a wall, apparently, something that required a lot of strength and thus setting Peake in alert. “Draw.” He said, as he retrieved his morning star from the back of his waist. The shiny metal head gleamed, looking for a victim, as Peake slowly made its way inside. Drag marks on the floor, surely made by fingernails, which proved some sort of disturbance. The bed was flipped and the mattress was torn.

At the right side of the living space stood a stairwell, leading to a second floor, and a door that apparently held a wardrobe by the looks of it. Two steps within and the sudden smell invaded the noses of the three men – putrid, rotten meat, so intense that nausea was already testing their endurance. It was too strong to come from the splattered food, obvious by the intensity. “You two, head upstairs and see what’s up there.” An order was a task, and a task would keep them busy enough to forget the stench of the home. Peake, however, was left to his own devices, gagging every few bits. His practice in drinking didn’t quite help him now, unfortunately. Peake began looking around the room, inspecting the details present, trying to discover clues that may aid him in solving this case which, unfortunately, was becoming stranger and stranger. There was nothing common about this case, in fact. The incident in the well was already murky enough. The woman had reported a strange behavior in the man, and the man’s home was trashed.

Peake inspected it all, opening drawers and looking inside, inspecting whatever was left of the trashed home, and soon realized that anything he was looking for had a story that would never be told to him. Instead, he focused on the detail everyone wanted to forget – the smell. It took a lot of courage to try and ignore it, but it took much more to try to acknowledge it and follow it. This job would kill him. Peake let go of his pride and flared out his nostrils, inhaling deeply the stench as he began circling around the room. It didn’t take much effort to follow the trail, which led him to the door in the stairwell. Opening the door only enhanced the stench to unbelievable amounts so much that Peake had to look away as if the smell was as dangerous as staring into the sun itself – which it was. Taking a cloth that laid around the house and placing it on his mouth and nose to protect himself, Peake look beyond the darkness on the other side. It was not a wardrobe, but instead a stairwell that apparently went to a basement. Slowly, Peake entered and descended into the darkness.

As his metallic steps went down the stairs, he heard metallic steps above him, surely Maddoshka and Peerio returning from the second floor, which meant incoming reinforcements in this dire duty of his. However, the eagerness to finish the job once and for all got the best of Peake, and instead of waiting for his knights or getting torches to explore the source of the stench, he descended until his feet were finally planted into stone instead of the wooden stairs. A great room opened before him, yet its dimensions being hidden as there was not enough light to assess it all. The smell was very intense, much more than he could’ve imagined, which immediately made him gag and puke onto the floor. It was then when he raised his features, and his eyes caught a glimpse of movement in the back of the room, a frame moving, then two, then three, frail and slender limbs weaving around in the darkness. Panic got the best of him, and as suddenly as he turned, something was triggered. Just like a rat, a door slid down from some orifice, a loud metallic bang suffocating the already faint light and trapping Peake within the basement, alone in the darkness, with the sounds of wet footsteps behind him, with the smell that was slowly killing him, and without any chance of breaking through the metallic door that had trapped him there.


He was going to die.
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Hiding in a corner like a rat, holding on to his morning star with fervor, keeping his head down and curled in a ball, Peake was slowly losing its mind. Coated in his own vomit due to the terrifying smell of rotten flesh, he kept his eyes shut with force. It was easier to deal with the situation if he pretended the darkness was something he chose, and by opening his eyes the Steward would only know that the darkness was there no matter what. It wasn’t the dark, however, what terrified him. It wasn’t the smell, nor was it the confinement. The sounds of bare footsteps, the groans, the moans, the rattling chains. Those were the sounds that nicked on his brain and drove him insane. Trapped in the darkness, surrounded by something he couldn’t see, and not even his mind was ready to imagine whatever it was that roamed in the darkness. Bodies, risen from their graves, brought back by arcana, dwelling in the basement and wandering without a fate nor a destination, unaware that Peake was as close as he was.

Would they attack him? He thought so, as his knowledge on Necromancy was limited. Peake had made sure that almost no sound escaped him, salve perhaps for the occasional metallic scraping on the walls as he tucked himself tighter against the corner, fearing one of those beings would stumble upon him. He could always swing his weapon around, but even if he hit something he would not find peace. Like a child that fears the darkness that begins to run as the shadows stalk from behind, the more he ran the more he feared. Peake couldn’t fear any more. That is why he remained in the same spot, in the same posture and in the same silence ever since the door had shut behind him. At first he heard banging on the door, muffled voices that tried to communicate intelligible words. Then came the worst – the silence. Bits, Thrills, Breaks… Trials? The perception of time was lost in the darkness. He believed he had closed his eyes several times, perhaps sleeping, perhaps merely blinking. It was too disorientating to be certain.

His mind was the only thing he had. Scenes and images had played in his mind over and over again. How his knights tried to help him, how they abandoned him, how they never even knew what happened to him. How they lied in their beds, how they dreams and how they ate, while Peake waited in a corner and only ate his own sanity. He thought of his brothers, of the resentful Quincy, the smiling Leeson. His father, and what he’d think if he found out how his oldest son had perished – curled into a ball in a dark corner of an unknown basement. He thought of his life, on his few merits, on his multiple flaws. His dreams, his nightmares… Peake had thought of everything, and when that everything was done, he thought about it again until there was nothing. Just like in the room, in the darkness, there was nothing in his head. Perhaps he too was becoming like those bodies that roamed the darkness, an empty husk, a useless vessel, and perhaps it wouldn’t be long until his own feet joined the hidden dance those same bodies performed some distance away from his spot.

So scared he had been that even hope had left him. Perhaps that is why he didn’t feel afraid anymore, and the only thing he felt was this sinister calm within him. If he looked at his reflection while he felt as he currently did, he knew he’d see nothing but a barren wasteland full of nothing. The sounds of gusts of wind blowing right through him, as if he was not there, as if his form had been hollowed out and dressed just like an armor. Had he even heard something on the other side of the door? Had he truly entered a basement? It could very well be his mind, tricking him into thinking that he was somewhere else. Perhaps he was dead, slipped outside his home and banged his head against a rock. This hell could be his life. Perhaps he wasn’t Peake as he thought, he wasn’t an alcoholic rampaging through life with a bottle in one hand and his manhood in the other. Perhaps he wasn’t as angry as he thought, nor his most joyous fantasies revolved around killing his father. There was no father.

Perhaps even the smell of this dark corner was imagined, as was the texture of the dry vomit that had dried below the armor – if there was armor. Perhaps he was the wall, a chair, a dead body. A bottle of wine, of mead, of beer. Perhaps he was the wine itself, waiting for someone like this Peake man he believed himself to be to come around and drink him, to vomit him, to use him as a relief and then blame him for his issues. Perhaps he was the cork, something to be bit off and then spat out, to be buried in a corner of some alley, forever. Perhaps he was the alley. The city. The world. Everything was the same, for nothing was truly what he believed. The darkness didn’t allow him to confirm anything, for it had deprived him of his most vital sense – sight. That man only believed when he saw, and now that he was blinded, he couldn’t trust his other senses. His sight was the one that saw his drunk father strike his mother, again and again, until those eyes of his even saw his mother’s joy escaping her. He felt his own innocence escape him when he became the target, when he was dragged here and there like a ragdoll, a useless child that couldn’t even raise his head or his fists against the monster that called himself his father.

This grudge within him, the hatred, the anger and the frustration of the damaged relationship between father and son was all thanks to his eyes. Every other sense lied, just like every other being. They believed in something they did not saw, and Peake could do nothing but loathe them for it. They heard lies and believed them, like sheep following the shepherd towards their death. They tasted food, and they kept eating, more and more, stuffing their mouths even when their stomachs were full, because they believed in the greedy tongues they had. They smelled the mead, the wine, the beer, and they smiled to the lie, even when they were consuming the poison that slowly killed them from within. They touched another’s body, and they smiled because they felt warmth, even when the man they touched was as cold on the inside as the dagger in its hand. Liars and fools, lying to one another, and only Peake saw through them. All those lies had fooled them, for when they looked at him and showed their loathing in their eyes, none of them had the tools, the sight, to see through him. They couldn’t see his pain, but they judged. They couldn’t see his anger, but they feared. Pathetic is what they were.

The confusion, the megalomania and selflessness, the emptiness and the questioned existence all came to a sudden, dry halt. Hope arrived, and with it came fear, the moment a pickaxe broke through the side of the door. Tearing through the stone with fervor, the pickaxe disappeared only to appear again, light seen on the other side, fire breathing through the small hole, voices filtering into the room by the orifice. Peake’s eyes widened, watching that same hole with both joy and horror. He wanted to stand, to slither through that hole like a worm, while at the same time he wanted to scream and plug it, to be left alone and forgotten in the darkness that had been rocking his crib, his corner. The two sides of him fought within him, while his body remained still, watching but not seeing, as the pickaxe came again and again, again and again, and the impenetrable barrier that was the metal door was nullified by a hole in the wall. A face emerged from the hole after a torch, looking around the room with panicked eyes, and finally catching sight of Peake himself. “Lord Andaris! Quick!”

The voice was loud, thundering within Peake’s head with such volume that he truly felt his brain shake. The creatures within the darkness heard it, and they writhed back, screaming at the interruption, the invader, the unwelcome guest. Peake didn’t move, merely a pawn in a game that was not his to play. The man pressed through the gap in the wall with urgency, moving before Peake and taking him by the arm, pulling him with him in such a way that Peake could do nothing but obey. Only when he escaped through that very same hall and was met by the dozen men, all weaving torches, all with pale features that stared at him with horror, as if they had seen the horror that Peake had to face on that other side. However, they didn’t know a thing, for they had not lived it. They had not seen what he had seen, and were merely being tricked and deceived by something they didn’t witness firsthand.

Peake knew this, and he woke up. Shaking himself off the hold of the male, his shoulders came forth to push the men out of his way, palms pressing on the walls as he pushed himself up the stairs, escaping the deceived as if they were infectious, plagued with something he wished to avoid. The faces were many, all blurry, all of them unnaturally shiny for his eyes were unused to anything that wasn’t the darkness. Now that his nose smelled something that wasn’t that putrefaction in which he had been living for the unspecified period of time, he felt nauseous, stripped from his habitat and thrown somewhere unknown. Vomit escaped him, yet he did not stop. He escaped the stairwell and entered the home, where even more faces met him, infecting him with their stares. Knees going weak, he forced them to remain strong, to keep bringing his steps forward until he was out in the air of the night, where the sweat that covered his body felt like a cold blanket made of gleaming knives. Someone tried to hold him, to take his arm prisoner and force him to remain on the spot. Peake fought back, escaping that hold with a crazed yell and a violent thug.

Those who witnessed him now stood aside, seeing that he was not the same man that he was before. They saw this even if they hadn’t seen him again, which was even more terrible. The stress his mind had taken was so great that he truly believed he had been born again, unwillingly forced out of his own world.


And so Peake wandered through the streets, taking a turn here, turn there and losing himself in the city, unsure if he was man, world, bottle, wine, or a simple cork.
word count: 1897
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Griffin
Prophet of Old
Posts: 158
Joined: Fri May 06, 2016 9:30 am
Race: Mer
Renown: 0
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

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Peake


Skills
Investigation: 5
Intimidation: 3
Observation: 5
Leadership: 3
Teaching: 2
Endurance: 3
Torture: 3
Mount: 1
Interrogation: 1

Basic Knowledge
Squires: Easy Prey
Armour: Put it on once; put it on right
Armour: Full plate requires assistance
Location: A sewer entrance
Necromancy: The smell of rotting flesh
Necromancy: Reported in the Low-city
Ogar Trevsonny: Dead
Ogar Trevsonny: Acting strangely before the knife struck
Location: House of Ogar Trevsonny

Specialized Knowledge
Knights: Rescue will come when you’re on a mission
Torture: You can turn your own mind inside out
Fear: It will paralyse you
Investigation: Don’t go into the dark alone
Necromancy: A host of bodies, in Ogar Trevsonny’s basement
Necromancy: No one with a knife in their skull, should be up and walking around
Andaris: The city will swallow you
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word count: 252
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