Diablo® III

Epoch of A Wanderer

The tattered length of his robe carried in with it the filth of the outside world and another day spent searching ruins. He dragged tired boots across the floor of the inn, ripping off a piece of robe as he stepped on it. Dropping the heavy bag of books and gear to the floor gave him the strength to wave down the barkeep for a sip of water. Searching for work had, like everything else, not brought anything new into fruition. Out of cash and not a sentence to scry, he lay the scruff of his chin to rest in his dark hands. The other arm lazily hang over the table’s edge, swimming pitifully, barely attempting to salvage a book from his burlap bag. His thoughts began to wander... “This won’t do.... I’m going to need money. Fresh paper and ink are hard commodities to find here, and food isn’t exactly free. I hate to admit, but performances may be my only option”, the words drifted lazily through his consciousness.

Opening dark eyes to gaze past paper-cut palms brought into view the truth. “Manifests or magic, no matter which I choose, this place is without a buyer”, another sigh followed. Not really ever looking, lengthy fingers managed to find the brim of a plain looking book. Big hands slapped the tanned-leather down on the table without an ounce of grace before reaching back into one of the bags many pockets. Hand reproaching, an obscenity slipped through the gap between lips and his finger. More effort was used to carefully pry the quill and ink from his bags front pocket. Pressing a finger to the top of a fresh page, he began to write in neat red letters, “Third Quarter of Circa Q3”. Grabbing the quill, the writing continued in a more formal colored ink.

Lord Bastion comes in quietly much more than you would expect him to and enjoys a nice calm cup of mead at the bar. Lord Bastion is a broad man with a dark red beard that would make a dwarf proud. His ice blue eyes stand out against his dark leather clothing.

Wanderer: Breaking gaze with an intimidating stack of books, his eyes are caught by a fellow with features a blind man could not ignore. He watches momentarily as mead flows from tankard towards a beard of such deep red, a wonder he had noticed anything else. The man sported strong looking leather that suggested he had earned quite a bit of gold. “Silence has been a welcome friend, but this could be someone worth acknowledging”, he muddled the idea around in his head for a moment. Two, three. quite a bit of time.

Wanderer: Entry finished, he slammed shut the book he had been scribbling in, hoping the noise to turn his gaze. “One person. Just one. It will be okay, it is just one person”, his silent reassurance was working as he gathered his things up into his ruck.

Lord Bastion takes his time on his single cup of mead enjoying it and the quiet before ordering another.

Wanderer: “Of course the time I go looking for conversation, I find a friend of silences’”, he thought as he made sure to place each book in its appropriate home before following his usual routine. "Journal, map book, notebook, small book, spell book, ritual book and tome. Good." He recited aloud. Slinging the bag over his shoulders, tired feet scrapping the floor boards the man managed to make his way one seat down from the stranger. Holding out a hand, he signaled the barkeep for one more water.
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Lord Bastion signals for a second mead and places it down in front of the person setting it next to him, go on try it's my personal favorite.

Wanderer: He stared darkly at the mead as if it were an enemy, one you’d hope to never cross paths with. “No. No thank you. No thanks. I’m alright. No”, the words ran through his head five times, and then fives times in another language, then five times in a language he had yet to learn. The mead and dark eyes played this game for some time before he found composure. “Many thanks for this gesture of kindness stranger”, injecting a sickening level of kindness into his voice. Pushing the brew away, “but I must decline. Perhaps another time”.

Lord Bastion: Suit yourself he sets the mead in front of him and savors the glass in his hand

Wanderer: "However, are you one for games."

Lord Bastion: I have a game that might be of interest, or if you would rather you chose the game.

Wanderer: He let the question slip from his lips before thinking of how he'd fair in the local foolery. Too late to take the words back, he tried to better direct his asking. “Anything, anything! whatever is your pleasure. As long as we are to break the slowness of this day”.

Lord Bastion: -lord bastion takes out a leather cup- in this cup is a silver and bone die guess high or low fellow if you can win 3 times in a row i shall give you a prize. He holds up a slip of paper.

Wanderer: "High.", he says with hesitation. Instinct as his guide, he tries to find the truth in the icy eyes of the stranger.

Lord Bastion: He slaps the cup down startlingly fast and lifts it away the tarnished silver dice shows up two dots and the yellow bone shows up as one.

Wanderer: "Hmmm.... So, I lose this round", he says with a smile. "Again?"

Lord Bastion: If you wish he says scooping up the dice back into the cup and then rolling the dice around he slams the cup down once again.. "call it"

Wanderer: "Again, high", he says with slightly more confidence.

Lord Bastion: He lifts the cup away and they both come up 4 "spider eyes" Bastion smiles "good job"

Wanderer: "Has anyone won three times?"

Lord Bastion: "I am sure they have." He slams the cup down loudly "call it if you would like"
-Lord Bastion sips his mead- while nudging the cup around.

Wanderer: Until a moment ago, his world was a cup. Alone, he could see just how the dice would fall next. "Now I can't see a thing" the voice in his head shutter and an audible quake breaks steady, silent breathe. Nervous hands draw closer to his bag. Sitting up tall in the bar stool, his lanky body tries to take up the least amount of room as possible. "Question, a question for you", he finally manages to say.

Wanderer: "Three in a row, correct? So my next two rolls must be guessed correctly"

Lord Bastion: "correct"

Wanderer: A slight smile comes across his lips. "Excellent", the words filled with too much energy to be held within him. "Till next time then", he says before affirming his grip on his bag and walking out the front door.

( to be continued ? )
Edited by Juvial on 9/1/2011 7:03 AM PDT
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I entered this in for the writing contest just for giggles.. never know :)
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