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Post by Alchemist on Jun 9, 2014 18:22:51 GMT
“You, cowards!” Eyrith shouted, waving the parchment in his hand wildly towards the group. The overseer looked towards the men, assured by their size and standing in society as good men that they would lend a hand.
“The fate of our city rests in only our hands! There is something down in the catacombs!”
Still, the men mumbled among themselves and said nothing.
Now, Eyrith had the attention of the whole tavern. The bartenders looked curiously at him, but refused to offer aid.
“I have worked within the Mezthula catacombs for fifteen years!” He slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, rattling the cups on its surface. “I have carried the bodies of your family members down to those catacombs and put each in their rightful ossuary! I have hunted alongside you men! You know me well! I would not cry wolf to you!”
Still, there was nothing.
Eyrith heaved a great sigh then sat down at a rickety chair on the side of the table. His broad shoulders were slumped downward and thick, dark circles held his eyes. He put a hand over the bridge of his long nose and green orbs. “Good men. Honest, trustworthy men,” He said, looking at the group through his fingers. “Something sinister is brewing within the Mezthula catacombs. We as a town need to come together to end it… I beg of you, men. You all have wives and children to consider….”
Again, there was nothing. Eyrith, disgusted and stricken with sadness got up and left the bar in a rush. He took his papers and tailcoat then headed out, making no attempt to pay for the many drinks he had prior to his rant, and no tender made a movement to stop him.
Just before he exited the tavern he looked over his shoulder indignantly. “The screams and cries in the night… I know you all hear them.”
The overseer walked down a stone and brick road that wound toward the ominous Mezthula Graveyard, wishing for a miracle.
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Soul
Nu Guardian
Posts: 4 
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Post by Soul on Jun 9, 2014 18:53:11 GMT
Ichabod watched with silent particularity as the gravedigger proclaimed his plight, from across the bar, a cup of ice swirling lightly in his hands. He shook it, calling the barkeeps attention. As he came over, Crane leaned in close.
"Who is that peculiar fellow, there? The one who just walked out?"
The barkeep filled Ichabod's cup full of Brandy. The good stuff, aged well. "Oh 'im? Thas jus' ol' Eyrith. He one o' dem grave keepers. I wouldn't listen to 'em if i'ere you, though. Just a few days ago there was another one of 'em spewing the same nonsense about monsters in the catacombs. Hee hee, if that were true, don't ya' think we woulda' heard somethin' by now?"
Ichabod took a sip of his drink. "Right, right my good man. You are most certainly right."
"Aye, I honestly think the whole lot of dem grave keeper fellas are a little touched in the head. They spend all hours o' the night in a dank, dark crypt surrounded by corpses! That would eventually tear at the heart of the truest man, I tell ya' what."
"Right, right."
"He'll go looney soo-"
"But what if he wasn't just fibbing? I heard even the Regent put up flyers calling for aid to the situation. Talk of necromancers and foul play come into the mix, and it changes the game being played, right?"
"I reck'n it would. Everyone was up in a roar about sumsuch necromancer comin' into town a few weeks ago. After he got here, that's when all the ill rumors started comin' up. I chalked it up as mass hysteria. Nothin' less."
"Hmm Perhaps, and perhaps not, my good man!" He took a final, large swig of the brandy before flicking a gold coin to the man, scribbling down a few notes in a journal, and collecting his things, making way for the door.
***
In the ere of night he heard them; the haunting wails that seemed to come from the very earth beneath his feet. He made a face of disgust, stopping just as he came upon the entrance to the catacombs. A great archway what lead into crypt, and down into the depths below. Sure enough, he found Eyrith stalking the entrance.
"So, I hear the regent wants a company to head down there and give it a look-see. This sounds like something that would be handled by the guard, or perhaps even the Church. Must be too squemish to oblige."
Ichabod held out his hand to Eyrith.
"Ichabod Crane at your service, sir. Pardon my manners, but I am here to investigate and report. I am a.... well I have several professions, among them being a journalist, and supernatural detective. The way this looked to me, I could knock out two birds with the good ol' stone. What say you?"
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Post by Portal on Jun 10, 2014 1:57:55 GMT
Clark lived as a traveling priest in present time. But he is now a priest by nature; not by church. As his official church no longer existed, destroyed entirely for something he was a part of. His past is unknown, as well as the church he swore his allegiance with. Clark travels around Telaris, preaching, praying, and protecting those from demons. While walking on past Mezthula, he could feel a familiar presence. His eyes lit up as he looked at the town.
"So you are here...aren't you?"
Clark walked up to the gates as he spoke with the guard a bit.
"Tell me sir, what has been going on with the town lately."
"Oh nuthin' priest. Jus' a lil gossip here and there. Ya know how the folks be. We don' have much bu' it's a good town non the less. Don' take all the rumors to heart, it's just a phase we goin' thru. But ugh...What cha got there on your back?
"It's nothing to harm you with, as you can see I am a follower of the gods. But back to the original topic... the Regent, is he a part of this?"
Clark took a flier off the gate as he noticed the words. It was almost like a plea for help, as if the town itself was on the brink of death.
"Oh he jus' an ol' head. Believin the rumors. But between me and you, strange things have been happenin at night."
"Thank you, I believe I'll be staying for the night. Can you direct me to a place to stay?"
"The pub is your best bet, got a nice inn and er'thing. Good luck to ya priest! May god bless you."
Clark headed towards the pub, speaking to nearby citizens for more information. As soon as he reached the pub, a man left in anger while another followed him. They moved in the direction of the catacombs.
"So my answers will be there... I see." Clark followed them.
His chains can be heard in the distance as they rattled on the ground. From afar as he approached the pub, a man was carrying a large cross strapped to his back with chains. His cloak covered his clothes as his attire was fully covered in crosses. The chains dragged along as he approached the two men. His boots creating loud thuds, until he finally reached his destination, arriving at the catacombs. The hood that covered his face was pulled down, showing his white hair and blue eyes in the open. His pupil shaped as a cross, filled with white as he spoke.
“The lands are tainted. You can hear it. The screams that is. Can you hear them? The tales that they tell. The Regent is right. He is here.”
He rested for a bit as he looked around, looking at the ground slightly as his eyes showed concern. He was really hoping for something different.
“I hope it isn't him...or is it her? I don't remember anymore...Not after that accident.”
This time he looks up, as if asking for an answer from the moon in the night.
“But fear not, for the church has heard your calls. Or really, what the church would have done. My name is Mavier Clark. Saint Clark if you will; though that was my older title. But shall we proceed? I can already smell them approaching us.”
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