SolidSnake_01
Explorer
Gray Fox Journal: Sojourn
I could not remember the last time I traveled in such comfort. Sleeping on rocks and having no shelter from the elements had been my routine. This was something else. Velvet pillows covering two benches that could easily have sat four grown men on each side, freshly prepared food for the journey, and a nearly unlimited supply of alcohol. I should have probably been more careful, but Jordan was such an easy person to talk to. We spoke mostly about politics and war, the two subjects that I understood all too well. He never interrogated me for personal information, he simply allowed me to carry the conversation wherever I desired it to go. I did try and find out more about him, but he was very deft at deflecting from his own past. It went on like this for days and I felt as though I had missed my opportunity to bring up the fact that he could summon burning chains from the Nine Hells. I know nothing about him, but I am piecing things together during our journey. My mind is always working that way. I need challenges to hold my focus, lest I turn that perception upon myself and drift into the abyss of sorrow. A warrior’s most dangerous weapon is his mind.
Sadly, I think Jordan’s story is not unique. Desperation comes to every man at some point. I see myself reflected in his eyes. He believed in something as I did. And when evidence of its corruption was revealed to him, he didn’t search his own soul, he found comfort in another system of faith. Good and evil. So simple and simultaneously so ridiculous. I have seen dying men on the field of battle cry out for aid and many of them would have been willing to take it from anyone or anything. The instinct for survival is a powerful one and some men are willing to do anything to hang on to life. They tell themselves that they can make a difference, that they will change, that they will be better...if only they are given one more chance. Oftentimes this is not the case. It is difficult for many men to rise above their own nature. I, myself, am a product of violence. I have been given advantages, but important things were taken from me. Am I condemned to remain in a perpetual state of conflict? Perhaps. But now, I feel as though I have free will. I can choose my path and I would like to see a different world. We all deserve better, especially Jordan.
The wine makes me melodramatic. This is why I avoid drinking. In fact, I had been so engrossed in my own thoughts and with Jordan, that I hadn’t even registered the cry of alarm coming from the driver.
“Uhh-sssirs-you best come out here.” The fear was palpable.
Jordan put his wine glass down and apologized to me before exiting the coach. I was a bit more cautious, opening my carriage door and looking out. Floating above the road in front of us was a darkly robed figure with an outstretched skeletal hand. I could not see its face, but two red glowing eyes stared back at us. This seemed fairly normal to Jordan, which was a bit disconcerting. As Jordan approached the figure, he began to speak Infernal. How is it that I could know this you ask? Well, I have participated in wars on and off Oerth and was trained by a wide range of individuals. In order to survive in any conflict, you need accurate intelligence. If you don’t know what people are saying, that becomes quite difficult.
The entire scene was too convenient for me. If I were arranging an ambush, this is almost exactly how I would do it. That is when I noticed it. The creaking of the front wheel and the soft footsteps on top of the carriage. So I did what any reasonable person would do, I lit up a cigar and took a deep breath, making my adversary believe that he had the advantage. That was until I flicked it out the window and it exploded into a cloud of golden dust. The invisible enemy was nicely outlined for me and as I had no idea what or who he was, I wanted to question him. Three poisoned-tipped arrows to the chest took care of that. He fell unconscious almost instantly and tumbled off the side of the carriage. I really have to thank Gengi personally for the quality of his ingredients. No one does Drow poison like that man. I wonder if he will be amenable to joining my plight in the future...I should really ask him when I get back to Greyhawk.
Unfortunately the fall seemed to stir the now visible man. He had an exotic sword slung over his back and a brand of three overlapping triangles burnt into the flesh of his arm. That wasn’t really what caught my attention. Three women clad in strange clothing materialized above the ground where they remained suspended as if they were resting on solid ground. One had bandages covered in magical runes around her eyes, one around her mouth, and the third around her ears. A giant with similar garb stood imposingly in front of them to block access to the trio as they wove spells to confuse us. The distraction of their arrival gave my opponent long enough to recover and activate the magic of his sword, which wreathed him in flame. He was unprepared for what I was capable of and I quickly disarmed him, and sent his magical blade hurling away as I pummeled him into the ground. Jordan, meanwhile, attempted to deal with the giant and the three sisters. He fared less well after being blinded and thrown through his own carriage. What was remarkable was that those magical chains he summoned before wove around him to protect him, creating makeshift armor and a shield. The blade he summoned also seemed otherworldly and it was unclear who was in control at times...the sword or him. In any event, the battle did not last as the enemy was unprepared to deal with our counter assault. It was unclear if they were after the case or on a mission of revenge against Jordan. I lit up another cigar and watched the armored man extract himself from the ruins of his carriage.
“Need any help,” I asked with a hint of sarcasm.
Jordan was not amused. I think he took the vow of protection quite seriously and rightly concluded that it was me who saved him and not the other way around. This made his tone take on an edge.
“Were they after you, Treig? What are you carrying?” It was unclear if Jordan was demanding or asking.
“As I said before, I don’t know. Something to do with the events that had transpired in Greyhawk. Are you sure they are not after you?”
“All my enemies are dead,” Jordan responded.
I did not press any further, but redirected Jordan to the task at hand. Getting to Diamond Lake. The loss of the carriage was of no concern to the hellish knight. He summoned a fiendish steed and we were on our way. I asked that he remained on the road, while I scouted from the cover of the adjacent forest. We were a day’s march from the village when we spotted a wagon headed our way. It was filled with an odd assortment of junk, but one thing caught our eye. A sign that looked fairly worn and battered read “Emporium.” Jordan stopped the driver.
“Yes, m’lord,” the villager stammered.
“What has happened,” Jordan asked.
“A dragon m’lord. A great black dragon attacked our village. Best not go that way,” he stated.
“What of the man they call Allustan,” Jordan inquired.
“He fought valiantly, but alas, he fell like so many others,” the villager replied.
Jordan was a noble. Of that I have no doubt. Likely born into privilege and groomed from a young age to ascend to a position of leadership most men would kill for. He was schooled in dictation and etiquette. I am sure that he knew at least fifteen different ways to say the word “no.” Expressing himself did not seem to be a problem for Jordan. His response, more than the news of current events, left even me speechless. All he said was “f**k.”
I could not remember the last time I traveled in such comfort. Sleeping on rocks and having no shelter from the elements had been my routine. This was something else. Velvet pillows covering two benches that could easily have sat four grown men on each side, freshly prepared food for the journey, and a nearly unlimited supply of alcohol. I should have probably been more careful, but Jordan was such an easy person to talk to. We spoke mostly about politics and war, the two subjects that I understood all too well. He never interrogated me for personal information, he simply allowed me to carry the conversation wherever I desired it to go. I did try and find out more about him, but he was very deft at deflecting from his own past. It went on like this for days and I felt as though I had missed my opportunity to bring up the fact that he could summon burning chains from the Nine Hells. I know nothing about him, but I am piecing things together during our journey. My mind is always working that way. I need challenges to hold my focus, lest I turn that perception upon myself and drift into the abyss of sorrow. A warrior’s most dangerous weapon is his mind.
Sadly, I think Jordan’s story is not unique. Desperation comes to every man at some point. I see myself reflected in his eyes. He believed in something as I did. And when evidence of its corruption was revealed to him, he didn’t search his own soul, he found comfort in another system of faith. Good and evil. So simple and simultaneously so ridiculous. I have seen dying men on the field of battle cry out for aid and many of them would have been willing to take it from anyone or anything. The instinct for survival is a powerful one and some men are willing to do anything to hang on to life. They tell themselves that they can make a difference, that they will change, that they will be better...if only they are given one more chance. Oftentimes this is not the case. It is difficult for many men to rise above their own nature. I, myself, am a product of violence. I have been given advantages, but important things were taken from me. Am I condemned to remain in a perpetual state of conflict? Perhaps. But now, I feel as though I have free will. I can choose my path and I would like to see a different world. We all deserve better, especially Jordan.
The wine makes me melodramatic. This is why I avoid drinking. In fact, I had been so engrossed in my own thoughts and with Jordan, that I hadn’t even registered the cry of alarm coming from the driver.
“Uhh-sssirs-you best come out here.” The fear was palpable.
Jordan put his wine glass down and apologized to me before exiting the coach. I was a bit more cautious, opening my carriage door and looking out. Floating above the road in front of us was a darkly robed figure with an outstretched skeletal hand. I could not see its face, but two red glowing eyes stared back at us. This seemed fairly normal to Jordan, which was a bit disconcerting. As Jordan approached the figure, he began to speak Infernal. How is it that I could know this you ask? Well, I have participated in wars on and off Oerth and was trained by a wide range of individuals. In order to survive in any conflict, you need accurate intelligence. If you don’t know what people are saying, that becomes quite difficult.
The entire scene was too convenient for me. If I were arranging an ambush, this is almost exactly how I would do it. That is when I noticed it. The creaking of the front wheel and the soft footsteps on top of the carriage. So I did what any reasonable person would do, I lit up a cigar and took a deep breath, making my adversary believe that he had the advantage. That was until I flicked it out the window and it exploded into a cloud of golden dust. The invisible enemy was nicely outlined for me and as I had no idea what or who he was, I wanted to question him. Three poisoned-tipped arrows to the chest took care of that. He fell unconscious almost instantly and tumbled off the side of the carriage. I really have to thank Gengi personally for the quality of his ingredients. No one does Drow poison like that man. I wonder if he will be amenable to joining my plight in the future...I should really ask him when I get back to Greyhawk.
Unfortunately the fall seemed to stir the now visible man. He had an exotic sword slung over his back and a brand of three overlapping triangles burnt into the flesh of his arm. That wasn’t really what caught my attention. Three women clad in strange clothing materialized above the ground where they remained suspended as if they were resting on solid ground. One had bandages covered in magical runes around her eyes, one around her mouth, and the third around her ears. A giant with similar garb stood imposingly in front of them to block access to the trio as they wove spells to confuse us. The distraction of their arrival gave my opponent long enough to recover and activate the magic of his sword, which wreathed him in flame. He was unprepared for what I was capable of and I quickly disarmed him, and sent his magical blade hurling away as I pummeled him into the ground. Jordan, meanwhile, attempted to deal with the giant and the three sisters. He fared less well after being blinded and thrown through his own carriage. What was remarkable was that those magical chains he summoned before wove around him to protect him, creating makeshift armor and a shield. The blade he summoned also seemed otherworldly and it was unclear who was in control at times...the sword or him. In any event, the battle did not last as the enemy was unprepared to deal with our counter assault. It was unclear if they were after the case or on a mission of revenge against Jordan. I lit up another cigar and watched the armored man extract himself from the ruins of his carriage.
“Need any help,” I asked with a hint of sarcasm.
Jordan was not amused. I think he took the vow of protection quite seriously and rightly concluded that it was me who saved him and not the other way around. This made his tone take on an edge.
“Were they after you, Treig? What are you carrying?” It was unclear if Jordan was demanding or asking.
“As I said before, I don’t know. Something to do with the events that had transpired in Greyhawk. Are you sure they are not after you?”
“All my enemies are dead,” Jordan responded.
I did not press any further, but redirected Jordan to the task at hand. Getting to Diamond Lake. The loss of the carriage was of no concern to the hellish knight. He summoned a fiendish steed and we were on our way. I asked that he remained on the road, while I scouted from the cover of the adjacent forest. We were a day’s march from the village when we spotted a wagon headed our way. It was filled with an odd assortment of junk, but one thing caught our eye. A sign that looked fairly worn and battered read “Emporium.” Jordan stopped the driver.
“Yes, m’lord,” the villager stammered.
“What has happened,” Jordan asked.
“A dragon m’lord. A great black dragon attacked our village. Best not go that way,” he stated.
“What of the man they call Allustan,” Jordan inquired.
“He fought valiantly, but alas, he fell like so many others,” the villager replied.
Jordan was a noble. Of that I have no doubt. Likely born into privilege and groomed from a young age to ascend to a position of leadership most men would kill for. He was schooled in dictation and etiquette. I am sure that he knew at least fifteen different ways to say the word “no.” Expressing himself did not seem to be a problem for Jordan. His response, more than the news of current events, left even me speechless. All he said was “f**k.”