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A Lonely Path: a Shackled City Story Hour (the old version, see last post)
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<blockquote data-quote="hbarsquared" data-source="post: 2203069" data-attributes="member: 4550"><p><span style="color: deepskyblue"><strong>Chapter One, Part One</strong></span></p><p></p><p></p><p>The climb up the side of the volcano was not a strenuous one, but it was a long one. The path, wide enough for two wagons side by side, detoured around large rock formations and thick copses of trees, switchbacked near steep cliffs, and gradually encircled the entire mountain. Leading her horse, Abrina was relieved to see the towering black malachite walls of the city finally come into view. She knew she would be no safer within those thick stone walls, but they nevertheless signified the last leg of her journey.</p><p></p><p>Abrina arrived at the gate, her supplies carried by her horse and the scrollcase hung protectively from her shoulder. Several guards inspected merchants both coming and going, logging the transport of valuable items, mundane and magical. One young guard approached her, a short sword dangling at his side, his studded armor clean, well-kept, and free of scrapes and cuts.</p><p></p><p>“Anything of value?” he asked, holding a partially unrolled scroll against a flat piece of wood. He held a small writing utensil poised above the paper in one hand.</p><p></p><p>Abrina shook her head. “No,” she said, motioning to her packs. “Just supplies. I’m a message bearer.” Abrina patted her holy symbol around her neck. The periapt remained hidden beneath her shirt.</p><p></p><p>The guard raised his head and nodded, making a single, simple mark on the parchment. “Ah, yes. Ninurta speed you.”</p><p></p><p>“And you as well,” she replied, “Thank you.”</p><p></p><p>The streets of Cauldron were busy on this bright autumn afternoon. Tumbling white clouds raced across the sky, mimicking the people in the circular, concentric streets. She stabled her horse then immediately set out to find the temple where she was to deliver her message, but found little help with the local populace. The citizens seemed on edge, suspicious. She would ask for simple directions from passerbys, only to see them hurry off without responding. Something had happened, or was happening, in Cauldron, though Abrina did not know what. She heard a rumor, in one of the shops she had stepped into, of a strange type of currency now found among the merchants. The coins were stamped with the face of a jester, instead of the sovereign. It unnerved the shopkeepers, certainly, who scrutinized her coins before accepting them, but Abrina did not believe that money would be the root of the suspicions of everyone else.</p><p></p><p>Abrina had spent hours wandering some of the middle avenues of Cauldron, only once hazarding the innermost and most dilapidated circle of Ash Avenue, only to discover that the temple she sought was located on the first street she had encountered: Obsidian. In the waning light and gathering rain clouds, Abrina climbed back up the inner bowl of the city, following the wide streets that sloped and curved gently upward.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: white">A steady drizzle began to fall from the ash-gray sky. The crowded, rain-slicked buildings seemed especially bleak and frightful this evening, hunched together beneath the tireless rain. A few lights burned in their eyes, but mostly their shutters had been closed for the night. The scent of chimney smoke filled the air, and Abrina heard the din of water trundling from the rooftops, splashing into dark alleys, and turning street gutters into small rivulets.</span></p><p><span style="color: white"></span></p><p><span style="color: white">A sudden plaintive cry for help split the evening air.</span> Abrina whirled, spear raised in hand, to find no one around, no one on the street. <span style="color: white">The cry seemed to have come from somewhere behind her,/color] she was sure of it. Peering through the falling rain, she could make out no moving figures, nothing but the wet, tired faces of closed shops. She paused, listening, and <span style="color: white">heard some cursing, and the sounds of a scuffle, slightly muffled by the rainfall.</span> Gingerly, she followed the noises. She maneuvered her scrollcase so it hung diagonally across her back, and cinched tight the strap. She grasped the wet shaft of the spear with both hands and peered down the street. The noises came from a nearby alley, not ten yards away.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="hbarsquared, post: 2203069, member: 4550"] [color=deepskyblue][b]Chapter One, Part One[/b][/color] The climb up the side of the volcano was not a strenuous one, but it was a long one. The path, wide enough for two wagons side by side, detoured around large rock formations and thick copses of trees, switchbacked near steep cliffs, and gradually encircled the entire mountain. Leading her horse, Abrina was relieved to see the towering black malachite walls of the city finally come into view. She knew she would be no safer within those thick stone walls, but they nevertheless signified the last leg of her journey. Abrina arrived at the gate, her supplies carried by her horse and the scrollcase hung protectively from her shoulder. Several guards inspected merchants both coming and going, logging the transport of valuable items, mundane and magical. One young guard approached her, a short sword dangling at his side, his studded armor clean, well-kept, and free of scrapes and cuts. “Anything of value?” he asked, holding a partially unrolled scroll against a flat piece of wood. He held a small writing utensil poised above the paper in one hand. Abrina shook her head. “No,” she said, motioning to her packs. “Just supplies. I’m a message bearer.” Abrina patted her holy symbol around her neck. The periapt remained hidden beneath her shirt. The guard raised his head and nodded, making a single, simple mark on the parchment. “Ah, yes. Ninurta speed you.” “And you as well,” she replied, “Thank you.” The streets of Cauldron were busy on this bright autumn afternoon. Tumbling white clouds raced across the sky, mimicking the people in the circular, concentric streets. She stabled her horse then immediately set out to find the temple where she was to deliver her message, but found little help with the local populace. The citizens seemed on edge, suspicious. She would ask for simple directions from passerbys, only to see them hurry off without responding. Something had happened, or was happening, in Cauldron, though Abrina did not know what. She heard a rumor, in one of the shops she had stepped into, of a strange type of currency now found among the merchants. The coins were stamped with the face of a jester, instead of the sovereign. It unnerved the shopkeepers, certainly, who scrutinized her coins before accepting them, but Abrina did not believe that money would be the root of the suspicions of everyone else. Abrina had spent hours wandering some of the middle avenues of Cauldron, only once hazarding the innermost and most dilapidated circle of Ash Avenue, only to discover that the temple she sought was located on the first street she had encountered: Obsidian. In the waning light and gathering rain clouds, Abrina climbed back up the inner bowl of the city, following the wide streets that sloped and curved gently upward. [color=white]A steady drizzle began to fall from the ash-gray sky. The crowded, rain-slicked buildings seemed especially bleak and frightful this evening, hunched together beneath the tireless rain. A few lights burned in their eyes, but mostly their shutters had been closed for the night. The scent of chimney smoke filled the air, and Abrina heard the din of water trundling from the rooftops, splashing into dark alleys, and turning street gutters into small rivulets. A sudden plaintive cry for help split the evening air.[/color] Abrina whirled, spear raised in hand, to find no one around, no one on the street. [color=white]The cry seemed to have come from somewhere behind her,/color] she was sure of it. Peering through the falling rain, she could make out no moving figures, nothing but the wet, tired faces of closed shops. She paused, listening, and [color=white]heard some cursing, and the sounds of a scuffle, slightly muffled by the rainfall.[/color] Gingerly, she followed the noises. She maneuvered her scrollcase so it hung diagonally across her back, and cinched tight the strap. She grasped the wet shaft of the spear with both hands and peered down the street. The noises came from a nearby alley, not ten yards away.[/color] [/QUOTE]
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