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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 1360614" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Draelond #11] Seeing the Sights[/PLAIN]Draelond closed his eyes and tried to rest. It helped settle his mind when he couldn't see the strange form that housed him. His strength was nil, his ability to concentrate was obliterated by the thousands of questions stampeding through his mind, and he needed a plan.All in all, being in Battle City was probably a fairly lucky draw, he thought. Of all of the places he could have been "brought back" to, at least he was within reach of where he needed to be. One of the last things he remembered was the Janissary saying something about "Little Boy Mountain" in the distance and Hillville Junction being nearby. If he recollected properly then, the Grey Companions had ported into Byr. But the past few days had been a blur.Were they days? Hours? Minutes? Who knew if they were still there?He thought about returning to Grey House in Barnacus. Sooner or later the group would return there... but when? Barnacus also meant returning home and he was sure that he wasn't ready to do that. He could trail them to Byr, but he felt sure that it would be days before he felt strong enough to walk across the room, let alone set out across the Realms. "Sooner or later," he thought, "Ledare will have to make a report to the King." So Barnacus it would be.Suddenly, it dawned on him. His heart sank. He couldn't simply walk into Barnacus, knock on the door of Grey House and be given the hero's welcome.For all intents and purposes, to everyone else he was Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg. Who would believe his story? He would be labeled a crackpot and locked up. He had to be Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg then too. How well known was he outside of Battle City? What enemies hunted him? He remembered Harcout's explanation about the Order of Endings and hunting the undead."There's a bit of irony for you," he thought.None of this helped settle his mind. Things had certainly not played themselves out as he had envisioned. He just knew he'd had unfinished business and he wanted to come back and see it done. None of the complications he'd suddenly encountered had been planned for or even thought of.He knew he needed rest now, but doubted he could summon sleep. The cold, hard slab upon which he had been laid made the idea of sleep even more remote, but he closed his eyes again and tried.He was a little surprised to find that sleep had come after all. The shadows were long when he next opened his eyes. Clearly dusk was approaching and the empty library was filling with a darkness that lent it an otherworldly quality. For a moment, he was back in Purgatorium and he felt a shriek of fright building behind his lips but then he began to recognize his shadowy surroundings for what they were and the fear went away.Was he the same man who had thrown himself at a giant to protect his friends not very long ago? In a very real sense, he realized, he wasn't that man any more. He did not remember fear coming to him so easily before... before... before he died. A dread feeling of despair began to stir in his guts. He didn't remember that happening to him either but he clenched his jaw and forced the feeling away.His strength seemed to have returned, and with some effort, he got to his feet. It did him no good to lay on his back and wait for the world to find him. He needed to understand where he was and what was his situation. As he grimly wrapped his naked body in the bearskin blanket he recalled words that he had learned in his brief time training at the Janissary guildhall in Barnacus: "The warrior who chooses the field of battle is the warrior who gains the advantage."There might not be battle in his immediate future, but there was sure to be conflict. And Draelond had precious few advantages just now. He intended to learn all he could about this strange place in which he found himself.The city stretched out below him in all directions lit by the radience of two moons. Behind him, to the east was a dark warren of narrow streets and tired buildings that could only be a slum - the Rat Town that Harcourt had mentioned. The house in which he found himself lay in an area of well-lit shops and apartments stretching northwards to encompass what looked like a rough pentagon of barren earth in which no lights could be seen. The empty area butted up against a wide river that split the city in two. A fortified area rose up on the solitary island in the river's center, connected to both halves of the city proper by arching stone bridges. On the other side of the city, Draelond could make out merchant districts and temples. Far off, the walls of an arena rose above the surrounding buildings.A chill night breeze ruffled the furred blanket and stung at Draelond's exposed flesh as he leaned against the rail of the house's widow's walk. He hardly felt it; a crushing weight was rapidly building on his heart.He was a ghost...A phantom of two dead men...A stranger, adrift in a strange land.</blockquote>

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