Post by Quadhund/Greenhouse on Dec 21, 2005 16:02:17 GMT -5
Secrets and rumors, those were his bread and butter. Rumors, whether proven or disproven were always valuable to someone. "And find out i shall," he thought to himself.
The caravan ride was short and comfortable. It gave him time to think about recent events. Nothing of note stuck out in his mind though.
He stepped off the caravan and began the usual task. Beggars were always a good source of information. Everyone ignored them, which allowed them an invisible nature, seeing and hearing things not generally known.
After having paid off a rather stingy beggar, he had been directed to a rather large building in the city. There he saw a woman that appeared to be an off duty purple dragon. Sometimes they could be bought for a price too, though usually much higher. After having paid her off without much new information, he entered the hall without any concern. He spoke with a few of the officials there, and the truth of the rumor seemed to be growing thinner and thinner.
Upon exiting one of the back rooms, he noticed the purple dragon woman with one of the beggars in tow. The woman placed the man in a cell. "The usual arrest, probably caught with a hand in someone's pocket," he thought to himself. But that thought changed in another moment. He heard screams and then silence. The purple dragon left the building, and he followed quickly. A little weight had returned to the rumor.
He watched the woman talk to the man. The man was older, feeble almost. His cheeks sagged as if weighed down by sadness. His eyes were dull, the shine washed away by sorrowful years. He continued to talk about the hopelessness of it all, about missing his wife. The purple dragon offered him solace, if only he would follow her. Back to the hall they went.
The scene triggered something in hrothgar's memory. The guilt and regret returned. He watched the old man, as he neared the end of his life, and it reminded him of his father. That day, long ago, when he watched his father get cut down, and he did nothing. The same would happen again. This man, who would be about the same age as hrothgar's father if he were alive, would die. A twinge of fear stayed hrothgar's hand. He had been a worthless whelp back then, but what was he now? Was he that hero from stories of old? Hero's were fools that died, and the only things left were stories, he told himself. But, this would be the time, if any, to right the wrong he had commited so long ago. No longer would the indifference he had come to live by, govern his actions. Though the knowledge he had gained would be useful, this man would die without his help.
He drew forth his sword and strode out from behind the pillar. Well at least the reaction he got was comforting. But when the floor split open, spewing forth fire and smoke, Hroth started to change his mind. As he was overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur, he realized that he would be a fool that was not a hero, for no story would be told of him this day.
The caravan ride was short and comfortable. It gave him time to think about recent events. Nothing of note stuck out in his mind though.
He stepped off the caravan and began the usual task. Beggars were always a good source of information. Everyone ignored them, which allowed them an invisible nature, seeing and hearing things not generally known.
After having paid off a rather stingy beggar, he had been directed to a rather large building in the city. There he saw a woman that appeared to be an off duty purple dragon. Sometimes they could be bought for a price too, though usually much higher. After having paid her off without much new information, he entered the hall without any concern. He spoke with a few of the officials there, and the truth of the rumor seemed to be growing thinner and thinner.
Upon exiting one of the back rooms, he noticed the purple dragon woman with one of the beggars in tow. The woman placed the man in a cell. "The usual arrest, probably caught with a hand in someone's pocket," he thought to himself. But that thought changed in another moment. He heard screams and then silence. The purple dragon left the building, and he followed quickly. A little weight had returned to the rumor.
He watched the woman talk to the man. The man was older, feeble almost. His cheeks sagged as if weighed down by sadness. His eyes were dull, the shine washed away by sorrowful years. He continued to talk about the hopelessness of it all, about missing his wife. The purple dragon offered him solace, if only he would follow her. Back to the hall they went.
The scene triggered something in hrothgar's memory. The guilt and regret returned. He watched the old man, as he neared the end of his life, and it reminded him of his father. That day, long ago, when he watched his father get cut down, and he did nothing. The same would happen again. This man, who would be about the same age as hrothgar's father if he were alive, would die. A twinge of fear stayed hrothgar's hand. He had been a worthless whelp back then, but what was he now? Was he that hero from stories of old? Hero's were fools that died, and the only things left were stories, he told himself. But, this would be the time, if any, to right the wrong he had commited so long ago. No longer would the indifference he had come to live by, govern his actions. Though the knowledge he had gained would be useful, this man would die without his help.
He drew forth his sword and strode out from behind the pillar. Well at least the reaction he got was comforting. But when the floor split open, spewing forth fire and smoke, Hroth started to change his mind. As he was overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur, he realized that he would be a fool that was not a hero, for no story would be told of him this day.