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This thread follows to the “Hunting the sorcerer and the sorcerer’s hunt”.
http://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/17899/1
It also is the translation of this thread: http://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/19482/1
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#1 – Storyteller
A summer day, in FairHaven, on the docks, she was walking a less-tense pace than her usual. Evidence of a long habit, nothing in her walk was betraying the burden due to the black and chitinous armour in which she enjoyed roaming on Atys.
At the water edge, lovers were kissing. Alone among all the others, she would have had a hard job having them notice the world around them. Grasping her helmet by one horn, she removed it from her head, letting her blond and smooth hair fly in the breeze. No one could have guessed, just by seeing, the efforts she had had to make for months to keep a relatively quiet face.
News was now quite old. The marauder had disappeared from his jail.
Between the Zoraïs unable to keep him captive, and the Trykers unable to protect him once caught, she didn’t know if she should feel eased or irritated.
For some, the main thing was that he was dead. But for her, irritation was strongest.
Was she the only one who didn’t believe that his substance wouldn’t die with him? Was she the only one worrying about what had happened to his production of poison phials, and to his controlling potions?
Everything was clear, to her, for a long time. Xiao-mei’s interrogation – and it had been quite a long time ago! – had made her to understand. It wasn’t alcohol which, at the time when this stale yubo still was a member of her entourage, had had her to forget the marriage proposal of this impotent runt, nor had drunkenness had her to accept. It wasn’t either hangover which had made her to lose every memory of the celebration.
Forgetfulness… the substance forced obedience, and then forgetfulness. He had tested his mixture on her.
Never would she forget the mortification of waking up near this degenerate louse of an under-fripo with no future. She didn’t own any poison, but she had her own proved way to kill. Ezek’s corpse hasn’t been found. Marks of fight have been noted. He may be definitively dead. He may not. What is sure is that he won’t give away anything about his experiments if he isn’t captive and questioned.
If the drinking water reservoirs of FairHaven, which supply a great part of the bark for its everyday needs, are contaminated with his corrupt goo, no one knows how to deflect it. Nowhere, no one really knows what lived in this mad soul. No one. The marauders seemed to enjoy attacking this town. How much of those mixtures did they still hold? Did they know how to reproduce it?
The solar clock had hidden behind the mountains. The lovers had disappeared. The backwash was cradling her sombre thoughts. The ones which were haunting her every evening, between two patrols. Which had her swaying between worry and irritation.
The only things that remained to help her keeping an impassive face, were the guards and what might be hiding behind the night and the horizon.
Before the hills revealed the sparkle of a rifle’s scope, she put on her helmet again, hiding her face and her thoughts. The sorcerer of the black queen had been sacrificed. The rest of the game would soon be unveiled.
This thread follows to the “Hunting the sorcerer and the sorcerer’s hunt”.
http://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/17899/1
It also is the translation of this thread: http://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/19482/1
***************************
#1 – Storyteller
A summer day, in FairHaven, on the docks, she was walking a less-tense pace than her usual. Evidence of a long habit, nothing in her walk was betraying the burden due to the black and chitinous armour in which she enjoyed roaming on Atys.
At the water edge, lovers were kissing. Alone among all the others, she would have had a hard job having them notice the world around them. Grasping her helmet by one horn, she removed it from her head, letting her blond and smooth hair fly in the breeze. No one could have guessed, just by seeing, the efforts she had had to make for months to keep a relatively quiet face.
News was now quite old. The marauder had disappeared from his jail.
Between the Zoraïs unable to keep him captive, and the Trykers unable to protect him once caught, she didn’t know if she should feel eased or irritated.
For some, the main thing was that he was dead. But for her, irritation was strongest.
Was she the only one who didn’t believe that his substance wouldn’t die with him? Was she the only one worrying about what had happened to his production of poison phials, and to his controlling potions?
Everything was clear, to her, for a long time. Xiao-mei’s interrogation – and it had been quite a long time ago! – had made her to understand. It wasn’t alcohol which, at the time when this stale yubo still was a member of her entourage, had had her to forget the marriage proposal of this impotent runt, nor had drunkenness had her to accept. It wasn’t either hangover which had made her to lose every memory of the celebration.
Forgetfulness… the substance forced obedience, and then forgetfulness. He had tested his mixture on her.
Never would she forget the mortification of waking up near this degenerate louse of an under-fripo with no future. She didn’t own any poison, but she had her own proved way to kill. Ezek’s corpse hasn’t been found. Marks of fight have been noted. He may be definitively dead. He may not. What is sure is that he won’t give away anything about his experiments if he isn’t captive and questioned.
If the drinking water reservoirs of FairHaven, which supply a great part of the bark for its everyday needs, are contaminated with his corrupt goo, no one knows how to deflect it. Nowhere, no one really knows what lived in this mad soul. No one. The marauders seemed to enjoy attacking this town. How much of those mixtures did they still hold? Did they know how to reproduce it?
The solar clock had hidden behind the mountains. The lovers had disappeared. The backwash was cradling her sombre thoughts. The ones which were haunting her every evening, between two patrols. Which had her swaying between worry and irritation.
The only things that remained to help her keeping an impassive face, were the guards and what might be hiding behind the night and the horizon.
Before the hills revealed the sparkle of a rifle’s scope, she put on her helmet again, hiding her face and her thoughts. The sorcerer of the black queen had been sacrificed. The rest of the game would soon be unveiled.