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Unread 4th of November, 2002, 06:18
Cadrius's Avatar
Refusing to Sow [Epic GM]

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Location: The Emerald City
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It is shortly before dawn when Cadrius awakens, his eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the darkness of his room. A chill breeze slips through a nearby window and causes goosebumps to rise and dance across his skin. He exhales once, seeing his breath, and rises to the window closing it firmly with one hand.

He remains standing gazing out at the border town. He looks into the darkness and for a moment he knows what it is like to be dead: the coldness, the emptiness. He shudders, he figures he'll die soon enough, but for now he still draws breath.

There is a faint murmer of conversation as the door to the inn is opened and several figures emerge into the approaching dawn. The first glimmer of orange light can now be seen on the horizon and Cadrius makes out the form of Cadogan and the elf, Laronar, moving outside. He clenches the frame of the window as a shadowy figure approaches the pair, but it doesn't seem to carry any malice with it. Again the fallen paladin wishes he still had the Sight. He shakes his head and moves to his backpack. Let the blind man do as he would. Cadrius had already killed three men, he would not cause any more trouble. Not if he could help it anyway.

He casually tosses the packpack on his bed and stretches, attempting to loosen his muscles after his sleep. His eyes roam across his wounds, now on the mend he would be as good as new in a matter of days. Some scars would remain, but apart from that he would be more or less intact. Until the next encounter with a murderous beast anyway.

Equipment is tossed aside as he empties the backpack out on the unmade bed. His waterskin takes an odd bounce and lands on the floor. He leaves it. A small pile of coins spills out and he quickly sorts them into their corresponding piles before counting them. Some silver, some copper, over five score gold, and a couple of precious platinum. He glances over at the club in the corner, perhaps that could fetch him a good price too. Whoever made that had clearly done an exceptional job.

The coins are quickly gathered back up and placed again in the backpack. The hilt of the blade joins them with a slight clank and Cadrius slips downstairs, the club slung over one shoulder with the backpack over the other.

He slips back into his worn clothing looking very much the part of a weary commoner and slips down the stairs to breakfast.

* * * * *

There are more people moving about as he makes his way through town. He looks for the nearest blacksmith but it is sometime before he is able to find it. However as he wanders, his feet seem to have their own agenda for soon he is standing alongside a gathering crowd. Faint blood stains mark the ground where two men died.

He remains silent as he listens to the voices of the crowd, lamenting the loss of three of their own. There's talk of how hardworking they were, how good they had been, how their mothers missed them, and how their wives cried. A stone block of guilt firmly settles upon Cadrius' shoulders and they slump slightly.

"... caught the one who did it though. Got him locked up at the garrison..."

His eyes light up dangerously as he hears they had already caught the killer. Who is it? Who would be punished for his actions? Cadrius doesn't have the time to ask as the crowd suddenly turns against a young man. He's being ostracized by the crowd, why? There's something odd about him but Cadrius isn't able to put his finger on it until the man flees from a potential stoning. Orcish blood.

Had an orc been in town? A convenient enough subject, or had it merely been an unfortunate soul like the one currently fleeing. Someone who could not control what blood flowed through their veins and was punished for it. The weight on his shoulders grows heavier.

The crowd moves one way and he trudges another hoping that the youth gets away but unwilling to stand against the mob. He slumps into a smith's shop and approaches a large, bald man who seems happier by a forge than behind a counter.

"What can I do fer ya, lad?" He rumbles to Cadrius.

His eyes are still frought with guilt and pain but he manages to make his intentions clear: he's looking to see if the club is valuable as well as armor and potentially a custom job, forging a new blade for his sword.

The smith's brow furrows as he examines the club. He hefts it with both hands, testing its weight and swing before turning to the broken blade and hilt. He traces his finger of the symbol and Cadrius winces.

"I think I could do it fer ya," he says at last, scribbling down Cadrius' order in a language only the smith can comprehend.

"It won't be cheap," he ads, looking up from the dirty piece of parchment.

Cadrius nods wearily and asks, "And the club?"

The smith's brow furrows again as his hand strays to it.

"I like it, I'll tell ya that much," he says before turning his eyes back to the fallen paladin, "ye look like ye could use some protection lad. Tell ya what, I'll make ye an even trade, this club for some armor."

Cadrius shrugs and nods, thanking the man. He puts in his request and the man smith nods, "Good, good, the armor can be ready by tomorrow. I've got the pieces and yer 'bout the same size as meself so I ken fix it up. The blade'll take longer though. Couple o' days, but since yer payin' I might be able to do it a little faster."

Again Cadrius thanks the man and lays a handful of gold coins on the counter as a deposit.

Turning he makes his way back to the inn, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like cavalry on infantry.