Neverwinter, Eleasias 12, 1372
"Poor guy, he says he's a mage."
"Any family or friends come for him?"
"No, not as yet, but we're still hoping for someone to claim him. He claims to have some kind of appointment with Lord Alagondar, but the Lord has no idea who he is."
"Have the proper spells and whatnot been placed around his cell?"
"Yes, sir. He doesn't show any tendencies towards violence or anything, and he's kept to himself. Says he's from the Heartlands."
"Keep him under watch and we'll see what Lord Alagondar wants done with him."
"Yes, sir."
From within his cell, the wizard heard the exchange between the two guardsmen, quietly puffing on his pipe. My detention in this asylum will not go unheard of to the ears Alagondar, he swore quietly to himself and sighed. "Excuse me, my good sirs, I do believe this is entirely unnecessary. I have an appointment with Lord Alagondar, he's just forgotten, as is the way with his type of personality. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me tend to my business, I will not have to report your gross misconduct to your superiors," he said to the two guards.
The two men exchanged glances and the higher ranking of the two said, not without a certain kind of compassion reserved for the insane and foolish, "We're only going to hold you here for a day while we sort all this out, sir, no harm at all." This seemed to satisfy the old man, and he shook his head. "Poor soul," he muttered under his breath before walking out of the cell block.
The old man took another puff on his pipe and leaned back in the small wooden chair in the cell. He was dressed in what appeared to be a night-robe and slippers, with only his pipe for personal effects. He had a snowy white handlebar mustache, tiny spectacles nested on his nose, and was bald on the top of his head with long, perfectly kept hair flowing downwards from the sides and back. He had a cunning look in his eye, but it was more like the cunning of a fox than a snake. On the floor next to him was a huge tome and a ventriloquist's dummy, fashioned in the likeness of a gnome. As he released the smoke from his lungs, he looked down and said, "This is quite a problem we've gotten into, isn't it, Wesley?"
The puppet didn't move.
"You do know, my dear boy, that this could all have been avoided had you just spoken up when the guards arrived," the man said. The puppet remained unmoving.
"Oh come now, it doesn't matter if they hear or see you now that we're stuck in here. The worst thing that can happen is we get some company when the guards complain of a talking puppet!" he said, chuckling at the notion. He took another puff and continued, "Now, look here, we're running late because of these bureaucratic monkeyshines, and I hold you responsible." He glared at the puppet and extinguished his pipe.
Several hours later, the old man looked out the barred window of the asylum and scowled. The sun was setting. "We're dreadfully late for our conference now, and I'm afraid Alagondar won't honor our appointment," he said with a sigh. "No sense in wasting anymore time here." He rolled up his sleeves and cracked his fingers.
Outside, a guard leaned against a wall, waiting out the last few minutes of another uneventful shift. He yawned and looked to the sky. The sun was just about to set, the sky deepening from red and orange to purple and black, stars blinking into existence over the city of Neverwinter. He pushed off the wall and began to make his way to the main guardpost to find his relief.
Suddenly, the wall he had been leaning against only moments before exploded outward with a deafening boom. The force of the blast knocked him down on his face. The bewildered guard scrambled onto his hands and knees and turned to see what had happened.
One of the walls had blown outwards from a cell, and from the dust and rubble clambered an old man, clutching a book in one hand, a puppet in another, and with a pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked about with absolute calm until he noticed the guard. "I say, did I injure you?" he asked. The guard shook his head in disbelief and fear. "Delightful! It would be dreadful if you were hurt, but you aren't so I must be on my way," the man continued. "Now then, Wesley, off to go see Lord Alagondar about that appointment I had. Perhaps this time he'll remember the name Evender Greycastle!"
And with that, he walked calmly away from the asylum and down a short side street.
"Poor guy, he says he's a mage."
"Any family or friends come for him?"
"No, not as yet, but we're still hoping for someone to claim him. He claims to have some kind of appointment with Lord Alagondar, but the Lord has no idea who he is."
"Have the proper spells and whatnot been placed around his cell?"
"Yes, sir. He doesn't show any tendencies towards violence or anything, and he's kept to himself. Says he's from the Heartlands."
"Keep him under watch and we'll see what Lord Alagondar wants done with him."
"Yes, sir."
From within his cell, the wizard heard the exchange between the two guardsmen, quietly puffing on his pipe. My detention in this asylum will not go unheard of to the ears Alagondar, he swore quietly to himself and sighed. "Excuse me, my good sirs, I do believe this is entirely unnecessary. I have an appointment with Lord Alagondar, he's just forgotten, as is the way with his type of personality. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me tend to my business, I will not have to report your gross misconduct to your superiors," he said to the two guards.
The two men exchanged glances and the higher ranking of the two said, not without a certain kind of compassion reserved for the insane and foolish, "We're only going to hold you here for a day while we sort all this out, sir, no harm at all." This seemed to satisfy the old man, and he shook his head. "Poor soul," he muttered under his breath before walking out of the cell block.
The old man took another puff on his pipe and leaned back in the small wooden chair in the cell. He was dressed in what appeared to be a night-robe and slippers, with only his pipe for personal effects. He had a snowy white handlebar mustache, tiny spectacles nested on his nose, and was bald on the top of his head with long, perfectly kept hair flowing downwards from the sides and back. He had a cunning look in his eye, but it was more like the cunning of a fox than a snake. On the floor next to him was a huge tome and a ventriloquist's dummy, fashioned in the likeness of a gnome. As he released the smoke from his lungs, he looked down and said, "This is quite a problem we've gotten into, isn't it, Wesley?"
The puppet didn't move.
"You do know, my dear boy, that this could all have been avoided had you just spoken up when the guards arrived," the man said. The puppet remained unmoving.
"Oh come now, it doesn't matter if they hear or see you now that we're stuck in here. The worst thing that can happen is we get some company when the guards complain of a talking puppet!" he said, chuckling at the notion. He took another puff and continued, "Now, look here, we're running late because of these bureaucratic monkeyshines, and I hold you responsible." He glared at the puppet and extinguished his pipe.
Several hours later, the old man looked out the barred window of the asylum and scowled. The sun was setting. "We're dreadfully late for our conference now, and I'm afraid Alagondar won't honor our appointment," he said with a sigh. "No sense in wasting anymore time here." He rolled up his sleeves and cracked his fingers.
Outside, a guard leaned against a wall, waiting out the last few minutes of another uneventful shift. He yawned and looked to the sky. The sun was just about to set, the sky deepening from red and orange to purple and black, stars blinking into existence over the city of Neverwinter. He pushed off the wall and began to make his way to the main guardpost to find his relief.
Suddenly, the wall he had been leaning against only moments before exploded outward with a deafening boom. The force of the blast knocked him down on his face. The bewildered guard scrambled onto his hands and knees and turned to see what had happened.
One of the walls had blown outwards from a cell, and from the dust and rubble clambered an old man, clutching a book in one hand, a puppet in another, and with a pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked about with absolute calm until he noticed the guard. "I say, did I injure you?" he asked. The guard shook his head in disbelief and fear. "Delightful! It would be dreadful if you were hurt, but you aren't so I must be on my way," the man continued. "Now then, Wesley, off to go see Lord Alagondar about that appointment I had. Perhaps this time he'll remember the name Evender Greycastle!"
And with that, he walked calmly away from the asylum and down a short side street.