Dark Omen
Prologue: Silence
Morning revealed nothing but tranquility through the dense fog, which hung thick like pestilence in the air. Shutters creaked slowly on rusted hinges, beating out an eerie rhythm upon crude wooden siding as a faint wind slowly pushed the fog from the silent city. The large market square to the north lay strangely silent, the colorful decorations surrounding the shops dulled and dreary by the fog. Several doors were ajar, giving a glimpse of the wares which lay inside, but the shopkeepers were nowhere to be seen. Bright and colorful banners, thick with moisture, slapped slowly against long, thick poles driven into the ground at each corner of the square. Further north, along a grand cobblestone walkway across a lake of blue, the tall, silver spires of the palace reached upwards to cleave the sky. Weapons and armor plating lay about the palace in small piles, a slight bit of rust beginning to show at the edges. Throughout the ancient city of Ulethos, silence. Nothing stirred in the city - no man or woman or child, nor any beast or insect. The night had come and gone, and all life had dissipated, like the fog before the morning sun.
* * *
Sulaco groaned as he slowly awoke, wondering why the maelstrom of noise had not yet reached his ears. Sunlight poured through the shutters, and the thick fog of the morning had left a fine sprinkling of water on the sill, slowly tracing rivulets down the wood and stone walls, collecting in small puddles on the dirt floor. Age was slowly gaining ground on Sulaco's body, and the sculpted strength of youth was slowly giving way to thin folds of flesh. Nevertheless, the man went about his morning with energy, washing his face and hands in a basin at the foot of his straw cot and throwing on the embroidered gray and blue robes that marked his position beside the King's throne before finally taking a peek outside a window, looking towards the palace. His face creased, multiplying the lines in his face threefold, at the eerie silence and emptiness that confronted him. Puzzled, he ventured outside, throwing open the heavy oak door as he grabbed the gnarled wooden staff lying against the doorframe. He trudged slowly but purposefully through the cobblestone streets, inspecting house after house. In each, he found the signs of life -- fires still smoldering in the ashes of a cooking fire beneath the wood stove, bowls laid out, some half-full with cold food. Piles of clothing lay upon several of the chairs. In some houses, pewter pots and spoons were thrown carelessly on the floor, and several knives, clean but slightly rusted, were sometimes found amongst the clothing. "It's almost as if the people simply. . . vanished," Sulaco thought grimly to himself. His inspection of the square and the palace seemed to support his conclusion. Wares were laid out in some of the market stalls and seemed to suggest a customer in the process of buying, and a vendor in the process of selling. At the palace, each pile of armor plate was exactly a full suit, complete with the pike, sword, shield, and dagger used by the Royal Guard. No weapon had been drawn from its scabbard, and none of the newly polished shields showed any wear, save for the slight rust at the edges which had been characteristic of every other piece of metal Sulaco had seen.
As the sun quickly rose to its zenith, Sulaco realized that he was the only survivor. He had run about the city as fast as his legs could carry him, attempting to find others who had lived the night, but everywhere there was nothing but clothing. Try as he might, he could not find any sign of struggle, nor was there any trace of blood. His arcane powers had waned from misuse, and he was unable to detect any life in the city. He spent the rest of the afternoon pondering his predicament. With no other person left in the city, Sulaco has no other choice but to flee northward, towards the heart of Khanduras. He only prayed that the other cities of Khanduras had not suffered the same fate as his beloved Ulethos.
Prologue: Silence
Morning revealed nothing but tranquility through the dense fog, which hung thick like pestilence in the air. Shutters creaked slowly on rusted hinges, beating out an eerie rhythm upon crude wooden siding as a faint wind slowly pushed the fog from the silent city. The large market square to the north lay strangely silent, the colorful decorations surrounding the shops dulled and dreary by the fog. Several doors were ajar, giving a glimpse of the wares which lay inside, but the shopkeepers were nowhere to be seen. Bright and colorful banners, thick with moisture, slapped slowly against long, thick poles driven into the ground at each corner of the square. Further north, along a grand cobblestone walkway across a lake of blue, the tall, silver spires of the palace reached upwards to cleave the sky. Weapons and armor plating lay about the palace in small piles, a slight bit of rust beginning to show at the edges. Throughout the ancient city of Ulethos, silence. Nothing stirred in the city - no man or woman or child, nor any beast or insect. The night had come and gone, and all life had dissipated, like the fog before the morning sun.
* * *
Sulaco groaned as he slowly awoke, wondering why the maelstrom of noise had not yet reached his ears. Sunlight poured through the shutters, and the thick fog of the morning had left a fine sprinkling of water on the sill, slowly tracing rivulets down the wood and stone walls, collecting in small puddles on the dirt floor. Age was slowly gaining ground on Sulaco's body, and the sculpted strength of youth was slowly giving way to thin folds of flesh. Nevertheless, the man went about his morning with energy, washing his face and hands in a basin at the foot of his straw cot and throwing on the embroidered gray and blue robes that marked his position beside the King's throne before finally taking a peek outside a window, looking towards the palace. His face creased, multiplying the lines in his face threefold, at the eerie silence and emptiness that confronted him. Puzzled, he ventured outside, throwing open the heavy oak door as he grabbed the gnarled wooden staff lying against the doorframe. He trudged slowly but purposefully through the cobblestone streets, inspecting house after house. In each, he found the signs of life -- fires still smoldering in the ashes of a cooking fire beneath the wood stove, bowls laid out, some half-full with cold food. Piles of clothing lay upon several of the chairs. In some houses, pewter pots and spoons were thrown carelessly on the floor, and several knives, clean but slightly rusted, were sometimes found amongst the clothing. "It's almost as if the people simply. . . vanished," Sulaco thought grimly to himself. His inspection of the square and the palace seemed to support his conclusion. Wares were laid out in some of the market stalls and seemed to suggest a customer in the process of buying, and a vendor in the process of selling. At the palace, each pile of armor plate was exactly a full suit, complete with the pike, sword, shield, and dagger used by the Royal Guard. No weapon had been drawn from its scabbard, and none of the newly polished shields showed any wear, save for the slight rust at the edges which had been characteristic of every other piece of metal Sulaco had seen.
As the sun quickly rose to its zenith, Sulaco realized that he was the only survivor. He had run about the city as fast as his legs could carry him, attempting to find others who had lived the night, but everywhere there was nothing but clothing. Try as he might, he could not find any sign of struggle, nor was there any trace of blood. His arcane powers had waned from misuse, and he was unable to detect any life in the city. He spent the rest of the afternoon pondering his predicament. With no other person left in the city, Sulaco has no other choice but to flee northward, towards the heart of Khanduras. He only prayed that the other cities of Khanduras had not suffered the same fate as his beloved Ulethos.