Aerion [IC] Rated M
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July 5th, 2013 (9:56 PM).
See You Space Cowboy
Varian Sigmund, Tower of Absolution, Garius, Palaven
The remainder of the day Varian spent wandering the tower. He debated going outside and seeing the city, but ultimately decided against it, as he didn't wish to somehow cause an incident that would further inflame the local citizens. He figured it would be best instead to remain locked up for the moment, and await the day's passing, so that they would be able to get on with their meeting with the Voice tomorrow, and figure out where the shard they needed to collect is. Dinner was eaten in the hall shown earlier in the day. It was spectacular, but as expected, none of the Palvanese Senate, nor any other dignitaries chose to join them. Instead, the Dragons of Dalenham enjoyed a quieter evening among themselves. Varian actually preferred it that way. If a noble of some sort would have to join them, the mercenaries wouldn't be able to act themselves. He preferred to let them act as they please, and say as they please, without the chance of offense to anyone. That was apart of the mercenary life after all: the freedom to do what one wished. Although, now that he thought on it, he wondered if some of the others wouldn't have minded dining with nobles to begin with. Alys, or Victoria, had turned out to be one. He wondered if any of the others were running from such a life as well.
After dinner, Varian departed to his quarters. Each mercenary was given a separate room, lavishly decorated with white, engraved furniture, including a desk with a copy of the One Holy Book on it, and a window with a view of the city. Varian discovered that dignitaries or people of high rank or importance were typically given these rooms when they were scheduled to meet with the Palvanese Senate, or on those rare occasions with the Voice himself. He learned that almost no outsiders have ever gotten the chance to meet with him directly, and even very few citizens have done so. In fact, the Voice would typically only be seen by Merek Culliver or another member of the Senate. Certain religious holidays would have the Voice come out onto the balcony of the Grand Cathedral, but few have seen the man up close. Varian took note of the groundbreaking event that was to take place, then. They, as simple mercenaries, with (presumably) no noble birth or background, would meet the man hailed as the bridge between the mortal world of Aerion and the One God. Even if he didn't believe in their religion (which he didn't), he understood the significance. Though, truth be told, he would have preferred to have given their instructions or assignment from a middle man, as to not risk some insult. The Palvanese were quite easily insulted, it seems, and as he heard, insult, even a minor one, to the Voice was punishable by death.
It was the dead of night. He turned in early to try and get a good night's rest for the following day, and he presumed he would do it easily even with the guards patrolling outside of their rooms. Yet as the hours passed, Varian found himself eventually lying in his comfortable bed, but strangely unable to sleep. He couldn't explain why either. He wasn't uncomfortable with his surroundings. There was no loud noises keeping him up. The weather was mild and the night air which breezed through his open window was cool and fresh. There was no pungent smell in the air like the one which lingered in Dalenham (or all of Eveamoor, really). He couldn't really explain why he couldn't fall asleep. It was almost as if he was forgetting something, as if something was out of place. He didn't know why, but he felt uncomfortable, like a lingering presence haunted over him and cast a dark shadow, preventing him from having a soothing thought. He tried examining the room from his bed, but the darkness kept most of it from him. He saw the silhouettes of furniture placed around, including the desk next to his bed, and a chair near it where he kept his equipment. He drew his eyes to the door, or the shadow of it, and saw it closed. He then looked towards the window, and the little bit of light which seeped through the opening. As he gazed long and hard at the window, a realization began to form in his mind. Below his bedsheets, his hand gripped his axe, anxious to try to make out his thoughts, when he suddenly realized: There was complete silence. No guards patrolled outside of the doors anymore, and probably weren't doing so for quite a while. His gaze continued to remain on the window, to which he realized that he himself had never actually opened that window. The reason he was having trouble sleeping was because the sounds of boots in armor stomping outside of his door, and the cool air blowing on him was actually making him too comfortable, and for that reason, he felt out of place.
Picking all of this up, Varian was quick to react when he heard the creaking of feet at the edge of the room. He shot up instantly, and threw his axe right into the corner of the room. The slicing of flesh was heard, and a loud thud followed. As he approached the side of the room, he could make out the body of a man, dressed in black, lying dead in a pool of his own blood. Varian leaned next to him, and flipped him over, ensuring he was dead. He saw the axe lodged right into his chest. He was covered completely in black, event a hood over to mask his face. He shook his head, removing the axe from the man's chest, and storming over to the chair where his other axe lay by his equipment. Hurriedly, he picked it up and headed out the door. Once in the hallway, he found all of the light were out, except one which still hung at the far end of the long hall, though it was dim and barely gave off any light in the area. There was not a single guard in sight, though Varian was sure he saw at least a dozen patrolling the halls before they all retired to their rooms.
Probably paid off, or they're in on it too,
he thought, as he ran down the hall and toward the other rooms where the rest of the mercenaries slept. Loud crashes and sounds came from a few of their rooms, causing Varian to pick up speed as he approached them gripping his axes tighter. The Dragons of Dalenham were the target of an assassination attempt.
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