C2
28th of Markus - 3550 BD - Afternoon (13:13 PM IST)
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
The agent stops. Transfixed on the sound.
He isn't sure where it is coming from, but it grabs him; keeping his attention hypnotically.
He paces around, looking at various areas of the blue desert about him; befuddled.
The agent then does a small breathing exercise to calm his nerves.
Which was successful.
The agent found himself refocusing his mind to the path he mentally mapped out.
However, something felt different in this path of his. He notices that the desert has seemingly leveled out; revealing flat sandy land for kilometers around. He did not realize, until that moment, the desert had consumed his path.
His eyes dialate in slight frustration at this obstruction, but makes a concerted effort to maintain the path he had originally made. This came to some success, as he remembered to backtrack to the dunes. He thus begins moving in that direction, jogging in order to make-up for lost time.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
He stops yet again, slidding somewhat into the sand.
This time there was no mistaking it. Those were wardrums of a most diabolical kind. A sound so disorienting and menacing that it caused intense nausea.
The agent was scanning the horizon expecting an orc warband to suddenly appear. He even readies his rifle, kneeling down into a firing position. There were only a few times the agent had to bloody his M.92 Windchaser. This may be one of those times.
His eyes dart around the landscape once more, expecting an enemy that'll never come.
He temporarily drops his guard, seeing that the enemy is nowhere to be seen. He hacks out some spit from the intense physical reaction he suffered through. He can see, however, the dunes are closer than they were before. He gives an approving nod to this, and continues on; keeping his rifle at low ready.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
BUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM.
Just as the final drum beat closes, the agent collapses to his knees onto the side of a dune.
He violently vomits into the sand, unable to hold the contents of his stomach.
After several seconds of continuous vomiting, he wipes his mouth of the excess; looking back at where he came from hoping to see that same flat, sandy, land. But instead, to his horror, the land wasn't flat but concave. Each spherical semicircle occupies a space of about 3 meters in diameter and 1 meter in depth. These craters stretch for hundreds of meters, and have breaks in them like cracks in a wall. Each one giving off natural precussion in that discordant rhythm he heard before.
He observes them closely, and then spots the breaks in them. He deduces that some of the breaks cut through the area. And so, the agent decides to traverse the breaks seeing that his destination is beyond them.
Shimmying his way along the cracks, of which were only half a meter wide in some areas, he almost tips over into a patch of the area due to a miscalculation. Thankfully, his quick-thinking allows him to shift his weight and footing to maintain balance. As a result, he clears the field of concave sand plates after several agonizing minutes of tip-toeing and odd indian belly dancing.
On the otherside, he moves on now transitioning into running at fifty percent his maxium speed in the direction he originally plotted. This time, fully intending to make up for lost time.
28th of Markus - 3550 BD - Afternoon (16:30 PM IST)
The agent is standing on the outskirts of a dusty town stretching some hundreds of acres across. He estimates there to be well over three dozen buildings. The architecture of these buildings being false fronts. However, there were some buildings that were far more developed and had stronger foundations. These buildings look to be governmental in nature, sporting flags representing this town's allegiance.
He starts down the main dirt road that cuts through this town; scanning the various sidewalk attractions. He sees everything from loiters talking about the day's ails to children playing tag in the street. "For a town on the edge of nothing," he thinks silently, "They were somehow able to make it happen. Remarkable.."
His eyes fall upon a neon sign that displayed a keg of beer being poured into a tankard. His eyes then fall further down to a couple of prostitues standing around next to the entrance. He paid them no mind, but as he steps towards the swinging saloon-style doors, one of the good-looking women spot him.
She immediately steps into his path, blocking him.
He looks at her with a soft sigh as he realizes this is going to be yet another detour.
"What's ya name stranga?" She asks innocently with a thick south Meracan accent.
"Arthur," the agent responds as he shoulders past the girl, sharing that same accent.
She looks a little flabbergasted at the near-silent rejection, and follows him into the tavern proper. "Well, Arthur I can make it worth ya while. Maybe for just a little gold? Waddya say?"
He stops, turning to her. He looks her up and down, and shakes his head saying, "Not my type."
Her face crinkles at this and is awe-struck, "Well you must be gayer than a box of flowers.."
He scoffs at this, clearly ignoring her insults. He finds his spot at the bar as the prostitute rejoins her friends outside.
The keeper, having been eyeing the agent the entire interaction, leans on his side of the counter in front the agent; smirking slightly. "Not many people in this town ignore a pretty lady like dat.. You must be gay or lookin for vengeance, which is it?"
The agent, even less amused than before, looks at the keeper before sighing heavier, saying, "Lookin for vengeance... I ain't got time for no snatch.."
"Well buddy," the keeper comes up from the counter and smiles; chuckling. "What'll be?"
"Bottle of ale." The agent cracks a small smile, hoping to just continue on with his night.
The keeper pulls a bottle out from somewhere under the counter on his side. He pops the cap, and slides it towards the agent where he then caters to someone else momentarily.
The agent takes a swig of his alcohol, and flags down the keeper again. "I got a few questions since I just blew in from outta town.."
The keeper glances back at another patron making sure they had their drink before coming back to the agent and nodding upward to indicate that he's listening.
"Firstly," the agent takes another swig, "What town is this? Secondly, is there an inn I can stay at? And thirdly, what rumors have you heard?"
The keeper smirks, seemingly relishing in his own humor. "The town's called Valbueno. Most of us call it 'Bueno. There is an inn, but it's ran by a chrochety ol' bitch who might run ya pockets if you ain't careful. But if you want to test ya coin purse, she's across the street."
"As for rumors," he leans in, "There hasn't been much coming down the grapevine as of late, but what I have heard was that quite a few people have been going missing in these parts. Some say it was raiders, others argue outlaws."
"What's ya take?" The agent inquires further, taking another swig of his drink.
"Well," the keeper thinks on the question for a moment, "I think it was cultists.. The people that had gone missing were all children... They all went out to play after duskfall, and never returned.. Plus those freaks always target children."
The agent makes little nodding gestures in agreement with that statement.
"But, that's all I got for ya.." The keeper handles another patron as his attention shifts.
The agent finishes his drink, and slides the keeper a gold for it. He then gets up from his seat at the bar and walks over to the exit. He slips through the group of prostitutes who were hooping and hollering at him as he crosses the street.
28th of Markus - 3550 BD - Duskfall (17:20 PM IST)
Entering the inn, the agent is greeted to the sounds of merrymaking in the common area situated towards the middle of the inn's first floor. There were also sounds of dining as well off to his front-left, and a visible staircase off to his front-right.
Immediately to his direct left, though, sat a counter. An old woman, who is sitting at that counter, was eyeing him before saying, "You stayin' or sight-seein'?"
"Stayin," the agent replies jiggling his coin purse. "How much?"
"Five gold a night, that includes meal and shower." She doesn't bat an eye.
He tosses five gold onto the counter without hesitation, whereby the old lady hands him a key. She doesn't elaborate further, only pointing to the number hanging from the ring-end of the key.
He examines the number, and assumes that's the room number. He gives a firm nod to that.
"Dinner has already been served for the night, but you can grab whatever is left." She breaks her attention away from him, and turns it to her terminal; more preoccupied there than with him.
He doesn't say much after that, breaking contact with her to go straight to his room. Once there, he stows away his equipment under the bed; covered by one of the few blankets he has. Although, he does keep his sidearm in its holster on his hip.
He takes his shower, and changes into some lighter clothing; fiinding a comfortable spot on the side of the bed to look over his PDA.
He finds that Valbueno is four days south of the next settlement. He's going to need some wheels or a beast to cross the desert as quickly as possible. He does not want to take his chances crossing the desert on foot.
So, he elects to spend this night relaxing as this is the first time he's gotten real sleep in a real bed in weeks. He wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.
VANTABLACK
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