» Thu Jun 23, 2011 6:11 am 
. So, without further ado, here it is. The start! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Eye of the Desert
Prologue – An Inconspicuous Tavern Meeting
The young aventurer strided across the room, his thick leather boots making an audible thump in the wooden floor with each step took. Illuminated by a big fireplace on the corner of the room, the tavern was already full at that hour. Early in the night it was, but an establishment tavern near the docks usually starts filling at the end of the evening, when the sailors have some hours to rest, get drunk and have some fun to distract themselves from the hardships of their labour. Dodging fallen stools and pools of poured beer, the man approached the tavern’s counter, a distinct determinate air surrounding him. Walking among the scum of drunks and thugs that composed the patronage of the establishment, he seemed almost regal, for the smile on his face had a certain look of superiority upon them. However, he also seemed to find places like those entertaining, since it was not rare to find the breton man among such company.
With long, rude hands he arranged his black leather jacket and passed a finger by a slim, fine moustache across his face, coughing with the intention of waking up an old, gray-haired man who was lying with his head on the counter, drooling all over the dirty and poorly scrubbed oak wood. Noticing how his coughing produced scarce results, the young man frowned with his defined black eyebrows and smirked with amusemant.
- Wake up, old fool! – he said, as he slapped the elder on his back, sitting at the same time on a bench next to him.
- Aye… Aye, who be it? – the old buccaneer grumbled, as he strived to straighten his body. Looking to his side, he noticed the young lad staring at him. A juvenile face looked from behind a high collar, smiling, outlined by black hair that grew until his shoulders. One could see he was probably around his late twenties, his face denoting a life of adventure, tanned and somewhat scarred. However, it was also possible to notice that the man had a taste for the fine things of life.. He had that certain look to his face that one could associate to those of high birth. And an annoying smile too. – Marcel? Have you not made ‘nuff demands the last time? By the Nine, what be it you want from me ?!
- Relax, Krovirr... Have a cup or two with me! Let’s talk a bit, and then, old man, you have the right to shout all the menaces you want. – Marcel, for that was the name of the Breton, chuckled a bit and signaled the barkeeper, a bald, ever-smiling man, who promptly snatched two mugs from a shelf and proceeded to fill them with ale, handing them over to the two shady looking partners.
Taking a gulp at the beverage, Marcel turned to the old Nord, who was now totally absent of his presence, concentrated on the mug that was put before him. He took a while, drinking all its content without stopping. The younger man took this time to observe his features a bit. He hadn’t seen him for some time. Months, maybe even a year had passed since he had left for Elsweyr and came back, a much more enriched man. His father’s old friend looked roughly the same. Some hairs missing and a bit more wrinkled perhaps, but not very noticeably so. Still had the same air of permanent discontentment on him, for one. Finishing his drink, Krovirr put down his mug and turned to Marcel.
- What is it this time then? You want me to search for a crew? You need money again huh? Should’ve guessed… - He stopped, looking at Marcel with an angry face, and then exploded - Will you spend it all again on harlets and [censored]s, like that little elven [censored] you used to keep around you?! Served you right what happened to her, pesky bitc----
- Hold your rows there mate. – The lad interrupted, suddenly serious. He knew how drunken Krovirr was, but he wouldn’t let even him speak like that of her… No, not her, he thought to himself. - Let me explain first. Before I proceed to tell the reasons behind my unusual visit though, how about a little story to put you on context? – Marcel smiled, enigmatically, before proceeding. – I will tell you how I gained the favor of the Mane of Elsweyr, and how in a twist of fate I managed to get “this”.
He emphasized his last sentence by putting a hand inside his coat and, grasping it from inside a pocket, quickly retrieved a small linen pouch. Untying the twines that held it closed, he flashed something with shades of red furtively into Krovirr’s line of sight. The old man’s jaw dropped in astonishment, and his eyes glimmed briefly, at the sight of a big red jewel. A ruby it was, yet one could almost call it a stone for its size. It was completely flawless, and exerted a strange, particular feeling on those who looked at it.
- By Zenitar! Is that… - the Nord looked around suddenly, lowering his tone of voice. – Is that what I think it is young man?
- Indeed… and you will hear all about it, I promise to you, Krovirr. But first, let us order another mug for you! This might take a long time to tell…
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So, any opinions?
