Post by Moose Jockey on Feb 12, 2012 3:51:00 GMT -5
He sat down after another long day in the fields, his beautiful wife sat to his right, his eldest son to his left. In another room he could hear his youngest son playing in his crib with a mobile he’d made out of wood and fishing line. Everyone was smiling, everyone was lively and happy. He was telling his wife about how well the harvest was coming along. It was the happiest time of his life. His wife was an amazing cook, and the meal before him only enhanced an already amazing day. It was a boar stew, and the meat was sweet and succulent, complimented perfectly with the carrots and potatoes, all brought home with his own hands.
His wife looked at him, and he at her, and suddenly she wasn’t smiling anymore. His son wasn’t either; they simply stared at him, expressionless and devoid of all emotion. He began to ask the cause of the stares when something inside his mouth began to burn intensely. He spit out his most recent spoonful of stew, and when the meat hit the table it burst into flames. He balked, amazed at the sight, and looked to his wife and son for some potential explanation, but they just continued to stare. Just as he was about to speak, recovering from a burned tongue, his wife too burst in to flames, a horrible scream rending the air inside the cabin.
He jumped to his feet, shouting to his son to grab the bucket from the well while he shirked off his shirt with the intent of smothering the flames with it. His son just stared at him, and when he grabbed the boy by the shoulder to force him into action, flames sprung forth from his eyes and mouth, consuming him from the inside out as the boy’s screams joined his mothers. The man reeled back, aghast at the horrors before him. The flames spread impossibly fast, engulfing the walls of the small cabin as if they were dry parchment. He heard his youngest son cry from the next room. Smoke and flame was beginning to fill the cabin, choking him.
He dashed into the next room, the screams of his doomed family trailing him. He had to get his boy out of the house. He ran to the crib, thankfully the flames had not reached it. He plucked his son from the crib moments before it too burst into flame, the flames seeming to roil and claw toward them, as if angered that their prize had been stolen. The man stumbled back into the main room, clutching his son close to his chest, the smoke and ash choking him and obscuring his vision. He held his breath. He had to get out. He made his way toward the front door, flames licking at his heels.
As he crossed the room something grabbed his ankles. His wife and his other son, blackened and charred flesh all that remained, each had a hold of one of his legs, attempted to drag him back into the flames. The stared up and him with flames in their eyes, mouths agape, clawed skeletal hands grasping for him, the flesh melting off their bones. The flames closed in, the son clutched to his chest cried, and as the man reached the door with his family in tow, the bundle in his arms alit with fire. He cried out in anguish, and as he did he relinquished his breath and inhaled the flames that were now his baby boy. The pain was excruciating…he could feel the flames crawl down his throat…his arms were melting under the intense heat, and his ears were filled with roar of flame and crackling of his burning home….
Rain clattered against the windows of the dark room. Lightning flashed across the floor where a tumble of sheets lay….damp with sweat…discarded from their charge. Lucian Skeller thrashed in his sleep, a sheen of perspiration covering his body. He awoke with a start; he couldn’t breathe….the flames. He grabbed his chest. His heart was racing. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He pulled back, staring at the scarred visage of his hands and forearms, remembering the night he had lost everything as vividly as the night it happened. He wasn’t sure which was more cruel, the memory of the night he came home to find his cabin in flames, or this nightmare that continued to visit him unbidden. It didn’t matter as the result was the same feeling…a horrible pain in his throat and chest. He had long ago run out of tears for his family, and then tears for himself. Nothing left but the scars and the pain.
Skeller stood and put on his breaches, pulled his soot colored hair out if his eyes and tied it back. He opened the door and stepped into the hall of the Rusty Dragon, and moved quietly down the hall. He moved down the stairs to the main room and toward the kitchen. He needed something strong to ease his nerves. As he approached the kitchen door, he heard someone shuffling on the other side. How did she always know? He smiled to himself and stepped into the kitchen. Ameiko stood near the recently lit hearth, a pot of water starting to boil hanging over it. She looked up at him with a worried look. Skeller started to open his mouth for his inquiry when she spoke.
“We share a wall…figured you wouldn’t go back to sleep. So I thought I’d make you a drink” She said. “I know you’re not a fan of hot drinks but it really will help.”
Skeller stared into the hearth, the pot hovering over the pit not unlike his son’s mobile over the burning crib in his dreams. Ameiko stepped in front of his gaze, bringing him back to the kitchen. “I know its sorta taboo, but I know something about losing family. You just gotta find something else to tie you to this crap world. Me, I got my tavern here. For you, it’s something else, you just gotta find it.”
He gave her a wry smile; he knew she meant the best. She just smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze, moving off to the hearth to prepare his drink. Skeller rubbed his throat. It always hurt the most in the mornings. “You know it’s been 2 years now.” Ameiko remarked, pouring the water in a mug over some (what Skeller assumed to be) tea leaves. She had let him stay at the Dragon after his home had burned. “I’ve seen you throw yourself into just about every sorta work Sandpoint has to offer. Docks, farms, forge…hell you even tried priesthood. I think you may have actually found your calling with Sheriff Belor though, he says you’re one of the best hands he’s ever had, and that your militia training doesn’t hurt either.”
Skeller sipped the drink and nodded. “Seemed the place to finally start looking for answers” he croaked. His voice was deep and gravelly, owing to the flames he had inhaled that fateful night.
“Answers?” Ameiko asked quizzically.
“My family was burned alive in the late unpleasantness, and I know it was someone in this town. I can’t move on til I find out who, and the Sheriff can help me with that” Skeller rasped.
Ameiko nodded, looking down at her own cup. Skeller’s bluntness with the subject always made her uncomfortable. She searched for a change of subject. “So is there any more news on this “Black Fang” character?”
“What evidence we have points to the old cave in the hills to the north, and with the reserves being used to protect what livestock we have left and the regulars dealing with the Sczarni, Belor wants to bring in some new people to help check out the cave. Should be here any day now….” Skeller rubbed his throat; the tea really did help.
His wife looked at him, and he at her, and suddenly she wasn’t smiling anymore. His son wasn’t either; they simply stared at him, expressionless and devoid of all emotion. He began to ask the cause of the stares when something inside his mouth began to burn intensely. He spit out his most recent spoonful of stew, and when the meat hit the table it burst into flames. He balked, amazed at the sight, and looked to his wife and son for some potential explanation, but they just continued to stare. Just as he was about to speak, recovering from a burned tongue, his wife too burst in to flames, a horrible scream rending the air inside the cabin.
He jumped to his feet, shouting to his son to grab the bucket from the well while he shirked off his shirt with the intent of smothering the flames with it. His son just stared at him, and when he grabbed the boy by the shoulder to force him into action, flames sprung forth from his eyes and mouth, consuming him from the inside out as the boy’s screams joined his mothers. The man reeled back, aghast at the horrors before him. The flames spread impossibly fast, engulfing the walls of the small cabin as if they were dry parchment. He heard his youngest son cry from the next room. Smoke and flame was beginning to fill the cabin, choking him.
He dashed into the next room, the screams of his doomed family trailing him. He had to get his boy out of the house. He ran to the crib, thankfully the flames had not reached it. He plucked his son from the crib moments before it too burst into flame, the flames seeming to roil and claw toward them, as if angered that their prize had been stolen. The man stumbled back into the main room, clutching his son close to his chest, the smoke and ash choking him and obscuring his vision. He held his breath. He had to get out. He made his way toward the front door, flames licking at his heels.
As he crossed the room something grabbed his ankles. His wife and his other son, blackened and charred flesh all that remained, each had a hold of one of his legs, attempted to drag him back into the flames. The stared up and him with flames in their eyes, mouths agape, clawed skeletal hands grasping for him, the flesh melting off their bones. The flames closed in, the son clutched to his chest cried, and as the man reached the door with his family in tow, the bundle in his arms alit with fire. He cried out in anguish, and as he did he relinquished his breath and inhaled the flames that were now his baby boy. The pain was excruciating…he could feel the flames crawl down his throat…his arms were melting under the intense heat, and his ears were filled with roar of flame and crackling of his burning home….
Rain clattered against the windows of the dark room. Lightning flashed across the floor where a tumble of sheets lay….damp with sweat…discarded from their charge. Lucian Skeller thrashed in his sleep, a sheen of perspiration covering his body. He awoke with a start; he couldn’t breathe….the flames. He grabbed his chest. His heart was racing. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He pulled back, staring at the scarred visage of his hands and forearms, remembering the night he had lost everything as vividly as the night it happened. He wasn’t sure which was more cruel, the memory of the night he came home to find his cabin in flames, or this nightmare that continued to visit him unbidden. It didn’t matter as the result was the same feeling…a horrible pain in his throat and chest. He had long ago run out of tears for his family, and then tears for himself. Nothing left but the scars and the pain.
Skeller stood and put on his breaches, pulled his soot colored hair out if his eyes and tied it back. He opened the door and stepped into the hall of the Rusty Dragon, and moved quietly down the hall. He moved down the stairs to the main room and toward the kitchen. He needed something strong to ease his nerves. As he approached the kitchen door, he heard someone shuffling on the other side. How did she always know? He smiled to himself and stepped into the kitchen. Ameiko stood near the recently lit hearth, a pot of water starting to boil hanging over it. She looked up at him with a worried look. Skeller started to open his mouth for his inquiry when she spoke.
“We share a wall…figured you wouldn’t go back to sleep. So I thought I’d make you a drink” She said. “I know you’re not a fan of hot drinks but it really will help.”
Skeller stared into the hearth, the pot hovering over the pit not unlike his son’s mobile over the burning crib in his dreams. Ameiko stepped in front of his gaze, bringing him back to the kitchen. “I know its sorta taboo, but I know something about losing family. You just gotta find something else to tie you to this crap world. Me, I got my tavern here. For you, it’s something else, you just gotta find it.”
He gave her a wry smile; he knew she meant the best. She just smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze, moving off to the hearth to prepare his drink. Skeller rubbed his throat. It always hurt the most in the mornings. “You know it’s been 2 years now.” Ameiko remarked, pouring the water in a mug over some (what Skeller assumed to be) tea leaves. She had let him stay at the Dragon after his home had burned. “I’ve seen you throw yourself into just about every sorta work Sandpoint has to offer. Docks, farms, forge…hell you even tried priesthood. I think you may have actually found your calling with Sheriff Belor though, he says you’re one of the best hands he’s ever had, and that your militia training doesn’t hurt either.”
Skeller sipped the drink and nodded. “Seemed the place to finally start looking for answers” he croaked. His voice was deep and gravelly, owing to the flames he had inhaled that fateful night.
“Answers?” Ameiko asked quizzically.
“My family was burned alive in the late unpleasantness, and I know it was someone in this town. I can’t move on til I find out who, and the Sheriff can help me with that” Skeller rasped.
Ameiko nodded, looking down at her own cup. Skeller’s bluntness with the subject always made her uncomfortable. She searched for a change of subject. “So is there any more news on this “Black Fang” character?”
“What evidence we have points to the old cave in the hills to the north, and with the reserves being used to protect what livestock we have left and the regulars dealing with the Sczarni, Belor wants to bring in some new people to help check out the cave. Should be here any day now….” Skeller rubbed his throat; the tea really did help.
