15a. An Assassin's Dream
Following the dreadful encounter against the flying horrors , Eberond rested in the grandiose room provided by Havenlok's Mer. Initially, he thought the spaciousness and luxury of the bedroom was nothing like he had enjoyed before, but yet somehow there was some kind of distant familiarity, and it bought up brief feelings of both nostalgia and resentment.
The half-elf's eyes travelled across the room taking in the fine details and stopped upon the locked steel box sitting on one of the upholstered chairs in the corner. He had found the box in the bat monster's lair the other day, and had not the chance yet to try and find what was within.
He picked up the rectangular box which was perhaps a foot long in length and half as tall. An iron box would have weighed considerably more, but this box was of strong but light steel. Considering what it would cost to produce, Eberond was surprised not to see any decorations. It only had a small, fine hole which was obviously for a key that Eberond did not have.
He sat by a finely carved desk across from the bed and unfolded his bag of fine tools. He picked out the finest utensils and carefully inserted it into the key hole. Dabbing lightly around, he felt the fine tumblers but kept feeling his way futher. And there it was, a hair trigger, primed to set a trap.
Whoever the box had belonged to, they were very careful and Eberond wondered how it made its way into the foul monster's lair. His fingers traced across his other tools and picked out the one that would help disarm the trap. Despite that the room was lit poorly by a few lanterns, the assassin needed no light for the sight of a true lock pick were the highly tuned feelings and sensitivity of the fingers. The tip of utensil followed the hair trigger down to the primed mechanisms, and Eberond twisted it, figuring it would bend jar the trap in place. Eberond suddenly felt a sting in his fore finger and jerked his hand back. A bead of blood pooled from the pin prick in his finger.
As he smudged the blood between his fingers he figured that the trap was poisonous. He knew that Gilles and Brutalithops slept in one of the rooms across his, and especially the cleric could help him. Eberond stood up but found that he was already on the floor. Darkness engulfed his mind. Eberond woke to the cold breeze washing over him. Despite the summer night, the breeze was too cold so the half-elf stood from his bed - wasn't he on the floor? - and started to walk across the carpeted room to the opened window. He was about to close the window when he gazed outside into the night. Lanar cast a blanket of dim light across the land, but across the horizon, titanic shapes crawled across, their silhouettes resembling the flying horrors from Havenlok's Banquet Hall. There were dozens of them and appeared to be devouring the land itself. As he continued to watch, the gigantic creatures looked up and although Eberond could not see their eyes, his instincts told him they were watching him in return. They ceased their consumption and started to crawl towards him.
Eberond then heard whispers behind him in the room and turned to see where it came from. By the fireplace, a muscular figure stood, their back facing the half-elf. Judging by the figure, it was a man, and although hooded, Eberond could see the man's arms, whose skin was pale. Eberond looked around to grab his weapon, and by a desk was a superb looking dagger, with an onyx handle and blood red blade. Crimson beads stained the desk surface, encircling the weapon. Eberond thought that the blade looked like the most perfect weapon in all of existence.
Eberond heard the whisper continue, as if it was coming from beneath the bed - Kill him. Kill him and you save the world. Kill him now!
There was a second whisper, perhaps even murmured from the Pale Man, but Eberond couldn't understand the words. He instead grabbed the dagger, which was now a sword, yet still of the same design and purpose. Kill him, and accept your... Eberond thrust the Everblade, which was now a long sword and it punctured through the Pale Man. Black matter poured out of the man, and the pour became an impossible torrent that engulfed the world. Eberond knew that the creatures that stalked him in the world were defeated by his act, but he now felt a terrible hunger for murder. Eberond woke from the shroud of blackness and his body throbbed. He was in Havenlok and on the floor, and the steel box in front of him was ajar.
Eberond still felt the effects of the poison coursing through his body, but hoped the worst of it was over. Perhaps his elf heritage had helped overcome the poison, he wondered.
He dragged the box over and opened the lid fully. Inside were a number of vials and a folded note.
He sat by a finely carved desk across from the bed and unfolded his bag of fine tools. He picked out the finest utensils and carefully inserted it into the key hole. Dabbing lightly around, he felt the fine tumblers but kept feeling his way futher. And there it was, a hair trigger, primed to set a trap.
Whoever the box had belonged to, they were very careful and Eberond wondered how it made its way into the foul monster's lair. His fingers traced across his other tools and picked out the one that would help disarm the trap. Despite that the room was lit poorly by a few lanterns, the assassin needed no light for the sight of a true lock pick were the highly tuned feelings and sensitivity of the fingers. The tip of utensil followed the hair trigger down to the primed mechanisms, and Eberond twisted it, figuring it would bend jar the trap in place. Eberond suddenly felt a sting in his fore finger and jerked his hand back. A bead of blood pooled from the pin prick in his finger.
As he smudged the blood between his fingers he figured that the trap was poisonous. He knew that Gilles and Brutalithops slept in one of the rooms across his, and especially the cleric could help him. Eberond stood up but found that he was already on the floor. Darkness engulfed his mind. Eberond woke to the cold breeze washing over him. Despite the summer night, the breeze was too cold so the half-elf stood from his bed - wasn't he on the floor? - and started to walk across the carpeted room to the opened window. He was about to close the window when he gazed outside into the night. Lanar cast a blanket of dim light across the land, but across the horizon, titanic shapes crawled across, their silhouettes resembling the flying horrors from Havenlok's Banquet Hall. There were dozens of them and appeared to be devouring the land itself. As he continued to watch, the gigantic creatures looked up and although Eberond could not see their eyes, his instincts told him they were watching him in return. They ceased their consumption and started to crawl towards him.
Eberond then heard whispers behind him in the room and turned to see where it came from. By the fireplace, a muscular figure stood, their back facing the half-elf. Judging by the figure, it was a man, and although hooded, Eberond could see the man's arms, whose skin was pale. Eberond looked around to grab his weapon, and by a desk was a superb looking dagger, with an onyx handle and blood red blade. Crimson beads stained the desk surface, encircling the weapon. Eberond thought that the blade looked like the most perfect weapon in all of existence.
Eberond heard the whisper continue, as if it was coming from beneath the bed - Kill him. Kill him and you save the world. Kill him now!
There was a second whisper, perhaps even murmured from the Pale Man, but Eberond couldn't understand the words. He instead grabbed the dagger, which was now a sword, yet still of the same design and purpose. Kill him, and accept your... Eberond thrust the Everblade, which was now a long sword and it punctured through the Pale Man. Black matter poured out of the man, and the pour became an impossible torrent that engulfed the world. Eberond knew that the creatures that stalked him in the world were defeated by his act, but he now felt a terrible hunger for murder. Eberond woke from the shroud of blackness and his body throbbed. He was in Havenlok and on the floor, and the steel box in front of him was ajar.
Eberond still felt the effects of the poison coursing through his body, but hoped the worst of it was over. Perhaps his elf heritage had helped overcome the poison, he wondered.
He dragged the box over and opened the lid fully. Inside were a number of vials and a folded note.
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