The cart had shuddered to a stop, The clacking of the hooves of horses slowly coming to an end. Ending slowly with the finality as the last hit the ground. The deadness of night itself feeling disturbed for that moment as the wood creaks from the structure of the cart.
The cart ached, gnawed and aged from many travels groans in protest from the journey. a rustle of crowns were exchanged accompanied by a small gust with a singular footstep followed by another pressed onto the ground. The boots sullenly sinking into the environment as if attempting to camouflage into the quiet of night.
Thus in that moment of quiet, Murmurs of the locals outside of the great city which as a bastion of its time stands like a looming, intimidating figure in the dark and silent night. The murmurs of the locals grew louder as hearing was focused onto the surroundings. The cart creaking towards its feigned destination in its never ending quest until its dilapidation or unfortunate end.
The boots that had stepped from the cart were now moving slowly, As if a deer testing a new part of the woods. Cautiously, Care and laced with purpose the direction locates to the wooden, elaborate stands designed to attract passersby, Laced with weapons and armour the common man couldn't afford in his lifetime. Glimmering with temptations of craftsmanship and imbued with the power of great men and women, Tales silently told with each notch and imperfection upon them.
No. This was not the path to take, After all why cleave with steel when the mind can be cleaved with potential?
As if with instinct, The boots make way, almost crunching the grass beneath as is savoring a morsel of food. This direction now bore itself in front of scrolls, Knowledge known by the wise and bright of mind but all pieces of a puzzle that will never be solved. The yellowed and crumpled parchments neatly bound where the archaic morsels can be savoured.
A gloved hand, albeit covered by rough hide and crude for such delights caress over the scrolls as the owner contemplates. Vials and flasks with colours vibrant that would remind the viewer of the Morninglords light glowing with a golden glow, A dark and powerful green that would represent the tyrannical might of the black lord. A potion that would be as dark as the Lady of losses heart itself. A shudder passes through the observer and the crunches in the grass would conclude the viewing.
The graveyard which lingered by seemed to have emanated groans and the cries of the damned, Attracting the attention of the figure with the boots.
The straps and tying were more audible in the cold night in comparison to the locals murmurs as they tended their nightly chores, A grey cloak surrounds the figure standing unimpressive in comparison to the denizens of the sword coast. Appearing to be a simple but curious passerby as direction is made to the graveyard.
Home, Sweet Home. My my, Beauty of such small sundries does bring nourishment to the mind.
Under the grey, weathered and hooded cloak a simple tired smile encompassed his lower features making the stubble on what can be seen on his face more apparent. The distinct accent of Amn echoed softly from the chapped and broken lips.
"I am sorry, Lets start again."
