07-30-2016, 08:54 PM
No matter how much he studied the forgotten lore, and no matter how well versed he was in the flora and fauna of legends. Nothing would have prepared him for the strangeness that assaulted him from every direction as he trudged, tunic sopping wet from the ocean, up the beach towards the island. The buildings were the same bizarre collection of familiar and foreign architecture as he had experienced in Coasta del Sol, but the inhabitants of the city were some of the most disparate and non-uniform beings he had ever seen. As he approached the edge of the city, he felt strangely out of place. the only thing in sight that resembled a human at more than a passing glance. The looks he received as he walked the streets did little to assuage his concerns.
Normal is an entirely invented perception, he decided as he watched a collection of three-foot-tall fanged mushrooms shamble past grumpily, our concept of the standard existence is derived solely from the average of the pool in which we reside. Open the floodgates, and the center will shift. It must, and it should, for the sum is no longer the same. He paused as a small two-headed bird was ushered away from him quickly by a larger one with three heads. The long-legged avian kept one head trained on the Sage as it led what he could only assume was its offspring away. The gaze was not particularly aggressive, just distrustful. Yet when even a single drop of one pool is placed into another, the ripples will disrupt the entirety of the surface, rocking its surroundings to the very edges of the basin.
The thought struck him that this Clowney he was searching for might not in fact be the irritable, aging old man that the Sage had originally assumed him to be. He had chosen to make his base of operations in this place, and by the sounds of the letter had remained there for some time. Clearly he (if the writer of the letter was even male) had a flair for the eccentric. It was entirely possible, the Sage realized with some discomfort, that the person he was seeking to assist would think in ways entirely alien to himself.
After some consideration, he decided that he would need assistance finding Clowney, the island was deceptively small from a distance, and the buildings sprawled against each other in a variety of unconventional ways. This was a city that had not been planned, at least not by minds that worked in a way he was familiar with. For a moment, The Sage was stuck, unsure of how he should proceed. Then he realized that he was being stupidly close-minded. In any other city, he would simply have asked someone for Clowney’s whereabouts, as he would have no way of knowing the man if they met. The strangeness of Cinnibar’s inhabitants should not be changing his approach.
Looking around the Sage noticed a nearby street vendor, but the floating white ball stopped its almost leering cackle as it became aware the Sage’s glance. Bright red spread across the creature’s face as he approached, and it turned away, small arms reaching up to hide its face from him. The floating thing ignored the Sage’s attempts to gain its attention, even when he offered to purchase one of the paintings the spherical creature had been trying to sell a moment before. No amount of coxing seemed to budge the creature, and the Sage wondered slightly how it managed to stay in business. The ghost-like sphere continued to ignore him, but others that walk the streets were becoming increasingly aware of his presence.
Growing uneasy with the attention his actions were drawing, the Sage moved on down the street, turning a corner before trying another stall. This vendor was a strange stooped figure, somehow reminding the Sage of both a frog and a porcupine. The thing was selling what looked like seaweed, though from the commotion the vendor was making it seemed like it must be something more impressive. The frog-thing noticed his approach and waved him over with an encouraging gurgle.
“Well, well!” the merchant burbled as the Sage drew nearer, “It’s been quite some time since I saw a human here on Cinnibar! Is there anything I can do for you, a nice wreath perhaps?” The frog said, raising a glistening circlet of drooping vegetation. The Sage could barely understand half of the frog’s words through the strong gurgling accent, but given the reception he had received everywhere else on the island, he decided to make do.
“Perhaps, though I have no door on which to hang it.” The Sage replied, as he neared the strange merchant. “I am most certainly in the market, as it were, for information, however.” It said, fixing the spiked frog with what he hoped would translate as a significant glance. The merchant gave a long extended gurgle which the Sage took for a laugh.
“I figured you’d try and steer things that direction sooner or later. Sooner in your case, it seems. Are you sure you’ve no interest in this fine clamshell carving?” The frog-person eyed its customer with a bulbous orb as it held aloft a clamshell, finely depicting a great sea-whale of some type the Sage was unfamiliar with. The Sage made a face, and the frog put the carving back down nodding to itself “No, no, I can see you are quite determined to have your questions answered. I have just the thing for that, you know. Nobody says no to THIS.” The frog gave a wet grunt and lifted a large crate onto the counter beside its seaweed. Several tentacled shellfish sat in ice, a putrid smell wafting out towards the Sage. “I was planning to save these to take home to my family, but the little ones can share if you are interested in partaking.” The frog looked at the Sage expectantly, as if it was sure this bid had won some business. The Sage just sighed.
“You should have stopped with the carving. I’m half-sure you can’t even eat those things. Just answer me some questions and I will be glad to lighten your table’s load.” The quill-laden frog gave a slight chuckle and moved the crate of ice back down below the counter. “The… inhabitants… of this fine city seem to be rather skittish around me. Have you any idea of the reason for that? I’ve done nothing to incur their ill will to my knowledge.”
The quilled frog gave a knowing gurgle, “Its nothing personal, left over distrust from home. don’t let it put you off.” The merchant made as if to move on, but the Sage pressed it further.
“You are referring to something that you take for common knowledge. I fear that in this world, the term common is often a poor one.” The Sage straightened up as he spoke, and the frog eyed him carefully, “I would appreciate it greatly if you could enlighten me on the matter.”
The street vendor sighed, and turned back to the Sage, a look he assumed was solemn spread on its slime-coated face. “We here in the Omniverse are a scattering of many, many worlds, you know that much right?” the Sage nodded, it was a fascinating concept, but one he would have to reserve for later introspection. “The majority of this island is populated by beings from a single reality. In that plane of existence, people in many ways resembling yourself routinely hunt and kidnap these various beings, exploiting their power in fights.” The frog sighed heavily, “Winning prestige and riches off of the blood, sweat and tears of the poor creatures.” It looked at the Sage and gave a low gurgle, “This is a bastion of safety for them, there are no humans, no hunters. Then a traveler like you arrives. They know that not every human does the same, but to them every human is a potential trainer. You can hardly blame them for giving you a wide berth. I do the same whenever I hear an orc is stopping by, though half of the things have never heard of a murloc in their life.”
The Sage nodded, he had assumed the issue was something similar, though he hadn’t really expected it to be quite that evocative of a black-market dog-fighting ring. It would be best to see to his business here as quickly as possible then, before things ended badly. The murloc had turned to another customer, a jabbering figure in brown robes whose bright yellow eyes gleamed in the dark recesses of his hood. The murloc handed over a clamshell in exchange for something metallic that the Sage did not recognize.
The Sage called the murloc back over, leaning an elbow on the counter and bringing his face level with the stooped amphibian. “I am seeking a wizard, known to his fellows as Jadevon Clowney. He is said to have set up a residence on the island.” The Sage picked up one of the seaweed wreaths, its length slippery and thin in his fingers. “Do you know where I could find him?”
Normal is an entirely invented perception, he decided as he watched a collection of three-foot-tall fanged mushrooms shamble past grumpily, our concept of the standard existence is derived solely from the average of the pool in which we reside. Open the floodgates, and the center will shift. It must, and it should, for the sum is no longer the same. He paused as a small two-headed bird was ushered away from him quickly by a larger one with three heads. The long-legged avian kept one head trained on the Sage as it led what he could only assume was its offspring away. The gaze was not particularly aggressive, just distrustful. Yet when even a single drop of one pool is placed into another, the ripples will disrupt the entirety of the surface, rocking its surroundings to the very edges of the basin.
The thought struck him that this Clowney he was searching for might not in fact be the irritable, aging old man that the Sage had originally assumed him to be. He had chosen to make his base of operations in this place, and by the sounds of the letter had remained there for some time. Clearly he (if the writer of the letter was even male) had a flair for the eccentric. It was entirely possible, the Sage realized with some discomfort, that the person he was seeking to assist would think in ways entirely alien to himself.
After some consideration, he decided that he would need assistance finding Clowney, the island was deceptively small from a distance, and the buildings sprawled against each other in a variety of unconventional ways. This was a city that had not been planned, at least not by minds that worked in a way he was familiar with. For a moment, The Sage was stuck, unsure of how he should proceed. Then he realized that he was being stupidly close-minded. In any other city, he would simply have asked someone for Clowney’s whereabouts, as he would have no way of knowing the man if they met. The strangeness of Cinnibar’s inhabitants should not be changing his approach.
Looking around the Sage noticed a nearby street vendor, but the floating white ball stopped its almost leering cackle as it became aware the Sage’s glance. Bright red spread across the creature’s face as he approached, and it turned away, small arms reaching up to hide its face from him. The floating thing ignored the Sage’s attempts to gain its attention, even when he offered to purchase one of the paintings the spherical creature had been trying to sell a moment before. No amount of coxing seemed to budge the creature, and the Sage wondered slightly how it managed to stay in business. The ghost-like sphere continued to ignore him, but others that walk the streets were becoming increasingly aware of his presence.
Growing uneasy with the attention his actions were drawing, the Sage moved on down the street, turning a corner before trying another stall. This vendor was a strange stooped figure, somehow reminding the Sage of both a frog and a porcupine. The thing was selling what looked like seaweed, though from the commotion the vendor was making it seemed like it must be something more impressive. The frog-thing noticed his approach and waved him over with an encouraging gurgle.
“Well, well!” the merchant burbled as the Sage drew nearer, “It’s been quite some time since I saw a human here on Cinnibar! Is there anything I can do for you, a nice wreath perhaps?” The frog said, raising a glistening circlet of drooping vegetation. The Sage could barely understand half of the frog’s words through the strong gurgling accent, but given the reception he had received everywhere else on the island, he decided to make do.
“Perhaps, though I have no door on which to hang it.” The Sage replied, as he neared the strange merchant. “I am most certainly in the market, as it were, for information, however.” It said, fixing the spiked frog with what he hoped would translate as a significant glance. The merchant gave a long extended gurgle which the Sage took for a laugh.
“I figured you’d try and steer things that direction sooner or later. Sooner in your case, it seems. Are you sure you’ve no interest in this fine clamshell carving?” The frog-person eyed its customer with a bulbous orb as it held aloft a clamshell, finely depicting a great sea-whale of some type the Sage was unfamiliar with. The Sage made a face, and the frog put the carving back down nodding to itself “No, no, I can see you are quite determined to have your questions answered. I have just the thing for that, you know. Nobody says no to THIS.” The frog gave a wet grunt and lifted a large crate onto the counter beside its seaweed. Several tentacled shellfish sat in ice, a putrid smell wafting out towards the Sage. “I was planning to save these to take home to my family, but the little ones can share if you are interested in partaking.” The frog looked at the Sage expectantly, as if it was sure this bid had won some business. The Sage just sighed.
“You should have stopped with the carving. I’m half-sure you can’t even eat those things. Just answer me some questions and I will be glad to lighten your table’s load.” The quill-laden frog gave a slight chuckle and moved the crate of ice back down below the counter. “The… inhabitants… of this fine city seem to be rather skittish around me. Have you any idea of the reason for that? I’ve done nothing to incur their ill will to my knowledge.”
The quilled frog gave a knowing gurgle, “Its nothing personal, left over distrust from home. don’t let it put you off.” The merchant made as if to move on, but the Sage pressed it further.
“You are referring to something that you take for common knowledge. I fear that in this world, the term common is often a poor one.” The Sage straightened up as he spoke, and the frog eyed him carefully, “I would appreciate it greatly if you could enlighten me on the matter.”
The street vendor sighed, and turned back to the Sage, a look he assumed was solemn spread on its slime-coated face. “We here in the Omniverse are a scattering of many, many worlds, you know that much right?” the Sage nodded, it was a fascinating concept, but one he would have to reserve for later introspection. “The majority of this island is populated by beings from a single reality. In that plane of existence, people in many ways resembling yourself routinely hunt and kidnap these various beings, exploiting their power in fights.” The frog sighed heavily, “Winning prestige and riches off of the blood, sweat and tears of the poor creatures.” It looked at the Sage and gave a low gurgle, “This is a bastion of safety for them, there are no humans, no hunters. Then a traveler like you arrives. They know that not every human does the same, but to them every human is a potential trainer. You can hardly blame them for giving you a wide berth. I do the same whenever I hear an orc is stopping by, though half of the things have never heard of a murloc in their life.”
The Sage nodded, he had assumed the issue was something similar, though he hadn’t really expected it to be quite that evocative of a black-market dog-fighting ring. It would be best to see to his business here as quickly as possible then, before things ended badly. The murloc had turned to another customer, a jabbering figure in brown robes whose bright yellow eyes gleamed in the dark recesses of his hood. The murloc handed over a clamshell in exchange for something metallic that the Sage did not recognize.
The Sage called the murloc back over, leaning an elbow on the counter and bringing his face level with the stooped amphibian. “I am seeking a wizard, known to his fellows as Jadevon Clowney. He is said to have set up a residence on the island.” The Sage picked up one of the seaweed wreaths, its length slippery and thin in his fingers. “Do you know where I could find him?”
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If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.