12-16-2016, 02:30 AM
The Sage awoke with his face pressed against unrelenting concrete. He felt light-headed, almost faint, and he seriously considered whether he even wanted to open his eyes. The smallest glimmer of a thought managed to skip across his cranium, the flash of sunlight in glass, the shocking pain raked across his chest yet again, and The agony shocked him back into some semblance of awareness. The Bounty hunter. The memories flashed into his brain and he recalled the sequence of events that had led him to his current predicament.
He should be dead. The Sage grunted and leaned back against the wall of the alleyway. It was early morning, if the faint traces of light visible above the roofs were anything to go by. He must have passed out at some point during his flight the night before. How had he survived? His hand went to his chest. He should have bled out from the slash that he had taken at the end there.
Rummaging through the tattered remnants of his tunic, he traced his hand across the gash gingerly. He winced, the wound was still extremely tender. The slice was still there, he could feel it, razor thin, but extremely deep. As he traced a finger along the wound, he felt strange ridges, almost like… Did someone stitch me up? He thought, glancing down. He had always had a bit of a weak stomach for injuries, particularly his own. His head spun slightly as he stared at the slice. There was some sort of strange black cord that was threaded across the injury. The stitching was incredibly fine, whoever had done it must have been an extremely practiced physician. Or they had magic on their side… he thought as he stared at the perfectly parallel threads.
Regardless, he owed his life to whomever had done it. He shifted into a more comfortable position, and tried to take stock of things. His clothes were in tatters, and his dueling cane was missing. He’d struck Hiro in the throat with it, he remembered. The Satchel he carried his books and other supplies in was lying nearby, though the strap had been severed clean through during the fight. Had he carried the satchel away with him? That seemed like an odd choice. Still he had no other explanation, unless the person who had fixed his injuries had also brought it for him. Regardless he was likely still being searched for by Cinnabar’s law enforcement. In his current state he could neither deny his involvement nor elude capture. He needed time to recover, a place where he could be safe.
Looking down the alleyway, he saw a backdoor of some kind. With a wheezing cough, The Sage slide up the side of the wall, leaning against it for support. He made his way towards the door, dragging his satchel by the broken strap. After a painful few minutes, he reached the metal door. To his dismay, it refused to budge. With an almost feral growl of determination he slumped against the handle of the door, and began to absorb its handle’s Omnilium. He hated using this power. He felt empty, almost hollow, like he was stealing the very essence of the metal. It’s so strange… that by literally gaining in power I would feel weakened… He didn’t need to extract the handle the whole way, just enough to deteriorate the locking mechanism. With a grunt he heaved on the handle of the door, and to his gratitude he heard the clicking of the lock. The door swung open and the Sage fell into a dark storeroom of some kind. This would do. The Sage pushed the door shut behind him and concentrated. The rainbow swirl of Omnilium lit the room, it was time to rest, to plan. He needed to think through his next steps.
He should be dead. The Sage grunted and leaned back against the wall of the alleyway. It was early morning, if the faint traces of light visible above the roofs were anything to go by. He must have passed out at some point during his flight the night before. How had he survived? His hand went to his chest. He should have bled out from the slash that he had taken at the end there.
Rummaging through the tattered remnants of his tunic, he traced his hand across the gash gingerly. He winced, the wound was still extremely tender. The slice was still there, he could feel it, razor thin, but extremely deep. As he traced a finger along the wound, he felt strange ridges, almost like… Did someone stitch me up? He thought, glancing down. He had always had a bit of a weak stomach for injuries, particularly his own. His head spun slightly as he stared at the slice. There was some sort of strange black cord that was threaded across the injury. The stitching was incredibly fine, whoever had done it must have been an extremely practiced physician. Or they had magic on their side… he thought as he stared at the perfectly parallel threads.
Regardless, he owed his life to whomever had done it. He shifted into a more comfortable position, and tried to take stock of things. His clothes were in tatters, and his dueling cane was missing. He’d struck Hiro in the throat with it, he remembered. The Satchel he carried his books and other supplies in was lying nearby, though the strap had been severed clean through during the fight. Had he carried the satchel away with him? That seemed like an odd choice. Still he had no other explanation, unless the person who had fixed his injuries had also brought it for him. Regardless he was likely still being searched for by Cinnabar’s law enforcement. In his current state he could neither deny his involvement nor elude capture. He needed time to recover, a place where he could be safe.
Looking down the alleyway, he saw a backdoor of some kind. With a wheezing cough, The Sage slide up the side of the wall, leaning against it for support. He made his way towards the door, dragging his satchel by the broken strap. After a painful few minutes, he reached the metal door. To his dismay, it refused to budge. With an almost feral growl of determination he slumped against the handle of the door, and began to absorb its handle’s Omnilium. He hated using this power. He felt empty, almost hollow, like he was stealing the very essence of the metal. It’s so strange… that by literally gaining in power I would feel weakened… He didn’t need to extract the handle the whole way, just enough to deteriorate the locking mechanism. With a grunt he heaved on the handle of the door, and to his gratitude he heard the clicking of the lock. The door swung open and the Sage fell into a dark storeroom of some kind. This would do. The Sage pushed the door shut behind him and concentrated. The rainbow swirl of Omnilium lit the room, it was time to rest, to plan. He needed to think through his next steps.
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.