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Posted by on 2000 Feb 10 |

Impressions

(Crossing, Zoluren: Arhat 360)

The screaming, it would never end. Just a few seconds ago I had thoguht I was dreaming about screams, now fully awake, even if I myself would not believe it, the screaming continued.

The safety I had felt some hours before began to dissolve around me. I was happy, contented with myself, full of questions, and even more full of myself when I had decided to save some coins and sleep at the Shrine behind the Viper’s Inn. The sense of safety dissipated as fast as the radiance of a stolen flower disapears.

I looked out, and I could see people running in all directions, most, armed to the teeth, a few, covered only with an apparent sense of duty and sacrifice. I did not run. I could not run. I was too scared. I do not own a weapon, I do not know how to yield a weapon. Most important, I do not know what am I supposed to attack if I had a weapon.

Strangely, before I myself realize it, I am out of the shrine. Hidding, sneaking, looking… trying to discover foe, knowing I would not find any friends in this city. I been away too long, I have not even chosen a profession. The only family I knew is dead and buried. The family I am trying to know does not seem to be around.

Eveywhere, I see tombs, and death, bodies broken, helpers and looters, and always… the blood. The blood painting the streets; the blood marking it’s grounds, like a bear clawing the trees it claims as his; the blood left it’s imprint in all the battle had touched. The town of Crossing did not belonge to adventurers or invaders, much less to commoners, but to the blood.

Once I was discovered by a S’Lai Warrior, those fighting it, noticed my youth and ordered for me to scram, which I did. Without even looking back or trying to gather what would be of those that took a second to hammer some sense in me.

Finally a the numbers of the dead subsided, slower now, the rats and the graverobbers I could see coming out for a morcel of fresh, bloody meat from a cadaver, or a droped weapon, armor, jewell or keepsake. I do know the rats need to live.

The screaming still ringing in my ears, my clothes wash in other’s blood, the stench of death still hanging from my bruised knees and hands and with a metalic taste of death in my mouth I crawled into the well known Wren’s Nest Tavern. Why is it open?

The Same Baresh I had met once before is right there, alone, aparently surprised someone would be up for a drink and a tale. I ask him for a Flute of Elothean ELixir. I think the order made him remember who I was. He serves my drink and asks If I have seen anything.

I eye him, sip the elixir and allow it to bring me away from the dreams and the reality still fighting for my mind. I notice he is waiting.

"Well Otsenre, do you have anything to report?" Baresh asks me, as if worried I wont share.

I have only enough courage to confess:

"The horror…"

Baresh started working at the Wren’s Nest when it first opened in 349AL. He’s been hearing the news and pouring drinks ever since then.