Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Lord Fong]

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2 Months ago
All was calm during the sail from Vesper, It was not until the first signs of Nu’jelm that the sea’s turned rough and the weather foul. Winds rocked the tiny boat back and fourth as the waves crashed over the deck. Fong grasped tight to the side of the boat ducking every so often to escape the boom mast. His last clear memory of that night was the gental glow of the moon off the shores of the Verity isle. When he awoke he found himself in his own house, Samon Triest looking down at him. Samon recounted for him the storm and told him he was found by a patrol of Militia three days earlier. Fong jumped from his bed and tore through the house looking for the scrolls of instructions from Kronos. “Bah! what else was recovered from the wreckage? “ There was a long pause, Fong turned to look at Samon.
“Nothing at all, We couldn’t even find the tiller man, you were the only survivor…”
Fong looked at Samon for a long time, then he sank into his chair. Weeks of working with Kronos…all for nothing now. He would have to wait till Kronos sought him out to continue construction on the blackrock detector. A sudden pain filled his head and he let out a mild groan.
“Samon, would you fetch me a bottle of Liqour please? My head is killing me…” Samon nodded and disappeared for a short time, when he returned Fong uncorked the bottle and began to pour a glass....
Present

Fong’s eyes had become heavy and blood shot. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in some time and smelled like a distillery. He was sitting in his house, refusing to leave, he had lost all interest in all he cared dear for. He was consumed with the blackrock and what he had done to put on hold the brilliant plans of Kronos. It pestered him, ate at him like a maggot on a rotting corpse. He took another drink from the bottle and slammed it against the harth. The remaining alcohol spilling into the fire causing it to flair. He stumbled from room to room searching for another bottle but to no luck. Pulling on his robe he stumbled from the house as he made his way to the teleported he past a few farmers who pointed and spoke in hushed tones. Stepping into the city for the first time in months brought Fong to his knees. Kissing the ground twice he stood and stumbled his way to the inn. Smiling and greeting all on his way, many turned and shook there heads at what had become of the great mayor. Fong purchased another bottle and exited the inn. Samon Triest stood at the door way and grabbed him by the sleeve tugging him out of view. “Sir, you have been gone along time and much has changed, remember that….” Frowning to himself Fong looked at Samon, trying to convince himself he wasn’t hearing things properly. Samon frowned and nodded to him without another word. Fong slowly made his way back to his home, uncorked the bottle and blacked out.


to be continued
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It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds. - Samuel Adams