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Turning of The Gear - Part 1: The Waking World

His eyes opened and the twin moons of Felucca and Trammel shone. He thought it odd, both moons being full and yet somehow both were dark, as if in shadow. Was a double lunar eclipse possible? The grogginess sppun and began to fade as he contemplated the rarity of such an occurance.

He was stiff and sore and the dew laden grass he lay in was beginning to seep through his white, gauzy clothing. He opened his left hand, painfully cramped, and was clutched around a small runestone, marked with an Ahnk. Looking at it closely, he saw it etched "The Shrine of Singularity". He tucked the rune into his pouch as he struggled to his feet. He felt weak, unaccustomed to bearing his own weight, like someone standing for the first time after laying in bed ill for a long time.

The shoulderbag he wore across his wirey frame was heavy. He opened it, but found nothing memorable. A few books, a few handfuls of gold, small pouches of reagents. All things a mage would normally expect in his pack. Was he a mage?

He cocked an eyebrow and looked around. An odd feeling began to creep into his mind. The place he stood was familiar, but he had no true memories of it. He knew where he was, but it was a clinical knowledge, one of facts and figures, but not one he could associate with any memories. As he thought on it harder, he realized he could say the same for himself. The contents of the bag marked him as a mage, and he found if he thought about it, he knew spells. He understood magic, but had nothing tied to it. How he learned, who taught it to him, where he learned it...all of these associations were blank.

As were any he had about himself.

Finding a highly polished dagger in his bag, he pulled it out and used it to see his own face. Thin angular features, deep blue eyes, and red hair that would never be mistaken for a natural shade. He lingered on the eyes. They were the wrong color.

How could that be? How could he know? How could he not know?

Gathering his focus, he opened the bag again, and began to thumb through the handful of small tomes. A spell book...a book of necromantic spells...a set of numbered books... He paused and withdrew the book numbered "One". Opening it, he realized it was more of a case than a book, and was filled with teleportaion destination runes, like the one he held in his hand. Fitting the rune in his hand into the empty slot, he quickly looked over the destination spots. The names were all meaningless to him.

But one was noticably more worn than the others. Touching the rune, the words of recall formed in his mind.

"Kal Ort Por!"

He was unsure what "Hanse's Hostel" was, but it was as good a place as any to start.

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To be continued...

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Original Post Date: Tue Sep 08, 2009