A Teaser - (alpha version)

There it was, the Baron's Keep. Not at all what Jibb was expecting. A derelict, skeleton of a building stood before him with frayed cloth and pieces of scrap making up the walls, floor and roof; not a place where you would expect one of the 12 to be hiding.

The entire structure looked as it would come down without a moment’s hesitation given any unfavorable external factor, or even internal, Jibb silently observed, as he saw two drunkards start a brawl, at the expense of the flimsy and constantly recycled furniture of the establishment.

Even compared to the town's depraved condition, the inn was a true eye-sore. Jibb walked nearer, his hand unconsciously drifting to his side and unhooking his holster. The entire area seemed to reek of hidden dangers. He pushed through the old western saloon styled doors, trying to ignore the stench of booze, sweat and sex which permeated the atmosphere. With deliberate steps he walked over to the bar, dust billowing out of the floor boards with every footfall, and rested his posterior on a stained, wet barstool which threatened to snap at the least provocation.

The barman, a surly brute of a fellow, with an ear missing and with a deep scar running down the side of his ugly mug, grunted a welcome and busied himself again with cleaning a chipped flagon and glaring at his other customers.

Jibb observed the other patrons' appraising glances, probably gauging what sort of trouble he was worth. Jibb pulled back his coat, revealing the impressive side-arm he was equipped with, causing their eyes to revert back to their own respective businesses.

Yeah, let’s keep it that way, Jibb reflected; it would not do well to attract undue attention.

"What do ye want?” a gruff voice growled from behind his back. Jibb spun around only to find himself staring at the disfigured face of the barman.

"Ya buy somethin' or get the fuck out, ye dirtyin' my stools", the barman continued with his face inches away from Jibb's.

Jibb reclined in order to escape the foul odoured mouth. This was not lost on the barman who put down the glass he was cleaning hard enough on the table to render it a new crack.

"Ye be wantin' brew? Or would ye be interestin' in somethin' finer?" the barman grunted, cocking his head to the side towards a couple of wenches at the far end of the bar. Realizing that they were being scrutinized each tried to cast, in what their opinion must have been, seductive looks at Jibb, twirling their hair between their fingers and hinting towards rather erotic body gestures.

Jibb was least interested. He was on a much more significant mission than the diseased satisfaction of lust.

"Just a drink, if you please", he cautiously replied to the barman's inquiry receiving another grunt and a dirty glass full of pale green colored liquid. Jibb sniffed the concoction, decided it smelled like damp moss, took a miniscule sip and forced himself not to think of the burning aftertaste which it left immediately on his tongue.

Jibb turned on his stool and went back to observing the tables. Ozzy had not told him who he was looking for but had cryptically stated that his quarry will not escape his gaze. Jibb prayed that to be true. he had spent many a sleepless night wandering the streets of this shabby town looking for the man he sought, without fruition, until last night he was advised by a passersby to pay the Baron's Keep a visit as she had seen men of similar countenance and guise as his, residing at the inn.

Jibb mentally cursed Ozzy at his lack of details but simultaneously wondered why the grandmaster had been so secretive about Jibb’s entire mission.

He remembered how Ozzy had taken him into a side chamber of the spire and told him the specifics, if you can call them that, of his quest.

"Jibb, I’m gonna be straight with you, your task is the fucking hardest of 'em all. you are gonna be looking for a man who may as well turn the entire tide of the war in our favor, but, has refused to join our cause. Don’t get me wrong here, he's a staunch ally and a dear friend, but he has relinquished violence. This is where you come in, Jibb. You are gonna convince him that fighting is the only fucking option left."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know who he is!"

"Relax kid; you'll know him when you see him. Last I heard he was somewhere in the wetlands. Try the towns closest to the center of the marsh"

"That not really helpful you know, the marsh itself is pretty fuckin' huge", Jibb had dryly commented.

"Come on, that not a warrior's thinking! Well, honestly I don’t give a fuck what you think, this job has to be done and done soon," came Ozzy's scathing reply.

"Ok ok, I’ll do it," Jibb had relented.

"Excellent, when you find him, you will give him this along with my regards," Ozzy had held up a round, red jewel, a little larger than a walnut. It had cracks running all around it and was glowing dully at regular intervals. The jewel appeared to be alive, the glow akin to the throbbing of a beating heart.

Ozzy continued, "He will take it and will ask 'who?’ to which you will simply reply "twilight". Understand?"

"Sounds easy enough," Jibb responded sarcastically.

"Don’t get used to it kid, this is not even the beginning."

Back at the bar, Jibb held the jewel between his thumb and forefinger and tried to comprehend the reasons behind Ozzy’s paranoia concerning this one guy. he had definitely seem flustered when he relayed his instructions and had warned him to keep the utmost secrecy regarding his quest, so much so as not to tell even his band.

Jibb had respected Ozzy’s wishes, no matter how absurd they seemed to be and had set out immediately. But it had been seven weeks of constant searching and still no sign of the mysterious stranger he was supposed to contact. The journey was made even more difficult with the Blood Patrol presence in the towns he visited. Apparently the Realm was expanding into the wetlands. They obviously saw the numerous small lawless settlements as potential candidates for their slave camps and sites for future factories.

With the Patrol dogging his steps, movement had become extremely difficult and slow for Jibb. Moving only under the cover of darkness, sleeping in abandoned houses, eating while walking, generally not spending too much time in a single place. But Jibb still ended up in three separate encounters with the Patrol.

Two he walked away from unscathed. The third, however, forced him to use his Ability just to escape.

And that brought down hell upon him. The Patrol can track Ability users, and after that incident they were tracking him down relentlessly. Jibb had only been able to shake off his pursuers a day before he got the advice to visit Baron's Keep.

He turned over the jewel in his palm, admiring the intricacy of the design that the cracks made on the surface. They were natural. No hand or machine, no matter how skilled or advanced could have produced such a marvel.

The subdued throbbing of the jewel suddenly quickened, startling Jibb, which made him spill the drink he was nursing. Trying to remain inconspicuous, he hurriedly sat the glass down, made to ask the barman for a cloth, thought better of it and just patted away the liquid from his attire with his hands. Luckily his clothes didn’t stain.

He took another cursory look at the glowing red orb in his hand. The glow was back to the usual subdued throbbing. Had he imagined it? Jibb decided that it was probably lack of sleep which had him on edge and was now making him hallucinate.

The jewel began to burn blood red, scorching Jibb’s fingers. He dropped the orb with a yelp and saw it fall to the dusty floor with a loud thud that its size should not have made.

He was just about to bend down and grab it, when another surprise jolted him. The jewel, as with a will of its own, began rolling away from his reaching grasp and towards the tables where other revelers were wiling away their time with alcohol and tobacco.

Jibb leapt from his stool, which broke under such unwarranted attention, and darted after the rolling orb. Jumping over tables and slumbering drunks, he pursued the jewel with wild abandon, cursing heartily at this strange, new turn of events. His curses were joined by more vociferous ones by others as he knocked over glasses and people in an effort to subdue his prey.

With a mighty leap from a table, Jibb landed squarely onto the jewel and grabbed it with his gloved hand. He could feel the heat radiating from the orb as it spun viciously within the leather of his palm.

Standing up, apologizing profusely he made his way back to the bar. The barman was still deeply interested in cleaning his glasses and oblivious to the ruckus that had just occurred. He did, however, glared at Jibb with one disdainful eye as he continued to scrub.

"sorry about that," Jibb said with a meek voice and produced some bank notes at which the barman dropped the pretense of cleaning and began counting the money that Jibb had given for compensation for the trouble he had caused. Grunting in satisfaction he resumed his chore.

Jibb sat with his head bowed and a fresh drink at his side. His mind was buzzing.

What the hell, he pondered. But he knew what it meant. His quarry was close, very close.

For Jibb had seen something which troubled him greatly when he was getting up from the floor after reclaiming the orb: the clear piercing gaze of a man sitting in the shadows, his eyes riveted on the jewel. Even though Jibb held it in his gloved hand, the heat was intense and his arm was getting sore. It was as if the jewel had increased considerably in weight. He also felt the orb tugging in his hand. Tugging in the direction of the shadowed stranger with the bright eyes.

Jibb gestured for the barman, who begrudgingly came over to his side.

"Do you know who that man is?" Jibb pointed towards the stranger who was still watching him intently.

"Nah, but he be a regular. Comes in every evenin' he does. Orders a pint and takes his seat, always in that there corner. If ye ask me, I think he be waitin' for someone," the compensation had definitely made his demeanor towards Jibb more pleasant.

Jibb considered the barman's words for a moment, drained his glass of the wretched drink and made his way towards the secluded corner where the man in question sat and watched.

He grabbed a nearby vacant chair, dragged it to his table and sat down without a word. Jibb was tired, on the verge of paranoia, sick of the entire quest and drunk. So he sat there and unabashedly stared at the countenance of the stranger before him.

And as he stared, his doubts dissipated. For the man before him was no stranger, granted he did not know him personally, but he did know of him, and what he did know, was akin to legends.

For sitting across him, after weeks of hardship, was one of the greatest warriors of the Forgotten Age.

A Spontaneous Chronicle - Ch. 1 (working title)

He raised the ceramic coffee cup to his lips, took a tiny sip and returned it to the table. His eyes never left the piece of literature he was keenly studying. A small book, with a worn black leather cover adorning it, was the epicenter of his attention.

In that dingy cafe, such a practice was not out of the social norm. Rickety chairs and small round coffee tables peppered the dust-hued tiled floor. The lighting fixtures were sparse and installed too far apart to provide any significant illumination. The lack of central air conditioning was compromised by a few old fashioned ceiling fans. The murmur of conversation and tinkling of the coffee machines with a backdrop of smooth jazz music, completed the atmosphere. The ambiance, however, did not reflect the austerity measures that the proprietor had resorted to. There was an air of vintage quality within this establishment. Some would say that it possessed a certain degree of class and allure to those who wished to escape the uniformity and lack of tradition of international coffee houses.
However, multitudes of patrons came, dined and left while our curious reader pondered on, perusing his tome.
A small smile would occasionally cross his lips. At this juncture he would bend forward, grasp the silver adorned pen lying on the table before him and scribble a little snippet into the blank margins of his black book.
The pen itself was adorned with an intricate design which snaked its way from tip to tip. Under the light of the window this embroidery on the pen would come alive, twisting in the sun.
The man himself appeared to be young of age and sat with quite a relaxed posture. He was dressed in a milky cotton formal shirt on top of which he wore a dark waistcoat inlaid with almost invisible stripes. A stylish yet modest time-piece decorated his wrist while a simple gold band, almost unnoticeable rested on his left ring finger. Bronze rimless spectacles perched on the tip of his well-proportioned nose.
His auburn hair fell to just above his shoulders and there was a hint of five o'clock shadow on his visage. His unwrinkled brow along with his attire and aura suggested a hint of aristocracy.
Soon after, the antique hanging doorbell chimed as the door swung inwards.
Silhouetted by the glare of the bright day outside, stood a delicate figure. She was garbed in a beige summer's coat which ended just above her knees. The border of a plaid black skirt was visible below the hem of the jacket and her cream-skinned legs ended in a pair of posh, red stilettos.
The wide collar of the obviously branded coat showed a crisp white blouse with the top few buttons artistically undone.
Meticulous make-up complete with rosy lipstick and large, dark sunglasses, adorned her fair face. Her rich brunette hair fell down in long curls halfway across her back. A sun-bonnet with a wide brim and laced with velvet black ribbons, perched on her head.
Her entire image conveyed a sense of haute-couture and vogue to the beholder.
She surveyed the dingy establishment, eyes hidden behind tinted glass, until her gaze fell upon the well-dressed gentleman intent upon his reading.
A wry smile crossed her ruby lips as she made her way towards his table, heels cackling on the wood-tiled floor with every poised step she took.
The atmosphere of the cafe was saturated with her perfume. Other patrons turned second glances at this exquisite being, amazed that such perfection walked among them.
Upon reaching her destination, she stood at the edge of his table, magnificent handbag dangling loosely from her arm, while the slightly less auspiciously dressed man obliviously continued perusing his interest.
The woman, with the same smile playing on her lips, waited for the man to realize her presence. The diamond studs in her ears danced in the light from the window as the reflection of the man's back shone off her glasses.
The man came to a certain passage in his little black book, at which he replaced the black ribbon book-marker and delicately shut the volume.
He pulled the spectacles of his nose and began wiping the lens with an embroidered handkerchief which he had plucked from the breast pocket of his waistcoat.
Satisfied, he replaced the glasses on his visage and with a sigh of content turned to face his visitor, sporting even more of an exuberant smile.
''Darling-'' he began.
''Don't 'darling' me, you pretentious sleaze!'' the woman exclaimed good-naturedly, cutting him off.
Without waiting for permission, she pulled out the chair facing him and sat down with legs curled feministically to the side. She removed her bonnet and sat it down on the table between them, lovingly ran her fingers through her locks and leaned forward, meeting the eyes of her acquaintance.
''Alice,'' the man began again.
''Don't. Just don't,'' she warned him.
The man drew an exasperated sigh and slumped back into his seat. He studied the pretty face of his guest and gestured for her to continue.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder which she carefully placed on the desk as if the contents of the plain-looking envelop were far more precious than they appeared.
The man leaned forward, hitching up his glasses further back up his nose and with the same delicate touch, pulled the folder closer towards him.
The cardboard-brown cover of the envelop was bare except for a coat-of-arms splayed across the center, which was now under deep scrutiny by the bespectacled man.
''Florence. Early 15th century,'' he observed.
The woman merely smiled and signalled the barista for service.
''Yes madam?'' the barista chimed upon reaching their table.
''Would you please get me an Americano dear?'' the woman recited her order while flashing a brilliant smile at the young girl server.
''Certainly miss!'' she bubbled. ''Anything for you, sir?'' she said, turning towards him.
The man, engrossed in his study, was all but oblivious to the world, apart from the design before him.
''Don't mind him. Umm, how about an Irish Cappuccino and, ah! Blueberry Waffles! Is that alright with you 'darling'?'' the woman said, sarcastically slurring the last word.
The man just gestured impatiently, eyes still riveted to the Florentine crest.
''That will be all dear,'' the woman continued sweetly.
The giggling barista walked away to fulfill their order. 
The man finally sat up, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a cigarette. After a moment of contemplation with furrowed brow and eyes still glued to the paper, he placed the cigarette between his lips.
''Didn't you quit that obscene habit?'' the woman chided, returning to her original demeanour.
''I did,'' he said while rummaging his pockets for a light. ''Only on special occasions.'' Finding a match, he struck it against the table and held the flame to the exposed tobacco, letting it smolder.
''Since you were carrying that fag with you, I guess this meeting must be quite the occasion then,'' she intoned in honeyed voice.
The man cocked an eyebrow in her direction as he continued to puff. After a particularly long drag, he sighed resignedly, exhaling the pent up smoke of his exotic cigarette.
''Can we not do this right now?'' He gestured at the envelop. ''Especially when we just found the final piece.''
She pulled off her glasses and with eyes wide in shock she whispered, ''Is this really it? I wasn't sure, I thought it was just another copy of the manuscript we already have...''
''I'm positive,'' he whispered back, voice dripping with excitement.
A moment lapsed with each lost in his or her thoughts.
Alice broke the silence. 
''Well?'' 
''Well what?'' 
''Aren't you going to open it?''
The man's face transformed into a mask of incredulity.
''Here? Alice, have you lost your mind?!'' he exclaimed, straining to keep the emotion out of his tone but ultimately failing to.
Startled, Alice stammered out an apology and lowered her gaze in embarrassment. She grasped the envelope without further ado and placed it within the confines of her bag with the utmost delicate touch.
Witnessing her predicament, the man relented and reached out to take her hands in his own.
''Alice ... I'm sorry, I forgot myself-''
''Here's your coffee and waffles sir! Will that be all?'' the waitress broke in, serving their table, oblivious to the exchange she had just interrupted.
''Yes, thank you,'' Alice replied congenially.
The man withdrew his hands from hers and raised the fresh cup of coffee to his lips, apologetic eyes still aimed at her.
Alice chuckled.
''James, it's alright! I forgive you. I know what you have been going through...''
A smile of relief engulfed the countenance of the well-dressed man she called James.
''Tell you what: How about we don't talk about this for the rest of the breakfast.'' He gestured at the envelop.
''Sounds good to me.''
James pulled the plate of waffles to him and helped himself to a serving.
''Where were you, Alice?'' he began rather suddenly.
Alice did not reply at once. She took measured sips of her hot beverage, contemplating an adequate answer.
Finally she replied, ''I was away.''
The silence once again began to grow. Interrupted only by the occasional clatter of cutlery or the sip of coffee.
''We should leave, we've tarried here longer than what caution dictates.'' Having said so, James dabbed at his mouth with the napkin, laid the charge neatly on the table, complete with ample tip, and rose from his seat.
Alice made to protest but apparently thought better of it and followed suit. James helped her into her jacket, flung his own across his arm and proffered the other to the lady. 
Alice graciously accepted the cliched gesture and suffered him a sarcastic smile with a flutter of her long lashes.
Arm in arm, they took their leave of the quaint cafe through its rustic doors.