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.