Here we are. I've decided to split Roablade's story into multiple parts due to it's length. I'll probably do Roablade's story, another person's story, then another part of Roablade's, so on. (I have no idea how many parts this will be.)
Forgotten Memories (Part 1)
A short story for Roablade’s character Drowan- Written by Rextoret
Rain pattered on the ground outside the Merry Mead. The warmth of the fire inside warmed the patrons, who were busy merrily drinking their beverages. Outside, the cold of the night bypassed the cloaks of the few travelers. Drowan passed quickly down the docks, headed towards the Merry Mead. The hard leather of his boots slapped into puddles of rainwater, sending them splashing onto his pants. He had decided to carry his claymore instead of his primary weapons this day, feeling the heavy sword resting upon his back instilled a greater sense of strength, safety and power. Drowan pushed open the door to the Merry Mead, embracing the heat it brought.
Stepping into the main room, he looked around the room to find a place to sit and dry. Spinning around, Drowan was confronted by a familiar sight. A man sat in a booth, his dark corroded armor making him stand out of the miniscule crowd inside the building. A deep darkness hung over his face, obscuring it. Drowan approached, recognizing the knight from their time in the man’s cabin in the Eastern Frontier. Taking a seat at the table, he looked across at the knight. The man had his right hand wrapped around his mug of mead, his left hung limply at his side. A huge greatsword of corroded steel sat diagonally across his back, jutting out behind his left shoulder. Drowan looked up, trying to understand why even at this distance; the man’s face remained hidden by shadow.
The knight looked up, peering upon Drowan’s face; dull green eyes looking out of the shadows.
“You’re… You’re the man I let stay at my cabin, correct?” Drowan replied quickly and shortly.
“Yes.” The knight released his right hand from the mug, reaching it across the table toward Drowan.
“We never properly introduced. My name is Artorias. And you?” Drowan gingerly accepted the handshake.
“Drowandrius. But call me Drowan.” Artorias smiled, although the expression was meaningless considering it was hidden by darkness. Drowan looked aimlessly at Artorias’ left arm, which still hung limp at his side.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Oh. A childbirth defect, it’s been unusable since I was born. I think.” Drowan looked quizzically at his greatsword.
“Then how in the world do you wield that abomination in one hand?” Artorias took a gulp of mead.
“I guess all the muscle I build goes to my right arm. And I’ve been using the thing for half my life; I’ve grown accustomed to using it.” Artorias looked across at Drowan.
“I don’t suppose you’re up for a little adventure?” Drowan looked at him oddly.
“What do you plan?” “There an old abandoned city called Wolf’s Howl in the Southern Wilds. It was once said to be a great human city, its walls stretching high into the sky.”
Drowan grinned.
“Adventure, eh? Don’t mind if I do. When do we leave?” Artorias looked out the window, watching the water droplets splash onto the cold night street.
“In the morning. But we can’t sleep here, it’ll be too crowded. Might I suggest the Vermillion Inn?” Drowan nodded.
“That’s fine.”
Artorias and Drowan stood, making their way out of the Merry Mead and into the cold night air of Port Silver. The two quickly walked through the heavy downpour, walking parallel to the shore of the left side of the bay. Artorias could have sworn he caught a glimpse of red through the blue of the water. Moving quickly on, they saw the faint lights of The Vermillion ahead. Reaching the doors, Drowan pushed them open. They both rapidly stepped inside, eager to become dry again. A solitary innkeeper greeted them.
“Hello? Are you interested in getting some rooms for the night?” Artorias approached, bag of radiants in hand.
“Yes, two please.” The innkeeper nodded, relieving Artorias of some of the radiants. The man slid the keys across the counter.
“Your rooms are on the second floor. Have a good night’s sleep.” Artorias grabbed the keys in his right hand and dropped one in Drowan’s hand.
“Thanks.”
The two progressed upstairs, finding their respective rooms. Artorias nodded to Drowan, who returned the gesture. Drowan slipped into his room, looking around to find a very small bed and nightstand. Sighing, he placed his pack and claymore on the ground next to the door. He quickly removed his bulkier armor pieces, before falling into the tiny bed. Parallel, Artorias was also preparing for the night. He agonizingly slowly took off his armor, restricted in speed due to his left arm. Once done, he dropped into bed, slowly falling asleep.
[TO BE CONTINUED]