Night fell on the land of Chobrham, the habub of a tempest on the winds, waiting silently in the wings.
Chobrham was a smaller city, among the likes of larger cities, like the elven wood of Yhen'we to the west; the kingdom Harthruth of man to the north; klaand'or of the Orcish in the south
Chobrham was a trade center, bustling with those of many race and species. By day Chobrham was full to bursting with market goer's and adventurers from far and wide, but by night?
When the sun passes under the hills and falls in the mountains ---- so too does the land grow dark, and forces begin to forge the darkness.
Brhamest... Brhamest was one of the better known adventurers in the land... This story has nothing to do with him though , no.
This story is about his ward, when Brhamest died it was entrusted with Aery, his ward, lived in the land of Chobrham and had been living in the telltale Inn, paid in behest of his formar warden.
Aery awoke in his room, second floor, third door to the right.
Aery had turned age, his twentieth winter had turned it's leaf, and he had spent the night before drinking his birthday away, bottom shelf rum.
A voice came through the door with a gruff bang " oi! Bard boy! You stay here for free, 'least you can do is offer some help 'round the inn." The voice was accented and seasoned, this was the owner of the inn, which gained a lot of popularity due to its bar.
The man, De'luke or Locker as he preferred to be called was an older man, a fifty year old war veteran with the attitude of a twelve year old boy.
"Lock! Nock it off with that knocking! Hang-over. Ring a bell?" Aery slurred.
The man on the outside of Avery's room let out a raspy boyish laugh and continued his ruthless assault on the wooden door.
Aery slipped out of his bed and hobbled across the room he opened the door a crack and mumbled " fine! I'll be out ...just let me wake up first."
Aery wobbled over to an old half crumbling vanity which he bought under the guise that he needed to play the part of a " self absorbed, vein, bard.
Looking in the mirror he saw ... himself, as he had many times, a younger looking man, somewhat androgynous with long curly white locs and fare skin covered in faint freckles and scars.
He looked through his dark green eyes at his light and nude frame using a finger to prod a long scar that traced the length of his abdomen.
He reached into the vanity and pulled out a pair of beige pants that cuffed at the knee and a blue jabbot top covered in frills and scalloped edges. He truly had become the character he wanted people to see. A cold, vein and over confident-over sexed bard was better on any day than a steel cold killer.
"Aery get that skinny butt out here, the drunkerds won't tell themselves tall tales!"
"Alright, Lock! Coming, beautiful and perfect takes time you know ~."