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Somewhere in......IronWorks???? Many miles from Castle Lesismoore
The Passerby
He sighs. This is getting stranger by the minute. First the armored man goes off by himself to begin scribbling with a feverish energy and then this other whose name would seem to be ‘Larry’ stands rapt with an apparent vision of some kind. ~ Perhaps he imagined he struck the iron wall much harder than I had thought ~ And now this puzzling welter of names. Lesis. Mage of Shadow – now that sounds interesting. Some fellow named Keldorn with an order of some kind, most likely some sort of officious and intrusive band of meddlers. Internet galaxy??? And finally, a name for this land. “IronWorks,” he says thoughtfully.
“Never heard of it.”
“How did I find you? That would imply that I had been looking for you.” There is a plain spoken and simple formality about his words and his voice is a curious mixture of the smooth tones typical of the educated and the rough notes that mark more common speech. He gestures as he speaks and his movements have an easy and graceful nimbleness about them. “Definitely not the case.” He smiles broadly looking at the young man, “Just passing by, I was. Just passing by. Be that as it may, I could hardly have missed you with all that yelling and running. Not to mention that group of hostile creatures. Or that series of absolutely amateurish rumblings in the fabric of the shadows.”
“Powerful, though,” he says thoughtfully. “Never felt anything quite like it. But sloppy, absolutely no sense of style.” He shakes his head and winks at the young man.
“Larry, huh?” He asks suddenly. “Just what the hell did you do to stir up all that?”
“Wait!” he interjects as the young man is about to speak. “Maybe it’s best I don’t know.” He pauses. “Still ...... it looks like I got myself involved in whatever this is whether I like it or not. I doubt I’m going to getting back home the way I came any time soon after all that. Go ahead.”
The young man begins to answer when he lets out a low and appreciative whistle. This is simply too good! And his full concentration is required to appreciate it. He ceases to concern himself with the appearance of himself that had stood conversing with that Larry fellow, leaving the form on its own to mime a semblance of generic listening and understanding gestures as the young man speaks. The concealing veil around his person melts away and he steps forward, his gaze studious, intent and absolutely captivated by that most curious display of arcane energy emerging from the pages of the that old journal. “Now that,” he says quietly, “is art!”
ooc: The form of the passerby will persist, acting the part of a listener to a conversation, whether or not conversation is actually occuring, for another 15 minutes before vanishing.
[ 02-23-2005, 12:50 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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