18 years ago
The tower
I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it, I felt it, like a chill to my spine when I walked through the gates. A bad, bad idea - but since when has that ever stopped me from doing anything?
Oscura - layer upon layer of mystery shrouds that dark cavern city and its past. Part of the appeal is just that, the danger, the unknown. I've gleaned little tidbits of information from here and there over the years, but I'm still far from being able to make sense of it all. Oscura is like a puzzle or a box, which upon opening reveals another box, then another and another and another. Part of me wants to chase those secrets, delve deeper into the mystery, but another, more sensible part thinks some things are better left in the dark. I should start listening to that latter part, I really should.
A dark and omnious tower, looming behind a gate that is always locked. No one knows what lies within the tower, or why the gates are locked. To keep us out, or to keep whatever resides in there in? A sudden chance to find out was offered, a disparate group gathering in the city's center. The lure of the unknown drew us together, me, Deacon and Corana, along with a range of more or less familiar people, most with some sort of ties to Oscura.
A charismatic dark-clad man lead the expedition, calling himself Cliff, Clay, or was it Chuck? The pale monk Yuna followed silently and Shemaright was there too, with her blood-red hair and cold eyes, her latest pet Elor in tow. Was Hawk along too? My recollection of the event is hazy, I know the group was large, yet faces and names elude me. I will try anyway, writing things down always seems to make them more real in my mind, more solid. Either way, Hawk is the redhead's latest aquisition, so enthralled by her supposed charms that he’s deemed it fit to disregard my orders more than once to trail after Shemaright like a lost puppy. Thinking with his dick again, no doubt. Idiot.
I'm an idiot too though. Whatever possessed me to go along to that tower, an unknown place with unknown dangers, accompanied by several people I don't know or trust? I knew it was a bad idea, I bloody knew it. Pavel would have talked sense into me, would have made me stay or kept me safe with his presence, but he wasn't there, hadn't been there for days, a week, practically an eternity.
Training at the monastery, he says, knowing full well that's the one part of his life that excludes me. I wonder if he's hiding, retreating, wonder if the closeness we found got too much. Maybe I'm stifling him, being too demanding, too clingy? The thought frightens me. I have to give him space, time alone, away from me. It's driving me crazy though, I’m practically crawling up the walls with anxiety. Is that why I chose the tower, to distract my thoughts from this useless agonizing? Maybe, maybe in part.
Deacon is the other part of the why, I think. We haven't shared a bed in ages, but one aspect of his appeal still holds as strong as ever. He could always talk me into anything. No matter how reluctant I was, he'd nag and sweet-talk, argue, charm and twist words around so that in the end, he'd get his wish. That quality is probably a large reason behind his success, come to think of it. Charm, drive and a certain, almost boyish enthusiasm that is often irresistable. "It'll be an adventure", he said, grinning that pirate grin. I found myself swept along once again, despite my reservations. Perhaps we'll find treasure, I thought, perhaps there will be knowledge to gain, old tomes and powerful scrolls, magical artifacts..
All we found was death. The tower was dark, the air musty, stale and the light dim. Pitch-black, cowled shapes met us, the same small ghostlike creatures that sometimes rise from the soul well. Skeletal warriors followed, my arrows useless against their bony, bloodless limbs. Each floor was worse than the one before, yet there was no turning back, not alone. Up, up and up, until that big open room. That's where things turned from bad to worse, very fast. Powerful undead tore into our ranks, chaos ensued. Screams in the darkness of the room, sounds of running, blood making the floor slick. Hovering near the stairs, bleeding badly, I could do little but try to survive. I failed even at that. Deacon stumbled past, towards the stairs, near death's door. A terrifying undead creature gave chase, the cold gaze of its empty eyesockets suddenly sweeping over me. Icy dread gripped my gut, froze my limbs, but I tried to run, I tried. It caught me at the bottom of the stairs, raised the axe over my head…
Darkness. Sand. Empty, hollow, in the lands of the dead once again.
I came to shivering violently, gasping for breath on a cold stone floor, Dagon standing over me. Someone handed me my pack, I took it with stiffened fingers, counting the coins routinely. Felt cold, so cold and numb, distant from everything around me. Deacon stood next to me, wearing that same look of disorientation as the other recently fallen. I tried to listen, find out what had happened afterwards, but I couldn’t really bring myself to care. No knowledge won, they said, no loot, no scrolls, no artifacts of magical power. No gain, just loss.
Defeated, deflated, I walked aimlessly into the city proper. Slumped down, sat staring at nothing until Drelan passed by. A great surge of need in me suddenly, that same need he always draws out in me when I am in pain. A shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, someone to lean on. I usually try to resist that stupid urge, dismiss it as weakness on my part, but this time I couldn’t. And this time he walked on by, had a meeting he claimed. I wonder if he was just scared by the look in my eyes, retreating, like Pavel. Something inside me froze further, curled up in a tight little ball.
Deacon found me later, sitting in the same spot. He looked strangely concerned, guilt-ridden perhaps for having dragged me along, or for leading the undead warrior my way? I don’t know, it’s a look I’ve never seen on his face before. A look of care, almost fondness. He lifted my chin lightly, sought my eyes with a searching look. Looked at me, really looked, in a way he hadn’t done even while we were lovers. Searching for… something.
It wasn’t your fault, I said. I meant it too, but I couldn’t bring any feeling to my voice, nor any warmth to my eyes. I felt the shutters close inside me, heard the doors lock. Just like the gates to that accursed tower, locking all its secrets away. He sighed softly, sensing a sort of defeat. ”We’ll talk later, m’dear”, he said. We won’t, I know we won’t. Deacon isn’t the type to dwell, he’ll have pushed all this aside by tomorrow or the day after, enthused by some new idea or venue of profits. That’s alright, that’s just how he is. It is part of his charm, even.
I’m different. I brood when my moods take me, I dwell, I regret, I need. I need Pavel, damnit. Damnit… where is he, when I need him so? I’m so cold.
