Older and Further Away
He knew he was old.
He knew because he had traveled long and far. Not just across physical distance from one land to another - but between realms in the grand cosmos as well.
It wasn't particularly impressive in the grand scheme of things, any competent sorcerer or wizard could conjure the power needed for portal travel. The more exotic spheres of existance demanded more effort, sometimes more powerful magic, sometimes artefact-keys, sometimes more esoteric material. But nothing beyond what time and determination could get you. And traveled he had.
Once upon a realm he had come across the teaching of a Chrono-Wizard who had written that time was relative. There was truth in that, he sometime pondered to himself. You can travel to one realm and live for a year and return to the other where a month has passed. Days are longer in some realms, shorter in other, and if you use the metric of a day and night cycle to extrapolate months and years then those words soon become meaningless.
Being old was relative as well. Most humans fade away in but a century whereas Elves walk their realms for millennia. Everything in between and beyond. Complicated things that he prefers not to dwell on.
But he knew that he was old. He was old for the time spent traveling and he was old for a being of his kind.
And it has begun to take it's toll. The Masquerade hides it - and hides it well. But in the flickering of it weariness and exhaustion can be gleamed.
The Masquerade is just that, a Masquerade. It is a deception, he freely confess to himself, but it is one of necessity and kindness - besides, an open deception is hardly a nefarious one. When it comes to his identity he obscures his own, this is true, but he does not lay claim to another.
Necessity...
Yes, it was necessity he tells himself.
A person looking at him from the outside often perceive his shape shifting, tall to short, slim to thick and back. His voice is modulated and mechanical. No trace of accent or other identifying marker. Colors coalesces and disperse, a slight blur. The tools available to a skilled illusionist is almost limitless. But the Masquerade goes deeper than magic.
He sometimes wonders where the Masquerade ends and He begins.
Necessity...
Such an appearance invites questions by its very nature.
He does not shy away from answering them. To the shopkeeper, the city guards and the odd adventurer the answer is the same: During his many travels he has amassed a collection of enemies. Some deserved, some undeserved and some by his own creation. Enemies he does not want to alert of his presence here in the keep. Necessity and kindness.
And that is the truth.
He thinks.
He ponders, pours through books and documents. Wandering the halls of the Guilds of the Keep collecting notes and observation. When it comes to his past there are sections... missing. Some events have a beginning and an end, but no middle. Some play out fully but with people or objects erased. Years gone.
He knows who he is beneath the Masquerade, but there is a lingering recurring thought that intrudes upon him during his quiet contemplations:
That his memories have been tampered with.
And he cannot rule out that they have been so intentionally by himself
The Masquerade
Re: The Masquerade
Time Will Tell
The Playful Maiden buzzed with its usual activity, a bustling dance of loyal patrons and adventurers darting back and forth to the portal room. Such a establishment was no stranger to a peculiar cast of characters, and this evening was no different. Seated at a corner table were two of these characters.
"Why is it that you have asked me here?" said Chronos. He was tall and armored, donning a full plate in glistening marble and bronze-tinted colors. Magnificent draconic wings sprouted from his back, their hue fluctuating between bronze and silver.
The other visitor motioned for the draconic disciple to sit as he pulled up a chair himself. "I wished only to introduce myself," he said, realizing the contradiction as the words left his lips. Unlike the regal form of the draconic disciple, his was shifting and nebulous. Even his voice modulated to obscure all identifying markers. "As much as I can—" he hastily added.
Chronos sat down, and the other quickly followed. "I realize the strangeness of a masked man asking to introduce himself, but I go by Masquerade here," said the shifting and distorted form.
"I am Chronos. Chronos Fatewing," replied the other.
Masquerade nodded. "The keep is no stranger to gods and demons."
"I often lament that I am neither," Chronos smiled.
"Your draconic blood... may I ask its origin?"
"If you’re asking who my primogenitor is, your guess is as good as mine," Chronos scratched his chin. "If it's where on the draconic spectrum he or she was, then it was a Time Dragon."
"As Draconic Disciples are rare as it is, a Time Dragon Disciple must be exceedingly rarer," Masquerade leaned closer, offering Chronos the opportunity to continue the conversation in whispers.
Chronos straightened his back and spoke. "I make no secret of it. And yes… No one in my line or family has met one," he sighed. "But we are searching."
"The odds are—" began Masquerade.
"Slim, yes," finished Chronos.
"Time will tell," added Masquerade.
A stiff silence hung in the air as they inspected each other.
Masquerade sensed an unwillingness around the disciple, despite his claim to the opposite. He stood up. "I’m afraid I must depart for now. I am conducting considerable research in and around the Keep, and should I find a mention of a Time Dragon, you will be the first to know." He bowed and departed from the Playful Maiden, leaving Chronos alone to ponder what had transpired.
"Why is it that he keeps being drawn to me? Is it malfunctioning?" Chronos wondered to himself and shook his head.
"And how many times must he and I have this exact conversation?"
The Playful Maiden buzzed with its usual activity, a bustling dance of loyal patrons and adventurers darting back and forth to the portal room. Such a establishment was no stranger to a peculiar cast of characters, and this evening was no different. Seated at a corner table were two of these characters.
"Why is it that you have asked me here?" said Chronos. He was tall and armored, donning a full plate in glistening marble and bronze-tinted colors. Magnificent draconic wings sprouted from his back, their hue fluctuating between bronze and silver.
The other visitor motioned for the draconic disciple to sit as he pulled up a chair himself. "I wished only to introduce myself," he said, realizing the contradiction as the words left his lips. Unlike the regal form of the draconic disciple, his was shifting and nebulous. Even his voice modulated to obscure all identifying markers. "As much as I can—" he hastily added.
Chronos sat down, and the other quickly followed. "I realize the strangeness of a masked man asking to introduce himself, but I go by Masquerade here," said the shifting and distorted form.
"I am Chronos. Chronos Fatewing," replied the other.
Masquerade nodded. "The keep is no stranger to gods and demons."
"I often lament that I am neither," Chronos smiled.
"Your draconic blood... may I ask its origin?"
"If you’re asking who my primogenitor is, your guess is as good as mine," Chronos scratched his chin. "If it's where on the draconic spectrum he or she was, then it was a Time Dragon."
"As Draconic Disciples are rare as it is, a Time Dragon Disciple must be exceedingly rarer," Masquerade leaned closer, offering Chronos the opportunity to continue the conversation in whispers.
Chronos straightened his back and spoke. "I make no secret of it. And yes… No one in my line or family has met one," he sighed. "But we are searching."
"The odds are—" began Masquerade.
"Slim, yes," finished Chronos.
"Time will tell," added Masquerade.
A stiff silence hung in the air as they inspected each other.
Masquerade sensed an unwillingness around the disciple, despite his claim to the opposite. He stood up. "I’m afraid I must depart for now. I am conducting considerable research in and around the Keep, and should I find a mention of a Time Dragon, you will be the first to know." He bowed and departed from the Playful Maiden, leaving Chronos alone to ponder what had transpired.
"Why is it that he keeps being drawn to me? Is it malfunctioning?" Chronos wondered to himself and shook his head.
"And how many times must he and I have this exact conversation?"
Re: The Masquerade
In Darkness
Where am i?
Retrace your steps...
The ship. Yes, i remember now. It must have been out there, i knew it. The sea charts and maps i purchased from Captain Zim must have set him off... planning an expedition as well. To the same place? Unsure... With the risk of finding it? Certainly. I had to get here first... to my detriment. I confess it was foolish of me to rush the project. I should have taken in scout reports. Charted the nearby area. Carefully prepared dives. Samples and analysis. I told myself that my purpose for coming here was purely academic. The lie i told myself to mask my personal ambition...
Where am i?
Restrained... i cannot move. Submerged in dark waters. My magic sustains my breathing for now... but how long? The restraints are magical, careless of me to fall for such a trap. It has been so many years since last i was here... but i realise now that these halls do not remember me as i remember them.
Retrace your steps...
Take a knee and recite the Oath... as administered by Platina Aurinelle.
No, not that far.
Where am i?
Darkness.
That's where i am.
In Darkness.
Breathe. While you can.
Beneath this watery grave.
Alive... for now.
I can only cling to that elusive thread of hope:
If i found it, others will too.
Stay alive... and they will find me.
Where am i?
Retrace your steps...
The ship. Yes, i remember now. It must have been out there, i knew it. The sea charts and maps i purchased from Captain Zim must have set him off... planning an expedition as well. To the same place? Unsure... With the risk of finding it? Certainly. I had to get here first... to my detriment. I confess it was foolish of me to rush the project. I should have taken in scout reports. Charted the nearby area. Carefully prepared dives. Samples and analysis. I told myself that my purpose for coming here was purely academic. The lie i told myself to mask my personal ambition...
Where am i?
Restrained... i cannot move. Submerged in dark waters. My magic sustains my breathing for now... but how long? The restraints are magical, careless of me to fall for such a trap. It has been so many years since last i was here... but i realise now that these halls do not remember me as i remember them.
Retrace your steps...
Take a knee and recite the Oath... as administered by Platina Aurinelle.
No, not that far.
Where am i?
Darkness.
That's where i am.
In Darkness.
Breathe. While you can.
Beneath this watery grave.
Alive... for now.
I can only cling to that elusive thread of hope:
If i found it, others will too.
Stay alive... and they will find me.
Re: The Masquerade
There was a time before.
Before the encroaching darkness that now surrounds me.
I am sure there was... but now it feels like a fleeting dream.
It is a strange feeling.
When you are young you think you have all the time in the world.
But the years they pass.
And times change.
The curse of years lay heavy upon my shoulders.
The Keep i once left so many years ago is not the same Keep i returned to.
I remember the time before.
An Age of Heroes.
It will be again i told myself.
It must.
And yet here i am.
Dying.
Slowly drowning in a watery grave.
Pulled down into an inky abyss by the ghosts of my past.
It was me.
I was unable to let go.
Do i give up...?
It is tempting.
Death would be a kindness.
But there are sagas yet to be made.
Before the encroaching darkness that now surrounds me.
I am sure there was... but now it feels like a fleeting dream.
It is a strange feeling.
When you are young you think you have all the time in the world.
But the years they pass.
And times change.
The curse of years lay heavy upon my shoulders.
The Keep i once left so many years ago is not the same Keep i returned to.
I remember the time before.
An Age of Heroes.
It will be again i told myself.
It must.
And yet here i am.
Dying.
Slowly drowning in a watery grave.
Pulled down into an inky abyss by the ghosts of my past.
It was me.
I was unable to let go.
Do i give up...?
It is tempting.
Death would be a kindness.
But there are sagas yet to be made.