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Post by Rowan 'Turambar' Gaunt on Jan 27, 2017 1:03:38 GMT -6
CairnStein, an old fort located in the northern region of Laus. As far as strongholds went, it was nothing special. The anatomy of the structure consisted of four battlements, with each sandwiched between a pair of baileys. There was a single wrought iron gate allowing entry and exit from the castle and two ballistaes positioned on opposite battlements. Behind the fortifications lay the donjon, a two story structure with, perhaps appropriately, a dungeon underneath. It was here where Rowan conducted most of his work.
The underground confines of CairnStein were cold and black. The Seer stood alone, bearing a torch in an otherwise dark room. Underground, within the confines of CairnStein, there was no light from the sun. No. A man needed to produce his own light if he wished to move undisturbed by the blackness.
A pointed beak jutted out from the center of Rowan's mask, giving him the appearance of a bird. Black leather gloves clung tightly to his fists, as he inspected a specimen restrained to an upright wooden table. The specimen, an undead man, leaned forward. A foul, no doubt disease-ridden, drool dripped from it's mouth and a sizable puddle started to form on the ground. Every now and then, Rowan would have to order an assistant to come in and mop up the mess. No doubt if he left the bodily fluids collect unchecked, they would eventually flood the room. The Seer grimaced, shaking his head at the repulsive thought. Had that really come from his mind?
Rowan stepped to his left, maneuvering his torch into a steel-ringed mount until he was confident it was secure. He walked back across the room, each of his steps a deafening echo, before coming to a small, wooden table. The table was cluttered with various devices. Scalpels for incisions, rags for gagging specimens, papers for documentations, quills and ink for writing, etc. It was the paper and quills he was interested in. With both black hands, Rowan grabbed one of each, and ambled, as if enjoying a stroll in the meadow, over to the creature.
”Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty... thirty-one... hmm...” The Seer muttered, inspecting his notes. ”Looks like we've had you here for thirty five days now, Darcy.” The name had come from one of the soldiers who'd brought the specimen in. The Lausian corporal had been muttering something about how the creature had looked like one of his old, now deceased, friends... Or maybe he'd been muttering that it was his old, dead friend. Rowan couldn't remember which.
Rowan reached forward, bringing his finger close to the undead monstrosity's maw. Darcy stared at the researcher balefully before lunging forward with a snap. The Seer darted back with his quill-wielding hand and started wagging his finger at the specimen. ”No, no, no. We can't go and ruin the experiment now, Darcy. We want to see how long this decaying body of yours can go without sustenance.” As he spoke, the researcher glanced down at the puddle of drool, as more and more dribble dripped from the corpse's mouth. ”How exactly is it that you keep salivating? There must be a limited amount of water in your body. Hmm...” Rowan paused, stroking his chin in thought. ”Maybe someone's sneaking you water when I'm not looking?”
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Post by Rowan 'Turambar' Gaunt on Jan 31, 2017 13:11:59 GMT -6
”Emaciation's setting in.” The researcher muttered, quill outstretched and prodding at the revenant's receded tummy. He was impressed. The normal human body typically became gaunt after three weeks of starvation. Darcy had taken five. ”Guess you don't just eat for personal amusement. I'm a little disappointed, Darcy. Do you have any idea how amazing it would be if the nether could maintain your muscles and organs without the consumption of food?” The undead man snarled and snapped at Rowan, trying to break free from it's restraints. ”Well, I'm sure you are. Otherwise you wouldn't be so excited, would you?!” Rowan sighed, stepping away from his test subject and placing his research notes on the nearby wooden table. The Seer had always considered himself quirky, but not to the point where he would orate at length towards an animal and call it a conversation. Being confined to the black depths of CairnStein was making him decidedly loony.
The researcher returned to the wooden table, grabbing a handful of rags and another handful of rope. Stuffing the rope in his lab coat pocket, Rowan returned to his specimen. ”Open up. It's time for the walk about.” The revenant lunged forward again, trying to bite at the researcher. His jaws snapped shut. As the monstrosity's maw reopened for another bite, the Seer's hand darted forward and lodged the gag in Darcy's open mouth. The revenant struggled against Rowan as he kept pressure on the rag with one hand and withdrew a small length of rope with the other. The researcher placed the rope up against the rag and tied it off around the nape of Darcy's neck. Once Rowan believed the knot was secure, he repeated the process with both of Darcy's hands, covering the boney claws with tatters and fixing them in place with rope.
Next Rowan were Darcy's restraints. This was probably the researcher's least favorite part. He had no reason to doubt that his knots were unsecure, or that the revenant might tear, or chew, through the rags, but putting himself so close to the specimen was unnerving nonetheless. If the knots were even the faintest bit lose, Rowan could say hello to a few new bloody holes in his upper body, as well as a host of no-doubt deadly diseases. Rowan undid the restraint around Darcy's neck, and then the one's on his wrists. The revenant clumsily stumbled forward, sluggishly swatting at Rowan and smothering his gagged face into the researcher's shoulder. ”Oh, I know, Darcy. I love you too.” He patted the monstrosity on it's back before retreating to the wooden table and retrieving his notes. With quill and parchment in hand, Rowan backpeddled, leading Darcy in a loop around the room.
”Moving a little slower with every day, aren't we?” The researcher muttered as Darcy shuffled after him. Revenants, by nature, were not fast creatures. At best their top speed was a vigorous hobble, but Rowan had noticed Darcy become slower and slower with each new week. Fifty-four seconds He scribbled, taking a step backwards. This time it had taken Darcy fifty-four seconds to walk the perimeter of the room. Rowan checked his notes, flipping back to the first week of testing. Twenty seconds. It read plainly. The researcher listlessly flipped back to today's notes.
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Post by Rowan 'Turambar' Gaunt on May 29, 2017 18:13:35 GMT -6
”Alright, Darcy, that's enough for today. Come, come, let's get you back in your restraints.” The undead specimen shuffled after Rowan, pawing at the researcher all the while. With some tricky maneuvering, the Seer managed to place Darcy between himself and the upright table. Unfortunately, restraining the creature proved more difficult than the researcher intended.
”Stop- stop it!” Rowan muttered, interrupted as Darcy pressed his gagged maw into the researcher's face. ”I know you want kissies, Darcy. But you use teeth and you know I don't like that!” He ranted,as the specimen made Rowan's task increasingly more difficult. Darcy was far too weak to muster an earnest struggle against the researcher but his incessant struggling was anything but productive. The worst of it was the zombie shoving its' face against Rowan's, making it difficult for the Seer to see. The researcher was forced to use his hands alone to guide him in the task of locking Darcy's arms in place. With a satisfying click, the Seer moved from one hand to the other, and eventually held Darcy's head against the wooden table, and fastened the iron brace against the undead creature's neck.
Rowan puffed out a sigh of relief, his cheeks expanding so as to resemble a pufferfish's as he did so. During the early days of conducting tests, the researcher had required the help of his good friend Beleg Dimm in restraining the monstrosity. But as the weeks came and went, and the specimen became weaker and weaker, the need for Beleg's muscle ceased, and Rowan often found himself redoing Darcy's restraints by himself.
”I think cutting you open and examining the results of your starvation will be the highlight of these experiments, don't you?” He maneuvered himself behind the specimen and began undoing the knot securing Darcy's gag. ”Of course things would be much simpler if I could just probe that addled mind of yours. Unlock...” Rowan spoke, emphasizing the 'k' in unlock. ”...the secrets by which the nether imbues you with life.” Deftly, he removed both restraint and gag, and Darcy's mouth clamped shut with an audible snap. The zombie gnashed it's teeth, indulging in its' regained ability to bite and chomp. Rowan himself ignored the creature's chattering, placed the gag and rope upon his operating table, and made his way to the dungeon door. ”Until next time!” Darcy howled a desperate, pained shriek as Rowan opened the door and exited the room.
There, waiting for him on the other side, was Beleg. ”Ah, Beleg, my friend. What a delight.”
”Ro.” The taciturn bowman uttered. ”Doesn't sound like its' gotten any more pleasant in there.”
”Hmmm? What? Are you worried about the subject? If you're going to concern yourself with someone, do so with me, Beleg. I fear I'm losing my mind cooped up in there. I've nobody but my own thoughts and a decaying monster to keep me company. And my thoughts are bad enough.”
”Why're you bein' so chatty?”
Rowan smiled a sort of dejected grin. ”I just told you. I'm losing my mind in that empty room.”
”Right.” Beleg frowned. ”C'mon. Let's get some grub.”
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Post by Rowan 'Turambar' Gaunt on Apr 26, 2020 21:22:25 GMT -6
Rowan wrung his hands over the seared snapper, his palms sticky and wet from squeezing lemons. His position afforded him a number of luxuries. A comfortable bedroom, complete with silk sheets, a small brass bath tub, and even a steward to see to his needs. His pockets had gone from shallow to deep, his spending from spartan to frivolous, and his tastes from consumable to decadent. Indeed, when coming into money, the researcher found it difficult to abstain from spending.
The Seer had thought that his time living hand to mouth had cultivated a discipline for maintaining low expenses. He knew how to live sparse. Why would his spending increase simply because his compensation had improved?
Well the answer to that was simple: comforts. Rowan enjoyed his lemons and his snacks. It was the easiest thing in all of Elibe to take a stroll within the confines of Cairnstein, visit a vendor, and purchase a basket of fruit. With an astronomical budget, the Seer had no reason to pace his eating. He could suck four lemons dry within a day, and still not be satisfied. And then when his basket was empty, the cycle repeated. He would take a stroll within Cairnstein, visit a vender, and repeat the process. Venturing out to the local inn was no different. And with his improved finances, Rowan had no qualms with ordering whatever caught his fancy.
"Seared snapper." Rowan cocked an eyebrow, casting Beleg a playful look. "For the seer." The seer squeezed some lemon juice onto the fish, giving it that sour tart that he craved. He carelessly dropped the spent lemon into a basket at his side. Reaching into the basket, Rowan fumbled about, grasping for an unwrung lemon.
Beleg stared back cooly. The archer had ordered a simple meal, a bowl of soup. Too hot for the tongue, so Beleg amused himself with stirring its' contents and occasionally blowing on his spoon.
"Do you think..." Rowan began. "That if this fish was alive. It would. Tell me my future?"
He leaned in close, bringing his ear within an inch of the fish.
"What secrets did being burned by the cook's flame unveil unto you, snapper?" The burnt carcass of the long-dead, deceased, vocally-inept, and in no way intelligent fish did not respond.
"If you need time to collect your thoughts, I can grant it. I'm a patient man. And can be even more patient for the wise." His eyes bugged out and ogled the platter, awaiting the fortune of the seared seerfish.
”Quit bein' a loon.” Beleg, interrupted curtly.
"My mind" Rowan accused Beleg with a finger. "Is as sharp as ever. Sharper once I learn this fishes' secrets Beleg. Perhaps, perhaps he knows the secrets of the... you-know-what. And why it caused you-know-where to become infested with you-know-whos and-"
”Ro!” Beleg bellowed, slamming his fist against the table. ”I told you to knock it off!” A hush settled throughout the inn. A pair of guardsmen glanced up from their drinks, the lone working waitress stopped in mid-sentence of the daily special, even the drunkards stared with sleepy eyes at the gorilla-armed bowman.
”Mind yer business.” He grunted, bringing a sip of the cooled soup to his mouth.
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