Post by Ol' Gillespie on Nov 28, 2010 19:53:25 GMT -5
((Note: This thread takes place in the AU of Steven Brust's Dragaera novels.))
Drakborough wasn't a big city like Adrilankha, but Gillespie didn't expect much, being out East and all. He wondered what Easterners might make of him. Usually, it was only Dragaerans who became undead, since it was only Dragaerans who went over Deathsgate Falls. He was a fluke. He'd gone and slipped in the river and bumped his head on a rock, and when he'd woken up, he was already over the Falls.
Lucky for him, he'd been a devout worshiper of Verra, or he'd have never made it out of the Paths. She was his guiding light, and, when the other gods refused to let his 'inferior' Eastern soul be reincarnated as Dragaeran (not even as a Teckla), she'd shown him what he'd had to do. Still, he doubted it was that easy. No doubt the Demon Goddess had plans for him yet.
It was nightfall, but that was okay. Gillespie really didn't need much sleep anymore. Or much food either. And breathing was entirely optional, unless he wanted to smell something or talk, in which case, it was necessary for the mechanics of it. The jhereg circled overhead, like they already smelled the kill. Funny, when he'd been alive, he'd been a Jhereg too, in the business end of the House, doing 'work'.
In fact, when he'd slipped, and gone over the Falls, he'd been tailing a mark. And, when he'd come back, he'd been here, with no notion of how he'd gotten there, nor of how far East this Drakborough place was. Of course, the first thing he'd done when he came back was to feel along his connection to the Orb, and figure out what day and time it was. Only, his connection to the orb had been cut, and that meant no sorcery. So, he had to rely on only his skill, huh?
Not a problem.
Drakborough wasn't a big city like Adrilankha, but Gillespie didn't expect much, being out East and all. He wondered what Easterners might make of him. Usually, it was only Dragaerans who became undead, since it was only Dragaerans who went over Deathsgate Falls. He was a fluke. He'd gone and slipped in the river and bumped his head on a rock, and when he'd woken up, he was already over the Falls.
Lucky for him, he'd been a devout worshiper of Verra, or he'd have never made it out of the Paths. She was his guiding light, and, when the other gods refused to let his 'inferior' Eastern soul be reincarnated as Dragaeran (not even as a Teckla), she'd shown him what he'd had to do. Still, he doubted it was that easy. No doubt the Demon Goddess had plans for him yet.
It was nightfall, but that was okay. Gillespie really didn't need much sleep anymore. Or much food either. And breathing was entirely optional, unless he wanted to smell something or talk, in which case, it was necessary for the mechanics of it. The jhereg circled overhead, like they already smelled the kill. Funny, when he'd been alive, he'd been a Jhereg too, in the business end of the House, doing 'work'.
In fact, when he'd slipped, and gone over the Falls, he'd been tailing a mark. And, when he'd come back, he'd been here, with no notion of how he'd gotten there, nor of how far East this Drakborough place was. Of course, the first thing he'd done when he came back was to feel along his connection to the Orb, and figure out what day and time it was. Only, his connection to the orb had been cut, and that meant no sorcery. So, he had to rely on only his skill, huh?
Not a problem.