Awakening the dragon
Posted: Fri Nov 19, 2021 11:01 am
3 Uktar 174 – The Nomad
The tall man stared outside the window. Heavy rain fell on the city cobblestone as many of its inhabitants sought refuge under a roof, a tavern or a canopy.
He sighed a bit, taking away his hand from the courtain, leaving it return to its former position to close the view.
He slowly reached the chair in front of the fire, with his mind struggling to find anything familiar in the room or that could make him remember something of his former life: an object, a sound, a perfume.
He grabbed the half-filled glass of whiskey on the table, masssaging his right temple as a strong headache assaulted him, blocking his memories and pushing them down in his subconscious.
The tall man rolled up his left sleeve looking again at the half-deleted tatto on his forearm, with the only letters still visible, written very close to each other “Drakan”. The name he choose for himself after the amnesia. Why did he have that tattoo and what was the complete writing remained a mystery, yet it sounded somehow fitting to adopt that name. A sort of echo of his past, an inner voice telling him it was apt.
So many questions and no answers at all.
Who was he? What was he doing, or better, what were they doing to him in that sort of laboratory hidden on the ship destroyed by Amnians so far from the coast? And who would finally be able to decipher the notes he stole from his captors?
He put himself on the bed, not even taking away his clothing, half-drunk and with his head pierced by a thousand pins, falling into a nightmarish dream of fire and pain, soothed only by the memory of the kindness he received from the ilmateri priestess that day, crouching in the bed as the shattered visions of his mind trapped him in a restless sleep.
The tall man stared outside the window. Heavy rain fell on the city cobblestone as many of its inhabitants sought refuge under a roof, a tavern or a canopy.
He sighed a bit, taking away his hand from the courtain, leaving it return to its former position to close the view.
He slowly reached the chair in front of the fire, with his mind struggling to find anything familiar in the room or that could make him remember something of his former life: an object, a sound, a perfume.
He grabbed the half-filled glass of whiskey on the table, masssaging his right temple as a strong headache assaulted him, blocking his memories and pushing them down in his subconscious.
The tall man rolled up his left sleeve looking again at the half-deleted tatto on his forearm, with the only letters still visible, written very close to each other “Drakan”. The name he choose for himself after the amnesia. Why did he have that tattoo and what was the complete writing remained a mystery, yet it sounded somehow fitting to adopt that name. A sort of echo of his past, an inner voice telling him it was apt.
So many questions and no answers at all.
Who was he? What was he doing, or better, what were they doing to him in that sort of laboratory hidden on the ship destroyed by Amnians so far from the coast? And who would finally be able to decipher the notes he stole from his captors?
He put himself on the bed, not even taking away his clothing, half-drunk and with his head pierced by a thousand pins, falling into a nightmarish dream of fire and pain, soothed only by the memory of the kindness he received from the ilmateri priestess that day, crouching in the bed as the shattered visions of his mind trapped him in a restless sleep.