Inheritance of Aternum : A knight's tale.

[maximillian]

You immediately run, some may question the courage of such an act, but you know that retreat is half of valour. You can't remember where you heard that saying, but it's certainly apt.

Putting further contemplation aside, you focus on avoiding the various statues that are trying to kill you. They are remarkably fast for marble decorations, Wait, are they marble? Could be-
-You quickly push yourself to the side, barely noticing the statue standing in front of you.
Fuc-

-You dodge to the left, then immediately duck, narrowly avoiding the arm of another statue.
You push yourself even harder, all thoughts pushed out of your mind in favour of survival. Minutes pass in an instant as you constantly struggle to avoid the grasping arms of the constructs, your breath is ragged, your lungs aflame and your legs are on their very last.

Then you notice it, ahead of you is a large window, it's metal faintly glimmering beneath the moonlight.
Thoughts of it being far above the floor briefly pass your mind, but potential death is far more assuring than certain death. And so you crash into the window and immediately feel your shoulder crack as you are knocked down.
The window, on the other hand, is unharmed. Cursing, you quickly pick your self up and drive your dagger deep into the glass; it shatters and you jump in.

Looking back, you see statues stop at the window, and then you see the glass slowly repairing itself, the various scattered shards moving towards the frame. your eyes are stuck to the scene as you catch your breath, it is fascinating, eerily beautiful and doubtlessly unnatural, you don't need a memory to know that.

Then you turn, the room is well lit, spacious and smells of incense, simple yet rich furniture graces it.
In the middle of the room are two figures.

A man holding his sword half drawn, and another holding a cup to his mouth, his back to the first. But what is truly strange is the utter stillness of the figures, it's as if they are frozen.

[] inspect the two men.
[] inspect the room.
[] write-in

 

[maximillian]

You approach the frozen figures:

The first is wearing a multi-layerd robe of white and red, with delicate floral silver embroidery along the edges, and a a life like stitching of a boar emblazoned on the chest. And despite the richness of the fabrics, the well built physique of the man is apparent.
The man's close cropped hair was a light brown with a somewhat copperish hue to it, the olive skin was lined with age, but still retained a youthful vigour. The visage was that of perpetual bemusement, with the wine cup pressed to its half smiling lips, the heady aroma manifest even at a distance. A solitary ring of iron adorned the tattoed hand, strings of copperwire coiled around its meddle. The tattoes were of a language unfamiliar to you. The other arm is unmarred.
The eyes however, stood out above all else; gold pupils in the midst of gleaming bronze, it looked like a work of sculpture rather than nature.

The second figure was of a less sturdy frame, clad in cloths of blue and green, and much like the first, the fabrics were richly embroidered with silver thread, the geometric and floral patterns becoming more elaborate and dense as they reach upwards.

It's pale visage was far younger than the first, although his shoulder length crimson hair was lined with white. The face was locked in locked in grimace of utter hatred, and the eyes were as unnatural as the first, translucent whites and pupils of silver flecked with red.
The arms were unadorned save for an iron ring on the left hand, this one inscribed with minute foreign lettering. As for the sword they held: the pommel and grip are of horn and obsidian, of fine craft but unadorned. The weapon had no crossgaurd, and the blade was of pale iron the length of an arm, with silver engravings on its edge. The scabbard was of grey-black matted leather and silver clasps, with orbs of obsidian adorning it.

Despite your circling around and close inspection of the two, they remain perfectly still, not the slightest hint of movement or awareness to be seen, not even signs of breathing. Yet you are certain that they are alive, thier details are far too lifelike for statues, no matter the skill of the artist.
That in addition to the strangeness of thier garb and thier clearly unnatural eyes, leaves you with naught but questions.


[] Physically inspect them (touch 'em, poke them, see if you can move/wake? them)

[] Inspect the room

[] Write-in

 

[maximillian]

Leaving the matter of the two men aside, you begin an inspection of the room.

The floor is of grey marble, veins of red and orange running through it, the light of candles casting a faint shine on its pristine surface. The walls are plastered white, geometric ornaments of pure black and bright crimson run in two lines across the walls. Brass candle scones are spread evenly across two of the walls, while the side opposite the window is unmarred except for a door made of wood and bronze.
The candles themselves are strange, and not just the flowery smell they emit, but more precisely, the flames; they are still, utterly still as if the fire is encased in ice.
What matter of sorcery is this?
You stare a while at the top of a candle. The flames are still, and the wax is not melting, no you can see droplets on the edges, but they too are unmoving.

Perturbed, you turn to inspect the furniture:
A bed lies to the west, a thing of pure ebony wood and linens of a rather simplistic ornamentation, simplistic by the standards of everything else you've seen here at any rate. Near the bed is a small table with two jugs and a bowl of clay glazed in whites and green. Several fruits lay on the dish, medlars, apples, pears and a variety of plums, all appearing to be freshly picked. As for the jugs, a rather robust wine lay within if the aroma is any indication.

On the opposite side lay a series of cabinets and shelves, of the same dark wood as the bed, and lacking any carved beautification. Some vases of doubtlessly obscene value were displayed prominently; the silver lined glazing showing scenes of hunting ceremonies and festivities. The shelves held several books bound in thick, dark brown leather devoid of markings. You grab one and open it, the letters look familiar, but their meaning is lost to you. Hmm, perhaps I was not amongst the literate few. You close the book and return it, then promptly stop. You take it out and reopen and close it. Again.
No sounds emerge at all as you open and close it.
You tap your knuckles onto the hardwood.
Silence .
Unnatural is an understatement.

You search through the cabinets and drawers. Finding nothing but garments of various colours and cuts, all of which are of unbelievably soft linens and velvets. A few sheets of paper, some quills, blocks of ink, chalk and little else.

The middle of the room contained an octagonal table and a few chairs. All of the black wood, but these were elaborately carved with the scenery of hunting; the spears, arrows, drinking cups, vessels and the edges of cloth marked in silver. The bodies of hunters and beasts made out of ivory of such impeccable detail that they looked full of life and enthralled with the passion of the hunter and hunted. While the shrubs, grasses and leaves were all of finely cut gemstones of varying shades of green, swaying in the unseen winds.

It was the most beautiful collection of furniture you had ever seen. Such was its beauty that the objects laying atop the table looked insulting by comparison.
A simple short knife, of the kind used for cutting meats and cheese. And a mid-sized sword of bronze, its pommel was in the shape of an arch curved inwards and studied with crudely cut garnets. It's hilt wrapped in white linen and the cross guard of the same arch shape, garnets and all. The blade itself was thick and becomes broader until tapering off at the end, making the last half take the form of a leaf. Strange animalistic symbols where carved into the edges of the blade, their meaning and purpose unknowable.

And lastly, there is the vast window that dominates the north of the room. It is an impressive structure, with somewhat cloudy panels of glass set into the metal frame. Two-thirds of the panels were stained a deep crimson with only the very middle section being of "clear" glass that showed the sun in all its glory....
The sunlight shone clearly through the panels. Which is, of course, impossible, you know for sure that it is nighttime outside.
You were there not that long ago, And no sunshine brightened the glass when you saw it reform!
Somehow despite all evidence to the contrary, the sun is shining outside.



A stranger in a strange land that couldn't possibly get any stranger, what do you do :
[] Take a closer examination of the men. (involves poking and other direct methods)
[] Make use of the room to rest and refresh. (have a drink, eat some fruit, change your clothes, take a nap)
[] Open the door and explore what lies beyond.
[] Write-in

(write-ins can use parts of options combined with something else. Like change clothes and then explore, or have a drink and then poke em, or grab that sword and hack stuff to set up a fire, go stabby on window or walls or do a rain dance... Etc, basically, anything goes)