Monday, April 9, 2012

A Storm is Coming

Lormo woke with a start, his brow damp with sweat; the bed’s blankets and sheets, kicked asunder during the throes of a nightmare. A storm was coming, or was it returning? Lormo could not answer as things change suddenly in the dream realm; perceptions are not always trustworthy. Just as unreliable perceptions are upon first waking from such a dream. Lormo sat up and discovered his breath was quickened and that he felt a surge of adrenaline, as if he was jolted; he thought it was mayhap real, but now began to think the sound he thought he herd was part of the nightmare. Lormo, mostly decent when sleeping, gathered his Whitemane Chapeau and took up a lamp; night was still upon city.

Jhardnet Stormweather could not sleep this night; it is as if he could feel a natural force building momentum all about, and it kept him at his feet in the mostly empty halls of his manor. Many close relatives have left to become tradesmen or merchants to exploit Waterdeep’s influx of mercenaries; or mayhap to become sea guides or swords-for-hire.
This night, Jhardnet finds himself in his former consort’s bed chambers; another empty part of his life. Rage suddenly beset the Patron of the Stormweather house, like a coming storm and called to the Lightning Lord for relief from this purgatory in life. Jhardnet, old and frail, fell upon his knees on the cold unyielding floor. The crack from his knees breaking when meeting the stone was drowned out over the din of glass shattering as a gust of wind blew into the chambers from the balcony door. A jagged shard of glass found one of Jhardnet’s eyes, depriving it of sight; blood began to pool at his useless knees. He opened his one remaining eye, and through the shattered doorway witnessed a sign; all was not lost he thought.
Ambrose Stormweather, Jhardnet’s bastard son, after being awakened by the explosion of glass, rushed into the room to find his father bleeding to death from numerous small slashes and piercings. The most serious wound was the loss of the eye. Ambrose could hear his father repeating something but before he could ask what it meant Gruendar appeared, likewise responding to the commotion.  
Together they lifted Jhardnet’s fragile body to the bed. Jhardnet looked to Ambrose and says something; Gruendar looks to Ambrose who has a look of wild-eyed excitement in his eyes.
“We must gather the others, all that remains.”

Lormo, after an hour, completed a circuit of the keep and was about to return to his quarters when Belgora summoned him to the courtyard. Daylight was fast approaching so he abandoned his lamp. When Lormo arrived he saw Belgora speaking with a trio of individuals, highborn by first glance.
“I am Ambrose Stormweather and this is Gruendar and Zerrannon.” The man claiming to be Ambrose told Lormo. “We are here in response to the sign witnessed by many of our remaining family, including our father who has entered the clearing at the end of the path.”
It was then Lormo realized the the sounds that woke him were real and not apart of the dream; three strikes of lightning, yes it was a sign; a Storm had come.

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