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The night sky was bright with twinkling stars, the wind howled for the blood of the four cloaked travellers but was disappointed as they ignored its cravings. The large horse drawn wagon they were travelling on came to a halt at the great stone gates. A guard standing upon the ramparts spotted the hard to miss wagon and shouted;
“Who goes there?”
“We are here to see the museum curator, we believe we have something to add to his treasures of the deserts exhibit,” rasped an elderly voice emanating from one of the motionless figures, each of their cloaks hiding away any details of their person from view. The guard disappeared for a moment, reappearing moments later and motioned them to enter, while at the same time the gates creaked open.
The four horses strained to heave the wagon through the gates and up the lane towards the museum. Lights came on in the houses on the lane as families squinted through windows to try and see this behemoth in the gloom. Outside the museum stood the curator, still in his nightcap and slippers, he stood, candle in hand, to welcome the unexpected guests. Anticipation consumed him as he strode to the cart, trying to glimpse a face or a piece of clothing denoting who the strangers, however the cloaks hid all, fanning the curator’s interest.
“I’ve been told you bring objects of interest that will... mingle, shall we say, greatly with our King Prometheus exhibit?” The curator asked, now on tip toes trying to see anything of intrigue in the wagon.
“Yes, would you like to look now? To see if it worthy of your awe inspiring establishment.” The elderly traveller croaked signalling with his arm, careful keep his arm concealed. The curator nodded eagerly.
The figure that had spoken before lit a torch before showing him into the wagon. Inside the curator’s eyes widened as he took in all the treasures. Astounded, his eyes strode from object to object, the three caskets, one small, two big and the twenty rectangular sarcophagi that lined the walls of the wagon, there were also two worn banners on the far wall. Opening the closest large casket he found, what looked to be a mass grave, full of skeletal remains which looked oddly bleached. Inside the second he found it to be full of weapons and armour. He went to open the third but was stopped as a cold clammy hand grasped his arm, he looked to its owner, who shook his head.
“Yes well,” the curator started, put out at being disallowed to open the object, “this is more than acceptable, you may set this up in the exhibit with the king.” Flustered, he hurried from the room and hopped off the wagon.
Last edited by Herald of Huanchi; November 8th, 2009 at 11:11.
Not dead, just sleeping
Intriguing... Is there more to come, perchance?
Also, I quite like your thread title. Very clever!
EDIT: Apparently I can't rep you for this. Awww, I wanted to!
Ah, me public. since you asked so nicely and for enjoying my title, here you are;
The following day the curator slowly walked into the exhibit with a yawn. His mouth stayed open however as he spotted what the mysterious travellers had done during the night. They had assembled twenty complete skeletons out of the mess off the first casket, followed by equipping them with Bow and arrows from the second and lined them up on the left wall in a five by four formation. His eyes veered right as he saw the small casket in the corner and on the far wall he saw the twenty sarcophagi lined up and open behind the king. In each one was yet more skeletons, each armed with a sword and shield, as well as wearing ornate armour.
“Is it to your liking?” croaked a voice from behind him, turning he saw the figure from the night before, still cloaked.
“Yes, it’s magnificent, err...”
“Ah, my name is Horace and these,” gesturing to the other three cloaked figures who had also entered the room, “are Carl,” Carl bowed before saying hello, “ Peter,” who raised a hand in greeting, “and Roger,” who merely stood motionless, “and you are?” The Curator stared for a moment before replying.
“Ah, good to know, my name is Montague." He stood staring for a moment before asking, "Err, the cloaks, any reason..?”
“Religious reasons.” Startled at the quickness of the response, Montague decided to walk over to the small casket, “Oh, not yet, Monty, if you please,” the Hoarse voice of Horace came from across the room. Disappointed, Montague left in a huff, followed by the strangers and Horace’s apologies.
Later the same day, Montague entered the exhibit, but after seeing a cloaked figure standing over the king, he hid just out of view amongst the skeletons. Listening intently, he could hear the shadowy figure talking to someone out of view.
“Yes, but after you failed to return, we got worried,” he stopped as if listening to a reply, “I understand the Spear is of importance, but why did you feel the need to come alone?” “Yes my liege, we will enact the plan tonight and-“ He stopped as though interrupted, slowly he turned his head, looking in Montague’s direction. In the light he could just make out the withered skin of the figure as he walked over to the skeletons, Monty’s heart was now beating at twice the normal speed, a lump in his throat preventing him from swallowing. “Montague, what are you doing in there?” the figure asked, the curator was happy to hear a tone of happiness in the man’s voice. “No wait, it doesn’t matter, come with me,”
Montague sheepishly followed him over to the King. Horace, or he assumed it was Horace, pointed, with his arm leaving it still concealed, to the weapon rack full of crumbly weapons.
“May I ask what this is,” Horace’s voice drifted out of the darkness of his hood, “the spear here.”
“Ah yes, you have a good eye, that my friend is;
The Spear of Light.”
Last edited by Herald of Huanchi; November 10th, 2009 at 15:58.
Not dead, just sleeping
A few suggestions, if I may be so bold...?
Firstly, I found the names a little odd. If you've got your reasons for it then ignore this, but you have Horace (which is fine) and then... Peter and Carl. Those last to names don't sound particularly exotic (or particularly Tomb-Kingy), but as I said if there's a reason for this it's a somewhat redundant point.
Also, make sure you keep coherency in your writing. You start calling the curator Montague without actually having him introduce himself to the other characters. I mean, I can see where he would have introduced himself, but it just seems he should actually give his name to the other characters before you begin referring to him by said name.
Other than those minor points, not bad. I like the way this is unfolding.
Thank you, any comments are good comments.
On the names, they are the cover names, as in disguises, although I took more time over Horace's I must confess.
Huh, to be honest I thought I had made him introduce himself but obviously I didn't I'll edit it.
I'm very glad you noticed the race the story is about.
What tipped you off first might i ask?
Not dead, just sleeping
It all seemed fairly obvious, I had though...
Here is the third installment of Tomb it may concern.
“The Spear of light, you say?” Horace bent down for a better look at its gleaming gold shaft,
“Would you like to hear the folklore behind this relic?” Horace nodded. Montague, now happy that he had the stranger intrigued rather than the other way around had let the suspicious event from before slip his mind. He folded his arms and continued. “Supposedly a great vampire, if there is such a thing, in ages past had control of a vast army of the dead. His detest for the living of his own kind was only surpassed by his combined jealousy and hate of the tall thin folk, for their mastery of magic, as well as the short bearded folk, masters of the craft and natural magic resistance. Anyway I digress, let’s just say he was a bit pissed and wanted them dead.” He paused to catch his breath; Horace stood unmoving, intent on catching every detail.
“The hated folk saw they had no chance at surviving such a massive hoard. The hoard by the way could have easily blotted out the sun with its sheer mass. In their distress the two hated folk joined forces, which so I hear didn’t happen too often, the bearded folk crafted the mightiest of spear, capable of felling a giant in one jab, while the thin folk used their magic to enchant it with the power of the sun. Any other spear would have been destroyed with the power but the bearded folk had their own magic that kept it stable, or something similar I think.” He scratched his head trying to think but couldn’t remember the details of his own story. Horace remained in his stance.
Montague, worried his story telling wasn’t up to scratch, decided to finish quickly.
“And needless to say when the Spear touched this ‘Vampire’ he exploded into dust. Without their master the undead horde disappeared forever.” Trying to make his story better, Montague had started flailing his arms to try and act out the explosion, but it apparently hadn’t worked on the figure as far as he could tell.
“Intriguing, that’s the story I heard as well,” taking a closer look at the spear once more Horace asked, “So do you believe this to be the fabled artefact from the story?”
“Well, yes and no, yes I believe it is and no because it is just a story.”
Horace said nothing more, leaving the old nostalgic Curator in his old nostalgic room. He disappeared through the doorway, his cloaked face appearing moments later as he leant to see the man he left.
“It may seem like just a story to you Monty,” Horace’s voice, hoarse but stern, “but in a world such as this, you’d be dead wrong!” Disappearing once more, Montague was left to try and decipher what his new friend was on about, peering at the strange runes on the spear; he dismissed the ominous message as a senile old man’s religious poppycock.
That was, until a cloaked figure smashed though the only window in the room and brandished a knife at him.
Last edited by Herald of Huanchi; November 13th, 2009 at 11:30. Reason: Damn. LO keeps changing my font and it size
Not dead, just sleeping
Damn cliffhanger endings.
I like the way the "folk tale" seemingly has some basis in reality - at least enough to get these mysterious figures interested. And to make people leap through windows.
Leaping through windows is only common decency if you ask me.
Not dead, just sleeping
I know! And so much better for you - think of all the additional exercise you'd get if you entered every room by leaping through a window rather than using the door!
Not going to work everywhere, obviously, but I'm sure there would be ample opportunity throughout an average day.