Downtown Khazan: The Restaurant At The End Of The Omniverse

[Ghost]

Here's hoping you get some kind of word today, Sharker.

Hear, hear.

Pretty interesting stuff, Ghost. :) I see what you mean about it being Amber-ish.

Too bad I probably won't continue it. It's a good concept but it's not quite my style, so there are other things I'd sooner write.

[Tami]

He opened his eyes and at first, all he saw was darkness. A few moments later his eyes cleared up and he found himself staring into a grim stone wall. He moved - stiff muscles protested as he sat up in his simple bed of hay and had a look around. He still had trouble seeing in the dim torchlight but he appeared to be in an ancient dungeon of some sort. A terrible stench reached his nose and he desperately hoped it didn't come from himself.

On top of all this, he suffered from amnesia and couldn't remember who he was, much less how he ended up in this dirty prison cell. He hoped he'd at least done something to deserve it.

Slowly and with care, he stood up and stretched his body until his joints crackled. It would seem he wasn't as weak as he'd thought at first - rather he felt like he'd been asleep for a century. He pulled his hand through his hair, bristly from old sweat, and tried to get his thoughts in proper order. It proved futile, however. His only memories were a clutter of shadows and fever dreams. Had he been really sick?

A rumbling sound as from thunder interrupted his thoughts and a shudder ran through the walls, knocking ancient dust from the ceiling. It seemed to him a bad omen. "Blood and devilment," he mumbled. "What a terrible way to wake up."

By then, the sound of human voices told him that at least he wasn't alone - yelling and swearing echoed through the dungeon. The clinking of keys and locks being unlocked stirred in him the hope of freedom.

He heard a voice: "Ya check the one in cell thirteen?"

"Shouldn't he be dead by now?" another voice asked.

"Check 'im anyway."

A vaguely humanoid figure lumbered over to the iron bars of his cell. The creature was short and sinewy, dressed in simple leather pants leaving the upper body bare. It had slender limbs and a potbelly, its skin greyish white. The head was disproportionally large, with two tiny black beads for eyes. It had no visible ears but made up for it with a sizable hook nose. This, the prisoner assumed, was his jailor.

"Devils from Hell!" it swore, staring at him. "Yer still alive! We thought the fever killed yer off!"

"Almost feels like it did," the prisoner said.

Another rumbling shook the building. The jailor took a keyring off his belt and quickly unlocked the cell. "Well, no time to stand here chatting. Move those legs, and no funny business!"

Happy to oblige, the man with no memories left the cell and joined a sad group of prisoners. They were then marched through the dank tunnels by several more of the gray-skinned wardens.

"What's going on?" he asked one of his fellow prisoners.

The other man shrugged. "All I know is the castle's under siege."

"Quit yer yappering!" growled the jailor from before, but his lackluster tone mostly made it sound like a suggestion.

The man with no memories glanced at the creature. "You're a dovra, aren't you?"

The jailor glared at him with his black, shark-like eyes. "What, ya got a problem with that?"

The man shook his head. "No, I... I just remembered that's what you people are called. Dovras, I mean."

The dovra chuckled. "That fever really messed up yer head something fierce, didn't it?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, if it's any comfort, I don't think it's gonna matter much at this point."

That didn't sound very comforting at all.



Eventually, they were lead out into a courtyard where chaos held complete dominion - humans and dovras and other assorted creatures scurried around, trying to look as if they had the situation under control. All of them carried weapons and some where in full battle gear. Fires blazed in various places and only a few of them had been lit on purpose. The sky above them was dark with clouds, but a cold blue moon still shone down on the misery. The source of the rumbling sounds revealed itself to them in the form a giant boulder that came sailing over their heads, smashing into one of the castle towers.

"You'll have to aim better then that, you dirty bastards!" someone shouted from a battlement above.

The man without memories, who had begun to see where this was heading, silently wondered if he hadn't been better off in prison.

They were shooed in front of a group of humans in white-lacquered armors and crimson capes. One of the dovras addressed a woman who seemed to be their leader. "Prelate, here are the prisoners, as you ordered."

The woman examined the group with the look of someone who hadn't expected much to begin with yet had still ended up disappointed. She was perhaps thirty, perhaps even younger; redheaded and sunburned, with a cute face and horrible gray-green eyes that lanced her gaze into them. From her worn leather belt hung an impressive longsword with a gilded hilt and a grip carved in white horn.

"I am Briah Gildaine," she said. "As you can see I am sworn to the White Order, but since my father is dead and my brother appears to have vanished, the responsibility to defend our ancient family keep has now fallen upon me."

As if to underline the seriousness of her statement, another boulder came flying over the wall and demolished the statue of some previous Gildaine lord.

"To make a long story short, this castle in under siege by an alliance of thurses, niefles and northmen," Briah explained. "All in all they stand some eight thousand man strong, more then twice our number, and I fear we can't keep them out for long."

One of the prisoners spat on the ground. "Let me guess. You want each of us to kill at least two of them before we're butchered?"

"I think I'd rather go back to my cell," another one mumbled.

"Look, you lot are not exactly my first choice of comrades either," Briah said. "But we need as many able hands as we can possibly get, so I have granted you all immediate amnesty. If you want any hope of surviving this, I suggest you fight. Any questions?"

The man with no memories raised his hand. "If I kill all of them, does that mean I can get out of this place?"

Some of the prisoners chuckled. Briah Gildaine turned her terrible gaze on him and raised an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

And then, for some reason, he remembered. "...Callael. Callael Ronia."

"Well then, Callael Ronia," Briah said. "Grab a sword and start killing, and I guess we'll find out."

Thats very good, makes me want to read the rest if the story.

[Beadle]

Sharkerbob, what are you doing on-line?

GO AND GET MEDICAL ATTENTION.

NAO.

[Gladiaria_Alata]

Indeed...

Or he could have left his computer on, and not logged out. So has in fact gone somewhere.

Or something.

[Sub-Zero MKA]

Greetings, fellow Rumblers.

[Kanra]

Greetings, fellow Rumblers.

Greetings.

[Oblivion87]

He opened his eyes and at first, all he saw was darkness. A few moments later his eyes cleared up and he found himself staring into a grim stone wall. He moved - stiff muscles protested as he sat up in his simple bed of hay and had a look around. He still had trouble seeing in the dim torchlight but he appeared to be in an ancient dungeon of some sort. A terrible stench reached his nose and he desperately hoped it didn't come from himself.

This is great Ghost.

Indeed...

Or he could have left his computer on, and not logged out. So has in fact gone somewhere.

Or something.

Let's hope that's the case.

[Sol M]

It probably is, given that he's offline now.

Greetings, fellow Rumblers.

The stars are perfectly aligned in the shape of a giant middle finger.

...at least, I hope it's just a giant middle finger.

[Deuseven]

LOLawesomecopter at Sharkerbob for giving a big fuck you to serious medical ailments by choosing online over getting the shit looked at. Man shit right thurr. I approve.

Chuck Norris and Clint Eastwood would be proud.

[Nik Hasta]

The stars are perfectly aligned in the shape of a giant middle finger.

...at least, I hope it's just a giant middle finger.

A middle finger, eh?

[mcgaffer]

Oh look the UK has a bit of cold weather and my ruddy fecking neuralgia sparks up again. If only there was a magical liquid that dampened pain.

[Sol M]

A middle finger, eh?

Congratulations! You passed the test.

[Sol M]

Oh look the UK has a bit of cold weather and my ruddy fecking neuralgia sparks up again. If only there was a magical liquid that dampened pain.

...do the usual pain dampening non-magical alcoholic liquids work?

[mcgaffer]

Eventually, which is the perfect excuse to drink more then necessary. I'm already ringing round booking my 'fireman's lift' home.

[Tami]

Oh look the UK has a bit of cold weather and my ruddy fecking neuralgia sparks up again. If only there was a magical liquid that dampened pain.

Sounds to me like your starting to feel the effects of the Decade Decline. After age 20, every 10 years the human body suddenly starts to deteriorate at a faster rate than in the previous decade. I noticed that your 29, about to hit the year 30 wall.