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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 7:34:14 GMT -5
Abigail is on her last legs (-35 now to rolls), and her only real choices for shelter are limited. Far off, maybe a mile or so away, she sees the remnants of another tower, this one about fifty feet high, and more clearly burned from some long ago conflict. She will have to sleep there, the hut, or the jungle, or she risks simply passing out right on the trail. With the little strength that remained to her, Abi headed to the tower, one hand on her ribs and the other pushing any bushes and plants out of the way. When she got there she would have a look around inside and find a spot to sleep. She desperately needed it. Abigail finds a closet and passes out swiftly. She wakes up to the sound of rain hitting the tower. She is laying on a cushioned sofa in the closet. It feels very strange. Her ribs feel fine, and her hair is its usual shade of lustrous gold. She sees a few other folk walking about, looking much like her. One looks at her. "Valerie, you slept in, get our ass to the watchpoint upstairs! And polish that spear, it looks like a piece of rusty shit right now!"
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 8:04:19 GMT -5
Abigail looks up in confusion for a moment before rising. "What...?" She asked, staring at the man. "I... my name is Abigail, not Valerie. Who... who are all of you?" She looked down at herself to see what she was wearing and if she had her own body.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 8:23:28 GMT -5
She is a bit taller. "Shut up, Valerie. I said get to your damn post!" The man hands her a spear. "Praetor Aemilia could be here today for all we know and she will see a fucking guard on her expensive tower. If you see that awful priest be sure to let us know; the natives are back to getting restless. We'll be punishing them tomorrow morning. That giant red the Praetor has will burn their huts until they do their work."
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 8:32:43 GMT -5
Abigail suddenly realised that the interior of the tower was as good as new. This wasn't right. She was taller too so this couldn't be her body. She quickly nodded, not wishing to argue with whoever this was and the people he was talking about. She had to work out what was going on but she would comply for now.
Grabbing the spear, she made her way atop the tower to take up her "post".
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 8:44:03 GMT -5
She notices the lake first as she takes her post. Or, rather, the lack of one. She sees hundreds of the natives slaving over a giant open air mine, hauling out thousands of tons of black rock. Looking about, in every. Direction she sees more. Black smoke seeps into the sky. Tot he east she sees a town with flags of variously colored dragons flying. More towers dot the landscape, and in the distance she sees a circling dragon. She hears talking below but cant make anything out.
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 8:51:09 GMT -5
Abigail's eyes widened when she saw the landscape and how different it was. This had to be the past, or perhaps the future? What had happened!? The lake was now a mine, or more likely used to be and there were slaves all around. When she spotted the dragon she instinctively stepped back, more out of awe than fear.
From the state of the towers she figured she was somehow in the past. Perhaps a vision or something. She leaned slightly over the side of the tower to see if she could make out the voices.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 9:02:58 GMT -5
She leans over and a wave of pain hits her ribs as she wakes up, back in the scummy closet she currently occupies. Her stomach growls. Food is essential. Water is essential. The patter of rain lets her know yet another storm has blown in.
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 9:09:25 GMT -5
Abigail gasps as the pain in her ribs wakes her up. She looks around in confusion but there is little grogginess, as the pain jolted her right out of it. She slowly gets up and looks about for anything that can be used as a bowl or bucket.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 9:21:21 GMT -5
She sees a fairly new bucket. She hears distant thunder. Creaking sounds come from above, from the above floors. There are a few holes in the floors but she sees nothing.
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 9:31:04 GMT -5
Abigail swiftly grabs the bucket and places it outside of the tower so it could collect water. The creaking of the tower made her nervous however and grabbing her spear and dagger, she slowly begins creeping up the stairs, pressing herself against the wall and moving as quietly as she could.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 9:43:57 GMT -5
She sees a figure laying down, looking out an old arrow slit towards the village. He has a cloak on to keep the rain dripping from the ceiling off. He hasn''t heard her yet.
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 9:45:42 GMT -5
Abigail pauses when she sees the figure there, wondering how she had remained undetected by them. She slowly creeps forward, her spear pointing outwards as she moves towards the figure. Should she get within range without being detected she would speak up.
"Don't move! Who are you?"
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 9:57:50 GMT -5
As she finishes climbing the stairs, she creaks the floor. The man looks shocked but he has a short trident at his side and he rolls and raises it. A net hangs from his belt and he is taller and stronger looking than the natives she had seen. His skin has a much darker tone, as well; the natives have mostly been heavily tanned to near the point of redness. He hisses at her with an inquisitive sound near the end. He pokes his trident at her.
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Post by Amelia Royce on Sept 24, 2016 10:04:34 GMT -5
Abigail frowned when the floor creaked and she quickly stepped back, bringing up her spear. She was surprised by the look of the man and wondered who he could be and how he got here. "Do you speak common?" She asked, already knowing the answer. With the spear still extended she points at herself with her other hand. "Abigail. Abi. My name." She tries to keep her voice firm but not aggressive.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 24, 2016 10:08:52 GMT -5
He gestures again. This does not seem to be going well. "Abgal," he says. He starts unhooking his net while babbling.
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