Introductions and Abductions
We have been introduced before, in an automated message that interrupted Rowane's regularly scheduled post, but for clarity's sake (something that must be woefully unexpected in Rowane's ordinarily muddled journal entries) I introduce myself once again. I am the Hermetic Index.
At a point early in Hermetic Index, certain guild masters saw fit to endow a simple yet suave tome, with the knowledge of the Order, including the collected lives of its members. Perhaps you've seen me, nestled under the crook of Rowane's arm once or twice; maybe you've glanced over his shoulder and taken a peek at my beautifully illuminated pages? No? Such a bother, no one appreciates a good book these days.
My knowledge is vast in its scope of Hermetic history and its membership. I have factoids that could boggle the mind: I could perhaps tell of Ruskala and the origin of the dread illness HTD, or how many eggs Larnoc could eat in one sitting, but since this is Rowane's tale and I am currently restricted to telling of him, those will have to wait.
I have felt compelled to interject before, when Rowane scrawls and adds of his life to my pages, but how my inky heart does bleed at the gaping omissions. He seems to not have an inkling of narratorial cohesion and just expects the reader to know what is going on with his random entries. So I endeavor to fill in the blanks as best I can (my quasi-omniscience should help with this), while I can and we can hope that he makes it out of this latest situation alive:
Time: April 6th, 1894
Location: Tombstone, America
Abduction
Rowane de'Dannan turned a corner and strolled leisurely down 4th Street while he shaded a thin paper booklet with his hand from the high noon sun. Page after page of the dog-eared dime novel flipped and turned; each dramatic plot-twist, murder or declaration of love being devoured voraciously by Rowane's golden eyes. These weekly serial novels had become a necessity for the old Hermetic to stave off boredom. He should have been miles away from the town called Tombstone, away from the organization whose plans he had unwittingly disrupted in his time in Rastenfeld, yet here he was in broad daylight and unaware of his surroundings. The citizens of the town paid him little mind and that was no surprise: "Mind your own business" could have been their collective motto. It served prospectors and merchants alike during the lawless times of the town's founding and the tradition carried over now that there was some semblance of law. So they said nothing of the black carriage that drew up along side of Rowane, matching his pace exactly.
Rowane turned over the last page of the book, frowning at the blank face of the inside cover, and was knocked off of his feet. He fell onto his palms, feeling the sting of grit forcing its way into his skin, and tried to get to his feet. Something hit his head and the world swam in light. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance. Strong hands helped him up, and then pushed him roughly into darkness. In the distance, muffled, came the shouts of "Hyah! Hyah!" and then the lurch of motion. He lifted his head, not realizing that it had lolled forward and said, "W-Who are you?" He could only see a single silhouetted figure, but the tightness around his arms made him realize that he was still being held. His head drooped as he turned to look. Something struck his ear hard, and the dizzying light returned. Over the din of throbbing blood rushing in his ears he heard someone hiss, "No blood," followed by a deep chuckle from his left followed by a high pitched titter to his right. Warmth spread down his ear and along his neck.
He thought there were words that he should say, words that would rob sight or words that would send them into panic; if he could just remember what they were. But he was so tired it was hard to think. He didn't remember falling asleep.
A jolt of the carriage lifted the haze of a dreamless sleep and brought Rowane back to a throbbing painful reality. His vision had cleared somewhat. The man in front of Rowane lifted something. A gun. "Hello, Mr. de'Dannan, it is rather rude to miss appointments. Is it not?"
At a point early in Hermetic Index, certain guild masters saw fit to endow a simple yet suave tome, with the knowledge of the Order, including the collected lives of its members. Perhaps you've seen me, nestled under the crook of Rowane's arm once or twice; maybe you've glanced over his shoulder and taken a peek at my beautifully illuminated pages? No? Such a bother, no one appreciates a good book these days.
My knowledge is vast in its scope of Hermetic history and its membership. I have factoids that could boggle the mind: I could perhaps tell of Ruskala and the origin of the dread illness HTD, or how many eggs Larnoc could eat in one sitting, but since this is Rowane's tale and I am currently restricted to telling of him, those will have to wait.
I have felt compelled to interject before, when Rowane scrawls and adds of his life to my pages, but how my inky heart does bleed at the gaping omissions. He seems to not have an inkling of narratorial cohesion and just expects the reader to know what is going on with his random entries. So I endeavor to fill in the blanks as best I can (my quasi-omniscience should help with this), while I can and we can hope that he makes it out of this latest situation alive:
Time: April 6th, 1894
Location: Tombstone, America
Abduction
Rowane de'Dannan turned a corner and strolled leisurely down 4th Street while he shaded a thin paper booklet with his hand from the high noon sun. Page after page of the dog-eared dime novel flipped and turned; each dramatic plot-twist, murder or declaration of love being devoured voraciously by Rowane's golden eyes. These weekly serial novels had become a necessity for the old Hermetic to stave off boredom. He should have been miles away from the town called Tombstone, away from the organization whose plans he had unwittingly disrupted in his time in Rastenfeld, yet here he was in broad daylight and unaware of his surroundings. The citizens of the town paid him little mind and that was no surprise: "Mind your own business" could have been their collective motto. It served prospectors and merchants alike during the lawless times of the town's founding and the tradition carried over now that there was some semblance of law. So they said nothing of the black carriage that drew up along side of Rowane, matching his pace exactly.
Rowane turned over the last page of the book, frowning at the blank face of the inside cover, and was knocked off of his feet. He fell onto his palms, feeling the sting of grit forcing its way into his skin, and tried to get to his feet. Something hit his head and the world swam in light. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance. Strong hands helped him up, and then pushed him roughly into darkness. In the distance, muffled, came the shouts of "Hyah! Hyah!" and then the lurch of motion. He lifted his head, not realizing that it had lolled forward and said, "W-Who are you?" He could only see a single silhouetted figure, but the tightness around his arms made him realize that he was still being held. His head drooped as he turned to look. Something struck his ear hard, and the dizzying light returned. Over the din of throbbing blood rushing in his ears he heard someone hiss, "No blood," followed by a deep chuckle from his left followed by a high pitched titter to his right. Warmth spread down his ear and along his neck.
He thought there were words that he should say, words that would rob sight or words that would send them into panic; if he could just remember what they were. But he was so tired it was hard to think. He didn't remember falling asleep.
A jolt of the carriage lifted the haze of a dreamless sleep and brought Rowane back to a throbbing painful reality. His vision had cleared somewhat. The man in front of Rowane lifted something. A gun. "Hello, Mr. de'Dannan, it is rather rude to miss appointments. Is it not?"
