Tales of Sorrow...
The door bell rung, a heavy dong that resounded the whole of the room. It was a Stone pub, built heavy with large things, tables chairs and walls all over built. The door bell was no exception.
"Leave guns and stuff with me, no trouble wanted here. No trouble wanted." The towering Stone gaurd rumbled. He hardly bothered to glance at the lean man who had arrived from of the flurries outside.
"I'm unarmed." the man said simply. The Stone guard shifted its gaze slowly, like a mountin moving. Bits of grey living pebble crumbled at his neck joint where the winter wind had patterned frost. White eyes regaurding the man whose only defining feature was a stock of redish brown hair pushing past scarves and the tall collar of his jacket. Dark tinted snow goggles hid the rest of his face. He was ageless
"You travel out there with no guns? Nothing sharp? I no believe you. Give them over, no trouble wanted here." The Stone rummbled again. His wieght had started to shift, massive gey boulder hands reaching out to grasp the man if needed.
"No guns... but I have this..." The man pulled a thick glove from his hand and held the hand up. A glyph in the shape of a sun glowed softly on his hand and the air around him turned warmer. Only one of the glyph's sunbeams glowed like the core, though, making the marking lopsided "I can't give you my hand, its attached."
"I can unattach anything." The rock hands kept advancing. There wasn't a smile on the cold face.
"I doubt anything." The man said. It wasn't a threat, it lacked the tone and any air of malicious intent. Still, the heavy man's hands stopped.
"You no make trouble?" He rummbled.
"I'm hungry and wet, I don't need trouble."
"How do I know?"
The man paused. "I swear by Kalas, our Dead King." The man spoke slowly. His words carried wieght, causing more in the tavern to look than when the door bell had rung.
The Stone turned slowly "Mistress?"
A woman dressed in fur cloaks and a ring of beads strung in her white streaked hair approached. She was younger than most in the place, but heads nodded an acknowledgement of authority as she passed by. Her eyes held fire and her the sort of beauty that can be found in chisled statues of heathen goddesses.
"You swear by a dead king? what kind of promise is that. Why would such a man as yourself hold your word to that?"
He started to speak but she raised her hand.
"I know more than you think, I see more than you see. Your aura is filled with pain, your power is more than mine. If you willed it this house would be in ruins. But I also see a calm mind, and a weary traveller. You may stay, so long as you wear my mark."
"I gave my word on Kanas..."
"You are far from that broken kingdom, a name of a Dead King carries little wieght here."
"So be it..."
The woman extended her hand, looped in beads. Each bead was written a mark of power. At her touch blue light blazed from the man's forehead, then his eyes and then his mouth. In an instant he fell to the floor of the tavern, a yelp of pain escaped his lips.
"Kanas was a fool!" the woman snarled, pacing around the man in agony. "Did you think your name had not reached here? Did you think someone of your stature would not be looked for? Jonas looks for you, and punish all who get in his way. We will deliver you, so I think he will shower us with gold, is that not right? Man of Sorrows?"
The man writhed, but then the light dimmed, the mark on his forehead squirmed like a living worm. All the while the heat in the room rose until waves rippled around the man. His shouts of pain became something else, words of struggle muttered in the forgotten langages of Inferno and Suns. The woman looked on unbeleiving.
"No! This is my house! My power will not be undone under My roof!"
"This house is... undone!"
The Stone's did not move fast enough, the mark on his forehead shattered and the man rose off the ground in a pillar of fire.
"If Jonas comes, tell him I look still, I will always look. His power will never stop me!" His eyes were light and the voice that emitted shook the tables of the Stone tavern. "As for you, you who tried to bridle me, you shall wear my mark. Piper Sorrow says so."
The woman was powerless to stop the advancing finger, frozen in fear. The mark seared into bear hand and each bead she wore melted into smoke and ash. The fire dwindled, the man left and the woman remained, broken.