Friday, October 2, 2009

A Single Feather

Fulguralis awoke as the wan glow retreated from the room, hiding in the many nooks and crannies of the Ironforge Inn. He sat up quickly and looked around, trying to discern the source of the strange, pale light, but there was only darkness. He rubbed his eyes and tried to shake the sleep out of his head. It had been another long, boring week.

Muffled jubilant screams wafted in from the tavern below. Dwarves really did know how to party, Fulguralis observerd, reflecting on the early hour of the revelry. Normally, the warlock might find his vertically challenged alliance-mates just a bit creepy. Crack open a barrel of ale, however, and the similarities to the awkward Gnomes ended, elevating the bearded ones in Fulguralis's eyes more to Eleven levels. Not that he was all that fond of Elves, they just didn't freak him out like those damned Gnomes. Small hands. Fulguralis shuddered.

The warlock's paladin wife lay passed out beside him on the bed. She had been partaking in the Brewfest celebrations along with the rowdy Dwarves sporadically over the past few days. They hadn't necessarily come here for the holiday. Still, ale being what it was, they'd both understandably gotten somewhat distracted, and the Dwarves did know how to party.

Fulguralis rubbed his throbbing head, the voices starting up their usual cacophony of complaints with his waking. Nothing like having the voices of demons in your head and being hung over. The musing of his Imp were especially brutal.

The warlock flicked a hand negligently at the wall, catching something on fire and sending a warm, orange glow through the room. He blinked twice, clearing his vision, and realized he had lit a mounted rams head and not the nearby lantern as he intended. He quickly said a spell to put the fire in it's rightful place, leaving the mounted trophy only slightly blackened in the process.

Fulguralis swung his feet over the side of his bed, pushing the sheets back in the process. As he maneuvered, a single, sleek black feather fell out from between the sheets to land softly on the stained wooden floor of the room. The flickering light from the lantern glinted seductively off of the disembodied feather, catching the warlock's eye and rendering him momentarily thoughtless. Even the demonic voices in his mind seemed to have been silence by the appearance of the simple feather, but, for the life of him, Fulguralis couldn't figure out why.

Slowly, Fulguralis leaned over and gingerly scooped up the talisman. His initial thought was that it must have fallen out of the pillow, but what sort of inn uses such large black feathers? Normally, fluffy white down from a smaller bird would be used. The size of this feather indicated it's owner would be quite large. Fulguralis had never seen anything quite like it.

The warlock scooped up his pillow and carefully checked it for rips. Then, he carefully searched the sheets for more of the strange feathers, taking care not to wake his sleeping wife. The red-headed Paladin moaned something unintelligible, snatching the sheets from him and turning over sharply, leaving his side of the bed quite naked. She had a tendency to steal the sheets, Fulguralis knew.

Chuckling at his wife's odd bed behavior, the warlock slipped the feather into the front pocket of the tunic he normally wore under his robes. He pushed his curiosity aside and tried to focus on what needed to be done. Once more, the cries of the revelers below drifted up through the rafters. An ale or two couldn't hurt to start the day, Fulguralis mused as he finished dressing. Leaving the guest room, he shut the door gently behind him and headed for the stairs that would lead him down into the tavern.

I'll do one
, he resolved.

1 comment:

  1. Your wife also knows that you snore like a bear when you're drunk.

    Just a thought ;)

    ReplyDelete