Post by Amedio Malateste on May 24, 2010 19:49:25 GMT
The sun still shone high in the skyline as Amedio made his way along the road to Camelot. Sometime earlier he had come across a child, and in a cheerful manner spoke to the boy, asking if this was the way to Camelot. The boy stammered some, possibly taken aback by Amedio’s accent, possibly just a simpleton. Eventually, the boy managed to answer, nodding his head like it had become unattached and was bobbing in the wind and pointing the way along the road. Your parents should have killed you by now, boy, and saved you the inevitable pain of a future filled with blatant displays of your own idiocy, Amedio thought. However, rather than voicing his disgust, instead he simply smiled warmly and patted the boy on the head. “Thank you, child,†he said as he fished a copper coin from his belt and handed it to the youth. “Run along now, and mind yourself in the woods. We wouldn’t want anything happening to you, would we?†As the boy ran off, Amedio grinned and thought spend it wisely, boy. No point saving it. You probably won’t live to see the winter.
That had been well over an hour ago, and as he walked, Amedio began to wonder if the boy had given him the wrong information. But no doubt this was the correct road. Adjusting the pack over his shoulder, he sighed. He had been walking for days, and the aches of the road were wearing on him. Not knowing how much farther the way may be, he stopped and put down his pack. Once again, he wondered about his decision to come to Camelot. It was a good business move. No doubt he could find plenty of customers interested in fine inks, parchments, and writing quills. And in the bustling city, he could easily blend, even as a foreigner, disappearing into the throngs of people. But Uther’s distrust of magic was well known, and meant that he would have to be doubly cautious about his studies. Oh, a little discretionary use of alchemy here and there would easily go unnoticed, but true magic was going to be substantially more difficult to hide. But having also heard of the magicians’ Guild, and the druids, there was clearly a power there. Magic seemed to run free in Camelot, its sources plentiful. And Amedio meant to tap that power source for himself, and draw on it for his own uses. And thinking of magic...
Bending down, he opened his pack and rummaged around in the carefully packed bottles and materials. Withdrawing a small wooden box, he opened it and took out one of the lead crystal vials. Looking about, being sure no one was anywhere to be seen, he unstoppered the elixir and drank it back. It’s contents burned his mouth and throat as it went down, and twisted in his stomach like a hot blade. But after a moment, the feeling changed to a warmth, flowing through his aching muscles. Within minutes, the aches and pains of the journey faded, and he was filled with energy and vitality. He possessed the strength of a man less than half his age. Grinning as he thought of the adolescent whose blood he had drained to make the concoction, he couldn’t help but laugh. Actually, quite a bit younger than half my age. Stretching as the potion’s energy flowed through him, he again shouldered his pack and continued on at a brisk pace. After a few yards, he remembered that at any time he could encounter another on the road, and slowed somewhat to move at a pace more appropriate to a man his true age. No need to draw any undue attention.
A short time later, his destination came into view. The effects of the potion were wearing off, and he was happy to see an end to his journey finally. Even after the sights of Toledo, Cordoba, and Grenada, Camelot was impressive to behold. Its walls gleamed, its towers rose triumphant, and the unmistakable banners of the Pendragon family fluttered in the light breeze. He still had enough coin from previous jobs in a trade far less savoury than that of the manufacture of scribe’s supplies, but no need to flaunt that. He would find a room to stay in until he could arrange a shop of his own, but as soon as possible, would set up a shop and living quarters well out of the way of the public eye. Thankfully, the manufacture of vellums and some inks was a smelly, messy, and unpleasant job, so it would be easy for him to explain away a workshop in a lower class part of the city. Truthfully, though, that simply meant having an ideal excuse to be well away from the prying eyes of those who may question what he was doing. But first things first. Find a tavern, get a hot meal, some wine, and arrange for a soft bed to sleep in. The rest would come with time. Putting on his most charming smile, hunching his back some to exaggerate his weariness from the journey, he slowly made his way along the last short distance to the city gates.
That had been well over an hour ago, and as he walked, Amedio began to wonder if the boy had given him the wrong information. But no doubt this was the correct road. Adjusting the pack over his shoulder, he sighed. He had been walking for days, and the aches of the road were wearing on him. Not knowing how much farther the way may be, he stopped and put down his pack. Once again, he wondered about his decision to come to Camelot. It was a good business move. No doubt he could find plenty of customers interested in fine inks, parchments, and writing quills. And in the bustling city, he could easily blend, even as a foreigner, disappearing into the throngs of people. But Uther’s distrust of magic was well known, and meant that he would have to be doubly cautious about his studies. Oh, a little discretionary use of alchemy here and there would easily go unnoticed, but true magic was going to be substantially more difficult to hide. But having also heard of the magicians’ Guild, and the druids, there was clearly a power there. Magic seemed to run free in Camelot, its sources plentiful. And Amedio meant to tap that power source for himself, and draw on it for his own uses. And thinking of magic...
Bending down, he opened his pack and rummaged around in the carefully packed bottles and materials. Withdrawing a small wooden box, he opened it and took out one of the lead crystal vials. Looking about, being sure no one was anywhere to be seen, he unstoppered the elixir and drank it back. It’s contents burned his mouth and throat as it went down, and twisted in his stomach like a hot blade. But after a moment, the feeling changed to a warmth, flowing through his aching muscles. Within minutes, the aches and pains of the journey faded, and he was filled with energy and vitality. He possessed the strength of a man less than half his age. Grinning as he thought of the adolescent whose blood he had drained to make the concoction, he couldn’t help but laugh. Actually, quite a bit younger than half my age. Stretching as the potion’s energy flowed through him, he again shouldered his pack and continued on at a brisk pace. After a few yards, he remembered that at any time he could encounter another on the road, and slowed somewhat to move at a pace more appropriate to a man his true age. No need to draw any undue attention.
A short time later, his destination came into view. The effects of the potion were wearing off, and he was happy to see an end to his journey finally. Even after the sights of Toledo, Cordoba, and Grenada, Camelot was impressive to behold. Its walls gleamed, its towers rose triumphant, and the unmistakable banners of the Pendragon family fluttered in the light breeze. He still had enough coin from previous jobs in a trade far less savoury than that of the manufacture of scribe’s supplies, but no need to flaunt that. He would find a room to stay in until he could arrange a shop of his own, but as soon as possible, would set up a shop and living quarters well out of the way of the public eye. Thankfully, the manufacture of vellums and some inks was a smelly, messy, and unpleasant job, so it would be easy for him to explain away a workshop in a lower class part of the city. Truthfully, though, that simply meant having an ideal excuse to be well away from the prying eyes of those who may question what he was doing. But first things first. Find a tavern, get a hot meal, some wine, and arrange for a soft bed to sleep in. The rest would come with time. Putting on his most charming smile, hunching his back some to exaggerate his weariness from the journey, he slowly made his way along the last short distance to the city gates.