The common room of The Jumping Flea Inn was near empty, A fire roaring in the rundown fireplace. A plump woman with more than a hint of dark mustaches on her lip croaked a tune of a lustful young man in his pursuit of a fair maiden across the sea. Valgon puffed at his pipe, inhaling the sweet tasting Andorian Tabac, listening to the man's hushed report across the table from him. The fellow brought interesting news, well worth the small satchel of silver marks he requested in return for his intelligence. Exhaling small smoke rings, Valgon stroked the stubble on his chin, intrigued by the fool's tale. According to rumors floating on the wind, a division was forming in the Black Tower, and tensions were high. The man also claimed that a small party had departed from the compound on horse back, yet to where, remained unknown.
"This is good news, Gyle!" He said, contemplating the idea of tension in the Black Tower. "These so called ashaman may bring doom crashing down on their own heads before they can feel my justice...Detestable Cowards." The two sat in silence for a spell as the mustached woman continued to wail about how the young man faced insurmountable tribulations in his quest to lay claim to the maiden.
"I have two tasks for you Gyle," Valgon whispered, shifting a glance around the room. "You will find out about this division in the Tower, and where these cursed men are heading. The second, is a personal favor. There is a man named Orelon in my employ. I want him to have an unfortunate accident." Gyle nodded his understanding and stood from the table, leaving Valgon to his pipe and his thoughts.
Ghealdan, 15 Years Ago...
-Valgon Zurich hummed a tune while he went about his daily chores. He and his wife, Izela, recently purhased the small plot of land just south of Garen's Wall. He had worked in the alum mines for nearly ten years before he saved enough coin to embark on this endeavor, but it was all for his dear wife. The woman had a way of motivating him, always pushing him to go after his dreams, no matter how lofty. He smiled at the memory of how her eyes twinkled when he produced the deed from his coat pocket. How excited she had been when he announced that they would raise goats, and produce cheese from the milk to sell to the minors. All was good in the world...
-Closing the barn door for the afternoon, he wiped his hands on his breeches. Gazing out past the gate to the dirt path, he noticed a figure hurriedly striding toward the farm. "Ah, at last," he said smiling. "I was beginning to worry she'd never be back from her mother's!"
Striding toward the gate to meet his wife, Valgon noticed that it was wasn't her at all. It was constable Galac Al'Rath. What could the man be doing in these parts? Meeting the man at the gate, suspicion edged it's way into his mind when he noticed Galac's grave expression.
"Good afternoon Galac," he said, trying to keep his voice light. "We haven't any cheese just yet to sell."
Galac removed his hat somberly, and shuffled his feet avoiding Valgon's eye.
"Valgon...," he whispered hesitantly. "Izela's been murdered, and from the look of thing's...I believe her virtue was taken before she was killed..."
Galac's statement smashed into him like a blacksmith's hammer, his stomach dropping to the ground.
Galac rested a hand on his shoulder and continued.
"Onlookers say she had a confrontation with one of those black coated ashaman in the square," he said as gently as could. "One of the merchant's told me the man followed after her a few minutes after she headed this way. All of the witnesses are sure he was from the Black Tower." A tremor rocked through Valgon's body. He held onto Galac to steady himself when his vision went dark. His body hit the ground as Galac scrambled to catch him...
Nightfall was settling over the great city of Caemlyn, the streets near empty with the exception of a handful of stragglers hastily scuffling toward their homes. A crisp breeze carried the sweet fragrance of burning wood, pleasant enough to bring delight to even the vilest of cutthroats. Valgon leisurely strolled down the deserted walkway, preoccupied with his thoughts. The day had yielded little fruit as far he was concerned. Even with the news that Ryneth had provided him concerning a possible male channeler did little without a solid lead as to the man's whereabouts. For fifteen years he hunted down men who could use The One Power, dedicating his life to cleansing the earth of the wretched creatures. The world had too often turned a blind eye to the foul deeds done by those who could use Saidin, sweeping their atrocities under the rug in order to maintain the peace. As long as there was breath in his body, he would see to it that the Black Tower answered for it's crimes committed against him, and against countless others who were too afraid to speak up. Valgon Zurich would personally see to it that the Black Tower was served justice, paying it's debt in blood. Soon, he would stand in triumph, watching as the unholy sanctuary was purified by flames. Soon, the ruins would serve to remind the world of the heinous men who had wielded power for far to long.
The streets of Caemlyn were alive with commotion as peddlars shouted over one another, attempting to hawk their wares. Merchants boasted loudly, proclaiming that a potion would heal any ailment, or that they had the finest silk this side of Dragonmount. Men, women, and children crowded around a man in a colorful cloak who juggled balls of fire while singing a cheerful tale of Matrim Cauthon and his many adventures. Valgon Zurich gave little attention to the sights while progressing down the congested walkway. While taking his afternoon meal, he recieved word that Ryneth Malichec requested an audience with him. Ryneth, a member of the Queen's Guard, had been in Valgon's employ for several years, and was his most valuable asset in Andor. Unlike Orelon, Ryneth made good on his word, and was not likely to find himself with a knife between his ribs anytime soon. Closing in on the Broken Gauntlet, Valgon scanned his surroundings to be sure he wasn't followed. Once he was satisfied, he slipped into the tavern. As promised, Ryneth was already present, gnawing at his lower lip gazing deeply into the mug set before him. Valgon pulled out a chair and sat, taking his pipe from it's pouch and packed it with fresh Tabac. The two men sat in silence for a spell, Valgon blowing small rings of smoke into the air. Ryneth drank deeply from his mug and gave the room a quick once over before finally speaking.
"I have it on good authority that there is an ashaman in the city," the young man explained with a grin. "Rumor is he may have killed a man, but the evidence was faulty as best." The young man took another swallow from his mug.
"Word has it he is holed up at an Inn, but I have yet to get a name."
Exhaling a plume of smoke, Valgon stood and tossed the young man a small satchel of silver. "Make haste boy, time is of the essence," he said turning toward the door.
"I want the name of that Inn. Do not dissapoint me."
Before Ryneth could say another word, Valgon was striding through the door...a man on a mission.
The man bound to the chair was drenched in sweat, groaning through the gag in his mouth. His eyes were wild with fear when Valgon once again removed the ivory hilted dagger from behind his belt. "Failure is something that I do not have time for Orelon," Valgon sighed.
"But here we are. You did not hesitste to spend the gold that I paid for your services, and now I am both without gold and without the ashaman you promised to deliver." The groans amplified from behind the gag, the man undoubtedly trying to make his case as Valgon inched closer to him.
Valgon stifled a yawn as he twirled the dagger in a gloved hand. Without further delay he placed the blade on the man's middle finger and sawed slowly, piercing flesh and crushing through bone.
Sometimes the work that must be done was rather mundane, but it was often required.
Orelon's eyes rolled into the back of his head as the dagger worked it's way through his appendage.
Valgon's mind was elsewhere. Thoughts of the Black Tower consumed him from his waking moments until he lay his head down for the night's sleep. Without a thought, he tossed Orelon's finger to the dog in the corner who snapped at it hungrily.
"I do hope we have an understanding," he said fighting back another yawn.
"The next time you may not find me so merciful." He cleaned his blade across the man's face and left, hoping to find something suitable for his afternoon meal.
The crowded common room served as good a place as any for Valgon to study the maps he had sketched of the Black Tower and it's surroundings. A beautiful woman in an all but transparent dress was singing a story highlighting the final days of The Last Battle, her voice mesmerizing the onlookers who tossed the occasional copper into a hat at her feet. Pipe smoke filled the air, and men sat at tables telling tales of places they'd never been and people they'd never met. Some sat alone, staring deeply into their mugs as if they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. Valgon produced his pipe from a pouch concealed within his cloak and a small canister of Andorian Tabac he had purchased earlier that day. He studied the parchments that lay out before him, stuffing the pipe and striking a match. Inhaling deeply, he surveyed the room to make sure that nobody was paying him any mind. He had always had a way of blending into a crowd, with a nondescript face, and a common look all around. Drawing from his pipe, and exhaling a large cloud of smoke he produced a weathered piece of paper from the pocket of his trousers. He unfolded the paper carefully and set it upon the table. The paper contained the names of all the men of the Black Tower that he had been able to gather over the years. Several names near the top had a neat, dark line drawn through them. He allowed himself a twisted smile. These fools had already met Valgon Zurich, and found themselves in unmarked graves. He had taken great pleasure in snuffing out their pitiful lives. The greatest pleasure of all was still yet to come. The day the Black Tower was nothing more than ashes, a fabled memory of arrogant swine who thought that they were entitled to the world. Laughing, he turned his attention to the singing woman, and hummed along to her tune.
🎤"Bad boys, bad boys! Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"🎶😈😜 Great pic of Jaichim Carridin talking to a Myrddraal 😱
. . .
🎨Artist: Adam Rex
. . .
O segundo conto do #300diasdelovecraft foi A Cidade sem Nome, e gostei demais dessa história que conta o que nosso narrador descobriu em uma expedição numa cidade em ruínas de uma era longínqua, e que aterroriza todos os nativos que moram próximo ao local.
Mais uma vez li o conto em dois livros, um faz parte de financiamento coletivo que participei e outro no livro da @darksidebooks que é a lista oficial do 300 dias de lovecraft. Ainda acho o palavreado da edição do financiamento mais rico, mas eles cometeram um erro de tradução meio grave o que é uma pena.
O que mais gostei no conto foi o clima claustrofóbico dos templos da cidade e a forma como o narrador vais descobrindo a terrível verdade.
Esse conto também virou mangá, mas vou falar dele em outra publicação
Wheel of Time Spoilers - Episode 75 - The Testing
We have our friend Aradia on to talk with us about Nynaeve Beginning her Accepted test. We speculate on what the test is, how it’s created, and where it’s created. We come to some interesting conclusions. We talk about the oath rod and Aes Sedai politics. Is channeling in the World of Dreams real, is it created the power, or the mind? Is “Just a weave” really just a weave? What is sin in the #wheeloftime universe? A bit of a Psychedelic after-show. #wheeloftime#robertjordan#podcast#darkfriends#friendsofthedark
Este vídeo va dedicado a casi todas aquellas personas que formaron y forman parte de mi vida
Está fue y es una de mis mejores etapas de mi vida que hasta ahora llevo
También he de confesar que he echo de menos esta tapa y me quedé en ella aún por lo que veo jejeje echo de menos cada persona y cada tiempo qué pasa con ellos
También he de decir que hay personas muy importantes en mi vida que aún conservo que no aparecen en las fotografías o al menos es muy pocas
He aquí los nombres o Instagrams de los que aparecen en el vídeo:
PD: aún me queda mucha gente por nombrar de las cuales no encuentro el Instagram o no recuerdo
Si alguien se vieran las fotos y no está mencionado que comenté o si alguien conoce a alguien de la foto que lo nombre por favor y yo le mencionaré