Strange Rodent — Roleplayer Guild

At the Gates of Tarantis

"Next!"

The word resonated from the guardsman's mouth and down the gatehouse hall. The man next in line walked to the booth, everyone else taking one step after him. Nar was the next in line, after this fellow. He'd been standing on the road into Tarantis for what felt like longer than he'd been traveling there. All those who get here early are smart.
   The man who had just been called was a strange one indeed, as Nar had found out when he talked with him in line. He called himself the Jack of Hearts, and wore a bone white mask with a red heart painted over one eye, which he was currently taking off for the first time since Nar saw him. He walked off, and Nar was called up. His boots made a horrendous clacking as the metal studs in the leather sole crashed into the marble floor and his ragged robes trailed behind him, but due to his air of confidence, all those who watched were sure that this man was the height of dignity.

"Who are you, and what business do you have in Tarantis?", asked the guardsman.

"My name is Nar Zalaam, and I'm here on family business", Nar replied, never breaking eye contact with the guard.

Checking his ledger, the guard looked Nar in the eye and smiled grimly, "Hm. Good luck.". He stepped aside, allowing Nar through to the gleaming white city. The sun reflected off of the buildings far too harshly, the crowds were practically a solid mass, and it stank. Nothing had changed, apparently. He began to walk, and only felt a visitor, despite his near perfect memory of the streets. Warm waves of sorrow flooded his mind as he turned every corner, each one growing more powerful. It didn't take long for Nar to reach his old house. He was facing the door, and all he could think when he saw the "For Sale" sign was Why wasn't I here earlier?.

He stood, paralyzed by the words. This could mean only one thing: his parents died, and he didn't know when. Sorrow turned to rage as he cast blame on those who didn't tell him. He placed his hand on the wooden door, which immediately burst into flames, settling into ash within seconds. He stepped inside, touring himself around the rooms. Every step he took made him feel like his wretched legs would drop into the void. With no small effort, he made it to the second floor. Straight down the hall he saw it. A scene straight from a distant and forgotten, yet highly disturbing dream. He could feel himself overwhelmed with fear as he gazed upon the familiar hallway which had been irreversibly tainted by the lack of identity. Where once hung a painting, there now was bare wall. A patterned rug used to hide the disturbingly bare floorboards. Worst of all, to his right was meant to be the door to his old bedroom and, later, study. He'd carved words into that door, which had served as a portal to another realm for Nar for years. Now, there only sat a large slab of wood on hinges. He wanted it all to burn. He held his hand in front of his face, and from his fingers spewed wicked lengths of a bright yellow flame. 
   The tongues flickered, and started to pull together with a magnetic attraction. The tip of the flame rolled down to Nar's palm, and in less than a second he was holding a small ball of fire, about the size of a grape. It was only when the walls began to smoke that Nar came to. The flame flickered out, dropping a veil of darkness over the hall, allowing Nar the courage he needed to flee.

Twenty minutes later
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After far too much running, Nar was comfortably seated in a bar with no affiliation to his past. His knees were screaming at him, and he'd skinned his sooty hands more than once. He was using his third cold pint of lager to soothe the grazes when a military looking man walked in with a few guards. They argued with the barkeep for a while about some knight named Archibald, who had apparently been maimed the previous night. To Nar, it looked like the barkeep was hiding something, but not everybody could be so shrewd. After they'd finished, Nar decided to pipe up. He looked up from his pint, and said in a tired voice, "You know, to the average customer, this looks a whole lot like intimidation and besmirching an old veteran... I don't mean any threat, but I can't speak for the rest of these customers, or even the barkeep. Maybe, to save yourself a bit of grief down the road of time, you could apologise to this man.". He looked the armed man right in the eye the whole time, then gave a pointed look to the bartender. "I don't know who you are or where you're sleeping tonight, but there may be some who do".

I swear, some people put so much stock into honour that they don't consider their lives... was the thought running through Nar's mind.
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