[Sorry about the wait, been really busy lately!]
Talon had been lost in thought so much, he hadn't even heard his two friends show up behind him. He quickly turned his head left and right, looking at the two and said "It's just some scrapbooks...of grandad." It still made him feel a little hollow to look at these pictures, but he felt like he was improving in terms of getting over things. He flipped to the next page, the picture at the top right showing his father shaking hands with an older man. Must've been his boss or something. Page after page he turned, learning a little bit more about his grandfather, the last photo a family portrait, when only Talon was a baby. He saw his brother there too, never seeing any photos of him when he was younger, leaving him generally surprised.
He closed the book, a small cloud of dust forming from the expulsion of gas. He set the book down into the box, Talon's mind still a litte hazy. He got back onto his feet and began to look around the small area. There wasn't a lot of stuff to move, so that was a positive at least. "Might as well got started," he said softly and moved to one of the boxes. He grabbed one by the corners and lifted, damn near breaking his back in the process. He had lifted with his back instead of his legs, a mistake that usually threw some people's backs out. "Ah shit!" he swore, as he accidently dropped the box on the floor, the whole attic seemingly shaken. "Ah christ," he said as he kneeled down to the box, to check out the damage.
Sifting through some of the random clutter the was inside, he found something weird. A small mirror had broken but something was...sticking out? He reached down and grabbed the mirror, the mirror itself not even that wide from a 3D point of view. He reached through the broken glass and discovered that there was an open area inside! "What the hell is this?" he said, his fingers touching something that felt like leather. It was weird in the first place, his hand seemingly disappearing from exisistence as he reached inside. Grabbing the edge of the leather bound object, he slowly pulled it out, avoiding the shards of glass that still clung to the edges of the mirror.
What he pulled out...surprised him. It was a leather book, a rather old looking journal with a faded name on the front. "Asahel Warner" he read aloud, the name clinging inside his head. Why did that sound so familiar? He popped off the small latch that kept it's pages secure together and opened the book wide. Inside were a bunch of parchment, each of them scribbed with hastily done handwriting. He could make out the words, but the writing style of this man seemed to sure he was under stress as he wrote it. He scanned some of the sentences, getting a gist of what the purpose of this text was. "It looks like this is a journal...of a man named Asahel...date of this journal was listed as 1832...they're's no other entries inside." He flipped to the very end and read the last sentence aloud.
"I can hear them now. They are almost beckoning to me…waiting for their old friend to join them. I will join them. But not until I finally do some justice. Goodbye friend."
What...the...hell?
by Talon Marlowe Mon Aug 13, 2012 10:24 pm
