Levi Dryden was dead.
At least, that's what he had surmised from his current situation. Sickly, gray light painted the scene before him in miserable detail. He was aboard a thin, dark vessel, slowly crossing the inky black waters of an almost stagnant river. A cowled boatman slowly pushed the ship to its destination, The vessel held a number of other passengers, pale and lethargic. Some murmured to each other, but most simply waited.
Levi pondered the circumstances that had brought him here. His memories of life where still recognizable, but blurring quickly. He remembered the rain soaked streets of Shroud, it's tall, narrow townhouses and curious granite monuments. His fingers sought out the bloodless wound at his throat. How had this happened? His memories where unclear. A knife in the dark? The bullet of a vengeful mark? It was unlikely that his questions would ever be answered. He trailed his fingers absentmindedly through the dark, cool water.In many of the rivers that separated the living from the dead, this would have been unwise, but here, the water simply numbed his digits,leaving a strange, tingling sensation. The numbness seemed to climb up his arm and settle in his chest. Perhaps this was a good end. His life had been spent of frivolous things. Gold. Wine. Women... He sank into the welcoming cradle of wood, peering over the side at the far shore. What strange, undiscovered country lay ahead? His lethargy slowly drained away, replaced by curiosity. He shaded his eyes with his hand. What could be seen of the far shore?
He froze in terror.
It's not as they said.
Levi stood suddenly, rocking the boat slightly. His fellow passengers barely registered the action. The cowled boatman's hood shifted slightly in his direction, but whether the creature beneath it scowled, he could not tell. He swallowed dryly. This could not be wise. He hadn't played the game since he was a child. But, what had he to lose?
"They say you play Chess? At least, in folk-songs and paintings you do..."
The Boatman nodded, almost imperceptibly.
At least, that's what he had surmised from his current situation. Sickly, gray light painted the scene before him in miserable detail. He was aboard a thin, dark vessel, slowly crossing the inky black waters of an almost stagnant river. A cowled boatman slowly pushed the ship to its destination, The vessel held a number of other passengers, pale and lethargic. Some murmured to each other, but most simply waited.
Levi pondered the circumstances that had brought him here. His memories of life where still recognizable, but blurring quickly. He remembered the rain soaked streets of Shroud, it's tall, narrow townhouses and curious granite monuments. His fingers sought out the bloodless wound at his throat. How had this happened? His memories where unclear. A knife in the dark? The bullet of a vengeful mark? It was unlikely that his questions would ever be answered. He trailed his fingers absentmindedly through the dark, cool water.In many of the rivers that separated the living from the dead, this would have been unwise, but here, the water simply numbed his digits,leaving a strange, tingling sensation. The numbness seemed to climb up his arm and settle in his chest. Perhaps this was a good end. His life had been spent of frivolous things. Gold. Wine. Women... He sank into the welcoming cradle of wood, peering over the side at the far shore. What strange, undiscovered country lay ahead? His lethargy slowly drained away, replaced by curiosity. He shaded his eyes with his hand. What could be seen of the far shore?
He froze in terror.
It's not as they said.
Levi stood suddenly, rocking the boat slightly. His fellow passengers barely registered the action. The cowled boatman's hood shifted slightly in his direction, but whether the creature beneath it scowled, he could not tell. He swallowed dryly. This could not be wise. He hadn't played the game since he was a child. But, what had he to lose?
"They say you play Chess? At least, in folk-songs and paintings you do..."
The Boatman nodded, almost imperceptibly.
