Montag, 14. September 2020

In Angelegenheiten der Toten - Abenteuerlogbuch Oberon 5





Fünfter Abenteuer Logbucheintrag Oberons aus dem Haus der Bal Drian

Jahr 2523 Imperialer Zeitrechnung, Unbekannter Tag im Monat Vorhexen


Wieder einmal ist es zu lange her, dass müde, zittrige Finger verweilen dürfen auf vertrautem Pergament. Tinte, statt Blut und Phlegma von ihnen tropfen soll. Welch wohlige Erinnerungen sie wecken, an langweilige Abende im familiären Studienzimmer und danklose Transkribier Arbeiten im Dienste kurzlebiger Doktoren, deren vermeintliche Erkenntnisse sie für die Nachwelt in diversen Sprachen festzuhalten für nötig erachteten.

'Würde ich wohl je selbst erstaunliche Taten und Entdeckungen meinen Nachkommen hinterlassen?' fragte ich mich noch in jenen Tagen voll jugendlichem Fernweh und Tatendrang. 

Dank solcher Gesinnung bin ich nun hier, der Antwort keinen Schritt näher, wenn überhaupt noch weiter davon entfernt als je zuvor.

Die letzten Tage sind ein einziges Unwetter, ein Labyrinth in meiner Erinnerung, von einem Schmerz zur nächsten Erniedrigung, zu weiterem Rückschlag führend. Und doch weilen nicht nur drohende kalte Knochenhände an meinem Hals, auch zarte Finger streifen die Lippen meiner Erinnerung, beide Stille gebietend, meditierende Reflexion. Und doch will ich mein Spiegelbild meiden, nicht länger das eines unschuldigen, naiven, noch nicht von Mordes Schuld belasteten jungen Elfensäuglings aus Marienburg, vermutlich eher die entsetzliche blasse Fratze eines gebrochenen Geistes wie einst vor Christians Turmfenster befürchte ich zu sehen. Falls das denn überhaupt real war, sonst scheint die Erscheinung keiner gesehen zu haben.

In diesem Meer aus Wahnsinn und Elend sind mir die wenigen Freunde und neu gefundenen Sippenbrüber wie Bojen dem Schiffbrüchigen, Fatalismus wie weitere Löcher in meiner sinkenden Nussschale, genug davon.

...

Dienstag, 14. Juli 2020

Catturato ad Altdorf - La quarantena è il nostro problema più piccolo











Catturato ad Altdorf - La quarantena è il nostro problema più piccolo

It is astonishing how quickly humans adapt to new circumstances, just a couple of weeks ago, Vino wouldn’t have touched that awfully smelling porridge with a stick, and now he was paying money just to get some of it in his belly. Best not to think about it's contents too much.
He had as mentioned before, accommodated himself in the Untersteg, which was still separated from the rest of Altdorf by means of quarantine.
The Tilean mercenary had made the best of the situation, or so he thought, by getting forcibly employed by a - not so official - city official who at least gave him some errands to fulfill. Such errands, as seeking contact to various people throughout the underworld, reports on death tolls and getting rid of dead bodies, making sure there wouldn't be an uprising. Just menial tasks really, and paid in board and lodging. His loyalties were, as with every mercenary, highly dependant on his pay, but for now this was all he could get, and in earnest the only people he really cared about in this forsaken city were Oberon, his elvish companion, whom he held quite dear to his heart, even though he wouldn’t let him know that. As well as Karl, the halfling, who was still recovering from his arm amputation - if only Vino had been faster…

He had lost count of how many days or weeks they were in quarantine, but it all seemed like a constant stream of injuries, setbacks and failures. They had been assaulted on various occasions, which wasn’t uncommon in this part of Altdorf, mutants had been slain, when they attacked them, and the Untersteg was still riddled with sickness, death and filth. Those who died from the “Brüte”, as they called it, were deposed. As the inhabitants found out very painfully, not all of them stayed dead. The city guard was busy fighting the undead in other inaccessible parts of the City, and the Untersteg was left to die. At least that was the impression Vino got, and even worse, they drafted the few able men and women they found to help their cause.