OOC: I am working on an entry Jordan, so hang tight.

OOC=Out of Character (for the uninitiated)

So if I type something in this thread, I have to say I am OOC?

What is my C?

OOC:

You mean your character? It is whoever you choose to be, as long as they fit into the genre, which in this case is fantasy.

And you only type OOC to let someone know you are saying something outside of the game.

Corwyn laid his cheek against the cool, stone pillar, his long arms hugging around its circumference, his hands clasped on the other side. He could feel himself slipping slowly down the stones rough surface, the floor of the temple below covered with the detritus of age from the open roof above. He needed to rest for a minute.

He hoped once he reached the floor below that he could find an easier way back to the surface. Discovering the treasures of the Ancients was not an easy task, but the rewards were immense, probably beyond his wildest imaginings, and so worth it in Corwyn’s mind. With that thought giving him a burst of energy, he shimmied the rest of the way down.

Finally reaching the uneven flagstone floor, Corwyn sat for a moment on the end of a toppled column catching his breath, gathering his thoughts, and resting his weary limbs. He wiped his fair locks across his forehead, his blue eyes darting around the room in which he now found himself in, barely able to make out the dim surroundings in the fading light from above. His ears poked from beneath his swept back hair, his Elvin lineage apparent. Tall as most humans, his frame was slight, giving Corwyn a more agile appearance.

He pulled the wrinkled, old map from his backpack. Looking at it in the rays of light which still illuminated the wide expanse, he wondered what the inhabitants of South Haven would think if they knew such a place existed within the confines of their very own city, or under it as was the case. The populace would be amazed to learn even a portion of the secrets Corwyn knew about this great city and its past, especially those concerning the Ancients.

For a thousand years, the Temple of the Ancients had been here, longer than the Undercity itself, sitting beneath the buildings of the upper part of South Haven. Putting the map aside, he looked around at the ancient architecture in the waning light, marveling at the beauty of the stone carvings that dotted the block wall in regular intervals. Pulling a lantern from his leather pack, he set it upon the ground. Soon he also had a flask of oil, and a flint and steel at the ready. Carefully, he filled the chamber of the lantern with oil. Then once he had stowed the oil flask safely, he lit a tinder twig with the piece of flint, striking the flint against the piece of steel he held in his other hand. As the spark caught on the tinder twig, he noticed it flutter in a slight breeze; quickly he shielded it as he lit the wick of the oil lantern, a soft, yellow glow soon lighting the immediate area around Corwyn.

Holding the lantern high, Corwyn approached the nearest wall to get a better look. Definitely the work of the craftsmen of the Ancients, though he couldn’t quite place the bird depicted in most of the stone carvings, never having seen the likes of it before. It had a crest of plumage upon its head, which sort of resembled a crown, and a wide expanse of tail feathers fanned out behind it. He could imagine the colors that a live specimen might have afforded. It even looked like at one time that the carvings had been painted, though the pigment had not survived the wear of time. He ran his hand across its smooth surface, the light of the lantern creating shadows in the crevices of the stone. Looking up, he could see the sky above the temple through the small square of open roof through which he had entered. It looked like it was going to rain.

He searched the room over, looking for any telltale signs of where he should go next. On one end he had found the altar, which had a large, stone statue of the selfsame unknown bird towering sentinel like over the raised dais on which the stone slab was located. A stone bowl with ominous, dark stains sat upon the stone alter, a piece of obsidian, one end chipped into a wicked curved blade, sat next to the bowl. Corwyn ran his fingers along the blade, quickly pulling back as he discovered that its edge was still sharp, even after all these centuries. The altar itself was covered in an indecipherable language.

The walls along each side of the long chamber were covered in stone carvings depicting the strange bird in various stages: in flight with others of its kind, and conversing, or so it seemed, with a crowned individual, an Elven King. Corwyn was shocked, being of Elvish decent himself, the implications of what the carving represented were astounding. Food for future thought, but now he needed to focus on exploring his surroundings. A treasure was hidden somewhere within the ancient, stone walls, and Corwyn aimed to find it.

He found a solitary entryway at the far end of the room. The darkness peered at him ominously as he cautiously approached the aperture. As he entered the way beyond, he could see the outlines of a small room in the light of his lantern. A flash of lightning from outside threw the wall in front of him into stark detail as his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden increase in brightness. It seemed the storm had arrived, he thought to himself, as a boom resounded from the following thunder. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust from the flashing glare of the lightning, Corwyn continued into the darkness, his way lit by his small circle of light. He wished he had a Bull’s-eye Lantern, that way he could shine it ahead a little more. Next time he was at the market he would have to see about getting one.

Corwyn’s elvish eyes, after adjusting to the darkness, were able to make out the outline of a hidden doorway set into the far wall of the small room in which he found himself. He laid his ear against the cool stone. He could barely make out the sound of running water on the other side. Feeling around, he searched for the opening mechanism. With a click, the latch let go. It was a pretty good attempt, disguising the handle as a stone in the wall, but not good enough to fool Corwyn.

Pushing hard against it, the door swung open, the hinges squealing with age. A cool draft blew from beyond the ever widening crack, the smell of salt water upon it. Whatever was beyond must connect to the harbor at some point. His lantern flame flickered slightly as the breeze picked up, the storm must just now be hitting the harbor. Slipping through the now opened doorway, he pulled the thick wooden handle that was attached to the other side, knowing it was closed when he heard the audible click, the breeze immediately decreasing in intensity.

The rough cut stone hallway extended in either direction. From his left, Corwyn could only make out darkness; from his right could be heard the waves breaking against rock, obviously the ocean. A small patch of light could be discerned further down the corridor. Not knowing what to do, he pulled out a copper. Crowns he would go left, Eagles he would go right. Flipping it, he caught it in mid-air. He examined it in the light of the torch, Eagles it was. Carefully, he made his way down the corridor toward the sound of crashing waves.

Stepping carefully, Corwyn tried to feel his way along the floor. The coating of dust did little to help in his attempt to detect any traps or triggers that might be in the area. Corwyn heard an audible click. Stopping, he felt the floor beneath his foot depress. Cursing himself, he realized it was already too late. He could feel the rumbling in the floor, walls, and ceiling around him. Looking back he caught sight of the wall of water as everything was cast into darkness with the extinguishing of his lantern as he was swept along toward the sea.