Sir Osis
The more he thought about it, the more it sounded as if this being was selling something suited for curing a gift most often received at the habitation of working women. That was assuming it could cure anything at all. No, he was well enough to get this far. He didn’t need some snake oil quackery.
“You have my utmost gratitude for your time, but it has come to my memory that I have some fine concoction at home that should provide sufficient balm for my troubles.”
The ancient one’s nostrils flared, and his eyes had a flash of anger like tinder burning, but he quickly hid his rage and gave Sir Osis a smile which seemed to cut his face in half. Then he started repacking his things. “Well then, sir. A swift journey to you.” The man who knew the sky in its youth hoisted his burden onto his back, and then it was as if he had never been there. Sir Osis walked around the road, but he could not even tell if the ancient one had left footprints among the endless sets. There was no trace of him he could see. He decided that he was either having lapses in memory of sorts or there was sorcery involved in this. He prayed it was the former and continued on his journey, a little shaken.
It was not long before Sir Osis had made his way back home where he choked down some vile remedy, visited the priest, and went to bed. It was still dark when he woke up in complete agony. Never had he felt the way he did. The closest thing he could imagine to the feeling he was experiencing was being alive by thousands of salt-jawed ants while being burned alive with a flame set in his stomach. Servants and other members of the household came running into his room when they heard his screams, but all they found was a pile of soot on the sheets.
The death of Sir Osis became a legend in that region, and they say his ghost still haunts the castle in which he met his bodily demise. Where his soul is, no man can say.
“You have my utmost gratitude for your time, but it has come to my memory that I have some fine concoction at home that should provide sufficient balm for my troubles.”
The ancient one’s nostrils flared, and his eyes had a flash of anger like tinder burning, but he quickly hid his rage and gave Sir Osis a smile which seemed to cut his face in half. Then he started repacking his things. “Well then, sir. A swift journey to you.” The man who knew the sky in its youth hoisted his burden onto his back, and then it was as if he had never been there. Sir Osis walked around the road, but he could not even tell if the ancient one had left footprints among the endless sets. There was no trace of him he could see. He decided that he was either having lapses in memory of sorts or there was sorcery involved in this. He prayed it was the former and continued on his journey, a little shaken.
It was not long before Sir Osis had made his way back home where he choked down some vile remedy, visited the priest, and went to bed. It was still dark when he woke up in complete agony. Never had he felt the way he did. The closest thing he could imagine to the feeling he was experiencing was being alive by thousands of salt-jawed ants while being burned alive with a flame set in his stomach. Servants and other members of the household came running into his room when they heard his screams, but all they found was a pile of soot on the sheets.
The death of Sir Osis became a legend in that region, and they say his ghost still haunts the castle in which he met his bodily demise. Where his soul is, no man can say.
