The Jones Chronicles

The road to Aina was long, with hot days, and chilling nights. The plateau was beaten on by Tarin's relentless sun, and the plateau was gripped by winds from the ice flats during the night. However, Jones took it all in stride, stealing what food from the guards he could. Food was something he hadn't planned on, and since he was nearly starving to death, he was quite out of his element. Jones hadn't eaten for three days, and felt like he was a ravenous beast, being tortured in cage of misfits. The cage had other starving inhabitants of course, but none with the killing instinct of Jones. Many a time he plotted killing one of them for food, but then, to steady his head, he thought of the glory for finding the so-called Darkstone. When the Darkstone was realigned, then all would be purged under the will of Seluctruh, and only His most loyal of Servants would not perish, and live to see the new, evil world be born.

With these thoughts circling in his mind, Jones tried desperately to stay sane, while ever looking forward to Aina. He had inspected the lock, and already picked it and re-locked it twice to make sure he could do so in a limited amount of time, 30 seconds if needed. And he knew every nook of Aina, even though it had been 5 years. Little did he know that there was somewhat of a reform in Aina about, and that these slaves would have a hell of a time getting lose.

When the party of slave drivers finally arrived at the gates, Jones was withered to a thin, mass of wiry tendons, and quick looks... not much further from his natural state, but he was week from starvation, and very apt to delusions. The gate was in sight, and the other slaves were singing tales of the great war, of the last millennia or so. Jones was plotting the death of the men who had put him in such a position. The gate guards had reservations about letting slave drivers in, however and stopped them.

"Sir, what cargo is this? We can't let you in if it's what it looks like..." grunted the guard. He smelled like salt water, and ale.

The two men in the lead looked back and forth nervously, then at each other. There were two guards, and both men knew that with luck, one could be killed with ease if they had the element of surprise. Meanwhile, Jones was working on the lock, hands shaking with anger and hunger. Normally the task would have been easy for him, but now, in his current state, he was no match for the simple turn-click mechanism.

"Well my dear friend," replied one man, glancing at the other guard, who was flirting with a near bye noble woman, " we need to get in. By whatever means possible."

The guard was unclear on the motives of this man, but he kept him hand close to his sword. He was ready to be attacked, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to take on two of them. Sighing he said, "No more slaves, that's the new law. I can't disobey it, and I suggest you turn around."

Hearing the words "turn around" did no services to Jones' psyche. With complete anger and rage pouring over his heart, he thrashed at the cage door, and the lock, quite suddenly clicked open. At this exact same moment, one of the men had already gotten to the other side of the guard, and had drawn a weapon, as had the man in front of him, Jones unsheathed his dagger, and exploded out of the cage in complete confusion. The two men converged upon the poor guard who helplessly tried to defend himself from both directions. As the man in front was about to deal the deathblow he grinned and said to the guard, "By whatever means possible..."

These were the last words to exit him mouth, for Jones, screaming like a demon, came from the behind and allowed his dagger to penetrate the tender skin of the man's neck, and the stabbed toward himself, cutting through the flesh on the inside of his gullet, and utterly ending his existence. The other guard had been charging at the man who had come behind the first guard, but not before Jones leapt at him. He stabbed at him, ready for the attack, but Jones dodged, and circled around behind him, plunging his dagger into the man's back, not quite killing him, but totally devastating him. Then, the confused guard only having seen Jones attack two men screamed out, "PROTECT THE INNOCENT!" and attacked Jones. A swift blow to the head by the man he was fighting (who shortly after died) knocked him unconscious. For an unknown amount of time he was visited by strange dreams of glory.

The first dream was of the Darkstone itself. It shone too bright for him to behold it, however, he knew it was there. He had a strange feeling, like some awesome power was running through him, allowing him to become as strong as a god. Pondering this, Jones thought, "Could I become a God with the sliver? Surely I could, but what of the consequences? I would in no way become nearly as powerful as those who would want the Darkstone sliver to themselves. No, I must fetch this for one who knows what to do with it. Yes, for my Dark Lord Seluctruh."

The second dream was of a swirling vortex, and a gateway in which the Darkstone sliver was pulled into. Then all was a bright white, and the void was purged... Jones didn't understand this, and thought he never would. >From the ground, massive iron gates erupted, that dwarfed him in size, and upon them was inscribed an ancient text he could decipher. The gates cracked open, and in from of them, a swirling vortex was born. Within he could see crystal like figures, walking in a dazed state... as a horse does who is being lead by his master.

The final dream was of Seluctruh himself. He was dressed in black, crushed velvet, and he glowed with an almost divine aura. The room was white, and Jones was bleeding. This blood splattered onto the floor, staining it crimson. Jones didn't understand, and he looked at Seluctruh in awe. When he opened his mouth to speak, he felt strange. Upon closer inspection of his teeth, he realized one of them was chipped. Jones spat out blood, and gazed at Seluctruh? he almost understood?

"Hey YOU! WAKE UP!" was the sound that Jones rose to. Clutching his dagger, he looked around confused. A large, fat nurse-like lady was standing over him. He looked around, and realized he was in some sort of shelter? where the sick and dying came.

"Well then, he's alive. I'll bring you some soup." With that the fat nurse woman hobbled off in search of some poor chef to torment.

Jones sat up. He looked around and then he saw the Ainian guard, whose life he had inadvertently saved, across from him. He peered away, hoping not to be noticed, but to no avail, for the man walked over to him and sat next to him, smiling the whole merry time. "Hullo there?" he offered.

"You saved my life? those men would have surely killed me? I owe you everything. Is there anything I can do?"

One thing you must understand about Jones. He is helplessly in love with the art of thievery. There is nothing that can bring him more joy than to pull off a successful theft. So when this guard sat down, the first, and only thing Jones was interested in, was his gold pouch? which looked mighty fat.

"Well? I couldn't let you die," Jones uttered, smiling, all the while. He looked at the guard, doing a quick scan of his position. "Another soul in danger, is a soul I must help!" lied Jones. After patting the guard on the back, he brought his hand quickly across the guard's belt, undoing the simple knot that held the pouch to his person.

"We good people must look out for one another," the guard agreed, as Jones stood up, and walked around to his other side, leaning on the makeshift cot he had slept on for almost 3 days. Jones motioned for the guard to stand and walk with him, and he did so. The instant he stood up, the money satchel fell, and Jones, quite gleefully, crossed behind the guard, took the pouch, tucked it into his belt pack, and made his way, amiably chatting, toward the kitchen.

Upon reaching it, the guard said he must go, and offered to pay Jones, who quickly denied on the grounds that it would not be the right thing to do. The two parted paths, and Jones searched for a chef to rob.

Walking around, he found a fruit basket, and pondered. Deciding no one would miss it, Jones pilfered the edibles and made off to the parade, munching them down ravenously. Once there, he looked about for some form of entertainment. It was then that he bumped into a gypsy woman carrying some scrolls, which spilled everywhere. Jones, in the momentary confusion had darted his hands into her pockets, and stolen a scrap of paper.

"Watch it you bloody good for nothing vagabond!" the woman shrieked, grabbing Jones' hand, before he could dart back out of her pockets. "Think you can pull that business on an old lady eh?"

Jones, quite casually flashed his dagger, and smiled. "Listen lady, gimme everything you own, or this dagger is going to find its way into your back."

The gypsy instantly let go of his hand and gave him a look of horror. Jones was not above mugging, of course, and he was quite adept at instilling fear in those whom he could control. The lady sighed and dropped all her belongings, before running off into the night.

"Stupid nag?" Jones muttered as he picked up the scrolls, and scattered coins. The scrolls however, upon gazing upon them became Jones' priority. These scrolls contained details of the Darkstone itself? no doubt that woman was part of a gypsy band somewhere near the town. Smiling, Jones skulked into an alley, and looked over the scrolls. It was dusk, and he was having trouble seeing, so he clambered up the side of a building, and ended up in the rafters of a drafty bar.

The scrolls were recently written, and the ink still left a distinct odor on each. They showed a large mountain range, presumably Pardor, and the Kettin Moors. It showed an etched marking, that followed a path leading to Eria, through Kettin, and ending up somewhere near what looked like Bar'gith. The rest of the map wasn't clear. Jones still felt he needed to find whichever gypsy had found the sliver, and retrieve it for Seluctruh? but he had a feeling that locating the gypsies was the first step in finding the one that had it.

The night was droning by, and too quickly at that. Time seemed to fly since Jones had awoken, and he wondered how long he had been out for. Thinking to himself, Jones decided the best course of advance was to find that guard again, and see if he could get a fix on where the gypsies were. Traveling to the north of the village, he bumped into a man with a small box, who was on his way to the docks. Smirking he moved aside, and grinned, having been able to lift almost two hundred coins from him. By the time he reached the northern gate, Jones was almost out of room to put all the money he had stolen from the tourists adorning the exciting streets.

"Hey guard, could I trouble you for a conversation?" Jones remarked, having come within shouting distance. An immediate recognition took place as the man whom he had saved saw him and waved for Jones to come and sit.

"Never did catch your name sir? what can I talk atcha by?" the guard questioned.

The two held a short palaver, and then Jones popped the question about any gypsies having been sited. "Well, I saw some near the docks, and I had them rounded up, and expelled from the town? worse then thieves the lot of em! You can see the camp from here? lets hope they don't try any funny business."

Jones was totally in character now. The guard didn't know he was a thief, which was very good. Smiling he replied, "Yeah, I think one of em stole something very important from me, and I need to go make sure they don't make off to Kettin with it."

With that, Jones stood up, wished the guard good journeys, and the guard wished him the same. The spoils of that night were coming to a quick end however, as Jones approached the camp. "Come no further stranger, we are looking for a thief, who stole our sacred scrolls."

Jones stopped, looked around, gulped and gave the gypsy a look that neither gave him away, nor proved his innocence. "And?"

"We're going to need to search your belongings? we know you don't want us here, and we need those scrolls to move on."

"Well, you can't search my stuff," Jones said, sighing. Looking around he noticed that the entire path leading north was blocked off. The gypsies had set up a blockade? they were serious about this.

"You don't have any choice I'm afraid. Please submit so we don't have to escalate the matter."

"Fine? here!" Jones removed his backpack and tossed it to the gypsy. He still had his belt pack on under his clothing, which was hiding it well.

Not well enough however, as the gypsy pointed to him and said, "Lets see the other one too."

"Which one?," Jones took out a seemingly empty belt pack and tossed it to the man. "It's empty." However, in mid throw, Jones realized a grave error. His normal belt pack didn't have the scrolls in it? the one he just tossed over to the gypsy did.

As he was searching for an explanation to help him out, the woman he had robbed earlier came into view. "What's wrong Damon? hey that's the man who robbed me! THIEF! He's a bloody thief!"

Immediately, Jones was unconscious. Gypsy magic was a potent thing; not one to be reckoned with. When he awoke, he had all of his equipment, and was being kept in what seemed like an easily escapable room. He walked out the door, and looked around. A man was looking at him and chanting.

Jones awoke in the same room, and realized he'd be there until he was let out. After about an hour, the same gypsy from the gate came in and beheld Jones with a look of angry recognition. "Why have you forsaken us thief? What of our plans do you wish?"

"None of your damned business? I'm here on my own regard, not yours, so there's no need to talk of someone being forsaken. And I just was passing through, doing my job." Jones scoffed. He did not like being interrogated, or found in the wrong for stealing; it was merely a way of life for him.

"You must be kept with us, as a prisoner. The fates will try your crimes against us in the manner they see fit."

"I'll have your blood splattered on my armor before anything tries m-" The pain was instant, and stinging. The gypsy had folded his hands together, and began chanting, having sensed the change in Jones' aura from neutral, to threatening. Jones collapsed on the floor, his entire body aching in fury. Nerves seemed to split, and twitch within him, and he cried in agony.

The chanting stopped. "Do not give me trouble, stranger, or the fates will see your end by my hands"

Jones was now threatened, and he grinned. "Then we are in agreement; you let me tag along, no trouble, and your fates will have their way with me." Jones vowed that moment to kill this man slowly.

Traveling with gypsies again was easy to do, now that he was accustomed with mimicking their lifestyle. Always in tune with the nature, and staying alert so that they can feel the flow of life in the world, and objects around them, gypsies were truly gifted. And prosecuted, as many knights slaughtered entire villages. Blame had been hung on the gypsies for the shattering of the Darkstone, centuries ago, when a camp was found with shards of it. The forces of good, almost jealous, came down upon the race of people with ferocious efficiency, almost exiling all gypsies. It was not until much later that the gypsies learned to control the magic within them, and fight back.

That night, Jones listened in during dinner, so he could pick up some information. Most of the more powerful gypsies made the food, and there was plenty for everyone. The speech he heard was in whispers, but he could easily make what he heard out as important information.

"We must not take any chances? with the arrival of this stranger, we must conceal all evidence we hold the sacred?" Damon looked around, and his and Jones' eyes met. Jones grinned, and sharpened his dagger, adding some poison powder to it, and then dousing it with water lightly. Whispering even lighter this time, he said just loud enough for Jones to hear, "We must conceal all evidence we have the cargo of fortune."

Grinning, Jones continued with his work. He'd follow these gypsies to Kettin, and drop in to grab a few items. Then he'd follow them, and find the sliver, which he was now sure was here, somewhere among them. There was a stirring, and Damon stood.

"Friends, we have a new traveler in our midst. We must treat him with respect, and courtesy, for he has seen more days than even I, and knows of the past, and perhaps the future," Damon almost preached. It was true, Jones was more experienced than Damon, and he knew it. Being adept at the skills of the night not only gave Jones a better perspective on how to kill others in silence, but the ability to do so in public, without much notice. Damon himself seemed a worthy adversary, but not much of a foe, as far as battle went. He might have had time to cast a few spells before he died, but for now, Jones needed him alive.

"He was the one who brought us our scrolls, and we are in his debt. Give him no troubles," Damon finished.

The rest of the journey from here was very tense. The gypsies knew he was a thief, because he had not concealed his dagger, so Jones spent most of his time in seclusion, or sneaking around, invisible due to his cape. The cape itself had began to change; not working at times, or becoming tangled and torn on the journey through the moors. By the time Kettin was in sight, Jones didn't dare take it out, for it had become to fall apart. Its constant use was leading to its degradation it seemed.

Kettin was a large town, but the gypsies were forced to stay outside of the town. This proved to be dangerous, as many a troll was spotted, and they were easy prey. Unfortunately the elder gypsies had informed Jones that he must not go into Kettin, and when he tried to leave, they put him under escort, telling the camp it was for his own protection, if trolls attacked.

That night, since the campgrounds were being set up, Jones decided to set up near the outskirts of the camp, as a watch for attacks. He wanted to be sure he could easily escape into Kettin, if anything happened. Unfortunately, the escorts told him they'd have to stay with him to make sure he didn't try any funny business. Jones was close to what he needed, and let it pass. He knew that he would be on his way into Kettin as soon as they were attacked.

The trolls were swift in the night. A war party had heard of the location of the newcomers and was going to investigate. At the outskirts of the camp, they waited, and grouped together. No war drums this time? they wanted to act in stealth. If they could kill these Kettin people, then they would earn the respect of their commander.

Groshna looked over the grounds and squinted his eyes and blinking. "There is a thief among them? could be trouble."

Moving in the way an elite captain should, he positioned his men near the grounds. Groshna wouldn't normally be afraid of a thief, if it weren't for the deadly precision of their aim, and backstabs. He told his men that they should kill everything, but leave the thief to him.

Jones saw some movement outside, and motioned to one of the gypsies guarding him. "Hey, there's something out there? why don't you go make sure it's nothing?"

The gypsy, to Jones' dismay, grabbed him, and shoved him ahead. "You walk ahead of me? I don't want any trickery!" scoffed the gypsy.

At the same time, three trolls, moving in deadly silence killed the guard left behind, slashing his stomach, and decapitating him. The cry was heard in the distance, and the gypsy turned around, confused. Springing at the unexpected diversion, Jones unsheathed his dagger and said, "You guys should have killed me while I was unconscious," and stabbing with both hands into the base of the man's spine.

"AARGH!" the gypsy screamed, and turned at Jones, only to receive two slashes to the face, mutilating him. He chanted, and a burst of colors flew into the sky, almost like a beacon. The trolls saw it, and one came to investigate. Jones came from nowhere, sensing this one was weak, and dealt him a fatal stab to from behind, his dagger plunging into the weak muscles and eviscerating them.

The gypsies at the camp had seen the color spray too, and took it as a warning. The trolls were attacking from nowhere and everywhere, plunging into huts and demolishing the contents, while the elder gypsies summoned the forces of nature to aid their brethren. Damon fought through the melee, blasting with fireballs at the fierce trolls, to char them into submission.

Groshna had been watching all this happen, and was waiting for just the right time to attack. From the west he came, and felled two elders in one fell swoop, injuring the remaining one with a well-aimed kick the ribs.

Jones had made his way back into the camp, to use this as an opportunity to find the Darkstone sliver. He had just exited the elder's hut, when Damon saw him. "Stranger, you must help fight!"

"I've got more important things to do, like find that stone you're hiding," Jones growled.

"I knew it! You serve the Dark One! Never will you succeed! The stone is not here!" Damon shouted.

At this junction, Groshna crashed through, not noticing Jones, and ran at Damon. Jones was now faced with a predicament? He wanted to kill Damon, but he needed information from him. If the troll in front of him killed Damon, he'd not get that information. Jones sighed, and grinned, unsheathing his dagger, and stabbing towards Groshna's back. Groshna, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, dodged, and growled.

"You won't get me that easily thief." Groshna's voice was thick with hate. However, having let his guard down, Groshna fell victim to a burst of flames from Damon, which enveloped him, and sent a flaming mass of burning troll towards Jones, who jumped over it, letting it crash into the hut containing the scrolls, and burn it down.

Damon gasped, screamed, "The scrolls! I must save them," and ran into the hut, while it began to catch fire. Clutching the scrolls, he turned around, but the entrance collapsed. Jones rolled his eyes, and muttered.

Jones, figuring he still needed Damon, crashed through the side of the wall, moving too quick for the flames to so much as singe him, and grabbed Damon, pushing him out of the hole he had made entering. After doing this, he jumped, but Groshna, having seen him save Damon grabbed his foot.

The inferno was now extremely hot, and the skin on the hand that bound him had begun to char and fall off. Jones stepped on the hand, cruelly crushing the bones, and spat at the troll. But this was too much, as the entire hut collapsed.

Jones cringed, and ducked, but when he opened his eyes, he saw only cinders at his feet. Fighting sounds surrounded him, and he looked around, to see a stunned Damon. Jones aided him, brushing him off, and slapping him into reality and asked, "What the hell did you just do?"

Jones growled, and kicked some dirt into Damon's eyes, dragging him away from the camp, where the trolls were quickly closing in on the poorly defended gypsies, killing them almost all of them off. The elder who was injured clutched blindly at Jones' feet. Jones knelt beside him and put his hand on his forehead, which was burning hot. "Protect? the Darkstone?" were his last words.

"I'll protect it all right?" Jones whispered, and laid the man to rest. He then emptied his pockets, looting 450 coins, and a jewel embellished ring.

"I'd rather die!" Damon growled, and said some strange words. He then proceeded to disappear into a cloud of smoke, which glowed, and sparkled. The cloud of smoke flew up, and into the city of Kettin. Jones growled, and made pursuit steadfast. From here on, his story has yet to be recorded.

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