Private Heart of Darkness

[Mr.Self Destruct]

It was dusk when Alistar arrived in the port-city of Anvil, he walked briskly along the wooden docks which churned and creaked beneath his stride. Beside him, ships loomed, bobbing and rocking in the emerald waters of the Abecean; basked in the light of a setting sun which shown upon the harbor with hues of gold and orange. Sailors and privateers went about their business, hurriedly transporting goods to and from the ships. Alistar held a certain attachment to the quaint little town; the smell of salt, the ocean breeze fluttering by, it held a charm to it. Even now Alistar couldn't help but enjoy the view for but a moment, gazing out to the vista of a setting sun against the water's edge before turning and heading into the inn of The Flowing Bowl.

The inn was a bit calmer than Alistar had anticipated, much of the sailors were still likely at work and it wouldn't be until evening when they would flock to get their hands on a pint. Still, the inn was still alive with banter and conversation. "Welcome to the Flowing Bowl, friend. May I get you a drink?" The innkeeper asked Alistar. "No thank you." He replied briefly, as he headed over to take his seat in the corner of the room.

Alistar sat down, pulling his hood off his head and letting out a tired sigh. He reached into his satchel and pulled out his wooden pipe, he packed it with a bit of tobacco before plopping it in his mouth and lighting it with a match. He inhaled briefly, letting out a puff of smoke before sitting back in his seat and examining the other patrons. Wondering of who they were, what stories they had and what adventures laid before them.

 

[Rextoret]

Sorex walked out of his house, locking the door behind him. He wandered down the street until he reached The Flowing Bowl, his destination. As he walked in, he could hear the usual business of the inn was still going on. He could detect a faint scent of smoke in the air. He walked slowly up to the bar, and bought himself a bottle of wine and a goblet. Sorex turned around and put his back to the bar, looking around the inn.

He spotted a man smoking a pipe in a dark corner of the room and was intrigued. Maybe this man would have a story to tell. Sorex poured some wine into his goblet and drank it. Walking over to the man's table, Sorex snatched another goblet off an empty table while the owner was not looking. Balancing the two goblets in his left hand, Sorex sat down in front of the man and slid one goblet across the table to him. Putting the wine onto the table, Sorex said "What brings you to Anvil? I haven't seen your face here before." He looked the man in the eyes and sat back.

 

[Revoke]

Fitzroy Arthe stomped over the cobbles of Anvil's main road, face set in a furious scowl (though if anyone in town had known him, they'd have known he practically scowled in his sleep; it wasn't an uncommon occurance). His gait was stiff and somewhat lurching; he wasn't changing direction quickly in his heavy plate, but once he found his stride, he could manage a fair speed. The imperial townswoman following him was struggling to keep up, and her voice was shrill with alarm besides. "You can't just walk away from me! It's the Vigil's job to deal with monsters like that! Come back here!" For his part, Fitzroy did his best to ignore her, eyes set directly ahead to his destination; the local inn. The evening chill was in the air, and he had no intention of standing on the street arguing.

The one-sided arguement continued as he walked, until it could be heard insided the inn itself. He shoved open the front door - perhaps a bit too forcefully than was strictly nessecary - and his hysterical pursuer chose this moment for another outburst. "Stop! I demand you come back and do something about that horrible man!" As he stood in the doorway, Fitzroy finally turned back to face her, his tone filled with irritation he made no attempt to hide. "Enough, you damn fool woman! I told you - your neighbor is no daedra worshipper! He's an alchemist. Those smells and noises are potion-making - done poorly, but none of my damn business." He leaned in a tad too close for comfort, his eyes blazing. "Leave. Me. Be."

Finally stepping inside, he let the door slam behind him, and walked into the inn's common room, either oblivious or uncaring of the attention the commotion caused. He waved vaguely in the direction of the bar, grunted, "Ale!" and crossed the room with heavy, clanking footsteps, grumbling incomprehensibly to himself all the way. He stopped at a table benefiting from the late afternoon sun - knowing the warmth would ease the ache in his joints - and lowered himself slowly into a chair, with the gingerness you tend to see in old or wounded men. Finally, he huffed out a heavy sigh, trying to let himself relax. It had not been a good day.

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Bornir left the local prison, feeling more than a little satisfied. The tall Nord drew a few glances, not the least his shining wolf fur cloak, his shield that had the horses' head of Whiterun hold etched into it, and the clink of chain mail as he walked. For the past five months he'd been tracking an Imperial murderer that had killed four people in the city of Whiterun itself. The chase had lead Bornir to the Imperial port city of Anvil, a nice place, with competent guardsmen. The Nord guard captain had been happy to leave the criminal, (who'd been trying to buy his way onto a ship) rot in the Anvil prison.

Of course, a job well done demanded an ale or two. The man entered the towns' inn, a place called the 'Flowing Bowl'. Approaching the inn keep, he ordered an ale, and turned, searching for an open seat. Seeing a rather promising table that was not only devoid of patrons, but had a chair facing the wall, the warrior made his way over to it, unslinging his shield from his back, and moving his scabbard out of the way as he sat. The man then swept a keen eye over the crowd of people inside the place, his years as a guard, allowing him to pick out the trouble makers before they started anything.

While he didn't spot anything that screamed There's going to be a bar fight! He did spot a man cloaked in garments stained with heavy travel, smoking a pipe, looking more than a little weary. ' So. He's from out of town. Probably just arrived a couple of hours ago, at least, otherwise I would have seen him earlier around town' . On Bornir's part, he'd been in Anvil for most of the day, and had a pretty good idea of who was local and who wasn't. Speaking of locals, it looked like one such man was already speaking to the traveler, or rather, he'd just introduced himself, and the man had yet to respond.

Suddenly, as if the Divines intended Bornir to get no rest this evening, a man all but burst into the inn, an Imperial woman in near hysterics behind him. Cautiously, the warrior let his hand slide off the table and close around the hilt of his sword. The first man seemed to be a mage of some sort, and he did not look happy. In Bornir's experience, when a mage was looking unhappy, it was best for all near him to run for cover. Already, the guard captain was on his feet, slowly making a bee-line for the mage. He hadn't arrested many, but he knew that if the mage was unstable, they'd have problems. Then he realized the man also was a a Vigilant. Stroking his neatly trimmed, light brown beard, he stopped, and turned for the travelers table instead, nodding politely when he arrived. "Hello there, kinsman. What brings you to Anvil, if you don't mind my asking" he wasn't trying to appear menacing, but he was standing, and in Bornir's experience, people tended to be more hostile if they thought they were being interrogated, rather than spoken to. "May I sit?"

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Alistar glanced up at the man who had approached him, it was not uncommon to be approached by strangers in taverns; the people who regularly visited such places tended to be open and very sociable. Though, Alistar was not, he remained introverted as the man had sat down at the table and slid the glass of wine across the table. Though humbled by the offer, Alistar had already finished off what was left in his flask but moments ago, and wasn't exactly parched. Still, he smiled in thanks as the man asked him "What brings you to Anvil? I haven't seen your face here before." "I was in the area and decided to make rest, it's a quaint town." He replied, taking special care to keep brief and refrain from giving too many details. He took a brief sip of the wine, before returning to his pipe.

The inn steadily became more crowded as the minutes passed, with sailors and guardsmen and other townsfolk getting off of work. Culminating in a rousing scene at the door; two people in a cacophonous dispute concerning alchemy and daedra as it sounded. The man, clad in heavy plate and bearing a rather weary and old visage then slammed the door on the frantic woman before getting himself a drink. There was another in the inn as well, who carried with him the aura of a warrior. Alistar caught a glance of his shield through the growing crowd of people, instantly recognizing the emblem of Whiterun hold. How peculiar... Alistar thought, wondering what someone; be it a thane or guard of Whiterun, was doing in the Flowing Bowl.

The shield-bearer seemed to notice Alistar, and approached with a smile. He greeted the two in a friendly manner, "Hello there, kinsman. What brings you to Anvil, if you don't mind my asking" He inquired. 'Was just stopping for the night is all." Alistar exclaimed, puffing out a ring of smoke. "You a man of Whiterun, kinsman?" Alistar asked, gesturing towards the shield.

 

[Revoke]

Fitzroy accepted his drink from the barmaid, handing over his septims with a nod and a grunt that might have approximated thanks. He didn't quaff it immediately, but instead drank sparingly; he’d let drink get the better of him once, and didn't intend for it to happen again. He nursed the ale and relaxed, his expression lightning over several minutes from a thunderous scowl to something that was merely mildly irritated (that was, apparently, as friendly as he got).

Now at ease, he tried to scan the crowd for anything out of place. Unfortunately, he wasn't much of an investigator; the one part of the Vigilant’s duty where he fell short. He was accustomed to being a blunt instrument, and he was too set in his ways to change much now. Even so, keeping an eye on things gave him something to do. He spotted the tall nord guard, by virtue of the fact he stuck out like a sore thumb. Still, nothing suspicious there, save the fact that he was talking to a pair of shady looking types. There was no reason to suspect anything sinister, though. It seemed increasingly like the tip that had led him to Anvil was nonsense after all. He sighed. That meant more walking.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Another day without a kill... the thirty-five year old Breton named Edwyn was walking down a forest road to Anvil after a failed hunt. The area around Anvil was normally a very successful hunting area for him so he didn't usually have to travel far from his "home", a tent not too far away from the town. After two weeks without any kills however, Edwyn had been forced to look further and further out. There was simply no success to be found and so his supply of spare Septims was down to about only two-hundred. Maybe some cold Ale would ease the mind.

After about a thirty minute walk he opened through the gates to Anvil. He tried to remember what was the closest inn. He often found it strange he'd been to the town nearly every day for almost two years but he could never remember the locations of the buildings. A quick look around revealed he was nearest to The Flowing Bowl. Edwyn had been there a few times and besides from the occasional Sailor fights was one of the most boring places he could even think of.

He stepped through the door and that quickly changed. He saw a man wearing a hood and robe, the sign of the Vigilants of Stendarr on the fabric. A lump formed in his throat. Its okay... he can't tell I've ever used Conjuration to raise the dead. It occurred to him that their was likely dirt on his armor and legs which told he was in the forest. And the lock of any sort of weapon had to be suspicious. Who would wear armor and not carry a weapon after going into the forest, after all? Still, Edwyn didn't believe the man would notice.

The room had a smell of smoke, a strange smell as many people in Anvil had never even smoked... or at least not in an Inn that Edwyn'd been too. It was probably a newcomer then. It was certainly strange, then, that the "newcomer" already had a group of two men around him, drinking and talking. It was actually quite worrying. Edwyn would not let his Ale be ruined by a bunch of crazy, over-the-top mind-driven conspiracies however; the Ale would RULE THE DAY! He sat at a table, one very near the newcomer for some strange reason (he hadn't really realized he'd sat there until it was a bit too late) and immediately called out "An ale over here!"

Edwyn wondered where the newcomer was from. Perhaps Skyrim? Edwyn had spot about 17 years in that province, and he had been to every city large or small in the hold. At least, if somehow the topic came up about Skyrim, Edwyn would not be caught off guard should a third party be involved. Edwyn made sure there were no visible signs he was a mage. People asked Mages questions. If the Mages didn't have the answers they wanted, it didn't take much evidence for them to SMITE THEM IN THE NAME OF STENDARR!!! Edwyn hated the Vigilants. The core of their cause was just; killing Draugrs, vampires, and such. But too often they overstepped that into the world of killing anyone they suspected might be doing Necromancy. Necromancy was not all an evil-magic after all; it could be used in self-defense or in the name of science. But the Vigilants reject all reason in that regard.

Too often still, Vigilants would often just kill anyone who practiced Conjuration outside the appropriate Magic schools. That was why Edwyn had to always be careful. He couldn't pick out the radical Vigilants from the rightful ones, so the safest route was to distrust them all.

 

[Geel-Kajin]

There was a silence on the roads. It was thick, impenetrable, as if the world shared such similar a sorrow that it had to stifle any joy of birdsong, muffle any peep of life and laughter. It was indescribable, far from the subtler silence of tranquility. This silence had taken a stranglehold...


Broken by the clack of skull on wood, and the curse of Dan-Zaw as he awoke from his thoughts. He reeled back from the tree, his head aching with numbed pain from where it had hit it. It appeared that not just he, but the world itself was unhappy with his state.

He took care to walk in the center of the roads now. The quiet had resumed once again, but this time it's intensity was marred by the tap of his staff on the cobbled streets in front of him, an added protection against the rogue tree trunks. Dan-Zaw hated this, this quiet, these trees; He was used to the roar of the waves, snow white foam on endless seas. He ached to see the ocean once again, and he felt for it a longing that one would for a long lost friend.

But it appeared that he would not for a long while. Times were not good for the argonian sellsword, unsuited to both land and unemployment. And with rumors of encroaching shadows ripe in the villages of high rock, his situation looked bleak. The prevailing atmosphere of fear in towns had left job opportunities scarcer than the number of times he had smiled that month, rendering his chances to practically nil. If he didn't get gold soon, he would have to figure out some other way of feeding the family he left behind.

Troubles bountiful, the sellsword grimaced with sick dread as he approached the next village, wondering how likely it would be that this trip be futile. The tap of his staff slowing as he approached the inn, it's noise halted completely at the door, where the staff anchored itself, completely motionless, to the entrance. The sellsword stood still with staff in hand, silent in his pessimistic state of mind.
No doubt a wasted trip.

With that, he gave a quick rap to the door and entered the inn.

 

[Blackwhite1223]

'Was just stopping for the night is all." The traveler exclaimed, puffing out a ring of smoke. "You a man of Whiterun, kinsman?" he asked, with a gesture towards Bornirs' shield. It became apparent that Bornir wasn't the only one that paid keen attention to detail in the inn tonight. With a grin, and a slight straightening of the shoulders with pride, the captain nodded. "Indeed I am, good sir. You've been to the city before, then?" He wondered vaguely if maybe he'd seen this traveler before, but it seemed unlikely. Unlike Bornir's predecessor, he took the job of the holds' security seriously, and would have noticed a man who was as mysterious as this one.


Glancing at the door he noticed yet another man, this one clearly from out of town, by the mud and dirt on his armored boots. While the man looked normal, and un threatening, he had no sword. In fact, from where Bornir was standing, he could see no weapon on the man at all. 'What kind of man walks about the countryside these days without weapon or guard?' The answer to that question was neither comforting nor satisfying. Deciding to keep an eye on him, the captain took another drink of his ale.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

"Indeed I am, good sir. You've been to the city before, then?" The Captain retorted, quelling much of Alistar's doubts; Alistar was often pessimistic about things and he had began to assert that this shield bearer was a thief, or worse yet a killer who had looted the shield from his victim. He shook the thoughts away, thinking it ridiculous to ponder on such things so negatively. "Yes, Skyrim is my home. Though I come from Haafingar, I visited Whiterun often." He said, unsure whether or not it was wise to delve into such personal details.

More entered, Alistar caught but glimpses and brief glances at the newcomers before they had dissolved into the growing cluster of people forming in the center of the inn. Alistar briefly turned his head toward the table next to his own, overhearing bits of a conversation. "Aye, they say anyone venturing into them mountains never returns." Was all he managed to catch before the banter and yelling served as an impregnable obstacle to his ears. Though his curiosity had been peaked, he did not care to leave his seat and rouse the neighboring patrons. So he stayed, pipe hanging from his lip and his eyes narrowed with wonder.

 

[Revoke]

The noise of the growing conversation a table away caught even Fitzroy's attention, and he looked up, trying to hear what the fuss was about. "Aye, they say anyone venturing into them mountains never returns." He narrowed his eyes sharply at that odd-sounding claim and spoke up, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “You, boy!” He gestured sharply at one of the men in the crowd, and waved him over, his tone and body language brooking no alternative. His expression grew serious as the lad approached the table. “What mountain is this? I need to know what you've heard, son.”

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Alistar sat up as the elderly warrior began interrogating the boy, peaking the interest of nearly everybody in the inn. With all heads turned towards him, the young man quivered noticeably; obviously very nervous and anxious. He swallowed before he spoke, his voice slightly trembling. "W-well, I was fishing on the pier the other day when some East Empire sailors came to dock. They were comin' over from High Rock, from the foot of the mountains." He paused, glancing around and realizing all was silent; all eyes were upon him and none made a sound. "They were spreadin' what banter they had heard, apparently some folk claimed whoever went into those Orc mountains, the Wrothgarian and the Dragontail ranges, they don't come back."

Alistar leaned forward, pulling his pipe from his mouth. "You're sure this is true?" He inquired, his eyes scanning the boy. "Aye! I've heard the same!" Someone else called out, emerging from the crowd and revealing himself as a stocky and brutish Nord with a wild, unkempt beard. "Heard a story some weeks ago of a traveler who had been attacked by goblins in those mountains, he barely escaped with his life." "Goblins?! Are you kidding? All this fuss over Goblins?" Someone else cried, provoking an argument which spread all across the inn; engulfing it in a cacophony of banter. Alistar sat still however, contemplating. Something is at work here... He thought to himself.

 

[Geel-Kajin]

The first thing Dan-Zaw was greeted to was a wash of tobacco smoke, it's dense body having accumulated within the room's interior. Opening of the door caused the foul smell to hit him full in the face, triggering a squint of the eyes and a grimace of teeth.


Waving the smell away with his staff, he attempted to gain his composure again. A customer's first impression of him was most important, and so he would not be seen staggering into the inn, as much as the ghastly stench tempted him to. Dan-Zaw never understood the point of smoking, and disliked most smokers in turn. Why waste one's time on puffing leaves if there was always something to do, something to worry about.
----
At first glance, the room seemed normal enough; The bartender serving ale at the counter, the bard singing his wailing song, the crowd chatting in mumbled symphony-All except one group, which stuck out like a sore thumb. A gathering of oddities sat(or in the case of one old man, in a state of nearly pouncing), with tense discussion directed at some young man.

An event unheard of in days, Dan-Zaw's original solemnity was perked by a slight bout of curiosity-Who were these strange people? The old man there looked as mad and grumpy as one could get, and another of the group bore the most garishly yellow of shields. A third donned the most furtive of looks, while the fourth was (Most irritably) the heavy smoker of the tavern. No wonder the young man looked uncomfortable.

Making his way towards the bunch, snippets of their conversation came to his ears. "-he barely escaped with his life... This interested the sellsword part of Dan-Zaw- Could they possibly need help with whatever was ailing them? The argonian had long since lost any choosy behavior; he would take whatever job he could get. Straining to listen in, the conversation was unfortunately disrupted by the uproar of the nearby crowd, causing him to loose that vital chance.
Hoping to strike gold, he sidled closer to the valuable source of information.

 

[Rextoret]

Sorex sat at the table while talk filled the inn. Somewhere in the crowd he heard a young man say, "-he barely escaped with his life..." Sorex laughed. "Just from goblins?" But it seemed as his words were lost in the cataclysmic nature of the argument that began to fill the air. 'Well, perhaps there is something worth listening to here.' He thought. He leaned forward and attempted to listen to the banter as well as he could. The crowd made it nearly impossible for him to hear, but perhaps there was some adventure to be had. He had never been to the mountains in question. And if he had it his way, he would go. No matter the danger.

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Bornir frowned at the mention of goblins terrorizing people in the mountain ranges of High Rock. It seemed...unlikely, to be sure, since goblins were rarely a danger to anyone these days, but still. He listened to the rest of the story, trying to remain inconspicuous. However, an argument had broken out and whatever the story teller had been about to say was overwhelmed by a chorus of contending voices.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Alistar remained collected despite the banter and bickering tacking place all around him, his eyes were locked on the winding flame in the fireplace. Staring into the glowing embers, Alistar began to ponder; contemplating what was really happening within those mountains. Mountains he seldom traveled, they were dangerous, the ranges which interlocked the three regions of Hammerfell, High Rock and Skyrim were notorious for being treacherous and mostly uncharted expanses of wilderness. Even before this talk of goblins began, the mountains had claimed many lives throughout the years.

It had been years since Alistar had embarked on an adventure, coupled with the fact he hadn't visited the expanse of mountains in a long time he saw no reason not to go. He thought of the mountains, a testament to the colossal strength of nature and the elements; ancient rock and stone which towered above all. To brave them is to brave but some of Tamriel's most dangerous terrain, a task fit only for the rugged and strong. It would be a taxing journey, but a worthwhile one.

He glanced over to the others in the inn, those whom Alistar had picked out from the crowd. He hesitated to ask at first, "Who would accompany me to the mountains?"

 

[Skyrimosity]

The newcomer said out of the blue, "Who would accompany me to the mountains?" and of course Edwyn thought that was just a plain stupid idea. Then his brain got to work, doing that wonderful sort of uncontrolled magic where it convinces you to do exactly what you DIDN'T want to do. And Edwyn's mind had a pretty strong habit of being persuasive.

The mountains go into High Rock. You've been wanting to revisit the Province. Think of what the adventure will be like. Real-life mastering of your Magics, becoming stronger. Having at least one or two companions around so there's a less likely chance you'll die. There can only be upsides. Heck, what if you find treasure? Riches could await you! We haven't even discussed all the other opportunities that lay ahead. You know that going on this adventure is what you want, Edwyn. What else do you have planned? Hunting in a quiet forest outside the quiet town of Anvil in Cyrodiil? Don't you think you are worth more than that? Your a master of Conjuration, we can surely agree its time for you to do something more worthwhile.


Edwyn hated how his mind was sometimes like a second person. His mind was talking to his entire being and it was definitely a very persuasive speaker. Edwyn quietly cursed himself and his evil mind for what he was about to say next. He quietly chugged down a bottle of cold Ale. Then he stood him and took a step toward the man. He thought about how he could play it off, how it was just a drunken step. He could easily walk away now and nobody would notice.

"Newcomer, I would be glad to accompany you and anyone else to the mountains. I haven't seen any part even near High Rock in years and this would certainly be an excellent opportunity to explore territory. The name's Edwyn." Edwyn thought he sounded pretty calm, pretty confident. The possibility of any monetary gain was also on his mind, but that was usually left better unspoken.

 

[Revoke]

The old soldier listened to the lad as he stammered out an answer; not bothering keep his impatience from his expression, but refraining from interrupting nonetheless. He even listened to the tavern-crowd's yammering as they all tried to say their piece at once. War had taught him the value of listening - listen to your officers, listen to your subordinates, listen to your scouts. Listen, or ignorance would kill you as sure as a blade. In any case, he listened, and grew more concerned. He wouldn't normally given credence to rumors, but to have essentially the same tale out of so many sources - surely there was something to this. It certainly seemed like the sort of inhuman threat he was obliged to combat (or close enough for him, at least).

There was one sticking point; he'd need a guide. Fitzroy could manage the wilderness without starving, for a time, but he was no scout or trail-breaker. He'd be lost within a week if we went alone. "Who would accompany me to the mountains?" He turned to regard the speaker as he interrupted that train of thought. It was the shady-looking fellow sitting in the corner - though now that Fitzroy looked a second time, he did have the look of an outdoorsman about him. His brow furrowed as he regarded Allistar, and his gravelly tone cut through the chatter of the inn a second time. "Sure you know how to find your way out there, boy? I don't plan on settin' out just to get lost in the wilderness." His tone was not hostile, but it was challenging and skeptical enough to make your average man bristle with indignance.

 

[Geel-Kajin]

Goblins, they said. In the mountains, they said. Dan-Zaw may not have seen Goblins before, but it was not the time to be picky about what tasks he accepted. With the Sellsword's situation dire and bleak, another man's problem would have to be his gain. For helping to clear out those mountains, he just might be able to get those experiencing the impact of these "goblins" to part with their gold.

"Who would accompany me to the mountains?"
A voice spoke up from the table, and to Dan-Zaw's disappointment it was the smoker. At least have given me someone tolerable to venture with. Even worse, the smoker seemed to have attracted the company of the old man, whom in Dan-Zaw's opinion looked more than questionably mad.


While all of them looked far from favorable travelling companions, Dan-Zaw's doubts were quickly eroded by his desperation; He had already begun worrying about his family's income a week ago, and with no improvements as of yet, it seemed that he would have to grit his teeth,ignore them, and focus on the goal. The sellsword could only hope his temper had improved since his pirate life.

Sighing in resignation, he took one last grim look at those men, taking in the reality of having to survive not only the wild, but the mad company of the group. Tying his scarf an extra loop around his neck, he made his move and went to acquaint himself with the group.

 

[Rextoret]

"Who would accompany me to the mountains?" Sorex went over all the possibilities of failure if he went along. There were so many chances that he could die if he went on this journey. Maybe it would be best if he skipped. Sorex stood and said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. If you excuse me, I must be on my way." And with that he walked to the door, pushed it open, and was gone.