Torcadino; Ghost Stories

originally posted January 9, 2007

I received a missive from the city of Torcadino yesterday. Specifically, from a Merchant's Scribe that spoke on behalf of the citizens of Torcadino. Word of The Fall has spread to the city famed chiefly for her aqueducts and for its role in the Ar-Cos conflict. Several cities between Ar and Cos played roles in the conflict; Brundisium, Argentum, Corcyrus among them, but Torcadino was the only one to have the infamous mercenary Dietrich of Tarnburg seated upon her throne. It was during these dark times, when a struggling, but talented actor decided to strike his way south and then west across the Plains of Turia. Quintus of Torcadino found a captive audience in the city of nine gates herself, earning the honorific title 'Turianus,' which he is known by today.
The Merchant's Scribe in Torcadino had heard tell of the play that I am producing and wished further information. Perhaps the citizens of Torcadino have not forgotten Quintus. The journey between cities is by no means insurmountable. Perhaps he will find a familiar face or two in the tiers when the curtain parts.
I spent some time in the Great Theater last evening. The last of the props, the helms of Warrior and Assassin have been delivered. For a time, I sat beside an auburn-maned girl and spoke about the ghost that haunts the stage. She wanted to know his story. He was agitated, opening and closing doors in the dressing room area, rattling the ropes and chains that open the great curtain. Perhaps Phineahas knows his story, as he is a teller of tales by vocation. I do not know about the ghost, only of him. Perhaps the Story Teller can fill in the details.
I saw Phineahas last evening, after the ghost had settled down. It seems that the more people who enter the theater, the less active the old spirit becomes. I do not think he is frightened, rather he simply will not brook being disturbed for the folly of only one or two. I was surprised that Phineahas was taken aback at the placard-wearing callers. I had rather thought he would enjoy hearing his name heralded in so great a city as Ar, the finest city from the Barrens to the World's End. From the most frigid peaks of Axe Glacier to the hottest Oases in the Tahari. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, he is a humble sort. Something about having his likeness and his name being on the ears and eyes of nearly every citizen, slave and animal of the city unnerves him. I cannot fathom why. He is humble. That has to be it.