Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - Antagonist’s Anarchy: Derived from Dianthus

Legolas · 11-06-2008, 08:35 AM

Ydalon

The scratching of the scalp and mussing of hair.
Grit tumbling sheetward at the disruption of that night-formed eye-cake
A deafening yawn echoes through the room.

Its interior was lost to the blur of morning sight and the mental haze in its company. Who gets to sleep in true beds anymore?
And yet, no more time to linger, lest they all drift off on these gentle winds.
One splash of water, make certain it's no thunder pot, wrap it up, get dressed, sling, and away.

'Salvation is adrift'
'Chose unity or failure'

"That's twice, Aza," muttered Ydalon. "Think you were years late on the wisdom."

At this hour, haste might have caught those who slipped away. A thorough search might have found the ones left - Telryn, Jason, Tod. But at this hour, being the hour past awakening, it is customary to eat.

So it was Ydalon sat in the tavern, musing, not on the future, nor on the meal - Oh no, definitely not the meal - but on what had passed before.

***

The fire burned yet despite the ceaseless drizzle. It was not banked. The patterned tiles of the overgrown plaza brooked no fiery expansion, though the crackle and spluttering spoke plainly of its intentions.

The boy was gone, at most a pair of eyes in that tree line around her. To sides and back, the sunken shrine with its many mysterious inscriptions was hidden by shrub and tree. A haphazard hedge of nature's offspring made of this a secluded, private space known only to those who should have knowledge of it.

Three more nights had she waited, waited to greet his return. But when hunger flared and she was sat shivering before those shrinking flames, all that was left to greet was the Other. He approached now before dawn, each settling of a boot a thunderclap upon the brittle stone, piercing without effort that droning of the rain. She would gnaw her foot off and bolt.

The Other had come alone to this hidden plaza, leaving his following behind of respect for its sanctity. An observing young man would have seen the trembling waif lifted by the collar of her dress, shaken by that one muscled arm. Lips moving in demand, tears mingling with the weather. His lass cast off, sliding, rolling across the floor until bruises grew thicker than the inks on a sailor's arm. Something might have snapped.
None who came here could leave in good spirits.

11-06-2008, 08:35 AM	#121
Legolas Jack Burton Join Date: March 31, 2001 Location: The zephyr lands beneath the brine. Age: 41 Posts: 5,459	Re: Antagonist’s Anarchy: Good morning she said Ydalon The scratching of the scalp and mussing of hair. Grit tumbling sheetward at the disruption of that night-formed eye-cake A deafening yawn echoes through the room. Its interior was lost to the blur of morning sight and the mental haze in its company. Who gets to sleep in true beds anymore? And yet, no more time to linger, lest they all drift off on these gentle winds. One splash of water, make certain it's no thunder pot, wrap it up, get dressed, sling, and away. 'Salvation is adrift' 'Chose unity or failure' "That's twice, Aza," muttered Ydalon. "Think you were years late on the wisdom." At this hour, haste might have caught those who slipped away. A thorough search might have found the ones left - Telryn, Jason, Tod. But at this hour, being the hour past awakening, it is customary to eat. So it was Ydalon sat in the tavern, musing, not on the future, nor on the meal - Oh no, definitely not the meal - but on what had passed before. *** The fire burned yet despite the ceaseless drizzle. It was not banked. The patterned tiles of the overgrown plaza brooked no fiery expansion, though the crackle and spluttering spoke plainly of its intentions. The boy was gone, at most a pair of eyes in that tree line around her. To sides and back, the sunken shrine with its many mysterious inscriptions was hidden by shrub and tree. A haphazard hedge of nature's offspring made of this a secluded, private space known only to those who should have knowledge of it. Three more nights had she waited, waited to greet his return. But when hunger flared and she was sat shivering before those shrinking flames, all that was left to greet was the Other. He approached now before dawn, each settling of a boot a thunderclap upon the brittle stone, piercing without effort that droning of the rain. She would gnaw her foot off and bolt. The Other had come alone to this hidden plaza, leaving his following behind of respect for its sanctity. An observing young man would have seen the trembling waif lifted by the collar of her dress, shaken by that one muscled arm. Lips moving in demand, tears mingling with the weather. His lass cast off, sliding, rolling across the floor until bruises grew thicker than the inks on a sailor's arm. Something might have snapped. None who came here could leave in good spirits.