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High above the fighting, on a crooked floor
Where the forum air is moist, a bright copper orb works brilliant hues into bands of beauty. And as even the most solid of her rainbows ever flees towards the distant horizon, never to be touched by the hand of man for fear it should destroy the work of perfection, so too parts the smoke of the chamber. It flees to the corners, it seeks protection amidst the beams above, huddles against the walls. And with its passing, vision returns to those who watch from the cracked tiles claiming the chamberfloor's center.
Tiny lights flicker, their lives now threatened by the winds of motion. Winds summoned forth by the billowing of the robe carried by a well-fed figure. Some had died already, and were not mourned. They had served their purpose now, no longer needing to breathe warmth into the air as would the orb on a summer's day. The ripples dancing on the water surface were dying too, naught but echoes of the great splash that spawned them, yet went unheard outside the chamber.
The braziers watched stoically, barely disturbed from their duties. It would take more to extinguish them and they happily spread their perfumes, gifts for the smoke to carry with it as it fled.
The robe was as decent as it was rich, in colour and embroidery. Gold thread danced along the edges, writing mystical tales of wonders with patterns both simple and complex. Above, several chins moved as words were formed, and forged into a single voice.
"Be welcome, Larry Silverfall. You will excuse us for not opening the door, as we were otherwise occupied. Have you brought a friend?"
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