None So Blind
05-25-08, 05:28 PM
(closed to that Numbers guy)
Knife's Edge was a city that had a history that few even knew. It was one of the many reasons it reminded her of her own home. After all, the Seat of the Beauty was well hidden within the Coronian forest of Concordia, deep in cover by both ragged, angry wood and the strong magics of her people. Here,instead of forest, there were drifts of snow that could bury a man alive and ensure that he wouldn't stay that way for long. It was bitter cold, ebbing back and forth between Minister and King, a loyalty that was always up against the blade of faith. It was here, that a tiny bird sat upon a marbled statue. Her feathers of black and green stood out against the swirls of grey and ivory upon which she perched, her keen black eyes fixated on a small building across the street.
Above the door of the small brick building, there lay a tavern sign. Above the modestly written name of The Acorn's Seed, there was a flourish of spirals and frill. The shape of an acorn could be distinguished amongst the mess of lines, but it was only when the sign swung up towards the West in the breeze that the curves seemed to shift, revealing a cross hidden within the nut. It certainly made sense to the small bird. The reincarnated Chieftess had never bowed knee to any patriarch, but she didn't side with the Church in the ongoing conflicts. They were, after all, all a bunch of nuts.
A man, wrapped in skins and burlap, hurried down the windy street, disappearing into the Acorn with a slam of the door. It made clumps of snow fall to the street from the roof, and tiny fangs of ice come hurtling from the side of the building into a pile of snow. The pile slid from where it covered a leaning cellar door, and the bird grinned within her devious mind. She flew to perch nearby, on a garbage pail that had tipped over and it's now nearly-empty cavernous mouth served as a home for a nest of spiders. Death had carved Natamrael into a more patient creature than she had before. Fluffing her feathers against the cold, the tiny bird squatted down and continued her vigil of the cellar door.
If all was right, she'd just have to follow the hired guard in when he opened it up, and so many wrongs would be set right.
Knife's Edge was a city that had a history that few even knew. It was one of the many reasons it reminded her of her own home. After all, the Seat of the Beauty was well hidden within the Coronian forest of Concordia, deep in cover by both ragged, angry wood and the strong magics of her people. Here,instead of forest, there were drifts of snow that could bury a man alive and ensure that he wouldn't stay that way for long. It was bitter cold, ebbing back and forth between Minister and King, a loyalty that was always up against the blade of faith. It was here, that a tiny bird sat upon a marbled statue. Her feathers of black and green stood out against the swirls of grey and ivory upon which she perched, her keen black eyes fixated on a small building across the street.
Above the door of the small brick building, there lay a tavern sign. Above the modestly written name of The Acorn's Seed, there was a flourish of spirals and frill. The shape of an acorn could be distinguished amongst the mess of lines, but it was only when the sign swung up towards the West in the breeze that the curves seemed to shift, revealing a cross hidden within the nut. It certainly made sense to the small bird. The reincarnated Chieftess had never bowed knee to any patriarch, but she didn't side with the Church in the ongoing conflicts. They were, after all, all a bunch of nuts.
A man, wrapped in skins and burlap, hurried down the windy street, disappearing into the Acorn with a slam of the door. It made clumps of snow fall to the street from the roof, and tiny fangs of ice come hurtling from the side of the building into a pile of snow. The pile slid from where it covered a leaning cellar door, and the bird grinned within her devious mind. She flew to perch nearby, on a garbage pail that had tipped over and it's now nearly-empty cavernous mouth served as a home for a nest of spiders. Death had carved Natamrael into a more patient creature than she had before. Fluffing her feathers against the cold, the tiny bird squatted down and continued her vigil of the cellar door.
If all was right, she'd just have to follow the hired guard in when he opened it up, and so many wrongs would be set right.