Rayleigh
01-12-16, 12:05 PM
Closed to Groot
http://digital-art-gallery.com/oid/116/640x304_20091_Homeless_2d_sci_fi_junkyard_picture_ image_digital_art.jpg
It rose from the earth like a mountain, and in the darkness, it almost looked like one. Backlit by the nearby town of Ettermire, the vast majority of the towering mass was enveloped in darkness. Sharp edges jutted forth at odd angles, like the the rugged edges of an looming cliff face, blocking the bits of light that did work to illuminate it. There was no sound, and there was no movement, simply a mound cloaked in darkness and mystery.
But there was a scent, which was the first indicator that all was not as it appeared. The rich, earthy smell that one might expect was replaced by something much sharper, and to most, far less pleasant. Rayleigh Aston, however, drew in the air like a nicotine-starved smoker. The harsh metallics, mingling with the musty aroma of time and gasoline reminded the woman of her father's shop. Once, that smell had brought her great comfort, and though four years had passed since she had last visited her old home, her reaction was still much the same.
The wrought iron fence stood nearly three feet taller than the brunette, but that fact no longer discouraged her; she had been scaling it since she was young, and much shorter. Wedging the toes of her boots into the fence's lowest rung, she heaved her small frame higher. With one hand, and a soft grunt of exertion, Ray hooked the ring of her lantern on one of the many spikes. It took a bit more time and concentration to ease her body between said spikes, but by using the edge of the "No Trespassing" sign as a foothold, she was finally able to navigate her way to the other side. Her heart was thudding as she retrieved her light, and she found her breath a bit more slowly than usual. This was easier ten years ago, she thought with a grimace. I must be getting old.
Of course, all negative thoughts fell away when she approached, just as they always did. Maybe it really was morbid that her favorite hideaway was riddled with so much death. She stared over a graveyard, where forgotten relics lay in silent wait, within view of the bustling city where they were conceived. The dim light cast by her small flame caught the reflective edge of an old steam machine, pipes and nobs peeking through the tufts of grass that worked to reclaim the metal. The mechanic paused only a few seconds to study it, before moving her attention the hollowed carcass of a prototype airship. Her excursions with the Tarot Hierarchy had consumed much of her time over the past year, and new items had been collected since her previous visit.
Rayleigh turned back to the mountain, which was not a mountain at all, but instead, a pile of junk. Items cast aside, their intended purpose no longer apparent, or even relevant. They remained in limbo, waiting for something to happen. For something to change. For something to breathe them new life. Perhaps that was why she felt so at home there.
http://digital-art-gallery.com/oid/116/640x304_20091_Homeless_2d_sci_fi_junkyard_picture_ image_digital_art.jpg
It rose from the earth like a mountain, and in the darkness, it almost looked like one. Backlit by the nearby town of Ettermire, the vast majority of the towering mass was enveloped in darkness. Sharp edges jutted forth at odd angles, like the the rugged edges of an looming cliff face, blocking the bits of light that did work to illuminate it. There was no sound, and there was no movement, simply a mound cloaked in darkness and mystery.
But there was a scent, which was the first indicator that all was not as it appeared. The rich, earthy smell that one might expect was replaced by something much sharper, and to most, far less pleasant. Rayleigh Aston, however, drew in the air like a nicotine-starved smoker. The harsh metallics, mingling with the musty aroma of time and gasoline reminded the woman of her father's shop. Once, that smell had brought her great comfort, and though four years had passed since she had last visited her old home, her reaction was still much the same.
The wrought iron fence stood nearly three feet taller than the brunette, but that fact no longer discouraged her; she had been scaling it since she was young, and much shorter. Wedging the toes of her boots into the fence's lowest rung, she heaved her small frame higher. With one hand, and a soft grunt of exertion, Ray hooked the ring of her lantern on one of the many spikes. It took a bit more time and concentration to ease her body between said spikes, but by using the edge of the "No Trespassing" sign as a foothold, she was finally able to navigate her way to the other side. Her heart was thudding as she retrieved her light, and she found her breath a bit more slowly than usual. This was easier ten years ago, she thought with a grimace. I must be getting old.
Of course, all negative thoughts fell away when she approached, just as they always did. Maybe it really was morbid that her favorite hideaway was riddled with so much death. She stared over a graveyard, where forgotten relics lay in silent wait, within view of the bustling city where they were conceived. The dim light cast by her small flame caught the reflective edge of an old steam machine, pipes and nobs peeking through the tufts of grass that worked to reclaim the metal. The mechanic paused only a few seconds to study it, before moving her attention the hollowed carcass of a prototype airship. Her excursions with the Tarot Hierarchy had consumed much of her time over the past year, and new items had been collected since her previous visit.
Rayleigh turned back to the mountain, which was not a mountain at all, but instead, a pile of junk. Items cast aside, their intended purpose no longer apparent, or even relevant. They remained in limbo, waiting for something to happen. For something to change. For something to breathe them new life. Perhaps that was why she felt so at home there.