Falcon Darkflight
03-27-07, 03:04 PM
The Corone air was thin and almost crisp as the sun’s scarlet crest cut above the pine trees, showering the farmed land below with scattered pillars of morning light through the broken branches. The sounds of a small river lapping at the soil edges of the farmhouse bank amongst the early morning birdsong created a peaceful atmosphere that was rarely ever experienced anywhere else on Althanas, and the only other sound that stirred was the splashing of crystal stream water from the shallow end of the channel where the clear water cascaded over a set of small rocks.
“…It’s peaceful here. Reminds me of the few solitary moments I used to get in the courtyard of the old ‘Dragon’s headquarters back in the day…”
The voice, slightly broken by a rough, gravely tone, contained an element of satisfaction as it echoed throughout the oak panelled cottage door. There was a clang as a soup ladle jutted against the side of an iron cooking pot, and through the window a pair of familiar green eyes peered through, scanning the grassy lawn ahead for those damned squirrels that had been taking the fresh nuts all morning.
“…I swear to god, if I ever catch one of those furry little bastards…” The man moaned, sipping a spoonful of the creamy brown mixture he had been brewing with such absolute care and attention all morning. He winced as the hot liquid touched his lips.
“…Taste’s like crap. I need those goddamned nuts, but the furry bastards keep getting them. Damn those furry bastards…”
Canen Darkflight looked through the window out towards the sunrise, placing the ladle on the table for a moment to appreciate the crimson dawn. Since he had built himself a new home in Corone, much had changed. He had discovered a love of home cooking, learned to appreciate the local literature and had gotten up early every morning to watch that scarlet ball of flame soak up the sky. Yet, even in this time of peace, something still seemed to be missing. He looked back towards the interior of the kitchen area, to the mantelpiece where the spoils of his great journey were all aligned neatly. He peered into the polished metal side of The Valiance, rubbing the side of it gently with a rag before examining the blade’s edge with a careful finger.
As he ran the finger down the cool side of the sword, his memory wandered. It was as if he was sliding an index finger down a timeline. All the people he had met. All the lives he had taken. The experiences he had, the places he’d been. It had all been such an overwhelming part of his life, travelling, fighting for forgiveness. He had long since accepted that Nocturnis was never going to come back to him, that Gideon was gone. It had been an extremely difficult time for him but somehow, someway, Corone had brought Canen a home again. Some sort of life that he could live in peace, without fear of being lynched by angry nomads or technologically advanced soldiers.
His finger stopped at a nick in the blade, the first chip he had ever noticed in it since he had received it. Rubbing furiously at it, Canen frowned. He had always liked his sword in pristine condition. It was his religion. Or, it had been. Now, those weary green eyes looked upon the chip in the blade and simply turned away without the will to restore it.
“I don’t use the damned thing anymore anyway. Is that what you were going to say Canen?”
The second voice startled him for a moment, but Canen soon realised he had been talking to himself.
“….Perhaps I’ve chosen a life I’m just not fit for…”
“…It’s peaceful here. Reminds me of the few solitary moments I used to get in the courtyard of the old ‘Dragon’s headquarters back in the day…”
The voice, slightly broken by a rough, gravely tone, contained an element of satisfaction as it echoed throughout the oak panelled cottage door. There was a clang as a soup ladle jutted against the side of an iron cooking pot, and through the window a pair of familiar green eyes peered through, scanning the grassy lawn ahead for those damned squirrels that had been taking the fresh nuts all morning.
“…I swear to god, if I ever catch one of those furry little bastards…” The man moaned, sipping a spoonful of the creamy brown mixture he had been brewing with such absolute care and attention all morning. He winced as the hot liquid touched his lips.
“…Taste’s like crap. I need those goddamned nuts, but the furry bastards keep getting them. Damn those furry bastards…”
Canen Darkflight looked through the window out towards the sunrise, placing the ladle on the table for a moment to appreciate the crimson dawn. Since he had built himself a new home in Corone, much had changed. He had discovered a love of home cooking, learned to appreciate the local literature and had gotten up early every morning to watch that scarlet ball of flame soak up the sky. Yet, even in this time of peace, something still seemed to be missing. He looked back towards the interior of the kitchen area, to the mantelpiece where the spoils of his great journey were all aligned neatly. He peered into the polished metal side of The Valiance, rubbing the side of it gently with a rag before examining the blade’s edge with a careful finger.
As he ran the finger down the cool side of the sword, his memory wandered. It was as if he was sliding an index finger down a timeline. All the people he had met. All the lives he had taken. The experiences he had, the places he’d been. It had all been such an overwhelming part of his life, travelling, fighting for forgiveness. He had long since accepted that Nocturnis was never going to come back to him, that Gideon was gone. It had been an extremely difficult time for him but somehow, someway, Corone had brought Canen a home again. Some sort of life that he could live in peace, without fear of being lynched by angry nomads or technologically advanced soldiers.
His finger stopped at a nick in the blade, the first chip he had ever noticed in it since he had received it. Rubbing furiously at it, Canen frowned. He had always liked his sword in pristine condition. It was his religion. Or, it had been. Now, those weary green eyes looked upon the chip in the blade and simply turned away without the will to restore it.
“I don’t use the damned thing anymore anyway. Is that what you were going to say Canen?”
The second voice startled him for a moment, but Canen soon realised he had been talking to himself.
“….Perhaps I’ve chosen a life I’m just not fit for…”