ravenDivinity

When the Flames Die

KILL IT WITH FIRE.

When the Flames Die

Gareth finished his plate, and he exchanged looks with Eva across the table. He listened to Sophia and Mentha initiate a conversation, and Harker's sense of alert peaked before subsiding into the innocence of a child. Of course, it didn't vanish, but it was in the back of his mind and he still kept note of the boy's lone presence with no adult. "Hello, excuse me, Mentha, my name is Gareth," he interjected after Sophia ended her question and the boy responded. "Why are you here all alone? Where are your parents?" Gareth's voice sounded sympathetic, and it was indeed sincere; a child shouldn't be out by himself in any case, unless it was only for a very brief period of time or to a place where he'd be safe. The boy's clothes indicated he was from around these parts, but the eyes were very bizarre.

When the Flames Die

Gareth stared at the menu blankly as he tried to piece together an order. "Uh... Eggs and sausage." Harker pulled himself to sit at an empty table near the bar, and he drummed on the wooden surface while he waited for the food. He was grateful that Sophia would pay for it all without making a huge dent in the wealth of royalty. God knows where they'd be without money. He scratched his shoulder and recalled his typical outfit was in his quarters and that he couldn't don his cloak like he usually would. They'd in all likelihood have to return to the castle for the day.

When the Flames Die

Gareth equipped his weapons, bow and quiver on his back and all, and he used his hand to mimic a comb and part his hair to the left. He followed Sophia downstairs, with less grace and more trembling feet on the stairs, cuts on his face from the night before partially healed but not faded. He covered his mouth with his fingertips while Sophia flagged down the bartender and he kept quiet, him taking a backseat now in the group's actions. Taking his hand off of his face and patting his trousers somewhat idly, he shyly glanced at Eva and weakly smiled, before he turned his gaze away and stared about the floor and his feet, his teeth biting his lip.

When the Flames Die

"Good morning to you both, as well." Gareth twisted his body and popped his back into working order, the pain from his head subsiding. His stomach growled, and immediately he blurted, "Excuse me, sorry..." The offer of food enticed him, and breakfast would satisfy his hunger. "Yes, that seems especially in order," he joked about his stomach's grumbling. His hair was messy and uncombed, Harker having just risen from deep slumber, and meticulous as he was about attire and hair, he lacked his comb. No matter, he had to put up with it until they returned to the castle. However, he didn't particularly appreciate looking so untidy. As he got to his feet, he stretched his arms with another heaving yawn.

When the Flames Die

If you're wondering just how much thought I put into that post, it took a lot of research on symbolism behind aches and flowers. Felt like Gareth needed an ulterior motive.

When the Flames Die

Gareth slowly rose with a long yawn, and he found the top of his head and his forehead aching with pain. The final moments of his dream were fleeting and ephemeral. Cracks filled the buildings of the bleak world of his nightmare, and it seemed like all of the voices slowly progressed into supportive tones. All this came when Gareth, crowned with an oak branch lined with irises, white lilies, comet orchids and oak leaves, smote Cain with an arrow through the head. His eyes opened a little more optimistically this time, and his dream opened him to a sort of metaphysical experience. 'Just what was that?' thought Gareth curiously. Perhaps he felt a little more spiritual then, but he held onto the fantasy presented to him in the dream—though it was bizarre, it gave him hope.

He came to his senses and relieved himself of the drunkenness of awakening, and a grunt past his lips. "Ah, uh, yeah..." Harker sat on the edge of his bed, his hand scratching his head and his leg lethargically.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Altim frowned as the lad made a fool of himself before the crowd, and his frown contorted his face into a full grimace when the area grew dark. He was able to see in the darkness, albeit not with as much clarity as in the light; nevertheless, he could see, at least, and his eyes watched as people around him began running to the exits. Feet stomped around and cascaded down the stands of the arena, and shouting erupted among the throng filling the open air. Knights retreated to pull the king away from the scene, and civilians shrieked in terror. Although he felt anxious in the situation, the gravity of the moment paralyzed Daror and impeded his thoughts and actions. How, after all, could he expect something as bizarre as this to happen on such a fine day?

Amidst the chaos, he urged into a slow withdrawal from the commotion, and Altim pushed himself into a run when the women draped in black appeared, those he dubbed then 'Black Women', so given their attire and the mood of their appearance. Not the most pleasant of sights, especially during all the horror and uproar. Faster, faster he sprinted into the crowd, breathing heavy and exerting the increasing energies about him in gusts of wind through the turmoil. The darkness seemed to consume everything, looming over the town midday, and he knew there was no natural cause. It ate up every corridor of the town, every nook and every cranny, and nothing was lit aside from lights cast by the objects of man. How ironic, he found it, that though mankind was a corrupted good, it was the only light in the dark. "Damn," he whispered to himself as he turned a street corner. He was safer locked inside and away from the crowd.

Somehow, however, he felt it wasn't the boy who loosed the shadows upon the town; nay, he was far too innocent, in fact, Altim believed it was the boy who came to the market earlier looking for food. No, it couldn't be the boy. Daror knew something malicious was at work, an enemy of Othea. Not all was lost, but Evokers all around were in danger, and it came to pass that they must hide their power with more effort now. Altim turned another corner. What did this mean? How would this sway the favor of the king? Doom encroached on Amaryth.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Altim sighed. Nothing the king mentioned truly interested the boy, and nothing the king mentioned truly mattered in the way of politics and the people. He decided there wasn't much in the way of policy he could learn about the new king there, but the tournament would at least be fun to watch. Not that he wanted to participate; nay, senseless fighting had no use in his life, and he'd rather only fight when it was necessary. Perhaps he would compete just for sport; however, Daror wasn't confident in his melee abilities, and his prowess lied more in ranged combat. Of course, the kingdom offered good entertainment, so he obliged in watching whatever show they had. The woodsman whom he bought firewood from earlier as well as the baker who produced famous tarts rose to participate, and some other participants came forward, from lands far and wide and lands near and small.

Uldor, Land of Glory. (High Fantasy)

Wow, Uldor died hard. :|