Post by Fang on Jun 26, 2016 0:02:22 GMT
In the heart of the Middle District Wake wandered with his hands in his pockets, dismayed at his failure to track down the one who had so injured the small green girl. When he thought he was drawing closer to the culprit he soon found that he was following the wrong trail, or simply found a dead end. It was disheartening to the young man, and so he moped about in the dingy city with little hope and a melancholy air.
Surprisingly the man was fully clothed, with tunic and jacket in place despite their dirt. As Wake watched the stones pass beneath his feet he noticed exactly how filthy his clothes had become, and was suddenly ashamed at his appearance. Despite his travels he had always boasted a cleanly nature, and the realization that he had somehow slipped out of his habitual grooming shocked him out of his depressing state. His head raised and his shoulders squared, a new mission taking over his demeanor.
Alas, young Wake always did have a sort attention span, and so his mission was soon lost as a glimmer out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was only then that Wake noticed that he had wandered into an alley which appeared surrounded by abandoned buildings. Ivy clung to every wall around, and overhead it stretched to the sky as if its leaves were hands grasping at the sun. Their foliage was thick and healthy, despite being born in the filth and the ruin of the neglected street below, so thick that they gave the appearance of a narrow meadow.
A soft breeze whistled above and wafted the leaves as it passed. As if it were a being with a purpose Wake saw the breeze travel through the vines, stirring the leaves as it passed down over the wall to his right. When the breeze reached waist hight Wake caught a glimpse of the glimmer once more, and this time spied its source. Hidden by the thick growth of the oldest of the vines a golden doorknob peeked out from behind emerald leaves, catching the sun's rays and casting it about the alleyway in a fleeting arch. Wake couldn't deny his curiosity; he wasdrawn to the knob as if had called him by name.
It felt as if time slowed when he reached for the hidden handle, a pressure that he could not identify weighing upon him as he finally crasped its cool, smooth surface. With a sudden twist he turned the handle and simultaneously shoved, disturbing the vines but doing little else. Wake's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he tried again, and again, growing more irate with every attempt. Surely the handle wasnt a joke. It was too obviously expensive for something like that. Wake gently moved aside leaves to inspect around the knob, inexplicably feeling that it would be best not to damage the hardy plants.
There were no obvious indications that a door was even there, no evidence of hinges or framing to support it. The handle seemed to be stuck into the solid brick. Puzzled, but losing interest, Wake decided to inspect the knob itself. Etched finely into the base of the handle was a single word, barely decipherable.
PULL
Wake felt such a fool, as one could understand. Chuckling to himself and checking once more to see if anyone had noticed his error Wake twisted the handle and pulled. He had expected to strain against it in vain, but instead he found himself lurching backwards from the sudden release of the energy he had put into opening the door. A portion of the wall had swung out, but along with the wall the vines had also moved, seemingly severed. Wake felt a pang of regret for opening the door as he realized that the vines would soon die after being cut in such a manner, but wasted no time in peering through the new opening he had created.
Inside he saw nothing but black. Tentatively he stepped into the opening, knowing that old buildings often held dangers such as rotting floors. The ground seemed stable, however, and after another step Wake reached behind him to close the door, since it was already as dark as night inside.
Where was the door? Wake groped, his hand outstretched and stepping backwards as he tried to find the handle. Slightly alarmed he turned around, only to find more darkness. His hackles prickled as he realized that he had stepped into the unknown and paid the price. Someone had obviously set the magical trap to catch idiots like himself, and no matter how old it was it seemed that it was still active.
"Well..." Wake began before a rushing sound filled his ears and cut off his words.
A bright light blinded Wake, his eyes already accustomed to the pitch black and displeased with the sudden luminance. He threw his arm up, covering his face as he waited for his death to come. The rushing sound faded slowly, and his eyes adjusted. Gingerly Wake lowered his arm and peered around, as if expecting to find himself deposited at the gates of the afterlife for judgement.
Instead he found himself standing upon soft grass beneath a canopy of lush trees, the sound of birds chirping and gently running water filling the air. Wake stared in amazement, simply taking in the sight. What he had thought to be a trap appeared, instead, to be a sanctuary. Though overgrown and obviously forgotten, Wake could still see the signs of a path leading from the massive hedge wall in front and behind him, twisting about a nearly hidden stream that bubbled up from the ground and traveled dozens of yards before disappearing back to its source. Near the stream a small bench sat, choked with weeds but still visible after an indeterminant amount of time.
Wake moved closer to the bench, inspecting its superb craftsmanship with an appreciative eye. It appeared to made of several different woods of varying shade and hue, twisting together to form a fluid seat and back that spoke of a comforting embrace. The entire piece seemed as if it has simply been taken from a tree and set upon the ground, as seamless as it was. Wake felt a deep calm that he had not felt since entering Etirath overtake him, and he let himself rest on the bench with a smile on his face.
As Wake stretched out, growing ever more comfortable, he draped an arm over the back of the bench. His fingers grazed over the bac, and there he felt a slight indentation. Curious he rolled off of the magnificently comfortable seat and casually strolled around it. A words was carved in the back of the bench, though the grain twisted around it as if it were a natural part of the wood. Wake brushed away the accumulated dust to make out its entirety, hoping silently that it did not say, "Do not sit."
Instead, in curling, gorgeous script, it said Azalea.
Wake paused for a few moments, something nudging the back of his mind. Should he know that name? Shrugging it off he took off his coat and tunic, walking to the far end of the stream to begin the much needed cleansing of his clothes. Everything else could wait.
Surprisingly the man was fully clothed, with tunic and jacket in place despite their dirt. As Wake watched the stones pass beneath his feet he noticed exactly how filthy his clothes had become, and was suddenly ashamed at his appearance. Despite his travels he had always boasted a cleanly nature, and the realization that he had somehow slipped out of his habitual grooming shocked him out of his depressing state. His head raised and his shoulders squared, a new mission taking over his demeanor.
Alas, young Wake always did have a sort attention span, and so his mission was soon lost as a glimmer out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was only then that Wake noticed that he had wandered into an alley which appeared surrounded by abandoned buildings. Ivy clung to every wall around, and overhead it stretched to the sky as if its leaves were hands grasping at the sun. Their foliage was thick and healthy, despite being born in the filth and the ruin of the neglected street below, so thick that they gave the appearance of a narrow meadow.
A soft breeze whistled above and wafted the leaves as it passed. As if it were a being with a purpose Wake saw the breeze travel through the vines, stirring the leaves as it passed down over the wall to his right. When the breeze reached waist hight Wake caught a glimpse of the glimmer once more, and this time spied its source. Hidden by the thick growth of the oldest of the vines a golden doorknob peeked out from behind emerald leaves, catching the sun's rays and casting it about the alleyway in a fleeting arch. Wake couldn't deny his curiosity; he wasdrawn to the knob as if had called him by name.
It felt as if time slowed when he reached for the hidden handle, a pressure that he could not identify weighing upon him as he finally crasped its cool, smooth surface. With a sudden twist he turned the handle and simultaneously shoved, disturbing the vines but doing little else. Wake's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he tried again, and again, growing more irate with every attempt. Surely the handle wasnt a joke. It was too obviously expensive for something like that. Wake gently moved aside leaves to inspect around the knob, inexplicably feeling that it would be best not to damage the hardy plants.
There were no obvious indications that a door was even there, no evidence of hinges or framing to support it. The handle seemed to be stuck into the solid brick. Puzzled, but losing interest, Wake decided to inspect the knob itself. Etched finely into the base of the handle was a single word, barely decipherable.
PULL
Wake felt such a fool, as one could understand. Chuckling to himself and checking once more to see if anyone had noticed his error Wake twisted the handle and pulled. He had expected to strain against it in vain, but instead he found himself lurching backwards from the sudden release of the energy he had put into opening the door. A portion of the wall had swung out, but along with the wall the vines had also moved, seemingly severed. Wake felt a pang of regret for opening the door as he realized that the vines would soon die after being cut in such a manner, but wasted no time in peering through the new opening he had created.
Inside he saw nothing but black. Tentatively he stepped into the opening, knowing that old buildings often held dangers such as rotting floors. The ground seemed stable, however, and after another step Wake reached behind him to close the door, since it was already as dark as night inside.
Where was the door? Wake groped, his hand outstretched and stepping backwards as he tried to find the handle. Slightly alarmed he turned around, only to find more darkness. His hackles prickled as he realized that he had stepped into the unknown and paid the price. Someone had obviously set the magical trap to catch idiots like himself, and no matter how old it was it seemed that it was still active.
"Well..." Wake began before a rushing sound filled his ears and cut off his words.
A bright light blinded Wake, his eyes already accustomed to the pitch black and displeased with the sudden luminance. He threw his arm up, covering his face as he waited for his death to come. The rushing sound faded slowly, and his eyes adjusted. Gingerly Wake lowered his arm and peered around, as if expecting to find himself deposited at the gates of the afterlife for judgement.
Instead he found himself standing upon soft grass beneath a canopy of lush trees, the sound of birds chirping and gently running water filling the air. Wake stared in amazement, simply taking in the sight. What he had thought to be a trap appeared, instead, to be a sanctuary. Though overgrown and obviously forgotten, Wake could still see the signs of a path leading from the massive hedge wall in front and behind him, twisting about a nearly hidden stream that bubbled up from the ground and traveled dozens of yards before disappearing back to its source. Near the stream a small bench sat, choked with weeds but still visible after an indeterminant amount of time.
Wake moved closer to the bench, inspecting its superb craftsmanship with an appreciative eye. It appeared to made of several different woods of varying shade and hue, twisting together to form a fluid seat and back that spoke of a comforting embrace. The entire piece seemed as if it has simply been taken from a tree and set upon the ground, as seamless as it was. Wake felt a deep calm that he had not felt since entering Etirath overtake him, and he let himself rest on the bench with a smile on his face.
As Wake stretched out, growing ever more comfortable, he draped an arm over the back of the bench. His fingers grazed over the bac, and there he felt a slight indentation. Curious he rolled off of the magnificently comfortable seat and casually strolled around it. A words was carved in the back of the bench, though the grain twisted around it as if it were a natural part of the wood. Wake brushed away the accumulated dust to make out its entirety, hoping silently that it did not say, "Do not sit."
Instead, in curling, gorgeous script, it said Azalea.
Wake paused for a few moments, something nudging the back of his mind. Should he know that name? Shrugging it off he took off his coat and tunic, walking to the far end of the stream to begin the much needed cleansing of his clothes. Everything else could wait.