Post by Edward Chris von Muir on Jul 1, 2021 9:44:54 GMT -6
so i followed the ghost of a king
“Master bard!”
As was forewarned, the moment he crossed into the oasis, children surged forward like a churning sea to get closer to him, voices rising, ever persistent, clamoring for a song or heroic tale. One boy even lifted a coin as if to entice him. Edward declined the offer, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.
Aljana had captured his interest in more ways than one and he, ever akin to following his interests, had sent off to seek the land renowned for its rich lore, and its love of those who would be willing to listen and perhaps spread its stories. For a moment it felt like home. His heart longed for that familiarity. Once, he would have bartered for freedom; now he wished for the option of a home to return to. Even if that home meant responsibilities of the crown.
“How quaint.” Edward’s attention was torn from the treble of kids wishing for a limerick whilst he juggled like a run-of-the-mill thespian to the source of the voice. A woman sat nearby, shaded by the harsh sun beneath a wide tarp. “You best head home, children. High noon approaches.” As if to punctuate her words, the sun emerged from behind the thinly veiled sky, unforgiving and unrelenting. “Besides, the ‘Master bard’ needs time to recuperate from his lengthy journey.”
Hariq Rami was fast approaching, too. She need not remind them of the time they should be spending with their families. Disgruntled, the swarm would disperse, albeit some stragglers remained until another look from the woman set them off.
“Azaria,” she said, offering her hand. Her nails glistened like rubies in the sun spray. He took her hand in his, his touch gentle and cool as the oasis that gave Aljana her life.
“Gilbert,” he supplied before placing a feather-light kiss on her fingertips, careful of the jewelry adorning each one.
The woman’s lips curved upward as if sharing a secret. Like a coeurl, she reclined back beneath the canopy, draping her long legs across the plush cushion, purposely baring the cutlass strapped to her hosed thigh. “The truth does one a thousand favors, Gilbert,” she said, her nonchalant tone belied by her flinty gaze.
“That it does,” he admitted. In a show of good faith, he pushed back his cloak, revealing his ornate knife at his belt. “I confess Gilbert is a nickname.”
Azaria gave a bird-like tilt of her head, pearl earrings clicking as she studied him, searching for more lies. Finding none, her expression softened. “Better.” As swift as the cutlass appeared it slipped away, hidden below cotton and linen. Before her stood a man flushed yet elsewise unperturbed by the rising temperature. How quaint, indeed. “You do not flounder in the heat, drowning in your own sweat.”
Even a fool could catch her unspoken question. “I hail from a desert town,” he allowed, careful of his words as memories surfaced of a disquieted chancellor and a poised secretary, awaiting their melancholic king’s decision. And he—that King. “Even so, I dare not risk heat illness.”
Desert Fever was a snare best avoided in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar faces.
Her smile broadened, crinkling the dark skin around her amber eyes smoldering with unabashed intrigue. Edward found himself fancying the expression even if his heart sped like a mouse in the pouncing coeurl’s shadow; Anna often smiled like that. “Stranger in a familiar land.” Shifting, she leaned forward, bracing her weight upon her elbows, cradling her chin upon the makeshift bridge of her hands. “Fortunate for you, this desert was gracious.”
Quite gracious for it led me to Anna. Edward’s expression softened. He was naïve then, having rushed out of the castle in the dead of night, ill prepared for what the day would bring. Desert Fever does not discriminate. She often reminded him of that as she nursed his fever.
The warmth on his face was no longer from the sun alone. “I come to learn of Aljana’s rich history. Are there any vacancies still at the local inn?”
Open.
ooc. Will he get a roommate?!
As was forewarned, the moment he crossed into the oasis, children surged forward like a churning sea to get closer to him, voices rising, ever persistent, clamoring for a song or heroic tale. One boy even lifted a coin as if to entice him. Edward declined the offer, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.
Aljana had captured his interest in more ways than one and he, ever akin to following his interests, had sent off to seek the land renowned for its rich lore, and its love of those who would be willing to listen and perhaps spread its stories. For a moment it felt like home. His heart longed for that familiarity. Once, he would have bartered for freedom; now he wished for the option of a home to return to. Even if that home meant responsibilities of the crown.
“How quaint.” Edward’s attention was torn from the treble of kids wishing for a limerick whilst he juggled like a run-of-the-mill thespian to the source of the voice. A woman sat nearby, shaded by the harsh sun beneath a wide tarp. “You best head home, children. High noon approaches.” As if to punctuate her words, the sun emerged from behind the thinly veiled sky, unforgiving and unrelenting. “Besides, the ‘Master bard’ needs time to recuperate from his lengthy journey.”
Hariq Rami was fast approaching, too. She need not remind them of the time they should be spending with their families. Disgruntled, the swarm would disperse, albeit some stragglers remained until another look from the woman set them off.
“Azaria,” she said, offering her hand. Her nails glistened like rubies in the sun spray. He took her hand in his, his touch gentle and cool as the oasis that gave Aljana her life.
“Gilbert,” he supplied before placing a feather-light kiss on her fingertips, careful of the jewelry adorning each one.
The woman’s lips curved upward as if sharing a secret. Like a coeurl, she reclined back beneath the canopy, draping her long legs across the plush cushion, purposely baring the cutlass strapped to her hosed thigh. “The truth does one a thousand favors, Gilbert,” she said, her nonchalant tone belied by her flinty gaze.
“That it does,” he admitted. In a show of good faith, he pushed back his cloak, revealing his ornate knife at his belt. “I confess Gilbert is a nickname.”
Azaria gave a bird-like tilt of her head, pearl earrings clicking as she studied him, searching for more lies. Finding none, her expression softened. “Better.” As swift as the cutlass appeared it slipped away, hidden below cotton and linen. Before her stood a man flushed yet elsewise unperturbed by the rising temperature. How quaint, indeed. “You do not flounder in the heat, drowning in your own sweat.”
Even a fool could catch her unspoken question. “I hail from a desert town,” he allowed, careful of his words as memories surfaced of a disquieted chancellor and a poised secretary, awaiting their melancholic king’s decision. And he—that King. “Even so, I dare not risk heat illness.”
Desert Fever was a snare best avoided in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar faces.
Her smile broadened, crinkling the dark skin around her amber eyes smoldering with unabashed intrigue. Edward found himself fancying the expression even if his heart sped like a mouse in the pouncing coeurl’s shadow; Anna often smiled like that. “Stranger in a familiar land.” Shifting, she leaned forward, bracing her weight upon her elbows, cradling her chin upon the makeshift bridge of her hands. “Fortunate for you, this desert was gracious.”
Quite gracious for it led me to Anna. Edward’s expression softened. He was naïve then, having rushed out of the castle in the dead of night, ill prepared for what the day would bring. Desert Fever does not discriminate. She often reminded him of that as she nursed his fever.
The warmth on his face was no longer from the sun alone. “I come to learn of Aljana’s rich history. Are there any vacancies still at the local inn?”
Open.
ooc. Will he get a roommate?!
