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Winter’s courting calls hung a siren screen across its dismal aperture, a whistling, haunting edge, a lilting, frostbite tune he followed through the beckoning squall and the eerie, otherworldly sheen, and he traversed so far, and for so long, that he’d forgotten about the Basin celebration altogether. Instead of posturing himself in grins and dancing on clouds, in fortune telling or riddles along streaks of ambrosia, Erebos chased down lantern lights and glowing spheres, incandescent hues and luminescent spires, focused, determined, reticent, and hardened, unknowingly pursuing bits and pieces of antiquity. The tiny beast’s eyes wandered, his movements sauntered, his motions galvanized: his curiosity could have been both a curse and a virtue, harkening through the warnings of lands beyond, drifting through his veins as a listless authority, begging to be released and untethered, unshackled from his majestic grace. He wanted to see it all, to have his eyes search through the storms and the sanctuaries, to peer down into the depths of salvation and stare upon the fruits of abhorrence. He wanted power and prestige, he wanted knowledge and wisdom, he wanted experience and sagacity, and the more he tumbled from his noble perch, the more he grew, the more he flourished, the more he succeeded in these small, insignificant triumphs. He yearned and craved, he pined and coveted, and he traced the walls of crackling foundations for a chance, for an opportunity, to seize the fine sketches of what so many others already seemed to possess. He hungered for the onset of his magic, of his incantations, to realize what they meant and what they could be for, to savor and taste the dark maelstrom in his heart again, wondering if it was real, if it was true, and if he could harness the eager, ferocious malice for something else. Was there more to the darkening pull of havoc? Could he seize it like his father did, intimidating and chilling, protecting and devouring? He itched and ached for bits and pieces of what the world had to offer beyond he wonderful days spent beneath the beautiful mountain peaks and treacherous lines of ice. He pondered what it was like to be bonded to another, like Adelric and his Tobias, or Cera and his friend – there were so many odds and ends he didn’t know, couldn’t touch, couldn’t relish, and instead of growing frustrated, he threw his heart into oblivion and searched for the opportunities, for the chances, of uncovering these vestiges and moments.
His original goal tossed aside (to find Rikyn and Aithniel, both drifting and disappeared from his sight after their day spent in the land of dust and desert; musketeers without their united band), he stole idle fragments of time and space to stare, to study, the ambience of the arcane, reclusive, and archaic. Lithe blue jay, like a vacant cub, like a miniature behemoth, brushed against the foundations of marbled architecture and wondrous beauty – stared at the radiating opulence, gaped at the nestled trove of mystique and ruin as if it were a treasure, meant to be discovered and peered at. But with nothing to snatch, nothing to take, he became a silent observer, slowly combing over the hardened floor, the still-standing columns, the change of hues, and blinding colors from the glassy roof. It meant naught to him without lessons, without guidance, but he was still permitted to wonder, to dream, to haunt and to perceive: did magic lay here, cast stone into monoliths? Why was it hidden, buried into the grove, into the copse, noble and regal, almost untouched? Why was it not weathered by war, like so many of the souls adrift in this world? His eyes swam over to the brook, nearly frozen and indistinct, and thought to run across it and at least feel the dim light of his potency; because this realm he’d traipsed upon made him look weak and inferior, little and meaningless, another grain of sand in the hourglass. Instead, he stood under the palace gates, and feigned confidence, pretended he reigned over the broken, shambled castle. Maybe then he’d been given all the answers he sought; the ones with power always grasped hold of their knowledge.
[Open. :D]
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