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03-16-2016, 04:01 PM
He stands quietly staring up at the ceiling of the Rotunda, neck inverted and head tilted to study the panes of multicolored glass more closely. Even lit by such a sickly, mid-winter sun the colors have strength and purity enough to beam downward in thick columns of light. The stallion blinks, admiring. From where he’s standing, directly below the stained glass dome at the center of the stonework pavilion, the colors fall across his back like a patchwork quilt, warm to the mind if not to the body.
He knows that the World’s Edge is renowned for making glass and wonders if their craftsmen are responsible for the beauty here, but as he looks around he sees the mark of other herds too: the intricate metal veins holding each shard of colored glass in place must be the work of Dragons Throat crafters and the evenly cut stone making up the cobbled floor and roman columns of the main structure that of the Hidden Falls. The Aurora Basin is here too, in the thick, luxurious curtains draped across many of the openings to either side. It’s charming, and yet utterly unkempt.
Weeds and climbing vines vie for the primmest real-estate along stairs, walls, and low, wide foundations. Loose debris coated in a thick, black-green slime rims the bank of the creek just outside and lends a soggy, sour scent to the air. He wonders whether the disarray is a sign of deteriorating herd relations, or just a seasonal pattern. Would he find the place in better condition during a summer visit? Something tells him not.
"Shame." He mumbles to the emptiness, ever appreciative of beauty in whatever form it presents itself. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into creating this place, a lot of someones it looks like. They'd poured their hearts and souls into every little detail only to watch it fall back to earth with disuse. It's a pain he understands all too well, having built his own kingdom once before and seen it torn brick from mortar. The only difference is that he didn't leave anything behind to be remembered, let alone admired. They'd made sure of that.
He knows that the World’s Edge is renowned for making glass and wonders if their craftsmen are responsible for the beauty here, but as he looks around he sees the mark of other herds too: the intricate metal veins holding each shard of colored glass in place must be the work of Dragons Throat crafters and the evenly cut stone making up the cobbled floor and roman columns of the main structure that of the Hidden Falls. The Aurora Basin is here too, in the thick, luxurious curtains draped across many of the openings to either side. It’s charming, and yet utterly unkempt.
Weeds and climbing vines vie for the primmest real-estate along stairs, walls, and low, wide foundations. Loose debris coated in a thick, black-green slime rims the bank of the creek just outside and lends a soggy, sour scent to the air. He wonders whether the disarray is a sign of deteriorating herd relations, or just a seasonal pattern. Would he find the place in better condition during a summer visit? Something tells him not.
"Shame." He mumbles to the emptiness, ever appreciative of beauty in whatever form it presents itself. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into creating this place, a lot of someones it looks like. They'd poured their hearts and souls into every little detail only to watch it fall back to earth with disuse. It's a pain he understands all too well, having built his own kingdom once before and seen it torn brick from mortar. The only difference is that he didn't leave anything behind to be remembered, let alone admired. They'd made sure of that.
@Elsa
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