Sir.
December 16th, 2010, 11:55 PM
little piece of writing that follows a Piece I wrote not long ago, easy enough to follow if you didn't read 'alec on the way...' really would like suggestions on the description, worried I may have rushed some areas and over killed others - also comments on the watchers bit more than welcome as I think its a weak section with promise.
Anyone who hasn’t seen Medora or the surronding Medorean desert can never quite understand the vastness of the space. Looking across the flat plains that stretch on into immeasurable distances, broken only by the apparent outbreak of small rocky clusters, which when closer exaimed reveal themselves as snow capped and barren mountain ranges. The vast areas of bright yellow sand, which on first arrival in the distant Port Virtue appear so golden and pure soon develope across the weeks of uncomfrotable camel riding, or the months of walking along the single road to the city as nothing but filthy, foul tasting ash.
The city itself rises out of the dust and the death that surronds it as a testament to the brutality of the world it exists in. The tall, glossy pillars of black obsidian stone, like they have grown from the darkest core of the earth they spiral up hundreds of feet, supporting between them thick uncomprimising walls of the same smooth cool stone. The effect of its appearance out of the surronding wastes is indescribable.
Or at least it is for most people. I was watching, as my post dictates I should always do, watching the passing of the day, the people. Sometimes I felt like the comforting hand of time on my shoulder as I sat in a position of eternal vigil, his hand touching me lightly before he too passed on along his way. I had seen almost everything in my time watching the front gates of the city, one of the four watchers. The imfamous watchers of Medorea, and when I saw the pale foriegner I knew for the first time in such a long time, I was seeing something different. Somoething new, his eyes did not widen, his mouth did not gape. It narrowed a little, no stunned moment of shock as the city rose like a mirage out of the wilderness; instead a cold hard look entered his eyes. I could not draw my own eyes away from his gaze, a gaze of determination and barely veiled disgust.
As the vultures gathered in the distance; attracted no doubt to some poorly prepared travellers body.I began to reliase that this stranger, with a look of such disdain for a city of awe, was our very own approaching carrion bird.
Anyone who hasn’t seen Medora or the surronding Medorean desert can never quite understand the vastness of the space. Looking across the flat plains that stretch on into immeasurable distances, broken only by the apparent outbreak of small rocky clusters, which when closer exaimed reveal themselves as snow capped and barren mountain ranges. The vast areas of bright yellow sand, which on first arrival in the distant Port Virtue appear so golden and pure soon develope across the weeks of uncomfrotable camel riding, or the months of walking along the single road to the city as nothing but filthy, foul tasting ash.
The city itself rises out of the dust and the death that surronds it as a testament to the brutality of the world it exists in. The tall, glossy pillars of black obsidian stone, like they have grown from the darkest core of the earth they spiral up hundreds of feet, supporting between them thick uncomprimising walls of the same smooth cool stone. The effect of its appearance out of the surronding wastes is indescribable.
Or at least it is for most people. I was watching, as my post dictates I should always do, watching the passing of the day, the people. Sometimes I felt like the comforting hand of time on my shoulder as I sat in a position of eternal vigil, his hand touching me lightly before he too passed on along his way. I had seen almost everything in my time watching the front gates of the city, one of the four watchers. The imfamous watchers of Medorea, and when I saw the pale foriegner I knew for the first time in such a long time, I was seeing something different. Somoething new, his eyes did not widen, his mouth did not gape. It narrowed a little, no stunned moment of shock as the city rose like a mirage out of the wilderness; instead a cold hard look entered his eyes. I could not draw my own eyes away from his gaze, a gaze of determination and barely veiled disgust.
As the vultures gathered in the distance; attracted no doubt to some poorly prepared travellers body.I began to reliase that this stranger, with a look of such disdain for a city of awe, was our very own approaching carrion bird.