Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2009
- Messages
- 6,976
The long, flowing ceremonial robes of the Highking's Ministry were uncomfortable and strictly ceremonial, and Mentarrin was glad that they would be kept that way. Wearing them in the cold of morning was tantamount to torture to the man, and his knees knocked together as he attempted to look dignified and wise, continuing his austere march through the halls of the spire.
The cold winter's sunshine cut through the few windows on the second floor of the building like a dagger, providing a not unwelcome warmth to the frozen corridors of the governmental facility. The Highking slept for the moment, and the time was ripe for movement. It would not do for the Ministry to be unprepared for the Highking's awakening. Mentarrin had been reminded of this, many times, by his elders.
Peering out of a slit in the wall, Mentarrin could see the town watch returning to their homes after the night-patrol, and fresher, less fatigued watchers arriving to begin the mornwatch. The affairs of the city and the nation were being carried out as was right and just, in casual fashion.
The banners that hung from the third story of the tall tower were covered in frost, but the sun began to melt them, its light and heat cutting through the layers of cold. They would run wet as water along the banners, cleaning them of the wind's produce, and falling to the ground. The sun would then dry the banners, and the process of winter would begin anew upon the symbol of the kingdom.
A horn sounded in the distance, and Mentarrin fancied that he could hear the sound of the bronze-shod end of a wooden pike-handle being hammered against the ground. Far to the north, the mountains rose in a fearful manner, their snow-covered peaks reaching out as if to pierce the sky. In their snowy, cold, unfeeling embrace, sat the Northrealms...
The cold winter's sunshine cut through the few windows on the second floor of the building like a dagger, providing a not unwelcome warmth to the frozen corridors of the governmental facility. The Highking slept for the moment, and the time was ripe for movement. It would not do for the Ministry to be unprepared for the Highking's awakening. Mentarrin had been reminded of this, many times, by his elders.
Peering out of a slit in the wall, Mentarrin could see the town watch returning to their homes after the night-patrol, and fresher, less fatigued watchers arriving to begin the mornwatch. The affairs of the city and the nation were being carried out as was right and just, in casual fashion.
The banners that hung from the third story of the tall tower were covered in frost, but the sun began to melt them, its light and heat cutting through the layers of cold. They would run wet as water along the banners, cleaning them of the wind's produce, and falling to the ground. The sun would then dry the banners, and the process of winter would begin anew upon the symbol of the kingdom.
A horn sounded in the distance, and Mentarrin fancied that he could hear the sound of the bronze-shod end of a wooden pike-handle being hammered against the ground. Far to the north, the mountains rose in a fearful manner, their snow-covered peaks reaching out as if to pierce the sky. In their snowy, cold, unfeeling embrace, sat the Northrealms...