Co-Saga: Northern Pellonia, The Castle
Mar 16, 2006 7:57:08 GMT
Post by barnibusquentin on Mar 16, 2006 7:57:08 GMT
(OOC: Here's a start for you guys, have fun)
Sisyphus paced about the crumbling crenellations of the castle. The sun had long since set and the moon, a scythe-like crescent, was steadily rising. Directly above his head the green and black aurora danced in endless circles. He cursed it silently. The strange lights were a beacon to him, at a time he didn’t need to be known. There was still much to do for the construction of the second gate. He breathed deeply the frosty night air and spat it back out. The pollution was palpable. He would be very glad to be done with this whole affair, but it would take time.
With a flourish of his cape he turned from the night and descended back into the depths of his lair. A smile crept across his lips...lair, an crumbling castle. How melodramatic. It was alright, he could excuse the excess.
All around the sights and sounds of night slithered into surroundings of the tiny valley. The Castle was once a great fortification. It was built against and into the sheer wall of a cliff, protecting it on two sides. Out in front of it there was the overflowing trench that was once a moat, and now a semi-tamed reservoir for snow melt that ran in tiny streams and rivulets through the crumbling fortress. Past the moat was a roughly flat plain about a quarter mile wide that ended in a series of tall rocky hills that were nearly half as tall as the towering cliffs. The plain was dotted with the stony corpse of a village. Nature had taken over and a sparse forest was starting to sprout amid the ruins. Splotches of snow covered the whole scene. It may have been late spring, but here it still felt like winter.
The hills were facing south. Giant pillars of stone stuck out of the ground, like skeletons fingers at obtuse angles. Conifers filled the spaces in between and provided ample cover. From here one commanded a view of the entire valley in it’s eerie serenity: from the dirt roads to the far left and right, to the rest of the hill that encircled most of the valley, even to the ruined castle itself.
If one watched closely enough, one could see tiny figures moving about the forested valley. They walked stiffly between the stone fragments as if completely lost in a stupor. There were hundreds of them, like ants on a hill. They never stopped and never rested. One wondered what they were and what would happen if one got too close.
One would probably not like to find out.
Sisyphus paced about the crumbling crenellations of the castle. The sun had long since set and the moon, a scythe-like crescent, was steadily rising. Directly above his head the green and black aurora danced in endless circles. He cursed it silently. The strange lights were a beacon to him, at a time he didn’t need to be known. There was still much to do for the construction of the second gate. He breathed deeply the frosty night air and spat it back out. The pollution was palpable. He would be very glad to be done with this whole affair, but it would take time.
With a flourish of his cape he turned from the night and descended back into the depths of his lair. A smile crept across his lips...lair, an crumbling castle. How melodramatic. It was alright, he could excuse the excess.
All around the sights and sounds of night slithered into surroundings of the tiny valley. The Castle was once a great fortification. It was built against and into the sheer wall of a cliff, protecting it on two sides. Out in front of it there was the overflowing trench that was once a moat, and now a semi-tamed reservoir for snow melt that ran in tiny streams and rivulets through the crumbling fortress. Past the moat was a roughly flat plain about a quarter mile wide that ended in a series of tall rocky hills that were nearly half as tall as the towering cliffs. The plain was dotted with the stony corpse of a village. Nature had taken over and a sparse forest was starting to sprout amid the ruins. Splotches of snow covered the whole scene. It may have been late spring, but here it still felt like winter.
The hills were facing south. Giant pillars of stone stuck out of the ground, like skeletons fingers at obtuse angles. Conifers filled the spaces in between and provided ample cover. From here one commanded a view of the entire valley in it’s eerie serenity: from the dirt roads to the far left and right, to the rest of the hill that encircled most of the valley, even to the ruined castle itself.
If one watched closely enough, one could see tiny figures moving about the forested valley. They walked stiffly between the stone fragments as if completely lost in a stupor. There were hundreds of them, like ants on a hill. They never stopped and never rested. One wondered what they were and what would happen if one got too close.
One would probably not like to find out.