Of Gold and Gods
Jan 8, 2017 1:04:52 GMT
Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 8, 2017 1:04:52 GMT
Cross Roads South of Pakellan
Of Gold and Gods
Fate brought the ancient to the lands of the Outsiders. It wasn't his fate, but the fate of his people that had called him so far from home. The Future to the Crokodons was written in stone, certain occurance as unchanging and as unforgiving as the sea they had crawled from. The portents of doom weighed heavily on the Last Priest-King as he walked alone down the long road in the plains.
The Sun was shining, but that morning it had rained, just as his canteens had emptied the Gods had provided for their Favored Servant. Unlike many, he had laid eyes upon his Gods. He had seen them stand and walk, heard them talk, felt their withered claws upon his scales. He knew them, and they knew him. Most beings believed in a God, and through faith trusted it existed. Not Taun-Lok. His divine purpose was assured with his own eyes.
The beast sniffed the air, something was coming down the road. A cart by the from the equine taste of it. The Priest-Warrior shifted his pack on his back so that the spikes running down his spine wouldn't stab into it and cut the leather. Gold and obsidian armor clacked together on his chest and groin, on his shoulders. A cloak of bright feathers hung around his belt, adorned with bones and skulls, uncut gemstones. His armor, while heavy, covered very little of his body, most of his protection came from his stone-like hide that had been scarred across a centuries long life. Time wore heavy on the King whose shoulders sagged as though burdened, and his mind ached with knowledge of the future.
There were secrets he could tell a man, when they would die, how. How a widow would outlive her children by decades, old and alone. How a young man would never find the love of his life because he had already left her behind. These were scrawled in stone and burned into the memory of the ancient lizard as he walked the dusty path. But these were of little consequence to the King. All that the Gods foretold came to pass, and they had foretold his Doom. The Doom of his kind. Maybe not his lifetime. But it was coming. It was on the horizon, and just as the sun always rose, so to would this.
The cart crested a hill and for a moment the shock on the elf's face was unmistakable. No one in Mapheri had ever laid eyes on a Crokodon Warrior, and few had ever heard of them. Isolationism to the extreme had caused them and their city to be mostly just a myth some treasure hunters or historians talked about over drinks. "How do you do there sir?"
Taun-Lok cocked his head, furrowing his brow at the being's haste. He could smell some fear on the man, but not so much as to consider the conversation in need of haste. Taun-Lok growled out his response, <What hurry?> in a low, deep rumble that shook pebbles on the ground.
"Um... How are you?" The elf asked slowly and deliberately, pronouncing all his syllables plainly. With a grunt Taun-Lok produced a parchment and charcoal.
The Sun was shining, but that morning it had rained, just as his canteens had emptied the Gods had provided for their Favored Servant. Unlike many, he had laid eyes upon his Gods. He had seen them stand and walk, heard them talk, felt their withered claws upon his scales. He knew them, and they knew him. Most beings believed in a God, and through faith trusted it existed. Not Taun-Lok. His divine purpose was assured with his own eyes.
The beast sniffed the air, something was coming down the road. A cart by the from the equine taste of it. The Priest-Warrior shifted his pack on his back so that the spikes running down his spine wouldn't stab into it and cut the leather. Gold and obsidian armor clacked together on his chest and groin, on his shoulders. A cloak of bright feathers hung around his belt, adorned with bones and skulls, uncut gemstones. His armor, while heavy, covered very little of his body, most of his protection came from his stone-like hide that had been scarred across a centuries long life. Time wore heavy on the King whose shoulders sagged as though burdened, and his mind ached with knowledge of the future.
There were secrets he could tell a man, when they would die, how. How a widow would outlive her children by decades, old and alone. How a young man would never find the love of his life because he had already left her behind. These were scrawled in stone and burned into the memory of the ancient lizard as he walked the dusty path. But these were of little consequence to the King. All that the Gods foretold came to pass, and they had foretold his Doom. The Doom of his kind. Maybe not his lifetime. But it was coming. It was on the horizon, and just as the sun always rose, so to would this.
The cart crested a hill and for a moment the shock on the elf's face was unmistakable. No one in Mapheri had ever laid eyes on a Crokodon Warrior, and few had ever heard of them. Isolationism to the extreme had caused them and their city to be mostly just a myth some treasure hunters or historians talked about over drinks. "How do you do there sir?"
Taun-Lok cocked his head, furrowing his brow at the being's haste. He could smell some fear on the man, but not so much as to consider the conversation in need of haste. Taun-Lok growled out his response, <What hurry?> in a low, deep rumble that shook pebbles on the ground.
"Um... How are you?" The elf asked slowly and deliberately, pronouncing all his syllables plainly. With a grunt Taun-Lok produced a parchment and charcoal.
What is your haste? What do you seek?
The elf read the parchment and arched an eyebrow. "Can't talk? I'm in no hurry, but I've a long way to go before I make Perona." Taun-Lok pointed at the parchment, clawed hands passing it to the man after scribbling a phase, having learned to forgo his normal metaphorical writing after several difficult meetings.
I hear your words, But I cannot Speak them.
The large reptilian had to remind himself he was in a land where time was the most precious commodity. The warm-blooded beings always seemed to be in the greatest hurry, rushing to go from place to place only to end up back where they started. Their gods did not provide for them, and so they had to provide for themselves and that consumed most of their lives. "Ah, I'm heading towards Perona with my goods, nothing more. Gotta get out of the capital these days. Even just trying to trade there is a mess. I wouldn't suggest turning north at the cross roads."
"Thanks, I suppose." The cart continued on its way and Taun-Lok turned his attention back along the path he had been following. Perhaps Pakellan would hold the answers he sought for.
Thank you, Stranger. May your days be memories of tranquil summer nights.
