Jan 21, 2018 4:57 am
Vasil looks to the wolf, not entirely understanding. How can a fire be lit without flint or tinder? In his homeland, the Royals, the leading bureaucrats and the elite guard - as legend told - could create flame with only their hands. Vasil was not of gentle birth, and had no contact with those sorts. Time to time, one would see a street performer using fire art for a crowd, or a craftsman bending a flame to his will - but these were rarities outside of the Golden Gate, in which he had never set foot. Bastards and exiles of noble blood, untrained and weak of talent.
It was rumoured that if ever a common child was seen to display the talent, royal guards would take the child within the golden walls, leaving the parents a purse of gold, the child never seen again. But like most things, Vasil knew, rumours were usually just that.
Perhaps the wolf was mistaken. He knew where Vasil was from - and maybe assumed he had the talent? Kallbacken's workers of wind were far more common among the common folk - owing to Kallbacken's relative lack of a ruling caste, or class system. Vasil was common as dirt, and this was fine. The wolf was mistaken, but this too, was fine. Vasil found himself beginning to like the beast. It speaks with a gentle wisdom he likes. Vasil dislikes the anger within himself. Perhaps he could learn the calm way of this animal.
Walking through the streets of the village, Shadow trotting silently at his heels, Vasil comes upon the square in which the banner looms. He averts his gaze, attempting to ignore the unpleasant sensation he feels in its presence. A cold shudder like a body warning of illness.Vasil dons his thick metalworking gloves, and pulls the banner from the ground, letting it fall into the sleet. Approaching the rope knots, lashing the cloth to wood, he examines the knot briefly, before shrugging, and slicing the cord with his blade. Repeating this again for all ties on the fabric. Vasil works quickly, avoiding direct eye contact with the banner, where possible. He takes little care with the cloth, his boots tracking mud across the surface.
The cloth is rolled and carried along with the pole back to his forge.
Need I burn the post too, Wolf? he asks, examining the good, straight timber.
It was rumoured that if ever a common child was seen to display the talent, royal guards would take the child within the golden walls, leaving the parents a purse of gold, the child never seen again. But like most things, Vasil knew, rumours were usually just that.
Perhaps the wolf was mistaken. He knew where Vasil was from - and maybe assumed he had the talent? Kallbacken's workers of wind were far more common among the common folk - owing to Kallbacken's relative lack of a ruling caste, or class system. Vasil was common as dirt, and this was fine. The wolf was mistaken, but this too, was fine. Vasil found himself beginning to like the beast. It speaks with a gentle wisdom he likes. Vasil dislikes the anger within himself. Perhaps he could learn the calm way of this animal.
Walking through the streets of the village, Shadow trotting silently at his heels, Vasil comes upon the square in which the banner looms. He averts his gaze, attempting to ignore the unpleasant sensation he feels in its presence. A cold shudder like a body warning of illness.
OOC:
Why or Shadow, if something I've narrated changes based on the need for a test, or you doing something different, feel free to clarify, and I'll edit accordingly - I don't want to take too many liberties.The cloth is rolled and carried along with the pole back to his forge.
Need I burn the post too, Wolf? he asks, examining the good, straight timber.
OOC:
The intent is / will be to burn the banner in the forge.Last edited January 21, 2018 4:57 am