49th of Glade, 4622
The wind was often the most lethal part of the cold. One gust carried all the environment’s absence of heat through the body of its victim and stole the vital warmth that sustained them. It was a fate many who lived in Lorien’s wilderness succumbed to, sapped of their life in the voracious gales that howled through the snowy wasteland.
Once one’s arms and legs began to stiffen, it was just a matter of time before they dropped in the snow and quietly drifted to their eternal slumber. More often than not, Von Rabe didn’t need to send his vultures after the lone wanderer. The frigid cold of his realm’s portal was more than enough to fell the lone wanderer.
For the first time in nearly a year, Arkash basked in the rake of the icy wind’s teeth. He leaned on the edge of the ship’s railing while he rolled his fingers into a fist, clasped, and unclasped ritualistically. He breathed a plume of mist that rolled in the air before it dissipated somewhere behind him. Onward, he looked at the approaching shape of the greatest city in the world.
Nivenhain.
Those tall rooves that easily sloped the accumulated snow from their fringes and the gothic distribution of ornamental spines were visible in the fog to the young Cardinal. Grey stone bricks made up every wall with sunken windows laid framed with notable shades of brighter brickwork.
As the frigid wood of their vessel creaked and groaned against its shriveled nails, jerked and bobbed against the waves that stretched the span of the harbor, the individual spires that gated the various arches of some of the grander buildings came into view.
The claws that were the merlons of some of the greater towers were mostly obstructed by the grey of the clouds, while others seemed to scrape the sky.
Nivenhain was a city built with some of the greatest architecture in the world; and its unseen residential areas only held testament to the fact.
The rath’s eyes fell from the spires and where they reached, only to land on the dock as they steadily rode the waves through the harbor.
Again, he breathed the warmth of his lungs into his hands as they cupped, then spread the heat with some added friction as he rubbed them together.
It wasn’t snowing, though it was evident by the piles of white that lined the beginning of the boardwalk that it had snowed maybe as recently as the day before.
A shift in his posture saw him glance over his shoulder at the rest of the deck, upon which, there was no one but the sailors in sight. It was easy to imagine that those from Daravin couldn’t stand the could for too long, and might even opt to wait in their cabins until the ship had come to a complete stop, which would be soon.
A deep breath saw him expel one more blast of warmth over the skin of his hands before he collected his leather gloves from the pocket of his tailcoat, and promptly dressed them. His mask came on next as their course as adjusted for the dock, and his pensive stare was resumed while he waited for the Veir to wake somewhere in the lower part of the ship.
It had been a long time at sea, and the Rath was eager to stand on solid ground once more.
The wind was often the most lethal part of the cold. One gust carried all the environment’s absence of heat through the body of its victim and stole the vital warmth that sustained them. It was a fate many who lived in Lorien’s wilderness succumbed to, sapped of their life in the voracious gales that howled through the snowy wasteland.
Once one’s arms and legs began to stiffen, it was just a matter of time before they dropped in the snow and quietly drifted to their eternal slumber. More often than not, Von Rabe didn’t need to send his vultures after the lone wanderer. The frigid cold of his realm’s portal was more than enough to fell the lone wanderer.
For the first time in nearly a year, Arkash basked in the rake of the icy wind’s teeth. He leaned on the edge of the ship’s railing while he rolled his fingers into a fist, clasped, and unclasped ritualistically. He breathed a plume of mist that rolled in the air before it dissipated somewhere behind him. Onward, he looked at the approaching shape of the greatest city in the world.
Nivenhain.
Those tall rooves that easily sloped the accumulated snow from their fringes and the gothic distribution of ornamental spines were visible in the fog to the young Cardinal. Grey stone bricks made up every wall with sunken windows laid framed with notable shades of brighter brickwork.
As the frigid wood of their vessel creaked and groaned against its shriveled nails, jerked and bobbed against the waves that stretched the span of the harbor, the individual spires that gated the various arches of some of the grander buildings came into view.
The claws that were the merlons of some of the greater towers were mostly obstructed by the grey of the clouds, while others seemed to scrape the sky.
Nivenhain was a city built with some of the greatest architecture in the world; and its unseen residential areas only held testament to the fact.
The rath’s eyes fell from the spires and where they reached, only to land on the dock as they steadily rode the waves through the harbor.
Again, he breathed the warmth of his lungs into his hands as they cupped, then spread the heat with some added friction as he rubbed them together.
It wasn’t snowing, though it was evident by the piles of white that lined the beginning of the boardwalk that it had snowed maybe as recently as the day before.
A shift in his posture saw him glance over his shoulder at the rest of the deck, upon which, there was no one but the sailors in sight. It was easy to imagine that those from Daravin couldn’t stand the could for too long, and might even opt to wait in their cabins until the ship had come to a complete stop, which would be soon.
A deep breath saw him expel one more blast of warmth over the skin of his hands before he collected his leather gloves from the pocket of his tailcoat, and promptly dressed them. His mask came on next as their course as adjusted for the dock, and his pensive stare was resumed while he waited for the Veir to wake somewhere in the lower part of the ship.
It had been a long time at sea, and the Rath was eager to stand on solid ground once more.
