He couldn't quite tell how long the tower had been there, he had only been following rumors. He'd done his job right, he spent weeks searching, he even got broke off from his detachment of knights. Even with the sun blistering in his face, it was likely the last hot day of the summer, and all that heat gathered, radiating like a thick miasma of energy as the glare of the structure blinded him projecting the suns intense rays. The only relief in it all was the bead of sweat trailing down his face "At least Constantine will be pleased..." he woefully thought to himself, taking a break to wipe the sweat from his brow. Only a couple weeks ago the earth began to quake, shivering from the spire of metal ripping forth from the ground. He needed to get the message out quickly, he wanted the credit, he wanted the reward.
A reward was only likely if he survived that is. A caw in his ear as his mind drifted slightly. He had spent so much time traveling, by the time the graveyard of wooden machinations had passed the crackling tan earth would lead past ruins. He needed to focus, his delirium felt like an invite to drift off in the wastes. *Smack* Now with red cheeks from his wake up call motivation coursed through him for one last task.
His hands rustled inside his bag as he worked to get parchment out. His hands would have to move with a lightning flurry. The crow he had within him was trained by Xerxes himself, the beast could move fast but it had to deliver more than one note. Each crow, which was given to all scouting knights, could track the minor knights and return to Sasan. The issue was writing all the letters, he had no ink, that was clear rummaging through his sack.T There was charcoal, however, he could respond with the small scrap of burnt would. The scritch and scratch of his makeshift pencil would flow to write the letter. He had to make one copy, then repeat and draft for the others.
Standing in lands far to the west, not too far from the mountains of Sasan stands a tower of pure silver. Taking the appearance of a winding tree, the resplendent dungeon sits amongst a land of broken materials and rocky earth. With no markers the towers stand in solitude, scrapping the sky. I feel it beckoning to me, the winding bands of silver reaching out as if they were saying my name. I have sent multiple copies of this letter to your fellow minor knights, tracking you by the weapons granted by the king. Follow past the cities of Reim, further than the machines lost in the war, and deep within lands untouched. With such a treacherous journey please prepare adequately.
With his letter finished the tired knight would lean against the tower. "Good job me!" His thoughts drifting in a final hooray. The crow was now just a black mass in his blurred and draining vision. Flying forth it would transform into a shadow in the distance. Bundles of parchment bound by twin held on his legs. Seven letters, heading out on the search for the minor knights, and the home to Sasan. Midnight feathers would trail behind, gently gliding to temperate earth. He was unaware of the combat that had raged in his weeks of Travel. He was unaware if anyone one else was on the way or was aware if anyone else would head out to these wastes.
Exhaustion blanketed him, he was a dime a dozen but his job was done, fading to white his eyes would slowly drift shut. The invite to sleep was so welcoming, with a light so bright it felt welcoming. He let the feeling wash over himself. Only time would tell the tale, for the news of Furcas was now in the air, the call to challenge bursting forth with a furious fervency, calling, crying out to those who could take the trek.
A reward was only likely if he survived that is. A caw in his ear as his mind drifted slightly. He had spent so much time traveling, by the time the graveyard of wooden machinations had passed the crackling tan earth would lead past ruins. He needed to focus, his delirium felt like an invite to drift off in the wastes. *Smack* Now with red cheeks from his wake up call motivation coursed through him for one last task.
His hands rustled inside his bag as he worked to get parchment out. His hands would have to move with a lightning flurry. The crow he had within him was trained by Xerxes himself, the beast could move fast but it had to deliver more than one note. Each crow, which was given to all scouting knights, could track the minor knights and return to Sasan. The issue was writing all the letters, he had no ink, that was clear rummaging through his sack.T There was charcoal, however, he could respond with the small scrap of burnt would. The scritch and scratch of his makeshift pencil would flow to write the letter. He had to make one copy, then repeat and draft for the others.
Standing in lands far to the west, not too far from the mountains of Sasan stands a tower of pure silver. Taking the appearance of a winding tree, the resplendent dungeon sits amongst a land of broken materials and rocky earth. With no markers the towers stand in solitude, scrapping the sky. I feel it beckoning to me, the winding bands of silver reaching out as if they were saying my name. I have sent multiple copies of this letter to your fellow minor knights, tracking you by the weapons granted by the king. Follow past the cities of Reim, further than the machines lost in the war, and deep within lands untouched. With such a treacherous journey please prepare adequately.
With his letter finished the tired knight would lean against the tower. "Good job me!" His thoughts drifting in a final hooray. The crow was now just a black mass in his blurred and draining vision. Flying forth it would transform into a shadow in the distance. Bundles of parchment bound by twin held on his legs. Seven letters, heading out on the search for the minor knights, and the home to Sasan. Midnight feathers would trail behind, gently gliding to temperate earth. He was unaware of the combat that had raged in his weeks of Travel. He was unaware if anyone one else was on the way or was aware if anyone else would head out to these wastes.
Exhaustion blanketed him, he was a dime a dozen but his job was done, fading to white his eyes would slowly drift shut. The invite to sleep was so welcoming, with a light so bright it felt welcoming. He let the feeling wash over himself. Only time would tell the tale, for the news of Furcas was now in the air, the call to challenge bursting forth with a furious fervency, calling, crying out to those who could take the trek.
