They told him it was hot.
They told him it was a desert. They told him the winds blew harsh sand through the air. They told him many things about this place.
But he could not feel it.
He had not been able to feel many things for...a long time now.
All he knew was that the sun shone brightly in this place. That was why he'd dressed himself in a first layer of fabric covering his whole body except his eyes - something else covered those so he could see. Over that he wore a heavy, mildly ornate cloak of black and gold, with a gold and ruby clasp. Hood was drawn over his head to hide his face in shadow, though you couldn't see it anyway with his head covered as it was.
Ah, though he couldn't feel the heat, he could tell that his wyvern was. Not too badly, not yet, but he would eventually need rest.
Rest. He hadn't needed that in a long time, either.
Dascren Remaron pulled his wyvern to slow it - they were nearing their destination. This signaled to the others in his squadron. Not all were Kureman like himself, but all had wyverns. It was easy to tell which ones were not Kureman - they had no grace on their mounts. Nonetheless, it was necessary.
All were dressed as he, though his cloak was the more ornate and the only one with a red jewel. Red as the blood of Humans.
Dascren was no Calmae, he was an ambassador, one of the highest of Vampyres...
There, they were ready to land.
Before them, a great, intricate, ugly yet beautiful mound stretched far into the heavens, and, he knew, just as far or father down below.
They could not land yet, though. No, not with the Hissikkids. No. He would wait for permission. He would wait to be greeted first. Not that he was in any danger from them, but, if he was to be allies, it would be useful not to have a bad start. That, and time had little meaning to Dascren anymore. A minute, and hour, a year, a millennia, what did it matter? All that mattered was The Sunset and The Sunrise. Freedom and Slavery - the neverending cycle.
How I long for eternal night...
They told him it was a desert. They told him the winds blew harsh sand through the air. They told him many things about this place.
But he could not feel it.
He had not been able to feel many things for...a long time now.
All he knew was that the sun shone brightly in this place. That was why he'd dressed himself in a first layer of fabric covering his whole body except his eyes - something else covered those so he could see. Over that he wore a heavy, mildly ornate cloak of black and gold, with a gold and ruby clasp. Hood was drawn over his head to hide his face in shadow, though you couldn't see it anyway with his head covered as it was.
Ah, though he couldn't feel the heat, he could tell that his wyvern was. Not too badly, not yet, but he would eventually need rest.
Rest. He hadn't needed that in a long time, either.
Dascren Remaron pulled his wyvern to slow it - they were nearing their destination. This signaled to the others in his squadron. Not all were Kureman like himself, but all had wyverns. It was easy to tell which ones were not Kureman - they had no grace on their mounts. Nonetheless, it was necessary.
All were dressed as he, though his cloak was the more ornate and the only one with a red jewel. Red as the blood of Humans.
Dascren was no Calmae, he was an ambassador, one of the highest of Vampyres...
There, they were ready to land.
Before them, a great, intricate, ugly yet beautiful mound stretched far into the heavens, and, he knew, just as far or father down below.
They could not land yet, though. No, not with the Hissikkids. No. He would wait for permission. He would wait to be greeted first. Not that he was in any danger from them, but, if he was to be allies, it would be useful not to have a bad start. That, and time had little meaning to Dascren anymore. A minute, and hour, a year, a millennia, what did it matter? All that mattered was The Sunset and The Sunrise. Freedom and Slavery - the neverending cycle.
How I long for eternal night...