A SHADOW IN THE EYE OF THE SOLTERRAN SUN – ERASMUS IS A CURIOUS CREATURE OF DRIPPING INK AND FERVOR, A SULKING THING THAT LOOMS AND WAITS AND LISTENS - BUT O BLINDED TO REASON, TOO HOT TO THINK. TOO HOT TO CONSIDER THE TRUE NATURE OF HIS FRIEND OR FOE (OR NEITHER, ENTIRELY) THAT ITCHES BENEATH SKINS. HE CATCHES THE WHISPERS OF PASSERBY, HE WATCHES AS THEIR EYES FLIT FROM THE ALLEYWAY TO THE STREETS BEYOND, TO THE PALACE ROOFTOPS THAT REFLECT THE FULL BEARANCE OF THE SUN. IN THIS MOMENT HE IS NOTHING AND NO ONE, NAUGHT MORE THAN A SPECTRE OF CHANGEABLE SHADOWS THAT CONVENE BEYOND THE HOT GLARE OF THE HEAVENS. HE PREFERS IT, THE ANONYMITY. HE PREFERS HAVING NO NAME. AND TO DREAM, HE WOULD PREFER PERHAPS TO HAVE NO FACE. HIS IS ONE OF FAMILIARITY, IF A SOUL WERE TO KNOW IT IN PASSING – HIS FEATURES ARE DISTINCT, EVEN IN THE BLANKEST OF EXPRESSIONS, HIS IS A CHARLATAN GUISE THAT SPEAKS LEAGUES OF AMBIGUOUS MORALITY. OF QUESTIONABLE CIVILITY. IT IS EITHER A SMIRK OR A SCOWL THAT LIGHTS HIS FACE, AND THE SMIRK IS FAR MORE CONTEMPTIBLE THAN THE LATTER. IT PRESSES TO HIS LIPS WITH BOYISH TENACITY, OVERSHADOWED BY SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE VIOLENT. HUNGER FILLS THE HOLLOWS BETWEEN.
WHEN HE BROUGHT HIS GAZE BACK TO THE STALLION, A HORN SCRAPED THE SANDSTONE LIGHTLY AND HE SLIPPED OUT FROM HIS VISIONS, BACK INTO THEIR REALITY. HIS AUDIENCE WAS A QUIET SORT CONSIDERING, AND SEEMED AMIABLE ENOUGH TO CONSIDER A TRUTH WITHOUT SCORN. WAS HE? ERASMUS CONSIDERED THE LIE. HE CONSIDERED SPITTING ON THE GROUND, CURSING THE NAME OF THEIR TYRANT, LETTING VENOM SLIP BETWEEN HIS TEETH LIKE ASH AND DUST FROM HIS LUNGS. WHAT GOOD WAS IT? “at the risk of speaking out of ignorance - i must applaud a man for seeking out his ambitions no matter the cost.” HIS EYES NARROWED, JAW TILTING SLIGHTLY AS HE LOOKED BACK OVER THE EMPTY STREETS BEFORE THEM. “why, until recently i had supposed he was some monstrous thing by infamy - some skinshifting creature of horror and dismay. but there he is, same as the rest of us. ” HE GESTURED TOWARD THE ROYAL PROCESSION, GRIN TREADING SOFTLY ALONG HIS LIPS. ONE THAT REACHED HIS EYES, THIS TIME. “i could be wrong. i'm new to solterra.”
HE HAS YET TO DISCOVER WHAT THAT HUNGER IS.
IT REFLECTS SOME SHALLOW HUNGER HIS FELLOW FEIGNS, DRINKING IN THE SMILE WITH AN ODD SORT OF COMFORT THAT DOESN'T REACH HIS EYES. HE DOESN'T NOTICE HOW EMPTY THE SMILE IS. HE DOESN'T NOTICE HOW IT, TOO, DOES NOT REACH ITS PROPRIETOR'S EYES. HE DOESN'T NOTICE THE IMPARTIALITY A SOLTERRAN PROVIDES, WHERE HE SHOULD BE ANGRY OR SAD OR EXCITED, WHICHEVER FELT BEST FITTING TO A DICTATORSHIP. EVEN THOUGH A NOTHING IS SOMETHING ERASMUS IS TOO FAMILIAR WITH, HE IS TOO BUSY WATCHING THE GATES IN THE DISTANCE TO NOTICE IT ALL. HE DOES HOWEVER, NOTICE HOW THE PALE MAN'S EYES WAVER FROM THEIR ENGAGEMENT, WANDERING BRIEFLY OVER THE STREETS BEHIND THEM. HE CONSIDERS IT CURIOSITY OR A MUTUAL GRIEF. CROWDS ARE OVERBEARING, ESPECIALLY CROWDS THAT SIMMER WITH THE CONSPIRACIES OF FURIOUS CITIZENS.
WHEN HE IS ASKED HIS OPINION OF RAUM, HIS EYES TOO FLICK BACK TO THE STREETS BEHIND THEM, BUT HE ISN'T LOOKING TO THE VILLAIN KING OR THE GUARDS OR THE CITIZENS WHO LOOK ON DEJECTEDLY. HE THINKS BACK TO HIS CONVERSATION WITH EIK. HE THINKS BACK TO THE WAY HE WATCHED EIK'S SCARS, WAITING FOR THEM TO SHIFT – WAITING FOR THEM TO UNTANGLE AND PEEL BACK, SPLITTING ONE FLESH FOR ANOTHER. WAITING FOR HIS MOUTH TO UNRAVEL INTO A FATHOMLESS NIGHT, FRAMED BY TEETH AND DAGGERS AND AN INSATIABLE TONGUE. HE THOUGHT OF THE HORRORS ONLY A MONSTROUS VILLAIN COULD CONJURE AS A SKINWALKER, AS SOME BLOODLUSTING WENDIGO OF THE WORST TYPE. HE SHOULD FEEL FEAR, AND INDEED AT ONE TIME HE FELT IT FLICKER, WHEN CONSIDERING THE RISKS BEFORE HIS JOURNEY – BUT NOW HE FELT AWE, AND WHERE THAT SHOULD DISGUST HIM IT ONLY PROMPTED HIM FURTHER.
ERASMUS INHALED SMOOTHLY, HIS GAZE STILL PASSING OVER AND QUIVERING BETWEEN THE COLORS AND THE MOVEMENTS, BEFORE HIS TONGUE PASSED OVER CHAPPED LIPS. HE DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO TELL OF A STRANGER WHO REMAINED SO CALLOUSLY NEUTRAL IN THE MENTION. HE KNEW THAT HIS OPINIONS WERE CONTROVERSIAL, AND HE DIDN'T QUITE CARE FOR THE CRITIQUE. HE COULD NOT FAULT A MAN FOR SEEKING POWER, FOR ACHIEVING IT THROUGH THE BLOODIEST MEANS – AS WAS HIS RIGHT, AS WAS THE RIGHT OF ALL MEN WITH THEIR AMBITIONS, TO SEEK OUT THEIR WANTS BY WHATEVER BECAME NECESSARY. THINKING BACK TO THE CRIMES, HE WONDERED IF HE MIGHT HAVE DONE THE SAME HIMSELF TO ACHIEVE THAT POWER. WOULD HE DESTROY THOSE WHO GOT IN HIS WAY, REGARDLESS OF THEIR TITLES? WOULD HE SEE A QUEEN SLAIN, TO APPROACH HIS THRONE? WOULD HE MAKE WAR WITH A KINGDOM WHOSE QUARRELS STRETCHED ON FOREVER INTO THE PAST, FOR AS LONG AS THE KINGDOMS THEMSELVES COULD SEE? WOULD HE BRING THAT WAR TO THE DOORSTEP OF A QUEEN WHO DID NOT BELIEVE IN WARS, IN VIOLENCE?
WHEN HE BROUGHT HIS GAZE BACK TO THE STALLION, A HORN SCRAPED THE SANDSTONE LIGHTLY AND HE SLIPPED OUT FROM HIS VISIONS, BACK INTO THEIR REALITY. HIS AUDIENCE WAS A QUIET SORT CONSIDERING, AND SEEMED AMIABLE ENOUGH TO CONSIDER A TRUTH WITHOUT SCORN. WAS HE? ERASMUS CONSIDERED THE LIE. HE CONSIDERED SPITTING ON THE GROUND, CURSING THE NAME OF THEIR TYRANT, LETTING VENOM SLIP BETWEEN HIS TEETH LIKE ASH AND DUST FROM HIS LUNGS. WHAT GOOD WAS IT? “at the risk of speaking out of ignorance - i must applaud a man for seeking out his ambitions no matter the cost.” HIS EYES NARROWED, JAW TILTING SLIGHTLY AS HE LOOKED BACK OVER THE EMPTY STREETS BEFORE THEM. “why, until recently i had supposed he was some monstrous thing by infamy - some skinshifting creature of horror and dismay. but there he is, same as the rest of us. ” HE GESTURED TOWARD THE ROYAL PROCESSION, GRIN TREADING SOFTLY ALONG HIS LIPS. ONE THAT REACHED HIS EYES, THIS TIME. “i could be wrong. i'm new to solterra.”
@Raum
