To hold my tongue except when I try to pray...
He feels the eyes before he sees them. His head turns and searches for watchful faces in the crowd. He scans the faces in the sea he has disappeared into. Reinhart finds them, red. Red-handed. The eyes of a dragon. A banner spills behind the mane, but his nape is decorated with a short, choppy cut. The watcher is bound by a collar, it is a curious thing. More curious than the red eyes that stare at him accusingly. Reinhart shakes his head as if to shake the sand from his disheveled, ashen mane. Reinhart is suddenly very aware of how dry the air is, and how tight the silver choker on his neck is. Two collared men stare each other down in the streets.
It feels like an eternity before he makes up his mind to approach the iron stained man with those blood-red eyes peering outward. He smacks his parched lips together and moves in time with the crowd. Closer. Closer. Closer he draws to the man. His tongue drips mercury and silver stars. Reinhart offers the man a lopsided grin, and the twinkle of his eyes. His magic whispers and flickers. It aches to coil around this man, who Reinhart wants to forget what he saw today. Smooth. His magic flares to soothe the watcher. "Belong to a special sect of guards with that neckpiece of yours? It's well made, fits you well. Almost as if it's tailored to your flesh. What does the average day in Solterra look like?" The rapid words flow from his mouth. The oblivious mage and the man forged from iron.
"Say, you're the first one I've seen with a neckpiece like that. What sort of get up is that for? A special guild among the guards? It could use a bit more red! The colour suits you. Your whole look screams Solterra. Fit for the desert." The silver tongue praises the stranger. He presses towards the man to ignore the lawlessness that has just taken place. It is no small feat, and it may fail. Perhaps this idea to approach a potential guard in a foreign domain was not his best one.
It feels like an eternity before he makes up his mind to approach the iron stained man with those blood-red eyes peering outward. He smacks his parched lips together and moves in time with the crowd. Closer. Closer. Closer he draws to the man. His tongue drips mercury and silver stars. Reinhart offers the man a lopsided grin, and the twinkle of his eyes. His magic whispers and flickers. It aches to coil around this man, who Reinhart wants to forget what he saw today. Smooth. His magic flares to soothe the watcher. "Belong to a special sect of guards with that neckpiece of yours? It's well made, fits you well. Almost as if it's tailored to your flesh. What does the average day in Solterra look like?" The rapid words flow from his mouth. The oblivious mage and the man forged from iron.
"Say, you're the first one I've seen with a neckpiece like that. What sort of get up is that for? A special guild among the guards? It could use a bit more red! The colour suits you. Your whole look screams Solterra. Fit for the desert." The silver tongue praises the stranger. He presses towards the man to ignore the lawlessness that has just taken place. It is no small feat, and it may fail. Perhaps this idea to approach a potential guard in a foreign domain was not his best one.
Notes: I love Jask a ton | Words: 356 | Tags: @Jask
... try to breathe words out, But I’ve got nothing to say
