There is a phoenix in the market square.
It is not altogether uncommon to spot the occasional desert beast swept into the charybdis of downtown Solterra. For the markets, you see, are where things go to lose themselves—from the slack-jawed guard to the squalling child to the gold hidden deep in a cloak pocket. Some beasts are intelligent enough to appreciate this.
The phoenix, however, has not come with the intention of being ignored.
At first it is given a wide berth, as, for several long moments, a fog of anxious conversation engulfs the crowd: not one of the gathered parties can recall the proper way to approach a phoenix without risk of swift incineration.
Eventually, someone works up the nerve to try anyway.
The phoenix perches, with the nonchalance of a schoolboy, on the scarred wooden frame of the market’s notice board. Scarlet spools of fire lick up and down its wings, its eyes, silver as mercury, brightening in interest as the first of the brave draws near.
Hello, hums the phoenix, its voice like a flute’s melody. The crowd gasps. The phoenix tilts its golden head to the side, pleased.
Beneath its billowing fan of a tail is a sheet of parchment stamped with the seal of the King, yet written in Eibet—the common tongue.
It is not altogether uncommon to spot the occasional desert beast swept into the charybdis of downtown Solterra. For the markets, you see, are where things go to lose themselves—from the slack-jawed guard to the squalling child to the gold hidden deep in a cloak pocket. Some beasts are intelligent enough to appreciate this.
The phoenix, however, has not come with the intention of being ignored.
At first it is given a wide berth, as, for several long moments, a fog of anxious conversation engulfs the crowd: not one of the gathered parties can recall the proper way to approach a phoenix without risk of swift incineration.
Eventually, someone works up the nerve to try anyway.
The phoenix perches, with the nonchalance of a schoolboy, on the scarred wooden frame of the market’s notice board. Scarlet spools of fire lick up and down its wings, its eyes, silver as mercury, brightening in interest as the first of the brave draws near.
Hello, hums the phoenix, its voice like a flute’s melody. The crowd gasps. The phoenix tilts its golden head to the side, pleased.
Beneath its billowing fan of a tail is a sheet of parchment stamped with the seal of the King, yet written in Eibet—the common tongue.
