random junk - yay
Joy for block of mostly pointless exposition. (Can I get confetti?) Anyway sort of more 'sketching my world' type stuff. The only really important thing I think is the last part -- it constitutes probably one the strongest investments of myself into Mirra's character.
~
Mercenaries, peddlers and the occasional explorer always had the most amazing and sometimes horrific stories. Mirra picked the ones who seemed most foreign or travelled; the dark skinned mercenaries who guarded caravans from the south or prospectors and fighters out of the north, their clothing marked by exotic furs or curious charms of carved bone. Some tried to shoo her away or ignore her until she made it clear that she would ply them with drinks or food until she got what she wanted. Most did not pass up the opportunity for free wine or ale in exchange for something so trifling as a tale or two. How much of what she heard was true, Mirra couldn't say - nor did she truly care. Of the north she heard of seas teaming with gigantic beasts that could smash a ship with the callous flick of a tail; of wilderness full of living shadow and dragon worshiping barbarians. All said again and again that Kael'ta was a place of vast wealth and far vaster danger. Great underground lakes of coal spirit had been tapped and so many rich seams of gold, silver and adamant had been discovered that it was said one would not trip on a stone without finding some rare metal or gem. The wild did not give up its treasure lightly, however. Storms of a fury unmatched in the gentler climes of the south ravaged the sea. The bone chilling cold never truly lifted, even in high summer when the sun waned but did not fully set. In the timberlands gigantic wolves and drakes the size of ponies ruled alongside less familiar creatures. The south, in comparison, seemed far tamer.
Southern traders battled sun-scorched scrub land and vast salt marshes and flats on their journey to the edges of Ista's jungles. Along the way they fought, or more often, traded with the fox clans that lived at the mountainous edges of the wastes. Of the fox-kin travelers had little to say other than to remark on their ferocity in battle, the uniqueness of the sun stones they mined in their underground homes and the strange power of their shaman. All remarked that any of the fox-kin they met seemed to be a mystic or scholar of one sort or another. Of Ista the well-travelled spoke only of the trading cities and ports at the edges of the continents endless, mist shrouded jungles. They had only second hand tales of what lurked in the trackless wilderness - of great lost cities buried under jungle growth and creatures they scarce believed existed. They spoke of the marauders that seemed to roam freely within the decadent southern empire and of battles between flying machines seen from afar. Being so far inland, ocean sailors were beyond rare in Kirikai, but at her urging Mirra could occasionally get a traveler to recount the seaman's stories they had heard, always recounted in doubtful tones so the teller could lend their skepticism to the story.
Mirra took to their tales like dry ground to rain and she promised herself that one day she would see how true those tales were. She wanted to see the sky piercing peaks and frozen grasslands of the north, to watch enormous sea beasts sport from the deck of a ship, to see the garden-cities of Ista and the wastes between continents. More than anything she longed simply to travel - a desire so strong that it felt like an ache in bone and heart.
~
Raw and essentially unedited, as usual.
~
Mercenaries, peddlers and the occasional explorer always had the most amazing and sometimes horrific stories. Mirra picked the ones who seemed most foreign or travelled; the dark skinned mercenaries who guarded caravans from the south or prospectors and fighters out of the north, their clothing marked by exotic furs or curious charms of carved bone. Some tried to shoo her away or ignore her until she made it clear that she would ply them with drinks or food until she got what she wanted. Most did not pass up the opportunity for free wine or ale in exchange for something so trifling as a tale or two. How much of what she heard was true, Mirra couldn't say - nor did she truly care. Of the north she heard of seas teaming with gigantic beasts that could smash a ship with the callous flick of a tail; of wilderness full of living shadow and dragon worshiping barbarians. All said again and again that Kael'ta was a place of vast wealth and far vaster danger. Great underground lakes of coal spirit had been tapped and so many rich seams of gold, silver and adamant had been discovered that it was said one would not trip on a stone without finding some rare metal or gem. The wild did not give up its treasure lightly, however. Storms of a fury unmatched in the gentler climes of the south ravaged the sea. The bone chilling cold never truly lifted, even in high summer when the sun waned but did not fully set. In the timberlands gigantic wolves and drakes the size of ponies ruled alongside less familiar creatures. The south, in comparison, seemed far tamer.
Southern traders battled sun-scorched scrub land and vast salt marshes and flats on their journey to the edges of Ista's jungles. Along the way they fought, or more often, traded with the fox clans that lived at the mountainous edges of the wastes. Of the fox-kin travelers had little to say other than to remark on their ferocity in battle, the uniqueness of the sun stones they mined in their underground homes and the strange power of their shaman. All remarked that any of the fox-kin they met seemed to be a mystic or scholar of one sort or another. Of Ista the well-travelled spoke only of the trading cities and ports at the edges of the continents endless, mist shrouded jungles. They had only second hand tales of what lurked in the trackless wilderness - of great lost cities buried under jungle growth and creatures they scarce believed existed. They spoke of the marauders that seemed to roam freely within the decadent southern empire and of battles between flying machines seen from afar. Being so far inland, ocean sailors were beyond rare in Kirikai, but at her urging Mirra could occasionally get a traveler to recount the seaman's stories they had heard, always recounted in doubtful tones so the teller could lend their skepticism to the story.
Mirra took to their tales like dry ground to rain and she promised herself that one day she would see how true those tales were. She wanted to see the sky piercing peaks and frozen grasslands of the north, to watch enormous sea beasts sport from the deck of a ship, to see the garden-cities of Ista and the wastes between continents. More than anything she longed simply to travel - a desire so strong that it felt like an ache in bone and heart.
~
Raw and essentially unedited, as usual.