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[5E] The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter One
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<blockquote data-quote="Metea" data-source="post: 7343263" data-attributes="member: 6939041"><p><strong>Metea: By Rote</strong></p><p></p><p>The west side of the chapel saw little light. The sun saw it last, and the great beacon in the chapel never turned its gaze there. And that suited Metea just fine.</p><p></p><p>She sat alone at a table. Before her, propped up on a wooden easel perfectly made for it, was one of Suru's Tomes. A great masterpiece, written by one of his priests centuries ago. The text wove both mundane and fantastical. Stories of the church's God, in all his shining glory.</p><p></p><p>Metea was not reading it. Not really. She was copying it.</p><p></p><p>Her quill flicked over the pages- careful, precise strokes. Not a drop, or an inch of canvas, could be wasted. </p><p></p><p>This was Metea's days and nights, for the most part; a paltry job, to allow her to stay within the church- a trade for a room and some bread and meat at night. It was acceptable, really. But she did wish for so much more.</p><p></p><p><em>You deserve so much more.</em></p><p></p><p>A candle sat on the desk alongside her, long since burned down until it was nearly spluttering in its own wax. One of her brothers'. He seemed so happy to give them to her; didn't he know she could see in the dark?</p><p></p><p>Metea tapped her quill on the edge of the ink well.</p><p></p><p>Perhaps it was not so terrible. The candlelight gave the ink's color meaning. The illuminations she drew in the corners of the pages, when her mind had wandered too far from the task, took on life in the candle light.</p><p></p><p>Outside, the sounds of the city were growing larger. The tower had attracted its crowd of gawkers, as always. She carefully rested a white linen over the page she had been working on, was about to snuff out the candle, when a strange shadow was cast over the table. A moment's pause, and its source was identified- a spider, dangling from its thread, was slowly dropping down towards the table. Metea raised a hand, about to crush it, but paused.</p><p></p><p>Instead, she'd reach forward, catching the spider's thread on the edge of one clawed finger. The spider continued drifting downwards, unaware its thread had been cut. Metea contemplated it for a moment- then moved her hand, so that the spider was immersed in the flames of the candle.</p><p></p><p>Legs twitched, briefly and brightly, and the little creature popped.</p><p></p><p>Metea blew out the candle, and grabbing her staff, headed out. She'd have to meet up with Carthum, at their old spot. He had probably already beaten her there.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Metea, post: 7343263, member: 6939041"] [b]Metea: By Rote[/b] The west side of the chapel saw little light. The sun saw it last, and the great beacon in the chapel never turned its gaze there. And that suited Metea just fine. She sat alone at a table. Before her, propped up on a wooden easel perfectly made for it, was one of Suru's Tomes. A great masterpiece, written by one of his priests centuries ago. The text wove both mundane and fantastical. Stories of the church's God, in all his shining glory. Metea was not reading it. Not really. She was copying it. Her quill flicked over the pages- careful, precise strokes. Not a drop, or an inch of canvas, could be wasted. This was Metea's days and nights, for the most part; a paltry job, to allow her to stay within the church- a trade for a room and some bread and meat at night. It was acceptable, really. But she did wish for so much more. [I]You deserve so much more.[/I] A candle sat on the desk alongside her, long since burned down until it was nearly spluttering in its own wax. One of her brothers'. He seemed so happy to give them to her; didn't he know she could see in the dark? Metea tapped her quill on the edge of the ink well. Perhaps it was not so terrible. The candlelight gave the ink's color meaning. The illuminations she drew in the corners of the pages, when her mind had wandered too far from the task, took on life in the candle light. Outside, the sounds of the city were growing larger. The tower had attracted its crowd of gawkers, as always. She carefully rested a white linen over the page she had been working on, was about to snuff out the candle, when a strange shadow was cast over the table. A moment's pause, and its source was identified- a spider, dangling from its thread, was slowly dropping down towards the table. Metea raised a hand, about to crush it, but paused. Instead, she'd reach forward, catching the spider's thread on the edge of one clawed finger. The spider continued drifting downwards, unaware its thread had been cut. Metea contemplated it for a moment- then moved her hand, so that the spider was immersed in the flames of the candle. Legs twitched, briefly and brightly, and the little creature popped. Metea blew out the candle, and grabbing her staff, headed out. She'd have to meet up with Carthum, at their old spot. He had probably already beaten her there. [/QUOTE]
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