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The Scinterlands: Sibling Rivalry
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<blockquote data-quote="Roquesdoodle" data-source="post: 1747624" data-attributes="member: 14798"><p><strong>The Farmer</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Farmer</span></span></span></strong></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="color: wheat"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><em>Two are coming</em>…</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The words rang in his head like church bells, the soft voice of his god now no longer content to quietly watch from the heavens. A formless sound that etched words into his mind’s eye as if they were falling stars that moved through a night sky along deliberate paths, scarring the dark void above.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat"><em>Two are coming…</em></span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">He stilled his mind in prayer, pushing the prophecy to the back of his mind for a moment. This moment was for Korskadain. The fate of the world could wait for just a little longer. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Sean’s prayer for the fallen Prince was interrupted by a gentle tapping to his shoulder. He opened his eyes, squinting a little in the noon-day sun, and turned to see a young Scinter Knight standing over him. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Pardon, but are you Sean of Torborough?” The knight was sweating inside his mail coif. He was broad and young, most likely having just earned the red mantle of his station. That the man had become a Scinter Knight at such an early age spoke volumes of his ability.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Sean put a hand to his knee and started to rise. The Scinter Knight reached down to offer assistance, but Sean politely waved him off. “Thank you, but I’m not quite as old as I look.” It was the truth, but only slightly so. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Nearly five decades tilling the earth had worn Sean’s features into something a bit older, more ancient than he actually was. He could feel a tightness in his knees and a stiffness in his back that wasn’t there just a year ago. Though he would never question the reasoning of his god, Sean often wondered why Il Mater had called him into service so late in life.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">When Sean was standing upright, he was surprised to see that he only came up to the knight’s chin. Where the King found men this large he simply did not know. “But to answer your question, yes. I’m Sean. How can I help you, son?” </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">“The Hand would like a word with you. Follow me, please.” Though the young warrior was courteous, Sean had no trouble understanding the underlying tone in the knight’s voice. Sean didn’t have a choice. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">He bent to retrieve his belongings when the knight stopped him. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Are you having trouble? Should I send a woodsmith for your wagon?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Wagon? No, I have no wagon.” Sean positioned the wagon wheel over his back, slid his hand-pick into his belt and said, “Lead the way.” The knight gave him a pained expression, then turned and headed toward the castle.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Even though the <em>Lady Darleanna</em> had completed her final voyage nearly an hour ago, people still milled about the open grounds with somber and heavy movements. It did not surprise Sean that the people of the Scinterlands were so saddened by the death of Prince Korskadain. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">King Scinterod’s rise to power had been swift, bloody, and decisive. But once in power, he ruled the island states with an admirable nobility that was scarcely found elsewhere in the world. That his only son and heir should die so suddenly made even the hardest of hearts soften at the loss, of not only a sweet and charming little boy, but of the hopeful and promising future he represented. It was a disturbing omen for the Scinterlands. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">And it was not the only one.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">He rolled the prophecy over in his mind as he followed the Scinter Knight under the iron portcullis and through the stone walls of the castle. Here in the vast courtyard, nobles and knights talked in quiet circles among the marble fountains and magically groomed hedges, all shaped into fantastic and majestic beasts that seem to leap from out of the ground.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The nobles gave him furtive glances with the occasional lord or lady twisting their nose at him in disgust. Priests of Il Mater were not uncommon in the Crown City, but one burdened with a wagon wheel was certainly cause for a second look. But the stares did not matter to him. Sean was not a man of possessions or status or power. He was a man of faith.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">The knight led him through the courtyard and into a small grotto outside of the castle proper. Two large oak doors, flanked on either side by two Scinter Knights dressed in dull, battle-worn accoutrements, rested deep in the gray walls of the castle, out away from the open view of the courtyard. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Flowered ivy climbed along the walls and over a cobbled archway that hovered over the two doors. There was a small bench next to a tiny flower garden and a sundial that sat in the small open stretch of green grass between the castle wall and the opening to the rest of the courtyard. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Next to the bench stood a Materite, a heavy shield of formed Heofenvyld oak slung over his powerful shoulders. Blond hair framed his handsome features in lazy curls as he peered out from under two crags of brow with eyes of sapphire blue. The holy warrior stood in a way that implied a casualness and comfort, but Sean could see that he balanced himself in a way that allowed him to spring instantly into any direction should such action be necessary. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Not far from the Materite was one of the strangest sights Sean had ever seen. A stunning young woman, clad in a transparent dress that faded from shades of violet to pink to iridescent blue, was conversing with…a rabbit?</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The rabbit stood upright and was as tall as the woman, though only due to the height of its impressive ears. The top of the harefellow’s head only reached as high as the young woman’s chin. It wore traveling leathers and rested its paws—upon closer inspection Sean discovered they were indeed hands of some sort—on a thick black belt that held a number of round objects like small coconuts and two small, very unusual looking clubs—more akin to blackjacks—stuffed behind the front of the belt.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Scinter Knight turned to him and said, “Wait with the others. Sir Rey will find you shortly.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Sean nodded as he watched the Rabbit and the young woman talk for a moment. The woman, thankfully, stood with her arms crossed, hiding certain parts of her nubile form that, were Sean thirty years younger, would have made his choice of loose fitting robes an embarrassing mistake. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">But as the young woman seemed to be doing most of the listening, the Rabbit seemed to be doing most of the talking. His furry hands would motion or gesture in a way that would cause the woman to arch her eyebrows or nod her head. The Rabbit’s ears would sometimes droop then stiffen when his gestures became more exaggerated. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Two are coming…</span></span></span></em></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Again, the words clawed at him. He approached the Materite. “Blessings of Il Mater upon you, brother,” he said.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite stared at him, taking in the wagon wheel, then gave him a warm smile. “And to you as well…Father.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean returned the smile in kind. “You’re the first person to call me that. I suppose it will take a little getting used to. I’m new to the cloth.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite tilted his head toward Sean’s wagon wheel and asked, “Is that something new to the priesthood as well? Most priests I know have difficulty carrying their own thoughts, much less a burden such as yours.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean shifted the weight of the wagon wheel to his other shoulder. “I can assure you, I have trouble carrying my own thoughts as well. I rarely keep them to myself for very long.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Few people do. So why the wagon wheel?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean looked around at the lush and well manicured grotto, the flora spreading around them like living works of art. “The first time Il Mater spoke to me, was when I was in my field mending my wagon. It was more a feeling, I guess. An intention. A purpose being conveyed to me more so than actual words. But I remember the meaning of it being so clear it was as if Il Mater was standing next to me, whispering in my ear. He wanted me to take only what I had…and walk.” Sean pulled the hand-pick from his belt and tapped the iron binding of the wheel with its tip. “And all I had was a hand-pick in one hand and a wagon wheel in the other.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“But walk? Walk where?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Wherever he guided me.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite creased his brow. “So you just…left?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“As far as I know, my three-wheeled wagon is still stranded in that rocky field.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The holy warrior shrugged his shoulders with a grunt of approval. Together, they watched the clouds float across the pale blue sky. “Are you here to see the Hand?” Sean asked.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite nodded as a flock of gulls flew through their field of vision.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean gestured toward the woman and the Rabbit. “Them too?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite scratched his heavy jaw as he watched the two on the other side of the grotto. “I assume so, but I can’t say for sure. The girl hasn’t said much. The Rabbit, however, has done nothing but struggle with her name.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Her name? Is it difficult for his kind to pronounce?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“It’s difficult for ANYONE’s kind to pronounce, but no. The Rabbit spoke it flawlessly. He’s just been spending most of the afternoon trying to use it in some very vulgar, and I must admit, some very clever limericks.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean’s hearing wasn’t what it once was, but obviously the young Materite could hear what the Rabbit was saying. Every now and again the Materite’s handsome face would blush while the Rabbit motioned with his hands, his ears, and—occasionally—his pelvis. But when Sean looked over to the woman, she never showed any sign of embarrassment. She seemed fascinated by the creature.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite spoke, still watching them talk. “You said ‘the first time.’”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean turned to him. “I’m sorry?”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“You said it was the first time you spoke with Il Mater.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">Sean pulled his gaze from the gyrating Rabbit. “Yes, yes it was.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite continued to watch the Rabbit poke his nose through his folded over ears in a way that made the holy warrior turn as red as a Scinter Knight’s mantle. He took a breath, then turned his powerful gaze on Sean. “So he’s spoken to you since then.” </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">“Of course.” Sean could feel himself turning red under the Materite’s steady stare. “Il Mater always speaks with me. Oh, not in words, but in other ways. I always feel his presence guiding me, helping me.”</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">The Materite’s eyes were locked on Sean’s, unblinking and searching. Then, with a soft snort of acceptance, the holy warrior turned back to watch the Rabbit and its vain attempts to embarrass the young woman.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">Il Mater had only spoken to Sean once since the day of his conversion. And it was not with a feeling of purpose or divine intention. It was with words. Words as dark and ominous as a summer storm. </span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: wheat">And they echoed inside his head like thunder.</span></span></span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="color: wheat"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><span style="font-size: 15px">Two are coming… Each bear the mark of a father’s love, but one will seek to lose it, the other will seek to find it. One shall seek a father’s justice, one shall seek a father’s revenge. And when the bastard holds forth a broken heirloom, the golden city will soar on vacant wings as Cerebus casts his father’s shadow anew, until it is swallowed by the greater darkness of a broken child’s whisper.</span></span></span></em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: wheat">. </span></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Roquesdoodle, post: 1747624, member: 14798"] [b]The Farmer[/b] [b][font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Farmer[/color][/size][/font][/b] [color=wheat][font=Garamond][size=4][i]Two are coming[/i]…[/size][/font][/color] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The words rang in his head like church bells, the soft voice of his god now no longer content to quietly watch from the heavens. A formless sound that etched words into his mind’s eye as if they were falling stars that moved through a night sky along deliberate paths, scarring the dark void above.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Garamond][size=3][color=wheat][i]Two are coming…[/i][/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]He stilled his mind in prayer, pushing the prophecy to the back of his mind for a moment. This moment was for Korskadain. The fate of the world could wait for just a little longer. [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Sean’s prayer for the fallen Prince was interrupted by a gentle tapping to his shoulder. He opened his eyes, squinting a little in the noon-day sun, and turned to see a young Scinter Knight standing over him. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Pardon, but are you Sean of Torborough?” The knight was sweating inside his mail coif. He was broad and young, most likely having just earned the red mantle of his station. That the man had become a Scinter Knight at such an early age spoke volumes of his ability.[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Sean put a hand to his knee and started to rise. The Scinter Knight reached down to offer assistance, but Sean politely waved him off. “Thank you, but I’m not quite as old as I look.” It was the truth, but only slightly so. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Nearly five decades tilling the earth had worn Sean’s features into something a bit older, more ancient than he actually was. He could feel a tightness in his knees and a stiffness in his back that wasn’t there just a year ago. Though he would never question the reasoning of his god, Sean often wondered why Il Mater had called him into service so late in life.[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]When Sean was standing upright, he was surprised to see that he only came up to the knight’s chin. Where the King found men this large he simply did not know. “But to answer your question, yes. I’m Sean. How can I help you, son?” [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]“The Hand would like a word with you. Follow me, please.” Though the young warrior was courteous, Sean had no trouble understanding the underlying tone in the knight’s voice. Sean didn’t have a choice. [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]He bent to retrieve his belongings when the knight stopped him. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Are you having trouble? Should I send a woodsmith for your wagon?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Wagon? No, I have no wagon.” Sean positioned the wagon wheel over his back, slid his hand-pick into his belt and said, “Lead the way.” The knight gave him a pained expression, then turned and headed toward the castle.[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Even though the [i]Lady Darleanna[/i] had completed her final voyage nearly an hour ago, people still milled about the open grounds with somber and heavy movements. It did not surprise Sean that the people of the Scinterlands were so saddened by the death of Prince Korskadain. [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]King Scinterod’s rise to power had been swift, bloody, and decisive. But once in power, he ruled the island states with an admirable nobility that was scarcely found elsewhere in the world. That his only son and heir should die so suddenly made even the hardest of hearts soften at the loss, of not only a sweet and charming little boy, but of the hopeful and promising future he represented. It was a disturbing omen for the Scinterlands. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]And it was not the only one.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]He rolled the prophecy over in his mind as he followed the Scinter Knight under the iron portcullis and through the stone walls of the castle. Here in the vast courtyard, nobles and knights talked in quiet circles among the marble fountains and magically groomed hedges, all shaped into fantastic and majestic beasts that seem to leap from out of the ground.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The nobles gave him furtive glances with the occasional lord or lady twisting their nose at him in disgust. Priests of Il Mater were not uncommon in the Crown City, but one burdened with a wagon wheel was certainly cause for a second look. But the stares did not matter to him. Sean was not a man of possessions or status or power. He was a man of faith.[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]The knight led him through the courtyard and into a small grotto outside of the castle proper. Two large oak doors, flanked on either side by two Scinter Knights dressed in dull, battle-worn accoutrements, rested deep in the gray walls of the castle, out away from the open view of the courtyard. [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Flowered ivy climbed along the walls and over a cobbled archway that hovered over the two doors. There was a small bench next to a tiny flower garden and a sundial that sat in the small open stretch of green grass between the castle wall and the opening to the rest of the courtyard. [/color][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Next to the bench stood a Materite, a heavy shield of formed Heofenvyld oak slung over his powerful shoulders. Blond hair framed his handsome features in lazy curls as he peered out from under two crags of brow with eyes of sapphire blue. The holy warrior stood in a way that implied a casualness and comfort, but Sean could see that he balanced himself in a way that allowed him to spring instantly into any direction should such action be necessary. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Not far from the Materite was one of the strangest sights Sean had ever seen. A stunning young woman, clad in a transparent dress that faded from shades of violet to pink to iridescent blue, was conversing with…a rabbit?[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The rabbit stood upright and was as tall as the woman, though only due to the height of its impressive ears. The top of the harefellow’s head only reached as high as the young woman’s chin. It wore traveling leathers and rested its paws—upon closer inspection Sean discovered they were indeed hands of some sort—on a thick black belt that held a number of round objects like small coconuts and two small, very unusual looking clubs—more akin to blackjacks—stuffed behind the front of the belt.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Scinter Knight turned to him and said, “Wait with the others. Sir Rey will find you shortly.”[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Sean nodded as he watched the Rabbit and the young woman talk for a moment. The woman, thankfully, stood with her arms crossed, hiding certain parts of her nubile form that, were Sean thirty years younger, would have made his choice of loose fitting robes an embarrassing mistake. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]But as the young woman seemed to be doing most of the listening, the Rabbit seemed to be doing most of the talking. His furry hands would motion or gesture in a way that would cause the woman to arch her eyebrows or nod her head. The Rabbit’s ears would sometimes droop then stiffen when his gestures became more exaggerated. [/color][/size][/font] [i][font=Garamond][size=3][color=wheat]Two are coming…[/color][/size][/font][/i] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Again, the words clawed at him. He approached the Materite. “Blessings of Il Mater upon you, brother,” he said.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite stared at him, taking in the wagon wheel, then gave him a warm smile. “And to you as well…Father.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean returned the smile in kind. “You’re the first person to call me that. I suppose it will take a little getting used to. I’m new to the cloth.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite tilted his head toward Sean’s wagon wheel and asked, “Is that something new to the priesthood as well? Most priests I know have difficulty carrying their own thoughts, much less a burden such as yours.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean shifted the weight of the wagon wheel to his other shoulder. “I can assure you, I have trouble carrying my own thoughts as well. I rarely keep them to myself for very long.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Few people do. So why the wagon wheel?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean looked around at the lush and well manicured grotto, the flora spreading around them like living works of art. “The first time Il Mater spoke to me, was when I was in my field mending my wagon. It was more a feeling, I guess. An intention. A purpose being conveyed to me more so than actual words. But I remember the meaning of it being so clear it was as if Il Mater was standing next to me, whispering in my ear. He wanted me to take only what I had…and walk.” Sean pulled the hand-pick from his belt and tapped the iron binding of the wheel with its tip. “And all I had was a hand-pick in one hand and a wagon wheel in the other.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“But walk? Walk where?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Wherever he guided me.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite creased his brow. “So you just…left?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“As far as I know, my three-wheeled wagon is still stranded in that rocky field.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The holy warrior shrugged his shoulders with a grunt of approval. Together, they watched the clouds float across the pale blue sky. “Are you here to see the Hand?” Sean asked.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite nodded as a flock of gulls flew through their field of vision.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean gestured toward the woman and the Rabbit. “Them too?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite scratched his heavy jaw as he watched the two on the other side of the grotto. “I assume so, but I can’t say for sure. The girl hasn’t said much. The Rabbit, however, has done nothing but struggle with her name.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Her name? Is it difficult for his kind to pronounce?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“It’s difficult for ANYONE’s kind to pronounce, but no. The Rabbit spoke it flawlessly. He’s just been spending most of the afternoon trying to use it in some very vulgar, and I must admit, some very clever limericks.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean’s hearing wasn’t what it once was, but obviously the young Materite could hear what the Rabbit was saying. Every now and again the Materite’s handsome face would blush while the Rabbit motioned with his hands, his ears, and—occasionally—his pelvis. But when Sean looked over to the woman, she never showed any sign of embarrassment. She seemed fascinated by the creature.[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite spoke, still watching them talk. “You said ‘the first time.’”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean turned to him. “I’m sorry?”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“You said it was the first time you spoke with Il Mater.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]Sean pulled his gaze from the gyrating Rabbit. “Yes, yes it was.”[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]The Materite continued to watch the Rabbit poke his nose through his folded over ears in a way that made the holy warrior turn as red as a Scinter Knight’s mantle. He took a breath, then turned his powerful gaze on Sean. “So he’s spoken to you since then.” [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]“Of course.” Sean could feel himself turning red under the Materite’s steady stare. “Il Mater always speaks with me. Oh, not in words, but in other ways. I always feel his presence guiding me, helping me.”[/color][/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]The Materite’s eyes were locked on Sean’s, unblinking and searching. Then, with a soft snort of acceptance, the holy warrior turned back to watch the Rabbit and its vain attempts to embarrass the young woman.[/color][/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]Il Mater had only spoken to Sean once since the day of his conversion. And it was not with a feeling of purpose or divine intention. It was with words. Words as dark and ominous as a summer storm. [/color][/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3][color=wheat]And they echoed inside his head like thunder.[/color][/size][/font] [i][color=wheat][font=Garamond][size=4]Two are coming… Each bear the mark of a father’s love, but one will seek to lose it, the other will seek to find it. One shall seek a father’s justice, one shall seek a father’s revenge. And when the bastard holds forth a broken heirloom, the golden city will soar on vacant wings as Cerebus casts his father’s shadow anew, until it is swallowed by the greater darkness of a broken child’s whisper.[/size][/font][/color][/i] [size=3][font=Times New Roman][color=wheat]. [/color][/font][/size] [/QUOTE]
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