GruTheWanderer
First Post
At that moment a peal of fanfare from down the street announces the arrival of Logain.
The crowd surges forward, straining at the line of Guards who barely hold the street clear. As the lead elements of the procession round the corner, the air is split by the pealing of trumpets and the resounding roar of the crowd. Rank after rank of trumpeters appear, followed by scores of drummers. As these musicians pass your position, a hundred ranks of horsemen flanked by scores and scores of archers and pikemen file around the corner, the first ranks carrying aloft the banners of Andor: white lions on fields of red. Armor glitters in the cold sunshine, lances are held proudly aloft, and crimson banners flutter in the breeze.
Then a massive wagon appears. Four hitches of four giant workhorses pull the enormous vehicle, upon which sits an iron cage surrounded by stately women, two at each corner - Aes Sedai, surely. As the wagon appears you can make out a dozen men on horseback around it, wearing strange cloaks that shimmer and seem to disappear as they blow in the breeze. Their eyes scan the crowd relentlessly.
But it is not they who holds your gaze as the wagon draws nearer. For there, in the cage, is Logain himself. The false Dragon is a tall man, with long dark hair that hangs in curls about his shoulders. He stares out at the crowd defiantly, suddenly making the the processional seem a regal escort rather than a capturing army; the cage a stately coach rather than an iron prison. As he passes, his eyes seem to fall, for just a moment, on you, and you sense the power of the man.
The crowd surges forward, straining at the line of Guards who barely hold the street clear. As the lead elements of the procession round the corner, the air is split by the pealing of trumpets and the resounding roar of the crowd. Rank after rank of trumpeters appear, followed by scores of drummers. As these musicians pass your position, a hundred ranks of horsemen flanked by scores and scores of archers and pikemen file around the corner, the first ranks carrying aloft the banners of Andor: white lions on fields of red. Armor glitters in the cold sunshine, lances are held proudly aloft, and crimson banners flutter in the breeze.
Then a massive wagon appears. Four hitches of four giant workhorses pull the enormous vehicle, upon which sits an iron cage surrounded by stately women, two at each corner - Aes Sedai, surely. As the wagon appears you can make out a dozen men on horseback around it, wearing strange cloaks that shimmer and seem to disappear as they blow in the breeze. Their eyes scan the crowd relentlessly.
But it is not they who holds your gaze as the wagon draws nearer. For there, in the cage, is Logain himself. The false Dragon is a tall man, with long dark hair that hangs in curls about his shoulders. He stares out at the crowd defiantly, suddenly making the the processional seem a regal escort rather than a capturing army; the cage a stately coach rather than an iron prison. As he passes, his eyes seem to fall, for just a moment, on you, and you sense the power of the man.
