" Perhaps these misty woods will shimmer brightly one day"
A burnished figure trawled through sludge and soil, making his way through a land which never thrived, a fitting monument to a tomb of despair for an entire people. At Starlight, he unhinged a mottled cloak and flung it into the swamps. It bore his house colors, but it mattered little in his destination.
The only visiting figure in a postage-sized community situated on the tip of South Brissiaud, he was met kindly by his brethren. Asmar boasted all the conveniences of a rural community, only contrasted by the vibrant colors that its people wore. Invited to a meal to a house built of stone and timber, the figure ventured to a nearby stream, washing his hands and forearms with great care. He let the water run out of his hands and onto his arms, allowing remaining droplets to drop languorously from the elbows as if they were sins escaping the body.
Inside, the room and warm and the orange flame in the mouth of the stove looked homey. The figure pulled out a chair and sat with the others, rolling back his sleeves as an aromatic smell filled the room with spices.
" Why spices? It should be beyond your means"
" It's rare to have visitors."
" You were a boatswain serving under a Lieutenant-General, and now a retiree operating the only schooner in these parts, Verily, you do not have visitors regularly?"
" It's been always this way, it is why many Leutz travels, to the same destination as you are"
The figure drew quiet, excusing himself early from the dinner and heading to his room. A quick glance back showed a tranquil, pleasant scene. Large shadows cast by the lantern light in the middle of the table amidst the mild chatter between children and adults articulated meticulously of the bonds that the family shared.
It was strange, to the figure's senses, to witness Ailor so amicably and fruitfully focus on their cause of mild chatter with such simple joy within their lives. It was as though all men had perfectly uniform ideas and all of it was understood. As for jealousy or personal ambition, it simply didn't exist on the same trail that might lead to death or glory.
The figure reached for a beautiful leather bound journal with both its front and back decorated with elegantly embossed floral circles and the book itself was stitched with a leather string which provided a unique parallel design down its spine. It was a parting memento from his mother, a gesture towards his scholarly affinity.
On innocent bonds between kinsmen
" This was certainly the most profound form of human beauty I have ever experienced- it was the zenith of humankind's nobility of purpose"
When morning came, the figure made his way to the window, paying heed to the rising sun against the moody horizon. A small black bird, blue-crested and with a purple tip on its head and a flaming red tail, flew to a fluttering halt by the windowsill. It exchanged a curious glance with the figure and sooner departed...and so did the figure, boarding a rickety schooner that fit better in a museum than on the seas.
Looking back, Asmar couldn't be called a village, or a hamlet, or even a wide spot amongst the marshes. It was indeed, no more than a thatch of timber and stone huts on stilts on the coastal front, with a dilapidated pier that stuck out like a sore thumb. It's the only marker of grace, Imperial colors which flew proudly on a wooden pole hung precariously at the end of the pier.
Brissiaud was a land of despair, but its people still hung their head high.
