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+--- Thread: Chronicles of a Sultansworn in (the) Heat [open] (/showthread.php?tid=7390)
RE: Chronicles of a Sultansworn in (the) Heat [open] - Coatleque - 10-07-2015
The little girl peered down into the bucket of water at the monstrosity that circled within. The largest, ugliest sea bass she'd ever seen in her (to date) short lifespan. Also her first catch by coincidence. While her mother was busy preparing the stove for frying, her father came round to stand before her and look down with a smile. She looked up to him.
"He's so ugly!" She remarked with an exaggerated shudder of disapproval.
"Aye, he may be. Is that so wrong?"
"Why can't bass be prettier, pa? I want to catch... an, an, an angelfish!"
"There are many, many fish in te ocean, Florence. But ye cannae pick 'n chose the one Ralghr sends tae yer hook. What ye have tae decide is whether ye take it home or throw it back."
"B'what iffn' I dinnae want this fish, pa? I shouldda just thrown it back."
"Oh, perhaps so. But then ye need tae ask yerself - how long are ye willing tae go hungry before ye accept whatever bounty th Twelve already placed in yer lap? Besides, it mayn't look like much now, but once yer mum's through he'll be delicious. Understand, hon?"
"I s'ppose so."
Coatleque jerked back to reality when she realized something was tugging at her line. She responded with a quick jerk of her own to set the hook as her father taught her. The line was reeled in slowly and steadily, kept taut against whatever struggled from the other end. The reel locked suddenly and moved the pole from side to side, up overhead and down low to the ground. A sigh of frustration - it was snagged. She gave a few more quick jerks followed by one strong that broke whatever it was free along with the line itself.
Her shoulders slumped a little after pulling the rest of the line in and she reached to the small box nestled in the snow by her side to retrieve another hook only to find she was out. "I suppose I cannae throw this one back just yet then." she muttered to herself.
RE: Chronicles of a Sultansworn in (the) Heat [open] - Coatleque - 04-19-2016
The stone sat innocently at the middle of the table. White etchings stood out over its polished blue surface. Quiet, inert. The woman stared at it from her chair across the room. She leaned forward. Fingers massaging her temples. "What am I to do with it?"
A quiet pulse shook the lantern flames and the stone turned purple from within. A dark figure leaned down to her from the side, whispering in her ear. "It hates you now. You are nothing. Nobody. Dead and forgotten."
"That's not true." she stammered.
The figure righted itself in one fluid motion and stepped slowly around the chair. Her tattered dress left traces of frost that quickly wicked away into the cracks of the wood. "It was never about you, you know. It was always about me. I was the one he desired. And you simply could not measure up." Her mouth twitched to the side twice before curling to a sneer while the other woman sobbed quietly.
"This... this is why I never liked you. Why you know he never could. Sniveling whore! You should crawl back to your Jewel and waste away in the gutter where you belong."
The figure turned abruptly and knelt before the chair. Her nose mere lims from the other's forhead.
"Or... to Ishgard. Yessss, together. The Voice can lead us to him. You know she can. We only need the right leverage."
The woman's eyes widened.
"Your sister is in Fallgourd. Take her. She knows too much already, and her corpse will serve to break him all the sooner."
A sudden knock at the door startled the woman in the chair. Her head turned towards it, then down to the blistered palm of her hand from when she had tried to hold the stone again. That's right, she had requested a chirurgeon. She stood and surveyed the room quickly. The other woman was nowhere to be found.