Post by Reyn on May 25, 2022 22:33:32 GMT
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🜚 Adrift Within the Gilded Palace of One's Own Mind
The musician dreamt in empty halls, in the hollowed-out husks of rotating once-routine; places, objects, soundscapes, all echoing as empty as his waking heart. These were the visions of an architect, he realised. Or a gardener. A landscapist. Something dull, at least.
At least.
At least it was quiet.
The hall was vast, and cavernous, and beautiful. There really was no other word for it- there couldn't be. Alaric had known the architect personally, had spoken to her several times before her demise- it couldn't be anything but beautiful, or she would've burned it to the ground alongside every wretched soul she had forced to build it. But, ah, they knew that. They knew it was a threat with weight. They always were, up here- everything was weighted in L'avrynn.
Ah, that must be where we are; L'avrynn, the Mountain Kingdom, oligarchy of the beautiful- how fitting this hall must be to a place like that! Seats cloaked in fine velvet, their arms adorned with straps of black wyvern-leather, stretched out into the painted darkness before the stage; a sea of unimaginable potential, however empty it may stand. An orchestra pit furnished with metal, layers of ornate balusters to segregate the layers; bronze, silver, and, of course, the gold to shield the conductor, shimmering now in the uneasy light cast down from the vaulted ceiling. Intricate engravings which lined the walls, each depicting scenes which...
Well, which couldn't quite be seen from onstage.
There was music in the hall, though there was no-one around to play it. It was quiet, though it filled every corner- a strange, unsteady piece, skipping and shifting and layering over itself as if it were played from one's own head, a song that couldn't quite be remembered. There was company, as well. Company of one. That gold-horned tiefling, standing tensioned before the orchestra with his back immovably turned. He was silent. He was still.
He was meant to be sleeping.
At least.
At least it was quiet.
The hall was vast, and cavernous, and beautiful. There really was no other word for it- there couldn't be. Alaric had known the architect personally, had spoken to her several times before her demise- it couldn't be anything but beautiful, or she would've burned it to the ground alongside every wretched soul she had forced to build it. But, ah, they knew that. They knew it was a threat with weight. They always were, up here- everything was weighted in L'avrynn.
Ah, that must be where we are; L'avrynn, the Mountain Kingdom, oligarchy of the beautiful- how fitting this hall must be to a place like that! Seats cloaked in fine velvet, their arms adorned with straps of black wyvern-leather, stretched out into the painted darkness before the stage; a sea of unimaginable potential, however empty it may stand. An orchestra pit furnished with metal, layers of ornate balusters to segregate the layers; bronze, silver, and, of course, the gold to shield the conductor, shimmering now in the uneasy light cast down from the vaulted ceiling. Intricate engravings which lined the walls, each depicting scenes which...
Well, which couldn't quite be seen from onstage.
There was music in the hall, though there was no-one around to play it. It was quiet, though it filled every corner- a strange, unsteady piece, skipping and shifting and layering over itself as if it were played from one's own head, a song that couldn't quite be remembered. There was company, as well. Company of one. That gold-horned tiefling, standing tensioned before the orchestra with his back immovably turned. He was silent. He was still.
He was meant to be sleeping.
