constructed of an alien architecture; one that Farouk found elegant and beautiful.
The tops of all of the towers and smaller buildings were pointed domes, and along the four sides of each structure were windows with pointed arch frames. The windows appeared to be of stained glass; faded and shattered with age, yet still retaining their air of elegance. The Druid was astounded at the city’s beauty and wondered who could have built it.
And where they had gone…
Below him was a walkway that led to a balcony overlooking what used to be the lagoon. It was attached to the largest building; one that he assumed was where the ruler of this once great city had sat upon his throne. The building itself was nearly level with the surrounding cliffs, and sported all of the usual features of a royal palace. Its most beautiful feature was the stained glass half tower that was built into what he assumed was the throne room.
Mustering a small amount of magic, he raised his arms and summoned the ability to levitate down to the walkway. He settled himself onto it gently so as to keep his weight off of it until he could assure its stability. He pressed down with his feet, testing his weight, and tapped with his staff. The stone flooring felt solid.
He went to the railing that surrounded the walkway, looking down over the edge into the empty lagoon. Surely, when this world was full of life, this would have been a beautiful view. The remains of the surrounding plants and trees indicated a shaded, yet open environment; one that would stay well insulated from the wind and the sun.
It was then the Druid felt the slightest sign of life. It was a living being, he knew; one that was sentient and emotional. It was a forlorn feeling that Farouk had sensed before. He knew he was feeling the same presence he had felt in the forest with Aeli, Jodocus , and the Rangers.
As he traversed the rubble that lay strewn about the surface of the walkway, the presence grew stronger. It came from the palace; specifically the larger room that opened onto the balcony with a wide, pointed archway.
Someone was in there, and he or she was alive.
The balcony itself was much more ruined than the rest of the walkway. It was heavily cracked, even missing stone in some places. Through the holes, Farouk could see the dusty ground below, and feel the hot winds that blew upward from the desolate sea bed.
He continued on, hopping over more rubble and cracked tiles until he reached the archway. It was at least twice his height, trimmed in dull, dusty silver, and built of pure white stone that was almost as smooth as ivory. The walls of the palace were more faded and aged; not quite as bright and smooth.
He stepped through the archway into the throne room, staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling. It was painted with murals that depicted human-like figures that shone brightly against the various backgrounds. They were scenes of beauty and tranquility that filled Farouk’s heart with sadness. Whoever these people were, they had been peaceful and had been at one with the land.
Surely they were faithful to whatever Firstborn had existed.
In places, the ceiling had fallen and its stones littered the floor. Some wooden beams lay scattered as well; possibly columns or decorative totems that once stood proudly among the royalty. Whatever the case, the palace was now a mere shadow of its former glory.
Farouk felt his sadness grow.
“It was beautiful once,” a voice said from the shadows.
Farouk turned to the half tower. From this side, it was a cul-de-sac with a perfectly circular dais that protruded into the throne room in a half arc. Atop the three-level platform, in the view of the surrounding stained glass, was a throne. It was high backed, narrow, and carved of what appeared to be a single tree. Behind it, roots and dead branches spread over it like a protective canopy, shielding its occupant with its formerly green beauty.
There was someone there, seated casually,
The tops of all of the towers and smaller buildings were pointed domes, and along the four sides of each structure were windows with pointed arch frames. The windows appeared to be of stained glass; faded and shattered with age, yet still retaining their air of elegance. The Druid was astounded at the city’s beauty and wondered who could have built it.
And where they had gone…
Below him was a walkway that led to a balcony overlooking what used to be the lagoon. It was attached to the largest building; one that he assumed was where the ruler of this once great city had sat upon his throne. The building itself was nearly level with the surrounding cliffs, and sported all of the usual features of a royal palace. Its most beautiful feature was the stained glass half tower that was built into what he assumed was the throne room.
Mustering a small amount of magic, he raised his arms and summoned the ability to levitate down to the walkway. He settled himself onto it gently so as to keep his weight off of it until he could assure its stability. He pressed down with his feet, testing his weight, and tapped with his staff. The stone flooring felt solid.
He went to the railing that surrounded the walkway, looking down over the edge into the empty lagoon. Surely, when this world was full of life, this would have been a beautiful view. The remains of the surrounding plants and trees indicated a shaded, yet open environment; one that would stay well insulated from the wind and the sun.
It was then the Druid felt the slightest sign of life. It was a living being, he knew; one that was sentient and emotional. It was a forlorn feeling that Farouk had sensed before. He knew he was feeling the same presence he had felt in the forest with Aeli, Jodocus , and the Rangers.
As he traversed the rubble that lay strewn about the surface of the walkway, the presence grew stronger. It came from the palace; specifically the larger room that opened onto the balcony with a wide, pointed archway.
Someone was in there, and he or she was alive.
The balcony itself was much more ruined than the rest of the walkway. It was heavily cracked, even missing stone in some places. Through the holes, Farouk could see the dusty ground below, and feel the hot winds that blew upward from the desolate sea bed.
He continued on, hopping over more rubble and cracked tiles until he reached the archway. It was at least twice his height, trimmed in dull, dusty silver, and built of pure white stone that was almost as smooth as ivory. The walls of the palace were more faded and aged; not quite as bright and smooth.
He stepped through the archway into the throne room, staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling. It was painted with murals that depicted human-like figures that shone brightly against the various backgrounds. They were scenes of beauty and tranquility that filled Farouk’s heart with sadness. Whoever these people were, they had been peaceful and had been at one with the land.
Surely they were faithful to whatever Firstborn had existed.
In places, the ceiling had fallen and its stones littered the floor. Some wooden beams lay scattered as well; possibly columns or decorative totems that once stood proudly among the royalty. Whatever the case, the palace was now a mere shadow of its former glory.
Farouk felt his sadness grow.
“It was beautiful once,” a voice said from the shadows.
Farouk turned to the half tower. From this side, it was a cul-de-sac with a perfectly circular dais that protruded into the throne room in a half arc. Atop the three-level platform, in the view of the surrounding stained glass, was a throne. It was high backed, narrow, and carved of what appeared to be a single tree. Behind it, roots and dead branches spread over it like a protective canopy, shielding its occupant with its formerly green beauty.
There was someone there, seated casually,
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