Welcome to Murillion. Over 11 Celestial Spindles have unraveled since the Great Purge. None are sure exactly what happened before that time, nor what caused the Purge itself. Since then there have been many wars, but finally a time of peace has settled in. Where ten kingdoms once stood, a mighty city has risen. The Kingdom of Damascus. Others from the ancient tribes have elected to be part of the Greater Kingdom, but without its walls. Of the 10 tribes, the bloodlines from nine have been found. They are now collectively the Greater Kingdom of Carnation, with the Damascene Rose at its heart. I am a Black Dove. I am serving you from our cote in the northern hedges of Damascus. A place rife with poverty and farmlands. A place where children have little hope to become pages, or apprentices in a guild, or to attend a nice garden - especially not a thaumaturgical garden. A home of the uneducated, it is the least likely place one would expect to find what we found. But found it we did. Come with me as I investigate Murillion, the continent on which our mighty kingdom rests. I will tell you a story, or two, or three... and you will learn secrets that even the pods do not know. Come with me, and I will share with you a world like no other, and we will weave magic together...even if we must splice our own blood to do it... Send me a wave if you wish to read my reports. I'm always checking my stone.
Black Dove Report: compR :: subCNV ::: dcNH I look up when a slight breeze catches my attention to see a little girl come into the shop. She's dirty. Her tawny hair is tangled as if from running through a high brush. Straw-colored bits are stuck within and all about the old, pale gray kimono and dark gray obi binding it to her slim waist. Her face is grimy, but even so the sheen of sweat accentuates her puffy pink cheeks as she catches the door with one hand behind her to prevent it from slamming shut. She eases the door behind her and looks around nervously. Her hazel eyes meet mine, and I pointedly give her an open look of disapproval, from her filthy face to the dirt between her stockingless, sandalled toes. I even sneer a little for good measure, then I turn my attention back to the shelves like she's the least interesting thing in the shop. But I see nothing but her in my peripheral vision. I recognized her immediately, of course. The mysterious young lady, now twelve, has been under the eyes of the doves for a few years now -- ever since she was nine and was seen coming in here with a blue. Cassia Naomi Veloria, the unwanted child of an herbalist and a cartographer, is a nobody from the hedges. Like all Damascene children, even the poor and neglected ones, she attends the grove. And she has excellent marks. One thing she is not, is stupid. But as far as my cote knows she has no training whatsoever, yet she still lives in that dilapidated house, parents gone months at a time on trips, and she still manages to take care of herself. She turns away, apparently unembarrassed by my scrutiny, though she does brush herself off a little and tightens her obi before proceeding to the counter. I turn slightly to follow her progress. "Well, hello there sweety." Old man Inukai, the shopkeeper, greets her in a polite and endearing way, as always. "What do you have for me today?" She doesn't immediately answer. I grab my money pouch and make a show of counting wedges and checking the cost of some nearby oil and ink. I can feel her eyes pour over me again before turning away. I turn back just in time to see her reach to her side and pull something out of a pouch tied to her obi. She cups it into her hand and passes it across the counter quickly. Too quickly. Excitedly. Inukai reaches for it and I catch a glint of color before the item disappears in the old man's palm. I immediately turn to look at his face for confirmation, not daring to blink. His look of surprise is not unexpected. His eyes flicker to mine, and I narrow them in silent warning. The girls turns and looks at me uncomfortably. I look down into my pouch again. "I seem to have left some of my wedges at home." I let the door slam behind me without looking back, and I pull out an obsidian sphere from one of my many pockets. I pause for a moment, thinking, then I compose a quick missive to my cote chief. Finished, I send the wave and replace the sphere in my pocket. Pointing myself due south to the heart of Damascus, and the great citadel that lies there, I allow myself to fantasize about the large number of wedges that will no doubt be coming my way soon, and how I will spend them. And the feast I will soon enjoy. My gut was right again, and this time it's going to pay off big. The Reaper will want to hear this one straight from the source. Because if I'm right, that little twerp just brought in a green.
I'm still writing the first book. Outline is finished, just gotta fill in the blanks. Been working on the world for between 12 to 15 years, with various breaks. Perfecting the thaumaturgy right now, and chipping away at book one. That's why I figured the typewriter was best for me. ^_^ It's jammed on the letter 'kkkkkkkkk' though lol ^_-
