Destini
Across the island, in the county of Laighean, four travellers cloaked in darkness descended a gangplank from an English ship recently docked in the harbor of An tInbhear Mór and onto the shores of Ireland. Destini looked about the eastern-most edge of the island she had called home ... and shivered.
They had been dispatched on the Cardinal Faheud's business to aid Pagan and deliver justice to those who had murdered King Zanditin. But they had not intended to make landfall in the county of Laighean. Their luck in the crossing from England had been poor. Bad weather had forced them further north than intended. Now, they would have to cross Ireland's eastern county before they could reach Pagan and bring her the promised help in stopping d'Argent.
Even in the darkness, looking at the shore of Laighean, Destini's natural tendency to look at things artistically caught patterns in the way the buildings were designed and in the way the city was laid out. Each shop was painted white with red trim. Each store had one window, polished clear. Below each window was a single bed of red flowers. Here and there, the pattern would break. The bed of flowers would be blue or the glass not quite as polished. These different houses seemed as if the people who lived and worked there were trying to express themselves the only way they could. The overall effect of the city's visage was one of eerie similarity.
The effect was further driven home when the bell in the town hall chimed sharply. The townsfolk that were still about their business in the dark evening all immediately stopped what they were doing and each went inside identical houses. They returned a moment later each holding identically sized pieces of tinder with a flame on the end. Each villager lit each lantern that stood outside each door. When the lanterns were lit, the villagers extinguished the flaming tinders and went back inside. The streets, although now lit with lamplight, cleared and emptied until only Destini, Allan, Corwynn, and Richard were left outside.
"Laighean," said Destini quietly to her companions, but the sudden stillness of the night was enough to allow her voice to be heard. "Donae look fer welcome here, my friends. An' donae trust to hope. 'Tis forbidden in these lands."
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They had been dispatched on the Cardinal Faheud's business to aid Pagan and deliver justice to those who had murdered King Zanditin. But they had not intended to make landfall in the county of Laighean. Their luck in the crossing from England had been poor. Bad weather had forced them further north than intended. Now, they would have to cross Ireland's eastern county before they could reach Pagan and bring her the promised help in stopping d'Argent.
Even in the darkness, looking at the shore of Laighean, Destini's natural tendency to look at things artistically caught patterns in the way the buildings were designed and in the way the city was laid out. Each shop was painted white with red trim. Each store had one window, polished clear. Below each window was a single bed of red flowers. Here and there, the pattern would break. The bed of flowers would be blue or the glass not quite as polished. These different houses seemed as if the people who lived and worked there were trying to express themselves the only way they could. The overall effect of the city's visage was one of eerie similarity.
The effect was further driven home when the bell in the town hall chimed sharply. The townsfolk that were still about their business in the dark evening all immediately stopped what they were doing and each went inside identical houses. They returned a moment later each holding identically sized pieces of tinder with a flame on the end. Each villager lit each lantern that stood outside each door. When the lanterns were lit, the villagers extinguished the flaming tinders and went back inside. The streets, although now lit with lamplight, cleared and emptied until only Destini, Allan, Corwynn, and Richard were left outside.
"Laighean," said Destini quietly to her companions, but the sudden stillness of the night was enough to allow her voice to be heard. "Donae look fer welcome here, my friends. An' donae trust to hope. 'Tis forbidden in these lands."
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Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine
