25 July 2010

Merlin 2 - 3 Falling from Grace

Merlin 2 - 3 Falling from Grace

Troy rests aback to his conjoiner phoenix most abidingly he has been flying for at least a day and a long one at that, proscribed to tarried flight at varied heights. Very high, he and the bird glowing mid flight through the lofty night, until one of the suns return the day and then the shade of a calm afternoon. During that time, his companions far below him bought two horses with matching saddles, one black with Ana and Nickolas, the other white with Merlin, a slow walk at a leisurely pace on a slow day of birds and brightness. The sun held by the restless breeze is staring down at travelers three upon a sundry lane many times against laden by cavalcade, a single path worn wide straight through the forest.

Merlin’s contempt is purely estimable, his adamant frustrations shown with double negatives half a disturbed boredom the other half constantly the look to be of eyes always filled with some culminating combination of smoke, fire, and darkness. Nickolas the unending, sitting atop saddle leans in to the brace as he rides, warily unsorted two bags drape across his steed in front of the saddle to hold his things as his garb is wearily worn and slightly torn, his penchant blades still the festooned accoutrements on his long boots. His scatheless graces accompanied by Ana the fire merchant and cutpurse associate whose arms enswathe her partner are all that holds his tunic closed at the waist. Merlin, the cloak and dagger may care, stares at the morning’s wandering mist.

Ana: “He's been up there a while.”
Merlin: “He'll come down when he's ready.”
Nickolas: “Are you sure he’s even up there though.”
Ana: “He's up there.”

They were correct in their assumptions, indeed above he plans to land, he merely has not learned to instruct the phoenix to do alas as so decided nevertheless. He does hitherto decide to remain aloft, the time wanes above the planes and eventually in forgetful reverence makes landing, and when he does makes a grand entrance, once swooping through the road and scaring the horses and secondly landing. When it came time for him to land he has become less than prepared, the large bird as large as the horses comes crashing down with wings spread to catch the air and slow itself from still quite a distance above the riders.

The open wings to catch the air blaze like a furnace that scorches slightly the ground with what melts from phoenix plumage. When it decidedly tucks its wings and comes to the ground, with a drastic halt without a saddle or bridal of his own, thrown is Troy to the solid earth by a lack of control to his chest and the side of his face, haphazardly thereon a soiled and regretful young man looking as if dejected into a pub alley. They three as riders upon two horses gasp in reverent dismay reluctant to breath until they see him move from a lifeless sleeping position on the soil as he waves a tender hand.

Nickolas: “That was perfect, hold on next time.”
Ana: “Good show.”
Merlin: “You might want to work on the landing.”
Troy: “...I'm alright... there's a city; It looks like many within a great wall ahead.”
Merlin: “We know.”
Troy: “How do you know?”
Nickolas: “We spoke with the horse trader.”

Ana exceedingly holds on to Nickolas and smiles resting her temple to his back saying nothing as they move along the spoor to the mischief at the way, while he sits a repetitive pat umbrage ponderous, echoes of silence as he stares contumely with patience and grace pointedly joist yet hiding resent for any fire other than passion. He stares at the phoenix without much appreciation for he is uncertain of his resulting destiny and the phoenix’s fire whilst they are ungainly cross to stir contempt for him.

Troy shakes and strikes the latent ground from his tattered clothes and begins to fare the annex trace dwelt by the steps of as many as possibly armies. Merlin reaches into his fabric, pulls a leather pouch, and throws it to Troy unbeknownst with a perfect catch and a coy look of confusion and a grateful smile. He stops to open it finding large pieces of polished gold coin quite the opposite of the nuggets he had ever seen or silver Merlin usually spent in the smaller towns.

Troy: “What is this?”
Merlin: “In the high tower there is an aviary, go there, get a stall and riding gear then do not part from your Phoenix, under any circumstance until I meet you there.”
Troy: “Thank you. I’ll meet you there.”

Troy runs to the bird flinging himself over the top and pulling feathers discomforting some by audible displeasure, into the air the phoenix stares caught in the mystery of the old winds. Merlin gives humph at the comment, he was never very fond of encomium, they watch him mount and take to the current sky and struggle to get the odd bird to fly near the tower as they ride slowly through the appurtenances of nature. Starring due to an inenarrable interest, with a subtle smile Merlin is silent to occlude his gloaming objectivity and the true pleasure by each of his morganatic companions through pleasure of favored fortunes.