Snippet #2724611

Water. He could hear it, thundering, before he saw it pouring from the spires. Clean, ready to drink, he couldn't fathom how they managed it. His people drew their water from the sand, or did without, baking like clay in the heat, becoming stronger. Yet, to have so much, a thing a valuable as liquid silver, the herald of wars, the tonic of empires, it was beauty to him. He stopped and gazed at the waterfall. Thoughts crowded his mind, snippets of memory, long lost.

The light of dozens of weapons glittering, warping, playing off of the stone. He had seen this before. He felt the locusts roil and willed them to rest. War? No. A slaughter. Great storms. Tubes of glass, wrought from lightening. The thirst. Another king forgotten. A heart held by a crying son. It beats.

The procession swept him back up, and he found himself standing alongside Nedelethakor. He had been selected, which was not expected. Why, he did not know. Probably due to his appearance, he did have an arcane feel to him, especially with his funerary charms. As for the winged ones, they seemed strong. He had seen similar things, in the past, with spikes and twisted fangs. Ancestors of the creatures before him, perhaps? He knew little of the world now. Now was his chance to learn, however.

He didn't understand most of what she was saying. His language had died out millennia ago, but some fragments of his tongue remained in use. The grammar was all wrong, but it was there. He got some it as result, and the guards extremely vivid expressions were helping. Entry was needed, and denied. She seemed to be explaining her retinue joining her in...whatever she was doing. 'Mating' translated, as did 'Human". He didn't know if that was entirely possible, but he wasn't familiar with dragons. Her retinue needed to be present, for whatever reason, and then she motioned to him. An introduction?

He stepped forward, stopping alongside the Lady. He spoke, voice carrying through the cloth covering his face. It sounded dry and distant, like it was being carried in on the desert wind, yet slow and powerful. It sounded...old.

"Sekhemkare. I serve the Lady, Man of Iron. My council is hers to seek."

A locust flew out from his cloak and lighted on the tip of the guard's spear. It stared, as much as an insect could, at the guard.