Post by Warlord on Feb 28, 2018 10:26:08 GMT -5
The Celestial Sea's collided against the rocky shores. Reaching the area was as remote adventure by any Westerner's standards. The breeze of the winds in the air had an excellent scent for the nose.
Upon a ruined citadel were a few working monks of some long forgotten order. They busied themselves with living off the land, studying ancient texts found only in Kara-Tur about the reality of the Million Gods of their people, or learning of the thousands of wars the mighty nation of Shou Lung has endured.
Yet these monks dared only to approach one foreigner every so often, ensuring they are fed and are alive.
The ocean waters crashed again against the shore. Violently rising up and colliding viciously as the strong waters spread its salted life.
Too often was the foreigner seated crossed-legged upon a flat stone bed, meditating and gazing out to the waters, wearing odd barbarian styled furs of the North to cover them scarcely, and blonde hair locks were let out to dance with life against the Celestial Sea's breeze. A white scarf doned over their face as steely grey irises starred out to the waters: detached, neutral, and soaking in their current reality. The once perfect stomach now held the decoration of one that attempted Seppuku, and perhaps they succeeded, but now the realms make their demands for a lethal weapon.
Upon a ruined citadel were a few working monks of some long forgotten order. They busied themselves with living off the land, studying ancient texts found only in Kara-Tur about the reality of the Million Gods of their people, or learning of the thousands of wars the mighty nation of Shou Lung has endured.
Yet these monks dared only to approach one foreigner every so often, ensuring they are fed and are alive.
The ocean waters crashed again against the shore. Violently rising up and colliding viciously as the strong waters spread its salted life.
Too often was the foreigner seated crossed-legged upon a flat stone bed, meditating and gazing out to the waters, wearing odd barbarian styled furs of the North to cover them scarcely, and blonde hair locks were let out to dance with life against the Celestial Sea's breeze. A white scarf doned over their face as steely grey irises starred out to the waters: detached, neutral, and soaking in their current reality. The once perfect stomach now held the decoration of one that attempted Seppuku, and perhaps they succeeded, but now the realms make their demands for a lethal weapon.