It said it the bold, freshly painted characters that he had grown up on for so many years. There was such clarity to it that his eyes felt a bit of ache from the lack of the need to focus through the curtain of saffron.
"Your vote means the restoration of this country's honor."
It was a political ad, not to gather the vote of any particular candidate; but to promote the act of democracy in itself. These were hard times, with the Pharoah fallen to illness the country fell into turmoil. Many claimed that the Pharoah's eldest nephew become the candidate, but others stated that he was an ill choice and that there was no need to follow bloodline in such a distant manner as extended family.
There was no organized legislature, but many nobles and priests spoke on the matter. It would be the first democratic choice of a leader in the area for quite some time. Even while recorded history was often passed through word of mouth, it was concrete that this would be a first.
The desert wind pierced the market place, and the choppy black garments of the youthful boy before the poster buckled slightly. Crimson outgrowths of hair mixed with the blonde slightly, but returned to the star like formation he had known for since childhood. He wasn't very old, but his eyes shown with great thought. The amethyst hues were locked dead set on the poster still, repeating the one phrase marked on the papyrus in his mind again and again.
This meant his country's future.
The handling of delegation between this desert nation of Egypt and the existance of the other powerful nations led by things not quite of the race of men was an important matter. Egypt was a striving country in this time, where men were not looked down upon but also not looked up to. If a country was to strive and pave its streets with riches, it needed an able leader. The previous Pharoah was such, even suspected of being too much a strong leader for his own good. Sabotage was possible, perhaps an internal power struggle. While investigations came and went, it mattered not to the common people.
Even to the traveling youth that stood before the proclomation of the sandstone wall wasn't too immersed in the world of politics, nor did he hold much importance. He was a sage in his own right, an apprentice under several scholars that he ran errands for between the trade routes. It meant months on months of travel between the eastern and western provinces of the lands to the north, in the sparce parts where men lived. It meant travel under the watchful eyes of the Magi nation, and through the dangerously quiet Elvish forests. It meant much wear on the heart of the boy not quite yet even in his third decade of existance or past his second for that obvious matter.
Another desert win passed through the market place, and he could feel the ripple and rub of the silk against the heavier cloth cloak. At this rate, the silk pants were going to rub straight through, and it would be a hard trip back to Eastern lands to have more of this made for him. It was in the Eastern lands where he was finally given a name he could be proud of, because for the most part the varied tongues of men and beast and that in between could not settle on a way to say callings such as the names of men. But something about this name, Yami, meaning Darkness... Something about it carried well.
He mingled his way through the crowds of people who had gathered around a popular fruit stand that carried imports from the northern lands. A delivery cart was making it's way outward, but it seemed to be traveling not back towards the direction it would come from. It didn't seem drastically out of the ordinary, but there was something that Yami percieved about it's quiet steady nature. It was in no rush towards the direction it was headed. It almost seemed to possess a creeping nature, as if it were trying to sneak its way towards where ever it was going.
With no current errand or task at hand from his domestic master of craft, Yami followed. Questions rang through his mind, but he minded himself with a stoic tactical nature. Where is it going? What am I to do if it does not enjoy the fact I pursue? Is the careful nature it proceeds with cautious and not perverse? They were all sound, but he attempted to clear his mind and carefully meander through the dying part of the crowd after the cart. The horses that drew it seemed a little underfed and ill maintained, and the driver of the cart lurked in the shadows of the mouth of the carriage awning. From this angle, Yami could almost percieve a silhouette of a cloaked figure with the hood of the garment up and the sleeves low.
It began to creep around the corner, and Yami paused a moment before following. He would be a bit obvious, what with waving that flag of crimson and gold in his trimmings. It was natural, but it was a curse to make him an easy sight. Once it had made it around the corner safely and the sound of the horse trodding was silent, he followed carefully around the corner to see if it was still in sight.
It was a horrible sight, so terrifying he had to pat his chest to make his heart slow down. The robes percieved as black were actually just a darker hue of his own violet eye coloring. Clutched in the pale, grip of the flurry of purple was a wood that looked of northern nature from the tall trees of the Elvish forests. The screeching howl let off into the air is what set him off, but more horrifying was the figure that really defined the existance of the evil before him. It was a simple skeleton, nothing amazing. The only problem was its possessed mobility, and the fact it was coming straight at him.
He had no time to think where it had come from, only a second to assume the creature was tipped off to him following. This reaper wished to put an end to the nuisance of the simply apprentice. There was only a moment, but he used it widely. He took to the cutlass stowed in the sheathe connected to the rope that secured his pants up, and held his right arm out firmly and in a horizontal fashion. A quick dodge managed to put the shrieking fiend in the presence of his blade. Even though it was frightening to hear the battle cry of the beast, it was more so terrifying a sound to hear it stumble in pain.
There was no blood, only dissipation. It was gone as soon as it was there, it seemed. The horse, frightened from the exchange between Yami and the ghostly cart driver, shook loose of the reigns it was set upon and set out to causing a ruckus back in the direction of the market. What exactly had happened? What was that transfer of events all about? Yami, trying to contain his panting and sweating from the reaction of fear he was portraying, made his way into the seemingly deserted cart.
There was no lining, no floor boards. The awning covered nothing, giving only the apparent display of a delivery cart. It must have passed through the town hoping to be under this guise. After careful inspection, he noticed nothing really in the cart at all. He looked once more just for good measure, but still he resulted in nothing. Surely the poltergeist who tried to take his life was defending something. He realized that the seat of the carriage where the "driver" took his place was padlocked to keep stability, and with the still unsheathed cutlass he possessed, Yami cracked open the stable yet weak lock.
It made sense that a driver would defend something golden, but there was something in the inherent treasure before him that wreaked of the same magical nature that the ghost had possessed. It didn't seem quite harmful, but he could feel a dead weight in the pit of his stomach just looking at it. It looked similar to the dreamcatchers of the more religious peoples, but it was completely done in gold and adorn with the eye of the legendary Horus in the center of the ring. Five charms extended from it's tips at regular intervals. There was an eye for it to be hung, which it was, around a silk cord. He could claim it as his own, but then what?
Regardless, he felt the need to pillage the chest no matter what. He took the ring into his hands, and had to smile with the light but valued weight of gold in his hands. He slipped the cord around his neck, and tucked it and the ring under a layer of his clothing. He wasn't sure what would come of him should it be seen, but he decided the best thing to do was to show it to his master of the city. He was a man of quiet nature, who would appreciate any historical value in the object. It was about time he headed to his keep anyway, in the humble domain of the scholar and sage, Shadi.
"Your vote means the restoration of this country's honor."
It was a political ad, not to gather the vote of any particular candidate; but to promote the act of democracy in itself. These were hard times, with the Pharoah fallen to illness the country fell into turmoil. Many claimed that the Pharoah's eldest nephew become the candidate, but others stated that he was an ill choice and that there was no need to follow bloodline in such a distant manner as extended family.
There was no organized legislature, but many nobles and priests spoke on the matter. It would be the first democratic choice of a leader in the area for quite some time. Even while recorded history was often passed through word of mouth, it was concrete that this would be a first.
The desert wind pierced the market place, and the choppy black garments of the youthful boy before the poster buckled slightly. Crimson outgrowths of hair mixed with the blonde slightly, but returned to the star like formation he had known for since childhood. He wasn't very old, but his eyes shown with great thought. The amethyst hues were locked dead set on the poster still, repeating the one phrase marked on the papyrus in his mind again and again.
This meant his country's future.
The handling of delegation between this desert nation of Egypt and the existance of the other powerful nations led by things not quite of the race of men was an important matter. Egypt was a striving country in this time, where men were not looked down upon but also not looked up to. If a country was to strive and pave its streets with riches, it needed an able leader. The previous Pharoah was such, even suspected of being too much a strong leader for his own good. Sabotage was possible, perhaps an internal power struggle. While investigations came and went, it mattered not to the common people.
Even to the traveling youth that stood before the proclomation of the sandstone wall wasn't too immersed in the world of politics, nor did he hold much importance. He was a sage in his own right, an apprentice under several scholars that he ran errands for between the trade routes. It meant months on months of travel between the eastern and western provinces of the lands to the north, in the sparce parts where men lived. It meant travel under the watchful eyes of the Magi nation, and through the dangerously quiet Elvish forests. It meant much wear on the heart of the boy not quite yet even in his third decade of existance or past his second for that obvious matter.
Another desert win passed through the market place, and he could feel the ripple and rub of the silk against the heavier cloth cloak. At this rate, the silk pants were going to rub straight through, and it would be a hard trip back to Eastern lands to have more of this made for him. It was in the Eastern lands where he was finally given a name he could be proud of, because for the most part the varied tongues of men and beast and that in between could not settle on a way to say callings such as the names of men. But something about this name, Yami, meaning Darkness... Something about it carried well.
He mingled his way through the crowds of people who had gathered around a popular fruit stand that carried imports from the northern lands. A delivery cart was making it's way outward, but it seemed to be traveling not back towards the direction it would come from. It didn't seem drastically out of the ordinary, but there was something that Yami percieved about it's quiet steady nature. It was in no rush towards the direction it was headed. It almost seemed to possess a creeping nature, as if it were trying to sneak its way towards where ever it was going.
With no current errand or task at hand from his domestic master of craft, Yami followed. Questions rang through his mind, but he minded himself with a stoic tactical nature. Where is it going? What am I to do if it does not enjoy the fact I pursue? Is the careful nature it proceeds with cautious and not perverse? They were all sound, but he attempted to clear his mind and carefully meander through the dying part of the crowd after the cart. The horses that drew it seemed a little underfed and ill maintained, and the driver of the cart lurked in the shadows of the mouth of the carriage awning. From this angle, Yami could almost percieve a silhouette of a cloaked figure with the hood of the garment up and the sleeves low.
It began to creep around the corner, and Yami paused a moment before following. He would be a bit obvious, what with waving that flag of crimson and gold in his trimmings. It was natural, but it was a curse to make him an easy sight. Once it had made it around the corner safely and the sound of the horse trodding was silent, he followed carefully around the corner to see if it was still in sight.
It was a horrible sight, so terrifying he had to pat his chest to make his heart slow down. The robes percieved as black were actually just a darker hue of his own violet eye coloring. Clutched in the pale, grip of the flurry of purple was a wood that looked of northern nature from the tall trees of the Elvish forests. The screeching howl let off into the air is what set him off, but more horrifying was the figure that really defined the existance of the evil before him. It was a simple skeleton, nothing amazing. The only problem was its possessed mobility, and the fact it was coming straight at him.
He had no time to think where it had come from, only a second to assume the creature was tipped off to him following. This reaper wished to put an end to the nuisance of the simply apprentice. There was only a moment, but he used it widely. He took to the cutlass stowed in the sheathe connected to the rope that secured his pants up, and held his right arm out firmly and in a horizontal fashion. A quick dodge managed to put the shrieking fiend in the presence of his blade. Even though it was frightening to hear the battle cry of the beast, it was more so terrifying a sound to hear it stumble in pain.
There was no blood, only dissipation. It was gone as soon as it was there, it seemed. The horse, frightened from the exchange between Yami and the ghostly cart driver, shook loose of the reigns it was set upon and set out to causing a ruckus back in the direction of the market. What exactly had happened? What was that transfer of events all about? Yami, trying to contain his panting and sweating from the reaction of fear he was portraying, made his way into the seemingly deserted cart.
There was no lining, no floor boards. The awning covered nothing, giving only the apparent display of a delivery cart. It must have passed through the town hoping to be under this guise. After careful inspection, he noticed nothing really in the cart at all. He looked once more just for good measure, but still he resulted in nothing. Surely the poltergeist who tried to take his life was defending something. He realized that the seat of the carriage where the "driver" took his place was padlocked to keep stability, and with the still unsheathed cutlass he possessed, Yami cracked open the stable yet weak lock.
It made sense that a driver would defend something golden, but there was something in the inherent treasure before him that wreaked of the same magical nature that the ghost had possessed. It didn't seem quite harmful, but he could feel a dead weight in the pit of his stomach just looking at it. It looked similar to the dreamcatchers of the more religious peoples, but it was completely done in gold and adorn with the eye of the legendary Horus in the center of the ring. Five charms extended from it's tips at regular intervals. There was an eye for it to be hung, which it was, around a silk cord. He could claim it as his own, but then what?
Regardless, he felt the need to pillage the chest no matter what. He took the ring into his hands, and had to smile with the light but valued weight of gold in his hands. He slipped the cord around his neck, and tucked it and the ring under a layer of his clothing. He wasn't sure what would come of him should it be seen, but he decided the best thing to do was to show it to his master of the city. He was a man of quiet nature, who would appreciate any historical value in the object. It was about time he headed to his keep anyway, in the humble domain of the scholar and sage, Shadi.