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6 Fourth Age: The Iron Lion; [OPEN] An intro post.
Topic Started: 30 Sep 2008, 11:32 PM (374 Views)
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In Harad, there were two temperatures. Hot and hotter. So what windows there were in the Imperial palace were not barred but vast and shaped as key-holes in the walls. It allowed for fresh air to circulate easily and the silks and sheer materials that hung from them to flick and sway as ghosts in the night when the rare breeze tickled them to life.

Tonight was one such night where the wind crept in, a silent thief, and stole away the humidity and replaced it with cool, though quickly ended, comfort and relief.

It did little for Dharan however.
His half naked body lied out across a bed that was meant for princes and his deep, tranquil sleep viciously interrupted with visions of battle that pierced through his conscience. Abruptly he pitched upward with a cold sweat glazing his torso and a fire in his eyes that put the light of candles and torches to shame. Inside of his chest he could feel the turbulence of his heart, the tightening of his lungs and the acute sharpness of his eyes that boasted of the prince, the warlord and The Iron Lion inside of him.

He had been restless as of late and despite that he'd been asleep, his hands had itched for the feel of his twin Scimitars weight inside of his palms. Even now, as he startled to life with the grit of a battle-scape still ripe in his mind, he grasped blindly for his dagger from beneath his pillow as he dropped his feet to the floor and lazily stood up from his bed.

Like him, the Imperial Palace seemed to sleep very little. The noises from outside as servants rushed by on slippered feet and guard patrol made their routine shift changes, leaked into his chambers as a constant melody of instruments. A familiar song to ears that had heard it all of his life and an odd comfort to his soul.

In moments Dharan had dressed himself in black pants and a sleevless vest with gold accessories. The sunburst sash around his wasit wrapped once about his lower abdomen and then reached down along the side of one hip from a knot. A single gold chain hung with dead weight around his neck and dangled a small golden amulet between his pecks. Each of his scimitars found haven in their sheaths at his back, erecting and crossing their hilts up above either of his broad shoulders.

For ever ready, Harad's 'Iron Lion' left his chambers in one triumphant swing of the double doors that had enclosed him inside of his chambers womb and began his prowl through the many halls of the Imperial Palace.
 
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