10/23/02

The castle was impressive enough:

30 ton marble blocks, rich hued highlights matched at the edges to give the convincing illusion of identity. It reminded Leodan of Starran’s description of the abstractions that form the illusion of consensus reality, huge and intricate densities of accreted thoughts that give the world it’s familiar façade.

But the immensity and craftsmanship of the castle keep was as nothing next to the splendor of the Great Arc. If it were not a single piece of marble, or meteorite for that matter, Leodan could not discern how it was fashioned. The best he could manage was to simply behold it’s awfulness.* The ornate bestiary adorning the huge arch transfixed Leodan for an indeterminate time.

He had left the Door of Dreams early; so early he felt almost as though he was dreaming as he made his way through the main hall of the inn, incongruously still quite a hub of activity. The castle was not so far from the inn, and he had tarried only occasionally as he felt over-stimulated by the vastness of the city compared to the countryside, especially that of blighted Ossington. Yet, he was still standing in front of the thing by the time Iryi arrived in the late morning. True, she was most invigorated after her night of debauchery, but still. It was strange.

The menagerie tugged at his imagination. The lot of them reminded him of the mysterious woodland creatures in the woods surrounding the desperate township. (’What woodland creatures?’ ‘*That* was the mystery.’) This continued to be one of the most intriguing aspects of the trouble there, as far as he was concerned. An ancient druid had conscripted the woods-folk after the destruction wrought by the dragon’s fury, but what had become of them in the intervening years?

The incomprehensible facial contortions of the crazy old bard flitted across Leodan’s memory just as his eyes settled on a bird whose outstretched wings formed the crux of the arch. It was this feature which kept him staring at the edifice until Iryi nearly bumped into him. What was it about the bird? It gnawed at his attention in the same way that unknown something that had robbed him of four ales worth of untrammeled relaxation the night before. Leodan knew well that this fixation of his mind indicated a coming insight. Probably, something in the air would trigger a recent memory to give verisimilitude to the revelation.

Fascinating.

*awful originally meant ‘full of awe’