[ By all accounts, this village shouldn't exist. A series of unfortunate events (famine, poor weather affecting their crops, an unfortunate run in with loan sharks that had bled most of these people dry) had meant practically everyone in this village was hanging on by a thread.
There is nothing remarkable about this village. No heroes that have hailed from it, no prophecy written in the stars speaking of greatness or calamity. It is just a village, with people going about their ordinary lives down on their luck. No one would miss it if it disappeared from the annals of history. These people and its name would, and should have gone gently into the night.
And yet by some miracle two gods deigned to answer their echoes.
Today the village square bustles, bursting at the seams with tired faces full of hope for what is the first time in a very long time. Long tables and mismatched chairs and benches have been dragged out of homes, decorated in an eclectic manner with whatever tablecloths and flowers the villagers could find. String lights and worn at the edges banners crisscross above the bustle of activity below. This isn't a festival, but it is a celebration of sorts. A celebration of starting anew. And in many ways the two gods responsible for this newfound hope are celebrating that too.
Sensing the presence of another, Cassian looks up from his food prep, his shirt rolled up to his elbows to avoid staining it. His baggy shirt hides the fact that in place of his torso is now only a swirl of dust, sand, and star dust. For that reason alone are the buttons fully done up to his neck. But if it bothers Cassian that parts of him are missing, he doesn't show it. In fact, faint streaks of stars dance across his normally black eyes at the sight of Dion - a clear sign of amusement, and perhaps, affection. ]
I'm chopping as fast as I can. If I had known you were going to run as tight a kitchen as Azem I would have just asked her to come join us.
— dion
There is nothing remarkable about this village. No heroes that have hailed from it, no prophecy written in the stars speaking of greatness or calamity. It is just a village, with people going about their ordinary lives down on their luck. No one would miss it if it disappeared from the annals of history. These people and its name would, and should have gone gently into the night.
And yet by some miracle two gods deigned to answer their echoes.
Today the village square bustles, bursting at the seams with tired faces full of hope for what is the first time in a very long time. Long tables and mismatched chairs and benches have been dragged out of homes, decorated in an eclectic manner with whatever tablecloths and flowers the villagers could find. String lights and worn at the edges banners crisscross above the bustle of activity below. This isn't a festival, but it is a celebration of sorts. A celebration of starting anew. And in many ways the two gods responsible for this newfound hope are celebrating that too.
Sensing the presence of another, Cassian looks up from his food prep, his shirt rolled up to his elbows to avoid staining it. His baggy shirt hides the fact that in place of his torso is now only a swirl of dust, sand, and star dust. For that reason alone are the buttons fully done up to his neck. But if it bothers Cassian that parts of him are missing, he doesn't show it. In fact, faint streaks of stars dance across his normally black eyes at the sight of Dion - a clear sign of amusement, and perhaps, affection. ]
I'm chopping as fast as I can. If I had known you were going to run as tight a kitchen as Azem I would have just asked her to come join us.