3rd of Cylus, Arc 721
Sometimes, Prae wondered if he'd dreamed the whole thing. It was ridiculous, of course; Prae had spent the better part of a cycle watching as this place was constructed. But he still couldn't help but wonder sometimes if he was allowed to have something like this.
Silently, Praetorum padded through well lit corridors of polished stone and varnished wood, the ceilings high enough that even Varlum would be able to walk through without needing to duck. He'd had the rooms and hallways built wide and spacious, with windows to let in sunlight, at least in the seasons where the sun wasn't obscured. He'd been afraid at first that he, and more importantly, Sneabru would be reminded of—
But no, this place was a far cry from those cramped, winding stone corridors that had been home, prison and battlefield all at once this time last arc. Even in the dead of winter, this place felt warm, homely. Prae had been insistent on that—Rorom had gifted this place to him in the hopes that he would relax, and Prae hoped he could do just that.
As he wandered the halls, Prae made a mental note of each room as he passed. Here were the living quarters, four rooms in all—Ricky had been so relieved to finally have a room to himself after nearly a year of sharing tent and inn rooms with either Prae or Sneabru or Clarissa. Here was a kitchen, designed for someone far better at cooking than Prae was.
There was a storage room, an armory, both currently rather empty, although Prae hoped to change that over time. And through this door...
When he'd worked with Antonia, he'd gotten used to a cramped, messy workspace, but he'd never quite gotten comfortable with it. Which was why when planning out this castle, he'd asked for a large, spacious room to be made into a smithy. He walked through it now, feeling a smile spread across his face. He supposed Saoire's little meet and greet had given him two gifts—the keep itself, and the opportunity to try something he might never have otherwise.
The forge was cold, and Prae's claws flexed with the desire to light it, to feel the flames start to roar before his eyes. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Prae had no doubt that this was a room he would return to frequently. There was something soothing about the act of creation, of taking a lump of metal and turning it into something useful. It lit a fire in him, no pun intended, that he'd never felt before, a bone deep satisfaction. The closest thing Prae could think of was noticing that he'd become better at something he was practicing, though it was hard to distinguish the pride of creation and the pride of advancement when Prae looked at the things he'd created.
Still, Prae wasn't here to reflect on his newfound pastime. Ducking out a door on the other side of the smithy, Prae emerged out into a massive courtyard, targets and training dummies laid out all around. The training yard had ended up being one of the largest parts of the place, with separate sections for melee, ranged and horseback training, with a running track laid out around the perimeter. But Prae wasn't here to train today either. Not that he could have, with snow blanketing the parts of the yard that were exposed.
Nor was he here to ride, though he did take a quick detour towards the stables next to the courtyards to pet and feed Sivan. No, today Prae simply stepped up to the wall of the courtyard, and let the wind carry him over it, snow swirling around him as he did so.
He'd built the property at the edge of the Mistral Woods, right near the tree line. Before him, the river was within easy walking distance, while the woods stretched out to his right, and grassy plains to his left. And behind him, on the other side of the property, Prae could make out the Stormwastes, quite some distance away. There had been no attacks since Rhaum's death, and it seemed the nickels were well and truly gone. Idly, Prae wondered what they would do with the land. It still seemed inhospitable and barren, which would make it prime fodder for bandits.
Well, he supposed the lightning knights or the wardens would figure something out. If there ended up being bandits, Prae would be in good position to deal with them from here. Until then, it was simply a view.
Flying closer to the river, Prae elected not to land in the snow—even with his elevated body heat, Prae didn't fancy the idea of slogging through melting snow—and started to float up and down the riverbank, soothed by the sound of the elements all around him. They were only missing fire, and that was always within him, one way or another. Earth and air were rarely absent, so most often it was water that he was missing. Even before he'd become a defier, he'd loved living by a lake, and as soon as it had really sunk in that this was real, that he could have a home again, he'd known he wanted it by the river.
For a moment, Prae was tempted to go in for a swim, and in any other season, he might have. But the fire that burned in his spark could only do so much, and the last thing he needed was to fall into a topor from the icy cold. So he refrained, content to just listen to its burbling voice below, watch it go by. The water was clear and crisp, and in its flowing surface Prae could make out the gleam of the moons reflected back at him.
Sometimes, Prae wondered if he'd dreamed the whole thing. It was ridiculous, of course; Prae had spent the better part of a cycle watching as this place was constructed. But he still couldn't help but wonder sometimes if he was allowed to have something like this.
Silently, Praetorum padded through well lit corridors of polished stone and varnished wood, the ceilings high enough that even Varlum would be able to walk through without needing to duck. He'd had the rooms and hallways built wide and spacious, with windows to let in sunlight, at least in the seasons where the sun wasn't obscured. He'd been afraid at first that he, and more importantly, Sneabru would be reminded of—
But no, this place was a far cry from those cramped, winding stone corridors that had been home, prison and battlefield all at once this time last arc. Even in the dead of winter, this place felt warm, homely. Prae had been insistent on that—Rorom had gifted this place to him in the hopes that he would relax, and Prae hoped he could do just that.
As he wandered the halls, Prae made a mental note of each room as he passed. Here were the living quarters, four rooms in all—Ricky had been so relieved to finally have a room to himself after nearly a year of sharing tent and inn rooms with either Prae or Sneabru or Clarissa. Here was a kitchen, designed for someone far better at cooking than Prae was.
There was a storage room, an armory, both currently rather empty, although Prae hoped to change that over time. And through this door...
When he'd worked with Antonia, he'd gotten used to a cramped, messy workspace, but he'd never quite gotten comfortable with it. Which was why when planning out this castle, he'd asked for a large, spacious room to be made into a smithy. He walked through it now, feeling a smile spread across his face. He supposed Saoire's little meet and greet had given him two gifts—the keep itself, and the opportunity to try something he might never have otherwise.
The forge was cold, and Prae's claws flexed with the desire to light it, to feel the flames start to roar before his eyes. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Prae had no doubt that this was a room he would return to frequently. There was something soothing about the act of creation, of taking a lump of metal and turning it into something useful. It lit a fire in him, no pun intended, that he'd never felt before, a bone deep satisfaction. The closest thing Prae could think of was noticing that he'd become better at something he was practicing, though it was hard to distinguish the pride of creation and the pride of advancement when Prae looked at the things he'd created.
Still, Prae wasn't here to reflect on his newfound pastime. Ducking out a door on the other side of the smithy, Prae emerged out into a massive courtyard, targets and training dummies laid out all around. The training yard had ended up being one of the largest parts of the place, with separate sections for melee, ranged and horseback training, with a running track laid out around the perimeter. But Prae wasn't here to train today either. Not that he could have, with snow blanketing the parts of the yard that were exposed.
Nor was he here to ride, though he did take a quick detour towards the stables next to the courtyards to pet and feed Sivan. No, today Prae simply stepped up to the wall of the courtyard, and let the wind carry him over it, snow swirling around him as he did so.
He'd built the property at the edge of the Mistral Woods, right near the tree line. Before him, the river was within easy walking distance, while the woods stretched out to his right, and grassy plains to his left. And behind him, on the other side of the property, Prae could make out the Stormwastes, quite some distance away. There had been no attacks since Rhaum's death, and it seemed the nickels were well and truly gone. Idly, Prae wondered what they would do with the land. It still seemed inhospitable and barren, which would make it prime fodder for bandits.
Well, he supposed the lightning knights or the wardens would figure something out. If there ended up being bandits, Prae would be in good position to deal with them from here. Until then, it was simply a view.
Flying closer to the river, Prae elected not to land in the snow—even with his elevated body heat, Prae didn't fancy the idea of slogging through melting snow—and started to float up and down the riverbank, soothed by the sound of the elements all around him. They were only missing fire, and that was always within him, one way or another. Earth and air were rarely absent, so most often it was water that he was missing. Even before he'd become a defier, he'd loved living by a lake, and as soon as it had really sunk in that this was real, that he could have a home again, he'd known he wanted it by the river.
For a moment, Prae was tempted to go in for a swim, and in any other season, he might have. But the fire that burned in his spark could only do so much, and the last thing he needed was to fall into a topor from the icy cold. So he refrained, content to just listen to its burbling voice below, watch it go by. The water was clear and crisp, and in its flowing surface Prae could make out the gleam of the moons reflected back at him.
