Wednesday, November 9, 2011

{the beginning}

The red Jeolotian sun sat astride a sapphire sky. The expanse of blue stretched its greedy fingers over the world, pulling up strong, gray mountains to meet it in the north and grassy golden fields in the west. To the east the horizon was smudged with a dark blot of massive trees; to the south the land ran flat until it intercepted the high blue dome.

In the midst of the mountains and the grass and the trees and the land crouched the great golden Palace of Furier, the Palace of Fire. The delicate, gilded walls whispered power and charged the air with mystery, demanding respect and inspiring fear. Its marble turrets grew up from the hard, dry ground, flowing up into golden domes topped with fiery flags. The Palace dwelt among the scattered cottages of Furier like a proud gryffin, as ready to pounce as fly.

Everything about the Palace was large and grand and commanding, designed to dwarf anything around it. It was all beauty and wealth and power, sure to diminish the confidence of even a king. Only the Fire Lord himself could manage the magnificence of the Palace.

And perhaps Ember.


1 comment:

  1. I read this on your NaNoWriMo page :) Must know more! How are you doing with the 'no going back and editing' suggestion?