captainb
Driving You Mad
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2001
- Posts
- 1,330
Fook
Fook had no questions for Arista, at least none that needed asking at the moment. Questions would arise as needed, he knew, and the answers would be revealed in their own course. He exchanged brief pleasantries with Liam on his way back to the east tower, then continued to prepare for the journey. In his spartan room, Fook packed a small satchel and filled his pockets with roots and herbs. His robe had numerous small flaps cleverly sewn into the red and gold silk. Though each pocket could hold up to ten times its physical size, the weight and shape of the robe never changed. He stood still and meditated briefly, letting his spirit wade at the shores of the ether. He had lost track of the years he had been at this castle. At least four kings had come and gone, possibly more. He didn't remember details well these past few decades, but that was no matter. The experience he gleaned soaked into his soul, where it melded with the rest. He had served each master faithfully, not only helping to heal the wounded but, more importantly, bringing his special wisdom to bear in times of trouble and uncertainty. Sadly, not everyone could see things as clearly as he, and despite his extremely clear analysis of the problem at hand, many simply would not try to understand. Well, he sighed, even melon grown in shade will ripen in the end.
His nightly ritual included a visit to the Royal Gardens. Fook loved seeing the lunar tulips open their petals in the moonlight, and this was two nights before the full moon. He walked along the base of the wall until he came to the corner tower, starting around to where the gardens were. At a sound he turned around, then looked up. He raised his eyebrows. I haven't seen a princess climbing down a tower since...hmm, who was that? Mirial? Or the flighty blonde, oh maybe three kings ago...he snapped out of his reverie as a few bits of gravel bounced down the side of the wall. He peered closer. Ah, and she is tied onto the same statue, too.
"Princess Ariana," he called. She stopped her uneven descent and bounced against the wall as she stared down, trying to see who it was. He bowed while trying to keep looking up, nearly tipping off balance. "Your humble servant wishes to suggest that you return to royal bedchamber. Sometimes hasty decision like hind leg of mule...kick backward."
Fook had no questions for Arista, at least none that needed asking at the moment. Questions would arise as needed, he knew, and the answers would be revealed in their own course. He exchanged brief pleasantries with Liam on his way back to the east tower, then continued to prepare for the journey. In his spartan room, Fook packed a small satchel and filled his pockets with roots and herbs. His robe had numerous small flaps cleverly sewn into the red and gold silk. Though each pocket could hold up to ten times its physical size, the weight and shape of the robe never changed. He stood still and meditated briefly, letting his spirit wade at the shores of the ether. He had lost track of the years he had been at this castle. At least four kings had come and gone, possibly more. He didn't remember details well these past few decades, but that was no matter. The experience he gleaned soaked into his soul, where it melded with the rest. He had served each master faithfully, not only helping to heal the wounded but, more importantly, bringing his special wisdom to bear in times of trouble and uncertainty. Sadly, not everyone could see things as clearly as he, and despite his extremely clear analysis of the problem at hand, many simply would not try to understand. Well, he sighed, even melon grown in shade will ripen in the end.
His nightly ritual included a visit to the Royal Gardens. Fook loved seeing the lunar tulips open their petals in the moonlight, and this was two nights before the full moon. He walked along the base of the wall until he came to the corner tower, starting around to where the gardens were. At a sound he turned around, then looked up. He raised his eyebrows. I haven't seen a princess climbing down a tower since...hmm, who was that? Mirial? Or the flighty blonde, oh maybe three kings ago...he snapped out of his reverie as a few bits of gravel bounced down the side of the wall. He peered closer. Ah, and she is tied onto the same statue, too.
"Princess Ariana," he called. She stopped her uneven descent and bounced against the wall as she stared down, trying to see who it was. He bowed while trying to keep looking up, nearly tipping off balance. "Your humble servant wishes to suggest that you return to royal bedchamber. Sometimes hasty decision like hind leg of mule...kick backward."