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Flowers of Heaven 2: avante en garde
There's a snap in the air like the fluttering of a banner in the wind, and then the heavy sound of some large animal breathing.
Gathering around you, though, are creatures that more resemble the idea of animals: lions, wolves, gryphons, unicorns, and stags with stunted bodies, gaping mouths, and rearing poses—like nothing so much as... heraldry. Indeed, upon closer inspection, their bodies seem to be made of stitched brocade. Nevertheless, they bow their heads to you, solemn and respectful, and nudge at you with their heads, paws, and horns, guiding you toward a gap that's opened in the thick curtain of kudzu vines and onto a winding path beyond.
Once you cross through, the vines grow rapidly to cover the open space behind you, and the voices of your fellow idols fade from your ears. It seems as if you’re on your own, now.
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Here, the path beneath you is partially-paved with ancient-looking stones, and in the distance, from no identifiable direction, is the faint, steady sound of a drum.
It seems the herald-creatures are carrying some things for you: a collection of sixteen different flowers, and a small lantern of blue flame, and a wreath woven from vervain, star of bethlehem, and chamomile.
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Gathering around you, though, are creatures that more resemble the idea of animals: lions, wolves, gryphons, unicorns, and stags with stunted bodies, gaping mouths, and rearing poses—like nothing so much as... heraldry. Indeed, upon closer inspection, their bodies seem to be made of stitched brocade. Nevertheless, they bow their heads to you, solemn and respectful, and nudge at you with their heads, paws, and horns, guiding you toward a gap that's opened in the thick curtain of kudzu vines and onto a winding path beyond.
Once you cross through, the vines grow rapidly to cover the open space behind you, and the voices of your fellow idols fade from your ears. It seems as if you’re on your own, now.
❀ ❀ ❀
Here, the path beneath you is partially-paved with ancient-looking stones, and in the distance, from no identifiable direction, is the faint, steady sound of a drum.
It seems the herald-creatures are carrying some things for you: a collection of sixteen different flowers, and a small lantern of blue flame, and a wreath woven from vervain, star of bethlehem, and chamomile.
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[ What...? ]
One of mine just burned in the last round. I- I was right there beside you when it happened! [ AND EVERYONE LEFT HIM TO BURN ]
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And besides, I do not somehow deserve to wear the wreath more than you?
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[anyway, no]
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