A small timber cabin sat amidst an active, vivacious thicket; though vibrant and electrifying, the cabin seemed apathetic. I decided it was deserted, but I still was wary in a sense as I felt a presence in dispersion throughout the summer breeze. The ground was entangled, overgrown and teeming with plantation, as well as yielding and soft underfoot.
The porch was sunk deep into undergrowth. Vines and creepers and trailing plants clung to the roof and branded their stay. A seemingly detailed railing became continuous with the perimeter of the veranda. The porch was muggy and dank. The wood seemed sodden. To each step it felt pulpy and porous. The door had several cracks and chips, moss crept around the corners and the patterns had long since faded.
Upon opening I felt a flood of rippling musty hot breath. The air was ancient and antiquated, heavy and filled with disposition. Among the room were several major factors of furnishings, first, a ring of senescent leather armchairs four in number clustered in the corner and a varnished table placed in the centre containing a vessel of outlandish maroon liquid and residue. The second. A glass expanse cabinet indelicately engraved with wood etchings and carvings. Filled with Fossils, geodes, minerals, ores and oil-frigid aversions. Finally in the corner I saw a writing desk, compendiums, lexicons and tomes cluttered and clustered, filled with pages browned with age and veiled in alabaster wax flowing through the scrolls and incantations, solidified like an icebound flood. I approached the desk and gazed at a Azure and verdant tract, I reached forward and ran my hand over the callous thick cover, shaking the dust and analysing the imprints stricken to the canvas, the material must have been tarpaulin, I etched wax off a corner which had been acting as a fastening and lifting the front. I revealed crinkled elderly pages inked with quill and stained with apprehension and insight filled with indecipherable scratched calligraphy, I closed the book hearing a pleasant robust cushioning sound as the tarpaulin percussed the paper.
Far away circling a sun soaked vearth Men clashed swords parrying blow by blow, grunting with exhaustion ensuing every strike, one thrusted his sword forward and the other stepped back and parried by the hilt, he replied by spinning and slicing his edge across his armour igniting a spark and reforming a gash in the chest plate, the shock broke the victims stride and sent him confused and dazed backwards, he came to his senses in the dust and dirt unable to move under the weight of his gear and a sword tipped on his chin. They stood atop a pavilion, crumbled ruins surrounding, moss and ivy entangling their battlefield, the surrounding forestland towers above with twisted yarn trees which grasped and reached for a black yonder and dull heavens. A realm for no mortals. Both men were frozen in the silence, they both stared intently to the sky. Amethyst, a sky of lavender with milky strings and nettings of green intertwining, and emerging from the empyrean vault was a moon, a celestial august asteroid acting as a paragon for the arcadia above.
