Blue Impact
Inactive Member
Long lost is the touch of the small. As the stars we once only dreamed of grasping come into our hands one by one, how quickly have we forgotten the leaves at our feet, and the pebbles in the road?
Even the sky hadn't opened its eyes to the morning, the dark blanket of night barely tainted by the light blue of day off in the horizon. Still were the clouds that hung above a foreboding mountain, its base long since forgotten in a thick robe of hushing mists. The silence of night was broken by a distant, yet powerful and proud roar of the seas. Rushed by winds and crushed by the unforgiving Stone Gods before them, the storm clouds threatened their lowly brethren with nothing morn than a light haze of rain.
An arch of stone raised from one edge of the mountains, part of its long and winding trail broken by sea mist that could have passed for a roaming crowd. It seemed like nothing more than a brittle twig amongst its mammoth father, stretching across the gargantuan pass below as a hairline path to the other side. Many other stone paths reached across the hidden ocean, some of them broken at their heavy halfway points, while the smallest of them all had been broken and bashed to support simple wooden bridges.
They were no simple stone arches, but bridges in their own respect. While nothing but wires compared to the mountains behind, etched paths of thick, sturdy stone had been forged from the arch, the middle delved and grooved into a deep floor while the sides had been left in an almost natural, perfect form. A few engravings were made along the floor, some of them intricate designs while others the initials of those long passed by, all of them overcast by the shadows of stone walls just tall enough to lean over.
Footsteps came to a stop, once muffled to silence by the raging waves below. The light sway of a thick, black overcoat and two blue belt ends swayed over the bridges floor, while a pair of simple black boots crossed themselves. A yawn joined by a stretching sigh blended in with the weakened storm winds as the only life awake in the mountainous morning took his rest.
Aeto rest against the side of the bridge, his shoulders dusting away a bit of settled grip and his elbows resting across uneven stone. His glasses rest low on his nose, though the morning had not yet freed his eyes. They were comfortable. The easy glow of early morning, with just enough darkness to keep him relaxed, just enough light so his eyes didn't strain with the night. The wind was a welcome breeze, warmth brought from the storm of the seas that clashed with the cold height of the mountains.
Taking a deep breath, as if moving would ruin this perfect world, Aeto slowly lifted himself from the bridge's side. He bent over to grab a tangle of rope, carelessly throwing loop after loop over the side. The clank of a metal hook echoed for just a second as it went over the side, and as the rope straightened out, the man began feeding the rope loosely through his hands. There he stood, the end of the rope nowhere in sight as a great mass sat in the morning darkness by his boots.
Aeto's fingers finally clenched down, and his hands seemed to be tying off the line somewhere near the waist. His fingers tapped twice at the bridge of the nose, and as if his work for the day had been done, he returned to lounging on the bridge with one hand holding the rope.
Two tugs.
