Writing Excerpt/ Concepting
For a fairly old story I'm reworking, and making some writing practice.
The air was warm in the shop on a late afternoon from the sun shining through the large glass windows. The floor was sparsely populated with people, some dark wood tables and chairs, a low din encompassing the softly lit interior. One man stood out from the rest, not for being particularly peculiar but more of the company he kept.
"Have you been well old friend? It's been some nights since you've made your way out this far to the city." The man of late thirties sat in a simple violet linen shirt that sat close to his body, and similarly slack trousers.
The company sitting across from him towered over the table, and the room, like a sun dial in the late afternoon light. They were an old stone golem, showing their age through not wrinkles but cracks, and receding hair replaced with growing moss. Though they seemed to trim it, a number of areas had splotches of moss where they couldn't reach.
Finally they spoke, not with a mouth but groaning, creaking deep magically produced voice, "Aye, the farm has tended to most of my time and Ryth has required more attention when the farm is sated."
The man laughed, soft and warm. He covered his own weathered thin lipped mouth with an aged thin hand. His deep emerald eyes forming deep creases at their edges, and auburn brown hair showing faint silvering at their roots.
"Ah, the rascal. How has he been Guardian? As vicious as ever I presume." The man takes a sip from his delicate cup filled with a still steaming dark red tea.
"As ever, if not more. And I have naught heard form you either, what of your exploits in the 'New Alahair', or what they wish it to be called now." There was a hint of mocking in Guardian's voice as they spoke.
"Ever so vicious with your words my friend, but you see it's even better than Alahair. There is naught a trace of the black rift so it must surely be even better now." The man flamboyantly, albeit mindfully, waved around in a mocking voice recited vague words from the royal scripters that had been repeated ad-nauseam after royal decree to make 'New Alahair'.
Just then, some voices from a table over seemed to raise up in similar talk of the old forge city, an older adventurer and a newer one. The younger one of only twenty winters in a plain short brown linen tunic and heavy pants spoke, "I heard it meself, passing the captain of the guard. That's why they were here, they're heading back. The plague on te' land 'parently cleared."
The older gentleman looked of an old sea dog, shaved head and close cut full silvered beard, "I keep tellin' ya kid, they ain't goin back. Nothing's survived in there since the place was damned by the Vietao during that attack."
The words had carried further than their table and a few older patrons turned their head in acknowledgement of the older mans words, before going about their own business.
"Excuse me." The man across from the golem stood and walked over to the adventures, "Did I hear you talking about Old Alahair?"
"Aye, the lad got some notion that the king's sending men back. Some exploration. If true, good riddance to the daft ones who think they can get within a mountain of the city." The older one spoke first.
"I'm tell'n ya, the royal guard has proof that they can get within spittin' distance. The mages of the-"
"Yeah, yeah lad, I heard ya the first dozen times. Royal this, royal that-. They're naught to be trusted as far as ya can toss em. Seen nothing good from this new king, he's tempting something dangerous, I can feel it."
"Young lad, what's your name?" The middle aged gentleman had sat down in the middle of their argument.
"Charter Ikolm sir, and yours?" The boy looked over, slightly defeated.
"You can simply call me Hathil."
