The quiet sound of electric crackling and something tearing in the air. A flickering white glow illuminates the midnight around as a wound stretches open, shadows of smoke reaching out to explore the new air.
A pair of familiar polished brown brogues step forth from the fissure.
“Realmkeeper.” A voice, smooth and silvery, greets the skull headed giant, who nods his head in return before craning it to survey the area around them.
A pocket dimension, once belonging to the deity of the moon, now lost to time like many other gods. The space is expansive. A vast, still lake reflecting the sparks of constellations above, all bathed in cold light from a close moon. A thin shoreline of black sand surrounds the water, fading into dense, bluish grass, all neatly closed in by a heavy border of black wooded evergreen trees.
The Realmkeeper, Xenair, removes an ornate silver key from the closing portal. He parts layers of dark robes, revealing dozens of heavy copper chains holding hundreds of mismatched keys, all wildly different ages, sizes and materials. Clipping the shining key back onto its designated link he reties the robes and looks towards the other figure.
The man before Xenair is gilded with silver. His slender form dressed in a perfectly tailored three piece suit, dark grey and pinstriped with metallic black. Heavy wool is draped over the left shoulder as a short, black cape lined in silver blue damask. An old banner lays atop the black fabric, its edge neatly stitched against the woollen hem, tasselled ends lightly brushing dewy grass. The grey banner is delicately embroidered with flowing depictions of the moons phases in glimmering pearlescent thread, hourglasses and stars sit between the lunar images in silver and white, and a river of soft powder blue runs through the design. A harness of smooth black leather cuts across the mans chest, secured by ornate silver buckles attaching a pauldron to the right shoulder. It curves gently around the mans body, three pieces of softly formed white porcelain, each section flowing into a flared edge flashing with mother of pearl. The mans face is covered by a porcelain mask. Plain, smooth white with no features other than the closed eyelid of a left eye sculpted into the material and inlaid with more mother of pearl. Gently fluted channels stretch up to the edge of the mask, scalloped almost like a shell.
This person is a picture of elegance, soft and graceful and eerie. Ghost like.
A word echoes in the night. A voice, gravelly, low and warped as if it barely sees use.
“Vaulk.”
The word carries no emotion, there is no recognisable tone to the voice. It speaks purely for purpose.
“How have you been my friend?” Vaulk asks, a kind smile can be heard from behind the porcelain. “I hear you have been travelling, your trappers must be doing good work?”
The blackened skull nods as it finds a distraction, Xenair leisurely strides past the silver man.
“Caught your eye have they?” He asks, amused.
The giant crouches in front of a group of small shrubs, the black earth around their bases freshly turned.
“They’re new.” Vaulk proudly states as he joins him, stood upright but still shorter than the hunched figure. “White lavender, you should have some cuttings once they’ve taken properly. I hear you have some recently acquired friends who may appreciate them?” A hint of a tease creeps into the silvery voice as blank porcelain leans to stare down roughened bone.
“Sandra will like.” That raspy echo sounds again, it comes from no direction in particular. Xenair inspects the wispy strands of the young plants, carefully packing down loose soil as he does.
Vaulk crouches as well, “Take some for her. Now, tell me about this recent trip, Hawaii was it?” His attention turns back to his curiosity and the two begin tending to the plants, the only noise around the moonlit lake being their mostly one sided chatter.
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