A Flash Fiction set in the Lands of Orendathos
Written By: Jonathan Chandler
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“You must keep your back straight, keep your eyes lowered, and not let your gaze linger if she asks you to raise our head.” Lumara’s list on proper etiquette before a councilor’s daughter drifted in and out of Mathew’s ears. The inside of the manor had relieved him of the ‘press of the city’, the noise and bustle, rather soundly.
Columns of plain design, but accented with smooth marble and topped with rings of precious metals, buttressed thick walls. Windows adorned the arches that topped the walls and brought the columns together with the flare of stained glass. It was nearly as bright inside as it was outside, without the aid of torches or a hearth fire.
While the floors were cold (through the slippers Lumara called the shoes of nobility), the walls exuded a mild warmth that baffled Mathew until he tuned his ears. When he did, he heard the telltale musical bubbling of water spirits dancing within.
“You have heated water running through the walls?” He asked. Lumara looked at him, face momentarily blank with confusion. Mathew felt like a small child who’d asked why the Eye was bright, or why the wind blew.
“Yes,” she said.
Vault of Orendathos 