Not all those who wander are lost
And it shall be..... cold iron.
He awoke to find his fingers cold. Painfully cold. He curled them into a fist, thinking they had somehow fallen asleep on him.
The crackle of the fireplace gave him cause to remember. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the dim, pale candlelight of the room. Still in Thomas's house. Still nowhere near being home. He heard Tisandra and Thomas chattering down the hall and sat up, and in doing so clasped the edge of the wooden table with a dull clunk. He looked down and paused, not entirely sure if he had stopped dreaming.
His hands, both of them, were encased in iron. A grey, metallic gage that felt like loose, shifty concrete over his skin. Not so uncompromising as to keep him from using them. But like someone had slid two metal gloves over each hand and welded them on.
"What's this?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular and blinked, trying to gain his focus. He lifted his fingers from the table and looked at the light dancing off his palm. These things covered his entire hand?
"Your millstone, Mr. Huxley" he heard Thomas say and he turned to watch the old man and Tisandra standing in hall, peering at him. "And the guarantee I need that you will keep to your word, as promised."
Oh that's just too damn cool. Good for melting through fae flesh or cracking skulls with. 'With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere'.
He awoke to find his fingers cold. Painfully cold. He curled them into a fist, thinking they had somehow fallen asleep on him.
The crackle of the fireplace gave him cause to remember. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the dim, pale candlelight of the room. Still in Thomas's house. Still nowhere near being home. He heard Tisandra and Thomas chattering down the hall and sat up, and in doing so clasped the edge of the wooden table with a dull clunk. He looked down and paused, not entirely sure if he had stopped dreaming.
His hands, both of them, were encased in iron. A grey, metallic gage that felt like loose, shifty concrete over his skin. Not so uncompromising as to keep him from using them. But like someone had slid two metal gloves over each hand and welded them on. "What's this?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular and blinked, trying to gain his focus. He lifted his fingers from the table and looked at the light dancing off his palm. These things covered his entire hand?
"Your millstone, Mr. Huxley" he heard Thomas say and he turned to watch the old man and Tisandra standing in hall, peering at him. "And the guarantee I need that you will keep to your word, as promised."
Oh that's just too damn cool. Good for melting through fae flesh or cracking skulls with. 'With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere'.
Last posts
- The Bedlamite Circus Circus Pandemonium Phantasmag...
- This is born out of a problem I've been having wit...
- Artist breakdown: Fifties era clothing links: htt...
- It's taken from a July 2003 post. But I need it he...
- How's this for an old picture? So I've realized...
- I am so damn ready to jump back into this world.
- Her father's axe. A labrys.In the Near East and ot...
- Cold iron is an archaic term for wrought iron that...
- Wayne's not a fan of this idea. But since I was a ...
- Glamour weavers also called seemers. The art calle...
Archives
- December 2001
- January 2002
- February 2002
- March 2002
- April 2002
- June 2002
- July 2002
- August 2002
- October 2002
- November 2002
- December 2002
- January 2003
- February 2003
- March 2003
- July 2003
- August 2003
- October 2003
- January 2004
- February 2004
- March 2004
- May 2004
- June 2004
- July 2004
- August 2004
- October 2004
- November 2004
- December 2004
- January 2005
- February 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- August 2005
- January 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007