[Critique] Laine
Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2007 12:43 pm
Laine
The needle moved in short fluid arches, each graceful motion ending in a short stab of pain before the needle made its way from Laine's brow to the small ink pot. The mark forming on her brow was a simple affair, swooping curves of ice blue and shining silver starting at each ear and meeting in a sharp point between her eyes.
Royal colours, the colours of her mother’s household. Laine was now a part of that household, Heir to the throne of the Victarians, rulers of the north. At sixteen Laine was now considered a woman grown, a woman fit to rule in times of peace or command in times of war.
The needle dug too deep. Laine bit back a cry of pain, Weakness was not a trait accepted in the north, especially not weakness of the future queen. Laine looked at the ancient markist sitting before her. She watched his hands move from inkwell to brow and back to inkwell.
The markist wore the same mark of blue and silver that Laine was now receiving; many more adorned his face, sharp lines on each cheek one blue, one silver many more crisscrossed his arms and bare chest, each with its own meaning. The mark on his brow named him as royal, a
second son of a second son, royal but not by much. The other marks told of his deeds, marks for men killed, marks for women loved, marks for loved ones lost. A dark red line down the centre cleft of his chin named him a master markist.
Laine looked straight at the markist, acutely aware of the many eyes on her; all watching for any sign that she may show of weakness. Laine showed none.
The markist lowered the needle and wiped Laine's brow, slowly raising a glass mirror to let Laine see his work. The tattoo had done nothing to lessen her beauty, if anything the marking emphasised her own colouring, porcelain skin with full red lips, big ice blue eyes and tightly wound silver blond hair. Another of her hallmarks of royalty, the colourings of her family heraldry in eyes and hair, the colourings of the ancient lords of winter, not seen in combination for hundreds of years, except in paintings and flags. Even without the tattoo Laine's eyes and hair marked her as royalty.
Laine began to stand, preparing to show herself to the crowed of onlookers, dignitaries from the southern states and kingdoms, neighbouring lords, courtiers, artists, markers, warriors, stewards and her mother the queen, seated on an ornate granite and silver chair, decorated with ice blue enamel. The Sigel of house Victorian, a red bear etched into the high granite back of the throne and on countless tapestries adorning the hall.
The sight was enough to take Laine's breath away; similarly her beauty stole many a gasp from the crowed, even her mother, austere as always betrayed the hint of a smile in her hard drawn lips and a glint of pride in dark icy eyes.
let me know wat you think. it prettymuch as long as ive posted i just got an idea and ran with it!
The needle moved in short fluid arches, each graceful motion ending in a short stab of pain before the needle made its way from Laine's brow to the small ink pot. The mark forming on her brow was a simple affair, swooping curves of ice blue and shining silver starting at each ear and meeting in a sharp point between her eyes.
Royal colours, the colours of her mother’s household. Laine was now a part of that household, Heir to the throne of the Victarians, rulers of the north. At sixteen Laine was now considered a woman grown, a woman fit to rule in times of peace or command in times of war.
The needle dug too deep. Laine bit back a cry of pain, Weakness was not a trait accepted in the north, especially not weakness of the future queen. Laine looked at the ancient markist sitting before her. She watched his hands move from inkwell to brow and back to inkwell.
The markist wore the same mark of blue and silver that Laine was now receiving; many more adorned his face, sharp lines on each cheek one blue, one silver many more crisscrossed his arms and bare chest, each with its own meaning. The mark on his brow named him as royal, a
second son of a second son, royal but not by much. The other marks told of his deeds, marks for men killed, marks for women loved, marks for loved ones lost. A dark red line down the centre cleft of his chin named him a master markist.
Laine looked straight at the markist, acutely aware of the many eyes on her; all watching for any sign that she may show of weakness. Laine showed none.
The markist lowered the needle and wiped Laine's brow, slowly raising a glass mirror to let Laine see his work. The tattoo had done nothing to lessen her beauty, if anything the marking emphasised her own colouring, porcelain skin with full red lips, big ice blue eyes and tightly wound silver blond hair. Another of her hallmarks of royalty, the colourings of her family heraldry in eyes and hair, the colourings of the ancient lords of winter, not seen in combination for hundreds of years, except in paintings and flags. Even without the tattoo Laine's eyes and hair marked her as royalty.
Laine began to stand, preparing to show herself to the crowed of onlookers, dignitaries from the southern states and kingdoms, neighbouring lords, courtiers, artists, markers, warriors, stewards and her mother the queen, seated on an ornate granite and silver chair, decorated with ice blue enamel. The Sigel of house Victorian, a red bear etched into the high granite back of the throne and on countless tapestries adorning the hall.
The sight was enough to take Laine's breath away; similarly her beauty stole many a gasp from the crowed, even her mother, austere as always betrayed the hint of a smile in her hard drawn lips and a glint of pride in dark icy eyes.
let me know wat you think. it prettymuch as long as ive posted i just got an idea and ran with it!