Dorian the Insufferable Scout

It wasn’t often that a Shadow was accosted by a question from a shadow, yet those odd moments came about on occasion. A twist of his head, the cloth that veiled his face adjusted and bent to find the edge of his jaw as he spoke. With a quiet tone more akin to a whisper, the words that flowed like a soft warm honey were somewhat cool. Airy in a way.“The smell of fresh linen and flowers, like those you would press in a cloth or a book....a bit like a spring rain fallen over the petals before it fully turns to vapor...That moment before it goes, and leaves the leaves dried and vibrant...that mixture of smells...”The only other sound that left him was a quiet hum, shortly before leather brushed over stone and the man turned a corner. As though to try and garner the rest of the answer, the stranger would find nothing around that same corner, but a wide open courtyard and the last wisp of shadow evaporating where a figure might have once been, but was no longer.

“A garden of flowers the likes of which may never be seen again..when the world was quieter, and filled with fewer shadows...”