Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Simple, The Beautiful, and The Valiant
The Dog of House Vox
0 reviewsA brief introduction to Almathea's character as she is summoned by her father for a new assignment.
0Unrated
A lone carriage led by two plain horses and a humble driver pushed its way through the oppressive shadows of the city's empty streets and avenues. The twilight of the moon cast a sickly light where no shadow had claimed, coating the slumbering metropolis in a near disturbing quiescence.
Inside of the crimson draped and jaded velvet carriage was a woman in the state of gloom. She sat alone, outfitted in the cardinal-emblazoned breastplate and dark burgundy swallowtail that marked her as the tomboy warrior-daughter of the Vox merchant family. Her head and torso bobbed to the uneven ride of the pavement, her curly golden locks swaying before her vacant face, her eyes the only part of her that remained intensely placid. Her gaze hung, lowered, heavy with thought, like a dog who had been scolded by a ruthless master.
Once again her father, one of the counts who had refused to participate in the war, had rebuked her remorselessly. How he lashed at her with his acidic words over and over again, binding her to his service through shame and disgrace. Still, he used her.
With little formal training, the only daughter of the Vox family had bested most of her peers at swordplay. She took to fighting and fencing like a dancer to a beat, yielding to none but her mentors. Cascow Vox held no pride in such talents from a woman. He held such shame in the fact that his only daughter was stronger and more valiant than both his sons combined.
There was a slow, light tapping on the roof of the carriage that echoed through the silence. It took a moment for her eyes to move to meet the source of the sound, and her hand twitched involuntarily, resting on the sword that lay sheathed across her lap. It only took moments for the light tapping to multiply into a cacophony of pitter-patter. Soon the sound of rain splashing in quickly formed puddles was audible, and soon after that was the sound of water running off of the nearby roofs and shingles.
The carriage came to a slow stop, and the jarring of the ride ended as well. She turned her head to the side, looking at the draped window. With a gloved hand she pulled back the curtains, looking to the rainy scene beyond.
Inside of the crimson draped and jaded velvet carriage was a woman in the state of gloom. She sat alone, outfitted in the cardinal-emblazoned breastplate and dark burgundy swallowtail that marked her as the tomboy warrior-daughter of the Vox merchant family. Her head and torso bobbed to the uneven ride of the pavement, her curly golden locks swaying before her vacant face, her eyes the only part of her that remained intensely placid. Her gaze hung, lowered, heavy with thought, like a dog who had been scolded by a ruthless master.
Once again her father, one of the counts who had refused to participate in the war, had rebuked her remorselessly. How he lashed at her with his acidic words over and over again, binding her to his service through shame and disgrace. Still, he used her.
With little formal training, the only daughter of the Vox family had bested most of her peers at swordplay. She took to fighting and fencing like a dancer to a beat, yielding to none but her mentors. Cascow Vox held no pride in such talents from a woman. He held such shame in the fact that his only daughter was stronger and more valiant than both his sons combined.
There was a slow, light tapping on the roof of the carriage that echoed through the silence. It took a moment for her eyes to move to meet the source of the sound, and her hand twitched involuntarily, resting on the sword that lay sheathed across her lap. It only took moments for the light tapping to multiply into a cacophony of pitter-patter. Soon the sound of rain splashing in quickly formed puddles was audible, and soon after that was the sound of water running off of the nearby roofs and shingles.
The carriage came to a slow stop, and the jarring of the ride ended as well. She turned her head to the side, looking at the draped window. With a gloved hand she pulled back the curtains, looking to the rainy scene beyond.
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