(no subject)
He comes through the front door, unshod, undirected, and perfectly serene. Behind him, the land is arid and tense, at odds with his presence. There is a gentleness to him, a steady tranquility that does not scan as entirely human.
That is not the only humanness missing. The being is made completely out of clay -- wet, pliant clay, at that. He smells of the living earth. Yet his clay tongue can speak, and his clay legs bear him forward, and the holes cut where his eyes should be guide him through the Bar. (There is nothing to see inside those holes; just a blackness, immune to outside light.)
Still, he seems to have some civilization on him. The rough-spun tunic ties in the front like a robe, and there is a word written into his chest.
ΕΘΕΛΩ
[[ooc: plotlocked!]]
That is not the only humanness missing. The being is made completely out of clay -- wet, pliant clay, at that. He smells of the living earth. Yet his clay tongue can speak, and his clay legs bear him forward, and the holes cut where his eyes should be guide him through the Bar. (There is nothing to see inside those holes; just a blackness, immune to outside light.)
Still, he seems to have some civilization on him. The rough-spun tunic ties in the front like a robe, and there is a word written into his chest.
ΕΘΕΛΩ
[[ooc: plotlocked!]]