Motion is life is the heat within is emotion is the heat without.
Near-nonsense, perhaps, but it encapsulates all that Kharat is: its rolling plains of golden grasses, of melt-copper grain; the wild rapids of its rivers of roiling crimson fires, barely tamed by the whirl of flamewheel mills or endless flotillas of bright-sailed ashreed boats, slim and bound in silk like embers; the shifting of each Dancing City’s border pennons, the galloping of bright-burning steeds and roaring chariots, the oriflammes of ten thousand whirling, shifting allegiances fluttering wildly under the flickering flames of the eternal fires above.
None are surprised by a change of mind, in Kharat, nor of a change of taste, of preference, or even of patronage. Only oaths sworn over true flame are held inviolate.
Suspicion comes snapping instead at the heels of those without action, without emotion, without life. Such wretches find themselves cast outside the shifting networks of promises and passions to scavenge for shards of blisstouched obsidian beyond the polychrome walls of the Cities and their dazzling plazas.
Some give themselves to ashes; other swear vengeance unto eternity, and feel Kharat’s hot embrace enfold them once more.
* fire * motion * passion * inconstancy * display * bedazzlement *
Published by taichara