Ironsides Family/Bowie/Dryfont

Dryfont

Roleplay from Bowie Ironsides
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Bowie's caravan stopped by a small tent village. It was the first station in the desert after one crosses into the border between mountains and sheer sand. Bowie decided he had been sitting long enough and felt like strolling while the knights refitted, and the pull animals ate and drank. The heat was the first thing one notices in the desert. As far as you reach our your hand it blankets you, cakes on you. It was a dry heat, no moisture in the air. It was a striking contrast to the cold of the mountains. Two things so opposite inhabited space so near one another. Amazing, thought Bowie.

He strolled into the tent village. It couldn't be considered a village at all actually if it wasn't the only collection of habitats anywhere passed the border into the Desert of Silhouettes. This was all they had to offer the weary traveler. He walked further around, ignoring the stupid shouting kids and the sweating merchants. He stepped on a snake before it bit his ankles, spitting on it he named the serpent "Sevastian." He smiled.

On the other side of the tents he discovered something peculiar, he discovered the origin of this little villages name: Dryfont. He did not see it earlier when the horses pulled in. He had to travel around the mash of tents and sweaty bodies to find it. It was a white marble fountain built smack in the middle of the desert. He did not know whether the fountain was built first or whether the tent people set up their little squat and then built for accommodation. Who knew? Walking closer he noticed that the fountain was completely empty. No water! A tiny puddle rested directly below the spout, indicating the fountain had the potential to spew at least some drops of water, but other than that pitiful puddle the fountain was dry. Maybe it was broken? Maybe the tent people built it for show, to allure merchants and the like to this spot, or maybe they had a flash of brilliance that told them if they build a fountain water would come - but it turned out to be a waste in marble and time? Why build a fountain if it can't produce any water?

Sitting on the font, Bowie reflected. How like Swordfell this font is! He mused. How like Swordfell in that it was built to provide something necessary to the people around it, and yet it has failed to flow with vitality and gush with life. How like Swordfell in that it sits in a social desert and instead of quenching the thirst of the nobles who flocked to it in need, it insults them by only offering a puddle of intellect. Why does this fountain exist? What was the purpose of Swordfell in the first place? Bowie began to laugh at the irony of his destiny. The absurdity of the comparison!

It was too hot out...