A Slow Day

The world drifted past slowly, unrolling gently in shades of emerald blending gradually through to darkest amethyst at the edges. Encroaching on the dark radiance of the forest, the fields of the human populace sparkled jade and amber in the sunlight. A small river gleamed, darkest sapphire against the jewel-bright colours of the farmlands. In the distance, a granite castle grew from the peak of a rocky hill, the craggy face of the fortress matching its rugged environment. A few scavenger birds flew idly over the midden, too hot to bother with landing. A slight snort of contempt, and the watcher drifted on.

A lazy beat of wings, and the scenery floated a little faster. A road ran to the castle; a multicoloured, cobbled ribbon winding around the hill and down onto the flatness of the farmlands, carrying carts, walkers and the occasional human riding a horse, all heading for the castle. The bustle of the road had increased somewhat, the observer noticed, and all those who would not fight were following the road up the hill. The peasants had left the fields to the weeds and the birds, and only one or two of the huts dotted in the villages had smoke curling from the holes in the roofs. More than a few of the carts on the road were piled high with household goods, chairs, tables, and other items, heading for the castle and the lands beyond.

Against the flow, others travelled. A group of brightly dressed elves rode, chattering companionably between themselves as the hooves of their steeds chimed on the cobbles beneath. Bows were slung casually across their shoulders, while the telltale glint of bronze scales beneath their finery and the well-used scabbards housing their swords gave away their military purpose. A surly dwarf, carrying a pack almost as big as himself and wearing his chain-mail openly, strode along the road, trying not to be carried with the main flow and cursing the human sheep when he was. A well-ordered party of human fighters, proud blood-red banner floating above them, wearing the occasional piece of shining steel plate and with large shields strung across their saddle-bows, trotted purposefully down the verge, avoiding most of the traffic and able to keep their formation. As the band passed the elves, they moved their horses as far to the edge of the verge as they could, and then returned to their more usual heading as the leader of the elven party waved his thanks. The aerial observer looked down on the scene, watching the ant-like peoples below, the workers heading towards the nest while the soldiers moved to face a threat.

Another idle wingbeat, and a change of direction. Following the road away from the hill and its castle, the watcher, so high as to be a mere speck when viewed from the ground, viewed the massing of an army. The races were massing to ward off an attack, while a few hills southwards another army massed, a horde of necromancers and their dark creations rubbing shoulders with demons, orcs and other beings generally viewed as evil. The fields were trampled in the wake of this unholy army, and the evil taint was almost palpable in the air. The uninterested observer drifted on towards the sea, avoiding a range of mountains and a large lake, spotting wisps of smoke flowing gently from many cave mouths in the former and a herd of pure white creatures at the edge of the latter.

As the western sky turned to deep blue while the sun became the darkest orange, the drifter returned to the main hall, carved into the side of a large cliff in a natural gorge in another mountain range. Heading for the Bronze gryphon on duty she reported her sightings.

"Good wind, usual air currents for the weather and season. Nothing unusual. The dragon's lair in the High Peaks is still occupied, and there were unicorns at their pool. I saw nothing of any other beings. Oh yes, and the final apocalyptic battle between Good and Evil should happen tomorrow, if anyone wants to go and watch."