I wrote this short fantasy piece for the Writing Adventure Group topic: Habits.
As was his habit, Krel came to his private gallery to think. He walked among the delicate hovering globes and tapped the thin glass with an extended claw. The souls within shimmered as a perfect tones echoed off the stone walls. Each orb would produce a different note, dependant not on its shell, but the timbre of the human life within.
Even he, a reaver, could not identify what characteristic evoked a particular sound, but his knowledge of the fleshy pink creatures was limited to their last moments of life. Nor would the artisan soul-blowers know. He employed only the best of their profession, and they worked only for him, expanding his collection as he harvested new human ore.
The newest of his collection still struggled within their confinement. He stroked the cool glass with the dark green flesh of his palm. A smile played across his gnarled lips. He had not known the female was with child when he coaxed her essence from her body, but another, tiny flicker came with her. The challenge had delighted the soul-blowers: how to encase two as one, and yet still keep the casing thin and the sound clear. It had been tried before, and always with disastrous results. But no two souls were as intimately connected as a mother and child, and the results had stunned them all. He had considered giving this one to the clan warchief, but found he could not part with the pair. They danced and swirled together, blending their blue and golden light, then flying apart in a constant dance. It filled him with pure delight.
The thoughts of the warchief reminded Krel of the decision he had to make. He turned toward the door, grateful for the moment of respite. His heavy boots thudded against the stone floor as he strode with purpose to the stairwell. He knew what he had to do.
Thumbnail artwork © India Drummond
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