Post by Deleted on Nov 15, 2015 9:07:22 GMT -5
The Lotus Quarter was, on it's face, the opposite number of the Orchid. In the latter, profit and prestige were bartered along with coin, while in the former, the focus was, ostensibly at least, on the Architect, and to a lesser degree, the other religions of the kingdom. Demetrio had even heard that there was a small shrine to the Triune here, in anticipation of events such as these. He did not seek it out however. The family house had one of it's own, and his ablutions were so simple that he could perform them in his own quarters if he did not feel up to the journey. He had done much of that immediately after Elena's visitation. And he still sometimes did. Faith, like just about everything else in regards to Demetrio Montefiore, was a private matter.
Yet there was an undeniable allure to a place such as this. It was quiet, for one thing. Much quieter than other districts in the city. And it was clean and boasted excellent infrastructure, permitting even a weakened man such as himself to traverse it easily. He was dressed plainly, ostentation was not one of his sins, the only overt sign of wealth the fine cane the Duchess had given him, and the stitched sigil of Montefiore on his collar. Otherwise he bore no ornament or bauble to distinguish him, and his gait though still not as strong as it had been, was markedly better than it had been when he'd first risen.
The weather had cooled from the oppressive swelter of summer into the nippier chill of early fall, and Dem was feeling almost contented as he exercised. And yet the awareness that he was being watched prickled the nape of his neck like a rash.
Yet there was an undeniable allure to a place such as this. It was quiet, for one thing. Much quieter than other districts in the city. And it was clean and boasted excellent infrastructure, permitting even a weakened man such as himself to traverse it easily. He was dressed plainly, ostentation was not one of his sins, the only overt sign of wealth the fine cane the Duchess had given him, and the stitched sigil of Montefiore on his collar. Otherwise he bore no ornament or bauble to distinguish him, and his gait though still not as strong as it had been, was markedly better than it had been when he'd first risen.
The weather had cooled from the oppressive swelter of summer into the nippier chill of early fall, and Dem was feeling almost contented as he exercised. And yet the awareness that he was being watched prickled the nape of his neck like a rash.