Friday, May 6, 2011

It also smelled of aged fish...


Els Criboth Kinnten.  That was what was carved over the tiny wooden door that blended nearly-perfectly into the bark of the twisted oak tree.

You are not welcome here.  That was the rough translation.

The minuscule brass doorknob had a twisted symbol on it  meant to ward off trespassers, friends and unwanted family members. Plingoth slid his key into the lock with satisfaction. A Crelleth’s home was where he hung his hat, and he hung his hat in a place too inhospitable for anyone to want to visit there. It was as it should be. That’s all he asked for

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