Nobody had ever measured the Council Room, but it was said to be a mile wide and half a mile high and anything from six to forty miles in length.
It was old. In its shadow-strung recesses they’d found images on the walls; they were to the worn stone as taut skin is to an eye socket, strokes of weariness and age brushed in green-grey bruise-ish hues. There were wild dogs, and pachyderms, and men who danced by the light of their torches. There was the sun, and blood.
But none of that mattered; it was the Council Room now.
V for vignette 