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Descriptive Imagery
You open the door as carefully as possible, trying to avoid any noise one could
plausibly deem unnecessary, yet all your efforts are for naught while a high pitched
squeak pervades the near silent depths of the hall, another puncture in the wall of
concentration exuded by your fellow players is let loose by the bottom stair. Having
already failed your primary mission, you heedlessly ascend the rest of the red-carpeted
stairs into the main room and its accompanying, created by the age of the building and
the patrons’ sweat, an odour attributed to the inherent heat of the room and the tension of
the contests. It is not a pleasant smell, and yet it is the one you have chosen, and the
stench is rarely upon your mind. Instead, it is the odd conglomeration of individuals
using the room: the young, clean-shaven teenagers and the occasional child, their brows
furrowed in an intense glare, and the veterans of many a tough battle leaning back with
their arms crossed, each face a portrait of will. Restless legs spread like a plague
throughout the scene, with many a foot bobbing up and down to the tune of a dozen
incessant analog clocks. The player’s stares fall upon the checkered squares of a thin
plastic board, upon which rest the various black and white figurines of Staunton design.
Welcome to a chess tournament.
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