Randomness
Have to write something. No clue what yet, but something.
Once upon a time, in a hovel by the sea, there lived a small family. It was small even by the standards of the land around it, for it composed merely a boy and his grandfather. Large families were not common in the village, because the food supply didn't allow it. Still, the villagers would try, and try, and the kids would die, and die. Nobody was very happy about this arrangement, but they had no other choice (lacking birth control or food), so it persisted.
The boy's mother had died in childbirth. Instead of the many children that normally die in childhood, she had perished instead. His father had disappeared not long after. Some said he threw himself off the tall seacliffs, unable to live without his wife. Others said he died of a broken heart. Not even the boy himself knew the truth. It was said that the grandfather did, but the grandfather had lost the ability to speak many years before.
Cirullan (for that was the boy's name) was a moody, introverted child. He shunned the company of the other villagers, instead preferring to walk out to the cliffs and talk to the sea. The sea was far more interesting, being always the same yet always changing. Cirullan would head down to a little crag in the rocks and sit their for hours, listening to the swish of the waves as the broke in the caves below. He would feel the salt spray on his face and sit there, thinking.
He thought about many things. He thought about the great tower of sorcery, off to the north in Sera Vartoth. He thought of the palace in Mri Narrim, and the immense riches that were hidden there. He thought of the shipbuilding port of Rohyr, across the sea which he looked upon now.
All these were beyond his grasp.
For it was known, within their small fishing village, that nobody ever leaves. The village had a nearly supernatural hold on them, always pulling them back.
He had heard, a few years before, of a young woman, barely into adulthood, who had tried to get away. She had taken up with a group of bandits that frequented the trade road nearby - the same group that ensured that the village had few visitors. It had caused quite a scandal, because the girl was supposed to marry into a selectman's family. The groom was handsome, wealthy by villager standards, and an all around decent man - for him to lose his bride-to-be to bandits was the deepest shame imaginable.
In any case, it mattered not, for she was found dead a few days later, a wayward arrow in her breast.
Then there was the old crone who made her home in a copse of elm trees nearby. She had disappeared some ten years before. People used to think that she had gotten away, but it turned out not. A sea falcon had pecked her eyes out, and then flies had laid eggs in the empty sockets and maggots had consumed her brain.
No, nobody ever left the village. Alive
Cirullan heard the squawk of a puffin nearby. He tiptoed his way across the ledge. It was a steep drop, perhaps 50 feet, to the rocky waters below. A misstep would be fatal.
The birds scattered as he approached them. A few flew at him, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He flailed his arms and beat them off. They scattered.
The nest was empty. Empty, that is, except for one large purple-and-blue egg.
Cirullan scooped up the egg and headed up the cliff. Food was always welcome in the village, even if it was just puffin eggs. Perhaps he had done something right, for once.
He fell.
[No, actually I just put that in because I'm crazy]
The rock gave out from under him, and suddenly he felt the tug of gravity. It pulled him down, down - until his jerkin caught on protruding branch. He hung there for a while, suspended between death and life.
"Boy? Why are you falling?" came a childish, feminine voice. Cirullan could not see where it was coming from. It seemed to come from all sides at once.
The voice tittered. "Falcon got your tongue? It's rude not to answer when spoken to, y'know. My guardian keeps telling me that. I usually don't answer. It pisses her off. I like doing that."
She - whoever "she" was - seemed friendly, so Cirullan answered, doing the best to keep the panic out of my voice. "Who are you? Where are you? Can you let me down?" He glanced down below him, at the 40 feet of air separating him from certain death, and figured he ought to rephrase that. "Uhh, let me down gently, that is."
"Oh. You mean I should dump you, but nicely?"
"I wasn't aware we were dating."
"That's because men are always un-perceptive loafs."
Cirullan scowled. He still could not see this conversational partner, and he really did dislike being hung out to dry like this. "Well, yes, you see I'm kind of preoccupied at the moment. So excuse me for missing the fine points of our relationship." The branch he was hanging from creaked a bit. "Mind saving my life?"
He felt the air rustle around him, and suddenly it seemed - solid. Well, solider than air should feel. And then, just like that, he was being spirited away, downwards, inwards, into a small cave in the rock. The wind pushed him farther in, where it was pitch dark.
"I can't see. Is there a fire around? A light?"
No answer.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Are you still there? Whoever you are, maybe you could help me? Where am I?"
Cirullan began to lose his patience. He kicked the floor and started feeling his way around. "Answer please!"
A fire burst into being at the center of the room. The sudden brightness almost blinded Cirullan. He looked away, spots flickering across his vision.
"It takes time for me to reformulate. I'm not a miracle worker, you know."
Across from him, on the other side of the fire, sat a girl maybe his own age. She seemed almost translucent, like she wasn't supposed to be on this earth. Wispy black hair framed her face and trailed down her neck, coming to chest level, where two small breasts were just beginning to bud. Her face seemed delicate, almost beautiful, yet had a mischievous cast to it.
"Who are you? What are you?" Cirullan asked.
Once upon a time, in a hovel by the sea, there lived a small family. It was small even by the standards of the land around it, for it composed merely a boy and his grandfather. Large families were not common in the village, because the food supply didn't allow it. Still, the villagers would try, and try, and the kids would die, and die. Nobody was very happy about this arrangement, but they had no other choice (lacking birth control or food), so it persisted.
The boy's mother had died in childbirth. Instead of the many children that normally die in childhood, she had perished instead. His father had disappeared not long after. Some said he threw himself off the tall seacliffs, unable to live without his wife. Others said he died of a broken heart. Not even the boy himself knew the truth. It was said that the grandfather did, but the grandfather had lost the ability to speak many years before.
Cirullan (for that was the boy's name) was a moody, introverted child. He shunned the company of the other villagers, instead preferring to walk out to the cliffs and talk to the sea. The sea was far more interesting, being always the same yet always changing. Cirullan would head down to a little crag in the rocks and sit their for hours, listening to the swish of the waves as the broke in the caves below. He would feel the salt spray on his face and sit there, thinking.
He thought about many things. He thought about the great tower of sorcery, off to the north in Sera Vartoth. He thought of the palace in Mri Narrim, and the immense riches that were hidden there. He thought of the shipbuilding port of Rohyr, across the sea which he looked upon now.
All these were beyond his grasp.
For it was known, within their small fishing village, that nobody ever leaves. The village had a nearly supernatural hold on them, always pulling them back.
He had heard, a few years before, of a young woman, barely into adulthood, who had tried to get away. She had taken up with a group of bandits that frequented the trade road nearby - the same group that ensured that the village had few visitors. It had caused quite a scandal, because the girl was supposed to marry into a selectman's family. The groom was handsome, wealthy by villager standards, and an all around decent man - for him to lose his bride-to-be to bandits was the deepest shame imaginable.
In any case, it mattered not, for she was found dead a few days later, a wayward arrow in her breast.
Then there was the old crone who made her home in a copse of elm trees nearby. She had disappeared some ten years before. People used to think that she had gotten away, but it turned out not. A sea falcon had pecked her eyes out, and then flies had laid eggs in the empty sockets and maggots had consumed her brain.
No, nobody ever left the village. Alive
Cirullan heard the squawk of a puffin nearby. He tiptoed his way across the ledge. It was a steep drop, perhaps 50 feet, to the rocky waters below. A misstep would be fatal.
The birds scattered as he approached them. A few flew at him, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He flailed his arms and beat them off. They scattered.
The nest was empty. Empty, that is, except for one large purple-and-blue egg.
Cirullan scooped up the egg and headed up the cliff. Food was always welcome in the village, even if it was just puffin eggs. Perhaps he had done something right, for once.
He fell.
[No, actually I just put that in because I'm crazy]
The rock gave out from under him, and suddenly he felt the tug of gravity. It pulled him down, down - until his jerkin caught on protruding branch. He hung there for a while, suspended between death and life.
"Boy? Why are you falling?" came a childish, feminine voice. Cirullan could not see where it was coming from. It seemed to come from all sides at once.
The voice tittered. "Falcon got your tongue? It's rude not to answer when spoken to, y'know. My guardian keeps telling me that. I usually don't answer. It pisses her off. I like doing that."
She - whoever "she" was - seemed friendly, so Cirullan answered, doing the best to keep the panic out of my voice. "Who are you? Where are you? Can you let me down?" He glanced down below him, at the 40 feet of air separating him from certain death, and figured he ought to rephrase that. "Uhh, let me down gently, that is."
"Oh. You mean I should dump you, but nicely?"
"I wasn't aware we were dating."
"That's because men are always un-perceptive loafs."
Cirullan scowled. He still could not see this conversational partner, and he really did dislike being hung out to dry like this. "Well, yes, you see I'm kind of preoccupied at the moment. So excuse me for missing the fine points of our relationship." The branch he was hanging from creaked a bit. "Mind saving my life?"
He felt the air rustle around him, and suddenly it seemed - solid. Well, solider than air should feel. And then, just like that, he was being spirited away, downwards, inwards, into a small cave in the rock. The wind pushed him farther in, where it was pitch dark.
"I can't see. Is there a fire around? A light?"
No answer.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Are you still there? Whoever you are, maybe you could help me? Where am I?"
Cirullan began to lose his patience. He kicked the floor and started feeling his way around. "Answer please!"
A fire burst into being at the center of the room. The sudden brightness almost blinded Cirullan. He looked away, spots flickering across his vision.
"It takes time for me to reformulate. I'm not a miracle worker, you know."
Across from him, on the other side of the fire, sat a girl maybe his own age. She seemed almost translucent, like she wasn't supposed to be on this earth. Wispy black hair framed her face and trailed down her neck, coming to chest level, where two small breasts were just beginning to bud. Her face seemed delicate, almost beautiful, yet had a mischievous cast to it.
"Who are you? What are you?" Cirullan asked.