(no subject)
Title: A New World
Chapter Number - Name: 1 - Travel
Characters: Germania, Holy Roman Empire (Young), Prussia (Young), Northern Italy (Young)
Notes: I've wanted to do a chaptered story for a while now, and I believe I can pull it off. As the Roman Empire grew and made a name for itself, the tribes from the north moved south. The Rhine River was the separating border between the two, though some crossed it into Gaul, Hispania, and other parts of the Roman Empire. They were unwelcome, barbarians who did not know Latin (but later gained knowledge of it due to tribes integrating themselves into Roman society as mercenaries and slaves, wishing to become like the Romans themselves) and spoke a language that was harsh to the ear. Sadly, no recordings of the spoken language have ever been found, though the runes created for written communication shows that tribes spoke in dialects similar to one another, deriving from a common parent language.
The sun shone as bright as the fire the night before had burned, the clouds barely covering the harsh light in the sky. No one dared to look at it, yet those who wished to see the ravens fly high above bravely faced against the hot circle and shielded their eyes with a hand, the other holding tight to the leather reins of the horse to keep it on course. The sun beat down heavily on them, sweat permeating the layers of fabrics they had worn in the high mountains from which they had traveled from. The forests, wooded with pines and tall firs, were the protectors of those who lived in them, giving them shelter from the burning sun as well as warriors from the south. No man dared to travel so high just to attack a village so small; it was not worth the risk of tumbling off the jutting cliffs and to your certain death below.
The boy leaned against his father behind him on the horse, weary from the memory of the harsh cold of the winter they left, the icy winds scarring the forest’s vegetation and freezing many of their people to their beds. His brother trotted up beside him, and gave him a poke in the side to wake him. After all they couldn’t have their precious little ruler dying on them, he had told him later, the slight bitterness evident in his voice. Before he had been found, his brother had been the heir to a vast land and thousands of souls, all for his protecting and them to protect him. But with this new, talented and calmer boy being found in the forest, he was switched to being the leader of the war party (which, the boy thought, was a better position for his hard-headed and brash jerk of a brother than that of a kind and careful ruler) instead, the rift between their father and him growing with ever day passing. Their momentary peace was just as stated: momentary. Once they were in a safe haven, the fire would awaken and the two would bash heads. He sorely wished to stay in the comfort of the wilderness, rather than face the two fighting once more.
It was unbearable.
He sighed deeply, his father mistaking it a sigh in need for a rest and mentioned to one of his warriors that the horse were looking a bit worn out, weren’t they? The party stopped by a stream, letting their horses graze while they made plans for the coming settlement of lands untouched by snow. It was warmer, and easier to breathe down here. Unaccustomed to such warm, the people were often as drowsy as a newborn babe, though just an anxious to reach the land they would live in and fortify it against the enemies they knew would be waiting. They were unkind beasts of men; it was said they were as tall as a horse and as dark as the traders that had come to them, telling tales of the wonders and selling trinkets with little value, though beautiful they were. The boy wore one right now, an arm bracelet that could supposedly protect him until he passed onto his rightful place in Valhalla, next to the other famed warriors that died honorably in battle. He was fascinated by the stories the merchant had told, and had grown to love the snatches of culture he had found and learned about the growing empire below their lands.
The clash of weapons caught his attention, and he climbed a tree near to the battle to watch the fight. Sitting upon a strong branch, his eyes scanned the faces of the warriors and noted with little surprise that it was his father and brother, most likely seeing if his brother had improved any. Doubtful, but nevertheless he was always in awe of his brother’s skill with any weapon he touched, whether it be anything from a stolen sword to a wooden spear fashioned through the day. The weapon became an extension of him, an extra arm used to block and attack his opponent. Besides, it was always fun to see if he could trick the older man. As he watched, he became aware of another pair of eyes on him. His skin prickled with anticipation as his hand went to the dagger, the only sword big enough for a boy so young, and his eyes flickered around the area, looking across the river for any sign of an enemy. Supposedly, this river was the one that separated them from a fierce opponent; the same place they were heading to. His father had said that they would cross it at a shallow point so the horses and supplies would not float away, but the river seemed endless in its depth. In his sudden distraction, an arrow whizzed past his face, arched over the field as the wind picked up, and embedded itself in a nearby tree. The fighting stopped, hands grabbing the swords and axes in the silent wait for a fight.
Silence met them, when finally a child no older than he stepped out from the bushes on the other side, eyes hard and watching the group, the gender disguised under layers of clothing. It pulled another arrow from its quiver and strung it, pulling it back far and releasing it. The arrow landed smack near the boy, and he fell from the tree onto his feet. Rising up, he sensed a challenge from this child. He shifted his weight and held up his dagger in a stance his father had taught him, good for defending yourself as well as disarming the opponent. But the other child did not move forward, it merely gave once last glare before retreating back into the brush, the arrows left behind. No one made a move, the shock of a mere child being able to fire a bow so fearsomely a small one. Finally, the boy sheathed his weapon and climbed back up to the branch.
He tugged the arrow free from its trap, and saw a small note hanging off of it. He slid it off and opened it up, squinting his eyes at the unfamiliar letters and words written in a flourish of neat handwriting. He slid off the branch and landed on his feet, wincing slightly at his aching ankles. A hand snatched the note from him, and studied it. The lines made up words he could not understand, and not even his father knew. The man had an idea of what they might mean however, and ordered the camp be picked up and everyone ready to leave in a few moment's time. Soon they set off on their travel again, the horses easily overcoming the smoothing roads and cleared path next to the river. What had the note said? The boy didn't know, so he turned his head skyward and asked his father as the horse trotted steadily along the river's natural road. His father told him it was a message, plainly meaning that they were unwelcome here, and if they stayed a large group of armed and disciplined soldiers would move them.
How fearsome, this empire was!
When night cast its curtain of darkness around the group, they headed into the thicket and made small fires, cooking their catch of fish and small animals over the flames. The meat, so tender and juicy, gave the boy a renewed strength and a sense of belonging. Dropping the remains of the rabbit onto a patch of leaves, he ran to his brother, who was sitting around a fire with a group of warriors telling stories that made them laugh. As he approached, the laughter silenced and they stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly very nervous and a new feeling of loneliness engulfed him, though he swallowed it and sat down next to his brother. All he wanted to do is listen to the stories, he said, and so his brother shifted and began one of horror.
These woods, he said, glancing around the forested area, held a dark and mysterious secret. It was said that a battle of unimaginably proportions had waged here, many dying and the river running red. The howl of a wolf made the boy jump slightly, and he moved closer to his brother. The woods, the story-teller repeated, had many a souls haunting around. And those who walked alone at night were never heard from again, taken by the dead warriors to a grave even the gods feared. The fire crackled as silence descended the small group, shadows jumping across the brother's face in a eerie light. The forest that once seemed like home to the young boy had become strange and unnatural, and his brother shoved him away. Go to bed, kid, he said, laughing at the boy's frightened expression when he realized that he would have to walk alone to reach his sleeping spot. The boy shook his head, and laid down beside his brother's body instead, seeking comfort. But his brother gave him none, just rolled him over towards the dark forest and howled with laughter as the boy jumped up and ran for their father.
Later that night, as he laid close to his father, he thought about the child they had encountered. Why could such a young kid be out alone, he asked himself, but he had no answer. It had been wearing some sort of... dress of sorts, so was the child a-- a girl?! The revelation made him feel weak, though he did not know why. If it was a girl, why had been alone in the woods? And why would she not welcome them? Such things were confusing, so the boy shut his mind away from the questions and told himself he'd look for her in the morning. Sleep came easily.
Chapter Number - Name: 1 - Travel
Characters: Germania, Holy Roman Empire (Young), Prussia (Young), Northern Italy (Young)
Notes: I've wanted to do a chaptered story for a while now, and I believe I can pull it off. As the Roman Empire grew and made a name for itself, the tribes from the north moved south. The Rhine River was the separating border between the two, though some crossed it into Gaul, Hispania, and other parts of the Roman Empire. They were unwelcome, barbarians who did not know Latin (but later gained knowledge of it due to tribes integrating themselves into Roman society as mercenaries and slaves, wishing to become like the Romans themselves) and spoke a language that was harsh to the ear. Sadly, no recordings of the spoken language have ever been found, though the runes created for written communication shows that tribes spoke in dialects similar to one another, deriving from a common parent language.
The sun shone as bright as the fire the night before had burned, the clouds barely covering the harsh light in the sky. No one dared to look at it, yet those who wished to see the ravens fly high above bravely faced against the hot circle and shielded their eyes with a hand, the other holding tight to the leather reins of the horse to keep it on course. The sun beat down heavily on them, sweat permeating the layers of fabrics they had worn in the high mountains from which they had traveled from. The forests, wooded with pines and tall firs, were the protectors of those who lived in them, giving them shelter from the burning sun as well as warriors from the south. No man dared to travel so high just to attack a village so small; it was not worth the risk of tumbling off the jutting cliffs and to your certain death below.
The boy leaned against his father behind him on the horse, weary from the memory of the harsh cold of the winter they left, the icy winds scarring the forest’s vegetation and freezing many of their people to their beds. His brother trotted up beside him, and gave him a poke in the side to wake him. After all they couldn’t have their precious little ruler dying on them, he had told him later, the slight bitterness evident in his voice. Before he had been found, his brother had been the heir to a vast land and thousands of souls, all for his protecting and them to protect him. But with this new, talented and calmer boy being found in the forest, he was switched to being the leader of the war party (which, the boy thought, was a better position for his hard-headed and brash jerk of a brother than that of a kind and careful ruler) instead, the rift between their father and him growing with ever day passing. Their momentary peace was just as stated: momentary. Once they were in a safe haven, the fire would awaken and the two would bash heads. He sorely wished to stay in the comfort of the wilderness, rather than face the two fighting once more.
It was unbearable.
He sighed deeply, his father mistaking it a sigh in need for a rest and mentioned to one of his warriors that the horse were looking a bit worn out, weren’t they? The party stopped by a stream, letting their horses graze while they made plans for the coming settlement of lands untouched by snow. It was warmer, and easier to breathe down here. Unaccustomed to such warm, the people were often as drowsy as a newborn babe, though just an anxious to reach the land they would live in and fortify it against the enemies they knew would be waiting. They were unkind beasts of men; it was said they were as tall as a horse and as dark as the traders that had come to them, telling tales of the wonders and selling trinkets with little value, though beautiful they were. The boy wore one right now, an arm bracelet that could supposedly protect him until he passed onto his rightful place in Valhalla, next to the other famed warriors that died honorably in battle. He was fascinated by the stories the merchant had told, and had grown to love the snatches of culture he had found and learned about the growing empire below their lands.
The clash of weapons caught his attention, and he climbed a tree near to the battle to watch the fight. Sitting upon a strong branch, his eyes scanned the faces of the warriors and noted with little surprise that it was his father and brother, most likely seeing if his brother had improved any. Doubtful, but nevertheless he was always in awe of his brother’s skill with any weapon he touched, whether it be anything from a stolen sword to a wooden spear fashioned through the day. The weapon became an extension of him, an extra arm used to block and attack his opponent. Besides, it was always fun to see if he could trick the older man. As he watched, he became aware of another pair of eyes on him. His skin prickled with anticipation as his hand went to the dagger, the only sword big enough for a boy so young, and his eyes flickered around the area, looking across the river for any sign of an enemy. Supposedly, this river was the one that separated them from a fierce opponent; the same place they were heading to. His father had said that they would cross it at a shallow point so the horses and supplies would not float away, but the river seemed endless in its depth. In his sudden distraction, an arrow whizzed past his face, arched over the field as the wind picked up, and embedded itself in a nearby tree. The fighting stopped, hands grabbing the swords and axes in the silent wait for a fight.
Silence met them, when finally a child no older than he stepped out from the bushes on the other side, eyes hard and watching the group, the gender disguised under layers of clothing. It pulled another arrow from its quiver and strung it, pulling it back far and releasing it. The arrow landed smack near the boy, and he fell from the tree onto his feet. Rising up, he sensed a challenge from this child. He shifted his weight and held up his dagger in a stance his father had taught him, good for defending yourself as well as disarming the opponent. But the other child did not move forward, it merely gave once last glare before retreating back into the brush, the arrows left behind. No one made a move, the shock of a mere child being able to fire a bow so fearsomely a small one. Finally, the boy sheathed his weapon and climbed back up to the branch.
He tugged the arrow free from its trap, and saw a small note hanging off of it. He slid it off and opened it up, squinting his eyes at the unfamiliar letters and words written in a flourish of neat handwriting. He slid off the branch and landed on his feet, wincing slightly at his aching ankles. A hand snatched the note from him, and studied it. The lines made up words he could not understand, and not even his father knew. The man had an idea of what they might mean however, and ordered the camp be picked up and everyone ready to leave in a few moment's time. Soon they set off on their travel again, the horses easily overcoming the smoothing roads and cleared path next to the river. What had the note said? The boy didn't know, so he turned his head skyward and asked his father as the horse trotted steadily along the river's natural road. His father told him it was a message, plainly meaning that they were unwelcome here, and if they stayed a large group of armed and disciplined soldiers would move them.
How fearsome, this empire was!
When night cast its curtain of darkness around the group, they headed into the thicket and made small fires, cooking their catch of fish and small animals over the flames. The meat, so tender and juicy, gave the boy a renewed strength and a sense of belonging. Dropping the remains of the rabbit onto a patch of leaves, he ran to his brother, who was sitting around a fire with a group of warriors telling stories that made them laugh. As he approached, the laughter silenced and they stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly very nervous and a new feeling of loneliness engulfed him, though he swallowed it and sat down next to his brother. All he wanted to do is listen to the stories, he said, and so his brother shifted and began one of horror.
These woods, he said, glancing around the forested area, held a dark and mysterious secret. It was said that a battle of unimaginably proportions had waged here, many dying and the river running red. The howl of a wolf made the boy jump slightly, and he moved closer to his brother. The woods, the story-teller repeated, had many a souls haunting around. And those who walked alone at night were never heard from again, taken by the dead warriors to a grave even the gods feared. The fire crackled as silence descended the small group, shadows jumping across the brother's face in a eerie light. The forest that once seemed like home to the young boy had become strange and unnatural, and his brother shoved him away. Go to bed, kid, he said, laughing at the boy's frightened expression when he realized that he would have to walk alone to reach his sleeping spot. The boy shook his head, and laid down beside his brother's body instead, seeking comfort. But his brother gave him none, just rolled him over towards the dark forest and howled with laughter as the boy jumped up and ran for their father.
Later that night, as he laid close to his father, he thought about the child they had encountered. Why could such a young kid be out alone, he asked himself, but he had no answer. It had been wearing some sort of... dress of sorts, so was the child a-- a girl?! The revelation made him feel weak, though he did not know why. If it was a girl, why had been alone in the woods? And why would she not welcome them? Such things were confusing, so the boy shut his mind away from the questions and told himself he'd look for her in the morning. Sleep came easily.